Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Stern Manor

by Rbbral

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© Copyright 2007 - Rbbral - Used by permission

Storycodes: FFF/f; latex; bond; enclose; toys; nc; reluct; X

Continues from

Number Eight

“Well, seven down and one to go. So how is our rubber zombie, number 8? Is she responding to our rather unconventional treatment? I’m sure the Duke and Duchess are keen to know how our titled lady is responding to our treatment.”

They returned to the cells and Michelle said.

“She’s doing so well Madame; it is very disorienting for her at the moment. She has been in the suit for a week now. So she will gradually give up one addiction for another, yes?”

“Let’s hope so Michelle, for rubber fetishism is a lot less unpleasant than advanced alcohol dependence – although we can introduce her to a little loving torture, I think.” She smiled knowingly as they entered the cell. Lying prone on the bed was a very strange apparition that started to rise.

“No, don’t get up number eight; I am here to see how you are getting along. I expect you will not find this suit very pleasant but then it is not meant to be so. It is for your protection and your education. You have been a very silly girl, a titled lady like yourself, all the money and privileges in the world, pampered and spoilt throughout your whole life and you turn to drink and whoring! However in our programme we will have you off it in another three weeks, believe me, it works.”

She sat on the bed and looked at the strange sight, Miko and Michelle stood to the side. A well-educated but muffled voice began to speak.

“For God’s sake, will you get me out of this? I am fine, really….” Mistress Stern laid a hand on the helmet and stared at her.

“Quiet now, number eight. You only speak when spoken to, remember. Otherwise you will be punished. You are not cured by any chalk. You will be taken out of the suit for cleaning but you will be returned to it for the duration of your treatment.”

“But, oh no, please…”

“Be quiet, I will not tell you again. Do you want the stimulators again? I think not.”

She was quiet now. No, she didn’t want the stimulators again. For a week she had been locked in this sweaty, smelly suit; not too loose but not too tight either. It seemed a year ago when they had forced her into it. It completely covered her from head to toes and had a single back zip – well that was okay, but it was all the attachments. When she had the withdrawal shivers she sweated a lot but one of the women would open a valve at her ankles and drain it out.

There was cushioning in the suit at knees, elbows and shoulders to protect her if she fell during one of her bad periods – very thoughtful, she pondered. Her hands were rendered useless, held in tight ball shaped mittens attached by two-inch metal cuffs – she could do nothing with them at all. The headpiece was strapped over the open-faced hood of the suit. It was devious in its efficiency. It was full-head and she peered out through two thick glass lenses, which were capable of being blacked out with punch-stud coverings. They did it once to her earlier and she didn’t like it one bit – pitched into complete darkness.

The mouthpiece was also complex. Like an aviator’s mask it fit tight over nose and mouth but the two sections were separate and could be controlled separately. At present the nose portion had a single hole with metal connector; this was open now and she could breathe in air easily. But the connector allowed them to attach various devious additions. These included control devices to filter and control the air by way of a large rubber bladder and valve so she ended up re-breathing her air – this was very effective in calming her – she had to concentrate purely on breathing, the large bladder inflating and deflating on her chest. She did not like that either.

At night they strapped her down on the bed and connected the nose attachment to a rubber filled inhalation canister and she was forced to breathe in the rubber-scented air all night. The heavy pungency was at first overpowering but now she was getting used to it. She thought maybe that was part of her indoctrination; well if so, it was working. She would lie on the bed in the dark, her lenses blocked out trying to keep calm and breathing in the strong aroma – gradually she was associating the aroma with an inner calmness and she was starting to almost rely on it for help.

Then there was the mouthpiece; this was also open right now and she could breathe easily, and talk in a somewhat garbled way. By now she was learning to talk only when invited to; these were women you didn’t mess with! She thought of Michelle; so French, so soft-spoken and calm, yet with a really malicious streak in her. On the outside she was seemingly sympathetic for you, even pitying you, yet punishing you nonetheless. She would attach an assortment of punishment devices to the mouthpiece.

For feeding, a long tube was passed down her throat and into her stomach; it had a plug at the end, which was an effective gag. Then there were the assortment of gags, in all shapes and sizes and designs. They had explained that if she felt sick at any time then there were a number of panic buttons in her cell that she could hit and they would be there in seconds, any false alarms however, and she would be severely punished. She knew they meant business and had not used the buttons yet.

The helmet was also of two rubber skins with some padding in between that protected her head if she bumped into anything – it also tended to muffle sounds and increase her sense of isolation from the outside world. She thought of the outside world. Her world was of money (unearned of course), privilege and parties; her world of beautiful people, fast cars, lots of booze and drugs, and of course sex, lots of that with anyone who was around.

She knew she was a slut, a cheap whore, well not cheap, but sure easy to ply with drugs and booze and then the sex followed, along with all the other bad behaviour in public. What would her friends think of her here now – stuffed and plugged and gagged in a rubber suit? She had some kinky friends – but not that kinky. And were they real friends anyway, or just hangers’ on? She’d had some time over the last week to think on that.

She almost laughed at the thought of her capture and “rehabilitation”. Her parents had obviously some serious “underground” contacts to know about all this. This must be costing them a lot, but not as much as a long-term booze, partying and drug habit, of course. Her helmet was held firmly in place by a three inch padded steel collar locked around her neck. It had rings at sides, back and front – ideal for chaining her up, her mitts had rings at the end and three times she had been immobilised by them attaching the mitts to her collar – all very clinical and efficient. And she had lain there, powerless as they had crammed a gag into her mouth, silencing her protests to an mmmm. And they had laughed at her predicament and all she could do was scream into her wet rubber plug.

No one had laughed at her before, for she had clout, and money and she was in the social pages. Now she was sweating in her rubber suit that she had been in for a week and stared up at her tormentors. Where was Emma? At least she could relate a little to Emma, a private schoolgirl like herself. She was well educated, English – but a real tough cookie too!

She seemed to really enjoy turning up the power on her breast cups. These were rubber cups similar to those used by physiotherapists and were attached to the inside of her suit. They cradled her breasts and compressed her nipples. Instead of leads connected to the stimulation machine these women had a large handset, something between a TV remote and this larger device.

These dominas would turn on the damn current for up to half an hour on her sensitive nipples until she was almost passing out. It was the weirdest sensation, current passing through her nipples and into her breasts; pain, discomfort and yet also a strange masochistic pleasure. Her breasts were aflame and she could do nothing as she was abused, her hands clipped to her collar.

But that was only part of it, for they had also attached one to her love channel, the bitches. But this was subtler. The cup clamped over her pussy tightly and inside the cup was a much smaller cup, the size of a thimble, which was clamped over her clitoris! Also passing through the larger cup was a catheter tube that connected her insides via a black tube to a rubber bag attached to her left shin. It was so humiliating to her, to lose control of her peeing, and her urine slopping around in the bag at her leg – hardly something you see on a titled lady!

The front cup was fixed to a reinforced gusset piece attached to a wide steel belt locked around her waist. Even if she had the use of her hands she could do nothing about this torture suit. Like a thick bikini panty, the gusset piece passed down her front, through her legs and up her backside to the belt at the back.

This rear portion held her final ignominious piece of torture. Opposite her bum hole was a reinforced hole with a metal socket cut in the suit. To this socket the women attached various intruders, which they cheerily rammed into her arse. These included well-greased dildos of various sizes and shapes, a couple of them being corrugated!

Once a day she was also administered an enema, which was then held in by a thick plug for ten minutes until she started cramping. Then she was allowed to evacuate, and they wiped and talced her. This simply added to her already deep sense of powerlessness and humiliation.

So there she lay, staring up her tormentors, her well manicured hands in their ball mittens, her body enveloped in rubber, her head in cushioned rubber, her eyes pleading through the lenses. Two small holes at nose and mouth at least allowed her to breathe easily – for now. Caps were firmly clamped on her breasts and clitoris.

“So, number eight, your withdrawals from all the drugs and alcohol are now less frequent. Your parents will be happy to hear that. But a minimum two more weeks is needed to get it flushed out of your system. Talking of flushing, how is she taking the enemas?” asked Mistress Stern.

“Better,” said Miko, “but we still get some resistance. These upper classes sometimes have difficulty taking orders.”

“Oh yes, but you will learn, won’t you, number eight?” And number eight, rich titled lady, nodded silently.

“Tonight we are going to do a little something different as we prepare you. Your health is improving hugely; you are eating better although not appreciating it, as it is by tube. Your body is being cleansed so tonight we will further your education in bondage and control.”

“Oh no, please…”

“Michelle, please gag her, she really is slow to learn.” Michelle, with a sympathetic smile on her face, deftly crammed a stubby cock gag through the hole in the gas mask.

“Aarrgh, mmmff.” Number eight wriggled and gurgled, but held by Miko and then Mistress Stern, she was quickly silenced. The end of the gag was twisted and locked in place. Number eight imploringly looked up at them. To keep her arms from flapping around Miko slipped a single padlock through the rings at the end of her mittens and locked them to a single ring at the front of her steel belt. Silent and even more powerless she stared mutely up at them, breathing heavily through the exposed nose hole in her mask.

“Stand her up.” Commanded Mistress Stern; not willing to tolerate any more nonsense from this girl.

“You will pay for all this resistance, my dear. How silly of you. I thought we were going along quite well; but now you shall suffer another uncomfortable night.” Number eight now stood between Michelle and Miko, her eyes filled with venom. Mistress Stern took a large bulbous dildo, 4 inches long and consisting of two thick and two thin sections. An mmmm was heard from number eight but the women calmly bent her over and pulled her legs apart.

Mistress Stern twisted the end of the existing dildo in the girl’s anus and withdrew it slowly; it was a narrow one, she would not like its replacement! Mistress Stern smeared the end with lube, and with Michelle and Miko holding her rigidly bent over, eased it into the girl, twisting it slowly as she went. Slowly each wider section plopped in, her tight sphincter adjusting and closing around the narrower sections. This was accompanied by grunts and exhalations from poor number eight then it was twisted and locked in place.

“There now, you’ll have that in all night, for your disobedience. You really should learn faster my dear. And there is more to come.” They laid her back on the bed and attached two chains to her collar; they did not chain her body; that was going nowhere now anyway. Panic buttons were on the bed for emergency.

“More rubber immersion.” Said Michelle leaning over her, and connecting her nose outlet to a long hose, then opened the valve to the rubber aroma casket. Number eight then began to breathe in the strong, pungent perfume that she was now seemingly getting used to. She lay there; plugged, stuffed, gagged and cathetered, and then came the lens covers that were clipped on to her lenses, and she was now in complete darkness. She heard Mistress Stern.

“We will leave you for the night, number eight, in your rubber cocoon. To reduce your cravings for the booze and drugs we’ll increase your sexual cravings. We propose to put your stimulators on automatic. The batteries in the pack are new and should last most of the night. So you will be subjected to painfully, delightful stimulation to your nipples, clitoris and lips all night. Oh, and by the way there is also a small receiver in your anal dildo as well, so you will receive the odd shock to your rear passage through the night. They are random vibrations, which will affect different areas at different time delays.”

“Tomorrow you will be utterly exhausted, in a lather of sweat, and then we will shower you and cleanse you and then put you back into the suit for another week. Your cravings for all your previous habits will be gone in another two or three weeks – we guarantee it. But we hope, and feel sure, that you will have other cravings; for bondage and rubber. It is far less harmful and a lot more fun. You will seek out people like us in the fetish scene to satisfy your desires, and then like a drug you will not be able to get enough of it. Good night number eight, enjoy your night of exquisite rubber torture.”

She leaned over and pecked the poor girl’s forehead, and the three of them left. They left the door unlocked – number eight was going nowhere.


“Well my beauties, Emma won’t be back until tomorrow, so it is just the three of us. I’m sure we will still be able to have a pleasant night together. Now who is to be the poor masochist tonight?”

“Me I think, madame.” Said Michelle sheepishly, but really as all of them knew she was quite happy with that “arrangement”.

“Excellent chere Michelle, your three divine passages will be well attended to by Miko and me. As Emma is not here we will have to work a little harder, but I am sure we will not displease you! I think your buttocks and breasts need a good warming.”

While the three dominas had a celebratory drink upstairs and prepared for their rubber fun and games the guests downstairs had the night to ponder their futures!

In cell 1, the statuesque African queen, collared, ringed, cuffed, and with neck stretched by an increasing number of rings, seemed to slowly accept that her life as a bright young lawyer was over, and soon she would be shipped to the African continent and to her master.

In cell 2, the rubber dolly was looking forward to seeing her husband again. She was in love with him; she loved rubber less so, but with the dominas’ help she would overcome this and return a compliant rubber plaything.

In cell 3, the former naughty husband was adjusting to life as a post-sex change voluptuous woman, and would return to his former wife, changed in so many ways.

The twins, numbers 4 and 5 were proceeding nicely; they were becoming more obedient pony girls every day. With their amazing horse masks on all the time, and the stringent training, soon they would stop thinking of themselves as independent women but as obedient dumb animals, solely alive to serve their master and mistress.

In cell 6, the future porn and fetish star mulled over her fate – bigger buttocks, boobs and both lips. She would get bigger roles too, but what kind of roles, she thought?

Cell 7 was empty for now. Its former occupant the world-famous model was sitting motionless in a plastic perma-skin – a living mannequin locked into the passenger seat of a Range Rover, speeding to her new owner, the world unaware of her cruel but somehow appropriate fate.

A new number seven was already under observation and would be abducted shortly to commence her training.

Finally, number 8 would take two to three weeks more indoctrination. The girls were not in a hurry, however long it took, they got the job done. They had never had a dissatisfied client yet!

Ahhhh, the dominas upstairs thought; what a diverse and wonderful world it was – for them!


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