Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Institute for Complete Rubber Immersion

by Jane D'oh

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© Copyright 2021 - Jane D'oh - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; fpov; latex; prison; oral; bodybag; hood; clinic; future; cons; X

Continues from


Back in my old cell weeks later I slept the sleep of the sinless. Our Matron had welcomed me home so enthusiastically and lovingly that I was able to forget, at least for a time, the places I'd travelled to on Level 8. After she had finished another chapter of her story and wished me goodnight I soon fell into a deep dreamless void.

It was nice to get back to the old routines. Things were just the same as before but I had a fresh appreciation for all their wonderful detail and perfection. Some problems did arise however, particularly in the first week or so. My stay on Level 8 had sapped me of much of my strength and endurance: too much time floating weightlessly and not enough exercising.

Thus, my cleaning duties suffered and Warden 3 had no choice but to make note of this. My efforts in the Gymnasium produced far too few watts to satisfy Warden 5 and this went on my record. Once, in the feeding station on Level 4 I actually failed to reach the life-giving phallic target of my desire and had to leave empty and chastised, which of course also left me further weakened: an unpleasant feedback loop to be sure.

After about a week or so I was pretty much back in old form and fulfilling my duties to my previous standard, with a little extra motivation provided by Warden 7, the Dominatrix. I'd never seen her smile so broadly as when she was looking over the chart of my recent behaviour.

And so my life continued in the bizarre building that houses the strange world that is ICRI. Weeks followed weeks. I felt even more a part of the Institute after my stay on Level 8, like I was an integral part of things rather than just an isolated inmate. My weekly three-hour writing sessions continued to be a frustrating ordeal however, rarely resulting in more than a few sentences and never seeming to have the magic flow that once guided my pink rubber fingers over the keyboard. Eventually the reason for this dawned upon me: my memoirs were an attempt to communicate at some level with someone or something outside of the Institute and all I really wanted to do was merge and disappear into my new world, leaving the other entirely behind.

One night, as the Warden of Sublevel 2 was tucking me into my heavy rubber sleepsack she informed me that the following day would mark the end of my first stage of "swimming lessons" as she still called them. I would be tested to make sure I'd retained all the knowledge that had been imparted to me and once I'd passed I would be declared fit to proceed to the next level.

A flutter stirred my heart at the thought of being tested (especially by the enigmatic Warden 10) but I had no real fear of failing. I had been over and over every detail of every lesson such that it was burned deeply into my memory. My time on Level 10 had seemed to consist mostly of dressing in the sexiest of heavy rubber diving gear and looking at the same lessons again and again, often with some added bondage that would make swimming impossible. Through it all I had yet to see a drop of water, let alone a pool. I very much looked forward to what might occur in eight days when the next stage would commence.

In the darkness of my rubber womb I felt the not insubstantial weight of our Matron added to my mattress as she sat down to continue her story.


The ever-so-slightly non-vanilla birthday tryst had gone as well as could be expected, considering that one participant wanted no part of it and the other wanted it to be so much more. The ballerina played along to some extent and tried to hide her disinterest which bordered upon disgust. By the end of the evening things didn't outwardly appear much different than before and yet both ladies felt that something had undeniably altered between them.

The inevitable rift widened of course and as it did, so did the temptation for the dancer to take advantage of her position. Her relative poverty ballooned in her own mind in the presence of so many who were better off and on one fateful day she crossed the line, taking advantage of her position to begin the syphoning of funds that would be the precursor of her downfall. 

She had no interest in kinky rubber bondage and was put off by the whole idea. Her feelings towards her lover shifted seamlessly into feelings of greed and unrequited so-called need. Over time she even began to dislike our heroine, looking down upon her as being stupid enough to be cheated and a pervert to boot. She kept up the facade of a relationship though, eager to increase her already substantial ill-gotten hoard even further. 

For her part, the entrepreneur very slowly began to question her love for this woman. It had been easy to talk herself into it at first and believe it to be real but over time doubts inevitably arose, not unaided by the ballerina's inherent duplicity. Finally one day it just became too obvious to ignore any longer: they weren't in love at all. Perhaps if they had shared an interest in her sexual fantasies the affair could continue for a time but that clearly wasn't the case. She decided that the relationship should end, sooner rather than later. 

Our heroine still harboured strong positive feelings towards the ballerina and didn't want to cause her any undue pain; she wanted the break up to be civil with a mutual understanding. In hindsight, her text message could have been more specifically articulate: she simply told her lover that she needed to talk with her about something important and proposed an evening two days hence in the little local ramen place they were both fond of. 

When her phone's brief chime alerted her to a new message the dancer was at home, pondering if her most recent secret transfer of monies had perhaps been a little too bold since it involved a larger sum than she had previously dared. Glancing briefly at the note she saw the invitation to dinner before noticing the now glaring, " about something important." Instantly her guilty conscience erupted in a whirl of fear and conjecture. Her heart pounded in her chest as though she had just completed the thirty-two fouettes of the Black Swan. It struck her as an unquestionable truth: "She knows!" 


My first day in the white rubber padded cell of Level 8 consisted largely of a long and slow examination of the nearly featureless surroundings. I gradually became a little more adept at crawling around but it remained difficult. As far as I could make out the room was utterly uniform, save for the thin gap along the top of one wall that was the source of light. The ceiling was at least eleven feet high and covered in the same monotonous manner. After a couple hours of exertion I had traversed the entirety of my new home and learned nothing. I was resting with my back against a wall(my torso could bend more easily than my limbs and my weight helped keep me in place) when I heard a faint noise.

I wasn't sure at first. I thought perhaps it was a distant whirring of some mechanism but then there was a definite 'click' and the sound stopped. My tunnel vision made scanning the room a slow process. My bulbous rubber head made hearing the sounds difficult and pinpointing their origin impossible. But I had heard something and I searched eagerly for an answer. Finally, I saw it. Right in the very centre of the room, a large white phallus had erupted upwards from the point where four padded rubber squares met. It seemed to glimmer in the dull light improbably. One way or the other it certainly held all my attention and without thinking I heaved my heavy body forward and began a slow crawl towards my destiny.

Single-mindedly I closed the gap between me and my prey. That which appears may also disappear and I wasn't about to let that happen without a fight. The smooth white rubber dildo glistened compared to its matte surroundings. At last I arrived and lunged toward it with appetite. For some reason I wasn't surprised that I was able (with some effort) to push it past a resistant barrier of some sort and into my newly rubberized mouth. With not a doubt towards my eventual success I sucked passionately on my new cellmate, awaiting its eventual gift of manna. I nearly choked as great globs of Elixir flowed freely from its head and down my throat. Feeding time had never been so easy. I moaned in delight, sucking and sucking before the inevitable cut-off point would arrive. My mind reeled in near ecstasy as the phallus, my mouth, my throat and belly, the room and my new suit became blurred into one glorious whole. The flow continued unabated and my moans did likewise as I sucked the wonderful stuff into every cell of my heavenly weightless body.

I'm not sure how long it took for the thought to find its way through the thick goo of my rubbery brain but at one point I realized that there seemed to be no end in sight. I'd never imbibed so much, so freely before and certainly had never stopped in mid-session of my own accord: the flow had always lessened and abated eventually, until one was forced to admit defeat after valiantly sucking the last molecules from the source. In this case I had to will myself to slow down and relax my intake. I continued to feed however, just at a more leisurely pace and my moans grew softer, if not less heartfelt. Finally I decided to stop. It wasn't an easy decision as one part of my brain kept insisting that this might be the last chance to access the magical white rubber phallus and its glorious goo for who knows how long. What if it simply disappeared back below the padded rubber floor never to emerge again? I pulled my big spherical head up and away from the welcome intruder and felt the strange membrane sealing my rubber mouth close shut. I looked at the gleaming staff quivering slightly before me and almost lunged upon it again in my greed. Rolling over onto my back, I zoned out and floated freely in my white padded cell.

Continues in


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