Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Institute for Complete Rubber Immersion

by Jane D'oh

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© Copyright 2023 - Jane D'oh - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; fpov; prison; latex; catsuit; toys; gag; boots; mittens; sleepsack; cons; X

Continues from


I'd come from another delightful trip to the feeding stations of Level 4 and returned completely refreshed and reinvigorated to Warden's office on Sublevel 2. I noticed a neat stack of pink towels on a side table and squirmed with carnal joy. A fresh influx of Elixir always has drastic effects on one's libido but when combined with the thought of laundry duty it was all I could do to not start humping our Matron's sexy white rubber leg immediately.

She modestly and wordlessly opened my crotch seam and produced a nice-sized pink jelly dildo from an apron pocket. I was already more than wet enough but the sight of the thing as she handed it to me rendered lubricating it absurd. She re-sealed me and had me step into a long pink rubber corset whose demi-cups pushed my breasts high, just barely covering my nipples, then set to tightening the endless lacing. An attached strap joined its front and back through my legs and Matron seemed almost embarrassed as she pulled it taut: I love doing laundry.

A big pink rubber ball gag was fastened securely in place and I was bade to sit. Not long after my arrival at the Institute a vision was burned into my mind that would never leave me: the sight of 043's astonishing thigh high rubber ballet boots on that fateful day of pirouetting. I had wished ever afterward to feel their wondrous embrace myself and when laundry duties were added to my growing agenda of chores the dream was fulfilled.

I loved watching our Warden kneeling and struggling to get the boots in place, all the while squeaking in her big white waders as the countless little locks on her discipline helmet jingled in accompaniment. One might think preparing me for the job would take longer than the tasks themselves as the lacing seemed to extend from Heaven to Earth. The day would not be complete however, without my boxing gloves.

Also in pink of course and rubber instead of the traditional leather, they had their own share of lacing which was eventually made taut and locked away under heavy wrist straps. I moaned softly as Matron finished securing them, ensuring that they and my entire outfit would stay put for the duration of my duty shift.

Truth be told, the job could have been finished in no time at all if it weren't for the compulsory uniform: my mission was simply to exchange towels and retrieve any clothing or accessories from a select number of the many cells of Sublevel 2.

I set about my tasks in the best of moods. My outfit would have been enough to enrapture me on its own but the welcome guest to my modesty soon had me near the brink, as its smooth gelatinous presence made itself known with every pointed step in my incomparable boots.

The heavy steel doors unlocked just as I arrived and relocked once I exited. Most of the cells were unoccupied and the few that weren't had a well-bound and silent prisoner secured in some manner. I proceeded with my tasks as best I could but it proved all but impossible to reach the floor of the showers in my extreme corsetry. I was carrying a stack of pink towels in my oversized boxing gloves, leveraging them against my torso as I tried valiantly to complete my assignment. Exchanging them for the used ones was excruciatingly slow but doable. Collecting the rubber day-suits and other items from the shower floors required a stroke of insight. My already precarious position was not helped by the fact that some of the stalls were still wet and slippery. Bending my legs or torso in my ensemble rendered reaching as far as the floor a laughable impossibility. I found that with enough effort and contortion I was able to carefully hook the items upon the toe or heel of a boot and make the transfer to my one free mitten(why are they called gloves?). The procedure was frightening and exhausting but with much trial and error I began to make some progress with my chores.

I'd felt so good from the get-go that it was unexpected that my mood could even further improve and yet every step and every completion of every task raised my spirits and my libido-carnal-lust-joy even higher. My gelatinous visitor urged and motivated me forward until eventually I found myself teetering down the hall of the cell block with but one clean pink towel left...along with a very large and awkward heap of laundry.

The final cell door unbolted and as I entered I gazed as if in a dream at the unexpected sight before me: a pink rubber vision on hands and knees, proudly displaying her pretty buttocks from the floor of the shower stall as she whispered into the drain cover.


Once my munificent day had come near to a close our squeaky white rubbered Matron tucked me into my bed of inevitable heavy rubber bondage and continued with her tale:

A few hours later our Heroine finished her nighttime routines and prepared to sleep in the bed she had made for herself. While dressing in her catsuit and gloves and covering that with the delightfully smooth Hydroglove she allowed her hopes to reign free. Just hours earlier she had been prepared to end the relationship outright and now she was whisked away into a fantasy of future happiness with the ballerina. It never occurred to her for a second that any type of deception may have been involved: she inherently trusted most everyone and had never had reason to regret it. After rolling the two halves of the suit together at her midsection and sealing them with the waistband she was ready to try out the newest addition to her ever growing collection of rubber bondage gear.

The big black rubber bodybag felt excitingly heavy as she slid it into place on top of the rubber sheet of her bed. The eight thick rubber belts jostled on either side of the zipper that ran down the full length of its centre. Perhaps someday soon I will be sealed in here inescapably she more half-hearted bondage from which I must always leave a means of egress. Complete surrender, totally helpless. Mmmm.

She dimmed the lights and climbed in. The bag was quite expensive but she appreciated the high quality workmanship. Unhurriedly she worked the zipper up from her feet a few inches at a time, pausing to snugly tighten each strap along the way: above her ankles, both sides of her knees, her thighs. When the double-wide strap was secured about her waist she reluctantly stopped. Any further and she would have to dislocate her shoulders to get them out of the internal sleeves of the sack. Once her arms were in place she sighed with a mixture of contentment and longing. She pictured an imaginary cord attached to the zipper-pull. She would hold it between her teeth and slowly, carefully draw the zip further and further upwards, passing the point of no return. Our heroine shivered with excitement, pressing her arms and legs against their restraints and closed her eyes.

The ballerina was tired. Her performance had drained her somehow. She was trained in acting as all dancers are but somehow this role didn't suit her. She slept for ten straight hours after her date at the ramen place but awoke feeling unrefreshed. Her work suffered that day, both in the studio and with the accounting firm. Back in her home that evening she contemplated a future of countless similar performances but worse still, since many would inevitably involve the rubber bondage fetishism she had professed to secretly love.

She had painted herself into a corner. If her fear and guilt hadn't caused her to jump to potentially erroneous conclusions none of this would have happened. In truth, she might very well be out of the relationship altogether. Whatever the 'important matter' was, it had never been talked about. As her thoughts coalesced she realized that her lover had planned to break up with her that night but her act had changed everything.

She was all but certain now that her creative bookkeeping had yet to be discovered. It was cleverly devised, involved fairly modest sums(percentage wise at least: to her they were significant) and would probably require an explicit search to unveil. Unless someone became suspicious or a third party was brought in to go over the books in fine detail it was quite possible her finagling may never come to light at all: if she stopped now.

The ballerina felt trapped...and stupid. If only she had done nothing instead of spinning herself into this mess with her solo performance. There seemed to be no way out, at least for now. She would have to stick to the role she had inadvertently auditioned for. Perhaps in a later act there would be a twist in the plot that might lead to her advantage. In the meantime there was more money to be made. As a professional she certainly couldn't be expected to work gratis.

Her partner was feeling marvelous the morning after her all night rubber bondage session. Sleep had not been easy and she had long stretches of half-waking uncomfortableness during which she considered abandoning her plan and returning to the comfy silk and cotton of her usual bed. However her persistence had paid off in the end and as she lay in pristine rubber bliss after finally getting several good hours rest(and lovely dreams to boot) she was grateful beyond words. She had no desire whatsoever to now leave her devine rubber cocoon but her bladder had other plans. She wasn't(at least yet) deep enough into her fetish where the thought of peeing herself would even be considered as an option.

Reluctantly she contorted her left arm enough to remove it from the internal sleeve of the bondage bag and proceeded to unzip and unstrap herself from its warm embrace. "Next time it's for real," she mused.


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