The applause continued as Gerda finished
her second round of the cat-walk and came
through the curtains into the dressing-rooms.
She had enjoyed the fashion show and knew
she had been the 'star' this year; Madam
Poiret had allocated the best designs to her,
and the final skin-tight silver satin wedding
dress had brought prolonged clapping and
discreet cheers from the packed, celebrity-
loaded audience.

With relief she allowed her dresser to unzip
the dress. This had been the final show, and
now she could look forward to two weeks
holiday with Guy, or Le Compte Guy de
Rhislain, to give him his full title. Although
she had only met him a month previously,
there had been an immediate sexual
attraction on both sides, and she had gladly
accepted his invitation to his house on the
tiny island of Borghi off the south coast of
Italy.

She looked out of the window and saw the
drab Parisien street gleaming wetly in the
rain. When she had dressed she packed her
belongings into her large hold-all and said
goodbye to her faithful dresser who had
helped her through the three days of chaotic
shows. She put on her long military-style red
rubber mackintosh and fastened it up
tightly. She liked the feeling of being
enclosed and protected from the rain.

After she had thanked Madam Poiret and
taken her farewell of the other models, she
came out the side door of the fashion house
and looked for Guy's Mercedes. It was
parked along the road and she ran to it,
feeling the rain patter on her coat, causing it
to glisten in the fading daylight. He opened
the door and took her case, kissing her
lightly and for a moment running his hands
over her shoulders.

'You must have a proper hood to protect
your hair front the rain! Perhaps I can find
you one in the house.'

The next day they flew down to Naples,
where Guy hired a Lancia Sports and they
continued southwards towards his island.
Gerda had slept well and was already
enjoying the peaceful feeling of relaxation
which had overcome her. she turned her
head and studied the man beside her,
wondering what had attracted her to him.
She reckoned he was in his late forties, the
hair greying at the temples, the mouth
generous but with a cruel twist to it when he
smiled. His hands on the steeringwheel were
long and thin and strong, and could excite
her just by watching them.

'We are nearly there,' he announced, 'Then
we have a half hour journey by boat, which
I am afraid is usually rough, especially at this
time of year'.,

'I'm a good sailor', she smiled, 'I was brought
up in little boats!'

'Excellent! But we must dress properly for
the trip, otherwise we will get very wet. My
boat is a converted drifter, very reliable, but
the spray and sea cover it when we are in
mid-channel.'

They arrived at the small port and were met
by a smiling servant who was introduced to
Gerda as Renato. The luggage was put
aboard the ten-metre boat, then Guy helped
her aboard and into the small charthouse.

'Here you are, my darling. Climb into these
clothes and you will be completely water-
tight.'

From a small cupboard he brought a chest-
high pair of green 'totes', the smooth but
rubber used in underwater diving. 'These will
fit tightly, so do not wear anything under-
neath', he explained, 'Then over it you will
wear the jacket and hood, and these long
gloves.'

She took the bundle of clothing, feeling the
smooth rubber and finding it curiously
attractive. 'If you insist, but I won't look
very glamorous!'

He smiled broadly. 'You are so wrong!
Renato and I have a few things to do. We
will leave you in the charthouse to change.'

In five minutes she had undressed and slid
into the cool green rubber trousers with the
boots hermetically sealed on. she pulled the
straps tight over her shoulders so that the
high trousers clung to her and encased her
wrist and breasts. Then she slipped the long
rubber tunic over her head. It had a short zip
up to the neck, and she pulled the hood up
over her head before zipping it firmly under
her chin. she was pleasantly surprised how
well the outfit looked on her, the tunic
moulding her figure and ending just below
her bottom. When she pulled on the long
black rubber gloves which came up to her
elbows, effectively sealing her suit and
making her completely watertight except fox
her face.

She came out on to the deck and was
surprised to find Guy similarly clad, but in
black. He waved to her, then turned back to
casting off the stern lines.

In a few minutes they were in the open sea
and Gerda could see the necessity for the
rubber protection. Renato had taken the
wheel, dressed in oilskins, but reasonably
safe from the spray. She and Guy were on
deck, and very soon the bows were dipping
into the angry sea and the spray was
creaming over them.

The open-face hood fitted tightly round her
neck and chin and came over her head and
down to her forehead, giving complete
protection. In seconds they were both
streaming with spray, the rubber gleaming
wetly as it repelled the sea water. She found
it vaguely disturbing, a faint sexual thrill at
being encased in the heavy material, totally
dry. she had always laked the feel of her red
mackintosh, delighting in the rustle as she
walked, feeling protected in it when it was
tightly buttoned up; but this was a different
sensation. Even her hands were dry inside
the long rubber gloves.

Guy indicated a wooden seat in front of the
charthouse. It was covered with a plastic
cushion of the type used in speedboats.
Unsteadily Gerda moved across to it, feeling
the long waders cling to her thighs,
experiencing an unaccustomed thrill as she
sat down and felt the rubber tighten around
her.

She looked up and saw Guy watching her, a
faint smile breaking the hardness of his face.
'You don't mind being out in the open? We
could go below where it's warm and dry!'

She tried to shake her head, but the tight
hood held her neck in a vice. 'No!' she
replied quickly, 'I love it out here. I feel all
snug and safe!'

Another burst of spray hit them and made
her gasp, the water streaming down her face.
She wiped her eyes with the black gloves,
noticing the pleasant smell of the rubber and
wondering why people did not wear them in
the rain, it was much more practical than
ruining a pair of expensive leather gloves.

Guy leant towards her, his black outfit
shining in the wet. 'I have special hoods at
the island which you can wear to keep you
dry in the rain. They completely protect
your face as well.'

Gerda wondered what he meant. How could
one protect one's face from the rain? Even a
high collar was no protection from a heavy
downpour; the rain would make her mascara
run and eventually trickle inside the neck.

It was almost with reluctance that she saw
they were entering a tiny harbour, and the
waves subsided. Renato ran the boat towards
a smartly-painted jetty and expertly reversed
until the vessel gently kissed the tyres on the
side of the wooden piles. He and Guy
Jumped ashore with lines and made fast the
oat.

She stood up and rustled across to the rail.
'Should I get changed in the charthouse? '
she asked. Guy looked at her, in a strange
manner. 'No, stay as you are. The house is
only a few hundred metres from here. I like
to see you properly dressed and protected in
flour suit.'

She collected her clothes and stuffed them
into one of her suitcases, which Renato took
ashore. Feeling slightly foolish now, she
jumped onto the jetty and started to unzip
her rubber top.

'Don't touch it,' Guy told her quietly, 'You
are now on my island and subject to the
rules and laws. From now on you will be
always dressed in costumes which I will
provide and you will consider yourself as my
slave. If you behave you will be treated like
a queen. That may sound a paradox, but yol
will understand better in a few days. Mean-
while you will obey my slightest whim or
order, otherwise you will be severely
punished.'

Gerda listened to him, only half compre-
hending what he said, not sure whether to
take him seriously, or laugh at him, or go
along with the joke. 'My dear Master,' she
said lightly, 'How romantic of you! You
mean I must consider myself a captive,
kidnapped by you, forced to do your
bidding and suffer unspeakable tortures?'

'You understand perfectly,' he replied
seriously, 'I know that you joke now, but
you will learn that what you have said is
exactly the truth. Now shall we walk up to
the house?'