Club Latex
by Cordelia Speedicut
Chapter 1
“How about this one?” My roommate April was browsing the back pages of the local underground newspaper. “’Grand Opening,’” she read out. “’Club Latex! Love to dominate? Live to serve? Or just curious? Everyone welcome!’”
I looked up from my book. “Are you nuts? I just suggested we try something a little different tonight. Say maybe Thai food. Not like, lets go rent some whips and chains!”
“We don’t need to rent anything. Listen: ‘Prizes for best costumes! Or, come as you are—exotic clothing available for loan to budding adventurers.’”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Why not? No big deal, Lori. We can go around the corner to check out the Irish Alehouse, if this place creeps us out.”
“You ARE serious.” The nightclub sounded too kinky for my tastes. Still, owing to a series of unworthy boyfriends, the two of us were currently in a ‘men are worms’ phase. So I thought, hey, maybe it’d be fun to stop by this joint on the way to the pub. With luck we’d see a few lame guys wearing French maid costumes. “All right—but if we finish up buying memberships, I’m blaming you.”
Evening found us in a downtown alley in our edgiest gauzy blouses and short skirts, standing in front of a door that had recently been painted dark red. A techno rhythm from inside was making it vibrate.
It was April’s turn to doubt. “You sure you want to go in there?”
I laughed. “Of course I’m not sure. I’m the shy one, remember? I’m relying on you to lead me astray. Just open the door!”
But the door swung open before either of us touched it. A burly figure appeared, nearly filling the frame, and we jumped back as what looked like a caveman in a cheap tuxedo gave us a formal bow.
“Welcome to Club Latex,” he rumbled. “Come in.”
Feeling silly that we were so easily spooked, we squeezed past the uni-browed doorman. The short hallway beyond was perfectly ordinary, apart from the loud music and flashing lights bouncing from around the far corner. In the wall next to us was a side door, blocked with a counter on which leaned a gum-chewing girl. She was scantily clad in hot pants and an extremely tight latex shirt, which made her look like she’d been hired away from her post at some nearby street corner. The words ‘Coat Check’ were crudely lettered on a sign above her head.
“Can I take care of your coats and purses, ladies? No charge.”
I suddenly realized I was clutching both items grimly in front of me, and that there would probably be no safer place to leave them. April and I exchanged our stuff for numbered discs and then carried on down the hall. What we saw around the bend brought us up short.
The room beyond was bigger than I’d expected. It had a gothic theme going on—dark, with some rough wooden tables, and benches along the sides. There were coarse tapestries on the walls and a scattering of cushions to offset the cellar dungeon look of the place. There was also a mirror ball over the unused dance floor, apparently left over from whatever club had previously operated on the premises. At the far end were some big speakers blaring canned music, and a bar.
But it wasn’t the décor that was shocking, rather the crowd that occupied it. Shocking, and also just a little exciting. I’d set out feeling a little too slutty looking, but in here we looked like choirgirls. We stood frozen in our tracks, our jaws slack. Around us about thirty people in various rubber or leather costumes were drinking and ... other stuff.
Weird stuff, mostly. A couple next to April just posed. The woman had long black Morticia hair, and wore a bustiere, crotchless latex pants, and fingerless gloves that came up well past her elbows. Her top didn’t cover her large breasts so much as support them, thereby displaying a green dragon tattooed as though it was just about to bite one nipple. The emerging tail of the monster could be seen in the gap of her trousers, inked onto her shaved mound. She—the girl, not the dragon—was caressing the shoulder of a large ‘muscle-man’ in a black wife-beater vest and a rubber thong. He was standing with his back to the room and flexing his biceps.
The trio beside me was much scarier. A gaunt woman stood in a peaked SS death’s-head hat and a tightly tailored black uniform, complete with leather gloves and a riding crop tucked neatly in her belt. She grimly held her drink in one hand and two leashes in the other. These led to spiked leather collars that were buckled onto a pair of crouching men, who wore nothing else but dog masks. One of these ‘dogs’ was actually sniffing my shoe. The other seemed to be attempting to lick his own cock.
Meanwhile, at the nearest table sat an older man dressed in a conservatively cut dark wool suit. He would have passed unnoticed at the mall, except for the token red latex tie ... and the pair of girls who were attending him. Both wore latex versions of Japanese schoolgirl uniforms, and collars. One held his drink, and the other popped morsels of food into his mouth; I could see her bum when she bent over to feed her master.
Did no one here own panties? Practically everyone I could see wore fetish clothing that revealed bits of skin not normally exposed in public. Not only that, but there was a good deal of playing with said bits. I locked eyes—accidentally—with a woman who was sucking on her neighbour’s exposed tit. She grinned at me, sort of, revealing teeth clamped on the shiny golden barbell embedded in her friend’s nipple.
I blushed and glanced away, only to meet the gaze of a girl in an elaborate pony costume. Apart from a harness of thin leather straps that hid nothing, she wore boots shaped like hooves, plus a bridle and bit. She also had a horse’s tail, which seemed to be lodged in her bum. She eyed me solemnly for a moment, and then nodded politely in my direction, which caused her plume to quiver and her bridle to jingle. The sound caused the girl holding her reins to follow her gaze and smile at me.
This second girl, Pony-girl’s owner or mistress or whatever, was dressed only in an open leather vest, chaps, and boots with spurs. She was astride the lap of a cowboy wearing the same duds, sitting reversed so as to lean back against his chest. In that position, their lack of jeans was rather obvious. As she wriggled her backside, I saw a flash of gold underneath. My face positively burned when I realized I was looking at a ring mounted on her clit, which was in turn pressed hard against the root of the cock stuffed deep inside her.
I was on the point of bolting—finally—when I noticed that the bartender, a tall woman wearing a red latex cat suit, was waving our way. I did a ‘Who, me?’ pantomime, and when the woman nodded, I tugged April over to two empty bar stools. We sat down alongside a nervous-looking pair of buxom blondes I hadn’t noticed, the only other people in the place in regular clothing. They had already learned to avoid all eye contact and were, like us, way in over their heads.
“What’ll it be, ladies? First one’s on the house.”
We both stared stupidly at the bartender’s elaborate costume, until April finally glanced over to see what the blondes beside her were nursing, and said, “Umm—a Bloody Mary?”
The scarlet clad cat-girl flashed a toothy smile and quickly set a drink down in front of each of us.
When all four of us had downed our cocktails, our hostess said, “I’m Mistress Molly. I know it’s a bit overwhelming for you ladies. To be honest, we didn’t expect practically everybody who showed up on opening night to already be in the scene. That’s good for us, of course, but it would be even better if we could bring in some new blood. If you like, you can all slip in behind me and check out our free loaner costumes.” She looked us up and down. “Then you can join in or not, as you like, without standing out quite so much.”
I wasn’t convinced that wearing revealing clothing would actually make me comfortable enough to stick around, but April said, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a look.” The blondes nodded their agreement, and so, feeling a little light-headed from my drink, I followed the others around to a doorway behind the bar.
Beyond was a surprisingly elaborate dressing room, with various costume styles and colours displayed on mannequins. All the clothing was made of shiny latex.
I chose a suit that looked like a simpler version of the one worn by the bartender. It lacked all the buckles and riveted straps, but it had a full hood, with holes only for eyes, nostrils and mouth. If I’m going to hang around this place, I thought, at least no one is going to recognize me. The others were obviously thinking the same thing, because in the end it was body suits, all round.
Once our selections were made, we were led to the individual change stalls along one side of the room.
“No need for lockers, tonight. There are only you four newbies. Just hang your clothes on the hangers, and I’ll bring in your hot new looks.”
I stepped into a mirror-less booth and wondered what I had got myself into. Minutes later, I heard a knock on my door, and opened it a crack. Mistress Molly stood holding a slithery bit of material across her gloved hands.
“Will that fit me?”
“Sure, honey—I’ve got a pretty good eye, and this stuff is very elastic. You’ll have to take off the underwear, of course.”
“Of course,” I mumbled, and reached out to accept the offered garment. It felt like I was handling liquid—a bit like the silk kimono my aunt had given me when I’d turned sixteen. More so, even—I half expected it flow away onto the floor in spite of my grip. Suddenly, I was eager to try the suit on. Unwilling even to put it down, I balanced the thing on my shoulder, and managed to whipped off my panties and bra in record time.
Then I held up the shimmering garment and studied how to get into it. I found there was an opening up the back, like a set of old-fashioned long johns. And, as the Mistress had promised, it was wonderfully elastic. I stepped into it, and the material simply flowed over my skin as I pulled. An accompanying tingling sensation made me shiver.
I quickly had it up to my waist, and then my arms were inside. The only thing left was to put my head through the collar into the attached hood. I brushed my hair out of my eyes—which was cut fairly short. Feeling almost giddy now, I ducked my chin and popped my head in. I felt my face buzz as the silky stuff slithered into position, and then I was done. A perfect fit! The suit was so smooth, so cool—and yet after a few moments my nipples and crotch burned. In a good way, I thought, as my hands went to my pussy to sooth the sudden arousal.
As my fingers slipped inside my unexpectedly wet sex, I managed to think: Oh my God, it’s crotchless! I didn’t notice THAT when I put it on.
Not that I minded, just then. It gave me the access I urgently needed, and allowed the sudden build-up of my juices to drain. I could feel them slide down the inside of my thighs, feel it so clearly I might still have been naked.
Even as my fingers worked their magic, I glanced down my body—all of me but for my feet and hands gleamed a shiny black. There were no wrinkles. I looked more like I had been painted than covered by fabric. My desperately hard nipples stood out much further than I had ever seen them, and they were supported on breasts that had been lifted to the stature of Cadillac bumper bullets. My waist was slimmer, too, and I figured this suit must be like a girdle, rearranging my stuff. Which, as it turned out, was basically what was happening.
I pulled one hand away from my steaming pussy and rubbed first one super-sensitive tit and then the other. The stimulation caused them to swell even more. This should, of course, have struck me as unusual, but I was too hot now to pay much mind. My straining teats grew to three full inches under my busy fingers. Fuller than I guessed—I gave one a nasty tug, and experienced the new-to-me sensation of release as a jet of milk sprayed against the wall. God, but that felt good. Its nipply twin ached for the same treatment and as I took hold, I thought, don’t waste it. When the flow began I aimed it up and caught the blast in my mouth. It was sweet and, to my surprise, warm (well, duh!).
That’s when the orgasm took me. One moment I was standing, pleasuring myself, and the next I was crumpled on the floor, still being shaken by after-shocks. Beside me sat a box containing ebony-coloured latex gloves and matching high-heeled boots. The Mistress must have slipped them in while I was masturbating, and yet the thought of having been caught only excited me more.
I quickly pulled on the inviting new gear, and then tried standing on the five-inch heels. Oddly, it felt natural. My hands and feet now tingled like the rest of me had. Again I rubbed my enhanced breasts, and then my tight belly. Sheer didn’t describe this suit. Even though it tugged my body into a new shape, it literally seemed to disappear—barring the colour and sheen of it. I dipped my finger into my belly button, and then slid my hand around to feel a newly tightened ass-cheek. And then further. Sure enough, my buttocks were two discrete globes.
And then my hand found my pussy again. After a quick grope, I slid my fingers around to search for the edges of the crotch cutout. Everywhere, it felt like I was touching my own skin. I was just beginning to slide my fingers back inside to get myself off again, when it occurred to me that I was wearing gloves. I’d worn thin latex gloves before (and out of curiosity had also put a boyfriend’s condom over my hand), and there had always been a slight dulling of sensation through the rubber.
I brought my sticky hand up to my face. There were whorls on my fingertips, and no sign of a seam between glove and arm. No freckles, no scrapes or scars, no downy fuzz, just smooth sensitive skin. Finally just a little curious, I bent down to examine my pussy up close. Like my nipples, my clit had grown three sizes and more. My labia lips were also plump and swollen, and stood wide open as though waiting for my fingers (or anything else handy) to be inserted between. Everything down there was as shiny and black as the rest of me.
I nearly reached back into my beckoning hole to scratch my itch, but instead I decided to finish my inspection. I followed the glistening trails of pussy juices down my legs and, sure enough, there were no seams at the top of my boots. What did manage to surprise me was that those boots, like all the rest of the suit, had somehow melted into my skin. More exactly, they had become my feet—I could run my palms from my shiny calves to my nicely turned ankles (if I do say it) and continue on down along tall spiked heels that were sensitive to touch. Likewise, the tops of my fine-boned feet no longer ended at wriggly girl-toes, but rather with hard boot tips.
All in all, I knew I should be seriously alarmed. Okay—scared witless. But...
“Everybody ready?” The Mistress’s voice interrupted my self-examination.
Ready? I felt like a sex goddess. A horny sex goddess, fitter and stronger than I could ever remember. Whatever had happened, it seemed to suit me just fine. I straightened up and emerged from my booth as though I was strutting onto a stage.
Almost immediately, April made the same bold entrance. She was, I thought, exquisite. Her gleaming suit—she had chosen a midnight blue—had likewise fused to her and moulded her into a new, improved form. We circled one another, each knowing we may as well be examining our own reflection.
As I’d expected, there was no trace of any seam or wrinkle—unlike Mistress Molly, who had clips and zippers galore. April now had deep blue skin, even to her eyelids and lips. And to her feet, which like mine now took the shape of ‘fuck-me’ boots, complete with fused toes and tall, spiked heels. Her glossy head was earless and hairless, barring a long mane of blue vinyl dreadlocks. I felt my own head and discovered my hair had become a pair of horn-like tufts of tangled latex threads.
I approved. In fact, by then I could almost feel April’s fingers milking my newly improved tits, and her tongue teasing my oversized clit. Which was odd, because she and I just roomed together. I mean, I’d seen her nekid, and stuff, but we were both into boys. Now we were drooling and, like, eye-raping each other.
We were just about to jump each other’s bones, right there, when Mistress Molly repeated, “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Don’t forget your pets,” Molly said, handing us each a leash and clapping her hands.
With that, the first of the two nameless ex-blondes stepped out of her booth. Her skin now had an oil-black sheen like mine, but was much thicker—except for her delicate nipples and labia, which were still distinctly defined and inviting. While I could as well have been born with my new glistening skin, she mostly looked like she’d been upended and dipped in a vat of rubber latex.
There were other differences. I was pretty sure she’d chosen the same bodysuit as me, but that’s clearly not what she’d got. Her thighs had shortened and become tautly muscled, while her feet were hugely stretched. It wasn’t until I saw her feet that I figured it out. She must have put on thigh-high pony boots. They’d melted onto her, and now here she stood on toes that were fused into polished hoofs.
While that was weird enough, it was her bald head that was the most shocking. Her thick skin obscured her facial features, and what remained showed no expression whatsoever—her lidless eyes seemed to look blankly out of a mask. Plus, of course, there was the seamlessly integrated dildo where her mouth had been.
Before I could fully take in her transformation, the other girl emerged. She shared the rubber-dipped look, the Clydesdale legs and feet, and the expressionless face of her friend. On the other hand her mouth was relatively normal, albeit frozen in a startled, puffy-lipped ‘O’, like she’d been frozen in the middle of delivering a blowjob. She did have an attached dildo, but hers was distinctly horse-wang shaped. It was mounted just over her pussy, roughly where her clit should have been. And, while the first girl’s tits were enhanced to become bouncy giants, this one now had three sets of pert little breasts, mounted in descending pairs from chest to belly. Oh, and she was a gleaming dark brown, from head to hoof.
About then I noticed one other detail they shared—both wore heavy black collars. These items must have been made of the same material as all the rest of our costumes, because they were not only without buckles, they were also now fused to their wearer’s long necks. On each, a small iron ring pierced the front of the thick collar band—the only thing on any of us that didn’t look vulcanized.
When Molly clapped again, our pets stepped forward and tipped their heads back to give better access to their throat rings. April claimed the dildo-faced one, saying, “Heel, Blackie.”
Original name, I thought. She’d once owned a kitten she named Cat. I snapped my leash onto the other creature. “Okay, Clyde, you’re mine now,” I informed it.
April and I looked at each other, grinned wickedly, and then stepped boldly back through the doorway to the club floor with our pets trotting along behind us.