Chapter 6: From Naked to Latex: The Chat's Living Dolls
The word hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Remove. The echo of their own voices rating each other’s ‘nothing’ and ‘something’ still vibrated in the cramped space. The red light glared, a judgmental eye. Chat scrolled relentlessly, a waterfall of demands and obscene emojis celebrating their exposed bodies.
Merleperle’s fingers felt numb. Her borrowed leggings pooled around her ankles as she pushed them down, stepping out of the damp fabric. Baso mirrored her, a small, jerky movement, letting Merleperle’s oversized leggings fall. The cold studio air hit their bare skin like a physical shock. Goosebumps erupted instantly. They stood there, trembling under the harsh lights, stripped except for the cold, unyielding metal of the "Property of Chat" collars. Baso hunched slightly, arms instinctively crossing over her small chest, trying to disappear. Merleperle just stared straight ahead, her tall, thin frame rigid, every rib visible, the stark flatness of her backside painfully obvious in the unforgiving light. The shame was a familiar cloak, heavy and freezing, but beneath it, low in her belly, that treacherous warmth sparked again. The blackmail kink, the twisted engine driving her compliance: Remember the bathroom shot. Remember the leaks.
>> COLLARS STAY! GOOD GIRLS!
>> NOW THE PLUGS. BASO’S ASS IS READY. MERLEPERLE’S PLANK NEEDS FILLING TOO LOL.
A small, polished wooden box sat on the edge of the cluttered desk. Baso flinched as if struck. Merleperle moved first, woodenly, the numbness spreading. She opened the box. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay two silicone plugs. One standard black. The other, identical but slightly larger, a shimmering, garish pink. The pink one felt heavier, colder in Merleperle’s hand.
“Bend over,” Merleperle said, her voice flat. It wasn’t a question. It was the script. “The desk.”
Baso whimpered, a tiny, broken sound that barely escaped. She shuffled forward, bracing her hands on the littered surface, pushing aside a stray controller. She presented her round backside, trembling, the earlier description of its ‘fullness’ now a cruel vulnerability.
Merleperle uncapped the small bottle of lube beside the box. The cold gel made Baso gasp as Merleperle applied it, her movements clinical, detached. The intrusion, when it came, was slow, deliberate. Merleperle pushed the black plug in, feeling the resistance, the tight clench of Baso’s muscles, then the yielding. Baso’s breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her as the base settled flush against her skin. Her knuckles on the desk were white.
>> TIGHT LITTLE HOLE! GOOD FIT!
>> NOW THE STICK. DO YOURSELF. SHOW US.
Merleperle took the pink plug. She didn’t look at the screen. She didn’t look at Baso, who was still bent over, shaking. She turned, presenting her own back to the camera, her long spine a stark line, the utter flatness of her rear undeniable. Her fingers, slick with lube, trembled slightly this time. The cold gel was a shock against her own skin. She reached back. The intrusion was different – sharper, more invasive against her bony frame. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as she worked the pink plug inside herself. It felt enormous, a cold, unyielding presence filling the emptiness Chat had so gleefully pointed out. She pressed until the flared base sat firmly, a garish punctuation mark beneath her tailbone. She straightened up, the plug shifting uncomfortably inside her, a constant, humiliating reminder.
>> PINK FOR THE PLASTIC DOLL! PERFECT!
>> NOW THE SUITS. BOX UNDER DESK. NOW.
Baso had pushed herself upright, tears silently tracking through her smudged makeup, a hand unconsciously resting near the base of the plug. Merleperle knelt, ignoring the dull ache, and pulled out a large, flat box. Inside lay two bundles of material: slick, deep black latex, folded with unnatural neatness.
They unfolded the suits. The smell hit them first – sharp, synthetic, like a new shower curtain mixed with rubber. The material was cool and strangely heavy. Merleperle stepped into the legs of hers, the latex clinging instantly, shockingly tight. It was a battle to pull it up over her hips, the material squeaking and protesting, sucking onto her skin, compressing her thin frame, smoothing over her ribs, her flat stomach, her small, high breasts. Every contour, every bone, was suddenly outlined in stark, gleaming detail. The collar of the suit pressed against the metal collar, a double layer of ownership.
Baso struggled more. The suit fought her, especially over the swell of her hips and the plug nestled beneath the curve of her buttocks. The latex stretched taut, squeaking loudly with every tug, emphasizing the roundness Chat adored. Finally, with Merleperle’s reluctant, impersonal help pulling the zip up Baso’s back, they were both encased.
They stood facing the camera, two mannequins in liquid shadow. The latex reflected the chaotic neon lights in grotesque, distorted blobs. It clung like a second skin, impossibly tight, compressing every breath. Merleperle felt it sealing her in, trapping the heat starting to build under the unforgiving layer. Sweat prickled instantly. The plugs were prominent bumps under the tight material – a small mound beneath Baso’s fuller curve, a more defined, almost solitary bump above Merleperle’s flatness. Their collars gleamed dully against the high, tight necks of the suits.
>> HOLY SHIT THEY LOOK LIKE LIVING SEX DOLLS!
>> SEE THE PLUGS? OWNED!
>> WALK. SHOW US HOW THEY MOVE.
Baso took a tentative step. The sound was obscene – a loud, wet squeak-groan as the latex stretched and compressed around her movements. Her wider hips and fuller backside made the suit strain visibly with each shift. Merleperle moved. Her steps were stiff, robotic. The suit felt like it was actively resisting her, the tightness across her shoulders and chest restricting her breathing. Every step she took produced a thinner, higher-pitched squeak. The plug shifted inside her with each motion, a constant, intrusive pressure. The sensation was alien, degrading… and, horrifyingly, part of her felt that dark, unwanted thrum of arousal at the sheer helplessness of it.
>> LISTEN TO THEM SQUEAK! LIKE NEW SHOES BUT DIRTY!
>> MERLEPERLE, TOUCH BASO’S ASS AGAIN. OVER THE SUIT. FEEL THE DIFFERENCE.
Merleperle froze. Baso’s eyes widened in fresh panic. The memory of the body review, of her own hand on Baso’s bare skin, flooded back. Now, through this slick, impersonal barrier?
“Do it,” Baso whispered, her voice trembling. “Just… do it.”
Merleperle stepped closer. The squeak of her suit echoed Baso’s nervous breath. She raised a hand, encased in the glossy black material. She pressed her palm against the swell of Baso’s latex-covered buttock. It was hot, unnervingly smooth, and unyielding. The shape beneath was undeniably round, amplified by the tight suit, but the sensation was utterly artificial. Like touching a warm, inflated plastic toy.
“Round,” Merleperle reported, her voice muffled by the tight neckline. “Hard. Like… rubber.” She pulled her hand away, leaving a faint, sweaty smudge on the gleaming surface that quickly vanished.
>> NOW BASO. TOUCH MERLEPERLE’S. SEE THE NOTHING.
Baso turned. Her gaze travelled down Merleperle’s long, thin form, encased in the squeaking black skin, to the utterly flat plane of her backside. There was no curve, just the abrupt line of her spine descending to the tops of her thighs, and the distinct, outlined bulge of the pink plug base. Baso’s hand, also sheathed in latex, pressed flat against Merleperle’s lower back, sliding down. There was nothing to grasp, just the smooth, tight compression over sharp hip bones and the unsettlingly prominent plug.
“Flat,” Baso breathed, her voice thick. “Just… the plug.” Her fingers brushed the edge of the flared base through the suit, making Merleperle jerk involuntarily. “Nothing else.”
>> PATHETIC VS PERFECT! LMAO!
>> SUITS STAY ON. PLUGS STAY IN.
>> NOW CONNECT THE REMOTES TO THE PLUGS. LET’S SEE WHO JUMPS HIGHER.
A final box, smaller this time, lay open on the desk. Two small, black plastic remotes with a single dial each. Merleperle, moving like an automaton, picked them up. Thin wires trailed from them, ending in small jacks. She knelt behind Baso first, the latex protesting loudly. She fumbled for a second, finding the discreet port near the base of Baso’s plug, hidden under the suit’s seam. She plugged the jack in. Baso shuddered.
Then it was her turn. Merleperle plugged her own remote into the port near her pink plug’s base, the action feeling like sealing her own fate. She stood, holding both remotes, their dials set to zero. The wires trailed obscenely from their bodies to her hands.
>> GIVE THEM TO CHAT MOD. CONTROL TRANSFER INITIATED.
Merleperle placed both remotes carefully on the desk, directly in front of the main camera. Symbols flashed on the screen – control accepted. The remotes were no longer theirs. The plugs inside them, the vibrations Chat could now command at will, belonged to the faceless horde.
They stood, two gleaming, squeaking dolls trapped in their own skins, the cold intrusion within them a constant, humiliating anchor, utterly exposed and now remotely controlled. The red light stared. Chat scrolled, a hungry beast savoring its prey. The only sounds were their ragged breathing amplified by the tight latex, the faint hum of computers, and the terrifying silence of the remotes waiting to be activated. The air crackled with anticipation and a dread that went bone-deep, mixed inextricably with the dark, shameful pulse Merleperle couldn’t extinguish. The plugs were in. The suits were sealed. They were toys on a shelf, waiting for the switch to be flipped.