Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Institute for Complete Rubber Immersion

by Jane D'oh

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© Copyright 2021 - Jane D'oh - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; latex; rubber; catsuit; blindfold; straps; buttplug; gag; strapon; anal; mittens; gasmask; cons; XX

Continues from


Before speaking of my recent weeks away from the keyboard, let me try to tie up some of the loose ends I left behind. My midnight rendezvous with our Chauffeuse turned out to be nothing like I had anticipated. After releasing me from my heavy rubber bondage bed she blindfolded me and led me by the hand out of my cell and down the corridor to her own, all the while whispering lewd comments about what a slut I was and how she was going to ravish me. Once inside she set my right hand on my left breast and vice versa, ordering me to leave them there to do as they please. I felt her manipulating something around my upper legs and lower waist, eventually tightening what felt like rubber straps which pulled something snugly against my sex. She left me and continued her verbal montage during which I could hear her performing mysterious ministrations to some sort of equipment directly in front of me. After a time the sounds ceased and Chauffeuse lowered her voice and said, "All right 123, when you hear me grunt thrice in succession you may remove the blindfold and our little trollop will finally get what she deserves."

What followed was a few minutes of little moans and grunts along with some squeaking of rubber and rattling of metal while I stood perplexed and silent, continuing my mammary massage. Finally my signal came and it sounded quite urgent. When my vision returned I was momentarily flummoxed: it was dark but my already dilated pupils could make out the form of our Chauffeuse bound, prostrate, with her rear raised and pointing towards me. She had attached herself to some sort of bondage apparatus with obvious planning and dexterity. Although I could not see what filled her mouth it appeared to be of some girth and again three grunts issued from her shackled form as the cuffs about her ankles, wrists and neck jangled as she proclaimed her desire. At almost the same moment I noticed both a jewel gleam from her back door and a large rubber strap-on quivering between my legs. Below the adorned end of her bum plug, framed by the rubber of her cleaved suit lay my now obvious duty. The beloved verbal tongue-lashings of Chauffeuse belied the true object of her lashing tongue: her own self.

Although I would much prefer to be on the other end of my new-found tool I wasn't about to disappoint my helpless and surprising friend. After a fair bit of teasing and foreplay I slowly made my grand entrance, soon finding a rhythm that seemed to please my captive audience. As we continued with our first tryst I found that the deeper and harder my efforts to plunder, the more I was rewarded with stimulation from the flattened base of the thing as it ground into my rubber covered cunt. My ravaged would-be ravisher became more and more vocal, grunting her approval around the big rubber cock that filled her slutty whore-mouth. She squealed like a proverbial bitch in heat as I pounded my authority repeatedly into her oft-used hole. As we continued I found a new place within myself that I hadn't known existed. When my bound fornicatrix began to orgasm I too came, with an almost violent jolt and unfamiliar rapidity. It began to fade almost as quickly as it had come on and I slumped forward and relaxed as my helpless wench whimpered pathetically for more.

I gave no thought to unbinding Chaufeusse, she had gotten what she wanted and could relish her position until morning. Removing my big rubber penis I tossed it to the floor in front of her so she would have something to remember me by. As I opened the heavy door to her cell I hoped it was as sound-proof as it seemed. Bolting it as quietly as I could, I hastened back to my own bed chamber and squirmed back into the partially strapped heavy rubber sack. Normalcy returned to me slowly, but I was unable to sleep: my unbolted door and imperfect bindings rendering me uncomfortable. I considered going back to the scene of the crime to release my victim but I hadn't seen any keys and wasn't sure if it was even what she wanted. Finally I comforted myself with the thought that at least one of the Wardens must have been monitoring us and would do or not do what was best. I began to doze off.

As mentioned, a few days after my first encounter with the Dominatrix came my first dealings with Warden 3, our ever-efficient solver of all problems and caretaker of all cares. I was informed that my training would occur exclusively on the third floor until she was satisfied with my progress to the extent that she would allow me to venture beyond, and that unlike her multi-talented self, my focus would be entirely upon cleaning duties.

I had arrived strapped helplessly into one of the automated motorized chairs which having exited the lift proceeded of its own volition down a hall and around a corner, stopping in front of a heavy metal door which I would learn was Warden 3's command centre. My chair released its hold on me as the door opened from within. "Come in 123, I'll be right with you," my newest gaoler smiled a pleasant and honest greeting as she quickly moved out of my line of sight. I rose and entered the room as my chair whisked quietly away.

Warden 3 returned from a cabinet against a side wall and spoke as she passed me, "That's enough small talk, prisoner. Follow me and we'll get your first day's training underway." Her pace was swift and I had to almost run to keep up as she led me deeper into her domain. Unlocking another of the ubiquitous heavy metal doors with a keypad we entered the most wonderful room. "This is where you will report for duty in the future 123. The uniforms are stored here as you can see and the adjoining wet-room is for cleaning them at the end of your shift," she approached one of the many heavy black rubber suits that hung along three walls of the space and pointed to my name which was stencilled above where it hung. With some effort she removed it from an oversized hanger and again pointed to a small "123" which stood out in red on the back of the collar of the uniform's otherwise shining pitch surface. "These are all custom made, of course, and you are expected to take very good care of them. The rubber is a full three millimetres thick so they are very strong but in the course of your duties there will come times when the possibility of damage will arise and the slightest scratch, let alone puncture will be severely punished." Her previous smile had faded but I saw a little twinkle in her eyes as she handed me my new outfit. The weight of the thing came as a shock and I all but dropped my precious charge upon our first introduction. "Suit up prisoner, we've got work to do. Sit on the bench to begin," she motioned me to the lightly padded bench that encircled the room that was all but hidden by the hanging uniforms. In the space voided by my own I sat and tried my best to be efficient with my first assignment.

The one piece rubber uniform had integrated black rubber boots which made my starting point obvious. The heavy duty watertight zipper was fully open and extended from the back of the hood all the way down through the crotch and up to about the navel. With not a little difficulty I managed to get first one pink leg and then the other down and into their sexy new home. Standing again, I strained against the weight of the thing as I inserted my arm into a sleeve and was temporarily flummoxed when my hand met resistance at the attached heavy black mitten. "Find the finger holes 123, stop dawdling please." Warden spoke as if watching my efforts were straining her patience. I hadn't expected such a thing but once inside the glove within a mitt the sensation was quite pleasant. Soon enough my other mitten was filled and I nimbly pushed my head into the hood with its attached gas mask. I recognized the make: a British S-10, not the most feminine of masks ever produced but quite possibly the most comfortable. I actually owned one in my former life when I had had quite a little collection of various types.

Just one more step remained and I grasped the reinforced zipper-pull that dangled from my belly button. Getting it moving wasn't as difficult as I had feared but it still took some time and effort and contortions on my part before it was nearing its target at the back of my crown. When it finally snapped into place, sealing me completely from the outside world I was startled and frightened as it broke free from the zipper and almost slipped out of my heavy mitten's grasp. I gasped and looked fearfully towards Warden 3. "It's designed that way prisoner, calm yourself. Put it on the hanger and if your first day here goes well I might reattach it for you later," she smiled again, adding herself to my growing list of infatuations within the Institute.

Just the act of moving to the hanger and draping the lanyard over it informed me of the weight of my suit and the awkwardness of my heavy rubber mittens. There was no way I could possibly escape my new uniform without assistance. My breathing and heart rates had increased as I returned and watched my instructor removing a black air filter from its vacuum sealed covering. "Although we use almost no strong chemical agents here 123, it's still prudent to keep our workers thoroughly protected from their environment," as she spoke she screwed the canister tightly into the intake valve of my S-10, further reducing if admittedly purifying my air supply. "There now, all kitted up. You'll be grateful to note that the knees of your uniform are lightly padded as well as reinforced with an extra layer of rubber since you shall be spending most of your day on them," her smile slowly faded as she spoke. "Kneel!"


The rest of my time that day is a bit of a blur as Warden 3 worked me ruthlessly to learn the tricks of my new trade. Of course, since everything on Level 3 was already immaculate I wasn't actually accomplishing anything other than learning the techniques I could only hope to employ were I ever given the privilege of actually scrubbing a floor or cleaning a toilet of one of my other superiors. I did learn a lot though and in the weeks and months that followed became fairly efficient in my weekly duties, looking forward to them and relishing in them as I do all the routines of our beloved ICRI.

As I have said however, the status quo of our modus operandi was flagrantly interrupted an indeterminate number of weeks ago and I was thrust into a brand new world without warning, and seemingly without end.

My first intimation of the impending upheaval came as the Warden of Sublevel 2 was tucking me in one night, about to continue telling me the bedtime story of the ballerina and the entrepreneur. "I won't be able to finish it tonight as I had hoped, there's still too much left to tell. We'll have to continue after your..." Matron cut her sentence short abruptly and I almost thought I heard her utter a small expletive under her breath. I mmphed a "?" through the soft gag that she had added to my usual heavy rubber mummy sack bondage. "Not to worry dear, but I must hold my tongue." She stroked my doubly rubbered cheek gently and I was soon lost again in our storyteller's tale.

The romance evolved, as romances do. The first weeks were wonderful, with many delightful moments and memories. Our heroine had completely convinced herself that this was true love and that she had found the other whom she had sought. The ballerina had decided that she might one day grow to love this person and that her other considerations in participating in the courtship, if she thought of them at all, were irrelevant. They had their first fight after about six weeks of unsustainable bliss, but it only lasted a few hours and the wonderful night afterwards all but erased it from their memories.

Her promotion had given the bookkeeper more responsibility at her part-time job and with it more access to information. She enjoyed poking around in the company's network when her other tasks were complete and an idea was slowly forming in her mind, although it would involve a daring move that she wasn't ready to commit to: at least not yet. Her new lover who had helped garner her this position had no such sway over the ballet company despite being a generous patron to them and the ballerina twirled in place, unable to rise further up the ranks of the corps, let alone beyond. She deemed it unfair, which was in all likelihood true.

The entrepreneur spent less and less time at her company and more and more enjoying herself. Her new freedom was self-perpetuating: the more time she spent indulging herself the more she desired to. Her natural drive had found a new outlet and since there was no good reason not to, she devoted herself to pleasure. Somehow love had altered the chemical balance of her mind and she felt worthy to be loved and pampered, which she surely was. Her days passed in tending to her and her home's appearance, planning future dates with the dancer and delving more often and more deeply into her very secret sexual fantasies.

As long as she could remember our heroine had a 'thing' for rubber. Her mother's yellow dish-gloves fascinated her and she would play with them when no one was watching, knowing somehow instinctively that her feelings should be kept private. Her older sister had a shiny red PVC raincoat that she would combine with the gloves on given opportunities. She was too young to really think much about what she was doing or why, she just followed her desires. One day in the fourth-grade she came upon a little book in her school's library and her heart started pounding so hard that it scared her. It took her several days to gather up the courage to sign it out and take it home. She had barely glanced at a few of the pages in public but she knew she had come upon something extraordinary. She placed it between two innocuous volumes and went to the checkout desk, looking away and blushing while the unknowing librarian barely glanced at it. She hid it away at the bottom of her bag and rushed home.

It was a small book, about six by four inches and maybe sixty pages in length but it changed her life. Perhaps her memory distorted it over the years that followed but she recalled endless colour pictures of black rubber clad scuba divers and their gear. Thinking back now she found it surprising that so many, if not all of them seemed designed to appeal as much to a fetishist as to a student of the subject. She was utterly enraptured and thrilled by the little book, as though she had uncovered a wondrous new world all her own. She never showed it nor spoke of it to anyone, hiding it away not only in fear of losing something precious but in fear of being made fun of for her strange ways. Once she even managed to combine the raincoat, gloves and book into what could be called her very first 'session' and the effect was indescribable. She may have been only ten or eleven but there was something undeniably sexual in the act of carefully turning the glossy pages with her yellow hands poking out of their red sleeves, although she didn't realize it herself at the time.

She had continued her pursuit somewhat haphazardly ever since. In fits and starts she'd slowly acquired a fair sized collection of rubber garments and paraphernalia, sometimes spending more time in her 'special room' sometime less, but her fetish was always a part of who she was. Now that she had intentionally been freeing up more of her time it was only natural for her to expand this arena. Packages started arriving with more frequency and new and old games played out behind the magic door. No one had ever noticed that her third bedroom had a locking doorknob, or at least they had never mentioned it. She hoped to one day slowly broach the topic with her new lover but knew that the subject could be polarizing. 


Warden left the story hanging there and bid me goodnight. I felt her lips press my forehead with an abnormal intensity and recalled her aborted sentence earlier. The satisfying thrust of the deadbolt left me in peace to ponder my future. I implicitly trusted everyone and everything about the ICRI and had been given no reason to feel otherwise in my months here. Soon I drifted off without a hint of trepidation. Whatever tomorrow should bring would be in my best interest, and the best interests of the Institute.

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