Rubber Slave Stories

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Rubber Slave Stories
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/120706-The-Rubber-Milkmaid
Rated: XGC · Article · Erotica · # 120706
By P-Funk
pphunk00@yahoo.com
(non-consensual transformation, rubber, m/f/f sex)

Created: February 6th, 2001 at 1:42 am
Modified: April 22nd, 2001 at 3:35 am

© Copyright 2001 pphunk00 (pphunk00 at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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Rebecca pawed her way through the racks of rubber goods like a kitten in a yarn factory. Today was the grand opening of the new rave- and fetish-wear store, and she’d been one of the first customers through the door. Now, surrounded by rubber, latex, and vinyl clothing, she found herself practically squealing with delight.



She picked up a hood and held it too her face, breathing in the fresh scent of new rubber. The material was smooth in her hands, a shiny emerald—not her color, but gorgeous nonetheless. Reluctantly, she placed it back on the shelf.



"Can I help you?" came a voice from behind her. Rebecca turned to see a young salesgirl with blue hair and a dog collar smiling pleasantly at her.



"I’m not sure," she replied. "I already have so much gear. But I can’t help looking for more. God, I love rubber. If only I could wear it all the time!" She sighed and glanced about her, looking for something new to try on. Maybe another catsuit is what she needed…



The blue-haired girl interrupted her reverie. "Actually, we do have a back room with some unusual items we aren’t planning to ordinarily put on display. You’d be the first customer to see them. Would you like to have a look?"



"I’d love too!" she replied. She followed the salesgirl to the back of the store, through an unmarked door. There they paused, and the salesgirl said, "I have to blindfold you now. The owner is pretty protective of his privacy, and a lot of his new designs are back here as well."



"Well, I guess s-s-so," stammered Rebecca. Even for an elite fetish shop, this request was more than a little strange. Still she couldn’t resist going through with it; she had to see what else the store had to offer. The salesgirl produced a hood, and carefully slipped it over Rebecca’s head. There were no eyeholes, but she was free to breathe through her mouth and nose. She couldn’t help trembling with excitement as she felt the salesgirl’s slim fingers tie the collar of the hood tightly around her neck. Then she heard a click, and felt herself being pulled by the throat down the hall. I’ve been put on a leash, she realized. "What’s going on?" she asked.



For an answer she received a cloth dipped in chloroform held to her face. Then all went black.



* * *



Rebecca regained consciousness when she felt the electric razor running across her scalp. The locks she had dyed a brilliant pink cascaded down. Horrified, she tried to raise her hand to feel if anything was left, only to discover she was completely bound.



Her mask must have been removed, she realized, for she could see, thanks to some dim fluorescent lights. She was in a large room that looked like a cross between a boiler room and a dentist’s office. The blue-haired girl was there, minus her dog collar and wearing a lab coat, checking the numbers on some blinking equipment. A young man, probably the one who had just shaved her, was busy sweeping up her hair. She was utterly naked aside from the network of straps that bound her to a padded wall.



In the center of the room stood a tall man with a shaved head and a weathered face. He too, was wearing a lab coat, along with thick rubber gloves and a devious smile. When he realized she had awakened, his smile widened and he strolled over to her, rubbing his hands.



"I’m so glad to see you’re awake," he said. He picked up a clipboard and began ruffling through it. "Tell me—what was your name?—ah, Rebecca according to your license, which you won’t be needing any more—tell me how you feel."



"Please, what are you doing to me?" she asked frantically. "Who are you? Why am I all tied up?" Fear bubbled through every vein in her body. "Why won’t I need my license anymore?" she whispered, as tears began to stream down her face. "Are you going to kill me?"



The man laughed delightedly. "No, my dear, I think you’re wonderful. Besides, I would never do anything so crude. To answer your questions: My name is Doctor Meeks. You won’t need your license anymore because your life is about to change. And you are all tied up because I have begun a series of injections which are already dissolving and reconstructing your body tissue, particularly your skeletal system and epidermis. If I unstrapped you, you would most likely flop to the floor like a jellyfish and probably hurt yourself.



"You see my dear," he went on, "I am slowly turning you into a rubbergirl. A living breathing hybrid of human and rubber. I set up the store you so gleefully entered to fund and act as a front for my experiments, and to find semi-willing victims. I am here to make your wildest fantasy come true—whether you like it or not."



Rebecca strained to understand what Dr. Meeks was telling her. "You mean, I’m all rubber now? I can’t move?"



Meeks rubbed her now-bald head and smiled. "You will be able to move a little, but not much. And you are mostly rubber. Most of your internal organs will dissolve or transform in the next few hours, and your remaining bodily processes will be held in near-stasis. You will be alive, and be able to hear, feel, and see most everything that occurs to you—but you will be powerless to act. You will be little more than a doll.



Rebecca was sobbing outright now. "Why?" she wailed.



"Because it’s what you dream off," Meeks replied. "The rubber gear, the catsuits, your fascination with fetishistic sex, are all part of your desire to become a thing, an instrument of pleasure—to become perfect, loved, always wanted, always satisfied."



Rebecca continued crying, but Meeks’ words echoed inside her. Was this what she wanted? Was this really the logical conclusion to her fantasies? Her sense humanity railed against what the doctor was saying, but some dark part of her could not help but listen, and craved more…



But it was clear she had no choice in the matter anyway. Dr. Meeks was already well underway. He sprayed her eyes ear and mouth with some sort of solution, muttering something about protecting the mucous membranes. His young male assistant hooked her into a harness, then unstrapped her from the wall she had been bound to. The salesgirl pushed a button on a remote control, and Rebecca felt herself lifted by some kind of crane. As she went past Dr. Meeks, he patted her foot almost kindly. "Goodbye, my dear," he said. "I hope you enjoy yourself."



The next thing Rebecca realized she was being lowered into a vat of liquid rubber. It felt delicious, like being dipped into warm pudding, and despite her horror she could not help but wriggle a little in pleasure as she was slowly dipped feet first into the vat. The stuff stuck to her skin, feeling smoother and tighter than any bodysuit, bonding to and becoming part of her. She was dipped lower, and the rubber oozed between her thighs, over her hips, past her stomach and breasts. Then, before she could protest, she was dipped completely underneath, and she lost consciousness as her vision and lungs filled with goo…



* * *



Voices in the dark.



"Will she be a mannequin?"



"A doll?"



"No." Meeks. "For her, something special."



* * *



She found the strength to swivel her head some. Her body was smooth white rubber, fringed with black in odd, robotic patterns.



She felt a sensation to one side. She turned and watched as a beam of light passed through her arm just after the shoulder. They were using a laser to cut her limbs off, she realized. She knew she was supposed to feel something was wrong with this.



She watched her other arm be taken off, then her legs at mid-thigh. Then blackness.



* * *



She slowly came to. She could barely think of herself as Rebecca now. She could barely think at all. She just felt.



Her vision was inordinately clear, if somewhat warped at the edges. She was in some sort of club or lounge. People in dark clothes sat all around, holding each other, taking softly, drinking.



Tubes came out of her back, and from where her arms had been. She understood vaguely that they carried nutrients and removed wastes from the little that was left of her biological body. She was wrapped in more tubes and straps, like a spider in its web.



A tall, bearded man came over to her. He squeezed the stump of her arm experimentally, and her body filled with electric pleasure. Being touched, the give and spring of her rubber body, felt wonderful. She rubbed her thighs together, feeling the slickness as rubber squeaked against rubber.



She was aware of only one even vaguely uncomfortable sensation: a dull ache in her chest. She looked down and realized her breasts had swelled considerably. They felt heavy. She longed to be touched. Then bearded man placed his hand on one swollen globe and squeezed the nipple. Fire shot through her, and she found release as the nipple began steadily spurting milk, which the man caught in his glass. He released her nipple when the glass was full, raised his hand as if to toast her, and drank. She watched herself disappear into his mouth, watched his Adam’s apple work to gulp her down, and she wriggled in satisfaction. It was then that she realized what she had become. Some hybrid of person and catsuit and cow, a kind of rubber milkmaid in some cutting-edge bar.



Soon after, young man with dark curly hair and glasses come over to her. He put an arm around her waist, and pulled her over to a corner, where there was a pile of cushions. The entire web of straps and tubs came with; she was attached to a track on the ceiling. As she pondered this fact, she felt the young man’s lips touch the orb of her right breast.



She gave herself to him then, milk pouring out of her into his waiting gullet. He squeezed her hard with his hand, and her rubber teat responded, pouring more of the frothy white liquid into him. Rebecca was suffused with an utterly new feeling, a glow, for every human touch was pure pleasure to her. She was nothing but rubber, milk and sensation, and she loved every second of it. She moaned silently.



The young man, still nursing her like a baby, slipped down his pants slightly and unzipped. His shaft, already wet and glistening, leapt out. Gently, tenderly, he slipped it into her. Her rubber body responded, the lips of her slit parting for him, then tightening, taking him in deeper. The rocked together, and she felt her self cradled in his arms and the hammock that contained her new form.



The young man grinded his hips into her, swirling his cock inside her. Her clit throbbed, the rubber nub sending bolts of electricity through her every time he brushed against it. Dimly, Rebecca wondered what kind of orgasm a woman made of rubber could have. She knew she would soon find out. She pressed harder against the boy, wriggling in his lap as best as her new form allowed.



A girl came over to them then. She looked barely old enough to drive but had a poise that made her seem far older. Without a word, she slipped out of her shirt, discarded her bra, and peeled down her shorts and panties. She kissed the boy, and with one hand slowly slipped him out of the rubber milkmaid.



Rebecca’s mind cried out at the interruption of her pleasure, but she could make no sound. But then sensation flooded her again, as she felt the girl’s finger slip inside her. Then another finger. Soon, she had wedged her whole hand inside Rebecca. Then a second hand. Gripping the sides of Rebecca’s swollen rubber cunt, she began to push her open.



Rebecca felt like she was splitting apart, but her plastic body refused to tear or break. Rather, it just kept stretching. Soon the girl had not just her arms inside Rebecca, but her head, shoulders, and torso as well. The girl wriggled and pushed until she was in up to her belly button. Then her hand found the boy’s cock, and she tugged it purposefully.



The young man, who had watched this proceeding almost matter-of-factly, then let himself be guided into the girl’s sopping pussy. Now, both women where filled completely: the girl by the boy’s cock, and Rebecca by the girl’s body. The boy again latched on to one of Rebecca’s nipples, biting deeply, while he felt the girl’s breasts, which pressed through the thin wall of Rebecca’s hollow rubber stomach. Together, they thrusted and pushed, rocked and writhed. Every thrust of the boy’s cock pushed the girl a bit further into Rebecca, which rubbed the doll’s clit, which caused her to spurt more milk into the boy’s mouth, who thrusted again in response. Rebecca moaned in silent, joyful agony. The boy gasped. From deep inside her rubbery blanket, the girl squealed.



They came in a geyser of cum, milk, and vaginal juice. Rebecca felt herself utterly emptied out, released. The human part of her surrendered utterly to the rubber, to the thing, to the doll that she had become. The boy collapsed against her, spent. The girl, still half inside her, wriggled in afterglow.



Dr. Meeks had been right. This was what she wanted. To be a thing, to be used, to be owned—and at the same time, to have power, to be desired, to have every wish fulfilled. She sank back into her harness. The boy quietly zipped up and slinked away. The girl whispered, "I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to stay awhile." She scissor-kicked her legs until she was all the way inside Rebecca’s rubber womb, then curled up like a baby. Only a puddle of clothes on the floor and the rubber milkmaid’s swollen, pregnant belly hinted where she had disappeared to.



Rebecca smiled, filled with a new kind of pleasure at having the girl inside her. She was a being of rubber, a vessel of pleasure to empty and fill over and over again. Content at last, she rocked in her harness of tubes and wires, until both she and the girl in her rubber belly fell asleep.



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