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Description
Title picture: Borrowed from the wonderful imaginative Captive Kink who passed away earlier this year. I hope he rests now in a world full of bondage and restraints

Codes (so far): MF/f, rubber, chastity, behavioural training

Typing is a bit difficult given my current condition.

For one, I can only use my left hand since my right one is stuffed into a lockable bondage mitten. This mitten in turn is locked to a d-ring in the small of my back, right at the narrowest part of the rubber corset. But I am not complaining; it is a nice and rare privilege to have at least one hand free.

Secondly, I am kneeling in front of the keyboard instead of sitting (I am rarely allowed to sit which is considered a privilege for my owners in this household), and the little wooden bench on which my knees are “resting” is covered with raw rice, which hurts me and makes it difficult not to fidget and wiggle. Again, I don’t complain, because it is nice to feel some fresh air on the naked skin of my legs for a change. Most days, I am covered from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes in rubber and latex.

Today, I am just wearing a pewter-coloured under-bust corset of heavy rubber, tightly laced as always, and, partly hidden in the corset, a very fine and thin white high-closing latex blouse with long sleeves and playful frills and ruffles at the neck, the shoulders and the wrists, and a halfway decent pleated mini-skirt which goes down to my mid-thighs and matches the colour of the corset. Add to that bright red stiletto ankle boots, and the wide triangular chastity plate hooked to the complicated system of piercings in my crotch.

Since I have the free use of my left hand I reach under my skirt and feel around the edges of the belt - impossible to get only my pinkie between the latex-covered steel belt and my skin - and then over my breasts over the thin latex fabric of my blouse. My nipples are almost always stiff like little pebbles. They are almost permanently aroused because of the double piercings - the holes in my flesh held open by x-shaped barbells - and because of the aphrodisiac hormones I am constantly fed.

So to what do I owe this relative freedom? Can you imagine? No hood, no head bondage, no gag? (Mistress even combed my red curls and applied some light makeup.) Well, to the task of telling my story. I am a bit of a writer althoug not a native speaker, but I am honest. Since my owners found out that I don't mind telling stories they allow me to write every now and then, and then they read my stuff out loud to arouse themselves before fucking one another or, of course fucking me.

In this case they really want it to be “my” story, in the sense of the events which brought me here, to this strange and sad point in my life. I am ordered to be blunt and leave out no juicy details, My master wants me to describe the details, and how I feel about it, and he appreciates my honesty. In other words: If he thinks I sugarcoat anything he hurts me in most unpleasant ways. He even insists that I include all negative emotions towards him. He will not punish me for gross language nor for telling what a dick he is. But he will punish me for lying.

There are a number of chapters to this authubiography which will have to be told one by one. The first one is how our parents died when I was 15, and how I brought up my little sister Trudy who is seven years younger than me, almost single-handedly. The second one is how, in spite of all my efforts, she got into deep drug trouble when I was 20 and she was just 13. The third one is how the only chance to get her out of the debts and into rehab was by selling myself off to my master who I have to refer to as Boris. He is a sadist and a rubber pervert.

The fourth chapter was our mock wedding. He insisted that I married him. He forced me into a most obscene and degrading ceremony but it still was a legally valid marriage. He wanted this because in this backward country into which I was sold a wife abandoning her husband has virtually no rights and may even end up in jail or worse. But he also wanted this wedding because of the video footage he now sells bit by bit in the internet, perpetuating my degrading humiliation. Thank you for that, Sir!

”And there is another reason for our marriage. Some time soon when I have grown bored with you I’ll use you for breeding my offspring. We will be a family of sorts and raise kids!” That was what he explained me in our wedding night while fucking and whipping me at the same time. I was wearing a choker - rather: a tight neck corset that resttricted my breath. I was lying on my arms which were bound in a back prayer position, the hand cuffs linked to the neck corset by a chain of barely a few inches. And while I was fighting for air, coped with the pain of the lashes and my contorted arms, and at the same time despite myself got more and more excited, he explained me these prospects for my future. And while he laid out his evil plans, fucked and tortured me, I came to a crushing orgasm. I still am ashamed of myself when I think back to that night. I am so not excited about being knocked up. A pregnant rubber sex slave - thank you very much. But I digress, I have to come back to that in Chapter four.

Chapter five will be about the most painful and humiliating honeymoon he took me to. The worst was that his sister came along. Her name is Natalia, and the two of them have been incestuous lovers since they were teenagers. Think Cercei and Jaime Lannister - also in the degree of malice Natalia is capable of. I think she is driven by jealousy. Each time Boris fucks me I am the target of her wrath for the next 24 hours. Anyway, since that voyage, they work together to turn my life into hell - her almost even crueller than him. On the honeymoon, we travelled to some hot, conservative muslim country, and their main amusement was dressing me up like a cheap hooker, put me into bondage I could barely walk in, and then wrap a black burqa around me and parade me through the hot streets.

All this treatment has a precise goal: I am reconditioned, trained, “educated”, as they call it. And that mainly consist in the said aphrodisiac drugging and behavioural training. I am basically a Pavlov’s dog. They want me to drool when I only think about big, fat butt plugs, blow-up gags and other torture devices. That will be subject of chapter six. And, alas, slowly by slowly, they are progressing. To test how far I am already gone, I pinch myself hard into my right nipple. I hurt myself, and immediately I feel the humidity in my cunt which - another special for today - is not filled with some artificial intruder.

So, that is how long my writing break lasted today. My storiy will coninue whenever my owners feel like it. Now they rang the bell which calls me to duty. Actually, I am grateful because by now my knees are killing me. I will now shut the computer down, stand up clumsily, try not to wobble, curtsy to the surveillance camera and present myself in the huge dressing room. There, they will most likely put me back into much tighter work bondage, and I will have to start with my duties. Hobbling chains between my thighs and my ankle boots and a tight rubber hood impeding my vision and making it hard to breathe are a likely option.

Just another day in the life of a rubber housewife.

Description
Title picture: Borrowed from the wonderful imaginative Captive Kink who passed away earlier this year. I hope he rests now in a world full of bondage and restraints

Codes (so far): MF/f, rubber, chastity, behavioural training

Typing is a bit difficult given my current condition.

For one, I can only use my left hand since my right one is stuffed into a lockable bondage mitten. This mitten in turn is locked to a d-ring in the small of my back, right at the narrowest part of the rubber corset. But I am not complaining; it is a nice and rare privilege to have at least one hand free.

Secondly, I am kneeling in front of the keyboard instead of sitting (I am rarely allowed to sit which is considered a privilege for my owners in this household), and the little wooden bench on which my knees are “resting” is covered with raw rice, which hurts me and makes it difficult not to fidget and wiggle. Again, I don’t complain, because it is nice to feel some fresh air on the naked skin of my legs for a change. Most days, I am covered from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes in rubber and latex.

Today, I am just wearing a pewter-coloured under-bust corset of heavy rubber, tightly laced as always, and, partly hidden in the corset, a very fine and thin white high-closing latex blouse with long sleeves and playful frills and ruffles at the neck, the shoulders and the wrists, and a halfway decent pleated mini-skirt which goes down to my mid-thighs and matches the colour of the corset. Add to that bright red stiletto ankle boots, and the wide triangular chastity plate hooked to the complicated system of piercings in my crotch.

Since I have the free use of my left hand I reach under my skirt and feel around the edges of the belt - impossible to get only my pinkie between the latex-covered steel belt and my skin - and then over my breasts over the thin latex fabric of my blouse. My nipples are almost always stiff like little pebbles. They are almost permanently aroused because of the double piercings - the holes in my flesh held open by x-shaped barbells - and because of the aphrodisiac hormones I am constantly fed.

So to what do I owe this relative freedom? Can you imagine? No hood, no head bondage, no gag? (Mistress even combed my red curls and applied some light makeup.) Well, to the task of telling my story. I am a bit of a writer althoug not a native speaker, but I am honest. Since my owners found out that I don't mind telling stories they allow me to write every now and then, and then they read my stuff out loud to arouse themselves before fucking one another or, of course fucking me.

In this case they really want it to be “my” story, in the sense of the events which brought me here, to this strange and sad point in my life. I am ordered to be blunt and leave out no juicy details, My master wants me to describe the details, and how I feel about it, and he appreciates my honesty. In other words: If he thinks I sugarcoat anything he hurts me in most unpleasant ways. He even insists that I include all negative emotions towards him. He will not punish me for gross language nor for telling what a dick he is. But he will punish me for lying.

There are a number of chapters to this authubiography which will have to be told one by one. The first one is how our parents died when I was 15, and how I brought up my little sister Trudy who is seven years younger than me, almost single-handedly. The second one is how, in spite of all my efforts, she got into deep drug trouble when I was 20 and she was just 13. The third one is how the only chance to get her out of the debts and into rehab was by selling myself off to my master who I have to refer to as Boris. He is a sadist and a rubber pervert.

The fourth chapter was our mock wedding. He insisted that I married him. He forced me into a most obscene and degrading ceremony but it still was a legally valid marriage. He wanted this because in this backward country into which I was sold a wife abandoning her husband has virtually no rights and may even end up in jail or worse. But he also wanted this wedding because of the video footage he now sells bit by bit in the internet, perpetuating my degrading humiliation. Thank you for that, Sir!

”And there is another reason for our marriage. Some time soon when I have grown bored with you I’ll use you for breeding my offspring. We will be a family of sorts and raise kids!” That was what he explained me in our wedding night while fucking and whipping me at the same time. I was wearing a choker - rather: a tight neck corset that resttricted my breath. I was lying on my arms which were bound in a back prayer position, the hand cuffs linked to the neck corset by a chain of barely a few inches. And while I was fighting for air, coped with the pain of the lashes and my contorted arms, and at the same time despite myself got more and more excited, he explained me these prospects for my future. And while he laid out his evil plans, fucked and tortured me, I came to a crushing orgasm. I still am ashamed of myself when I think back to that night. I am so not excited about being knocked up. A pregnant rubber sex slave - thank you very much. But I digress, I have to come back to that in Chapter four.

Chapter five will be about the most painful and humiliating honeymoon he took me to. The worst was that his sister came along. Her name is Natalia, and the two of them have been incestuous lovers since they were teenagers. Think Cercei and Jaime Lannister - also in the degree of malice Natalia is capable of. I think she is driven by jealousy. Each time Boris fucks me I am the target of her wrath for the next 24 hours. Anyway, since that voyage, they work together to turn my life into hell - her almost even crueller than him. On the honeymoon, we travelled to some hot, conservative muslim country, and their main amusement was dressing me up like a cheap hooker, put me into bondage I could barely walk in, and then wrap a black burqa around me and parade me through the hot streets.

All this treatment has a precise goal: I am reconditioned, trained, “educated”, as they call it. And that mainly consist in the said aphrodisiac drugging and behavioural training. I am basically a Pavlov’s dog. They want me to drool when I only think about big, fat butt plugs, blow-up gags and other torture devices. That will be subject of chapter six. And, alas, slowly by slowly, they are progressing. To test how far I am already gone, I pinch myself hard into my right nipple. I hurt myself, and immediately I feel the humidity in my cunt which - another special for today - is not filled with some artificial intruder.

So, that is how long my writing break lasted today. My storiy will coninue whenever my owners feel like it. Now they rang the bell which calls me to duty. Actually, I am grateful because by now my knees are killing me. I will now shut the computer down, stand up clumsily, try not to wobble, curtsy to the surveillance camera and present myself in the huge dressing room. There, they will most likely put me back into much tighter work bondage, and I will have to start with my duties. Hobbling chains between my thighs and my ankle boots and a tight rubber hood impeding my vision and making it hard to breathe are a likely option.

Just another day in the life of a rubber housewife.