Phantom on Gromet's Plaza Archive

The Directrix's Day at Bondage Beach

Sun, 01 Sep 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Jeanette was out for a day at the beach, but it felt like she was trudging through the desert. Every step was agonizingly hot. Her captor had said that the beach was right there - just a few meters from where she’d gotten out of a luxuriously-appointed aeroyacht. Jeanette squinted through the shimmering heat haze, desperately searching for any sign of the beach that her captor had promised her. But there was nothing but endless stretches of scorching sand as far as the eye could see. The sun beat down on her relentlessly, turning her skin a fiery red and making her head throb.

Mel on Vacation

Sun, 26 Nov 2023 00:00:00 +0000

When Andrew Stafford kissed his beloved wife goodbye, he was excited. Not to be away from his adoring, empathic, and intensely affectionate wife - they had excellent boundaries - but because the job itself was exciting. Enticing. A photoshoot in French Guiana; expenses reimbursed. Two weeks away from Avonville, two weeks in the wild seeing the trees and birds and predators.

The beloved husband also knew that Mel wanted a little time. Not time to herself, no - time with the girls. Her and Katya had been planning something, since Katya’s beloved boy-toy was away. Poor Katya was getting a bit depressed, and Melanie was going to have a lovely girl’s week planned. And, after the two weeks, she told hubby , in no uncertain terms, just how absolutely, horribly, intensely erotic things were going to be when he got back.

The Phantom Mistform

Sat, 03 Jun 2023 00:00:00 +0000

The Villain

She slipped into bed, pulling an eye-mask and huffing. She’d put her captives to bed, loaning out the pillows or sealing them in storage for the evening. Ideas were tough. She was still going to use MirageCorp’s iconic ‘smart’ programmable latex, but she was troubled by thoughts of red lines going down and talks of “profit”.

Nanotech was pricey. It was top-of-the-line for good reason, and as useful as it was it had drawbacks. It was pricey, it was glitchy, and more than once it had proven susceptible to cyberwarfare attacks. Very embarrassing, though not as embarrassing as being found coated and squirming as a featureless dolly. She drifted off to a sleep-mode cycle, thinking on the info she’d gained the past few days.

A Molded Meal's Last Look

Wed, 22 Feb 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Normally, one had to unwrap a meal before consumption. Today was the opposite.

Not that there’d be any ‘eating’, per se. The magical latex serpent that slithered in languid motions was not capable of consuming or digesting living matter.

But it was capable of extracting things. Thoughts. Willpower. Emotion. The black snake-golem could wick away the ability to resist, boiling it away like water in a pot. It could wring the life and resistance from unwilling (or occasionally willing) victims. The results would be a person full of vim and vigor and energy, and utterly lacking in the ability to do anything other than to submit to their owner’s will.

The Old Wood

Wed, 25 Aug 2021 00:00:00 +0000

Tendrils in the Trees

Rossem took another deep breath. Breathe. Sometimes, simply taking a few deep breaths could increase concentration. The steamy air was so thick it felt like he was swimming, but the ambrosial atmosphere of the sauna was more than worth it.

In the center, a series of hot coals filled the sauna with a sweltering, pleasant heat. It opened the pores and relaxed the muscles. Above it swung a hot metal censer, filled with an arcane incense. It opened the mind and relaxed the will. Rossem was resistant to its effects, though he did enjoy visiting it all the same. He loved the feeling of the steam entering his nose and lungs; the pink gas from the censer taking a slight hold on him. He licked his lips, feeling a warm and thoughtless pleasure forming around the back of his head.

Rubberclad Rebellion

Sun, 02 May 2021 00:00:00 +0000

The last guard was kicking and flailing, struggling and flailing with her legs in pointless resistance. Tara held the guard in place while Valeria got to work finishing the bindings. Although the guard was quite a bit taller than either of the two, a mix of cooperation and dumb luck made sure that it was the rebels that were victorious , and the guards the ones wrapped in tape and rope.

Hatsu Can't Catch A Break

Sat, 08 Aug 2020 00:00:00 +0000

“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 -”

Cell Zero

Wed, 08 Jul 2020 00:00:00 +0000

It would’ve been a bit too obvious to place the cell door at the end of a long hallway. Blueprints had originally called for heavy doors and extra security along the hallway - tripwires, security cameras, sensors, and more. They had been all thrown out. There was no need for such excessive force. Such measures merely enticed a breakout and added mystique.

Cell Zero was hidden in plain sight. It had no label and only a simple nine-digit keypad for entry. As an alternative, an ordinary metal key would do the trick. There was no need for obscene defensive measures when the cell could’ve been mistaken for a broom closet.

Corrupted Forest

Sat, 25 Apr 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Like most of her kind, Alana had the mix of brains, a valiant heart, and a powerful body. Platemail glistened in the strong contrast with her environs. The holy adytum was a dark and unnatural place. Echoes reflecting throughout the room like wings on a high place.

A temple at the heart of a forest, with a face full of ill omens. Taller than the trees, yet no more proud than the endless horizon of boughs and branches that stretched in all directions. The green darkened the sun. Clouds made the world blue, green, and gray. Black stone creaked as Alana entered its forgotten halls. The temple was devoid of inhabitants, but it was still maintained. Out of time, with the top disappearing into the canopy that made the sun shy.

Your Night Out

Mon, 20 Apr 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Grin. Smile. Dance. Laugh. Cheer. Yell until your voice goes hoarse. Somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed. Tonight, there’s no anxiety and no self-doubt. It’s a good feeling. Supportive people surround you. You’ve cut loose. It feels phenomenal; to dance and cheer and never once feel like you’re being judged. It’s not clear why it’s so easy tonight. Maybe it’s the people, maybe it’s the location. It’s definitely the location.

The ambiance definitely has something to do with it. Dim lights and laughing, music that isn’t too loud but is so loud that you do kind of have to yell. Other people in costumes make you feel downright normal in comparison. Your red qípáo is trimmed with gold. You were worried that it wouldn’t match your glasses, but in the dark nobody noticed. Maybe it matched after all.

Prosletyzing the Ebon Vault

Mon, 30 Mar 2020 00:00:00 +0000

“Creation arose out of primordial darkness,” said Yadu. She alone had her mouth unveiled. Her habit hung down over her head like the up-turned hood of a sweatshirt. It poured down to her shoulders before the glossy latex reformed as a cape, one that sashayed around her waist as she walked back and forth.

“The sacred light that is Order is present in every living being.”

Yadu’s dark skin was punctuated by glossy lips of icy blue and eyes that seemed to glow with sky-shaded vigor. The white and black rubber of her habit kept her hair tucked beneath the hood. In fact, it kept all skin save that around her face totally enclosed in glorious, unyielding shiny black.

Apprentices

Mon, 21 May 2018 00:00:00 +0000

“I just want to see.”

“There’s a reason we don’t see what’s beneath the hood. Nobody wears a long robe like that for fun.”

Lora bit her lip and tilted her head a bit, signaling reluctant agreement. “Ehhh… yeah, I guess so. But you’ve got to be curious.”

Evlin exhaled, indicating the answer. “Hah. Of course I’m curious. I mean, he calls himself “The Lictor.” He wears a shimmering cloak. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him float around the house. He took us on as apprentices without asking any questions. So yeah, you could say I’m curious.”

An Out-Of-Body Bondage Experience

Wed, 25 Apr 2018 00:00:00 +0000

“An Out-Of-Body Bondage Experience” is about masks, shiny rubber, and some curious gear! :) Ashley had never been to space. She’d never given it much thought. Why would she have ever needed to dedicate her valuable brainpower to such a thing? Sure, she’d seen movies and television in which characters went to space. Scenes outside of Earth’s atmosphere. Cheesy kids shows seemed to always send their protagonists to space. She understood that it was not just plausible, but that it had happened and there was a slim but non-zero chance that she would leave Earth at one point or another. But really, what was the point? It was so remote, so removed that she’d never given it more than the occasional passing thought. A joke with a friend while watching Gravity was a far cry from astronaut training. It wasn’t even in the back of her mind. The thought simply wasn’t there.

First Contact

Wed, 21 Feb 2018 00:00:00 +0000

The collar and blinders limit your field of view. You cannot see the entirety of the craft.

It stretches out of eyesight, but it appears to be one single chamber. The side that your feet stretch towards is “down,” for you, and farther down appears to grow larger and wider. “Up,” the side which your head points toward, tapers off. The entire room seems vaguely cone-shaped, but only vaguely. Incomprehensible designs seem to take up what little “wall” space is not used by other receptacles.

Call Center

Fri, 05 Jan 2018 00:00:00 +0000

“Call Center” is about a VERY rubbery office.

During the spring, the company would encourage its employees to take the stairs instead of using the lift. For a few brief weeks during the year, it would be a mark of shame to be seen taking the elevator two floors up. For some employees, taking the elevator was mandatory. Those with a physical impediment obviously used it. Anyone transporting goods took the elevator. The call center was on the fourth floor. It was close enough that a health-conscious individual might force the jaunt up each landing. It was high enough that taking the elevator would have been acceptable practice. Employees in the call center took a rear elevator. They were unseen by crowds below. The call center’s location on the fourth floor meant that it was close to the public eye. Windows were frosted or tinted one way. The contents had to be hidden. Privacy was more rigidly regulated. The location on the fourth floor meant that it was out of the way. Employees could leave their desks and venture one, even two floors down without worrying about exposing themselves to some visitor that lost their way. It was ordinary for those on the third floor to see their support team from above. The extraordinary costumes made them easy to spot. Some had polished their uniforms to such a shine that they’d reflect light coming in through the window walls. Some would attach filters or respiration equipment to their masks, with oxygen hissing in and out of their tanks. A few wore no mask, but never spoke. Thick gags precluded speech; ballgags would often let saliva dribble from forced mouths; it was to the chagrin of some employees and delight of others. They called it a “call center” but calls were a rarity. Specialized staff sat and responded to these live requests. Most requests for assistance came in via e-mail or message; this was preferred by the leadership as it allowed greater volume and quicker responses.

Flesh, Metal, Rubber

Tue, 12 Sep 2017 00:00:00 +0000

“How long have these bothered you?” said the voice.

“Since I was a child.”

“But how long have they bothered you?” the voice insisted.

“I just said-”

The voice interrupted him mid-sentence. It had done this nearly a half-dozen times. It was getting to be profoundly annoying. “How long?”

He furrowed his brow. Eventually, Alen spoke. “Twenty years.” When there was a pause, he continued. “Twenty years and.. and I don’t know how many days. Since I was a child. It came and went. Sometimes I was perfectly normal. Other times it was unbearable. But for several years now, it’s been the same frustration and the same… empty sensations.”

Cell Zero

Tue, 15 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Queen Rubberia's Tomb

Fri, 10 Jan 2014 00:00:00 +0000

Part I For the third time that day, Jessica had come to a metaphorical dead end. The local government had denied her futher permissions to explore the pyramids under the excuse that she “Had no real aptitude or credibility as a scholar.” It was ludicrous! Jessica stormed out of the office at Karnak, furious with rage. She undid a few of the buttons on her khaki photojournalist’s top, leaving her cleavage almost entirely exposed. She felt the stares of a the men (and women) on the road, but paid them no heed. She was in no mood to explain herself, and besides- she was hot.

Drone

Thu, 09 Jan 2014 00:00:00 +0000

“MEET PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT YOU!”

“HOT YOUNG SINGLES IN YOUR AREA.”

Theo reared back in his chair. The image flashed again on his screen. Faces of pretty girls, all of them fake; faces of women that probably had had this image stolen long ago. Profile pictures, pulled randomly by web-crawlers to create a facade and a trap.

The very thought that such a website might provide anything more than computer viruses was laughable. Theo leaned in his chair, his knee resting against his home’s short desk. He laced his fingers in his hands and stared at the screen, covered in lewd pornography, links, and pulsating sidebar ads. Besides, nobody would really be ‘right’. These women weren’t real. It’s hard to find affection when you’re talking to a chatbot.

Postmodern Peonage

Wed, 09 Oct 2013 00:00:00 +0000

Number 11 would be Claudia’s finest work. She had slaved on it, working for days at a time; the dedication she put into this would surely attract SOMEONE’s attention, she thought. However, she was ready for whatever press or onlookers there might be. Some carefully-worded answers would redirect any attention from the authorities – and she was ready for some harsh criticism, too. Clauda Blacke had made sure to bone up and reinforce herself and her premises against any naysayers or, who knows, even protestors. In Blacke’s mind, her work wasn’t so much a ‘revolution’ as it was an ’exposition’ – an exploration of the truth. She rehearsed some lines in front of a mirror; her home, a townhouse in the French Quarter. (A very artsy place, she thought – she could probably get away with a little controversy here or there.) “I, Claudia Blacke, am very, very proud of my latest piece. Look at the title, and the content, and do not think of it as a controversial or inflammatory work of art. I don’t seek to incite riots or protest, and I don’t seek to send out a big political message. In fact,” she said, trying to regain her breath – she was far more nervous than she realized- “This is not a message. This is naturality.” “This is, after all, how it should be –a realization of the things that people so often deny, or even worse, admit to, contemplate, desire mentally, but never, ever act on. A realignment of ideals and values that men and women have held since the first proto-indo-europeans banged sticks together until they made a chariot.” This would be tough – that is, if the press, the media, and the attention came. She kind of hoped they would. She wiggled her toes and smiled reflexively at the idea. “Look not at the art’s context or the artist. No, look at the art – the subject matter at hand – and only THEN make your judgment.” She sighed, turned away from the mirror, and walked out of the room. “Ugh,” she said aloud. Claudia was just deathly afraid of crowds, she was now realizing. She needed a captive audience or she’d feel completely uncomfortable. Standing in front of people was a nightmare for her, really… and it had cost her at least one job. She had to get this speech right. She had to really nail it – make a good first impression for when the public would inevitable see her ‘big reveal’. She turned to her artwork and caressed it. “You think maybe I should talk more about me and less about you?” The artwork moaned.

Forge

Sun, 29 Sep 2013 00:00:00 +0000

Gromet’s note: This story could be for either sex hence the new code unisex

The sensation of chilly air blasting against your face rouses you from your slumber. Hazily, you try to rub your aching temples or sore throat, only to find your arms secured to your sides - in fact, only to find much of your body secured. While not the first time, you are still surprised to wake, finding yourself tightly bundled in a thick rubber sleepsack. All in one piece, complete with unreachable zipper, the sleepsack’s only connection with the outside world is a thin hole; a straw connected to your mouth to allow a modicum of oxygen. An unseen voice echoes something about ‘processing’ as you struggle. Surely, there must be -some- emergency release; a tab or a lever. Of course, a more sinister thought creeps into your mind; like a fish tightly wrapped in plastic, put on display and ready to be sold. How long would you be trapped like this? The answer: not long at all. Thick, crane-like manipulators firmly clench around your body, and you are hoisted like so much cargo through the air. Just as you are set down, forces unseen remove the sleepsack and clothes from your body- though the hood seems to be separate, and stays firmly on your head. Woozily flailing your arms and legs, you suddenly feel them being grabbed by firm hands unseen through your encompassing hood, your arms and legs are strapped into spreader bars that leave your wrists away from your body and your entire form quite vulnerable. Sprays of warm liquid wash at your naked form, leaving your body squeaky-clean and smooth. A loud ‘jolt’ rocks you, and you feel your body being physically moved. You seem to be strapped to some sort of gurney on a conveyor belt, and are lying on a horizontal position. Again, you are sprayed with more liquid. This, however, stays on your skin, and is supplanted with a sudden blast of warm air from industrial fans. And yet again, you are subjected to the same process- a jolt as you are moved, liquid washed over your body, an intense and highly pleasurable tightness, and then the ‘drying’ phase. You lose count as the pressure increases. Your member remains fully exposed to the process. Soon enough, you feel intense arousal from the slowly growing pressure and heat in your groin. Each cycle increases it, teasing you to fuller and higher heights of arousal. ](https://forum.grometsplaza.net/index.php?topic=1113.0)

The Encompassed Custodian

Tue, 24 Sep 2013 00:00:00 +0000

It hung in the air, its supporting base invisible in the soft light. It was a globe, as though filled with moonlight and hung before them in a net of frosted stars; its hundreds of facets each shone individually. The temple’s dust had not marred it, the sand and sun’s only effect the reflection of more and more light onto its sparkling frame.

***

Sir Corbeau tried to keep that gem in his mind. It had been three days of agonizing waiting; three days of pacing; three days of torment. The thought of the gem - the very thing that had brought him here - was infuriating. He was jealous of it. It was not cursed, as the suspicious provincials had said. Attempting to retrieve it had been a curse for him all the same.

Hand-Maid by Local Producers

Mon, 09 Apr 2012 00:00:00 +0000

“One is never so dangerous when one has no shame, than when one has grown too old to blush.” - Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade

-Part 0: Thursday, 10:30 AM-

There was no shame in the eyes of Vince as he was roused from slumber. There was no sadness or heaviness in his heart as he was removed from his box. Vince was “Victoria,” and he was happy. Vince had thoughts of course; deviant and subversive thoughts against his mistress. However, said Vince to nobody in particular, “This is a golden opportunity. Surely staying for just a few days would not hurt…”

A Spider by Any Other Name

Mon, 01 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +0000

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

You put away your phone. Fine by you. Your phone is almost dead, anyway. Those ride-sharing apps always take forever to load.

You feel just as comfortable out here as you did inside the club. In fact, it might be a bit more comfortable - inside it was hot and muggy. The cool spring air - polluted as it may be by concrete, chemicals, and the endless fumes of automobiles - is refreshing on your face. An evening breeze rustles trees along the road. A few of the other patrons go back inside.