Shopping For His Women's Mackintosh Club
Catering for his rubber rainwear fetish

by Prim

Miranda Featherington led her son Nigel through the doors of the Rippling Rainwear Store amid the swishing and rippling of their mackintoshes. The scent of satinized raincoats met his nose, eliciting whimpers of desire from the young man in his shiny, bright pink mac and adding new aches of pleasure to his rubber-contained cock. They were met by one of the lady assistants.
"Good morning," said Miranda. "My son needs some nice ladies' raincoats, and I was hoping to take advantage of the sales to buy him a bargain or two."
The assistant smiled with appreciation and turned to the young man in question. His face radiated with embarrassment above the spreading collar and folded back rain hood of his mackintosh. His quivering lips and limp eyelids showed the intensity of his pleasure in his sweet scented surroundings.
"We certainly have some wonderful offers available this week, ma'am, and we will be happy to fit your son with some of our raincoats. Are you shopping for a special occasion?"
"Yes indeed, perhaps I should explain. From his childhood, Nigel has loved smoothing his hands over my mackintoshes. Then I discovered him a few times trying them on, so I had to give in and put him into them, all buttoned and belted, with collar and hood up. That has become the way he likes to wear them.
The store laddy grinned with delight. "Is he a smooth rubber transvestite then?"
"Yes he is, and for his 18th birthday present, I've enrolled him in a women's mackintosh fashion club: Waxed and Polished Women's Mackintoshing, the leading Female Rubber Rainwear club in town.
"I know it well." The lady turned to Nigel. "And what do you think about this, young man?"
Nigel Featherington blushed an darker shade of red and, unable to speak, slid into a rippling mackintoshed embrace with his mother.
"Ah," sighed the assistant, stroking his slippery sleeve and hip as he cuddled into his mother, "He's shy, the little pet. Will he be all right going to Women's Mackintoshing on his own?"
"I think so. The ladies say they will take control and help to put him into their own mackintoshes, so that he can feel deeply encased in women's rubber."
The boy whimpered and slid more deeply into his mother's swishing, sliding arms. "I took him to a meeting last Saturday with him in one of my best rubber mackintoshes for the occasion. But he has to have his own mackintoshes to be a member. So here we are. He has a meeting in an hour's time, don't you, my little rubberwear pet?"
The sales assistant called one of the other women across. "This is Miss Deirdre Sheen, our chief rainwear consultant. She will be pleased to arrange your son's mackintoshing."
Miss Sheen was tall and immaculately made up and manicured.
"Please remove Master Featherington's raincoat, Eleanor," she said. The assistant stood in front of the boy to unbuckle his mackintosh, which was then unbuttoned from his neck to his knees. She slid it from him and passed it to his mother. The feminised boy was revealed in his mother's silk georgette cocktail dress, with a firm point of male arousal standing out in front of him.
"May I suggest a latex underskirt," said Miss Sheen, "and a rubber skirt with satin-latex lining?" As her companion removed the boy's dress and petticoat, and his mother's silk panties, the consultant picked a raincoat from the rails - in sapphire blue cire satin - with a voluminous hood. She unbuttoned it in front of him as he was having a slippery petticoat slid up his legs, and he erected visibly in front of the saxe blue satinized rubber. He looked to his mother for support and whimpered with weakness as he was having a long, narrow, rubberized skirt buttoned down the front of his legs, and then his arms were held for him and fed into the sleeves of his new raincoat, producing moans of desire as the latex lining slithered and rippled around him. The assistant buttoned him up, and fastened the belt, as Miss Sheen stood at his elbow and flipped up the large pointed rubber collar.
"I chose this mackintosh for your son ma'am because he will be rendered quite helpless at his mackintosh club inside a deep ladies' raincoat collar," she said, lifting and opening the hood with ripples of satin and latex, "and I suggest you keep him regularly inside his mackintosh hood, to ensure he is deeply breathing in the perfume of women's mackintosh rubber."
Miranda bit her lip as she watched. "I can see how beside himself the poor dear is," she said.
Miss Sheen stood in front of him manipulating his satinized collar. "His fetish for being encased in women's raincoat rubber means he should have his collar lifted to surround his face, like so, and his hood up over his head, like so." Then she unbuttoned his mack up to his waist, revealing the firmly stiffened point in his rubber skirt. "But what I recommend particularly for boys is double mackintoshing," and her assistant passed her a second mackintosh in dusky pink satinized rubber. The aroma of perfumed rubber was now overwhelming.
"Oh how lovely," declared his mother, watching the pink mack being unbuttoned ready for her darling boy. "He can wear those two raincoats to his club this afternoon."

The sales lady slithered Nigel's hood back from his hair and opened his collar so that he could see what they were going to dress him in. The boy wailed with pleasure as the mackintosh slid up his sleeves and was drawn on around him. The sizzling of satinized rubber filled the store as he bleated and whimpered on seeing the pink ladies' mack buttons being done up over his erected point and the belt fastened above it. He wavered unsteadily in his leather boots as the ladies lifted his collars and hoods and enclosed him inside both, restricting his vision to the buttoned breast of his mother's raincoat. Her face appeared, peering into his hoods, her hands holding the sides apart.
"There we are, Precious. You're ready for the ladies at the club. Give me your hand, darling, and I'll lead you there right now and hand you over to them."
The tightness and deepness of Nigel's rainwear was more than any eighteen-year-old transvestite could cope with, and his helpless ejaculations pumped into his underskirt and began to dribble from the front of his mackintoshes before he had even left the store, continuing at regular intervals along the street, until he stood, deeply encased in ladies collars and hoods, at the door of Waxed and Polished Women's Mackintoshing.