The Latex Brood

Thirty thousand… It's a number that constantly haunts you. Bills upon bills, piling onto a mountain and at the summit is that one specific amount that keeps haunting you. Flunked out of school, no skills to speak of and little credit to your name made it impossible to hold a paying job. You'd think that the loan sharks would care, but they've figured out where you live and made you pay. One way or another. Today, they paid your dingy apartment another visit, this time they took your tv and computer.

With even less items to your name, more and more options were extinguished. But there were less scrupulous ways to make money. One light shining on the hill, a gaudy neon sign inviting carnal pleasure for anyone with enough money. 'The Latex Brood' it reads… And you're heading right for it.

Unlit alleys snake into each other and eventually make way for bright lights. In this bastion of darkness, there is a beacon of hope, but it is not the kind that your regular dweller would seek out. It's even more obvious when you see someone waiting for you. No, not even someone, some thing.

A drone stands at attention near the entrance, undoubtedly one of the people who had given up their sense of self to be able to work here. You can't tell what they're thinking with a gas mask covering their face, their eyes obscured by thick black lenses. Their body doesn't have too much to show either. Their chest is sleek, and their groin is completely smooth. No hair, no fur, not even clothing, except for smooth latex. A blank slate that almost anyone could project their own actions on. You'd think it was a statue, if it weren't for the rhythmic huffs emanating from the mask. Both the number 153 and a QR code are printed on their thigh. Scanning it would be tempting, but you decide against it. You don't know how they, or their master would respond.

"Are you the new hire?" a muffled voice sounds from the drone.There isn't any particular inflection or tone to their voice. Flat and featureless, just like their body.

You nod in response, you're surprised the drone talked. You'd think that a blank slate wouldn't have much need to talk, but it's probably for the better if a drone like this needed to show new people around.

"I am unit #153 of the Latex Brood night club, please follow me." The rubber-clad figure turns and squeaks inside, you quickly shuffle after them down some stairs. The hallway becomes darker and darker until it terminates to a door. #153 knocks in a particular pattern. You can hear some shuffling, and moments later, the stairwell's darkness is pierced by streaks of pulsing light. Although most of it is obscured mostly by what appears to be another drone.

"Designation?" The voice on the other side inquired.

"Number 153." The escort replies without missing a beat.

"Reason?" The voice on the other side continued to question.

"Applicant."

With just as little words, the door opens and the guard lets you in. You gawk at the creature guarding the door. The guard drone is built like a brickhouse, standing two heads taller than you, bulging with muscle, and a sizable bulge throbbing to the beat of the music.Their nether prison flashes to the same beat, adding to the pulse droning through the place. All the drones are affected by the beat in their own way, adding to the rhythm dictated by the music. They step away from the door revealing a large floor with all kinds of debauchery, set to the droning pulse of slow EDM. You try your best not to gawk, but the sheer variety of drones in different states and positions are a lot to take in. Unlike 153, these drones are obviously fetishized and used for their appearance and prowess. 153 brushes past you, urging you to go further in.

Bathed in a haze of neons, the walls of this place are lined with those who had given up their lives. You try to take it all in, with everything going on. As far as the eye can see there are drones upon drones. For anyone debauched and depraved, there is a drone ready to service their customer for just their needs.

The first drones to catch your eye are frozen in time like statues, ready to be used at a moment's notice. There are also various figures on plinths with all kinds of assets on display. There's a drone with a cutesy little dick and perky breasts, looking coy. In contrast, a busty drone that has thrusted out their chest and ass, ready for a titfuck or taking it up the ass. Another drone has the physique of a workhorse, sporting a strong core to do menial tasks day in day out, while they try to cool down their raging cock. But it would never go down in a club where they are on display and frozen in time. You want to linger, but your guide moves on undisturbed, as the scenery changes. You see even more drones lining the walls, squirming and ready to take it in even more and different orifices.

But not all of them simply stand. These drones are tied up with brightly colored ropes, contrasting with their sleek latex bodies. Some are even suspended from the ceiling. With a careful look, you can see the smaller drones occasionally struggle against the ropes, showcasing their tighter binds and inability to escape their confinement. But the ones bulging with muscle really show their efforts. Their muscles strain and squeak with effort against their restraints. They put up a proper fight, but the ropes and their tight latex don't give them any way. Instead, their efforts outline their form even better, with the effort pushing their features out so much more. Their squeaking squirming serves only to arouse them more. With such strong drones among them, you wonder if they'd ever need to replace those bindings.

As if reading your mind, your guide turns around: "If you're wondering and not just gawking, then yes, we maintain these drones and the equipment we use periodically. For the sake of them and our customers, we keep track of all of our assets." The drone makes a bit of a turn, is it trying to emote? That would be quite a concept for a drone.

"My orders were strict: No delays. No detours, so let's continue."You wonder if that really is true. With all of the spectacle around you, and the sheer types of drones you're seeing, you doubt the intention of the tour. 153 gives you no time to think as their form blends in with the drones on display.

Your guide through the club continues, with more EDM droning through your head. It's actually starting to feel somewhat pleasant. Huh, maybe you could get used to this? Well, you'd have to get used to it, this is one of the few venues that actually seemed to give you a sliver of a chance…

The trip continues with more esoteric drones passing your view. The whirring noise of a compressor fills your ears as you see a black wall full of drones, their bodies compressed against the taught material. They loudly moan and groan at their predicament, their numerous voices drowned out by the machine, but they don't seem particularly uncomfortable. Only very minute movement can be seen, but the overpowering force of the vacuum gives them no place to go.

153 turns around and addresses you, expertly walking backwards, dodging drones and patrons while still leading you to your destination. "This one has spent a week or two on the vacwall, he thought- No, we thought that we could keep our composure like we were instructed to. But there still is this weakness, this mortal drive to resist now." Their head cocks a little to take a look at their brethren, and then look back at you with their blank expressionless face, down at you. His? Hers? Their? Expression could not be read, but it seems that the vacuum was a very… Animated experience. You don't really want to think about that being a part of your job, but somewhere in the back of your mind, there's a little voice telling you that you do want to try it. And it would only be a day job, right? What would your colleagues say by the end of the workday? What if some were married? what if they would… Oh god this is getting too much. You're going to be way deep into this, aren't you?

The guide drone's back is already a pinprick further into the club when you abandon the thought. Noticing your tardiness, you swiftly walk by all manner of drones, as the wide space narrows more and more into a hallway. Just as suddenly, your escort stops and you nearly bump into the stockstill guide drone. Their pace becomes much more deliberate in this particular section of the club.

"Walk carefully." 153 flatly states.

You look around but don't see much out of the ordinary, in fact, this hall looks much more mundane than all of the other sections of the club you've been to. With confidence, you take a step forward and slip on a smooth surface with a loud SQUERK. The world blurs as you notice you have tripped. With your face firmly planted on the ground, you see something that looks like… A gas mask? You shoot up and look more closely now. The floor… Are these drones?

Your guide stops, but doesn't turn around to check up on you or your situation. You are left to your own devices to draw the conclusion that this is not the only drone making up the floor, they are actually all cobbled together like a path. You look up and see that the guide is standing in between the rows of drones.

They shift and turn to look at you: "They like it this way. Some joke that they would like to be stepped on, but these… They actually went and allowed themself to be stepped on daily."

They stare at you some more, waiting for you to get up and continue down the hallway. Now that you know that the floor is made of people you can see that the path he took avoided stepping on too many drones. Armed with that knowledge, you carefully step around the faces. Your hesitation is noticeable as the guide swiftly navigates the floor, avoiding stepping on his colleagues all too much. In response, the floor squirms in pleasure. You wonder how that could work out in an emergency, would they be able to just get up and leave, or would their ecstacy leave them fully immobile? In a kind of sense that looming thought of danger makes it exciting. Wait, no WHAT ARE YOU THINKING. Would you want to break every conceivable bone in your body and risk your life just for some cheap thrills!? You sigh, you can still turn back, but you know very well that those sharks will find you out there if you don't take this job. In fact, you could complain to your manager if the position you got wouldn't work out.

"Heh, position." You snicker a bit too loud. Your guide simply moves on and doesn't even respond to that. Robotically carrying on.

"So how long do we need to go down this hallway?" You idly ask.

"Until we are at the end." 153 swiftly replies. Not giving you much more info.

"And when are we at the end?" You prod them further.

With flat disinterest they respond: "When we get there."

You try to argue against that kind of rock solid argument, but you have no rebuttal. They got you there. Coming up with a snappy reply occupies your thoughts, but there's no follow-up.

The hallway, now a stark black apart from some lighting, goes on for a while. You'd think the club would have some drones stationed here as well, but it seems to be building up to something. 153 slows their pace as the hall terminates into a strikingly plain oaken door. They pull it open for you.

"They await for you inside." the drone huffs, keeping as still as they were at the entrance.

You go through and the door is closed behind you, leaving you alone with whoever this manager is. For a manager's office in a nightclub, it looks kind of mundane. There's some basic furniture filing cabinets, some shelves and of course a desk in front of you.

Hanging on the wall above the desk hangs a frame of a black moth, their dark color scheme broken up by some neon turquoise and pink. Their face beams confidence, their eyes boring right through your soul, emphasized by the gas mask that terminates into a sharp beak, with tubes pumping an unknown gas into their obscured maw. It's a menacing presence, despite not being physically present in the room.

You'd expect them to be in this office, however what you see in their place is a drone very similar to the one who led you to this office. Same gas mask, same nondescript black body and no discernable gender.

"I see that you have taken an interest in our master… He sadly cannot grace our club at the moment," The drone laments, "so I am managing this branch in his stead. I know that you and the many drones in this club are eager to see him in person, but he is a busy moth with many obligations. However, seeing that I keep the drones healthy and happy in his stead, I will gladly answer any question you might have."

Well, that isn't what you expected to be honest, a drone managing other drones? This one seems to be more chatty and coherent, which makes sense, in a twisted way.

"Ah, where are my manners! I didn't even invite you to sit down! Please, take a seat!" They gesture towards the empty chair across their desk.

You awkwardly make your way over there, still surprised by the manager's chipper attitude. The drone stirs a bit and then facepalms. "And surely we can't have you go without any drinks! Oh my, can I interest you in our brew?"

Scrap chipper, they're pouring all of their energy in this conversation. You nod in response and the manager proceeds to pour a cup of coffee for you. It looks really black in comparison to what you usually drink.

They return to the desk, put the coffee down in front of you and then resume talking. "Good, with the minutia dealt with…" They plateau their hands and rest their expressionless face on top of it "Let's talk about you: what did you think of your little tour of our night club?"

"I uh…"

'Don't be shy," the manager reassures you, "I was once like you too. Desperate with nowhere to go."

"Well… I need the money. And I want to try something new? I guess?" You don't know if you sound convincing. "I also heard that the pay is pretty good?"

"Ah yes, the offer is quite generous. You don't have to worry about food, a place to sleep, or any unwelcome figures seeking you out." They chuckle, with a wisp of gas leaking through their mask.

"Wait, how do you know about that?" You question.

The manager drone walks up to one of the filing cabinets and pulls out a folder. On the spine you can see your name written clearly, he pulls out a document and begins reading it. "We did some research and we noticed that you are in quite some debt." They say, idly thumbing through the documents "We will be able to placate the money lenders so that you can focus on your job. And don't worry about OSHA regulations, all of our working drones are very satisfied." They clasp the folder shut and settle down.

They're really laying it on thick, but it's not like you've got much of a choice. Apart from trying to flee and build up a life elsewhere. With no credentials and no money to your name, it's a plan doomed to fail.

"That all sounds good, but I don't think I'm cut out for this.. I'm not that remarkable, and considering this is a night club with an emphasis on… You know…" You trail off.

"Sex." the manager finishes.

"Yeah, sex…" You let some silence hang. This was a bad idea, wasn't it, you can't hold a sex job. No one would be interested in you. "I… Don't really understand what you see in me."

"Don't talk yourself down! Our drones come in all shapes and sizes! It doesn't matter if they are uninteresting, everyone has their own qualities! Our master believes in equal opportunities to all people!" They stop and wait for your reply, but you give them a skeptic look instead.

"You've seen our bouncer drones, and our worker drones with heaps of muscle, right? Some of them were the meekest people before they met…"' They gesture to the room, accompanied by loud squeaks, "Us."

The mention of those beefy drones makes you blush and you stir a bit in response. The manager tilts their head in response, no doubt picking up on your change in demeanor. "No," they continue, "your assets are of no concern to us, do not worry about that in the slightest. We want you to be the best version of yourself, and we can certainly accommodate for that." They shift a bit forward. "In fact, we can give you the very same treatment as those bouncers got, without giving you tedious and boring chores like standing around and looking at everything going on."

"Why are you making it sound like it would be stupid to reject?" You ask with genuine surprise.

"Haha! Because it is! In fact, I've got a contract right here!" They whip out a document from your substantial file and put it right in front of you. "You get a well-paying job. The body of your dreams and great working conditions. In fact, we would be delighted to take you on, despite your hesitation." They push the paper farther along the desk, almost poking you with it. "All you have to do is sign."

They are offering you everything you wanted, despite being easy to exploit. You're so vulnerable and here they are offering you power and a way to climb out of the pit of despair…

You pick up a pen, it feels heavier than anything you've ever held before, and with that added weight you try to decipher the contract. The letters dance before your eyes, despite your best efforts you just can't focus on it. Instead, you decide to flip through it, only picking up on bits and pieces like company benefits, overtime, and compensation. All good, all positive with nothing insidious catching your eye.

In no time you reach the end of the document, the place where you have to put down your signature to seal your fate as a sex worker. You try to think of any reason to reject the offer, but your head swims with the potential. Of becoming a musclebound hulk who towers over others. And in the absence of better judgement you write your name with a flourish and put the pen down. The weight on your shoulder lifts and you look up to the manager.

They look much larger now. Somehow menacing as they retract the contract and put it back in your file. They push a button on their desk: "Oh, #153? Could you come in and collect the new blood? The applicant has signed the contract." You don't like the way he phrased that.

You stand up to leave and turn around, trying to get the hell away from there before the consequences of your actions catch up to you. But before you can do anything, latex hands are already forcing a mask onto your face.

"My my, can't have you running away now." The manager remarks. "We have this contract with your very pretty name on it, and we don't want it to go to waste now, do we?" They remark with a smirk in their voice. "But don't worry, we will accommodate your wishes."

Your hands try to rip the mask off, but 153 ensures that it stays on. You try to flail with your arms and legs, but they won't listen to your commands.The exertion is too much and you try to breathe air, but an addictingly sweet gas fills your lungs instead. With deeper and deeper huffs, the world slowly fades as your eyelids become too heavy to keep open.

A seemingly pleased manager, who still looks at you with a blank expression, is the last thing burned into your mind before you can register that you have hit the ground.

---

Your eyes open again but you can only see darkness. Your body feels sore, as if you've been standing all day. Slowly, stars clear from your eyes as you can see the tinted lenses of the gas mask in front of you. Beyond that is even more glass, as if you're being held in a tube. Vaguely, you can make out the pulsing colors of the dance floor beyond your cylindrical cell.

Fuck, this is bad, you need to get out.

You move your arm. No response. You move your leg. No response. Larger jerks and still no response. You grunt, but your efforts are fruitless and your voice is muffled by the mask. If anyone was looking in from the outside, they would probably not even know that you are awake.

Although you want to break free, you decide not to waste more of your energy, and carefully you observe your surroundings instead. You can't really make out what's happening outside the tube but when you look up and down, you can see thick rubber padding holding your arms and legs in place. You're still standing, but only by the virtue of your constraints. No wonder you're so sore.

A shlorping sound breaks your loneliness.

Your head shoots up, and you can see some of the rubber constraints part way for a black liquid trickling down. Your body moves on its own, struggling for life, you don't even want to know what the mysterious liquid is. But there's no recourse. The black liquid pools down your head and creeps lower and lower. The cool substance seeps into your skull and tightens around your form with a loud sqrk. As the substance creeps down, you can hear faint whispers in your ears. You can't make out what they're saying, but there are vague images forming in your head, it's so easy to give in…

But you're not taking it while lying down! You struggle against your binds, even while the liquid coats your arms and torso. More of the liquid tightens around your form, pulling your body taught and accentuating your movements with loud squeaking. But with the flow of liquid comes power, and your coated limbs respond to your struggle, pumping with renewed energy. The tight grip of the rubber gives way slightly as you can feel

your muscles grow. Expand with the power of the goo, the liquid of the gods that you are becoming.

Wait, that isn't right…

You look up and see what is happening, and gasp. Your arms are pumping up with the help of the liquid, darkening and strengthening. The tight substance emphasises your swollen form by laying every single hill and valley of your form bare. Wherever it touches you can feel newfound power flowing through them, and with it a thought sprouts in your mind. What if you let it do its job? What's so bad about becoming a roided out drone with godlike power?

You try to bend it to your will, but are distracted by your groin. Your nethers tighten as if someone, or some_thing_ has them in their iron grip, it heats up and you mooooan in reply. The unbridled orgasm takes hold of your mind. and when you look down, you can see why. The goo has made it all the way down there and pooled at your groin,

Instead of a jet black, the goo protrudes as a lengthening shaft, taking on a royal golden hue, pushing itself out. It grows in size and length, continuously coating itself in a regal golden glow, befitting such a royal tool. With each wave of rubber flowing to it, the more pleasure takes up your mind. Lengthening, engorging and tightening, a maddening massaging cycle. It makes you want to fuck everything in sight.

In tandem, you can feel your core pushing out, more musculature is pushing out with strength that you have never felt before. The goo tries to fight back sqrking loudly, but your mighty body is winning. You roar in pleasure, but the sound is still blocked by the gas mask in front of you, and instead a long huff is expelled from the mask. You turn your head in confusion and somehow brush your ears against the glass. New sensations that you shouldn't even be able to feel, but somehow are aware of.

But looking for that cause is not on your mind, as your dick spews more alabaster. You feel even more powerful than before, and you know exactly why: you see a rock-hard six pack on your abdomen, with more blackness now embracing your legs, pumping them too with more delightful muscle, with the rubber loudly protesting against your growing size. The urge to howl at such a display keeps hammering in your mind, but you try not to succumb to such base animalistic thinking. You are a fucking god, not some animal.

But your hands and feet think otherwise. Puffing out with thick paw pads, you can feel the rubber material embracing your fat digits. You don't even know if you could still call them fingers, but you can definitely feel that they are different. Sharp claws threaten to cut through your smooth restraints, but they squeak and somehow stay in one piece. You can feel the power stored in your limbs, and with base anger, you try to struggle again. Show those assholes that you are not to a beast caged against your will. That you can and will fight your way out of this.

But this time… The rubber wins, it tightly clings to you and holds you in place, any attempt to escape is answered by squeals from the oppressive coating. Holy damn, you're now one of them, one of those thick and muscular drones that you were ogling before. Those vessels of pleasure that would show themself off at a moment's notice. Ready to be abused by someone else in power. You buck at the notion, one of the few things you can do. You dryly hump air and feel your dick crane upwards again in response. Yes, you are the pinnacle of power! The envy of many! You are- You try to cut off the thought, not to be lost in the moment, but your dick betrays you, and cum sprays all over the tube again.

A slow clap breaks you out of your trance as you try to peer at the vague figure beyond the glass. "My my, that was quite the display. Considering your response to the changes, I take it you are very pleased."

You turn your head to the voice, You can only discern a vague figure beyond your containment, but the voice definitely belongs to the manager. "Don't worry about the mess, we all have our 'accidents.'" He chuckles to himself. "Yours however, are completely intentional. We have great expectations from you. Just do what's natural to you, and we can guarantee that your time here will be to your liking."

It was a trap! That sleazy manager actually wanted to make you a full-on drone all along! You have to get out of here fast before they pull even more tricks on you. With your newfound might. You strain yourself against the binds, fighting the tight body suit that is stimulating you all over. Throwing your body in every direction. This only solicits a laugh from the bemused boss, as the holdings don't even move a bit. Instead, your rod below you throbs anew. You're showing off how much power there is stored in you and lording it over others.

In the back of your mind, there's a thought that is actually kind of hot, that you can do something with that, attract more people to let them worship you. The increasing effort to fight against your binds makes you take deeper and deeper breaths as the air around you grows sweeter. A breeze gets pumped into your mask as the world grows dimmer and dimmer. Despite you wanting to throw everything into these throes, your body betrays you and the world dims again. You can hear someone say something outside of the tube, but the world fades to black before you can even comprehend what they said.

The world clears again. This time you can hear and feel the beat of the droning music. Everything around you is clear now, but you also feel more vulnerable, as if at any time someone could walk up to you and fuck you over. And well, that would be correct, because this is still a sex club after all. The club seems empty, so at the very least you don't have to think about that, giving you some time to observe the room properly.

The dance floor is still pulsing with as many colors as you saw before you got droned. The many drones lay dormant, waiting for anyone to walk up to them and have their way with them. Your ears perk up as you notice the low hum of a machine carrying on its business without stopping. You look around to find the source and don't need much time to find out where it's coming from.

Propped up against the wall there's one of the vacbeds that you saw during your initial tour through the club. But the occupant is different this time. A fusion of fur and machine, especially visible by the conal display in place of a muzzle. Although it would be much easier to discern it without the latex sheet holding them tight, there was no doubt about it. Next to you there's a protogen. You can make out the fur sticking out of their machine parts. And although the constriction washed out colors, their muzzle display is still discernible. You can't really see what kind of face they're making, but you'd guess it would be a state of bliss, if they haven't degenerated to a binary state yet.

Over in the corner, even farther away, you can see an even more extreme restraining method. A large black box, reinforced by metal braces stands motionlessly. You don't even know what the purpose of it is, until you strain your eyes in focus. Every so often, but not too often, you can see it stir somewhat. It seems that you're getting off lucky with this kind of restraint.

SERVE

A voice reverbs through your body repeating that one word. With each SERVE an invisible pull forces you to look forwards. Without consent, your body pushes itself out, straining against the rubber with a loud SQRK and your muscles contract. Excitement fills you for seemingly no reason, until you see them approaching. A scrawny little man of a person. You try to fight against your programming and struggle against the binds hoping to make an escape. But all you can do is fill the dance floor with the sounds of your squealing rubber's protest.

They approach you. Oohing and awing over what they see. They don't even reach any higher than your chest. Oh fuck, they aren't going to do what you think they're going to do right? You don't know, as they first go down to the other drones near you, you count yourself lucky as they have seemingly skipped over you. You try to relax again, but your body still stands to attention, the likely sentient rubber sees to that.

And that's when he turns back, eyes wide with what they see, practically drooling at your form. In moments they are all over you. Their hands seem magnetic, as they feel you up and down, and with it comes a force. The voice in your head becomes louder, trying to get you to SERVE. But you manage to wrest your thoughts away from it. There is a temptation, but you know that you shouldn't let yourself drown in those feelings.

But it doesn't topple you, how could they? You are tall, muscular and strong. Serving someone else? Preposterous. No, someone like you already knows who should SERVE. He's already worshipping you with all his being, feeling you up and down. Not even able to separate himself from you. You're his world to him, like a king, no… A god

The servant is glued on to you. Even if you could separate him from you, there is no will to do so. Your pride refuses to do so. His ministrations glues you to your spot, both mentally and physically. The only thing you you can do is gyrate, loudly letting him know that he is SERVEing your dick well, that if he ever were to stop that he would be punished. But he doesn't stop. Instead, his hands roam farther, seeking deeper. All to coax more and more pleasure out of himself and of course out of the god he is serving. In some corner of your mind you wonder if that's actually the case, but your whole body convulses with every single touch of his, throwing any coherent thought in disarray. There are so many things you want to do to that SERVant, bend him over and fuck his hole raw. Biting his neck to show your dominance, but those restraints keep you in check.

If there was one thing that truly shows your ambitions it would be your cock. It bobs and pulses harder and stronger with every single heartbeat. The one organ that isn't constrained in any way, proudly bobs in front of you. And instead of dangling limply, it proudly stands to attention. Announcing to the world that it's ready and primed to show its dedication to your follower and his servitude at any moment.

The feeling built and built. And that building kept on building on itself. The arousal towers over everything else. Over your servant. Over the screaming voice that wants to SERVE. And even over the temple that is your own body. Inner voices scream in alignment to the singular cause of experiencing ecstasy. Despite your plugged mouth, you manage to growl, but the servant under you doesn't seem to hear it, or is it that he doesn't want to hear it? Your body goes wild as the restraints allow. No longer confined to simple thinking, this is a base instinct that only wants to do one thing: to facefuck that slave.

And finally, finally, after much too long, you can feel his hands return to your loins. The touch-starved region bucking wildly as the spire finally finds purchase against his hands. For brief moments his touch is missed as he pulls away, but with a moan, he's all over you again with redoubled spirits. The slave gets louder and louder as you are driven closer. One hand parts from its duty, but in its place comes a much more bliss sensation. Your dick is sucked into his mouth. You scream a muffled exhale at the long-awaited relief. You fuck him raw for all that you got, fluids wildly gushing from your spire. This is what you live for. to serve. Serve. SERVE.

With as much fanfare as it started, it stops. Moans, gyrations, humps, huffs. They all fall on deaf ears. As blissful as the relief came, the more agonizing the parting of the flesh becomes. The person now steps away from you, but you still try to entice him. You're not done yet! There still is more to SERVE. They cannot leave you now! They must return! There's more! More! To seeeeerve!

But they don't. Despite your desires, despite them being your servant, they defied you. The world goes on without you. Everything around you comes to life again. You feel the droning music of the club again, see the pulse of the dance floor, hear the bliss of the protogen still vacuumed to the wall. There's a silence in the club, making room for more introspection as your body winds down.

---

Time slows to a comfortable pace. Though your feelings of SERVE still float around in your head, you can feel them fade away. And in the calm, your rational thoughts resurface.

What was that line of thinking? YOU? A god to be worshipped?

Merely thinking about it makes you hard again. The calm keeps you lucid, but it is also terrifying . Your thoughts are being twisted by whatever this droning did to your mind.

Fuck, it's messing with your mind, tapping into your sense of pride, to make you more…

_SubSERVient… _

Despite it being a tangential thought about… That concept, it's now enough to send you over and make you go on autopilot. Even now, you notice that you feel your magnificent body more, and the desire to be worshipped. You try to relax, to not be reminded of the incredible power housed in your body, but the desire of others serving you is already bubbling to the surface. Your mind is put on a track that spirals deeper and deeper into the unknown abyss of desire. You thrash against your restraints, putting the muscles of your body to good use, but the tight binds ignite a fire that is always waking, and the desire to fight fosters an inferno to SERVE all that would enter, that they would SERVE you. Figures stir in the distance, and your mind once more goes to enticing them to worship you, so that they can SERVE, so that you can SERVE.

Time slips away like an illusion, and bliss takes its place. More and more SERVE and indulge in your desires as a god. They serve you without thought and in return, you can feel your body grow in kind, pumping your muscles and form to even higher levels, fighting more and more aginst loudly squirming latex that struggles to keep your form in check.. You constantly fight against it, as if it is a ritual. You can feel your whole body growing more enticing to those foolish servants. Every waking moment, you worship the temple that is your body, and are eagerly awaiting worship from your loyal subjects.

Aeons pass in this state, never moving from your place of worship, and why would you. Your followers always manage to seek you out.

Until it all comes to a halt.

Your constantly working muscles that keep your arms aloft are suddenly relieved of their duty. After being stationary for ages, your feet are able to move again. Slowly you lower your arms and take on a normal posture. You try to orient yourself after all this time. It takes time to adjust, you've been striking that pose for as long as you can remember. But being able to freely move again feels fresh, something different from S- no, you shouldn't think about that.

You're able to stand in the club again without issue. Only for a human to approach you. Before those THOUGHTS come back to you, you tell them you're on a break. But they won't relent, they feel up your rock hard body and they are SERVing you well, worshipping you like a deity. Despite your clarity, you can't help yourself, and you push them into your mounds of muscle, making them truly SERVE you. They moaaaan in your flesh, and you can feel your tapered dick rise in between you and him. You huff at the sight, finally you can… What can you do with him? All he can do is SERVE, and that's what he's doing. He feels you up and down, but to what end? You don't even need him. There is no god here, only… You, and if you don't act decisively you'll lose your mind to the pleasure again.

You push him off, your forceful shove makes him fall over backwards. You make yourself broad and tell him off, you're not on duty right now. He runs off with his tail between his legs.

"Well, it isn't very polite of personnel to turn away a customer, especially like that."

You swing around and face the direction of the voice. It's the manager you've seen so long ago. "My apologies, you must be confused by the sudden interruption. However, considering your relatively calm demeanor, you seem to be taking this quite well."

"What is happening right now?" You ask them. "The time I spent here was a blur, and I don't know what happened here."

The manager huffs"Ah right, your contract is up. You're free to go wherever you want to."

Your face lifts but the only thing you can feel is the gas mask right in front of your face.

You bring your hands up to it, but can't seem to take it off. The manager of the Latex Brood only gives you a small smile, at least, it seems to be so. They are as blank-faced as you are.

"You seem to have forgotten the terms of your contract. Let me remind you of the most relevant facts." You tilt your face in a way to show your inquisitiveness, in an equal lack of expressiveness as your former manager.

"First of all, your contract was only for a year. At this moment 366 days, 8 minutes and 35 seconds have elapsed, therefore the contract has been fulfilled, and you are free to go. The other relevant clause is that your droning is compulsory and permanent. In fact, despite our efforts to revert drones who have been let go, we have been unable to separate them from their suits."

It takes a while for that to sink in. Yes, you are now a hulking tower of a drone, but it has taken away your expressiveness, and a year of your life. The pulsing music and the lights from the club keep on pounding in your head, there is one place that you reckon where you can get your thoughts together without the influence of the droning.

"I.. Need to get my thoughts together, here I am too distracted from thinking clearly, it's too much at the same time."

The manager puts a hand to their chin, it takes a bit before they formulate an answer. "That is quite unfortunate, we had hoped you would remain here. But we can't exactly force you to stay. The manager drone rummages through their goo and takes out an envelope, it's emblazoned with the mark of a stylized moth.

"If you ever have any doubts about being a subservient drone in this uncaring world, then please open this envelope. I am convinced that this will SERVE you well." You reel from that word. SERVE you have serve, you will serve.. It's.. "Our master Nokrull, well, your former Master, is always kind towards those who have been led astray."

What a weird statement, why bring up the Master like that? Wait, why do you still refer to him as Master? Haven't you been released from your duties?

"Ah well, you seem to have a lot to still mull over," the manager shrugs. "I will let security lead you out."

He turns, but you "Wait, I still have questions! What about my clothes?"

"Sure, we still have those. But with your additions… You won't fit them, you have grown substantially since the last time you have spoken with me."

You try to argue with them about getting your belongings back, but you can feel a row of abs slide, no brush along your back. You turn around and are face to face with a security drone. Their musculature rivals your own. You would be able to take them in a

fight, but you wouldn't want to make a fuss in your Master's - ugh there's that word again - domain. Bound to his rule, you wordlessly, you follow the escort out of the door, absorbing the letter as you do so. The manager waves you off, and they quickly resume their duties after letting you off.

When you are dumped out into the streets, the door to The Latex Brood slams shut behind you. You dig deep into your memories to remember that you took this alley and that you need to go back into the streets to head back to your apartment. It takes a bit to get into the rhythm again, but you are much more accustomed to routine than when you entered.

You take a right and are out in the open. The street is like you remember it, populated by humans, but you are not one of them anymore. Out here in the open, you notice just how naked you are. Every human out here is clothed without any of their assets showing. With your skintight suit and especially with your raging cock out, it just feels bad to walk out into the streets looking like this. You get looks from everyone. There are so many judgemental stares that you double your step, just to get out of there.

Your exposed dick brushes up against the door to your apartment, without your belongings you can't even get into your home. That is, until you remember that you have your key absorbed in your armpit. You don't even know how it got there, but you're too tired to even think about it. The rubber under your arm gives way for the metal key, and you can finally relax in your living space.

You try to exhale but it only comes out as a wheeze from your mask. It really is your old apartment, just like you left it… But it isn't the same, it's not satisfying anymore. It misses something in comparison to the club. Even the thought of just repeating your human routine of taking a shower after work doesn't feel appealing, you wouldn't be able to feel it on your skin, and with your sleek rubber, you don't need to either. Instead, you make it to your bedroom and drop onto your bed. It is warm and soft, just like you remember it. It would be inviting, but your body protests. It isn't punishing, it's not stimulating your muscles, like… Standing.Yes, that's something you can do at home that is appealing, right? But there's not much else, it's just a quiet room. At the very least, it has corners, ones that you can take up a place in.

You go to your rightful place against the wall, you throw your arms over your head and see that the prideful dick under you is bobbing with anticipation. But when you look into the space, you notice there are so many things missing. No flashing lights, or pulsing music to stimulate you. No fellow drones to egg you on. And of course, no patrons who can SERVE? SERVE MASTER. SERVE NOKRULL. Your breath quickens and you feel your body tensing up just at the thought of others SERVing. Of you SERVing. Muscles burn, lungs heave and loins gyrate, but you quickly notice that there's no one to SERVE for. You fight and thrash against invisible binds, leaving holes and gashes in the ceiling and wall.

But then you notice it in front of you. Fallen out when you took your rightful place to SERVE.

It's the letter, still sealed, emblazoned with the mark of the Master. It's right there, telling you to open it. You drop your assumed pose and read the letter. With anticipation you start reading. You have a hunch for what it says, but you still need to know for certain. Muscled hands clutch the paper. A spire threatens to blow as you eagerly try to make out the words. Muscles clench and your breath comes out in huffs. The constantly taught rubber pulls even tighter with a loud SQRRRRK. Pre leaks from your spire as the words begin to make sense to you. Your name and your master's names are on it.

You can't hold it anymore as you read the title: "Contract renewal in perpetuity"