Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Institute for Complete Rubber Immersion

by Jane D'oh

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© Copyright 2020 - Jane D'oh - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; vag; bond; sleepsack; latex; gym; prison; toys; ballet; cons; X

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I was weak. My siesta had not only magnified my pre-existing fatigue and sore back but had added a stiff neck to my lot as well. As the elevator stopped on Level 5 the Warden of Sublevel 2 wished me luck and gently pushed me out of the car. The door had begun to re-close even before it had completely opened, as though she wanted nothing to do with the Gymnasium and its relentless staff, afraid she might be spotted and targeted for some unscheduled input to the cause. I smiled to myself at the thought of our Matron strapped to a treadmill, her big white rubber waders squeaking in agony as Warden 5 admonished her to quicken the pace.

I was met by 367, second-in-command at the facility, who without a word took me by the wrist like I was a child and pulled me towards the instruments of torture and generation. Warden 5 was nowhere in sight at the moment which was good: I had serious doubts about my ability to perform for two hours, let alone to her standards. The room was very cold but I knew that that sensation wouldn't last long. 367 took me to perhaps the most comfortable seat in the house and I wondered if it was simply chance or if someone was looking out for me. It wasn't for lack of available options since there were only three other inmates present, all hard about their required tasks.

The machine I was being secured to had a wide upright seat and backrest both of padded black rubber. In front of them and slightly lower a set of pedals awaited my feet. Above that another set stood, these with handlebar grips.My taskmaster was probably Californian, everything about her seemed to corroborate the stereotypical blond surfer babe, except of course the lack of hair. She'd been my drill instructor on countless occasions but had always stuck strictly to business. My ankles and wrists were quickly fitted into their bonds and a large harness of rubber straps hugged me to the backrest, somewhat alleviating my pains, at least temporarily. "What is your assigned contribution for today inmate?" she asked as she activated the machine's control screen. When I confirmed my two hour torture appointment she "tsked" loudly in disappointment and shook her head at my inadequacy while setting the controls to monitor and time my session. "Begin!" 367 huffed and walked away, her perfect buttocks mocking me in its bright red rubbery display.

I'm always torn when I begin my obligatory almsgiving to the Institute. On the one hand I want to try my hardest straight away to impress (and avoid the wrath of) the staff, but on the other I know that I have to pace myself or my overall performance will suffer due to an overly enthusiastic beginning. I have improved my start times though, and I had the wheels in motion somewhere between 367's 'be' and her 'gin'. This lesson I had learned from a previous session where I had made the dubious decision to hesitate for two and a half seconds after the starter's pistol had sounded. Warden 5 had made her displeasure painfully obvious and my first kilometre on the treadmill that day was accompanied by countless painful paddles to my backside from the powerful arm of our inspiring mentor. 

I decided to alternate my strongest efforts between the two tasks, forcing my legs to do more than they wanted to while letting my arms move at a more comfortable pace to begin with, then reversing the emphasis once I'd maxed them out. I soon got into a good rhythm and tried not to think about how much time was left on the clock. Off to my left but still within view was my friend 808 with whom I share a cell wall. She was climbing an endless flight of stairs, pulling and pushing on the ski-poles at her sides. I could tell that she was labouring and I wished her well, hoping her shift was near completion. As I watched she slowed markedly over a stretch of just a few minutes and I feared for the worst. Somehow though, she got over the hurdle and was back up to a decent pace by the time 367 approached to check her readings. The tight red rubber suit displayed her outstanding body in graphic detail, not a ripple of toned muscle unseen. The outline of her privates was displayed with no more modesty than the nose on her face and I couldn't help but picture the nose on my face pushing between its splayed lips, searching for the magic button that would reduce the dominant American to a quivering puddle of surrender. "You've fallen below quota 808," she remanded my friend. "Pick it up over your final twelve or face the consequences," her businesslike tone failing to mask the terrifying reality of her threats. I returned my attention to my own issues, hoping 808 could find atonement in her last twelve challenging minutes.

Eventually I found the zone. My thoughts if I had any, were ignored like background noise. The machine became an extension of my body and we worked as one, flying over endless kilometres of pastoral French countryside. I barely noticed 808 being released after successfully completing her final leg. My attention was uncaptured as another inmate was encouraged with loud lashings from 367's frightening quirt. My breathing was in sync, my pains forgotten and the past and future shuffled away in honour of the moment. 

When the tone sounded to indicate the completion of my duties I was surprised by how fast the two hours had passed. Perhaps I should have stopped pedalling immediately and feigned exhaustion but instead slowly decelerated and gradually wound down my momentum. Warden 5 suddenly appeared from behind me and examined the data from the session while I coasted to a stop. She was dressed identically to the Californian but in black. "Good work today 123 but it begs the question: 'Why haven't you performed to this standard in the past?' ". Her tone was solemn as she shut down the machine and began to unbind me. I remained silent, taking her question as rhetorical. "Perhaps you've intentionally been holding back on us so we wouldn't expect as much from you," she mused. "But of course, that would be borderline treason, possibly even grounds for expulsion," the course of her reasoning had taken a turn which frightened me far more than the thought of enduring some corporal punishment at her hands. I had no idea if anyone had ever been expelled from ICRI before, let alone for such a seemingly fabricated sin: perhaps she just meant that I might lose my membership in her little fitness club. "We take nothing for granted here at the Gymnasium 123, and you'd be well-advised to do the same," her voice was getting more forceful as she threatened me. "How would you feel if I banned you, I wonder?" she went on. Well at least she wasn't talking about the Institute but just her storey of it. "You pretend to not like your duties here but what if they were suddenly taken away? Do you not need the satisfaction of completing a difficult task and of contributing to the Society that has taken you in?" As she unbuckled the harness holding my back to the chair my pain returned and I realized how right she was. My time on Level 5 each day was a huge and integral part of my life now and I didn't appreciate it properly. Would she really consider expelling me? I burst into tears at the thought and fell to my knees at the feet of Warden 5, begging her to keep me and promising to try as hard as I possibly could in the future. Some of my tears had splattered between the cracks of the individual rubber toes of her suit and I felt an uncontrollable urge to remove them. The foot moved slightly towards me as if offering permission and I lunged for it as though it were a lifeline. I licked and sucked on her perfect toes passionately until they were immaculate and I had settled down somewhat emotionally. "Good work today 123, let's keep it up," she spoke coolly and walked off behind me. I was astounded by what had occurred but felt a great relief as I knelt dazed beside the workout station. I looked up at its gleaming high-tech lines and upscale craftsmanship with a wondrous new appreciation.


The most powerful orgasm of my life was anti-climatic. The silent and impossible union that occurred before it far outweighed the carnal release that followed. We had been re-joined in mystery, defying logical possibilities. Opening my virgin soul in request I had found the answer already lodged deep within my womb. Her ancient voice recommenced, "Yes my love, together at last though never apart," She read my mind, for it was her own. I knew then that Her name was Zero and that my birthday nuptials were about to be consummated.

In silence She took me. The fact that She wasn't in the room was irrelevant for She had been hiding in plain sight within me since time immemorial. She controlled the big stallion's hidden gem with supreme dexterity from the penthouse above. When it first slowly made its presence felt it reawakened all the primal yearning that I had accumulated over the preceding hours.

I moaned and writhed in my bonds, longing for the hyperbolic phallic memory of my youth to fill me to completion, for my big stallion to at last engender its potency. Easing gently inside only to almost withdraw, it then reversed. Each push a little deeper, each thrust a little harder and faster. The thing came to life as Zero remotely manipulated its controls, throbbing now, then pulsating, quivering, and all but squirming. She unleashed the secret weapon and an unexpected second appendage lovingly surrounded my most special place, sucking and stroking it oh-so-gently while the beast continued its assault, deeper and faster, pumping me full.

I didn't try to hurry the inevitable, nor did I try to resist it. I relished in the present, a present so far beyond my wildest dreams that to even contemplate contemplating it would be foolish. I relished the moment for it had expanded, revealing its true eternal nature.

Sometime, somewhere, I exploded. The star burst into supernova after a lifetime of shrinking into itself. The Galaxy took notice as one of its children met destiny and embraced it. It was anti-climatic. 


Warden was tucking me in for a much needed night's sleep. My sleepsack was warmer than usual, having retained some heat from the recently departed ballerina. I could detect a slight hint of her odour as well and enjoyed the thought of almost sharing a bed with her. Our Matron relayed a message of thanks for having taken on her gym duties and I smiled sleepily, happy in my little world.

Once I was secured in darkness I felt Warden station herself on the edge of the bed to my side. "I've brought you a little treat for being so good today sweety." Her praise was almost as delicious as the pink goo that was soon passing through the rubber nipple she had pushed into my mouth. On rare occasions inmates can be provided with Elixir outside of the delightful confines of Level 4's feeding stations and I more than welcomed the extra energy after such a strenuous day, not to mention the other benefits bestowed by the magic potion. I sucked happily, moaning a little to show my gratitude and the Warden of Sublevel 2 settled in to read me a bedtime story.

Once upon a time in a great bustling, some might say magical metropolis, a fine woman had made her mark. She had started a small business which slowly grew and prospered. Perhaps it could have evolved more quickly but she insisted on treating her employees well, and her clients and suppliers fairly. She showed no interest in finding tax-loopholes and wasn't beyond even helping a competitor on occasion. As for the great planet Earth that gives us life and patiently endures our endless abuse, she was religiously steadfast. Everything was done to lessen the negative impacts of her business upon it and the company went far out of its way to create positive initiatives to nourish our only Home.

One fateful day she realized that despite having achieved most of her goals she was missing something, something perhaps even more important. She was alone. Surrounded by good friends, family and co-workers she was alone. The Love in her heart needed an outlet. She wanted to share herself and be shared. Although she still played a big role in the company's daily operations, her indispensability had become an illusion, since the people she had entrusted to work around her were more than competent, and could be trusted implicitly to continue along the path she had forged. She decided to seek out the other. 

Many months passed as the woman spent less and less time in her old role and more and more devoted to her search, daring to dream that it might be fulfilled. Eager to socialize at almost any opportunity she accepted an invitation from a member of the Board at the city's most prestigious ballet company to attend a performance and dine afterwards. The two had met a twice in the past to discuss the details of a funding grant that the company was providing to assist young dancers with financial limitations and although our heroine knew that this woman wasn't 'the one', she loved classical dance and looked forward to their date.

As the many swans glided about on stage one in particular kept earning most of the attention of our heroine. Not only did she seem more talented and vibrant than those around her but she looked familiar. Peering through her opera glasses the woman tried to recollect where she had seen her before and spent most of the performance staring at her or waiting for her to return to the stage. It seemed odd that she was always near the back of a group of a dozen or more dancers and not been given a more prominent role in the corps de ballet. 

At dinner afterwards she inquired about it and her host immediately knew to whom she was referring. Although she couldn't come out and say it she hinted that the dancer's advancement through the company was hindered by her origin, being of a mixed heritage neither of which were shared by the soloists or the more featured members of the corps. Then it struck the woman: this person worked part-time at one of her company's subsidiaries just a few kilometres away. They had actually been introduced briefly once, about a year ago. Without hesitation she explained herself and asked the board member if she could contact the dancer. Three minutes later while their meals were being served the graceful swan was already in motion, having promised to join them for drinks.

Just as the plates were being carried away the woman's host spotted their new guest near the entrance and rose to meet her. Pleasantries were exchanged and the evening took on a new dynamic. Although she looked quite different without her extravagant make-up and costume, the ballerina's beauty and vitality were still apparent and our heroine became more enamoured with her as the night drew on. At an appropriate moment the host excused herself from the proceedings and our would-be lovebirds were left alone.

The ballerina was enticed. Although she was considerably older than herself the woman that had sought her out was very attractive and intelligent. The fact that she was well off and well polished didn't hurt either but knowing she was the head of the company that controlled the business she worked for was the deciding factor. Her meagre earnings with the ballet combined with what she made with the part-time bookkeeping she did was barely enough to pay the rent for her tiny apartment in the big city. Here was an opportunity for advancement, with maybe a little fun on the side.

Our heroine was falling. Maybe she'd had one too many glasses of wine or maybe she was a little too desperate to find love but she had all but convinced herself that the person seated across from her was to be part of her destiny. It turned out that she was correct, albeit in ways far different than she had envisioned on that first night.

The pink goo has a way of making things seem far more enthralling and vivid than they would normally appear. I was enraptured by Warden's story and was living its drama as though I were a part of it: sitting in the audience at Swan Lake, dining with the ladies...I could picture it in brilliant detail in my mind. The good woman's history and morality had impressed me and I feared for what might unfold in her future. 

"That's all for tonight 123, my throat's parched and you need to get to sleep." Our Matron planted a kiss on my doubly-rubbered cheek. I felt her rise from the bed to leave and wanted to beg her to continue the story but knew enough to refrain and to savour the tale in its due course. The heavy steel door closed and the big deadbolt locked me away with a delightful sense of finality.

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