Dear Diary,

I got tired of writing last night. Here is the rest of the story of how I was. reborn, I guess you could say, as a new sex toy for my husband. I think it's getting easier to write about all this, since I seem to be getting a bit more glib, and taking the whole thing a little less seriously than I used to.

When I got outside, I was suddenly blind. I had forgotten one important fact about the night time. It's dark at night, dummy! The smoked lenses in the helmet kept me from seeing anything except the lamp posts glowing on either side of the driveway. I stood there in bewildered frustration for quite a while, until I realized my eyes were gradually adjusting to the dark. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a quarter of that, I could not only see well enough to strut my way to the car, but I felt confident that with the headlights on, I'd be able to drive safely. (Fortunately, I turned out to be right.)

Walking to the car was an adventure, as the mercury filled plugs inside me wiggled and squirmed again, practically driving me to climax before I even got into the car. But if I thought that was bad, the trip to the lab was even worse, or better, depending on how you look at it. Ever since we moved out to the country to be closer to the lab, I have asked Jurgen repeatedly to have the road graded, since the bumps and pot-holes make me crazy whenever I have anything like Ben Wa balls or these dildos inside me. And that night wasn't the first time for that. My dear husband delights in equipping me in all sorts of garments and toys that he knows will keep me nearly mad with desire, and then driving into town for dinner at some fancy restaurant. So far, he has refused to have our road graded, the rascal. I think he takes sadistic pleasure in seeing me incoherent with arousal and sometimes even public orgasms. I both hate and adore those outings. But I'm getting sidetracked again.

This time I was driving, and it wasn't easy concentrating on the road. Just as I was deciding that I wasn't going to make it there alive, I came to the end of the driveway. The paved road that goes past the lab was much easier to take, with only the occasional sharp turn to distract my innards, and I made the rest of the trip without mishap.

I drove through the open gate, wondering briefly whether they did any secret work here. There certainly wasn't any security in evidence.

As I approached the main building where my husband's lab was, I saw more than one lighted office, and I hoped that he really was alone. I wasn't really ashamed of how I was dressed, but I knew that it would cause Jurgen a great deal of embarrassment if we were discovered by his coworkers.

I found him in a brightly lit room filled with the equipment he had so proudly demonstrated only a few months ago. He looked up with an irritated look at the sound of my boots clicking on the tiles, but that look instantly changed to one of surprise and delight as he took in the sight of my tightly corsetted, booted, helmeted, and shining form.

"Good God! Diana! What are you doing here?" He stood up from the instruments he had been staring at and looked me slowly up and down. He whistled.

I basked in his lusty gaze, and would have smiled inside the mask, if my mouth hadn't been stuffed full of rubber.

"So, the suit came, and you just couldn't wait to show it off, eh?" he asked. I nodded. He held out his arms to me. I stalked over to him slowly, faltering only once on the towering stilettos.

"God, I could look at you for days," he said, running his hands over my tightly corsetted torso, my hips, my bulging breasts.

"It fits beautifully," he added, "Jeanne and William do wonderful work, don't they?"

I nodded vigorously in agreement.

"And you are gagged, I suppose?" he asked. He caressed my swollen cheeks, licked his lips. He knew how aroused I had to be inside my rubber and steel prison.

I nodded again, and moaned, partly for his benefit, and partly because I needed to.

He felt between my legs. "And what do you have down here? Ah, the sheaths. but there's something inside. your fancy dildos?"

I nodded.

"The mercury filled ones?" I nodded again.

He wiggled his hand vigorously, briefly, eliciting another heartfelt moan from me.

"Jesus," he said, "How am I going to get any work done now? You look just fabulous, as always, but. good lord, this outfit is incredible. I can't wait to get you home!"

A wistful look came into his eyes.

"But damn! I can't go home yet, I just can't! I promised the financial people a demonstration in the morning, and I'm still having some problems. Damn. Damn, damn, damn."

He continued to stare at me though, as if I were some fetishistic angel that might disappear at any moment.

I piroutted before him, showing him every angle, knowing I looked hot, fully aware of the effect I was having on him, and loving it. And I knew that while a skin-tight outfit of patent leather or latex was his biggest turn-on, the fact that it was ME inside was what drove his lust over the edge. He might be the dominant in our relationship, but I can still manipulate him until he is weak in the knees.

His hands were around my waist, his fingers fumbling at the back lacing.

"Ah, you've locked the corset on? Where is the key?"

"Mm-hmm" I said around the gag. I pointed over my shoulder for emphasis.

"In the car?"

I shook my head.

"At home."

I nodded.

He grinned.

"Damn. You just wait until I get you home! I am going to put you through your paces like never before! I wish I could take you home right now! But hon, I'm really sorry, but I CAN'T leave yet. Not until I've got this bug worked out. You understand, don't you?"

I made soft mewling sounds, and squirmed my hips. The dildos wiggled inside me and an aroused moan got added on involuntarily.

"Ah, hmmm," he said then. "Well, I suppose a short break wouldn't hurt. In fact, I ought to just take you right here. You know, I don't have to undress you."

I could see his libido doing battle with his desire to fix his technical problem, whatever it was, by morning.

"Mmm?" I said softly, leaning into him and pressing my breasts into his chest. Like most men, he has a thing for tits. It was all the encouragement he needed.

"Okay, that's it! Come on." He turned me round, pinned my arms behind my back (to my delight) and marched me out the door, down the hall, and into his office. He closed and locked the door and swept his desk clean, papers and books flying in all directions.

"Bend over," he commanded, his voice husky with desire. I grinned inside my mask. He was really out of control. It was a good thing that I had let him talk me out of a longer corset section, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to comply. With this design, while my torso was quite rigid, I could at least bend at the hips. I bent over the desk.

"Spread," he said, placing his hand on my back and bearing down. I spread my legs wide, having a little trouble as my heels tried to dig into the carpet. I got them free, and my chest and hips thumped down against the desk top. I gasped as the blow on my tit rings sent a jolt of pain mixed with pleasure through my chest. Between the trip here with those plugs rattling inside me and the treatment I was getting now, I wasn't just ready, I was on fire with need.

I felt an indication of my readiness dribble slowly down my leg, trapped under the rubber.

He fumbled in my crotch, and soon had the caps off, and with a bit more work, he got the dildos out. There was no way he would be able to remove the sleeves from the outside, but that didn't seem to bother him. He stuck his hand down the neck of the suit, and pulled it back coated with slime. He lubed up the inside of the sleeves, pressing one finger, then two, inside me. I heard faint rustlings through the hood, (he had pulled off his lab coat), a thud, (he had dropped his trousers), and then I gasped as a soft but insistent heat pressed into me, filling me to capacity.

I have often wondered whether I might have married Jurgen just for his cock. He could never be mistaken for a porn star with his wiry, almost scrawny build, but he was certainly well endowed in the manhood department, not too large, but just right as far as I was concerned. And to the sex authors who insist that size doesn't matter, I say phooey! A big penis may not be critical, but it certainly is a nice bonus if the owner knows how to use it. And after our years of practice, my darling certainly does! He's also adept at using his hands and his mouth to send me into orbit. He told me once he had read up on sex before we got married. Whatever.

He rammed that magnificent rod of his into me in one stroke, knowing I was as ready as I would ever be. I nearly fainted from the pressure and sensation that shot out from my pelvis. There on his desk, me a picture out of any fetishists wet dream, him looking like the "Nerd" posters you used to see in joke shops, he took me with a wild abandon, pounded me mercilessly, as he hadn't done in months. It was a short trip for both of us, due in large part to the suit, no doubt, my appearance driving him crazy with desire, and the sensations induced by the outfit doing the same thing to me. We came within ten seconds of each other, and his seed was so hot, and there was so much of it, I could feel it even through the latex sheath inside me. I screamed against the desk, my cries muffled by the hood and gag. I was still coming hard even as he slowed his strokes, his own spasms growing less urgent. I resolved right then and there to wear this suit at every opportunity.

If only I had known.

Afterwards, I stood against the wall, because it was more comfortable than sitting down, and he sat on the edge of the desk, both of us sipping Cokes from the machine down the hall. It's our little post-copulatory ritual, since neither of us smokes. Sometimes we drive immediately into town for ice cream. There are few things better after sex than ice cream.

I worked my jaw, still a little bit sore after having the pump gag removed. Pump gags never bother me when I have them in, it's afterwards that my jaw hurts.

"You know I'm going to have to get back to work soon," he said quietly. He examined his pop can carefully, not wanting to look me in the eye.

I nodded, and my heart sank a little, since I knew he would stay at the lab all night if he had to. He was too much of a perfectionist to show off his toys in anything less than perfect working order. But then I brightened up again, thinking about spending the night, perhaps the entire next day, locked into the suit, waiting for his return. My heart beat a little faster, and I smiled, although he probably couldn't tell through the mouth hole of the helmet.

"I know," I said. "It's okay. That was great, I mean it!" And I did mean it.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, looking up finally, his love and concern for me practically glowing behind his eyes.

"I'll be fine. Do what you need to do."

I decided he wasn't going to get off lightly, though.

"I'll be waiting for you, in bed, whenever you do get home. And I'll still be locked into this suit! At least now I won't go insane with lust, waiting for you to get home, hee-hee!"

"Okay. I guess. But hey! I'm forgetting the big news! Come on, I've got something to show you!" He headed for the door before I stopped him by pointing out that he was still bare from the waist down. While my absent-minded genius put his pants back on, I collected the various parts of my suit that had been so hurriedly tossed around the room. I had a feeling I'd want them when I got home.

"So have you named this monstrosity yet?" I asked when we got back to the lab. I wanted to get his mind back on his work, since I knew the sooner he solved it, the sooner he would be home.

"I suppose. Siegfried calls it the Direct Structural Modification machine, or DSM. By structural, we're talking about molecular structure, of course. It's not very romantic, but it's descriptive."

"And what's the problem?"

"Oh. It's not a big problem really, I'm just rigging up some fancy displays so I can explain to the bean-counters just what a potential gold mine this project is. But one of the displays is giving me funny readings. I think the trouble is in the cables."

"So the machine is working better now?" I asked.

"Heh, heh, heh," he replied. He had that little-boy look of mischief that I knew meant he had accomplished something he was very proud of.

"Oh boy, did we fix it! And we found out a lot of interesting things too. Watch this!"

He grabbed a potted plant off the desk, and took it over to the machine.

I suppose I should describe this invention of his, not that it matters now. It was really a hodge podge of cabinets and wires slung everywhere, not at all the clean, high tech-looking sort of thing one sees in the movies. But having lived with my husband for all these years has taught me that real science is almost always messy.

There were three big cabinets that sat equally spaced around a turntable about a foot tall and six feet in diameter. A big horn antenna on each of the three cabinets pointed at the table. Off to one side was a long metal box with a white panel that looked like ceramic, in one end. It also pointed at the table.

Jurgen put the plant on the turntable. There was already a pile of other items on it. I looked around at the machinery. Indicators and lamps glowed everywhere. I realized he had been in the middle of an experiment when I walked in. Then I saw the rabbit in a cage, sitting on the turntable. I grabbed his shoulder. "Wha?" he said, startled.

"What's with the rabbit?" I demanded. Jurgen knew how strongly I felt about the mistreatment of animals, no matter how important the experiment was supposed to be.

"Don't worry. That's just the point I'm going to make. You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Trust me."

"I thought you said it used x-rays or something," I said, still not convinced.

"Yeah, that long box is the x-ray laser," he answered. "But the total dose is way lower than what you'd get from a chest x-ray. Actually, that's one of the most powerful X-ray lasers in existence, outside of maybe Lawrence Livermore Labs, but their stuff is all secret. Anyway, the efficiency of x-ray lasers stinks- they don't have much output."

I tried to stay out of the way while he prepared. The whole procedure took only a minute. He flipped a switch, and the turntable started rotating. Then he twisted a dial, pressed a button, and taking my hand, led me to the back of the room. I noticed a large digital display in one of the instrument racks was counting down from one minute.

"So, ah, is it safe to be this close?"

"So far as we can tell it is, but I rigged a timer, just in case. We're pretty sure now that it's completely safe, but it never hurts to be careful."

When the counter reached zero, there was a brief, loud hum, followed by a soft thud.

"What was that?" I asked, worried.

"The laser. Or rather, the laser power supply- it makes that sound when the laser fires."

That was it. I couldn't see that anything had happened. I shot a curious look at Jurgen, then realized he couldn't see my expression.

He had a big grin on his face. "Come," he said.

We walked over to the table. The bunny was still there, looking the same as it had before. It wiggled it's nose at a piece of lettuce in the cage, but left it alone.

One by one, Jurgen held up the other items for my inspection, saying nothing at first, just grinning.

A thick metal rod, aluminum I think, appeared unchanged, until he bent it. far too easily.

The potted plant appeared no different than before.

Likewise a glass ashtray.

But a piece of dry wood that had been sitting on the ashtray appeared to have flowed and melted, without any evidence of heat or charring, and was now a perfect molded copy of the ashtray underneath. And it still looked and felt like wood, at least through my gloves. I sniffed it. It smelled like regular old pine.

"Isn't that incredible?" exploded Jurgen. "And look at that rabbit, and the plant. How old would you say that plant is?"

I was worried, I had never seen him look so agitated.

I looked at it. It was just a garden variety petunia, the sort that withers in a few weeks.

"A week?" I suggested.

"No! That fucking flower is over six months old," he crowed. "It's the very first thing we exposed. And guess when we watered it last?"

I shrugged.

"We never have." He held the pot out to me. The plant was stuck into a piece of foam, the roots splayed out against the bottom of the pot. No soil. I shivered. Was he pulling my leg?

"But you can see that it's thriving! Here, smell it- it's real. We checked it under a microscope, sent samples to a botany lab. They called back, wanting to know what the hell we had sent them- they said the cells were functioning at a normal rate, but they weren't deteriorating as fast as they normally do. It's alive, and not just preserved, but it is aging very slowly, and IT ISN'T GETTING ANY OF IT'S USUAL NUTRIENTS, EXCEPT LIGHT!."

"Right," I said, "so what's keeping it alive?" I was skeptical, but His excitement was infecting me.

"That's just it, we don't know."

"And the rabbit?"

"That rabbit didn't eat or drink anything for six weeks after the first time we exposed it! At first we thought it was sick but we checked it out, and it's fine- hasn't even lost weight or eliminated waste! It's biologically impossible, but it's true. Somehow, the metabolism of the plant and the rabbit have been drastically altered. But with no harmful effects that we can find. And for some reason, the machine has entirely different effects on living things than on inanimate objects. We haven't got a clue what's happening here, but I'll tell you this: it's big- very big."

I was astounded. At first I thought he might be putting me on, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. Then in spite of my awe at what he had accomplished, I was seized with a funny thought.

"It'd make a hell of a dietary method."

"Heh-heh," he laughed nervously. "Right. None of us has been brave, or maybe foolish is the word. anyway, brave enough to go that far. Even though we've run a few primates through it; spider monkeys, chimps, that sort of thing. We can't find any evidence of neural dysfunction, brain damage, or anything else wrong, just that impossible metabolism. But we're a long way from trying it on a human."

"You could try it on me," I suggested, in my best bimbo voice.

"Yeah, right," he shot back, "and how do you think I'd feel if it turned you into guacamole?"

"You'd probably feel like taking a ah, DIP," I said.

"AUGH! Silence woman, before I put that gag back into use."

I fingered the pump gag where I'd hung it around my neck. "Promises, promises," I sighed.

"You're incorrigible," he accused with a smile. "Anyway, while it doesn't seem to have harmed the test animals so far, it does have very different effects on different materials. Oh! I wanted to see what it does to latex! I brought one of your old stockings with me. it's in the car. Wait here a minute!"

He trotted towards the door. "And don't touch anything," he shouted over his shoulder.

I was left standing in front of the turntable, my thoughts a jumble of fantastic possibilities and wild fantasies.

And then. I don't know what came over me. I don't know what I was thinking. But he'd said that it didn't hurt primates hadn't he? That part about not eating though, that really interested me. And Jurgen wouldn't have to know. I could do it and be done long before he could get all the way down to the parking lot and back. I guess I'm not really as smart as I think I am. Without really thinking about it, I pulled everything off the turntable, turned the timer knob down to fifteen seconds, pushed the start button, and stepped clumsily onto the slowly rotating platform.

I stood there waiting, watching the room turn around me, while the clock counted down. I remembered that old movie The Fly, where the scientist gets horribly disfigured by trying his machine on himself. I began to have second thoughts. I looked at the digital clock as it came into view. Six seconds. Just as I was deciding to back out, I spotted Jurgen walking down the hall. He saw me at the same time I saw him.

"Diana, NO!" he shouted, breaking into a run, but it was too late for both of us.

I heard a buzzing sound, and felt a wave of tingling warmth spread though my body. It felt wonderful! I can't describe it. It was like. oh, I don't know, I don't think there are words good enough to describe it. It felt as though I were being dipped in warm syrup perhaps, only better- my entire skin had suddenly become as sensitive as my sex. At the same time, I was suddenly acutely aware of all of the simulation I was receiving from the suit that I had been trying to ignore. the constriction of my waist, the entire surface of the suit stretched taught around my body, the arched shape that my feet were forced into by the boots, all of this and more clamored for my attention simultaneously. This incredible battery of sensations grew and grew until I couldn't stand it, I thought I would explode, I thought I would die. As I turned, I saw Jurgen running toward me, but in slow motion, as if he were running through water.

I recognized the feeling that was building within me. It was an orgasm, but an orgasm so intense, it frightened me out of my wits. I was immobilized, I couldn't move a muscle, there was nothing I could do to stop what was coming. So to speak. The sensations peaked, and the first wave of my climax broke over me. I screamed with pure pleasure, as a white light seemed to fill the room, and for one eternal moment, I thought I really had died, and perhaps was on my way to heaven. I WAS bliss, I was ecstasy personified.

I passed out. .to be continued in Part Three