The Rubber Republic

By Kivutar Amy Koski

From the pen of the "QUEEN OF KINK" herself, Kivutar Amy Koski comes a full length novella of desire and domination...

THE RUBBER REPUBLIC

The Rubber Republic exists to train and educate men to please women, who use the almost universal fetish for all things rubber to impose strict and often brutal discipline. The rules are enforced mercilessly with the rubber punishment strap, the cane, the slipper and the rubber cat o' nine tails. See the courts and prisons and the sentences handed down, to be inflicted with enjoyment. Watch the tall sailing ships crewed by slaves that ply to and from the rubber plantations in the tropics to bring back the latex that makes such sexy shining things for girls to play with. See the harsh discipline and training methods on the rubber plantations and the harsh punishment inflicted for disobedience and failure to please. Witness the enforced milking, the chastity and torment inflicted by the rubber sisters in the nunnery - a place dreaded by all males. Watch enthralled as the rubber teacher gives lessons and punishment to male students, see the fun and games at the health spa as the ladies take their pleasure in a variety of ways. Male chastity belts are habitually worn, and domestic husbands are just as strictly treated. Absolute male obedience is the watchword. If you're a woman the world is your oyster, and if you want a particular man you can try before you buy... Delicious!

Don't forget to visit Kivutar Amy Koski's Facebook page for exclusive samples and updates on forthcoming titles...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kivutar Amy Koski
• Release date: Jun 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310699764

Kivutar Amy Koski

It's been a long journey from the young girl starting out as a new legal graduate, fresh from university. My father was Finnish, and I was brought up in Birmingham. I met Bruno my future husband when he was stationed in Poole many years ago. I moved often in those days, the requirements of the service being paramount, and we ended up here in Scotland at Arbroath. Together we we found a beautiful 10-acre croft (farm) that needed renovation. It overlooks the Moray Firth in the scenic Scottish Highlands. We bought it, and Bruno being very practical and skilled we restored the house and barns, stables etc.It is no accident I write the things I do: both Bruno and I have a terrible weakness for BDSM, femdom and rubber (especially rubber). We have converted one of the haylofts into a fully-equipped punishment/play room, with a flogging horse, vacuum bed, milking stool and restraint spider to name but a few. I can assure you I have the best behaved husband it is possible to imagine! His face is a mixture of fear and desire when I tell him to fetch the key, unlock the playroom and await my pleasure.I write a good deal; it's hard work but I love it and there are those who say I have a talent. I write other more conventional historical romances (with a twist), under another name - it serves to keep the literary establishment at bay. No one who writes the way I do, about the subjects I do, would ever be taken seriously by the publishing industry as the author of a 'literary' piece so that's the way it has to be unfortunately. Both Oscar Wilde and D H Lawrence would have been better served heeding that dictum. I have both a volume of contemporary poetry and a WW1 novel available, as well as another couple in the pipeline. I have so far been discovered by three readers, who have uncovered my nom de plume, (I have no idea how) and I suppose it makes for a bit of fun - no doubt there will be other sleuths who make the discovery.We are considering moving to the sun - it may come off, we have seriously looked at small villas in the quiet mountain areas of Cyprus, Spain, Greek islands and so forth, and the idea of writing in that environment appeals. If it happens it won't be for a year or so, due to personal complications, but we have our fingers crossed. I am always available to chat - I love ideas and swapping personal experiences, but I am often busy and don't get the time I'd like to talk with those of a like mind. I do go on my facebook page regularly, and that is normally the best place to get an instant response. Email is slower, but I check my mails normally every day, so it's a sure process. I love fresh ideas and perspectives, occasionally I work them into my books, and in the past I have included the names of readers in little cameos (you know who you are lol) which I find makes for a piquant little taster of mischief. I hope I provide the kind of book rarely available elsewhere - all my work is of a professional well-edited standard: I have to say not all the indie books I've seen can say that, there are some shocking examples out there, but also some good ones. As ever beauty is in the eye of the beholder I suppose. xxx

Book preview

The Rubber Republic

Kivutar Amy Koski

First published in Great Britain by PLP Books, 2015.

The moral right of Kivutar Amy Koski to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyrights designs and patents act of 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without the prior permission of the copyright owner. This work is entirely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 Kivutar Amy Koski 2015

ISBN 9781310699764

THIS BOOK CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL INCLUDING EXPLICIT SCENES OF RUBBER FETISHISM, SEXUAL DOMINATION AND PUNISHMENT . AS SUCH IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS OR THOSE AREAS OF THE WORLD WHERE SUCH CONTENT IS DEEMED ILLEGAL. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU MAY BE SHOCKED OR OFFENDED BY EXPLICIT MATERIAL.

-oooOO0OOooo-

For you, my man: You have the most incredibly convoluted, wild and imaginative desires. I salute the day I found them out. I know now of what you dream, and I enjoy every moment of my manipulation of you. May God have mercy on you, because I will not!

-oooOO0OOooo-

Prologue

1: The Ship of Dreams

2: A Visit to the Milkmaid

3: Back on the Plantation

4: At the Captain’s Table

5: The Plantation is Buzzing...

6: A Weekend at the Pleasure Spa

7: The Price of Failure

8: A Prison Punishment

9: The Rubber Sisters of No Mercy

10: Riding Along on the Crest of a Slave

11: Seeds are Sown at the Plantation

12: Back at the Pleasure Spa

13: Extra Tuition at the College

14: The Seed and the Rubber Tree

15: At the Mercy of the Sisters

16: The Silence of the Damned

17: The college Course Continues

-oooOO0OOooo-

PROLOGUE

Imagine a time in the future, where conditions are more akin to the past. Man has exhausted, almost entirely, the fossil fuels and such stocks as there are have been carefully hoarded for emergency and medical services. Horse drawn transport is the norm, although modern day communications still exist.

Imagine that man, for so long the controller and arbiter of the world’s affairs has been ousted from the primal seat of power, and has been replaced by... woman!

That man has made such a mess of things has contributed largely to his downfall. All positions of power or influence may only be held by females: who are – without question – vastly superior in every way: socially, sexually and intellectually. Men may not vote – indeed they have no rights whatsoever other than those granted by the females who own them – and are educated only to very basic standards, to meet the requirements of the trades and technical occupations necessary for consumer demands. At the age of sixteen women come of age; men become chattel to the – female – head of the household where they live. They may later be sold as skilled artisans, labourers, or even sex slaves. Some are sold to the navy.

Because of the energy crisis natural forms of power, transport and materials are predominant. Goods tend to be fashioned in the time-honoured ways using traditional materials, with very few plastics and carbon fibres, etc. What form of transport is more natural or pollution free than a square-rigged sailing ship? What more ecologically sound and natural clothing material could there be than rubber? Think well of these matters, for all things may come to pass...

1: THE SHIP OF DREAMS

She was the Imperial Mistress. She was heeled over to a full spread of canvas, laden with 250 tons of sheet rubber and one hundred and twenty five tons of liquid latex; bound for the port of London direct from the rubber plantations of Malaysia. The woman on the quarterdeck was in her early thirties, her figure stunningly accentuated by the shiny, black rubber dress, the effect completed by a matching rubber hood.

Titanya De Brocke’s scarlet-painted lips compressed into a thin smile as she made a mental note to award twelve strokes of the cane to the two sailors aloft: punishment for their tardiness in trimming the sails, high above. She gripped the cane in her hand in anticipation. Or perhaps she should have them flogged at the mast with a rubber cat o’ nine tails? Aaah, the responsibility of command! She watched with pleasure as the Second Mistress, Mandy, brought down her heavy rubber punishment strap across the buttocks of a restrained sailor. The man was secured naked across a deckside punishment frame, and Titanya watched spellbound as Miss Mandy continued with the strapping. Each stroke of the thick rubber strap landed with a resounding thwack, and Titanya could see the red throbbing marks, could almost feel their stinging pain exploding across the man’s buttocks with each kiss of the rubber. The sailor was writhing in agony, yet barely a muffled groan had escaped his lips – he knew that any screams or cries meant extra punishment: yet more unbearable, stinging agony beneath the deadly rubber strap.

Miss Mandy stood back from the frame, the correction obviously at an end. Her firm breasts were heaving with exertion beneath the clinging rubber of her uniform dress and her hazel eyes gleamed wickedly. Slowly, almost tenderly, she leaned forward and released the catches binding the sailor to the frame: stroking and caressing the bare glowing buttocks with a rubber-gloved hand. Far from being a display of uncharacteristic tenderness, this was, in fact, an opportunity for the male to commit an additional offence: erection without permission. Slowly and deliberately Miss Mandy’s hand teased its way between his legs, fingers gleaming evilly in their black rubber cocoon. Fortunately for him the male didn’t erect. Miss Mandy walked slowly towards the quarterdeck, her voluptuous hips swaying within their shiny rubber prison, her punishment strap swinging in time with her steps.

Each of the ship’s mistresses carried the correction implement of her choice – normally Titanya would be seen walking the deck with a long, latex-dipped cane for example – and Miss Mandy was extremely proud of her custom-made strap. Almost two feet long including the rubber covered handle, it was made from solid, heavy duty polished rubber some half an inch thick and was especially feared by the crew, most of whom had experienced its painful caress at various times. Titanya could hear the rubber soles of Miss Mandy’s regulation issue black canvas plimsolls squeaking on the red rubber decking: so much better than the old wood finished decks. The noise never failed to arouse her.

She turned to her second in command, First Mistress Susan. I will retire to my cabin for an hour, take a bath, and perhaps some pleasure. Send me two males under punishment in thirty minutes.

Yes, ma’am. Will you require them to be milked?

Just one of them, Sue. Leave the other something with which to disgrace himself, eh? As Titanya turned towards the gangway leading to her cabin she heard the firm voice of Miss Susan calling for Miss Carol, the ship’s milkmaid. Through the rubber decking and the soles of her plimsolls she felt the ship trembling to the thrust of canvas, much as a love slave might respond to a rubber-gloved touch. With a smile she reached the cabin door, and closed it behind her. The Captain of the Imperial Mistress was pleased with herself.

2: A VISIT TO THE MILKMAID

Miss Carol paused for a second, her hands in their pink, elbow-length rubber gloves stationary. In her red rubber catsuit and pink rubber apron she was instantly identifiable as the ship’s milkmaid. Her job was to bring males to climax, often six or seven times, to ensure that they performed their sexual duties to the satisfaction of the Captain and ship’s mistresses, or their guests. A highly skilled job: knowing how often to milk the male so he could still erect in the presence of a mistress but would not ejaculate. The male’s sole function would always be to minister to the wants and whims of a woman without climaxing and, heaven forbid, making a mess or cutting short the mistress’ pleasure.

Miss Carol was expert at her calling. Ashore she had been an assistant milkmaid – a milking maiden to give the correct title – in the employ of a wealthy woman with a large country mansion. Over several years she had managed to reach the pinnacle, a milkmaid’s qualification, and had seized the chance of having her own milking parlour aboard a ship.

It was common knowledge that Miss Carol took great pleasure in her work in many ways, as do all milkmaids, and in the milking parlour were a good many gadgets and toys in addition to the specialist restraints: racks, straitjackets and so forth. The most dreaded of these items was the milking stool, constructed very much along the lines of a set of medieval stocks, but with an added centre-section which had a small hatch. Through this was passed the whole cock and balls of the male to be milked. A pair of sliding sections then locked behind the balls, the small semi-circular holes becoming one: trapping the genitalia and effectively immobilising the male’s penis for special attention. The cut-outs for ankles, neck and wrists were padded with dark red rubber. The whole frame was equipped with a boggling variety of straps and restraints in black heavy rubber, each with a quick release catch.

The current occupant of the stool was the ship’s newest crewman, a youth of nineteen who was shuddering violently. Miss