Chores

Doing the chores sometimes had compensating factors. This was one of those days when the job had to be done. Things were looking bad, the floor looked a mess. It needed cleaning all right. the fumes from the cleaning fluids would be noxious amd there would be some grubbing around on the floor required in order to scrub the place clean. "Oh well", she thought, "I really must get on and clean this place up".

"Better go and put on the old work clothes then", she said to herself.

She emerged, sometime later, in her "work gear", ready to attack the floor and bring a shine to the kitchen and the bathroom. She filled up a bucket with the pungent cleaning fluid and walked slowly over to the middle of the floor. She put the bucket down and then dropped slowly onto her hands and knees. The knee pads and palm pads would ensure she didn't hurt herself. The scrubbing brush was an integral part of the palm of her right hand, her fingers and thumb curved to grip the brush, immovable and unbending. The fingers on her left hand were flat against each other, resting on the floor, unable to separate and flex.

She worked quietly and quickly, the only sounds being those of the liquid in the bucket being splashed occasionally, the swish of the bristles of the brush as it moved on the floor and the sound of the air being sucked through the filter of her mask. She was impervious to the fumes of the lurid cleaning fluid in the bucket. Her eyes were protected by the perspex of the mask and of the tight fitting hood. She breathed through her rubber plugged nose, in and out, the filtered air, cleansed but a little stale. Her mouth was filled with the taste of rubber, her tongue forced to the bottom of her mouth by the large inflatable gag which pressed up against her teeth. The inner hood had mouth, eye and nose holes, the outer one formed an air tight seal with the gas mask.

She clambered to her feet and walked on tip toes to the bathroom, her nine inch calf length ballet pumps forcing her feet into the enpoint position. Beneath her work gear she was covered in a thin film of sweat as the effort of cleaning had raised her body temperature. She now set to work on the bathroom, scrubbing away the dirt, arms and shoulder going back and forth, back straight thanks to the rubber corset around her stomach and chest, fastened tightly under her crotch to accentuate her bottom which was moving up and down with the cleaning, and her breasts, pushed up and under her chin which her arms brushed as they moved forward and back.

"Not long to go now", she thought rolling around in her rubberised world.

She was getting quite hot and bothered within her gleaming rubber skin. The one piece outfit was a snug fit all over, the nipple stimulators, the solid rubber anal plug and the solid rubber dildo, both of which were slick with her sweat and other bodily fluids, moving smoothly into and out of both orifices as her bottom moved up and down ever more rapidly and violently and closer and closer to the floor. Her body was aflame inside the tight, shiny, black latex and the muscles in her anus and vagina gripped the intrusions tightly as their oiled surfaces tried to slip away from her grasp.

She slammed onto the floor, trying to push herself into the ground itself, her pelvis pressed hard against the unyielding tiles, the bucket crashing to the floor, empty. Her breathing, deep, hoarse and uneven. She screamed into the gag which absorbed the sound and seemed to transmit it to every part of her searing, flaming body, whose muscles were stretched to breaking point, and forced her body into a taut, straight, engorged black line on the clean white floor.

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