A Little Motivation

The story you’re about to read is a work of fiction, delving in the themes of fetish and human sexuality, as well as alternative ways of life and display of love. This is a work of fiction with explicit sexual content and language, intended for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. All the names, not restricted to, but including, characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.

Do not proceed if these subjects are either illegal in your country of origin, or might cause you shock or discomfort.

This story was originally written as part of a set of stories named “Die Gummihaus”, which are set in the Real Life RubberMansion universe of stories, in which the games take place. This particular story was a lost chapter on that series. Sequentially I have no idea where it goes. Feel free to think about it on your own 😉

            When life gets too busy, and too hard, sometimes we need something special to remind us what it is all about, things that allow us to hang on to our dreams. Dreams are usually slippery motherfuckers and very keen on sliding away when you look the other way. And life is very keen at throwing things in our faces to make us look away. All the time. The trick to keep your dreams at hand, is not only to work hard, but to find a way to harness them so you can hold tight to them. They are still gonna put on a fight to flee from you, but at least you give yourself a better shot at keeping them within reach. 


            For some people those harnesses and handles can be routine. Or little notes left on the fridge reminding how many calories there is in a cake. But for perverted rubber sluts like us, it is ritual. Little everyday sacred acts to keep the dream of a rubber life alive. Getting up, taking a very long delicious shower. Waiting for your skin to dry before slipping in your rubber corset liner. Picking up your corset, putting up against your rubber skin and slowly cinching it down, feeling it touch and tighten while keeping tabs on how many inches you have gone so far not to overdo it. Slipping some rubber stockings over your legs, putting on your high heels, and then waking downstairs to meet the rest of your family in the kitchen. Wait for Owner to wake up, come down, get some coffee, eat the meal we cooked, and then and inspect our corsets, and decide if the heels will be locked in or not.


            Our lives are filled with these small little rituals, sacred steps to be taken everyday, to keep the spark alive. To keep the juices flowing. To keep the game fun. To keep things alive. Rituals and important. Rituals matter. These small little tokens of trust and commitment. And most important of all, rituals have to become natural, sacred, at least for us, because we know, the day we say we can skip these self imposed punishments, it will all fall down crumbling like a castle of cards under strong wind.


Each time I move and feel the rubber of the panties sneak into my ass, and I am in public and cannot touch, cursing Owner when each step becomes a walking discomfort of rubber pushing against my pussy and ass, driving me painfully crazy. Each time I arrive home and ask for permission to unlace. When I shower and shave my pussy for Owner, feeling the joy of being a proper rubber girl. When I wash my rubber clothing with love and care. When my body is tired and sore after a long day, when my ankles and toes are screaming in pain from walking up and down in the high heels. Each step jolting with a sharp pain that is a delicious reminder I am owned.


Owned. A much needed feeling that means all is right. All makes sense in the universe, that has a well set center, a very well known 0,0,0,0. Which is where Owner sits.


When the plug slides in. When each of my legs slide into the chlorinated catsuit. When I zip it up, making sure the electrodes are well placed against my skin. When I walk to the stationary bicycle and straddle my feet to the stirrups, and lock them in place. When I hook the electrodes to the panel. When I know now I am at my Owner’s will. Owner does not have to be here, the bike was created, programmed, and set following that devilish desire I submit to. It is like Owner is here. Always here. All I need to remember, is touch my collar, or feel the smell of the rubber against my skin.


            Exercises are also a big portion of our daily rituals. It was a boring and hopeless event, which we kept doing just to keep in shape. It was a zombie-like effort, after a long day at work, that we often skipped. Until Owner made it too into one of our little rituals. A customized bike, linked with e-Stim and a water feeder did the trick. Took effort to add it to the everyday life, but as a ritual, there was the submissive’s reward in being a good girl. And we love being good girls.


I now straddle myself to the seat, and feel my now very wet pussy being caressed slowly by it, as the LED screen goes to 0.0. I hook the electrodes and feeding tube to the console and start my ride. My feet, locked into this 6” heel position, will not be released until I get to the goal. Same with my hands, now encased in inflated mittens shaped around the handles. A goal I have no idea how soon or how far I am from. Owner changes it every night, and it is coded for each one of us. Or so we are told. My earphones start pumping Owner’s voice to me, inside the tight hood, while a gush of fresh water is pumped into my mouth. I start biking… and the electrodes come to life, to a light hum.


            My moan is muffled as Owner walks by, just coming from the city with Shade, and kisses my gagged face as a welcome home, and gives my rubberized ass a squeak. Sister just giggles and gives me a kiss, and whisper something in my ear that I cannot listen. The audio is pumping loud, only Owner’s voice, only Owner’s orders echoing around my head, while I pedal away, starting to feel my own sweat mix with my pussy juices and make it all more interesting as the bike seat just hits all the right spots. This seat, which was also devised in a very evil way to add to our predicament, but just enough, so we could never get off from it on its own.


            Owner knows we are three horny rubber sluts, and lust becomes incentive. The longer we pedal, the bigger the rush, the more intensive the eStim hum. Water flows in at uneven intervals; so, the need to pee also increases. But we are locked. I am locked. I cannot leave, unless I finish. I cannot finish until I hit the spot. And I cannot hit the spot unless I keep riding, at a continuing speed and rhythm, as if riding a wave. When I hit the spot, I will be given a huge orgasm. Or maybe, the spot is that I hit the orgasm, and the system detects my thrashing and releases me from my delicious bondage. I really don’t know. I just ride the wave. I just go with the flow. The flow that sometimes just stops. The seat sometimes vibrates, and stops. Ad drives me insane with growing frustration as my sweat flows to my feet. All I have is the calorie counter going up… and down… and up… flicking insane numbers to toss me out of the trail. A nice addition to the nasty predicament. No sound, with my back turned to the TV to have no real track of time.


            Owner knows minutes sometimes will fly like hours, sometimes like seconds… but we never skip this, our exercise time, our own little ritual. For now we share a bike, but last Xmas a promise was made for some new bikes. So we could do it together… which is devilish on itself, for one bike could be rigged to the other, and at random, our objectives and efforts swapped… so when we bike we are not really sending shocks and vibrations and motivation to ourselves, but to our sisters. Being at home at a set time. Joining our sisters at the set time. More rituals, more bonds to each other. Maybe while Owner sits and enjoys with a beer, and walks by and makes a nasty comment. Or presses the red button in the base of the bike, away from our sight, and sends a shock up our pussies.


            I just ride. Ride the bicycle and the wave of pleasure that washes over my body, moaning uselessly inside my rubber inflated gag. More water is flowed in me, as I try not to be hornier by the idea Owner gave of adding a feature to recycle our pee if we happen to have to go while riding. The devilish idea that we have to cycle together because we will not get released until all of us have reached our goals and orgasmed… at least once.  Plugs added to inflate and deflate and vibrate inside the suits. Oh, the hideous notes Owner takes while I am riding like crazy. My legs burn, hurt, my lungs are at a peak now. The idea of goggles projecting horny images to my eyes, instead of watching the garden and the dogs play around.


            I moan again… I trash against my binds. My hands soaked in my own sweat, my pussy drenched in my juices as my ass hurts from the catsuit finding its way home up my crack as it is pushed by me moving on the seat. I look to the sofa and see the Shadow dressing in her exercise suit, waiting for her turn, while Owner is online. I moan louder now, and try to ride faster. Like chasing the rabbit down the tunnel… riding this wave of pleasure… unknowing when I will be released… it seems to last forever… the A/C in the room not strong enough to keep me cooled, even when it is at full blast, only making the cold air burn my lungs, but nothing else. More water. I have to pee! My bladder is filling up fast as my legs go up and down painfully. I fight to hold it in, as the buzzing of eStim grows.


Owner comes by and smiles while massaging my nipples. That deliciously evil grin, that asshole dominant aura that knows I love the abuse. Sister joins and comes behind me, kissing my collared and rubbery neck, while grasping my uncorsetted waist just the way I like it. Owner says something I cannot hear… I moan again… and trash against my binds as my pussy has taken too much and I cum… and cum again… but the shackles are not released. I try riding, with a horny pain filled pussy… with an aching throbbing cunt… holding in the pee… which hurts me right now… trying to stay breathing… stay focused… commanding my legs to another cycle… and another… I can see Owner laughing loudly, pinching my nipples through the rubber now. I know sister is enjoying herself, as Scarlet walks by the door, leaving the outside world outside, like a gate of triumph where now we are in our own world, living by our own rules, for each other, dropping her usual bags of groceries in the nearby table and coming to us. I trash hard against the bike again… I cum… and panic as pee starts flowing down my legs, warm and fluid, stinky, a nasty little rubberdoll… and the idea alone makes me cum hard again… and feel my catsuit legs starting to get bloated by the filth sliding down them as I scream Owner’s name in my gag.


            I can see in Owner’s fiendish eyes, filled with nasty joy, that I have had enough. Owner comes, leans forward and kisses me, then walks away… as Shade helps me out of the bike. I was released from the locks in what looks to have been minutes ago, and did not even notice… dream-like taken by her and Scarlet to the sofa, as both help my hood come off. Only the gag and hood.


            “You better not leak on the carpet or you are doing the cleaning”, Scarlet tells me.


            “How do you feel about the recycling now?” Owner says with an evil smile of someone who just made a decision, passing me a bottle of cold water I first rub against my forehead.


            “Still hate the idea… let me just rest a bit before heading or the shower… Owner” I add knowing my place… my pussy spent for a few minutes… as I kiss my sisters and see Shade hood up and hook herself for her turn at the bike.


            I get up… and manage to crawl into the shower… unzip the suit and sit down for a while as the warm water slides in and makes it easier for my cocoon to slide away. The pee as well, leaking now down the drain as I take the electrodes away… and start washing my skin slowly and carefully… unable to shake that big smile from my face. I let the water flow down my red hair, down my neck, down my back, as I have both hands against the wall, and start getting some energy for my enema. And then take the plug downstairs for Owner to slide in for the night. Something I will do with a smile.


            Rituals. They are important. They keep it all alive. Our little daily motivation to keep the dream harnessed and held tight in our grip. A way to follow the rabbit without going insane. Those little rules to make it all make sense. Crazy as it is.


            Because we are all crazy in our own way. We just have to find people just as crazy as we are, so we can hand it hand jump into the rabbit hole.

Welcome to The RubberMansion

The RubberMansion contains materials intended for adult audiences, dealing with many aspects of the erotica, pornography and the human sexuality, including but not limited to sex, fetishes, roleplay, Domination and Submission, Bondage, Sadism and Masochism, as well as free expressive aspects of love within the LGBTQ community.

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