Gromet's Plaza Latex Stories
Atarax House
by Ataraxia
ataraxia@rubberist.net
© Copyright 2002 - Ataraxia - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/m; latex; fetish; enclosure; cons; X
Google translation
Atarax House by Ataraxia F/m; latex; fetish; enclosure; cons; X
 

(Authors note: This started out as just another story but quickly evolved into a business plan. It could be the seed of something that might actually be workable in the real world! Perhaps you could earn a living from your love of rubber doing this. Please share your ideas on how to make this more feasible and workable with us here! Looking for real-world common business sense, not blue-sky fantasy, please!) 

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After a recent and somewhat "messy" divorce, I found my self nursing a beer at the quiet but fairly up-scale pub just down the street from my newly acquired apartment. It was Tuesday night and the place was fairly empty. I was thinking about how it had all gone wrong. We had married for love but over the years her conservative church upbringing clashed severely with my rubber fetish. It ended in shouting match and lots of lawyers.

The door opened and a middle-aged lady walked in and sat down a only few stools away from the one I was sitting in. I could not believe my eyes! She was wearing a red latex blouse and dress combination. She was nice looking but a little on the heavy side--definitely not a model. This was a "straight" bar--everyone else there appeared to be very "vanilla". I offered to buy her a drink. She took one look at the blue latex shirt I was wearing and said, "Oh, a fellow Rubberist. Sure, I'd love one!"

Since then Amanda and I have met in the same bar on the last three Tuesday nights. Our meetings had been rather low key even though we both made a point to wear some sort of "respectable" latex to show off to the vanillas. Mostly, we engaged in small talk about life, rubber and everything. I learned that she runs some sort of boarding house and offers some kind of special services but she does not elaborate. I told her about my job as a warehouse manager. We slowly began to get to know and feel more comfortable with each other. Even though she made it clear she was not interested in becoming involved in a relationship and that she was not a hooker, she wanted to know all about my deepest rubber fantasies. She seemed genuinely interested. The more bizarre I got, the more she seemed to enjoy hearing about it. She especially liked my fantasies involving full enclosure and endurance. It felt good to be able to talk deeply and honestly to someone about that. I had never had that opportunity before.

Then she invited me to what she referred to as a "small, friendly" fetish party on Friday night. I was to bring a 'suitcase full of rubber' and meet her at a certain location in the country. She gave me a piece of paper with the address on it and said, "Oh, it would also be a good idea to bring your toothbrush. You may want to stay for a while." She grinned and refused to tell me any more about it.

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Friday finally comes and I am driving toward the location of the party. My catsuit, hood and all of my special "toys" are in a suitcase in the back seat. My toothbrush is in there, too. 

I am driving through an old farming area now. Most of the houses are rather large, traditional farmhouses, a bit run down and are located far apart on large plots of land. Some have stood empty for years. The barns, silos and out-buildings that had once been the heart of thriving family farm businesses were now mostly silent and unused with windows broken and sagging roofs. Many of the fields had been unused for years and now contained the softwood tree saplings that would eventually evolve into a forest if left undisturbed long enough. The farming economy had long disappeared from the area as small family farm business became no longer viable. Most of the people who lived here now probably commuted to jobs in the nearby city.

It's 7 p.m.--right on time. Numbers painted on a large mailbox by the side of the road indicate I have arrived at the specified address. A small, tasteful sign located next to it says "Atarax House". I turn down the driveway. I cannot see the house from the road at first because of the young trees in the field. Eventually a traditional style farm house comes into view. It is quite large with three floors, in fairly good condition and has been recently painted. It has a screened porch on three sides and the backside of the house appears to have a magnificent pastoral view that overlooks a large scenic valley dotted with farms and forests. A sizable, well tended garden and orchard lays at one side and a long shed containing a half-dozen modest, late model cars is on the other. Several other cars are parked along the driveway which forms a large circle. A nicely landscaped rock garden with a small pool and fountain lays in the middle of the circle. I park, grab my suitcase and knock on the front door. I can hear my heart pounding. The adventure is beginning...

The door opens and a man in a formal, British-style butler's uniform made entirely of latex greets me. Even his little bow tie is of latex and every detail of his suit is impeccably in place! "Good evening, Sir. We have been expecting you. I trust you had a pleasant drive?" he asks in a pleasant yet very professional-sounding tone of voice. "Please do come in. Miss Amanda knows you have arrived and will be with you shortly."

The foyer contains a large staircase and some pieces of furniture that are modest but in good taste. Soft music and conversation is coming from one of the rooms, presumably a parlor. The butler takes my suitcase up the stairs.

Amanda comes down the stairs. She is wearing a full-length evening gown and matching opera-length gloves--all in shiny black latex. Her hair has been recently coiffed. She flows down the stairs. She exudes charm and poise. 

"I'm so glad you could come to Atarax House tonight, James!" she says, handing me a martini. "I think you will enjoy this once you adjust to the newness of it all. No one here will bite you, so just relax! These are all good people and they will understand you." 

We walk into the room where the music and voices are. There are several people standing around and sitting, talking with each other. All are wearing some sort of garment or bizarre costume of rubber. Some have on hoods and weird breathing apparatus. Several people are also wearing various padlocks and restraining devices. One person in a full cover catsuit is vertically sandwiched between two sheets of thick, clear Plexiglas that have been shaped to the contours of her body and bolted together to totally restrict her movement. Through the Plexiglas I can see various wires coming from her pubic area and leading to some sort of external electrical control box with switches and dials that one of the other people is adjusting. 

"Ladies and Gentleman," says Amanda, "This is James, our newest potential recruit for Atarax House. He doesn't know it yet but he's looking us over tonight. Please introduce yourselves and make him feel welcome. First, however, he needs to get into costume."

"Newest recruit?" I ask Amanda. "Please explain this..." I am very puzzled now.

"OK, let's get you upstairs and into costume while I explain." She leads me up the stairs to the third floor to a pleasant room with a bed, some furniture and large windows overlooking the valley. There is also a small bathroom with a shower stall, tiny sink and toilet.

"This is your room for the weekend if you choose to stay, James" says Amanda. "There is also a large Jacuzzi tub on the second floor. We have also just added an outside hot tub on the back deck with a nice view of the valley." 

She sits on the side of the bed as I look out the window. "James, if it is not obvious by now, this is my boarding house" she explains. "I make a modest but comfortable living from this. Several years ago I inherited a bit of money and bought this place for a song because it was badly neglected and run down. My dream was to turn it into a bed and breakfast for Rubberists. Three of my closest rubberfriends and I slowly rebuilt the place. I gave them room and board in exchange for their labor. We put our hearts into it! I put in most of the investment capital so I own and operate the business and assume the entrepreneurial risk." 

"Eventually we opened for business and started to get a steady yet seasonal trickle of people coming to spend the weekend. However, we soon found that having new people each week posed some unexpected problems. They tended to have a kind of 'tourist' mentality to them because of the brevity of their stay. They did not have time to grow into the culture we were trying to establish in the house and often acted in direct conflict with it. Many were decent folks but some 'demanded' various services that we were not prepared to give them including sex and subservience. A few were just plain assholes. It was just not working. This is our home--we wanted something more stable, cohesive and and conducive to deeper, more meaningful relationships. We realized that what we wanted was to build a family, not a hotel. Then, one day I hit on the idea of a boarding house for Rubberists."

"The people you saw downstairs are our resident boarders. There are eight of them right now and we have room for one more. While there is a lot of diversity in what they like, they are all lifestyle Rubberists and we feel and work together like a family. Some of them live here all the time in the larger, two-room apartments on the second floor. The others usually stay only on weekends, so they have the smaller single rooms on the third floor rooms like this one. Some pay a tidy sum to live here while others find ways to earn their keep in varying degrees. For example, we have two people who tend the garden and orchard to produce most of the fruits and vegetables for our table. Another one has set up a small brewery in the basement and produces a decent house beer. We have set up a fairly sophisticated barter exchange system to accommodate other resources our people have to offer. Most importantly, we have a sense of common purpose here. We pull together to make it possible for all of us to enjoyably live a Rubberist lifestyle. Someone once called this a Rubberist commune. Maybe it doesn't quite go that far but one thing we all agree on is that we feel like a family." 

"So," continues Amanda, "The main service I offer here is room and board for 'special' people by invitation only. However, I also offer some other very special services dealing directly with fetishes that you will become apparent soon."

Amanda looks at me and smiles. "After I got to know you from our evenings together in the bar it became apparent that you are a decent person and think much like we do. I invited you here because I think you might want to join us and because I suspect that the others will feel that you would be a good 'new recruit' for our little community. Does that interest you", she asks?

I think for a moment. "Yes, very much so. This seems like a great idea!"

"OK good! Now, let's get you dressed and downstairs to start schmoozing with the others, shall we? Now, what do we have in this suitcase that would be suitable for you?" she asks with a devilish grin on her face. She empties the contents of the suitcase out on to the bed and then rummages through it briefly. Then she says "Ah Ha! Got an idea...!" She picks up the phone next to the bed and talks with someone briefly.

In a few minutes there is a light knock on the door. The butler and two absolutely stunning ladies in matching, full cover black and transparent latex corseted maid costumes with white trim appear carrying a tray loaded with paraphernalia.

"James, let me introduce you to our staff", says Amanda. "This is Chloe, Samantha and Charles. They are the ones who originally helped me build Atarax House. You should treat them as professional domestic servants at all times--that is their wish. They take their roles here very seriously and do them in exchange for room, board, a modest stipend and my 'special' services." 

"Charles was an accomplished house builder at one time but decided one day after some nasty business with a former wife that he would rather spend his life as a butler wearing rubber and a chastity belt at all times. While a truly excellent butler, Charles is also very adept at building and fixing things around the house including the stainless steel chastity belt he has on now. I have the only key to it in a safe deposit box at the bank. I let him out of it once a year on his birthday to play, don't I Charles?" asked Amanda in a playful voice. 

"Yes, Ma'am" replied Charles in his somewhat stuffy, 'professional' manner, just like a butler in the movies. 

Amanda continues, "Chloe is a post-op transgender and Samantha is pre-op. In addition to wanting to be female they both also felt a calling to lifestyle domestic service in rubber. They do the laundry, clean the entire house, make all the beds and cook for everyone. They serve meals at 8am, noon and 6pm sharp and ask that you coordinate your meal requirements 24 hours in advance so they can plan." Then Amanda smiles, "Even though there is usually only one entry on the menu for each meal, these gals have a gift for pleasing everyone most of the time. Once you have tasted their cooking you'll know why we always seem to have a full house!"

Charles is excused and leaves the room. Chloe and Samantha undress me and then help me get my catsuit part way on. They spend the next 20 minutes modifying my catsuit which already had attached feet and feet. They glue in an enema with inflatable anal probe and a somewhat undersized cock & ball sheath of very heavy rubber that is equipped with a drainage tube for my urine. Samantha lubricates them well and installs them on me. She pulls the catsuit up, closes the zipper and then glues an additional strip of latex over the zipper to seal me in watertight. I am hard as a rock now and straining against the tight confinement of the sheath. Meanwhile, Chloe has been gluing something to my full cover hood. She adjusts my hair and then pulls the hood over my head. The eye holes have been fitted with small clear plastic lenses. There is no opening for my mouth. I can only breathe through two nostril tubes. The back of the hood is zipped up and, like the catsuit, a strip of latex is glued over the zipper. Chloe tucks the flange of the hood down into my catsuit and glues it closed. Finally, she gives the bulb that pumps the blockage balloon in the enema a few squeezes, looks at her watch and announces in an official sounding tone, "Sir James's program begins at 7:47pm". 

Amanda writes the time down in a small notebook and begins to speak. "This is one of the fantasies you told me about, James. I hope you enjoy it. You are completely enclosed in rubber. All seams are glued shut. You are leakproof and nothing can get in or out. The only access you have to the outside world is through your nostril tubes, the enema tube and the drainage tube from your penis sheath. Fluids and liquefied foods will be injected directly to your lower intestine through the enema tube so that you won't starve or dehydrate. Anyway, the mouth area of your hood is sealed shut. We will keep you well fed and watered. Your elimination functions will also be through the enema and urine drainage tubes."

"This will be a 750 point program, James", she continued. "You must earn 750 points before the suit may be removed and the program ended. For each hour you wear this full suit you will earn 10 points. For each hour you spend in light bondage, such as handcuffs, or for each certifiable orgasm you'll also get an additional ten points. For medium or heavy bondage the rates go up to 20, 30 or even 50 points per hour depending upon the severity you want to endure."

"Now, if you do nothing at all, at 10 points per hour for just having the suit on you'll have to wear the suit for 75 hours to earn the 750 points needed before I let you out. That would put you well into Tuesday or Wednesday. I know that you have to go back to work on Monday so you are going to need to have a lot of orgasms and have us put you into bondage to earn the extra points you will need to get your 750 points in time to be cleaned up and ready to join us for dinner Sunday evening. I will keep track of the points for you. Managing your programs is one of the 'special' services I offer to all of our residents."

I find I can move my jaw and speak fairly freely in the hood even though there is no opening for my mouth but my lips brush sensuously against the latex inside the hood as I do so. I ask, "and what is to prevent me from simply ripping this hood or the suit off before then? It is only just thin rubber. Surely I could just pry apart the seams Chloe just glued together!" As I talk I can feel the exhaling air from my mouth causing the hood to inflate slightly. This takes some getting used to because I cannot inhale while talking except through my nostril tubes. The effect is delicious!

"Ah!" says Amanda. "Now you come to one of my other very special services. I can be an escrow officer for you. One of the biggest problems people have is finishing their more strenuous programs. They want some very compelling reason for them to do so. So, I came up with this approach and it is very popular. The next time you want to enact an endurance fantasy, we will sit down and write up the details and scenario of a complete program entirely of your design. Or, you can also use or modify one of the programs someone else has written. The one you are doing now is probably one of the most popular ones. We will clearly specify what number of points is needed to complete the program and which actions earn various point levels. Now, here's the part that makes it really work! You give me a pile of cash to put in 'escrow' for you. It should be enough to be really compelling but you decide how much that is. Many residents go for $50 to $100 or so. Some occasionally go for much more than that--it all depends upon how determined they are to finish out their program. When... and if... you successfully complete your program according to the written plan--that is, you earn the full number of points required as specified in your written program, you will get all of your money back. But, if you tear the suit off or otherwise quit early or deviate from the program even just a little bit, I keep the money and put it into our "community toys" fund. That's what bought the hot tub this time and has stocked our dungeon in the basement with a wide variety of toys! It's sorta like wagering with yourself that you will finish your program! I just manage it for you. Oh, and, before you start jumping to conclusions, let me assure you that I will not try to discourage you from completing your program so I can keep the money. The others will attest to that, I'm sure. I make my living from you renting your apartment from me and I want you to stay around!" 

"Now, are you ready to go downstairs and meet the residents of Atarax House," she asks? "Normally, during the week things are pretty quiet but this is Friday night and many of them are starting some pretty wild weekend programs!"

"Amanda--one question. Why do you call this 'Atarax House'? What does it mean,", I asked.

"Well," she replied, "it is a Greek philosophical term meaning 'to look upon the world with a mind at peace'. Many times, when people first come here, we find that they do not fully accept their fetish. They are at war with themselves. But after a while of living among other Rubberists who share a very special understanding with them, they began to find that peace. So we call this peace house."

"Now, let's go downstairs and meet some of the residents!"
 

03.06.02 

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