Rubber Space Academy

October 16, 2014 Erotica

From Chapter II of Rubber Space Academy, by Roxy Katt

[Threatened with disciplinary action for having unauthorized sex toys in her possession, Space Cadet Pamela Blamm has bound the Commanding Officer of Titus Bysshe Space Academy and escaped her office disguised in a rubber French maid uniform.  But Pamela is still not safe: rubber-uniformed Lieutenant Grady is still searching for her…]

I left the office and hustled down the wide, plush hallways of the mansion, dragging the canister vacuum behind me, thinking somehow that that would make the maid act more convincing.  Then I heard a quick and officious stride and a rubbery squinching from around the corner approaching me.  Had my captives been discovered?  Was everybody on the hunt for me yet?

I had to look busy and inconspicuous.  The vacuum.  Of course.  Start vacuuming, you idiot.

I grabbed an attachment and shoved it on the end of the hose.  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what this stupid thing was for.  It looked like the end of a toilet plunger, except that it was a hard, clear plastic.  Stupidly, I turned on the machine and began to clean a little hallway table that was already obviously immaculate.  In my nervousness, I knocked over a small vase with a flower in it, and the lace doily beneath it instantly when “Ssshlorpp” up the hose of the vacuum.

There was an authoritative tapping on my shoulder.  “You,” she said.  It was Grady.

I turned, tried to look as mousey and insignificant as I could, as little like myself as possible.  “Yes Miss?”  I simpered.

It seemed as if she was about to ask me something: presumably if I had seen myself anywhere.  Then, the worst: “hey, wait a minute, you’re…” she stepped forward, triumph in her eye.  I was done.

But she stepped just a bit too close.

“Ssshtoommp!  Brrrrppp!” went the vacuum attachment as it locked onto her rubberized cunt and held.

“Huh?’’ Her eyes crossed.  She tottered on her great heels, her arms windmilling slightly to keep balance.  There was a squeak and a groan as of stretching rubber.

Oh, the unexpected hazards of wearing rubber!  You are sealed in from the cold and from rain, and even chemicals cannot get at you, but you are more helpless than anyone in the face of a rogue vacuum cleaner.

The vacuum engine instantly began to whine at a higher pitch.  Damn, but it must have been some powerful suction there.  The hose began to vibrate in my hand alarmingly, and I let go.  Obscenely, it began to jerk and slither around like some grotesque and endless, corrugated penis.

“Gluh!  Huh?  What the?”  Reflexively, Grady grabbed at the bucking hose with both gloved hands.  I stepped back, wondering what to do, what would happen next.

“Turn it off!  Turn it off!”  she began to squeal and giggle hysterically, like a school girl.  Taking a step forwards to get at the power switch, she accidentally gave the vacuum cleaner a strong kick that sent it rolling away down the hall.  She tottered after it, the hose jerking about her thighs, and just as she reached the canister she again, stupidly, gave it another kick and sent it bouncing off the wall.

She gave up then, and stood in a panic, ass out, knees together, arms crossed above her breasts, and stared in horror at the convulsing snake that looked for all the world as if she had inexplicably grown some monstrous, mechanical male appendage she had no idea what to do with.

Then the motor broke and the vacuum cleaner died, but the suction still held.  Grady began to yank at the hose in a kind of distracted, mechanical manner, as if she had become in spirit as much a machine as the vacuum was.  “Brrp Brraap,” went the rubber of her pants as her hands yanked hard and her ass kept jerking convulsively backwards.

I realized I should really take advantage of this momentary distraction and run–but I couldn’t.  I found myself strangely fascinated by her predicament–aroused, to put it mildly.

“Oooh my…help!  I’m stuck.  My cunt.”

I saw then just how powerful the suction must have been.  She wasn’t in any physical pain, apparently, just humiliated.  Stuff like this just isn’t supposed to happen to exemplary junior officers, and especially not in the presence of perverted subordinates.  The rubber crotch of her pants bulged into the transparent cup, and behind her pants, presumably, her cunt had ballooned as well due to the vacuum lock of the pants.  She yanked and yanked at the hose, staring with disbelief at her crotch, but she was well and truly stuck.

Her forehead was sweaty, and she wiped it feverishly with the back of her glove.

Oddly, her hips were trembling.  It was then I realized with a shock of delight that I may well be watching the impending throes of a forced orgasm.

She looked at me with utter despair.  How desperately she needed the help that would in fact make her humiliation complete!  Her eyes were slightly crossed.  She couldn’t think.  Her helpless cunt was half way to orgasm, while her disempowered and confused mind was trying to work out what to do.

“If anyone sees me like this, I’ll be ruined.  Please help.  Oof!” and she yanked again.

I smiled–I suppose quite fiendishly at that.  I simply could not help myself.

“Don’t worry dear,” I said, “it’s just vacuum lock.  You do have an anti-vacuum lock valve on those pants, right?”


“Tsk tsk.  Well, I’ll just have to peel your pants down.”

“Oh!  Please hurry…”

I grabbed a handle on the canister of the vacuum cleaner and wheeled it, leading the way to a smaller, more private room sometimes used as a guestroom for visiting dignitaries.  Grady followed, humiliatingly attached to the machine, mincing along and trying not to excite herself too much.  The hose waggled in front of her like some kind of mechanical tail grown out the wrong end of her body.

The tunic of her uniform fit tightly over her pants almost down to the hips.  I happened to know that the pants of these uniforms were very high-waisted, so I would have to loosen the tunic.

I closed the door behind us and stood behind Grady. Reaching from behind her, I started at the bottom of the tunic and undid a few of the shiny brass buttons.  Then I reached up behind her beneath the tunic and found the zipper pull.

I unzipped.  The zipper was as tight as her personality.  But as if in recompense, the glorious fresh scent of sweat and rubber billowed from the ass of her pants.

“Please hurry,” she moaned.   I couldn’t tell how much of her distress was humiliation, and how much of it an overpowering sexual stimulation.


Her luscious white bum exposed, I could then have peeled her pants down and released her cunt from the vacuum which, far from abhorring it, was making the most delectable and undeniable overtures to that stressed pussy.  Never had I seen an inanimate object possess such intense powers of sexual pull and perversion.  Grady’s eyes were huge with confusion and a bizarre form of thoroughly degrading lust she clearly had never experienced in herself before.

I reached into the bag over my shoulder for the lube that had been amongst the loot the Commanding Officer stole from my footlocker, and hurriedly lubed the third finger of my right hand.

With my left arm I grabbed Grady by the wrist and bent her arm behind her…

“Huh?  What are you…?”


Rubber Space Academy is available at Amazon and Smashwords.  For more info, see my blog

BIO — Roxy Katt

I started writing erotica in the 90s, just for my own entertainment.  Then I thought it might be fun to publish it, and perhaps even make a little money.  My first publication was a graphic short story (art by Tom Porta) in the very first issue of Heavy Rubber Magazine (1997).  Since then I have published in a number of major erotic anthologies, such as the winner of the Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Erotica, Lesbian Cowboys: Erotic Adventures (Cleis Press, 2009).

Erotic fetish writing can be divided, of course, into a number of genres or subgenres such as rubber, leather, armour, BDSM, spanking, etc. But as a fetish writer, I find my own difficulty in publicizing my work lies in the fact that while it incorporates these and other genres, it does not always fit neatly into one of them.

So how do I describe my hard to categorize work to the person who, unbeknownst to him or herself, might enjoy this lesbian and transgender erotica, but has no one label with with to search for it?

I think you could say, first of all, that humiliation is central.  And usually, the humiliation is comical, cartoonish, unusual, or bizarre.