Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Hatsu Can't Catch A Break

by Phantom

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© Copyright 2020 - Phantom - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; latex; drug; cuffs; milking; anal; insert; hood; gag; bond; collar; mitts; party; condition; display; enslave; forniphilia; iso; nc; cons; XX

“Hatsu, you are late.”

That wasn’t how he wanted to be introduced. He stepped and stood at attention in front of the other serving staff. Each of them wore the same functional black polo shirts and pants they had been given. He was already eager to get out of it and the shift hadn’t even begun.

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. The young man tilted his head slightly, closed his eyes and smiled. His shoulders rose as he shrugged. “I don’t know what happened, I’m -” 

“Don’t sweat it, don’t do it again.” The catering manager had a warm smile that helped assuage his fears. The young man wasn’t thick, though. He knew that it was bad form to be late to work, especially only two weeks into his employment at Coffee A’More Catering. 

The manager and owner, Mr. Moore, had a salt-and-pepper beard, contrasting against dark skin. Hatsu felt like he was the only person in the room, despite his other co-workers now staring.

“Seriously,” he said. “On both parts. Don’t sweat it and don’t worry, you’re here now. Also, don’t do it again. The party starts in…” 

Mr. Moore craned his neck down to look at his phone. “six minutes,” he finished. “I’m really not trying to single you out, but I said thirty minutes before the event begins, at least.”

Hatsu knew that Moore was leaving things unsaid. He’d been late pretty much every other time he worked, though never this late. Moore didn’t need to say “this is your last chance” for Hatsu to know it. 

“I don’t know what your last job was, but catering isn’t flexible on the time. Speaking of flexibility, I’ve got ground for each of you to cover.”

Hatsu swallowed and tuned out Moore and the instructions for the party. His mind drifted to his previous “job,” and he could feel a bead of sweat form on his forehead.

Shining black rubber. Obedience. Tongues and toys and kissing and lust. Ebon-black hoods swallowing him whole. His entire body used, abused, violated so willingly for the menacing presence of his kidnapper. 

He could still feel the cuffs on his wrist as he was led from the basement to his “room.” Humiliating words of the collector that acquired him as she described the simple cot where he’d rest when not being trained or used. Hypnotic training had weakened his mind by then and he didn’t need to be told otherwise. 

Days, weeks in loops of training and use. Drugged, gassed, and brought to an aroused state of blissful obedience, he was still remembering different events during his tenure as The Collector’s extreme rubber slut. 

The night before, he had been crouching down to plug in a lamp and recalled one particular night of debauched use; a powerful sense memory triggered by his physical pose. He remembered crouching like a gargoyle or a statue on a plinth for the Collector and her friends to see. Other rubberslaves around him equally obedient and in similar forms of servile forniphilia. 

His were restrained above him; squatting for everyone and anyone to see. Thick black latex covered his body from stem to stern. A fat plug in his rear pulsed in stunning regularity. Each cavitation sent him rocking and squirming, hanging from above. He was panting, hooded up, sweating like the pig he was. 

A firm hand, ensconced in a glove, grasping his chin. The drainplug gag stopping his mouth closed released as he drooled. Someone splashing a few drops of wine down his throat, and the crowd clapping as he shook with glee at the mistress's touch. 

Hatsu realized how hard he was, and that the setup and explanation was just about ending. His reverie ended as the other caterers began to nod. He was still chasing those memories of being fucked and fingered and humiliated, but they were fleeting. It was almost as bad as trying to remember a dream. 

He blushed, running fingers through his short bob-cut hair. He could pretend that it was a nightmare, but his time as the Collector’s prized possession was most certainly a dream come true. 

Like so many dreams, he only recalled bits and pieces when he tried to consciously think about them. It was his body that recalled his time, though. Hatsu was profoundly embarrassed, but he understood how much his body now craved that same servitude. He tugged on his collar, patting down his moist brow with a napkin. It was not going to be easy to pretend to be “normal.” It wouldn’t be easy for a long time. 

If he hadn’t been sent out on a ‘grocery run,’ he’d probably still be in her grasp. He got lucky, with the dream-like slumber wearing off just before he checked out and returned to her waiting limousine. 

It was impossible to talk about, so fresh in his mind, but Hatsu didn’t mind it. He relished those moments of extreme bondage and utter servitude. Time was required to better parse it. Distance would keep him from doing anything rash, he hoped. 

The job as a caterer involved a lot of standing, a lot of walking, and a lot of money. The ultra-modern interior of the art museum where Hatsu was working meant for a particularly interesting evening. He was making a few extra dollars since it was a Sunday night, but his mind - when it wasn’t racing with occasional thoughts of heavy bondage and submission - was concerned with the opulence of the event. 

The facade of an Neoclassical museum building had been totally ensconced by a gigantic structure, creating a lobby from what had once been the exterior steps and front of the museum. The gardens, nearly a century old, were maintained. Tables with various food and drink were set up, and Hatsu and the others regularly patrolled with champagne and the occasional platter of goat cheese and apple tart. The smell, even from the appetizers, was pleasant and made him a bit hungry. 

Formal attire seemed to be a fairly loose definition at this nameless evening event. Cocktail dresses, blouses and skirts, pant suits; all of them seemed to have their places. Some of the costumes were more garish. High-class catsuits with white jackets seemed more at home in a retro music video than at a mixer, but what did he know? 

“In fact,” Hatsu said to himself, “What do I know?’ He glanced at a clock on the wall - not his phone, he didn’t want to get told off by Mr. Moore. An hour and a half had flown by in an instant. Normally he would have picked up some inkling about what the event was celebrating by this point. Even when trying to keep his head down, he had a certain curiosity that was difficult to muzzle. 

In the off-moments between setting up a small coffee bar and growing boredom, Hatsu leaned over towards guests. A few more minutes of hovering near them than usual gave him the occasional insight about the organizer - someone named “Miss Phantom” - and the vague understanding that the mixer was to gauge interest in a more private art show at a different time.

Hatsu craned his neck to listen as he bent over to place the last remaining drinks he had on his platter onto a low table. When he rose back up to return, he brushed against someone and instantly found himself sweaty, warm, and huffing. 

It wasn’t much. A simple touch; as he lifted his head, his face and nose brushed against the chest of someone who had stepped in his way. He wasn’t thinking about it at the time, but the possibility of this being an accident was nonexistent. The woman whom he’d accidentally rubbed against had clearly been planning this accidental meeting. 

She had pale white skin, a convincing demeanor, and the ability to freeze him in his tracks. Her dress had a low neckline, a lower backline, and was made from an astonishingly polished red rubber. It really left nothing to the imagination. Against his better interests, Hatsu spent a few seconds sizing her up, objectifying her, and imagining his body against hers - if only for a moment. 

He could feel his body coming undone. All that training, all that obedience, all of it suppressed these past few weeks as he pretended to be “normal.” All of it now washing away. Hatsu could feel himself panting, suddenly staring at this pale ghost of a lifestyle he’d tried to bury. He fell to the floor, just out of sight of the rest of the gala. 

Staring at her chest, picturing himself wearing a similar dress, his mind was suddenly filled with commands. He was fairly sure that he’d say “yes” to anything, anything that she said. 

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry if I bumped you. Are you all right?” 

Hatsu nodded. “Yes.”

“New to the catering job?”

“Yes… yes.”

Phantom sized him up, and finally offered him a hand.

“You don’t look like you belong here. Are you interested in working for me?” 

Hatsu didn’t have any fight in him, but he had the effort for the occasional struggle. The squeak of his suit against the metal pole made for a nice sound, at least. The white walls of a MirageCorp lab felt oppressive. He tried to avoid moving too much, as if sound alone would distract the employees in the room and draw their ire. None of them seemed very concerned, though, save for the woman who was busy staring at him. 

Phantom was wearing a purple catsuit with minimal decor. She liked quite a lot about it; its minimalistic features, the visible seams, the simple pattern. It was something she wore for playtime; no frills or belts, and not much to get caught on anything. Plus, it meant that she could accessorize. Hatsu was going to be a piece she was very proud of, so it only made sense to don a white lab coat over her catsuit. 

Dealing with Hatsu was always going to be more art than science, but when she was going to treat anyone to such an effective display of her power, there was always going to be data involved. 

Hatsu had been carefully measured, his fate calculated long before she’d had anything made for him. Phantom always preferred to measure twice and cut once. As Hatsu quivered, shackled to a pole, he was curious what was going to happen to him. In reality, these finishing touches had been several days in the making. 

After his initial intake and processing, he’d been held in various states of drugged delirium or storage while tested for optimal use. Phantom had recognized him from a previous visit to a friend’s party, so it wasn’t too difficult to picture the kind of outfit he’d be wearing. 

She’d ordered him suited in a standard high-tensile undersuit for long-term wear. A few small changes were made for his own humiliation and her own enjoyment. The area around the chest was exposed in the shape of a heart, leaving his slender frame visible. The bottom point of the heart-opening ended above his navel, while the upper curves allowed easy access to his nipples and lovely chest. There was something scintillating about feeling his abdomen and torso, rubbing her gloved fingers up and down her most recent possession.

Circuitry and lining was very visible in certain portions of the suit. It would keep his slender form maintained during even a fairly lengthy wear, and obviously provided plenty of points of stimulation. Phantom had been tinkering with temperature control, and was already eager to toy with the ‘hot/cold’ options on her little toy’s rear end. 

The rest of the suit, aside from the white circuitry and trim, was a shining ebon black rubber. Tall wedge-heeled boots went up to his knees. Long mittens, filled with a nonreactive gel, went up to his forearms and had been laced and locked shut. There had been a fun moment of desperation when he saw his hands now balled and mittened. He’d even struggled, briefly, against his manhood when he was being suited up.

Hatsu’s cock, firmly sheathed, also featured some prominent seams indicating plenty of tools for stimulation. In fact, Phantom had tested a few of them out from the moment he’d been suited and mittened - just to see him struggle, helplessly, at his shaft. 

A powerful *zap* had made him quite erect quite quickly. A warm, just-barely-too-hot heat had really gotten the poor thing pawing, which Phantom found very fun. As such, she rewarded him with a pleasant and consistent low-level vibration while they finished applying finishing details and varnishing his new suit. She’d leave the denial functions for later. 

After the bulk of the gear had been applied, the poor young man had been taken to a small prisoner pad for other touches. A comfortable gel circle with a tall pole in the center with several D-rings allowed him to be kept standing, at attention, and fairly vulnerable with his arms comfortably locked behind his back. Hatsu also found the way that the pole seemed to nestle between his butt cheeks to be strangely intentional. 

The two assistants finished varnishing his suit, sealing it on and ensuring its shine wouldn’t dull for the foreseeable future. He breathed a sigh of relief, leaving only Phantom in the room with him.

“Hatsu, it looks like you’ve enjoyed your time with me.”

He blushed. He didn’t want to say “yes,” but he wasn’t sure how she’d take “no.” She waited, letting the pause blossom and grow in the air. He answered before it could flower into something she might take offense to. 

“You’ve been very generous.”

“Of course I have,” she said with a smile. Standing from her chair, she approached him and got quite close. “From the moment we ran into each other at the gala, I’ve been nothing but good to you.”

He stared down for a moment, but Phantom grabbed him by the chin and enforced eye contact. “Haven’t I?” She tilted her head to the side, as if she’d almost been hurt by the idea of not being utterly ‘giving.’

“O-of course.”

“Glad you think so. What are you thankful for?”

Hatsu felt a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. “You’ve given me… so much attention,” he stammered.

“That’s right,” she said. “I hope you understand that I’m going to ask you to give back.”

He flexed his fingers inside their gel-encased rubber mitts. “M-Miss Phantom, you’ve already got me,” he said with a slight smile. “You can…” 

Phantom tilted her head up slightly, corners of her face creeping to a restrained smile. “Say it.” 

“Y-you can do anything you want to me.”

She leaned in close, placing one hand on top of his head. It was demanding, affectionate, and made him stare at her very deeply. He wasn’t sure - should he pucker up his lips for a kiss? Say something?

Phantom whispered into his ear first. “I know. He shuddered involuntarily, manhood growing hard and erect at the knowledge of how completely fucked he was. 

The villain moved her hand down from the top of his head to the back, and brought him in for an immensely forceful kiss. He couldn’t do anything but comply, arching his back and flexing his cock involuntarily.

Her warm body, her scent, her lips against his. Tongue licking his lips and matching his. It almost felt like she was forcing something into his mouth. He’d happily accept any gifts she offered. 

When she pulled away, a thin strand of saliva parted between them. She wiped it away, then wiped her hand on his chest. 

“Giving back… it’ll be very easy, I promise. You’ve got good genes, you know - we had time to do some rather complete scans. I’d like to splice a few of them into future projects - you know, try and replicate those shapely hips, that nice booty, and that soft face. Nothing drastic, but more than can be accomplished with purely synthetic chromosomes. Easiest way for me will be to have you milked for a few days - or weeks - until we have an adequate supply.

Hatsu was still panting from the kiss. “” 

Phantom turned away, grabbing something from a work-table nearby. “Of course. We’re going to milk you like a prize-winning cow. We did the math, and found it to be a very lucrative path for you, going forward. A few drugs can make certain you can cum as often as we need, but to get you started, we’ll ensure your seed’s top quality by reducing your orgasms to just one every other day.”

“You can’t milk me,” he said with a stammer. 

Phantom raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

He didn’t have a response. Hatsu chewed his lip slightly, trying to think if there was a place to interject and explain his objections more fully. 

“Anyway, your pointless objections aside, I figure it’s time to get you gagged and producing. Any final thoughts?”

Hatsu almost didn’t think before answering, “Thank you, mistress.” 

That earned Hatsu a pleasant kiss on the forehead before she had him ceremoniously silenced. 

The panel-gag with a broad opening for a plug gently nestled its way between his lips. Four straps webbed along the back of his head, above and below his ears. The smell was of recently-polished rubber; the taste of metal and the same again. Each strap tightened and locked in place, gentle against his soft and somewhat pale flesh. 

The plug-gag was a particularly deep tool. Helpless to resist it, it almost tickled his throat. He could taste a familiar aphrodisiac coating it, and he started to shake his head left and right. A drainplug at the end kept it from going any further or from being released without his new owner’s consent. 

Phantom raised his head, tilting his jaw upwards slightly and allowing a quick lick on his sensitive neck. Hatsu shivered as she placed a tall mouth corset over his neck and jaw. It went up to his cheeks, pushing them up, and made his mouth look even more overstuffed than it already was. Plus, it kept his posture very prim and proper, which was a nice touch for a servile milk-slave. 

Hatsu’s dark hair was scrunched into a ponytail and pulled through a hole. He couldn’t see any longer, not thanks to the black hood, but he could feel pressure against his eyes and an extra loud click sound around his neck. A thick collar with a simple barcode tag helped visually break up the mouth corset, and it was nicely unobscured by the heavy hood. 

And just like that, her tasty milk slave was ready to start producing. Almost ready. Phantom generously provided a lick against his left nipple, which elicited a most delightful ngnrh sound. She gave him another one, this time while pinching his other teat, which started as nngrh and ended as a long, savory moan. 

Phantom grinned when he squirmed, and beamed a thin smile when he moaned. She carefully loosened his restraints - just enough to get access to a tender spot. Hatsu, now blind, gagged, and unable to resist, couldn’t do anything but wait and feel his mistress’s warm fingers on his body. 

The final physical touch was something for his rear end. She ran a finger around his rim, and he clenched out of reflex. The feeling was astonishing, as nerves and muscles normally never given touch by anyone’s hands, let alone a powerful and fearsome mistress’s hands, were suddenly ablaze with eagerness. 

She gently but firmly began to insert a long, powerful shaft into his rear. The plug made him groan louder than before, a delightful and highly pleasurable feeling of being stretched and filled. Continual feelings of low-but-increasing pleasure started to well around him as she packed him full, rotating it into place and locking it with a gentle tap. 

The little thing was in for a long ‘shift’ as her milk-slave. Tonight, drones would take him from the rack and bring him to a lab for the duration of his “assignment,” wherein he’d be locked in a nice metal rack with his rear visible and ready for access. Phantom had designed a training program that would make sure his virginal rear would be ready for good use by the time his tenure as a milk-slave was complete. 

But, until tonight, she thought she’d have a more personal touch. Her hands gently stroked him from his ankle to his knee to his thigh and up to his cock. A low rumble around the base of his shaft was accompanied by her fingers stroking the head. Since she was feeling so generous, she even deigned to use her mouth, letting her tongue and lips slowly massage him from arousal to bliss. 

Before she put on the collection tube, she figured she’d bring him to one earnest, genuine, and well-earned orgasm.


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