Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

The Church of Bliss

by Spooky Boogy

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© Copyright 2023 - Spooky Boogy - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f+; fpov; latex; catsuit; hood; transform; X-frame; bond; cuffs; whip; cons; XXX

Continues from


O Blissful Mother, Lady of Rubber Embrace

Sweetest garment a tailor ever made;

In all doubts I fly to thee for guidance

Mother tell me what am I to do.

She spent what felt like an eternity that passed in an instant drifting in the void of pure rubber Bliss, deep beneath the cathedral that had once been her home. She was broken down by the fluid, reformed, split apart again and rebuilt, in both her body and her soul. She reached out with her mind when it was coherent enough for lucidity, touched the blindingly black glow of the other entity floating in there with her, recognised it, embraced it – the Mother of Bliss, here yet nowhere. The human she used to be, Sister Elise, optimistic and enthusiastic convert to the Church of Bliss, was stripped down to her bare essentials, reshaped according to the Mother’s desires and designs, before she was put back together. But not the same. She would never be the same again. She had been blessed. She had been… adopted.

The Daughter of Bliss rose from the pool of her rebirth, emerging into the warm air of the underground chamber Elise had found beneath the cathedral. The Daughter paused for a moment at that – Elise, not herself. The distinction in her mind was clear, and yet Elise’s memories were also playing back in her head, although, somehow altered, reformed, as if the Daughter was remembering how things should have been. The Prioress, on her knees, tongue poking out through her rubber hood, gulping down the liquid rubber Bliss encasing the Daughter. The entire class of Initiates which Elise entered the Church alongside, all coated in the slick, viscous latex, writhing and grinding on each other, utterly lost to Bliss as they all slipped into the anonymous ecstasy of dronehood. She could tell these events didn’t take place, but perhaps, they still could. The Daughter just had to take her rightful place.

At first, even the simple task of moving was a struggle; the natural instincts that translate the thought of “walk” into actions were no longer available to her, decades of muscle-memory useless for a body constructed entirely from latex. The Daughter took a step, slowly walking along the surface of the rubber pool, the heels that were now simply a part of her body clicking down onto the latex. A second step came easier, the third was almost back to normal, and the fourth took her back onto the solid ground of the cave. Even that was a new sensation – a shiver of pleasure echoed through her body as she touched the rocky floor, a shiver of pleasure which immediately brought to mind the thought of stepping on someone, instead of something.

She looked down at her hands, her body, took stock of her new form. It was broadly similar to what Elise had been wearing before she entered the rubber – it looked like a tight, black suit, pinched in at the waist by a corset, accented by a white habit cascading around her shoulders and a pair of heeled boots capping off her legs. However, the Daughter could tell that things had changed – first, it was no longer a suit, encasing a creature of flesh and blood. It was now simply her, rubber all the way down, shaped by her will alone. She began to experiment, sharpening her fingers into claws for a moment, flattening her chest into the androgynous proportions of the drones waiting patiently around her before returning it to her previous shape, testing her limits. She raised a tentative hand to her face, realising her gas mask had been dissolved and discarded, and traced the outlines of a face cast from rubber, pitch-black and permanently polished to a mirror sheen. She might have lacked the anonymity granted by the inhuman masks, but no one would mistake the elfin features of her new visage as anything other than an artificial creation. She was malleable, perfect, Blissful.

It wasn’t only her body that granted new opportunities, the Daughter realised, as she closed her new latex eyes and reached out with a new sense. She could feel the drones around her, four beacons of light in a dark haze, entities that she could reach out and touch through the Bliss. More than touch; take hold of, grip, twist, control. With a slight jolt, the Daughter took control of her first drones, making them part of herself – she could feel what they felt, see what they saw, and control them with as little effort as thinking. The first converts to her new doctrine. But there were far more to come. She extended her mind upwards, looking through the hundreds of metres of rock towards the cathedral, a blazing bonfire of potential. It would be hers.

The drones moved in lockstep with their new mistress, five pairs of boots clicking in sync, beginning the long ascent back to the cathedral. For the Daughter, the simple experience of climbing became a pleasurable one, her perfectly slick rubber thighs sliding against each other, each click of her heeled feet now eliciting a spark of Bliss, even the air drifting past her smooth, polished skin enough to create tingles of pleasure. The aura of ecstasy was overwhelming to anyone except the Daughter herself, and her four drones – usually perfectly silent and composed – began to let out faint whimpers and moans through their masks, the beginnings of a Blissful chorus to herald the Daughter’s arrival. The first of many.

The Daughter reached the top of the staircase, and one of her drones heaved the reinforced door at its peak open for her. She stepped into the cathedral, and began her glorious, divine work.

By the light within thy dear eyes dwelling

By the tears that dim their lustre too;

By the story that these tears are telling

Mother tell me what am I to do.

Immediately, the Daughter’s mind pulsed with a burst of Bliss as it made contact with the rest of the members of the Church, each and every Sister, Initiate, drone, and everyone in between, all of them standing still for a moment as pure, unfiltered Bliss blazed for the first time in decades. All throughout the cathedral, the members of the Church sank to their knees, or sagged limp in their restraints, and experienced a synchronised, exultant orgasm of pure rubber pleasure.

The Daughter turned her head, tracing a muffled moan of pleasure to a nearby alcove, finding a Sister collapsed, writhing in Bliss on the ground; the first convert. The Daughter simply reached down, pressing her palm to the chest of the helpless Sister, and urged the rubber of her suit to reform, twist, change. The transformation spread like a ripple across the convert’s body, the latex tightening, morphing, changing around her, becoming closer to the Daughter, closer to perfection. The ripple reached her gas mask, and it simply dissolved, leaving behind a blank, featureless mask – a drone hood, shined to a mirror-finish.

Anonymity is Bliss.

The newly created drone rose to its feet, shaky on its new heels, now linked into the Daughter’s slowly expanded web of control, subservient and subsumed. The command was unspoken, simply an impulse, a thought made manifest, but the meaning was clear to the five drones – spread the new Bliss, convert more drones. They marched off in different directions without a word, all ready to awaken the rubber of the Sisters’ suits, and bring them into the Bliss of dronehood.

Obedience is Bliss.

The Daughter had her own objective, striding with purpose towards the chambers of the Oracles. She disregarded the heavy protective suits that Elise had once needed to stay safe from the potent secretions of the revered figures – now, her entire existence was at that level of Bliss. Inside the rubber passageway, she found the Sacrist, on their knees, encased in their suit, faintly whimpering in pleasure. At their side, they held a vial of the ultra-concentrated holy water ingredients, ready to be diluted and refined, but the Daughter had alternate plans. She took the vial from the trembling hand of the Sacrist, opened her latex mouth, and tossed the vial inside – immediately transforming and converting it.

The fluid began to roil and bubble, becoming a potent mix of rubbery liquid and Blissful secretions; even the barest touch of it on unconverted flesh would be enough to cast the fortunate soul into an eternity of latex ecstasy. The Daughter bent down, pressing her lips to the glass faceplate of the Sacrist’s protective suit, and slowly spat the fluid through the dissolving glass. There was far more of it than the vial had contained, enough to completely fill the suit, completely coating the Sacrist’s skin. Their desperate moans echoed through the passageway until the rising liquid encased their head, slowly solidifying, leaving them as a statue of rubbery Bliss. In time, they would begin to produce their own, altered holy water, and become a baptismal font for newly indoctrinated drones – an Oracle of the Daughter’s design. Throughout it all, the Sacrist would experience unending, infinite ecstasy.

Pleasure is Bliss.

Turning on her heels, the Daughter strode towards the main cathedral hall, but diverted her path to reach the dungeon, the domain of the Prioress. She found the woman frozen in place, hand raised to strike down with a paddle on a former Sister who had already been converted into a drone, now simply waiting for further orders. The Daughter easily took hold of the enormous, muscle-bound woman’s arm, dragging the Prioress in her wake as easily as the Prioress might have once dragged Elise. Her destination; the main cathedral hall.

Arriving in the enormous chamber, a congregation of drones had already gathered, headed by the Mother Superior, clad only in her undergarments – a skintight, black rubber suit, simple, spartan. She knew what would be taking place here, and had chosen to accept it with modesty. The Daughter would deal with her in a moment.

With a gesture, a structure began to rise from the floor of the cathedral hall, just in front of the altar, forged from solidified rubber; a tall, X-shaped cross, the perfect size for the Prioress to be attached to. The Daughter almost tossed her onto the cross, her limbs snapping into place as rubber cuffs formed around her wrists and ankles, holding her taut. The Daughter held her hand outstretched, a flogger flowing from her palm until it was fully formed, and began to beat the Prioress’ helpless form. The moans of the muscle-bound woman echoed through the hall, begging for more and more torment and torture, each strike depositing more and more rubber onto her body, until eventually there was only a drone, silently enduring the pain. A public whipping toy.

Pain is Bliss.

The Daughter turned to face the Mother Superior, silent communication passing between them; respect from the Daughter for steering the Church well over the years, love from the Superior at being this close to an incarnation of the true Mother of Bliss. The understanding was mutual; the greatest reward the Daughter could offer was simply becoming a part of her new, glorious convent. The Daughter reached out a hand, the Superior took it, and in moments there was simply another softly moaning drone, ready to experience ecstasy for the rest of its days.

See my hopes in fragile vessel tossing,

Be the pilot of that trembling crew;

Guide me safely o'er the dangerous crossing,

Mother, tell me, what am I to do?

The Daughter stood at the centre of the cathedral hall, staring up at the enormous representation of the Mother of Bliss, surrounded by a halo of light shining in from outside. She waited there, pondering, for a long time – enough for the rest of the inhabitants of the Church to be converted, joined into her expansive mind, mere extensions of her body, ready to obey, submit, and experience the pleasure of Bliss. Perhaps she was communicating, or thinking, or simply choosing the right moment.

Finally, she turned around to her congregation, a swarm of drones filling every space in the hall, and made her first decree.

“Go forth, my children, and spread the word of the Mother. Invite more into the fold, invite more into the rubber, invite more into the Bliss. Remember our words, remember our creed!”

The Church of Bliss accepts all and makes them one.

Anonymity is Bliss.

Obedience is Bliss.

Pain is Bliss.

Pleasure is Bliss.

We are Bliss.



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