Gerda And The Chinese Slave by Jim E Dickson

Gerda And The Chinese Slave

(Jim E Dickson)


Chapter 1




It's been a week since I arrived in Paris. I was picked up by this nice Englishman on the main Rome-Genoa highway in Italy and somewhat rashly agreed for his firm to publish my experiences as a Rubber Slave on the Island, but subject to my Master/husband Guy de Rhislain approving.

Guy has decreed that I must spend twelve weeks in complete freedom, after my year of servitude and training. If I then wish to return to slavehood I am to telephone a certain number. But if I decide I want freedom, I am to insert a 'personal' in Paris Soir and a large sum of money will be paid into a Swiss bank account in my name.

Already I am going mad with frustration! I am lost without my daily enema and my routine slave whipping and I feel horribly naked when I go out without my head enclosed in the tight latex hood. It feels strange to sit down and not feel the delicious sensation of a greased Rod being driven up my bottom.

But my orders were to wear only 'ordinary' clothes and I'm not even supposed to wear the long green rubber mackintosh and rubber thigh boots in which I travelled. What a hope!

The day after I arrived I found a drugstore in the Rue St. Honoée where they were advertising 'the new American Reducing Suit'. I could hardly believe my good luck. It was a thin latex catsuit and, apart from taking a bath every night, it has never been off me.

I've thought of writing to Guy, or even to my beloved Laura and pleading to come back now. But my Master was very definite about his orders, so I must try to get through the next eleven weeks somehow.

I've engaged a new model agency and, by sheer good luck, one of my first jobs was to model a new collection of raincoats!.Some of them were of awful gaberdine but a few were of rubber or vinyl and one beautiful one of rubber-lined red satin, with a high strapped collar. I've bought this at a discount from the Collection and wear it as an alternative to the heavy green mackintosh. It rustles superbly and, being nearly ankle length, it covers my latex undersuit and shows only the high heels of my thigh boots. To hell with Guy's instructions!




Well, I haven't written up my diary for all these wretched weeks. I haven't enjoyed my 'freedom' at all, but luckily my agency has kept me in work, so I’ve slept soundly at night in my latex suit, sometimes with my heavy green rubber mackintosh spread loosely over my head so that I could smell the warm fragrance and imagine I was being slowly suffocated by my adored Master.

As a top model, still in demand thank goodness, I've earned quite a sum of money. I also have nearly all the money Guy had given me when I left the island.

So I've put it to good use. I've had the most superb cat-suit made in shining black leather by one of the top couturières in Paris. To go with this, I ordered a long leather military style coat, high-heeled black boots and long black leather gloves. I plan to wear this exotic outfit over my latex undersuit when I return tomorrow.

(No doubt I will incur a mass of Demerits for having bought the latex undersuit and I hope I will be severely punished!)

I also bought a pair of slinky black latex gloves used in industrial factories, which will go nicely under my leather gloves. But my pride and joy is the mask I bought at the industrial shop where I found the gloves.

This is a complete rubber helmet which pulls tightly over the head and has only small glass eyeholes. One breathes through a small filter at the mouth, otherwise it's completely airtight. Apparently it was used by workers making asbestos sheets for housing, to prevent the asbestos fibres getting into the lungs, which is highly dangerous. The assistant who I bought it from thought I was quite mad, but I told him I wanted it in order to remain anonymous at a masked fancy dress ball!.

I'm wearing it now as I write in my diary. It is made of thick black rubber and very tight against my face. I can see and breathe surprisingly easily (too easily) and I'll put it on when I arrive at the little port and board the Island launch. It has a wide neck-band and I'll strap the high collar of my leather suit over it.

God! I'm looking forward to tomorrow! I'm catching the early Air France plane to Rome, then I've hired a car to take me up to the port, a two-hour drive.

Now it's time to telephone the Island and tell them the errant slave is returning home.



Chapter 2


The telephone rang in Matron's room. She rustled across in her heavy rubber uniform and picked up the receiver.

"Miss Dodds here."

The slave on the switchboard spoke excitedly. "It's from Paris, Matron. I think it may be Slave Gerda!"

"Then put her through and no listening in or I'll give you 50 Demerits."

"Oooh, yes please." There was a click and the Matron was speaking to Gerda.

"How nice to hear your voice. We've missed you."

"Matron? Dear Matron, I'm on my way back. Am I expected? How's my lovely Master?"

Matron was intensely glad to hear Gerda's voice, but her instructions were implicit. She said impersonally: "Slave Gerda? Have you decided to return then?"

"Oh yes! I've hated every moment I've been away. I should be in the port around 2 30 tomorrow afternoon. Will there be a boat available?"

"Of course. The Master will be glad to see you, no doubt. But have you really thought carefully what this entails?"

There was a moment's pause. "Well of course. I'm returning. Isn't that sufficient answer?"

"You are returning to perpetual slavehood," Matron said sternly, "for the remainder of your life you will wear rubber costumes and suffer all the training and punishments which your Master shall desire. Are you sure you want this?"

"My darling Matron, if only you knew! I've been waiting twelve miserable weeks for tomorrow."

Matron's mouth twisted into a smile. "Then, dear Slave Gerda, welcome home! The launch will be ready for you."



Gerda stepped out of the hired car and paid the driver. He looked admiringly at his elegant fare in the long black leather coat and shiny boots. Typically Inglese, he thought, with the blonde hair and rosy complexion and that slim tall figura.  With a faint sigh he turned the car back towards Rome, his fat wife and six bambini.

Gerda strode across to the small changing shed near the moored launch. She waved gaily to the Captain who, as always, was clad in heavy green rubber overalls and thigh boots, only his peaked cap with the gold braid denoting his superior rank. She hastened into the hut and put on the symbolic waterproof uniform for making the sometimes rough crossing to the island.

As she slipped into the long heavy rubber cape and zipped up the neck to the high tight collar, she felt a thrill of expectation that in less than an hour she would be returned to her slavehood, ready and willing to serve her Master again. From her large shoulder-bag she brought out the new rubber helmet and pulled it over her head, feeling the cold rubber press against her face. After tucking the neckpiece firmly inside the high collar of-her leather catsuit, she pulled up the rubber hood of the cape and tied it tightly under her chin.

The captain saluted her as she walked aboard the large launch, showing no surprise at the rubber helmet obscuring her entire face. She walked forrard to the bench in front of the charthouse and delighted in the spray which swept over her as the boat swung out into the Mediterranean.



Forty minutes later the launch moored alongside the Island’s pier. Dripping wet from the journey, but comfortably dry inside her rubber, Gerda descended to the pier, to be greeted ecstatically by her personal maid Maria. Despite the rubber helmet Gerda pressed her head against the masked face of her faithful maid. Then she unzipped the rubber cape and together they walked up to the huge mansion which was now her home.

On the way she listened to the chatter and gossip of Maria, relating to Gerda’s fellow-slaves and a progress report on the Newcomers. But her mind was only on her homecoming to her Master.

She was slightly disappointed that no one met her in the Grand Hall but Maria hastened her upstairs to her comfortable quarters. "You are to dine with him tonight she whispered. ''He's sent you a most terrific costume."

Although Gerda was not aware of it, both Guy and Laura had witnessed her entrance into the building through the overhead video cameras and each had smiled secretly at Gerda’s superb leather outfit and rubber helmet. As Laura remarked honestly to Le Comte later: "Our lovely slave is showing off, as usual. Perhaps it’s time we resumed some severe training.”



Twenty minutes later Laura, the Chief Executioner in charge of punishments in the Training centre, was relaxing in her quarters when the intercom telephone buzzed. She smiled with anticipation as she lifted the receiver.

“Madam Laura here."

“It's me, Gerda,” said a slightly timid voice. “May I come to see you?”

“Why, Gerda, what a pleasant surprise. Yes, Matron informed me you were returning today. Come down to my suite immediately.”

Puzzled, Gerda replaced her phone. She had been expecting a more fulsome welcome from her adored lover, but she hastened eagerly down to Laura’s luxurious quarters, still wearing her smart black leather costume over the tight latex undersuit.

She knocked at the Executioner’s door and was told to enter. With a sudden thrill of dismay and excitement she saw that Laura was standing in the centre of the big room, encased in shining red vinyl breeches and sleek high-necked blouse, tightly belted by a wide leather corselet. Long red vinyl thigh boots, stiletto-heeled, swept up to her thighs and sinister black latex elbow gloves and a tight black latex mask completed the dominant vision. Just in time Gerda remembered to briefly kneel in front of her Mistress, hearing the slight creak of her form-fitting leather costume. She was suddenly glad she had not removed her tight latex hood.

Laura’s white teeth gleamed through the mouth hole of her mask. "So, my dear Gerda, you have returned to your slavehood. Your husband and Master will be pleased at your decision; he has missed your company.”

Gerda stood uncertainly. “And you, Mistress Laura, have you missed me a little too?”

The sinister figure was silent for a moment, then suddenly stepped forward and embraced Gerda.

"I was determined not to be sentimental when you returned - but yes. I missed you terribly. I’ve worried for twelve awful weeks that you might find the social life of Paris too attractive and that you would never come back.”

Gerda hugged the gleaming figure. “You should have known better, lovely Laura. How could I ever exist without my rubber life and my love for Guy and you is all I care about. How is the old bastard? Maria told me I wasn’t to see him until I reported for dinner. Is he well?”

"He’s in fine shape. He was like an excited schoolboy this morning when he knew you were arriving. I’m sure he’s spent the whole day planning some awful programme for you this evening.” She stood back, admiring Gerda’s new costume. “What a superb outfit. Are you wearing latex underneath?”

Gerda pivoted in the high-heeled black shiny boots, showing off her slim figure encased in the tight black leather suit and long gloves, the high neck strapped over the collar of her latex mask.

"Yes, of course, I had this made specially in Paris. It cost a bomb!”

Laura stroked Gerda’s smooth mask with her gloved hands and said silkily: "Yes, my dear, I’m sure it did. And it will also cost you a vast number of Demerits. You were ordered not to wear any 'gear’ while you were in freedom. Don’t tell me you only wore your latex undersuit for the first time today.”

Gerda squirmed guiltily in her latex and leather. "No, Mistress. In actual fact, I’ve hardly been out of some kind of rubber during the whole twelve weeks. I know I’ll have to be fearfully punished.”

Laura’s laughed tinkled. “You haven’t changed a bit. You'll start your revision training tomorrow, but why don’t you bend right over in that lovely tight leather and see if you can feel my whip through it."

Her heart beating faster with excitement, Gerda bent herself over an armchair and thrust her gleaming leathered bottom impudently upwards. Laura crossed to a cupboard and selected a long thin whip, then returned and measured it carefully against the slave’s tight suit. Joyfully, Gerda heard the rustle of vinyl as Laura raised her arm, then she gave a muted cry of pain as the whip lashed across her bottom.

After ten hard strokes Laura laid down the vicious thin whip and Gerda stood up, ruefully rubbing her smarting rear. "WOW! I’m out of practice; that really hurt!”

Laura gave her an affectionate hug. "I enjoyed that hors d’oevres, we'll do better tomorrow. Now you'd better go to your quarters and get dressed for dinner with Guy. He told me he’s had a rather special outfit made for the occasion.”