Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Working Late 2

by Rubberwolf

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© Copyright 2004 - Rubberwolf - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; drug; shave; latex; rubberdoll; packaged; encased; kidnap; sold; delivered; cons/nc; X

continued from part one

Part 2: Temp to Perm

Julie had enjoyed a productive summer. In fact, the past year had rushed by in a blur which, upon reflection, seemed to consist of her rushing to classes, or staying up until two or three in the morning working on assignments, fuelled by strong coffee (Dark roast, percolated on her stove in a steel coffee pot which produced the sort of thick, strong, rocket fuel essential to late night study.) or beer. After her assignments had been handed in, or she had sat an exam, there would inevitably be a party, several of which she only just remembered, the precise details of which had been eradicated through the excess of beer and dope that accompanied such occasions.

Now, the summer was nearly over and she would return to university with sufficient funds to stabilize her bank account and to pay for next years rent. This was due more to luck, than judgment. The position that she had arranged for herself over the summer break, which would have enriched her CV with three months experience in a marketing company, had fallen through at the last minute and Julie had been forced in to a mad, last minute, scramble to find work. She had therefore signed up with several temporary agencies and had spent the summer taking whatever work she could get.

Her current position, the fourth that the agency had sent her on, was not glamorous, CV enriching, or interesting. But it paid well. That had become very important to her, following the excesses of the previous year. Although the people were friendly and, all things considered, factory work was not as demeaning as she had assumed, this aspect of her career would not be perused by future, prospective employers and would simply be omitted from her employment history by stating that she had conducted temporary work over the summer and naming some of her more prestigious contracts.

One benefit to this type of work, however, was that she did not have to spend a vast quantity of time getting ready in the morning. She did not have to wear smart jackets, short skirts, high heals, or apply tons of make up. There was also a sense of camaraderie among the workers. Although she had felt like an outsider, since she did not share her colleagues passion for sport, or cars she had still managed to fit in enough to be invited on “Works Nights Out” by her new work mates. This often involved bowling, Indian restaurants and night clubs. Although it would have been easy to blow her money in this manner, Julie was careful, so that while she brought the appropriate number of rounds, when required, did not splash out and ruin her nest egg.

Although she enjoyed herself on these occasions, she did not attract as much male attention as some of her co-workers. She was, she felt, quite good looking, with her long blond hair, 34 – 22 – 34 figure and 5’10” stature. Her personality, she concluded, was just not extrovert enough to be attractive to the opposite sex. Perhaps all that they saw was the tall, lanky, bespectacled book worm that she was. Intelligent, good looking, but a book worm all the same. Although people would start up a conversation with her, or accidentally bump in to her, after half an hour of conversation, their faces would glaze over as she tried to discuss the pros and cons of monetarism and how current economic thinking had taken on aspects of Freidmans ideas and joined them with traditional Keynesian thinking, producing a mongrel philosophy that appeared to work. But despite this, she tried her best to fit in and let her hair down.

It had been, or so Julie felt, a long summer. Today was her last day at “Rubberdolls” and although her hands did everything that they were supposed to, which was spraying make up on to the life sized sex toys, her mind was already back at university, or more to the point, loading her clothes and possessions in to her car and planning where she would stop for lunch. Although she was already packed, she would not set off until Sunday morning when the traffic would be easier.

The sex industry, or at least this aspect of it, was not what she had imagined. She had expected to be working for Danny Devito, or somebody similar. Images of forty somethings wearing too much make up, tight leopard skins and stiletto heals had filled her mental imagery when the agency gave her this assignment. She had almost not taken the job, but the money was good. In reality, the owner, Ms Lindsey Grantham, had turned out to be smart business women and her co-workers were probably representative of production workers everywhere. Rather than a converted back street garage, the premises were large, modern and incorporated very expensive looking machines on the production line. Who would have thought that the demand for life like dolls dressed in rubber outfits would fund such a modern and well presented operation. Perhaps, Julie mused, she had found her dissertation project.

Although Rubberdolls was set in large premises, the level of automation meant that only a small number of staff was required to run the operation. The company therefore had the feel of a family business, while offering the perks of a large organisation. Julie was not, therefore, surprised to find Ms Granger walking purposefully towards her towards the end of the shift.

“Hi Julie.”

Julie made the appropriate informal response that characterized the staff/management relationship of the firm.

“I know this is your last day with us and that you are going out for drinks later, but I was wondering if you could help me out. You see I have a large order that needs to go out tomorrow afternoon and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming in to help out?”

Julie considered this for a moment before accepting. After all, she mused, she was not due to leave until Sunday and she could do with the extra money and so she accepted.

“That’s wonderful”, enthused Ms Granger. “Seeing as how it’s only one day, how about if we pay you double time, cash in hand?”

This Julie did not need to consider and readily accepted. After finalizing the details, she returned to her painting. She stayed at the production line until a quarter to five. She then took out her time sheet, completed Friday’s hours and then went to find her supervisor so that he could sign the document.

After work she drove in to town, paying the usual extortionate parking fees, before walking in to town to post her time sheet at the agency. Once this chore was completed she returned to her car and drove home at a steady, rush hour, and crawl. This did not allow her a great deal of time to get showered and changed, but even so, after a quick bite to eat, she had changed from jeans and T shirt in to a black, strappy dress and heals and set off for a fair well drink with her friends from work.

Julie came to amid a jumble of confused memories, a sore head and the uncivilized volume of the alarm clock. Reaching over to her bed side table, the alarm clock was violently silenced by a good thump that landed, Julie supposed, on the off button. After five minutes pondering why her mouth felt like the bottom of a bird cage, what she did last night and why, being Saturday, she had set the alarm. Once these facts were more or less established, Julie rose from her bed with the sort of groan that would normally only escape the lips of a B movie zombie. Although the bathroom was only a short distance from her bedroom, reaching her objective was not as straight forward as is normally the case, since the route was mined with the discarded clothing, shoes and wine bottles of the night before.

Julie stood under the flowing water for ten minutes before actually starting to wash. But the water did its job and after twenty minutes Julie stepped out of the shower, not necessarily revived, but slightly less un-dead that when she had stepped in. Having attained a higher level of consciousness, somewhere between an ant and a slug, Julie now had a more or less complete picture of last nights embarrassing activities. Armed with this information, it was a major struggle for Julie not to crawl back in to bed, never to be seen in public again. However, after half an hour, she was dressed, had downed two glasses of orange juice and was heading out of the door.

Normally, the drive to work would take her an hour. However, driving to work on a Saturday morning, a full hour before the shops even considered opening, created the sort of roads that are normally only ever seen in car adverts. Deserted streets, with the first signs of life only now beginning to stir, while her fellow road users either returning home from a night out or, if driving to work, they were heading for the shops in the town centre. Consequently, Julie arrived at her destination a full half hour before her shift was due to start.

After knocking on the door and finding that she was alone at the factory, Julie opened a fresh packet of cigarettes and stood by the door, one arm wrapped around her body as she filled her lungs with nicotine, in a futile attempt to keep the damp morning chill out of her bones. After the second cigarette, Julie turned around at the sound of an approaching car. Julie instantly recognised the dark Jaguar as her employers and, after watching it park, waited patiently while Ms Granger got out and strode across the car park.

After opening up the factory and exchanging pleasantries with Julie, Ms Granger explained the rush order and outlined the day’s objectives.

“Basically, we have to get three dolls ready for one of my longest standing customers. I will need to spend some time in the office, sorting the order out and confirming the delivery arrangements. But if you can press on I will join you later on and we should be able to wrap this up before lunch.”

Ms Granger then outlined the customer order in more detail, handing Julie the specific details for the dolls, including preferences of outfit, make up and, if requested, bondage, before setting off for her office.

Julie scanned the order, as well as the special instructions from the customer. Once she had a clear idea of what she would need to do, she walked down to the doll moulds to start on the order.

Initially, Julie had assumed that the company made inflatable sex toys. She was amazed to discover that, in addition to these simple products, Rubberdolls also catered for the more discerning fetishist. You could, for example, order inflatable dolls with cloths, wigs, sex toys and a variety of bondage gear. As the price of the doll increased, usually exponentially, so did the quality. The top of the range products looked very human. They incorporated a plastic skeleton, rubber muscles and realistic skin, so that, in the right light, one might mistake them for human. They could also be posed in any position required and were, as Julie had been shocked to discover, very anatomically correct. As well as choosing specific details on the doll, such as skin colour, height, weight, eye and hair colour, specify the sort of clothing that the doll was to wear. This ranged from the more traditional dolls cloths, such as beach wear, party dresses, period costumes, through a variety of hooker chic, right up to rubber fetish wear. In addition to this, the customer could ask for the doll to be bound, gagged, blindfolded, or any manner of things that took his, or her fancy. The dolls that Julie was to work on were of the very expensive kind.

Julie set to work gathering the materials required for the body. Fortunately, there were several dummies in stock and after confirming the size of doll required, pulled the partially completed bodies from the rack, lifting them in to wire cages before setting off for the moulds.

The partially completed dummies were as tall as Julie. They also weighted as much as a real person of the same height, which made handling them difficult for a slim, nineteen year old girl to manoeuvre. They also gave her the creeps, since at this stage they looked like they would be more at home in a medical school, or modern art gallery because at this stage of their production, the dolls lacked skin. They had already been fitted with muscles around the basic skeleton. Purple and red tubes snaked their way across the body in a fair imitation of veins and arteries. But the grosses thing of all, as far as Julie was concerned, was the porcelain eyes that stared out of the grotesque features, since they looked the most life like eyes that she had ever seen. Julie had suffered from quite a few sleepless nights because of these dolls, imagining them blinking, coming to life and imprisoning her. Julie would usually wake up screaming as the jaws opened and the teeth descended towards her face.

However, despite her discomfort, she had work to do. The sooner these dummies had skin on them, the more comfortable she would feel and so, arriving at the moulds, Julie wrestled a dummy from the cage and stood it next to the mould. On the work bench next to the mould were several items that she would need. Firstly, she took two cups from the table. These were small, made of rubber and were the shape you would get if you cut a hollow ball in half. Two plastic ridges ran along the outside of the cup, in a good approximation of an eye. These were marked left and right and after some fiddling, Julie places them on to the china dolls eyes, before smearing the outside of the cup with a Vaseline type of substance.

Next she fitted a length of plastic card over the immaculate teeth. The card fit over the teeth perfectly, held in place by sticky gum. Again the card had a raised ridge running the length of it, in a fair imitation of a smile. More pieces of card were applied to other orifices, which again grossed Julie out. Plugs were also fitted to nose and ears, before applying more Vaseline. Finally, Julie picked the doll up and placed it, upright, in to the mould, before closing the two halves, positioning the plastic injectors and filling the mould. The moulds used a centrifugal force to ensure good coverage. This was accomplished by housing the mould in a frame similar to those used to train astronauts in weightless ness. This would spin and rotate the mould, causing the G forces that were created to force the liquid plastic in to every piece of the mould. While she was waiting for the first doll to cure, she repeated the process on the other two dolls. Finally, all three dolls were receiving their skins and so Julie, customer order in hand, set off for the warehouse racks to collect the clothes.

The three orders depicted the variety of fetish that she had come to expect. One of the dolls was to wear a rubber period costume, looking very much like the sort of doll that would be brought to look at, rather than play with. Black, ankle length, lace up boots, with distinctly non period six inch stiletto heals, would be worn alongside white rubber stockings, undershirt and petty-coats. The dolls dress, if fashioned from silk, or velvet, would be exquisite. As it was, the purple rubber, Julie imagined, would look very striking as the modern material aped the fashions of the mid 1800’s. The customer had also specified natural make up and thick, hair of thick copper curls.

In contrast to this, the second customer had requested a much more modern look. Long blond hair, bright make up, rubber corset, short skirt, stockings and knee length boots would not, if for the choice of material, look out of place on any of the fashion dolls found in toy stores across the country. True, they might have to call the range “Barbie Turns Tricks” and Barbie dolls do not usually come complete with dildos fitted front and back. They also did not were ball gags, or posture collars, but overall she could imagine a young girl playing with a scaled down version of the order that had been placed.

The third customer was something different altogether. The doll was to be kitted out in a bright red, rubber cat suit. It was to have dildos inserted in ass and pussy. It would be pieced with painful body jewellery and wear a tight corset, full face rubber hood, with integral penis gag, long blond hair, tied in a pony tail, make up that would look too much on an inflatable sex doll and bound in to an impossible hog tie. Julie had, by this stage, seen numerous dolls in bondage and she still found it amazing to consider that men actually thought that, without years of gymnastics training, a woman could be bent in to some of these ludicrous positions.

After twenty minutes of rummaging in boxes, rifling though hanging garments, or climbing up ladders, Julie had all of the clothes, shoes and bondage gear required for the order. These were placed in to another wire cage, which she trundled back to the production area. She placed the cage by the production line, before returning to the doll moulds.

By now, Julie reasoned, the plastic skin should have cured and so she set about freeing the dolls from their moulds. Thankfully, just as she was about to wrestle the first one from the mould, Ms Granger returned and helped her to remove the dolls, placing them on to flat, stainless steel trolleys. They then both set about the inert forms with craft knifes, cutting away the flashing that jutted out from the bodies, outlining where the two halves of the mould were secured, or where plastic had been injected in to the moulds.

After the dolls had shed their excess skin, the two women set about making up the dolls faces. This involved pouring paint in to an air brush and spraying the faces with the tones indicated on the customer order. Darker hues were then sprayed on to pussies, anuses and nipples. Once this was done, the various plugs and pieces of card were removed and eye and lip make up was applied by brush. Finally, pairs of long, fake lashes were attached, before fingers and toes were prepared. Fake nails were then stuck on to the dolls and painted in accordance with the customer requirements.

The next part of the order called for one of the dolls to have various parts of its body pierced and Julie suppressed a wince as she set about the dummies intimate places with a large needle, while Ms Granger attached an assortment of jewellery.

Finally the dolls were ready to receive hair. One of the dolls was to have a wig fitted, which could wait until a little later, while the other two were to have hair implants. The two dolls that were to receive this complex addition were carried over to the necessary machine. Once the dolls were standing in the right place, domes were lowered over their heads. Both women then checked that the correct colour and length of hair was loaded, before setting the machines running. Ms Granger suggested that now would be a good time for a cup of coffee, since it would take the machines at least ten minutes to pin the groups of hair in to the dolls heads and so they both set off for the canteen.

Before joining her employer in the canteen, Julie nipped in to the bathroom, while Ms Granger went to get the coffees. The rest room, like the rest of the company, was modern and clean. She had worked for several companies who had only given a token nod towards the comfort of the employees. Thankfully, that was not the case here, Julie considered, as she entered a large, well appointed toilet that had sufficient cubicles to ensure that nobody had to queue. The bath room boasted clean, modern fixtures, in an expansively tiled and well laid out suite, that boasted shower facilities, working hair dryer and shaver sockets, soap dispensers and large mirrors; so that the overall effect was that the employee had wandered in to a hotel rather than the rest room of a production company.

After using these facilities and freshening up, Julie joined her employer in the equally well appointed and modern canteen where, she noticed, that Ms Granger had brought two cups of coffee from the machine.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Julie enthused as she slid in to one of the plastic seats opposite her employer.

She had not realized how much she needed the drink, but the excesses of the night before were still very much in evidence and she gulped the first mouthful a bit quickly, causing her to cough as the beverage went down the wrong way. However, Julie soon regained her composure and before long the two women were chatting amiably. Initially, Ms Chambers, who now insisted on being called Lindsey, guided the conversation and Julie answered the companion’s questions about her degree, her career hopes and similar pleasantries. After finishing her coffee, Lindsey got up and brought two more. Upon returning, Julie decided it was time that she asked some questions of the other woman.

“So how did you get in to this business? I mean, it’s not the sort of thing most women would think of doing.”

Lindsey considered this for a few moments as both women sipped their coffee.

“It was my fathers company. It’s a family business. He gave me this factory to cut my business teeth on. He also publishes magazines and has a string of sex shops. When he retires, I will take over the running of those as well. Although the factory has changed since I started running it. Originally, we only produced inflatable sex dolls. Now, as you can see, we cater to a variety of tastes.”

“What about all of the clothes?” Julie enquired. “I mean, that must really cut in to your profits. They don’t look cheap.”

“They’re not,” the other woman replied, amused at the girls audacious questions. “Initially, my overheads were a little higher, but after our new dolls hit the market, I was able to buy out some of my suppliers. This gives me quite an edge during negotiations.”

Julie sipped her coffee and considered this.

“But these dolls are so real. They must cost a bomb to make. I can’t see the demand paying for all of this,” she reasoned, sweeping her hands around expansively, as if to encompass the entire factory in her sweep.

Although Julie lowered her hand, the room still swayed a little. She really had drunk too much last night. Not a good move when you have to get up for work the next morning.

“Oh the dolls pay there way. Anyway, there is also prostitution.”

Julie blinked at her companion.

“I’m sorry, what,” she began.

“Prostitution. The clothes come in handy for that sort of work. It sort of works like a brand image. We send our ladies out in only the finest clothes, which in real terms cost us very little. There is a great market for their services in certain fetish circles. Our customers are usually very happy. We do parties as well.”

Julie stared blearily at the woman opposite her.


“Oh yes. Although you might say that they were really orgies. But a rose by any other name.”

Julie was actively staring now.

“And then there are the slaves. You would not believe how much money I can earn through slavery. I mean. The people who can afford to buy and keep a slave tend to be very discerning and very rich.”

“Slavery?” Julie tried to ask, but no words came out. She couldn’t speak; only stare in numb horror at the obscene monster opposite her.

“But I am sure you’ll be very happy in your new post. I’m actually doing you a favour. After all, it would be a waste of your obvious talents allowing you to become a dusty old economist wouldn’t it?” Ms Chambers observed brightly as she stood up and removed the coffee cup from the frozen girl’s stiff, but unresisting, fingers.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up. You must be quite mucky after all of the lifting and carrying you have been doing this morning,” she continued cheerfully as she bent down and lifted the unresisting form out of the chair, slung her over her shoulder in a creditable fireman’s lift and carried the girl towards the bathroom.

Julie woke up from a troubled sleep amid total blackness. Had she been asleep? She couldn’t tell. Was she still asleep? Again she was not sure. But she thought she remembered a night mare about being crushed by a large snake that made it impossible for her to move, or even breath. She thought that she had been jolted awake. An earth quake? Some other catastrophe then? She was not sure. But it was time that she got out of bed. What time was it? It must still be quite early since it was still dark.

God what a night, Julie thought. She would not drink ever again. Her mouth felt like the bottom of a bird cage and her limbs ached. She hoped she wasn’t going down with something. She needed a glass of water and, after several minutes got up. At least she tried to get up, but her limbs wouldn’t move. It was like they were glued to her sides, an unusual position to sleep in and why couldn’t she close her mouth? What was that in her mouth and why am I so hot?

All of these questions flowed through her brain within the space of two, or three seconds before memory flooded her consciousness like a tidal wave descending upon a sleepy, unsuspecting city.

Images flooded her brain and she wanted to scream, but the ball gag forced painfully in to her mouth prevented this. All that she could manage was a muffled “Ngh.”

She shuddered as she remembered being carried in to the bathroom and stripped. Ms Chambers had actually brought an electric razor with her, which she used to shave all of the hair off of Julies head. She also shaved her privates before coating her head and body in some sort of gunk. After fifteen minutes this was scraped off, taking all of her remaining body hair, including her eye brows, with it and she was then placed in to a shower cubicle.

Julie winced as she remembered having a pipe forced up her ass and the feeling of cold water. She could have died of embarrassment when the woman removed the pipe and the contents of her bowels splashed all over the cubicle. Not satisfied with this, the procedure was repeated twice more, before she was showered.

If this was not bad enough, she was then carried in to the factory, forced to stand rigidly while Ms Chambers fitted her with rubber cups and plugs and endure being sprayed with plastic, which she remembered that bitch wasn’t plastic, but a form of artificial skin that, while still retaining a plastic look, allowed her skin to breath and then, and then. Julies wanted to scream and hit something, or more precisely, she wanted to hit Ms Lindsey Chambers, slut, porno queen and utter bitch. And as for the massive dildos that that woman had stuffed up her ass and pussy she would like to stick them…

She was brought out of her rage as the crate tipped back and she felt herself being carried. It eventually stopped and Julie struggled to hear what was being said as she recognized the sound of muffled voices. After a few moments of straining the voices stopped and Julie was left alone, with a growing sense of fear as she contemplated what this might mean and it’s implications for her future.

Jason Rothberg, self made millionaire, tycoon and closet fetishist stared at the crate that formed the centre stage of his basement playroom. It was large, perhaps seven feet in height and at least three wide and deep. He had been looking forward to this moment for ages and scanned his play room, which boasted a rack, a bondage wheel, a bondage bench and more manacles than you could find in Wormwood Scrubs. With great care, he lifted the crow bar from its place on the bench, from amid the whips, paddles and other devices and approached the front of the crate.

Forcing the bar in to the front panel, he pulled vigorously and was rewarded by the sound of distressed wood, wrenching nails and the front panel moving back at least an inch. Moving lower down, he again forced the crow bar in to the wood and wrenched the crow bar again. Finally, after several pulls, the front of the crate came away and fell with a satisfying crunch as he stepped clear.

Julie realized what was happening as soon as she saw the front of the crate shift. Even so, she was still blinded by the sudden brightness, after so long, as the front panel collapsed on the ground. She had a few minutes to take in the horror of her surroundings, which she could only describe as a dungeon, before her new, rubber clad owner stepped in to view. This was more frightening than anything she had expected, especially since he was covered, from head to toe in bright shiny rubber. Her imagination spun out of control as her mind computed all of the possible implications of her surroundings and the man in front of her and, she was forced to admit, none of them appeared particularly favourable.

Jason stepped eagerly forward to admire his prize. Inside the crate appeared to be another box. This one, however, boasted a clear Perspex screen for a front panel, with the bold logo “Julie” stencilled boldly along the middle in bright pink and blue lettering.

Jason turned his attention to his dolly and his heart almost missed a beat. She was tall and slender, with an impossible hour glass figure. She stood, he guessed, at nearly six and a half feet in her impossibly high heeled, knee length, pink rubber boots. Her entire body had been coated in semi gloss, flesh tone, rubber and she wore a bright blond wig that fell behind her in long, elegant, folds. She had been made up in bright pink and blue make up, with impossibly large fake eye lashes, that made his dolly look irresistibly cute.

She also wore pink rubber stockings and a violet coloured rubber skating skirt. A violet coloured corset, attached to the stockings, did wonders for her figure, diminishing her waist to a minimal sixteen inches and giving her bust the look of huge opulence that he could have buried his face in for a week. The pink posture colour was very sweet and very sever looking. The wrist length, pink rubber gloves were also a nice touch.

The doll did not say anything, which was impossible since she wore a large red ball gag and didn’t move, since she was held firmly in place by thick rubber straps that secured her to the false wooden bottom, commonly used to secure toys in their packaging.

Unable to resist, Jason stepped forward to unwrap his dolly. He felt like a child who had been waiting his entire life for Christmas morning and now that the moment had arrived, it was definitely time to play with his new toy.




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