Speaker 1: Welcome to Sexy Stories after dark. Ah. I thought the
black envelope was a joke. Matt Stock, no return address,
my name in silver foil that caught the light like
liquid mercury. Inside a single card. The lock and key
requests your presence eleven PM. Dress accordingly a private club
with a latex, leather and vinyl dress code. I almost
tossed it, but curiosity is a slow working solvent, and
by Thursday night I stood outside an unmarked door in
the meatpacking district. My own outfit a vinyl mini skirt,
ey'd panic bought online, a borrowed leather boustier. Feeling suddenly amateurish,
the door opened before I knocked. A woman in head
to toe black latex stepped aside her smile, a lacquered
curve thigh high boots, a corset that cinched her waist
into an exclamation point. The hallway behind her flickered with
candlelight and smelled of rubber and something darker, sandalwood maybe,
and the metallic tang of ozone. You're the new one,
she said, not a question. Her voice had the texture
of crushed velvet. I'm madam, kay. She led me past
rooms where bodies moved in glossy, slow motion zippers, glinting chains,
kissing metal. My heels clicked on polished concrete. Her gloved
hand pressed the small of my back, steering me into
a smaller chamber, walled with my mirrors. A rack of clothing,
Latex catsuits, patent leather harnesses, vinyl corsets that shone like
wet paint. You'll wear this. Madam Kay pulled out a
transparent latex bodysuit so sheer it looked like a slick
of oil, held together by seams. And this a vinyl corset,
the color of a bruised plum strip everything. My fingers
fumbled with the zipper of my skirt. Her eyes dark, unblinking,
held mine in the mirror. When I stood bare, the
air conditioning tightened my nipples. The latex suit was cold
at first. She started at my ankles, working the material
up my calves in slow, deliberate tugs. Each inch sealed
against my skin a second skeleton. She smoothed it over
my thighs, and I heard my own breath catch as
her knuckles brushed the crease where leg meets hip, up
over my stomach, my breasts. She paused to adjust the
thin cups, her thumb tracing a circle that sent a
jolt straight to my groin arms. I raised them. The
latex snapped around my wrists and shoulders, hugging me until
I could see the outline of my ribs, the dusky
shadow of my areolas. The corset came next. She laced
the back with short military pulls. The pressure forced my
spine into a question mark, hips tilting forward, offering. I
caught my reflection, a girl made of glass and purple leather,
mouth slightly open, perfect. Madame Kay murmured a single sharp click.
A collar she hadn't mentioned locked around my throat. Now rules,
She turned me to face her, one gloved finger under
my chin. You will be cuffed to the table in
the next room. Members will use you mouth ass cunt.
You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not
come without permission. I will be there every second. If
you want to stop, you say mercury. Do you understand?
My tongue felt thick. Yes, do you want this? The
question landed squarely in my chest. I looked at the
mirrored wall, at the woman I was becoming. Yes. She smiled,
not kind, but pleased. Good girl. The main chamber opened
like a cathedral of leather and amber light. At its
center a padded table, wide and low, with steel cuffs
at the four corners. Members lined the walls. A dozen
or so men, mostly, though a few women observed. They
all wore the uniform latex vinyl sculpted leather. Their faces
were masks of polite hunger. The air was heavy with
the musk of polished rubber and the faint, sharp scent
of something already spilled. Madam Kay guided me onto the table.
The padding was dense, body warm from some prior occupant.
She secured my wrists first, then my ankles, spreading my
legs wide enough that the latex suit strained across my pelvis.
The cuffs were lined with velvet. I tested them instinctively.
No give, my heart hammered against the corset. Breathe, she said,
her mouth close to my ear. You're about to become
very popular. The first man approached without a word, tall bald,
a leather harness across his chest. His cock was already out,
thick and veined, the head glossy. With anticipation, Madam Kay
positioned herself beside my head, one hand resting on my
collarbone open. She didn't have to ask twice, my lips parted.
He guided himself in, and the taste salt skin, a
faint metallic tang from the air filled my mouth. Madam
Kay cupped my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheek. That's it,
take him deeper. He's been waiting all week. She spat
on the shaft where it met my lips. The slick
sound obscene, and I felt the extra glide as he
pushed farther, nudging the back of my throat. I gagged,
eyes watering, and she murmured, swallow around him, baby, yes,
just like that. Then a second man was at my
other side, his hand already tangled in my hair. The
bald man withdrew with a wet pop, and before I
could catch my breath, the newcomer filled my mouth thinner
but longer. I stretched my jaw and Madam Kay reached
down to trail two fingers over the latex covering my cunt.
The indirect pressure made my hips buck. She's dripping through
the suit, she announced, loud enough for the room, a
ripple of low laughter. The night segmented into a series
of gloss and flesh men fed themselves to me in turns,
their cocks a parade of textures, one silky soft, another
rigid as polished wood, a third still half flaccid and
growing hot on my tongue. Between them, Madam Kay would
grip my chin and inspect me, her dark eyes approving.
Now turn your head, you're going to worship this one's ass. First,
she maneuvered me onto my side, the cuffs twisting but holding.
A man with a geometric tattoo across his back knelt
on the table, presenting himself. The smell was clean, a
little soapy, the skin's smooth. Madam Kay pressed her palm
against the back of my neck. Use your tongue, long strokes,
I did. His groan vibrated through the table. She watched
her breathing shallow, and then her hand slipped between my
legs again, this time finding the zipper of the suit
and tugging it down until my sex was exposed to
the air. I gasped into his cleft focus, she chided,
but her fingers were already spreading me open, tracing a
slow circle around my clit. Then her mouth replaced her fingers,
her tongue hot and deft, and I nearly screamed. She
ate me with the same unhurried precision she used to
lace my corset each lap, a separate, deliberate gift. I
ground against her face, the latex still bunched around my thighs.
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