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; bond; latex; prison; wheelchair; cons; X

Continues from


The weeks that followed my Initiation Ceremony were pleasant enough as I settled into my new life and became accustomed to the routines and inevitable surprises of the Institute. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that that time was a bit of a let down after the glorious otherworldly highs of my amazing 'birthday' but that was only to be expected. It reminded me of the way I used to feel after the Christmas and New Year's festivities were over and I would return to the everyday tasks of life. Rejoining with Zero in Infinity I had likened to Christmas and my orgasmic explosion was Times Square when the countdown completes.

You might think I would have questioned the reality of my experiences that day or perhaps even my sanity, but I never did. The sky is blue, I'm quite certain of it. I was curious to ask a fellow inmate or a Warden about their relationship with our Leader but somehow knew enough not to. I haven't met Her in person yet but I'm in no rush: I know the timing will be perfect and that it won't be of my choosing. She is with me here in every minute of every day regardless, just as She has always been.

One of the first rituals of the Institute I was made aware of was the compulsory weekly visit to the seventh floor. Although to some prisoners the phrase 'Level 7' probably has the same connotations as 'Room 101' in Orwell's classic story, I for one look forward to my routine appointments with the Dominatrix, if routine is the correct word.

I don't know exactly how each inmate's behaviour is monitored or assessed on a weekly basis. I imagine that the Wardens who have had dealings with them file a report of some sort and someone goes through the documents and formulates a conclusion, but this is just conjecture. In any case, when arriving in the hall of horrors one inevitably finds Warden 7 examining a file folder, often shaking her head from side to side. Why she needs a hard copy of the report I'm not sure but it adds a certain weight and atmosphere to the proceedings: she can point towards it, or thrust it in your face while explaining the necessary justice she is about to exact upon you.

Only you and she are present, the punishments always being administered in private. All prisoners are subject to the ritual once every seven days, irrespective of how well or poorly they have behaved. It has been deemed that the overall good of the ICRI is advanced by the process whereby inmates are reminded of their status and place in the overall scheme of things.

Of course the details of a particular session can vary wildly. You can't very well discipline someone who loves a nice spanky by giving them a few whacks with a paddle on the backside. No, the imagination of the Dominatrix seems to know no bounds, though I've yet to hear of rats playing any role in the proceedings, thank goodness.


I was strapped into the passenger seat of the Jaguar with innumerable belts. Dozens of them, from my ankles to my forehead, pulling every inch of my bagged body tight to the luxuriously padded seat. The acceleration of the car added to the effect as Chauffeuse shifted into a higher gear, her black leather hand manipulating the gear stick.

"What a slut you are, 123. Here you are, banished forever from the Institute, being driven back to your mundane life of before, and all you can think about is your dripping cunt," she spoke teasingly as though my expulsion weren't a serious matter. I couldn't help but wonder what a police officer would think of my condition if we were to be pulled over or for that matter, how I was able to see 727's hand so clearly from the inside of a heavy rubber sleepsack.

"Would you like me to turn on the seat-massage? Would that help you release your selfish needs of wanton carnality? Why couldn't you have tried harder in the Gymnasium? I can't say I blame Warden 5 for having you blackballed from ICRI," she continued, still accelerating such that we must have at least doubled the speed limit.

"Still, it is a shame that I never had the opportunity to fuck you. I did want to. I wanted to fill your insatiable hole with my biggest black strap-on while you were held motionless by a hundred leather hands, your bimbo legs splayed wide, begging me to pump harder and deeper," Chauffeuse went on as though she were reading a script from a cheap porno flick that never made it to production. I was naked and could feel the many hands, feel the tip of the dildo lingering at my entrance but refusing to enter. Please, please fuck me 727...I'll be good, I'll try harder, I promise.

Suddenly the magnitude of my permanent banishment struck me full force and a horrible dark veil covered my now-broken heart. It hurt too much to even cry: I was utterly emptied, far beyond normal grief and despair. Chauffeuse eased off the gas pedal and released her many hands from my body as though unwilling to even touch me. Nothingness. It was over.

I awoke in a clammy cold sweat and for a few horrible seconds still believed that the glorious reality that I had been living in for the past few months had suddenly come to an end. Then, as I realized where I was and what had happened the terrible nightmare lifted its hideous shroud from my newly mended heart and I wept and wept in joy, the reality of a new day before me.


Exactly a week after my Initiation I was scheduled for my first visit to Level 7. I had been left alone in my cell despite having already washed and changed into my daysuit after I'd been released from bed. Perhaps waiting and not knowing how long one is going to wait is meant to have an effect on the prisoner's psychology but I simply felt a little bored. I was kneeling on the padded grey floor outside of the shower, dabbing up a few stray drops of water with my little pink hand-towel when I heard a faint voice.

"Can you hear me?" It was an odd, hollow sound and the speaker seemed to be trying to both project her voice and whisper at the same time. "Hello, can you hear me?" she repeated as I wondered what was happening and if I should respond. Considering my itinerary for the day a possible breach of the Institute's unwritten rules would probably be a bad idea. "Come to the shower drain," the voice implored me in a hushed tone.

I couldn't resist. Once I realized what was going on my curiosity got the better of me and to be honest I'm a bit of a masochist. I truly wondered if my behaviour over the previous week would preclude me from receiving any sort of serious punishment, a punishment which I secretly craved. I crawled into the shower and attempted a loud whisper, my lips almost touching the drain. "Yes, hello?" my voice sounded odd as though not my own. I tried again, a little louder, "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm 808," she had lowered her tone so I could barely hear her," just wanted to say hi and wish you luck, I know it's your first date with the devil today," she paused and waited. I had already been informed by our Matron that the Dominatrix I had seen on my 'birthday' was none other than Warden 7, and the thought of that beautiful creature with the Cheshire smile being remotely satanic seemed highly unlikely. "Uh, thanks, nice to meet you," I ventured. Maybe it's just a meaningless nickname I thought, no need to take everything so seriously. "Don't bother trying to get on her good side, she doesn't have one," my neighbour seemed to have a serious grudge against the woman but I wasn't buying into it.

Suddenly I sensed the elevator approaching and was happy to end the awkward conversation. "Elevator! Bye!" I blurted, crawling backwards. "There are no cameras..." her last words barely reached me and made no sense: what have cameras got to do with the elevator coming? I pretended to finish wiping up the floor and as casually as possible rose and hung the towel to dry. Of course there are cameras, there are dozens of them and I've watched their high-definition output myself, and unless my neighbour had a good reason to be talking to the floor of her shower she could very well be proven wrong in short order.

I sat on the edge of my rubber bed and waited. Perhaps another hour had passed since my aborted introduction to 808. I glanced up at the panoramic lens in the corner of the ceiling and smiled like I always do when I notice it. I like to be watched over, it makes me feel more secure and safe. For the first time however, a sense of guilt struck me and I turned away, blushing as my heart skipped a beat. Why couldn't I have just ignored the strange voice I wondered. I decided I would confess my sin at the first opportunity but then hesitated, realizing that that would jeopardize my neighbour as well. Ugh, what had I gotten myself into?


My nightmare had the unexpected effect of putting me in a wonderful mood. As I lay caked in my own sweat waiting to be released from my nightly bonds a new appreciation of my position grew within me. I had seen something more horrible than I could have imagined but it wasn't real: this was real, and I was living it. I sighed happily, hoping a shower might be scheduled for the beginning of a new day in the amazing grace of the Institute.

There were no noises on Sublevel 2 and of course I had no idea what time it was. The dream could have woken me in the middle of the night I suppose but I felt well rested and assumed Warden would be along before too long. I thought back to the non-horrific portion of my unconscious escapades and re-lived the presence of Chauffeuse and her titillating potty-mouth. I love it when she talks like that.

Our Chauffeuse has an unusual role at the Institute, one which I haven't quite figured out entirely. She has a number, 727, but isn't a typical inmate nor is she a Warden. She frequently leaves the premises and interacts with the outside world which is something I can no longer even imagine doing. She has a cell here on Sublevel 2 but it is often vacant, even when she is spending the night in the building...and she seems to sometimes disappear entirely for days or even weeks at a time.

I've only seen her a handful of times since that fateful day when she deposited me in the parking garage for my initial cleansing at the hands of the three orange monsters. I didn't know who she was when she first approached me, having been blinded throughout our first encounter. She was a little younger than I expected and just as alluring. Although she always has a smile and some excitingly disparaging comments, her promise to one day have her way with me has yet to be fulfilled.

In due course the Warden began her morning rounds. I could faintly hear locks unbolted, doors closed, a muffled hint of few words here and there. The elevator came and went as inmates were shuttled off to their destinations. On occasion a Warden or their assistant would come down in person to fetch someone or to speak with Matron about something. I thought I might have heard Warden 5's voice at one point but it was probably just paranoia induced by the nightmare. Eventually my favourite dead-bolt was released and my beloved heavy steel door swung open on a new day.

"Oh, you smell 123, are you okay?" The cold sweat of terror had betrayed its nature. I told Warden I felt wonderful but had had a bad dream about my former life. "Luckily this is a shower-day for you anyway," she said with some relief and after helping me halfway out of my bondage left me to complete the task. Once I had freshened up and was pretty in pink again she returned.

"Something different for you today love: loading dock duty. We've got a larger than usual delivery due in a couple hours and you are to help unload and distribute it.” As she spoke Warden led me out and down the hall. We passed the mysterious 'noisy room' on our way to the staircase, its endless machinations unchanged. "I'll get you fixed up, then you can wait on the dock in case it should arrive early," Warden held my hand as we climbed the stairs up one floor to the basement. Directly across from the stairs was a locked door with a keypad and once we were behind it, a small room that elicited excitement and memories.

There, standing in a row that seemed to occupy half the space of the room were the shells of the three orange monsters who had first welcomed me to the Institute. They somehow looked even larger when devoid of their former occupants. Behind them one could glimpse parts of the tanks, gas masks and corrugated rubber hoses that complete the ensemble. "This is the standard uniform for dealing with the outside world, 123, we can't risk you being re-contaminated by their ways," I ignored her enigmatic statement while reliving the memory of the big rubber hands massaging soap all over my body.

Whilst transforming me into a giant orange spectre, she elucidated upon my duties. All the packages in the delivery would be labelled with the intended recipient and floor number. I was to arrange them on a pushcart which was waiting on the dock in such a way that I could start my deliveries with the highest address and work my way back down to the basement. As Warden tightened the straps on the gasmask after securing the tank on my back I mused that I would again be spending extended time breathing condensed gas: was this the new normal?

The big rubber suit was just as smooth and sexy on the inside, but jet black in colour. It took the two of us some time and effort but I was eventually isolated entirely from the outside world and its 'contaminants'.(Author's Note: this was written several years ago.) Warden led me through a second door which opened directly upon the loading dock. She pointed out the cart I was to use and indicated the route to the elevator then pushed a button which raised the big bay door. We were about a metre above the dimly lit, largely empty parking garage. "Access from the street is strictly controlled of course 123, so you needn't be concerned about any surprise visitors. You can sit on your trolley while you wait for Chauffeuse, it shouldn't be too long." My heart leapt as Warden squeaked away.

I don't know what I was expecting in the way of a courier and it's surprising in hindsight that I wasn't remotely concerned about meeting an unknown delivery person while dressed in full hazmat garb. I guess I'd become so trusting and confident in the decisions of my superiors that I assumed it would be fine whatever happened. The fact that I had just had such an impactful dream about 727 a few hours before seemed beyond coincidence but somehow it didn't overly surprise me so much as excite me. Inexplicable events had become almost expected since I first encountered the ICRI, from the odd happenstances that led me to them in the first place, to the strange conviction of the people I initially met that I 'was meant to be here', to the moments of deja vu and utter perfection that followed. Then there was the odd way in which the Wardens seemed to be able to read my mind at times, though there's probably a way of rationalizing that if I wanted to. It was of course the transmundane reunion with Zero that had shattered all presumptive possibility that I was living in the same world that I had come from: things were different here.


After perhaps another hour of uneasily waiting in my cell, regretting my foolish decision to talk to a stupid hole in the floor, Warden arrived pushing one of the Institute's specialized wheelchairs before her. "Climb aboard 123, I hope your first visit goes well...I have no idea how long it will last so we have no other plans for the day as yet," she spoke and began securing me in place. I was almost overwhelmed by a desire to tell her what had happened but it just didn't seem fair to my neighbour to do so. It was my own fault for opening my big mouth when I knew it was wrong to do so and now I felt trapped by the consequences. "Ok, off you go, good luck dear." Warden had cuffed my ankles and wrists in place and pressed a couple buttons on the chair's input device. She moved a step backwards and it was in motion. I was to learn that this was how all appointments were kept with Warden 7, alone. The wheelchair glided out of my cell and stopped in front of the elevator which was already descending. It wheeled me in and did a quick three-sixty as the doors closed. The 'seven' button was lit from behind ominously as I rose toward my just desserts.

When I gazed upon Level 7 for the first time I observed pretty much the same thing I was to see in every subsequent visit. The Dominatrix was seated at her little mini-office directly to my left as the chair brought me just over the threshold of her domain and stopped. She perused a file folder discontentedly. "There's nothing here inmate, nothing to work with. It's bad enough that you enjoy most of the things other inmates consider punishment but your behaviour doesn't even warrant punishment to begin with...not that that's going to stop me of course, but I'd prefer to have something more concrete to work with," Warden 7's words flowed smoothly as though we were old friends who were chatting over lunch. "Welcome to Level 7 by the way, I won't bother giving you a tour since you'll be meeting all of my little 'helpers' in due course," she laid my file down and stood up, looking much like she did a week earlier but without the grin. I stared at the top of her corset where it thrust her large breasts skyward and felt a tingle down below.

"Perhaps you can assist me, prisoner, is there anything not showing up in your file? Some little thought-crimes you might want to tell me about?" The Dominatrix had been walking forward as she spoke and my heart was racing. My mind flashed upon my encounter with 808 that morning but I quickly dismissed it and tried desperately to think of something else that would appease my interrogator and distract me from that topic: I wasn't prepared to betray my neighbour and didn't want to even remember the incident in these circumstances. I babbled something nervously about not really liking my daily trips to the Gym but Warden 7 quickly dismissed that argument, citing a glowing report from the powerful Warden 5 which stated that for a new recruit I had had a good first week and shown a positive attitude.

I tried to think of anything else to damn myself but was having trouble concentrating with the gorgeous woman dominating my vision and my morning's sin lurking in the shadows of my mind. I explained that I sometimes touched myself when I was showering or getting dressed and she retorted that as long as it didn't result in climax or interfere with my schedule such behaviour was not only tolerated but encouraged. I clutched for another straw and exaggerated how after a feeding session once the well had run dry and I was sucking in vain on an emptied dispenser I would curse the powers that be for not providing me with a few more drops. "Is this 'cursing' directed towards anyone in particular?" "No." "Is it directed towards our society as a whole?" "No." "So what you're really saying is that you love the pink goo and wish you could have more of it?" "Ye-es." "You're not helping me at all inmate, surely there must be something going on in that little head of yours? Something perhaps that you are trying desperately not to think about at this very minute?" Warden 7's tone had such conviction and confidence that for a brief second I concluded that she must know what had happened but I held on and told myself that it was simply an interrogative technique that she was employing. I told her no, my little head was simply trying to recall my sins of the past week. I reasoned that my flippant response might distract her from her course and perhaps be punishable in its own right. "Hmm," she responded and walked away, as the four bonds holding me to the wheelchair released their grip.

I was staring at the gorgeous red soles of her Louboutin boots as they stopped and spun back around. Suddenly my chair raced toward her at a much faster clip than I'd ever witnessed one of them travel. I panicked, fearing it had malfunctioned and would strike the Dominatrix headlong but it stopped on a dime, hurling me to the floor at her feet. At least I was afforded a better view of her magnificent footwear. "Do you like our humble twelve-story abode, prisoner, from what you've seen of it in your time with us?" she asked, resuming our casual lunch-chat. I affirmed my love for my new home and its occupants and she continued, "Yes, we're very fond of it as well, although it does have some architectural anomalies. For instance, none of the plumbing was insulated when it was built and we had to painstakingly work to have this rectified. We opened the second-highest ceiling first and worked on the floor above it, then proceeded downward until the entire system was wrapped in efficient energy-saving sleeves. Of course, there was no way to access the sub-basement in that manner so it was decided to leave it as is, rather than digging up the whole thing, its location underground providing insulation enough." I had remained in an awkward position at her feet during this monologue and until the final sentence had had no idea where she was going with it. At once my heart started pumping violently and my head flushed with heat: she knew.

Continues in


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