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A Clever Takeover

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The tight squeezing rubber around the synthetic anthropomorphic female utahraptor’s form is hard to ignore. It tingles across her form, sending sparks of pleasure of delight, drawing her into a moment to relax, but she strengthens her resolve, to fight against the aching need to remain as a rubber statue and just let everything to happen. She has to keep focus, while in a statue figure of anger and frustration, tail a little hiked when she fell into the rubber trap…

“Move it, I want her right by my throne room door so all can see her,” says a female synthetic voice, Chaos Croc turned female. Always a curious fellow, having a female version of himself around, but due to several reason conflicts, some of which she caused herself, Croc is busy getting all his male bodies repaired, including his several back ups, leaving him in his more ‘vulnerable’ female form.

Crisis remained perfectly still, ‘helpless’ to do anything. Seeing through the thin layer of latex around her eyes that Femcroc was there, watching her get moved into position, “You never put stock in your female forms. You neglect securities, and you are overconfident. Now that you think you’ve won…”

FemCroc walks on metallic high heels, her synthetic feet to look like green boots. Her red eyes looking at her prize, moving aside some black rubber hair that is so long that it goes down to her butt, “A little more to the left… no right… ah there we go,” she says, walking over to run his claw under Crisis’ rubber covered chin.

“You thought because I am in this form that I am ripe for the picking? Hardly. Your confidence has always been your downfall, Crisis. And now all will get to see and enjoy you like this. Almost as I enjoy Scythe, showing off what you and all your raptor kind should be,” she says with a hearty laugh, moving over to give Crisis rubber statue ass a firm smack. “I love that and I bet you do too. Now I think about it,” she mutters, getting a sign set up that says, “Slap my ass, I like it.” She takes a step back, “Perfect”

_“Laugh it up. Soon you’ll be under my foot, and you will love it.” _ During this time, Crisis managed to get a good look at FemCroc’s most trusted and important members. Targets for her to take out in order to achieve victory over her arch foe.

“Mistress. I am here to be for your protection, not your furniture mover,” says a large anthropomorphic Ox. With born fur, his grey horns enhanced with Croc’s nanite machines giving a green shine, his armor green and red, Croc’s trademark colors. His stern brown eyes add to his strong and seemingly aggressive demeanor, yet despite his aggression, his words have a layer of respect.

“You are protecting me Horus, but making sure this little ‘clever’ enemy of mine is put in her place,” FemCroc remarks.

“She was never a threat to you Mistress Croc,” says a cybernetic hybrid of organic and synthetic enhancements, with elegant white feathers wings, a light brown almost blond tail. Her long flowing hair is brushed out of her eyes, a mere tick, given a black blindfold covers her vision, yet it doesn’t hinder her vision. The anthropomorphic mink moves with an elegance that her high heel boots make it seem not possible, yet she seems to make the impossible possible.

“Castiel, as always my guardian angel. Fear not. With Crisis subdued there is little in my way now,” Femcroc remarks with a smirk.

“Croc,” says a golden furred feminism fennec, voice soft and delicate, dressed in green, black and red clothing. A long grey scarf wraps around their neck that moves with a fluidity that seems unnatural.

“FemCroc while in this chassis.”

“Matters not to me Croc, but what does matter is for you to lower your guard at this point and to stop giving false descriptors to this raptor, it's insulting.”

“Oh?”

“Clever? Pah, she’s hardly clever. Dimwitted more like it.”

“You’re as harsh as ever Winter. I like it. But enough lording over an insignificant prey. It's time to expand my realm,” she remarks, walking off, “See you later Crisis. Please enjoy your stay,” she adds with a playful wave.

“Now it is the waiting game. Hopefully not too long. If Croc gets those bodies repaired in time…” she thinks, as hours pass, a few ass smacks, which sends ripples of pleasure through the latex, trying to distract her and give into the rubbery hold. Then, her chance came to her. Stepping into the hallway before the throne room is one who appears like Crisis. With green and red metal highlights like all of Croc’s minions. This one, Scythe, is a mockery of Crisis. She looks in physical form exactly like her, minus the electro-blades and the sharp sickle claw, a raptor trademark. Dressed in hot pink latex leggings, and arm gloves, with a bow on her tail tip. Her black and pink rubber attire is tight, and squeaks when she moves timidly toward the statues. With a thick metallic collar with red gems, while Crisis has a square blue gem in the center of her head, Scythe has a red diamond, with shorter feathers. Everything smaller, timider, and exaggerated female features. A perfect prize for the robotic lizard.

“Perfect. Come closer Scythe. You are the most needed for this plan to work.” her focus completely on her, pushing past the caressing, squeezing, teasing rubber. With each step Scythe gets closer, her excitement growing.

“Oh look, a raptor. Raptors are weak and obedient,” Scythe says with a giggle, working to dust her.

Crisis activates a series of micro lasers that go along the back of her head, down her spine to the tip of her tail, cutting the rubber, cavity releasing her from her bondage, leaving the front of the statue unharmed. The normally green and blue colored raptor has colors that mimic Scythe, gem and all, “Can’t tell I changed my colors if I am covered in rubber,” she thinks, Scythe unaware of her raptor sister’s escape.

Scythe whistles away, “Going to dust. Dust good. And make it not dusty,” she giggles.

Crisis moves behind, grabbing Scythe from behind, her fingertips release wires that attach to Scythe, powering her down, “Relax Scythe.” she says, the other raptor’s struggle fading quickly, “Perfect. All to plan,” she remarks, looking around, removing Scythe’s rubber attire, detaching the collar around her neck, taking note of the corruptive wires that are all part of the device, “I’ll fix that once I hide the evidence.”

“First things first is to put you back where you belong, so none are the wiser,” she puts Scythe into the Crisis cavity. The sickle claws that Crisis had been already detached along with the electro-blades which were already made inoperable as per the plan. She seals the bubbly raptor inside and by the time she awakens she’ll easily have fallen to the rubber statue trap and be a happy girl on display.

Crisis’ thigh opens up, revealing a small ring which she places around the collar, “That should protect me from that, while giving false readings, and getting the commands Croc wants, so I can be one step ahead of him,” she mutters, installing the protective ring before putting the collar around her neck.

It sparks, making her gasp, the red gems glowing, “Obey Croc. Good raptors don’t think. Good raptors aren’t clever. Good raptors are maids. Good raptors love to clean. Good raptors love to have their asses smacked. Good raptors obey Master Chaos Croc in all his forms.”

The programming tingles in the back of Crisis’ mind, an annoying whisper, while quickly slipping on the rubber attire. The hot pink latex leggings, which feel as good if not even better than the rubber statue she was in. With each piece of rubber, she puts on the better she feels, and when she finishes, bow and all, she looks over herself.

“I don’t look half bad. Perhaps this isn’t so…” she looks over to the statue, “My, my, it’s so dusty. I need to make this shine,” she giggles a little. Her tail hikes, hips sway, she reads the sign, “Slap my ass… I like it?” why don’t mind if I do,” she slaps her own ass, giggling, “Yup I do like it…” she stiffens, shaking her head, stealing herself, “No, even the rubber outfits are infectious. I know this and prepare for this. I’m not going to trap myself in my own plan,” she mutters, picking up her feather duster, getting to work dusting the ‘Crisis’ statue when barging into the hallway is Horus.

“Scythe?!” he exclaims, rushing over to her.

“This is too perfect,” she thinks, turning to him, bumbling a bit, “Mr. Horus sir, how can I be of service?” she asks, perfectly mimicking the bubbly voice and tone of Scythe.

“I was informed by Winter that your collar was disrupted. He wanted me to check you out. He fears that Crisis has escaped.”

“Crisis? That silly raptor? She’s not smart enough to fight Mistress Croc,” she says with a giggle. I’ve been cleaning her up real good for Mistress,” she says, feather dusting the statue.

Horus moves in closer, “He’s always a little paranoid, but I have to get a close look. Excuse me. You can clean once I finish my inspection,” he states, huffing through his nostrils.

“Sure, sure. I wait here like I should!” she giggles heartily, watching the ox look over the Crisis statue, the rubber having been perfectly sealed thanks to her hidden devices that helped her perfectly meld the rubber closed.

“Everything seems to be in order. You may continue.”

“Mr. Horus!”

“Yes?” he asks, turning to her.

“Your horns are tarnished. You should let me polish your horn,” she giggles with a playful red eye wink.

He lets out a huff, feeling his cheeks grow warm, “Master Croc did program you to be sultry.”

“All raptors are sultry Mr. Horus!” she giggles, giving a cute look, rump swaying, “Please Mr. Horus? Let me polish your horn. Mistress Croc would not be pleased if I let you go see him dirty. What would he think?!” she exclaims with a gasp.

He sighs, “Oh, alright, you may polish… my… horn,” he lowers himself.

“Thank you!” Crisis says, feather dusting his face, letting her hidden robotizers within her rubber gloves warm up, quickly grabbing the side of his head, holding him by the horns, “You’ll make a fine addition to my crew to overthrow Mistress Chaos Croc.” She chuckles.

His eyes widen, “W-what! No!” he jerks his head back but Crisis cold robotic grip, with the help of the friction from the rubber gloves makes it impossible for a quick break away. By then the blue roboticization energy flows over his head, changing organic flesh into cold hard machinery. It flows down the ox’s body, changing, transforming him into what Crisis desires. Over a period of mere minutes, the ox is no more. Horns melded into his body, turned into sickle claws on his feet, a tall buff iteration of an anthropomorphic megaraptor. A much larger, stronger, and buffer version of a Utahraptor.

Horus' eyes glow blue, looking down at Crisis who releases his head, he responds in a synthetic voice, “How may I be of service Mistress Crisis?”

“Remain out of sight and out of mind, till I need you. A good raptor knows how to stalk, and so should you,” she states, overlooking his body, the sleek handsome form, an open synthetic raptor with many delights, due to her close relation to Croc, there’s something about how manly or one should say raptorly he looks, “Perhaps, I’ll show him a few things once this is over…” she wonders, before getting herself to focus back on the task at hand.

“Yes Mistress. I will be of service.”

“Excellent. Why don’t you make a little excuse to get me to Winters. She is too suspicious and needs to be taken out next.”

“As you wish, Mistress. Inform him that I sent you down to his lab because it was so stuffy that it was preventing him from relaxing. Maybe his scarf needs a good washing.”

“Ah, excellent idea, thank you my humble servant.”

“Yes Mistress. I will be out of sight and mind till you need me. I know Croc’s security systems like the back of my claw,” he states, moving into the shadows, disappearing despite his massive size.

“Excellent. One down, three more to go,” Crisis says with a smirk and a bubbly giggle. She stiffens, “Keep calm, don’t get that into character,” she says, walking out of the room, hips swaying, sauntering about, fed a map of the entire compound, she easily makes her way into Winter’s lab, where countless bio-tech experiments are underway.

Crisis calls out to him in her bubbly voice, “Winters! I’m here to clean your lab!” she exclaims.

The fennec turns to her, “What? You shouldn’t be in my lab. I don’t need an airhead like you to clean it. Where’s Horus?” he asks, moving close, his scarf coming to life, quickly moving to wrap around Crisis, binding her nice and tight.

“Mr. Ox told me to clean your lab because it's so stuffy. When was the last time you cleaned your scarf? I should iron it out. It’s all wrinkly,” she says with a giggle, showing no concern of her precarious position.

Winters gives an exaggerated look, “Why you, my… damn you Horus. You sent this air head to me because I sent you to check up on the statue, isn’t that it?” he says with a sigh, releasing Crisis, “My scarf is made of advanced nanite silk polymer and can stretch and trap those that dare to go against Master Croc. It is not something that needs to be ‘ironed’ to get the wrinkles out,” he says, ears twitching in frustration.

Crisis takes this moment to look around, noticing a few minions of the fennec mossing about, “Oh Winters. I could get it silky smooth and clean for you. And look at all these dusty beakers! They are in need of cleaning. And when is the last time these floors have been broomed and mopped?” she asks with gasps of shock and horror. “I will get your labby paddy all cleaned up, in no time.”

His eye twitches, “I don’t need you to clean my lab. I don’t want an air head like you pressing some button that does not need to be touched by one who can’t comprehend even the basics of electricity.”

“It’s the stuff that feels good right?”

He sighs, “My point exactly. If you insist on cleaning anything, you may clean the floors, but that’s it. Nothing else, got it?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll make these floors so clean you can eat of them!” she replies with a giggle, “Just in time for lunch too.”

“That is just a saying. It doesn’t mean they need to… never mind,” he sighs, getting back to his work.

Crisis bides his time, noticing the cameras in the room, several trained and following her. She monitors the signals, taking note that fennec has contacts that provide a HUD display of whatever he wants, and at this moment, she is being watched by him, while they work.

“He’s not an idiot. That’s for sure. No need to rush. It’ll take some time to remote hack the system and build a loop long enough to…” Crisis thinks, pondering the plan, hips swaying, sweeping through the lab, watching the other employees who eventually tire and take a break to get something to eat out of the lab.

Winter remarks, “Lazy lab assistants. Genius takes work. How will they ever match up if they don’t put the perspiration toward their intelligence.”

Crisis whistles, singing a poor out of tune song, “Master Croc is great. He is the best. If I could only beg him for a date. I will make sure it is not the last.”

Winters remarks, “Best and last don’t rhyme.”

“It’s still true though!” she calls out, giggling eagerly, “Crisis, focus, you are getting too into it again,” she thinks, the opportunity to strike quickly approaching. With Winter’s lackeys gone, his guard slightly lowered, and the video feed on repeat, she silently despite the latex attire moves up right behind Winters, grabbing his head, the roboticizers already warmed up and getting to work.

“What?! I know it! Unhand me!” he exclaims, his scarf wrapping around Crisis, but its already too latex. The roboticization energy moves through him, transforming the fennec, the fluffy tail thickening out to that of a raptor, eyes shifting from purple to blue.

“Relax darling. You’ll be a wonderful female raptor in no time. Who wants to be a female fennec anyway?”

“I’m a guy you dolt…” his words trail off, his body shifting to a slightly smaller sized raptor like Crisis. A lovely pair of smooth rounded breasts, that truly exemplify Winter’s now female shape.

Crisis tilts her head, “Well you hid that well.”

“It’s not my fault Mistress that you couldn’t intelligibly figure that out.”

“Well, that’s why I have you now, isn’t it darling?” Crisis asks.

Winters shoots her a grin, “True,” she replies, releasing Crisis from her scarf, “And before you even think of upending FemCroc, you’ll need to get rid of his literal guardian angel, Castiel. She watches over him like a hawk, and rarely leaves his side. But once you have her, Croc will be easy.”

“She was my next goal. Did you have an idea how best to catch her off guard?”

Winters smirks, “Do you underestimate my genius? Of course, I do. Just go to her room, clean it, and prepare it. And I along with Horus will lay in wait to assist you. She won’t be easy going no matter what else you do.”

“How did you know I go Horus?”

“Please. It’s self-evident that you could overtake that muscle brain.”

“As an ox he wasn’t as clever, but now he is,” Crisis responds with an air head giggle. She stops and stands straight, “Let's do this.”

“Best hurry. I fear you’re not intelligent enough to have countered Croc’s and my brilliance for too long.”

“Watch it,” she remarks, executing the plan quickly. Sauntering over to Castiel’s room. The golden doors held a place that gives the aura of love, angelic feeling and a healthy dose of Chaos Croc worshiping. A small statue of Croc sat on something that looked like an altar, her sword resting in front of it. Horus and Winters hide in the walk-in closet, while Crisis gets to work cleaning and preparing the room, the perfect excuse for her to be in there.

Crisis hums and giggles to herself while making the bed, “Oh, no all these wrinkles. Can’t have anything less than perfect.” She makes the bed once, twice, thrice, each time it was better than the last, “I will do this super-duper good!” she giggles, tail hiked, the ribbon flapping in the wind. Her body squeaks loudly, hips swaying, she continues to clean and polish the room. Vacuuming, washing the bathroom, scrubbing it clean and perfect, cleaning the mirrors, when eventually Castiel walks in.

“Scythe?” she asks, approaching her.

“Oh, hello Miss! I was cleaning your room; I hope you don’t mind?” she asks with a big goofy air headed grin on her face.

“No, no, let me see how you did,” she says looking around, “Not, bad. You’ve done well Scythe. Mistress Croc will be pleased with your work.”

Crisis feels a rush of delight, “You think he will?” she asks with genuine excitement.

She smiles patting Crisis on the head, “Yes. Now why don’t you go to his chambers. I bet he will need them to be cleaned.”

“Righty-o!” she says, taking several steps away to exit the room when Castiel lets out a scream.

“Intruders! Scythe, get help!”

Crisis turns around, seeing Horus and Winters pinning her down, fighting as hard as they can against her strength.

“Oh no! I’ll get help right away!” Crisis exclaims about to leave when Winters yells.

“Crisis, get your ass in here and finish her before it's too late!”

The words snap Crisis back to reality, “Right, right,” she says, rushing to Castiel, who lets out a gasp of surprise. Crisis roboticizers quickly warming up, unleashing their energy through the Mink. Her organic body quickly succumbs to transforming energy held within Crisis’ palms. Her soft fluffy form transformed into sleek metal, her wings shifting, changing, as Castiel is molded and transformed into a ‘feathered’ raptor, the blindfold still on her head, unchanged, but a soft glow is hinted from underneath. The now fallen angel’s struggle comes to an end, the other two minions release her.

“Apologies Mistress Crisis. I didn’t know it was you. Your disguise got to me. And now I will do all in my power to let no harm fall upon you.”

Crisis smirks, “Perfect. Now to get FemCroc before it's too late. And I think I know exactly how,” she says with a cackle that turns into an airhead giggle before she abruptly stops herself.

Winters remarks, “We’ll hurry Mistress, before it’s too late for you.”

“Right.”

Croc, still in his female form, walks to his throne room, looking over the rubber statues of his former rivals. Approaching Crisis’ statue, “Ah, so clean and polished. Scythe did a wonderful job on cleaning you,” she says with a smirk, smacking that rubber statue ass, “I know you love it.”

“I wonder though, what Castiel wanted to talk to me about in my throne room. That is a little strange,” she mutters, before shrugging the concern, entering the throne room to see Crisis still in her Scythe disguise sitting sexually on the throne room, “Scythe? What are you doing there?’

“Mistress, I was just cleaning your throne, and I felt I just had to sit here and wait for you.”

“Scythe… you should be cleaning my chambers at this time of day,” she states walking over to her.

“I know but I just couldn’t help being here, for this big moment,” she says, still giggling like a schoolgirl.

FemCroc stops a few feet from her, “Big moment?” she asks, with a hint of concern in her synthetic voice.

“The moment where I, Crisis, finally defeat you completely and utterly!” she exclaims, pouncing from the throne, landing on Croc as they start their duel.

“You could never defeat me. It’s a day that doesn’t end in y!” he exclaims, finding himself overpowered by Crisis as they clash claws.

“What’s the matter Croc? Not used to a lithe female form? It suits you though,” she says with a playful wink.

Croc being pushed back laughs heartily, “A momentary setback. Did you think you could defeat me as you are here, in my home? You could never stand up against me!” she exclaims, rolling and kicking her off to the side, hitting a statue of Croc’s masculine self with a metallic thud, “You will obey me.”

Crisis gets up, hearing Croc’s words seeping into her mind, “Obey Master Croc. Serve Master Croc. Master Croc is handsome and dreamy. So smart. I’m just a dumb raptor,” the collar’s programing trying to sink in.

“I… I…” Crisis mutters.

Croc chuckles, “See. Just a silly raptor, who wants to obey. Serve me now, Crisis, or should I say my new Scythe?” she asks with a domineering smirk, tapping her high heel boot.

“I will…” Crisis stumbles a bit, feeling the programing trying to break in. Her red eyes glowing brightly before shifting to blue, “Not obey. I will win this time, Croc!”

She crosses her arms, “Well then,” raises her hand up, “Prepare to be defeated, Crisis!” she states, stepping back, snapping his fingers, “I may be a little weaker than you as this but you’re no match for Horus,” she says, letting out a hearty laugh, hearing the heavy footsteps of his minion, only to be knocked off to the side as the robotic raptor Horus slams himself into her.

FemCroc’s eyes glow brighter, “Horus? That is why I couldn't contact you. No matter. Lurking in the shadows, called ahead at his behest is Winter. His scarf will make short work of you,” she says, just as the grey scarf comes into view.

Once again FemCroc laughs, feeling victory at hand only to stop when the scarf coils itself around her form, body falling to the ground with a thud. She squirms and wiggles, “You’ve captured Winter’s scarf!”

“No Croc, she hasn’t. It’s still mine,” says Winters, stepping out from the shadows, eyes glowing a soft blue.

She gives a curious look, “When did you become a girl?”

“When Mistress Crisis thought it best to end the confusion of others. It’s simply genius, which is why I follow her now, Croc.”

Wiggling like a worm on the floor, sensing things are getting out of hand, “No, matter. I can undo this, and I admit you did more under my nose than I thought you could. But there is no way you could have thought to defeat my--”

“Guardian Angel Croc?” asks Castiel, stepping out in front of FemCroc, sword smashed right in front of her gaze, letting the robotic lizard know just how fucked she now is, “You underestimated Mistress Croc. I now follow the superior raptors over the lazy lizards,” she says with a grin.

Crisis giggles like a schoolgirl, “See Croc? You’ve lost. I’ve taken your top generals. Those you trusted the most and converted them. Feels familiar huh?” she says, sauntering over to Croc, placing her foot onto the robot’s bound body, “There is no escape Croc.”

“You think that, but I have my back…”

Winters interrupts him, “Back up bodies?” she snaps her fingers, showing a screen of all the backup bodies being retrofitted and turned into Scythe-like robotic raptors, “We’re already ahead of you on that.”

Croc squirming grows, “I have more than you know!”

Crisis giggles, lowering her head, “No you don’t. I’ve worked this out when you had to fall back to FemCroc due to your bodies being repaired. And now they are all mine, and soon you’ll be mine and your empire. For once Croc. I’ll win. And at first I was going to make you into Chrisis, the robotic echo of myself, but seeing you just love Scythe so much. I think you turning into her would be so fitting. She is lonely and needs more love,” Crisis explains, removing the collar around her neck.

“N-now Crisis. We can talk about this, right? You wouldn’t have been defeated by me so many times if you didn’t love me hacking and brainwashing you… right? Right?”

“You can’t talk your way out of this one Croc. It’s time you get a taste of your own medicine and perversion,” she explains, removing the protective ring within her collar. The wires reaching out, wanting to latch onto something.

“I’ve made some special modifications to the control collar Mistress Crisis, so it will be super effective on FemCroc. Mixed with your transformation roboticizers in your palms. There is almost no chance she won’t come out perfect.”

“Thank you, Winters, I knew you were one of the most clever girls in my army,” she replies, bringing the collar down to Croc’s neck.

“Come on now, Crisis! We can talk about this! Please? It was all a joke. After a few months I was going to let you out of that statue,” FemCroc explains with a nervous laughter.

“Too late for talking Croc. It’s time now for service,” she replies, her roboticizers already warming up, the collar latching around Croc’s neck.

“No… no!” Croc exclaims, feeling the rush of programming going through her.

“I serve Mistress Crisis.”

“I’m just a dumb lizard.”

“I love to have my ass slapped. Teehee.”

“I’m just an air head girl.”

“Raptors are superior!”

“I can’t wait to earn my right to be a raptor.”

Croc squirms and struggles with the roboticic energy rushing through Croc, programmed memories of being under Crisis control and creation growing within her. Pleasure and the sensation of service rumbling through her programming. Croc submitting himself to her. The memory is clear as day.

“Oh, great Mistress. Please take my Empire. I was a fool to resist you and your charms. I hope to one day be a raptor as clever as yourself.”

Crisis chuckles in the memory, “Serve me well my maid, and perhaps one day you will be.”

“Thank you, Mistress!”

Croc’s body shifts and changes a little more, becoming a little more raptor-ish minus the sickle claws. A halfway point between what he was and what he will be. A lovely fem bot. All of Croc’s defenses are stripped away, the programming sinking deeper into her mind, syncing up with more memories and thoughts, filtering them out, a growing lustful, pleasuring desire to be of service.

When FemCroc came to, she was now a pseudo-Scythe. The outfit Crisis was wearing now put onto her. Finishing the ensemble while Crisis took the time to regain her traditional look. Croc-Scythe stood at attention looking at her Mistress, waiting to hear her speak.

Crisis walks around the new Croc, looking at those big lips, wide hips, bubbly expression, “That is a sexy look,” she thinks, before pushing it out of her mind, not wanting it to take any further root in her mind, “How do you feel Croc? Nice and refreshed after a little adjustment?”

Croc-scythe giggles, “Yes Mistress Crisis! I am so happy to be of service to you again!”

“Such a good girl. I want you to clean and remodel your former charging chambers. I’ve uploaded into your memory banks exactly how I want them to be as my charging quarters. Do you understand?”

“Oh Mistress, those are some big files, but I think I got it,” she says with a salute and a giggle.

“Good, now get to work,” Crisis says, giving Croc’s rubber covered ass a firm slap, sending tingles of delight through both of them.

“Yes Mistress!” Croc-Scythe exclaims, walking off.

Crisis looks at that swaying butt, enjoying the view, “I can see why he enjoyed doing that,” she ponders, turning to her new minions, “Okay, let's get to work converting the rest of this to my new management.

The three minions salute, “Yes Mistress!”

Crisis smirks, thinking, “Sometimes plans do work out.” Over the period of months, Crisis' new empire expands, grows and overtakes Croc’s former empire. There are times and moments where the warmth and delight of wearing that latex still kicks in, and she finds herself on occasion dressing up as a sleek rubber maid, cleaning her own room, till Croc-Scythe comes and stops her, snapping her out of the lull, resuming her command duties.