Club Latex
by Cordelia Speedicut
Chapter 4
I had to wait a full hour before the lovely Mistress Pantoufle and the other Latex Girls returned from their hunt, marching single file through the front door of the Club. Molly and one of the ‘generic’ Subs carried on their shoulders a length of old pipe between them—which sagged with the dangling weight of the bare-assed and hog-tied Doc. The girls looked like a procession of cartoon cannibals. Our few remaining customers applauded as they tramped through to the back.
We hosed Doc down (he’d been hiding in a dumpster) and broke out the latex suit we’d set aside especially for him. Pretty soon, we’d made ourselves a butt-ugly new pet mastiff. Or at least something that looked more or less doggish. He was rubbery black and slightly shiny, but even allowing for the complete lack of fur, you wouldn’t have mistaken him for the real thing. Ballpark, though, and Doc seemed fine with it—we threw a dildo for him to fetch, and he couldn’t help himself. He bounded over and caught it on the second bounce, and then trotted back with it, ropy tail wagging proudly.
Satisfied with our handiwork, we gave him a pat and tied him up in a corner of the lab, and then took care of Mistress Lewis’s interrupted request. In short order, Molly had remodelled Lewis’s bottom half into a horse-wanged copy of Clyde’s. As a bonus, we threw in a nice, rubberized tail. Which, unfortunately, she was going to have to sit on for the next couple of hours, owing to the fact that she had to drive all the way to her ranch under cover of darkness, with her new latex pony-girl (AKA Fran) bundled in the back of her Volvo wagon. Even so, she was grinning from ear to ear when we sent her off ... with a reminder to get started on the lodge she was going to build for us, by way of a fee. (Unfortunately, we couldn’t interest her in taking along an ex-mad-scientist guard dog). I have no idea how she managed to drive with those new hooves—she was still having trouble just walking.
Our chores finally done, it was back to the Club floor to party. The Viking with his Captive Plunder-Maiden, the Matrix Guy, the Leather Girl, the French Maid, plus a few other diehards were still there, although a bit worse for wear. Because Pril had been busy manning the bar, I’d gone without a fuck for well over an hour—if you didn’t count the tip of Demi’s wayward tail while we watched Doc getting re-engineered. Or, of course, my own left fist while I waited for my girls to hunt him down. One of the prices of leadership, apparently—the near drought part, that is, not the masturbation. Anyway, I was very keen to try out Molly’s novelty pecker ... among other things. With the help of a big plastic sheet and a jumbo-sized jug of olive oil (extra virgin, naturally), we were soon slithering around in a writhing mass of hot flesh. To be honest, it was difficult to tell who was doing what to whom. I know for sure that I started with Molly; it turned out she could use her pussy muscles to push her integrated dildo in and out of herself, thereby delivering (and receiving) a sort of piston-fuck. Very nice.
A while after that, I learned some more things about my reconstructed body. I was flat on my back, in a major lip-lock with little Elfie, who was crouched on her hands and knees behind my head to do the deed. I had my head tipped way back, and my long tongue was slithering down her throat, while her fat cock-tongue was likewise stuffed past my tonsils. At that point, I noticed that we were both breathing comfortably through our noses. I could feel my throat tighten on her knob, all right, but not in a gagging sort of way. More like a pussy clench, actually. It felt verrry good.
But that wasn’t what was new. The thing was that, while we were busy tongue-tussling, Clyde took the opportunity to commence banging Elfie’s inviting pussy from behind. And not long after that I tasted a flood of salty cum. Not, like, out of Elfie’s amazing tongue (yet)—a surge of spunk had come up from somewhere at the back of her throat. Sure enough, right afterward my tongue made contact with what could only be Clyde’s fat cockhead!
Which meant that our little green chick had been re-plumbed so as to connect her pussy with her mouth. Everything else was still working—I’d just seen her wash down a bar-sausage with beer (to say nothing of all the cum she’d swallowed), and she was obviously still breathing. So she was completely re-plumbed, somehow or other. How cool is that?
Of course, then I got to wondering. I spotted Demi squirming close by, sucking off a Sub. With a free hand, I managed to get her attention by tugging on one of her demon-hooves. When I wiggled my broad bottom in her direction, she took the hint. By this time she could control her tail (if she really concentrated), and she obliged me by poking it against my pussy. I took care of the rest, getting a grip on it and starting to feed it inside me. How deep would it go?
I could feel it squirming in my belly—which sort of tickled—and then it slid up inside my chest. And every slick inch rubbed my clit as it passed. I could feel yet another huge cum building, and still I pushed more tail into my bottomless cunt. It stalled at the base of my neck, just above my collarbones, when it bumped heads with Elfie’s enhanced tongue coming the other way (so to speak).
Ha—I could do it, too!
That set me off, and as I began to come, Elfie sucked her tongue back and jerked away from me with a look of surprise. I guess maybe she hadn’t clued in what was happening, yet, even with me still tongue-polishing Clyde’s pecker-tip each time it pounded back up her throat.
Anyways, when she drove her body backward, the effect was to force her whole body backward onto Clyde’s tool ... the knob of which then popped out of her pretty mouth into the daylight. Like, one moment she was reeling in her own fat green tongue, and then, there was his humongous black pecker, three sizes bigger, to replace it.
Meanwhile, Demi, who was thoroughly enjoying the serious convulsions my body was performing on her tail, responded by driving said tail even deeper. Or, if you prefer, higher, since it lurched up my still backward-tilted throat and protruded out of my mouth. I spiralled my tongue out around it, savouring the sensation.
So there was the end of Demi’s tongue-wrapped tail wiggling above my nose (me being upside down), and beyond that I could see Clyde’s cock protruding from Elfie’s face. Her eyes were bugged out (either from surprise or the pressure), and so were Clyde’s. As I said, I was in the middle of a major orgasm: an eye-crossing, toe-bending come. (Not toe-wriggling ... boot-feet, remember?) My horse-endowed Sub came next, and as she pumped her load over me, I could see Elfie’s body start to tremble with her own big O. Then it was Demi’s turn—from behind me I could here her cries echoing mine.
As you may have noticed, even as I was doing the jism-jig, I was taking notes. And thinking about other stuff, too—such as, what else could my new body do? Which led to my second self-revelation: even when I was in the middle of a colossal come, a corner of my mind was able to operate more or less normally. Unless, of course, there was a mind control machine up and running in the neighbourhood.
Once I figured that out, I left that bit of my brain on autopilot, pondering what to do tomorrow, while I concentrated on feeding my lusts for the balance of the night.
My next discovery came around dawn, when I found that Latex Girls need no sleep—although they are very keen on relaxing. We were laying all about, comfortably tangled together like a room full of cats, trading caresses and histories. Somewhere, I could hear Mollie crooning some old love song to whomever she was currently lodged inside.
As for the Others, our unreconstructed Club guests—the Viking was on his back snoring, while his Maiden (now wearing only her leash and collar) was sleepily canoodling with Pantoufle. Matrix Guy and the French Maid were also dead to the world. (Doc was busily humping her leg; I resolved to sell him off ASAP.) Our inherited employees—Emile and Trixie—had been snogging earlier, but now they too were asleep in one another’s arms.
It was time to set things in motion—well, okay, time to call a meeting. I said as much to Pril, and suddenly, Clyde and Candy were on it, sorting out a circle of chairs and organizing a proper court. I’d already noticed that, liberated or not, those two had stuck fairly close to their original mistresses. Now I saw that they had set themselves the task of anticipating our needs, sexual and otherwise, and of keeping the other Subs in line. Middle management, sort of.
Which is why Clyde said that, having earlier acted as Carla’s living throne (while under the influence of the pocket-pussy-power-projector), she should now do the same for me. Well, why not? I decided it gave me that extra mark of authority. Plus it was lovely to straddle that giant pony-wang and feel it slide inside me. Again. Even having fucked away the night, I felt my pussy eagerly commence to squeezing the length of Clyde’s tool in rippling waves. I was like a human milking machine, and I couldn’t seem to make it stop. Not that I wanted to, or anything.
So there I was, properly ensconced and enthroned—and seriously pegged in place by two feet of fat, pulsating love-meat. Being as I was slightly distracted, Emile stepped into the breach. Not mine, obviously—that was occupied—but there was an opening for someone who wasn’t constantly on the edge of a screaming orgasm to MC this meeting. And suddenly there he was, still in his crumpled tux, stationed just behind my right shoulder and welcoming everyone to the NEW Club Latex.
The first order of business, he announced, was to arrange breakfast. Good choice—it brought a big cheer. We’d all worked up a major appetite. Breakfast for thirteen Latex Girls (plus Doc), plus ... okay, why exactly were these other people still here? I’d have said: we’re closed now, folks—private function, clear off. But Emile just sent Trixie off on a mission to round up a big load of pastries and a gallon or two of coffee from the Starbucks down the street.
Okay, then. Next on the agenda. “Our Mistress would like to announce that plans are already underway for a country retreat for you all.” This brought further cheers. “Regarding our present circumstances, she now wishes to examine our need for improved accommodation here in the city.”
There was a slight pause while we all translated that last sentence in our heads. Then I thought: Oh—right. Good call. The space we were in wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury.
“Yo, Boss,” said Molly. “We’ve got that covered. We own the whole building. It was sort of a money-laundering thing. Doc and I were using the loft to crash in while we set up the Club. It’s real nice and roomy up there.”
That sounded promising—I nodded, and Emile told everyone I’d check it out later.
He then launched on to the next item. We had to cover our tracks, he said; the people hereabouts were not accustomed to Latex Girls. Maintaining a nightclub for fetish folks was probably stretching things far enough. Therefore, he said, I had decreed that all LG were to stay inside during the day. Somehow that led up to a recycled version of Doc and Molly’s original scheme—their nefarious plan to make our old identities disappear and to pool our various assets into Club Latex. Although, naturally, he didn’t sell it quite like that. It was laid out as an ‘All For One, One for All’ sort of thing.
He explained how some of this organizing could be done by phone or on-line, but that we were still going to need legwork. Pantoufle (with suitably camouflaging attire) was the only LG who could go out in public, seeing as she still had her original face. That left only himself and Trixie to pick up the slack. “Which has brought my Mistress’s thoughts around to our guests.” Our leftover customers now received his heavy gaze. “How could you be of service to us?”
Even as I was trying to catch up with where Emile was going with this, theViking’s blond-all-over Maiden stood and piped, “Your Highness? Lord ... uh, Mistress Lori?” Her leash now led down to a very relaxed looking Pantoufle.
Your Highness? I gave her a blank look, and Clyde helpfully whispered an explanation in my ear. Oh, right, the ‘Creatures From Space’ thing. It seemed that the consensus among our hangers-on was that I was the current ‘Empress of Twenty Universes’, come to punish the renegade ‘Countess’ Carla. The proof of my power was that I had changed Carla back to her former alien shape ... not to mention what I had done to Mistress Molly. Or to Fran and Ms. Lewis, who had gone off variously horsy. And then there was Doc the Dog. So much for our discrete back-room activities.
“Yes, my dear?” May as well go with the flow. It was starting to look like Emile was steering me toward heading up a secret cult. Fair enough—I was pretty sure there was good money in cults.
“I was wondering, Majesty,” the Maiden continued, “I mean, I was hoping ... that you might consider me worthy for the Transformation...?”
Honest to God, I could actually hear the capital ‘T’. I suppressed the impulse to say excellent, and twiddle my fingers like Mr. Burns, and instead I said, “Possibly. Whom would you serve?”
It came out impressively Saruman-ish, or at least deep and gargley, mainly because Clyde picked that very moment to pump a huge load uphill into my chest and throat.
“Why, you, your Highness. Um. Under Mistress Pantoufle’s direction, if it pleases you.” She sketched a curtsy, which required miming the lift of a non-existent skirt hem.
We’re generally terrible at grovelling in this country, but that wasn’t half bad. I swallowed some excess spunk as the tide continued to rise, thereby leaving the girl holding her breath. Then, after using my tongue to catch a few cum-drops that had escaped from the corner of my mouth, I gurgled, “Very well. Molly—do we have something for ...ahh...”
“I’m Jasmine, Highness,” the girl whispered.
“Jasmine. Hmm, yes. Molly? You can make something suitable for going out into the neighbourhood, like Pantoufle?”
“You bet, boss! Piece of cake.”
Now that I was seen to be dispensing favours, Matrix Man and The Viking stepped up before my ‘throne’ and kneeled side by side. They weren’t so keen to be changed, but they were clearly up with the whole getting fucked senseless thing. Matrix Guy spoke for both: “We wish to serve Her Highness—in any small way that two strong-backed Earthlings could prove useful.”
More grovelling. He couldn’t even bring himself to address me directly; instead he spoke to Emile, who he took to be my vizier or chamberlain, or whatever. Too much Star Trek, I supposed—these boyos would believe anything. Still, we could probably do something with them. Guards, maybe, or cooks.
I nodded again to Emile, who turned to my newest lackeys and said, “My Mistress confirms that that would be suitable.” He was on a roll. “Your discretion and obedience to My Lady will, of course, be absolute. Do you so swear?”
Both nodded vigorously, looking hugely pleased. Then they realized Emile was still waiting, and said together, “I so swear, Your Highness!”
Good, ‘cuz I’d just thought of another use: boy-toys. Me first! In the meantime, it was my turn to speak. “So be it. Emile will see to your duties. Molly—find some proper collars for my young humans, later.”
“Yes, Boss!”
I smiled. A permanently fused-on collar should remind them of where they stood around here.
The French Maid was next in line. Emile motioned to his new lackeys that their audience was over, and waved her forward.
Breathlessly, she said, “Oh Great and Powerful Empress ... I ask that you make me ... a mermaid!”
I felt my hairless eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but Molly ignored my sceptical face and said, “Sure, no problemo. Take a few days to prepare, though.”
I asked, “Can you make it so she can hold her breath?”
“Probably. But who cares? All she has to do is sit on a rock and lure sailors.”
Ri-ght. I had another thought. “And just how does she fuck them?”
“Ah, well...”
Then Pril said what even Molly was uncomfortable pointing out. “Are you kidding, or what? How do you think dolphins do it?”
“I must have missed the all-smut nature channel,” I said, primly.
“Listen—the males have, like, three-foot prehensile pricks. And the females are built to match. Get it? I think she can handle a sailor or two.”
French Maid spoke up again. “Actually, I thought I could live in your pool...”
I rolled my eyes. “Molly. Do we have a pool?”
“Basement level, Boss. Big one. Got some nice skylights—those coloured glass brick things, set in the front sidewalk. Good for looking up skirts.”
I started to laugh, and then realized she was serious. “Right. Fine. I expect we can bring the sailors to her. Anyone else? No? Then let’s eat!”