My heart is pummelling my ribs as I stand in the mall, within 20 yards of the store, setting my teeth to stop my jaw from trembling. I’ve got to do this. They’re offering me a job – at Women’s Fetish Rain – and I’m on the cusp of living a dream. All I’ve got to do is overcome this fear of the women inside. It’s no use. I’ve spent ten minutes standing here and sweating. I’ve got to go – NOW!

I walk through the open doorway, straight up to the woman in the white blouse and black pencil skirt, with short permed black hair and strong lipstick. She looks at me as if I’m some kind of a pervert.

“Er – Hi, I’ve come about the job. Are you Brenda?”

Her lips purse as if she totally doubts me. Then the light dawns. “Oh, are you Bernard?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m applying for the sales – ”

“Come with me. I’m not the manageress, I’ll take you to her.”

I follow her across the store, scarcely believing I’m in this place. It’s all rows of leather skirts and dresses, satin blouses and baby-dolls, and shiny latex catsuits. The smell of leather nearly clogs up my nostrils. We come to a more bossy type of woman with her blond hair in a bob.

“Why did you say you wanted to work at Women’s Fetish Rain?” she asks, carrying on fastening the leather buttons down the front of a tan leather dress on a dummy.

“I – I want to start a new career. To make a good start now that I’m finished at college. I’m hoping to do well and – ”

“It’s unusual for a man to want to work in a women’s store. You’ll be serving women.” She looks up at me. “Do you feel confident enough to do that?”

“Oh yes. I can do that.”

She finishes what she’s doing then stands up, taller than me in her high heels. “Alright then. I’ll start you on probation for a week. We’ll see how you get on. Millicent will keep an eye on you – to give you advice.”

My heart is going like a hammer as Millicent leads me back to near the door and starts showing me where the different departments are. “Downstairs it’s mainly play wear,” she explains. “Upstairs it’s rainwear and rubber.”

Oh my God! This is heaven. I’ve died and woken up in Paradise. I follow her around as she points out what’s on the rails, in corners and in closets. The smells are so awesome I’m stiff in my pants and hope like hell it doesn’t show in my flies. “I’m going to leave you alone for ten minutes or quarter of an hour,” she says, “while I check out in the stock room. If you need me here’s my number.”

I watch her disappear through rows of leather coats and think this is my chance. There are no customers in the store. I just have to go up those stairs I noticed on the other side, and take a look at the women’s rainwear and rubber floor. If I’m no more than a minute no-one will know.

I can tell where I’m going as I run up the stairs: the scent of rubber leads me on and makes my head go round. I stop at the top and lean against the archway: partly to steady my balance and partly to see if there’s anyone around who I would have to say hello to. I can’t see anyone, so I head along the wall, behind rails of mackintoshes.

Oh the blissful choice of things here: plastic macks, heavy shiny black raincoats, capes, and my favourite: the cire satin mackintoshes. They shine like beacons, telling me where they are, inviting me to touch and hold and smell. I bury my face in the front of a jade green mack and gather its sides round my cheeks. There’s a cherry red mack next to it and I put my nose against it to breathe in and enjoy that smell. Then a shiny peach mackintosh, with two rows of peach plastic buttons and a deep belt. I just have to lift its hanger off the rail. It’s heavy, all satin and rubber – and so feminine a frightening thought runs through my head. I could try it on!

Once the idea hits me, it’s a must-do. I can’t stop now: I’m undoing the buttons – there are only three fastened, and slipping it off so that I can hang the hanger back on the rail.

The lining is oyster pink latex, the collar is wide with sharp points down the breast, and there’s a hood folded at the back. I put my hand into one sleeve and it slides deliciously through the latex. I’ve half got a women’s mackintosh onto me. Then my other sleeve, and I’m wearing the mackintosh. The smell is gorgeous as I take a look all round to make sure I’m not being observed. Amazingly it’s my size, but heavier than I was expecting, and it’s sizzling and sloshing around me. I try and keep still to stop it from sounding so loud. Then another idea gets into my head: I want to button it up!

I start fastening the right hand buttons first, four down to the waist, then the matching ones down the left. I’m in heaven all right. This is why I’m working in Women’s Fetish Rain – in the hope of getting chances like this to wear women’s raincoats. I turn up the collar round my hair and face: it’s as high as my head. Shall I pull up the hood? No, I want to be fully buttoned into it, and there are – oh my God, there are another eight buttons down the wide skirt!

My heart is having palpitations, I’m so happy, so excited. The buttons slot through deliciously, down the right, then down the left. I catch both ends of the belt and slot it through the rounded buckle, pulling it into a tight waist. Fuck, I can’t believe how thrilling it is. I want to be in the mackintosh hood too. I reach for it with my hands, but can’t reach. I have to lean forward, almost double, to make it slide forward round my collar, then I can pull it all the way forward and do up the ties under my chin. I stand straight again – OH MY GOD!

“We’d rather you didn’t try the raincoats on on the shop floor, ma’am. The fitting rooms are – Oh shit, it’s a guy!”

“What on earth are you doing?”

I’m confronted by a shop assistant in white blouse and black skirt: a new one. And there’s a second assistant with her, their mouths dropping onto their pussy bows.

“No, I’m – It’s not what you think. I’m working here. I’m Bernard and I just started working here this morning.” I pull back the hood and turn down the deep mackintosh collar.

“Right.” They look at me with disbelief. “So Miss Soames knows you’re here, putting on a - ?”

“Well – l” My pulse is really hammering now. They turn to walk away. “Er, wait. Please don’t say I was doing this. I’m putting it back right now. Please.”

Their looks change from suspicion to mischief as I rapidly undo mackintosh buttons. It takes me a good minute or more to undo the belt and all these buttons, then get the raincoat back onto its hanger. I slot it in between the other macks, pushing it right in, making it as perfectly like it was before as I can. Now I have to face the fall-out.

I scurry downstairs and my heart nearly falls through the floor. The two women who have just found me are standing with Millicent and Brenda in a line, watching me coming downstairs, and there are two other women too, making six in a row. I walk up to them shrouded in guilt, not knowing what the hell I’m going to say to explain. I’d rather they do the talking, like telling me I’ve blown the job and I can carry on walking, straight out into the mall. That’s exactly what I want right now, to get me out of this hellish situation.

“Well, well,” says Brenda, who’s obviously Miss Soames, her hands on her hips. “I hear you’ve been wearing one of our women’s mackintoshes.” She makes the words sound deeply sarcastic.

“I – er – Well, I – l”

“Do you mind taking me to see the mackintosh you were wearing. It must have caught your eye very effectively.”

I turn on my heels and lead the way up the stairs, the back of my neck burning with the eyes of all six women following me. As I get near the top I glance back at the sound of heels on the stairs and I see that there are five of us. I’m going to feel such a dick-head showing them the mackintosh.

I know my way around the store now, to find the exact rail, and here it is. The peach mackintosh. I pull its hanger out with a sizzle and show it to the manageress. I realise I haven’t fastened the buttons again. I can’t stop my lips from quivering as I hold it there in front of me. Miss Soames is looking fearsome and draws a deep breath.

“At Women’s Fetish Rain we like women to try on their intended purchases in the fitting rooms. Kindly bring your favourite mackintosh this way, and ladies, choose a mackintosh for yourselves. Millicent, can you bring one for me.”

There’s nothing I can do: I have to follow her, and all the others follow me in my complete shame, with sizzling mackintoshes over their arms. We reach the fitting rooms, with draw curtains, and we all pack inside. To my astonishment, Brenda and the others start undressing me.

I can’t resist. I know I’m guilty and there’s no point denying it. I have to let them do whatever they want, without complaint. In fact I’ve lost the power of speech.

“You’re going to wear this too, since you think you’re a girl,” says Brenda. She’s got a rubber waspie and holds it round my waist. “Breathe in – pull your waist in,” and she links it together and pulls up the zip. “Rosalyn, Barbara – put her into her latex stockings.”

The waspie’s got four rubber suspenders and they fit the openings of rubber stockings over my feet and roll them up my legs. They’re so cold and so tight, and they pull the suspenders down to meet them. There are rubber gloves too, arm-length gloves. They fit my hands into them to the ends of the fingers, then roll them up my arms. I feel like they’re deliberately trying to humiliate me in women’s black latex clothing.

“And how can we possibly put on our mackintosh without a pair of rubber knickers? From the look of it, the mack will need protection.” She’s got a pair, gleaming in black latex and smelling so strongly of rubber. The squeeze of the elastic leg cuffs squeak all the way up my stockings until they grip me above my knees. I’m so ashamed of my cock. It’s standing tall and thick, the stiffness telling these women that I’m gonna spunk because of what they’re doing to me. It brings tears into my eyes and I struggle to hold back the sobs in my throat. They get the mackintosh ready, opening it out, but first Millicent has a latex blouse, in white rubber, with long sleeves and shirred latex at the cuffs before they frill outwards. It goes over my head and ripples down my body making me shiver with the spread of cold rubber. It’s got a stand-up cuff at the neck, which zips up the back from between my shoulder blades.

Brenda stands in front of me, sliding her arms through the sleeves of an apple green mackintosh. It sloshes and squeaks around her as she fastens it up to the neck and does up the belt. The other three women put on their mackintoshes and my cock is aching with desire at being surrounded by women in their raincoats. My nose is overwhelmed with the scent and my ears are filled with the sizzle and rush of satinized rubber.

“I think we’re ready now to put the new girl into her mackintosh,” says Brenda, still in front of me as Millicent opens it out behind me. “We can’t very well call you Bernard now, can we?” she grins. “What’s it to be, ladies?”

“I think she’s a Susan,” suggests the girl who found me.

“You’re right, Rosalyn,” says the manageress. “Millicent, please put Susan into her mackintosh for us.” She watches, and so do the others, one on either side, as Millicent slides the mack up my arms, the blouse sleeves sizzling all the way down their new mackintosh sleeves.

My cock is aching with agonies of pleasure as Brenda helps by straightening the front of the mack around my neck and folding one side over the other. The skirts of all the macks are so wide they slither and slosh together non-stop and she starts fastening up my mackintosh buttons. It takes her nearly a minute, because she stops now and again to look into my eyes with a look of complete scorn. Or is she just being playful and superior? I suddenly like what she’s doing, even though I dread the contempt of the other women in this shocking fitting room. Their hands are all over me, helping to fit me into my mackintosh.

“He had the belt done up,” says Rosalyn, and Brenda brings the belt together and through the buckle, pulling it so tight I think I’ll stop breathing.

“He had the collar turned up around his face,” says Barbara. Brenda lifts the collar. “And he had the hood right up too.”

The hood slides up over my collar and I find myself engulfed inside the mackintosh, barely able to control my excitement. “I think Susan is going to treat us to a display of sissy climaxing,” says Brenda, tucking at the front of the hood to pull me further into it, and as the words leave her mouth I have to give in, letting my cum seep through, then squirt without control into the point of my rubber knickers – under my shining mackintosh. I can’t keep quiet about it, whimpering and bleating, stepping from one high-heeled stocking to the other as my mack slithers around me. I catch the looks on their faces gathered close: astonishment – amusement – turning into giggles. They watch me, knowing I can’t control my orgasm, squirting and squirting until it plays itself to an end and I can relax, hanging my hooded head in the middle of them. Millicent pulls back my hood and brings down my collar, revealing my shameful blushes. They watch me in silence, perhaps letting me endure their contempt for a while longer. Then Brenda starts unbuttoning me.

“Well, Susan,” she says, her chin raised high so that she’s looking down her nose at me: “I’ve decided you can continue to work your probation week, if you want to – but you know what might happen to you. We might decide you deserve to be mackintoshed again, in women’s satinized rubber.” She continues undoing the mackintosh as everyone else gets out of their mackintoshes as well. When the peach raincoat finally slides away from me, and my pointed knickers are the centre of everyone’s attention, I say what is burning in my heart and my soul.

“Thank you, Miss S-Soames. I – I want to continue working here – if I can.”

“Very well,” she says, sweeping her mackintosh off her arms and passing it to Rosalyn. “And is that as Bernard? Or as Susan?”

My heart is pounding again.

“Because Susan will have to be dressed in a latex blouse and skirt.”

“And rubber knickers,” added Millicent, pursing her lips with a severe look.

The four women wait for my reply – and in a sheepish little voice I say: “Can I be Susan please, Miss Soames?”

***

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