The Suit
© S.B. 2025 All Rights Reserved.
Reproduction and distribution of this writing without the author’s written permission is prohibited. This writing is not to be included in any publication – free or otherwise -, except the author’s self-published works.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All the characters are over 18.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Calvin said, biting his fingernails. “What if she comes home sooner than expected?”
“She won’t. Trust me,” Brett replied as he continued to pick the lock of Yasmin’s apartment. “These parties go on for hours. We’re safe.”
“What does she have in there that justifies all this?”
“You’ll see.”
Calvin leaned against the wall, glancing down the corridor as if expecting Yasmin to prove him wrong. The beautiful brunette was unpredictable and if they were caught, no excuse would save them.
Brett’s fingers were nimble, gliding over the slim pick like a skilled musician caressing a beloved instrument. He had done this before. With one last twist and a satisfying click, the lock yielded. He nudged the door open and got inside, followed by his best friend.
The moment they stepped over the threshold, an intoxicating air enveloped them. The apartment was a tapestry of colors – deep burgundies, sultry blacks, and flickers of gold from ornate candle holders scattered around the living room.
A velvet chaise lounge in a deep midnight blue sat at an angle against one wall, its cushions arranged yet invitingly disheveled as if someone had just risen from it. In front of it lay a sleek glass coffee table adorned with an array of magazines, each cover featuring striking images of dominant women. On the walls hung provocative prints: bold abstract pieces mingled with more suggestive artwork that hinted at the world she navigated.
Yasmin was a professional dominatrix. She controlled men and women six days a week, resting only on Sundays. The two guest bedrooms had been combined into a private dungeon where she could explore the limits of BDSM to her heart’s content.
Calvin’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. “This is insane, Brett. There are whips on the wall! And what is that?” He pointed to a large, imposing frame draped in black silk.
Brett stepped closer, smirking. “That’s a St. Andrew’s Cross,” he explained. “She uses it for… well, I’m sure you can guess.”
In one corner stood a tall cabinet with carved doors. Brett pulled open one door and was met with a variety of floggers, paddles, and other implements of pain and pleasure, but there was also…
“This is what we’re here for.” He declared.
“What is it?” Calvin asked.
It was a full-body rubber suit, gleaming under the room’s ambient lighting. Made of thick latex, it seemed impossibly smooth and sleek, hugging every contour with a promise of confinement and liberation. The suit was pitch black, accented by iridescent threads that shimmered like oil on water, and Brett was hooked.
“Help me put it on,” he said.
“What?”
“I want to try it. I’ve been dying to do so since I knew she had it.”
“But why?”
“I just want to, okay? Help me out.”
“Hmm… okay.”
Brett slipped off his shirt, revealing a lean torso that shimmered under the soft light. Calvin swallowed hard, knowing they were stepping deeper into uncharted territory. As he held up the suit, it felt heavier than he anticipated.
“I think we need some lubricant first,” he said. Brett held a can he had just taken from the closet and started applying it. The zipper was in the back and they had to start from the bottom, so… He slid one leg into it and then the other, the rubber clinging to him like a second skin.
“Wow, it’s amazing!”
Calvin helped Brett pull the suit over his waist and up his torso. The sound of the latex stretching filled the air. “This is not what I had in mind for tonight,” he chuckled.
After adjusting the arms, Calvin reached for the zipper. As he pulled it up, it echoed like a drumbeat in the room. The last tug sealed Brett into the confines of the constricting attire.
“All done… I think. How do you feel?”
“Powerful… and weak at the same time… it’s weird!” Brett admitted. He stared at himself in the mirror next to the cabinet… and then it happened.
His reflection flickered as if the world around him was dissolving. The vibrant colors of the apartment faded into a soft haze, melding together like watercolors on a canvas left out in the rain. Brett blinked, trying to shake off the sensation, but the mirror held him captive, its surface rippling like disturbed water.
He leaned closer, entranced by what he saw, or more accurately, what he didn’t see. His eyes, once sparkling with verdant mischief, now reflected a pair of blank orbs, void of color and life. They were two polished stones set against a backdrop of unending black, absorbing everything around them yet revealing nothing in return. It was as if some malevolent force had stolen away his essence, leaving behind an empty shell—the suit transforming him into something other than human.
“Brett?” Calvin’s voice sounded distant, echoes fading into the abyss that was now in his mind. “Brett? Can you hear me?”
Each syllable reverberated in Brett’s head, but he could not respond. It was as if his vocal cords were encased in glass, rendered mute by the strangeness of the moment.
“Brett! Snap out of it!” he shouted, but his friend remained frozen. Panic surged within Calvin, slick and serpentine.
“Brett!” he called again, but there was no response. His expression remained vacant, entranced by something too powerful to resist.
It felt like hours passed yet Calvin knew it had only been moments. Time warped in this strange space; reality twisted into grotesque shapes. He took a step backward, drawn away from the mirror that held his friend captive. His instincts screamed for him to flee, an animalistic urge to escape a predator lurking just beyond perception… and so he did. He ran without looking back before Yasmin returned and saw what they had done. “I’m sorry,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him.
An hour later, Yasmin, the dominatrix, returned home and saw Brett still standing there, a latex drone waiting for his owner. She paused at the threshold, her heart quickening at the sight of her neighbor encased in the shimmering material. He stood motionless, a statue crafted from desire and helplessness as if he had surrendered his very will to the suit that clung to him like an unyielding lover.
“Ah! What do we have here?” She stepped forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor. “A little kinky B&E? Why Brett, you could have told me you were into latex!” she laughed.
Yasmin circled him, her eyes drinking in every detail as though he were an exquisite work of art. The glossy material gleamed under the soft glow of the lights, highlighting the ridges and contours of his muscles beneath its surface. She admired how the suit emphasized his broad shoulders and tapered waist, each angle sculpted with an artist’s precision. Her gaze lingered over his arms, where the latex hugged taut against sinewy flesh, accentuating the strength hidden within.
“Of course, if we had talked about this earlier, I could have told you I’m not just a Domme, but a witch too, and that pretty much everything in my dungeon has a protective spell on it. Well, now you know…” she laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll set you free… after I’ve had my fun with you.”
Yasmin locked the dungeon door behind her and rubbed her hands. The fun was about to begin.
THE END
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