The other night, I was feeling all bereft because I had just finished reading Lauren Groff’s wonderful book, Arcadia, so I went into my Kindle and started fishing around for something new and while I was there I discovered that I could subscribe to blogs.
Naturally, I went into the Humor and Satire section where I stumbled upon Amazon Erotica Blog. Ninety-nine cents a month with the first 2 months free? Hell yes, I’ll roll the dice on that! My discovery was so exciting that I didn’t question why erotica would be filed under Humor and Satire.
When the blog finished downloading, I dove in and was rewarded with a really dismal thumbnail picture of some guy in a rubber suit. I may be Mistress Pixel, but I only administer discipline to wayward artwork and naughty pixels.
Despite my ignorance and inexperience with the real thing, I like the classic imagery of the saucy dom, striding about in her stilletos and fishnets. She’s endearing, empowering and iconic.
The image of some poor schlub cowering in a rubber suit on the receiving end of her whip was not something I had ever visualized, but I was willing to go along for the ride if it was going to be, um, erotic.
In spite of the dreary image, I began reading the first story, and I am at a loss to even describe what it was about, except I do remember that the narrator was tied up in rubber suit. The next story was more of the same. The third looked promising—a voyeur busted taking pictures by a bunch of nudists. Yessss! But, nooooo. He wound up in a stockade and was then punished by a bunch of the irate nudist dudes. Not really my thing, so I fell asleep.
The following morning I logged into Amazon and cancelled my subscription. With just that first download, I now had an embarrassment of riches residing on my Kindle, and didn’t think I really needed any more for probably the next six months.
The following morning I logged into Amazon and cancelled my subscription. With just that first download, I now had an embarrassment of riches residing on my Kindle, and didn’t think I really needed any more for probably the next six months.
The next night, I still had not decided on a new book to read or add to my wish list, so I wearily opened the blog once again and soldiered through the next story. This one had another really depressing picture of a rubber-clad guy, and began with his description of a very sweaty night spent tied up next to a portable heater.
After that hellacious night, his mistress made him do plumbing in his rubber work suit and an SBR Mackintosh, before making him change into proper rubber dining attire and then eat soup without spilling a drop while hogtied in a high chair.
I don’t know why an SBR Mackintosh is so important, but it is, and probably because it is so important the author could not bring himself to use a pronoun to designate the SBR Mackintosh. Only the proper name, SBR Mackintosh, would do.
The SBR Mackintosh reeled me in. I had to keep reading. I read, and read, and read, and nothing happened that couldn’t be described in a clothing catalog.
There were excruciatingly detailed and lengthy descriptions of rubber garments being put on, followed by even more tedious descriptions of them being taken off, only to be put back on again. The mistress seemed to have an endless supply of rubber outfits for every possible clothing contingency.
While I patiently waited for the sex to happen, my mind wandered and I started to worry about Youngest finding this on my Kindle the next time he borrowed it. I am not going to lie. Mention was made of catheters and cotton nappies.
Starved for something interesting in this interminable tale of serial clothing changes, the sudden appearance of Nurse White and her catheter were like a breath of fresh air, except she made very short work of her nursing duties and like the tiresome mistress, she just fiddled around with endless layers of rubber clothing. Bondage fetish is one thing, but medical and bathroomy stuff is quite another. I could picture myself sitting Youngest down for a little heart to heart. “See, Mommy accidentally downloaded the blog. She didn’t know that the writer was a rubber bondage slave.”
As I read, I started to wonder about vacations days and weekends. All the costume changes took time, and I knew that if I was feeling exhausted and sweaty from just reading, then the poor rubber bondage slave must have really been feeling it too. Did the mistress ever give him a day off, or was this as good as it ever was going to get for the rubber bondage slave? I imagine the mistress needs a break from time to time too. What does she do on her days off? And how does she afford all those bespoke rubber outfits? Does she work, or did she inherit?
I eventually got so worried about the idea of Youngest being scarred for life that I couldn’t stay focused on the fascinating wardrobe changes a minute longer. I started to stress out that the Amazon Erotica Blog was on my Kindle forever, so I tore myself away to tackle the problem of how to remove downloaded stuff.
I am regretting my prudish repudiation of the Amazon Erotica Blog because now I want to get some more background information on the main contributor, the mysterious David Castaway. I would have loved to share with you some of the choicer paragraphs in one of the stories that actually involved sex, such as the one that featured a “rampant penis.” The rampant penis was about as hot as it got, but sadly, it was pitching for the other team, and even if it had been rampant in the service of the ladies, I would have been too distracted by the rampant malapropisms to have really enjoyed it.
I don’t think David Castaway would have purposefully filed his blog under Humor and Satire, but maybe some fiendish editor did. The joke was definitely on me.
I have to wonder where the line crossed with sex and rubber stuff. Seems like it makes things very complicated
This doesn’t sound like the proper use of rubber for sex! 🙂