The Lycra Life by Candy Coates

A daydream by candy

I don’t know how much, if any of this will make sense to you, as it has taken me years to make sense of the confusion that was my life for so, so long. Thinking back what will be more than 2yrs ago this August, I married John after knowing him as a friend for years and years growing up. We didn’t really date, like most couples do... it was just, well... like we just knew we were meant to be together forever. He finally asked me to marry him and I eagerly accepted his proposal.

Now, I was a bit of wallflower growing up and John had been what my parents had warned me was a “fast mover.” I was no virgin, but I had never lived with a boyfriend nor had any wild and crazy years where my libido was in overdrive, making me want to hump every fella that came along. In college, I had some other girl friends that were big into partying and sleeping around, but, for whatever reason, I had not been blessed with the uncanny ability to have multiple orgasms at the drop of a hat. In fact, quite the opposite.

Based upon my conversations with my college roomies, and their vivid descriptions of their numerous and sometimes bizarre sexcapades, it became blatantly obvious to me that I had never had an orgasm. Intercourse felt good, but it honestly was not something I needed, it just didn’t make me react and respond like it seemed to do for my friends or boyfriend. Maybe I had some sort of chemical imbalance in college, maybe my self-esteem was dangerously low and my poor academic performance during my Junior year, coupled with my parents both passing away, pushed me over the edge into a downward spiral of depression and self loathing. My inheritance meant I didn’t need to complete my education and certainly never needed to work a day in my life, but this financial freedom did little to liberate my spirits. In fact, without my parents pushing me to obtain an education and better myself, I was even more lost and without direction. But all of that changed when John made me his wife and I found my true purpose... my true calling in life... to be the perfect wife.

Well, now that I was newly married, having a husband to fondle and enjoy me every night was new and (ahem) “different” to say the least, but hell... I didn’t have any sort of real frame of reference to compare John to, right? All my other short term relationships had been doomed to failure and there was no real commitment, certainly nothing as grandiose as marriage. Anyways, being bound and determined not to fail at my wifely duties, I accepted his affection in what ever form he delivered it to me.

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On our honeymoon, John wanted me to wear pearly white stockings that I’d worn during the ceremony, to bed. I was a little embarrassed, as it seemed sort of bizarre, not to mention a little slutty, but I rationalized to myself that maybe these sorts of perverted sexual kinks were common amongst the real world and I didn’t want to seem weirdly naïve and sheltered, nor a prude, so I threw caution to the wind and, feeling a little tingly inside, and pretty giddy, but I decided, “Anything he wants.” We had sex... I kept the stockings on, John put his cock in my mouth, I kept the stockings on, John came on my face and in my hair (dammit), I kept the stockings on. In the morning, after waking up in the sticky, wet spot, I went to potty, then to shower, but John walked in on me and insisted I not undress... so I kept the stockings on. I was surprised and puzzled by his apparent fascination with me in my hosiery, but it was attention and affection, pure and sincere, so I convinced myself it wasn’t anything deviant and reminded myself, “Anything he wants.”

In the months following our wedding and honeymoon, there was a constant and ever-growing presence of... what I will call “kinky” elements to John’s nightly sexual routine with me. The stocking episode on our honeymoon slowly, but steadily progressed to me wearing thigh highs beneath my clothes during the day, and then, when he returned home from his office in the evening, he would undress me and eagerly touch and caress my legs and feet... rubbing everything from his tongue to his cock on them. I’d heard the term “hand job” before, and knew what playing “footsie” was, but within 6 months of our marriage, John was giving me a pantyhosed foot-fuck, sliding his erect cock against the soles of my nylon-coated feet, dry humping my arches and cumming on my tootsies, while I was being told to wiggle them in the hosiery, of course. At the time, I certainly did not know what a fetish was, and, while it didn’t feel quite “normal,” to me, there was nothing inherently wrong or bad about his desires. He purchased the finest hosiery for me, silk stockings, Wolford pantyhose, I had a Victoria’s Secret platinum card and was not afraid to use it. “Anything he wants.”

I didn’t even raise an eyebrow when he requested me slide on a pair of silk stockings over my Wolford pantyhose... guys think more is better, right? Night after night, the layers of hosiery got thicker and thicker... and then it wasn’t just pantyhose, but he progressed to body stockings. “Anything he wants.”

He became obsessed with me being covered in hosiery for him… arms and legs, hands and feet. He turned me into his pantyhose-encased plaything. After being married for 1 year, he had me wearing body stockings in our mansion during the day, so I pretty much no longer left our property while dressed like that all day. Soon, he began requesting that I pull several pairs of stockings over my head and run up to the bedroom when I heard his Lexus returning to the garage at night. Sure I figured I looked like a cat burglar, but “anything he wants,” right?

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Within a short time, John discovered various internet sites that made custom-fitted full-body stockings. These had attached hoods, some with eye holes, most without out, some with a mouth hole, some with crotch zippers. I suppose he spent a small fortune on me... maybe he had invested in spandex... I don’t know, but his lust for me in layer after layer of thick, slick lycra was insatiable and, the more lost I became beneath those layers of encasement, the more my self worth grew, as I was convinced I was the perfect wife, his perfect lover and we were the perfect couple.

I had difficulty dressing appropriately for John, as trying to slip into more than a dozen skin tight body stockings is no easy task. As the layers build, I can barely hear, I am blind as a bat and unable to feel much with my clumsy nylon-coated fingers to even operate the zippers to get in or out of my 2nd through 12th skin. I voiced as much to John and, his remedy was simple, he dressed me the following morning. It was nice to be so pampered, so have my loving husband dote over me that morning, ensuring I was exactly as he wanted me to be. “Anything he wants.”

The first layer of body stockings was a custom suit that had a puffy stuffed plug that goes into my mouth like a spandex cock gag. Then, John put me in so many layers I literally lost count! The plan was for him to free me from my spandex cocoon after he’d sexually exhausted himself that night... at least, that’s what I thought his plan was, and I was fine with it, “anything he wants.”

Well, John layered me so heavily that I was barely able to move from the bed all day long, to get a drink, remove some layers for fresh air, use the potty or even eat. When I felt John return to bed that night, I was so embarrassed that I’d wet myself during the day, unable to manipulate the crotch zipper, that I tried to speak through my soaked gag and tell him, in muffled sobs, that I no longer wanted to be his lycra love doll and to free me immediately.

Silence was all I recall hearing, and for the first time with John, I was afraid I was failing as a wife and that my selfish hangups with performing my wifely responsibilities was going to displease John so much, that he my no longer want me. I felt him push me back onto the bed, rolling my helpless body over onto my tummy and pulling my wrists together behind my back. I felt pressure on my wrist, pressure pulling or pushing them together tightly, then I felt my legs being grabbed. I slipped around on my tummy trying to wriggle away as I felt the same pressure around both of my ankles... felt them being cinched tightly together, then the same pressure around my knees.

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I was left there, along I though, face down on the bed, with great difficulty, I rolled over onto my back, then tried to scoot over to edge of the bed and sit up. Suddenly, John was on me again and this time, after he flipped me back onto my tummy, be pulled my bound ankles up until I felt them contact my hands and he tightly secured my ankles to my wrists. I was hogtied and helpless and utterly disoriented, as John had never touched me in any manner other than his customary soft, gentle and caring caress.

Now, on the brink of hysteria and being so helpless and man-handled, deep in my tummy there began a tingling sensation, like a faint ember that barely glows, but flickers brighter when I exhale onto it. This ember seemed to kindle a heat in my crotch that I’d never felt before. Though my whole lap had been soaked for hours, my pussy began to quiver and moisten and my juices began to soak through the layers of lycra. With each squirm and wriggle, that ember began to pulse brighter and hotter, my coochie continued to sizzle in it’s own juices! I was afraid I was about to loose control of my bladder, again, as I was distinctly aware of thick hot juices leaking from my nylon-covered cunt, but I couldn’t stop gyrating against my bonds. My eyes, having been beneath layers of lycra all day, were beginning to hallucinate, like I was dreaming while I was awake. I could see myself writhing on the bed while my husband looked on lovingly. “Anything he wants!”

Oh... I was possessed! I could now just barely feel my husbands hands caressing my body through the thick layers of slick material, but I could fell the love and desire in his touch and, in my frenzied state, I committed myself then and there to be his bondage lycra love doll for ever and ever! Mmmm, the instant I came to the realization that I would most likely be bound beneath layers of lycra for the rest of my life, my pussy began to quiver and my body began to convulse! My breathing came is gasps through the soaked lycra dildo gag that had been stuffed in my mouth for more than 12hours, and my first orgasm poured into and through me like hot honey, filling every inch and spilling out of every orifice of my body, leaving me feeling thick and sticky from head to toe. My mind was reeling as my body went limp. I had visions of my body melting into a warm puddle of molasses, gallons of it, pooling on the center of the bed, atop the satin sheets, in a syrupy pile of nylon body stockings, just waiting to be wrung out and used again.

Smiles and sunshine, candy

21.07.06