Gromet's Plaza Latex Stories
Little Shop of Rubber
by AmyAmy
 
© 2006 - AmyAmy - Used by permission
storycodes: F/f; latex; cons; X
Little Shop of Rubber Part 4 by AmyAmy F/f; latex; cons; X
This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters portrayed here to real people living or deceased is entirely coincidental. The author retains all rights to this work, except in allowing that it may be archived and distributed for non-commercial purposes, providing all text remains intact, including this notice.

This story deals with 'adult' themes of a highly sexual nature that some may find disturbing, including 'fetishism'; bondage; domination; sex acts that may be considered non-consensual; use of sex-toys; bizarre erotic costumes; sexual transformations; and may do so in an unrealistic and fantastical manner. If you find such topics disturbing, or if it is illegal for you to read about them, stop reading here.

The Little Shop of Rubber Part 4

Dehlia had pulled down the shutters on the shop, so that nobody could see in, though by now it was nearly closing time. Upstairs, Amy was so desperate to cum that she convinced herself that Dehlia would be absent looking for an outfit for a long time. Achieving an orgasm was harder than she expected. Her rubber-clad fingers seemed to have created an unexpected delay. They were so smooth and slippery that she couldn’t get the effect she wanted. On top of that the thicker moulding around the crotch made it difficult to get much sensation to her clitoris. Dehlia’s subtle ministrations had left her desperate for release, but Amy couldn’t seem to get it her usual way. The rubber of the gloves simply slipped over her crotch and she couldn’t create any friction at all, let alone tug or pinch anything. Her efforts did nothing but frustrate her and shameless groans of desperation echoed around the warehouse-like storage area above the shop.

Dehlia had decided to tell Amy that she’d been busy looking for some suitable clothes that would fit, but that was nonsense. She had dozens of rubber outfits that she’d made herself, and they all fit perfectly. She’d already decided what she would wear and it didn’t take her long to collect it from her trunk of favourite things, hidden in one of the other upstairs rooms. She had been hoping that Amy would be horny enough to play with herself as soon as she was out of sight. Now she was enjoying watching Amy playing with herself through the crack in the door. She couldn’t see too well, but leaving something to the imagination made it all the more exciting. She could hear pretty well, and was very pleased with Amy’s extensive repertoire of grunts, moans and sighs. Watching the delicious rubber-clad blonde trying to get herself off and just getting more and more frustrated was making Dehlia very horny too; as if all the time spent messing with her hadn’t been provocative enough. However, Dehlia was a mistress of self-denial. She could wait, all the fun in the world would be hers soon enough.

Once she was sure Amy had finally given up, whimpering with frustration, Dehlia came back into the storeroom. Amy pretended that she was looking at some of the machines there.

“I hope you weren’t bored while I was searching for something that would fit?” Said Dehlia.

“A little. I was going to come down to the shop, but I didn’t expect you to be gone very long,” Amy lied distractedly.

“I wanted to be sure I had just the right thing. Here,” she held up a double armful of rubber clothing. “You will help me get ready won’t you?”

“I guess, but I’m no expert on this,” said Amy.

Dehlia took off her outer clothes, including her blouse, which she’d put back on when she’d needed to go outside. Under her black blouse and skirt was the decorated corset that Amy had seen before. Dehlia removed her patent leather knee boots and unhooked her black, seamed stockings from the suspenders attached to the corset. Now that Amy could get a good look at the corset, she could see that in front it curved down in a shaped triangle that almost covered Dehlia’s crotch, while at the back it was higher, above the buttocks. Naturally, it was cut highest at the sides, where it curved above the pelvis, sweeping steeply down at the front, more gently at the back. Amy decided that it did look rather nice, though perhaps it should have supported the breasts. Amy wasn’t sure if it was more a girdle than a corset, but she reminded herself that she didn’t know one old fashioned undergarment from another. Maybe she’d look it up. Presumably, Dehlia knew exactly the right word for what she was wearing. She seemed quite an expert on the subject.

Dehlia’s skin was darker than Amy had expected. While Dehlia’s face was quite pale, and tight, she had the body of a much younger woman. It was covered with a light golden tan that faded out very gradually around the neck. Amy watched, temporarily enraptured as Dehlia reached behind her back and unfastened her lightly under-padded black bra. As she slipped it forward off her shoulders, two firmly defined and well-rounded breasts swung free. Amy immediately noticed that there was some kind of metal piercing through the nipples. Surrounded by each of Dehlia’s large dark aureoles was a silver ring nearly an inch across, from that a pair of little struts extended to a smaller ring at the tip of the oversized nipple. Dehlia noticed that Amy’s gaze was glued to the piercings.

“They’re nipple stretchers: a piercing through the breast behind the nipple and another through the end of the nipple, they’re held apart so that the nipple is stretched,” explained Dehlia as if it were something completely ordinary.

“Doesn’t that hurt terribly?” Said Amy, shocked.

“It’s a little uncomfortable at first, but you get used to it,” said Dehlia. “I’ve only had them a few months, but I already find them more stimulating than painful.”

“Oh,” said Amy. “Your breasts are very nice. I wish mine were as big as yours.”

“Really? I wish mine were as firm as yours,” said Dehlia looking at Amy’s smaller, gravity defying breasts. “Pity we can’t swap,” she giggled.

“That would be too easy,” said Amy, now at ease because of Dehlia’s humour.

“You’re going to have to help me with the corset. There’s simply no way I can undo it myself without the tools I have at home,” said Dehlia. Amy was tempted to ask how she got it on and what the tools consisted of, but decided it wasn’t the right time for that question. Maybe she’d ask later, or maybe if she were patient, it would all become clear without her prying.

Dehlia turned her back to Amy, who could now see that there was a small, black, camouflaged zipper in the back of the corset. Surely, that can’t be all that’s holding it, thought Amy. She was right. It wasn’t easy to grasp the rounded little stub that passed for a zipper tag with her slippery rubber fingers, but Amy managed it in the end. The zipper came down and she peeled back a flap that covered the laces to the corset. The laces themselves weren’t knotted, but instead passed through a small, flat device that looked like it could be used for winding the laces tight. How clever, thought Amy. She had no idea how unconventional the design was, as modern corsets usually made every effort to be easy to put on or remove.

“The four little buttons release the laces,” explained Dehlia.

“Can’t you reach yourself?” Asked Amy.

“With this thing on I can’t even reach to get the zipper down, and it’s impossible to hook it with anything. The lace release has to be pressed in two places on the top and two at the bottom before you can flip the lever. It’s hard enough to reach behind as it is, but if you think about it, it’s quite impossible to press those four places and flip the lever while reaching behind your back,” explained Dehlia patiently.

“So this is made so you can’t remove it?” Said Amy.

“I guess that’s the idea,” said Dehlia.

“Oh,” said Amy. After a pause, she found her bearings. “Isn’t that inconvenient?”

“Sometimes. Would you find the idea of wearing something you can’t take off exciting?” Said Dehlia.

“Today’s my first real experience of it,” said Amy evasively. The wet patch in her shorts seemed to have answered that earlier. It was a step for her to openly admit it.

Amy figured out how to work the release on the corset after a few attempts, and the laces came loose. She had to unlace it almost completely before Dehlia could pull it far enough open to get out of it. Amy had been wondering what Dehlia was like under the corset. Flabby perhaps?

Almost to Amy’s surprise, beneath the corset, Dehlia was very firm and lean, almost muscled: completely matching what could be seen of her body outside it. There were a few red or white marks where her skin had been creased, apart from that, she looked quite perfect.

“It feels so strange without it at first,” said Dehlia flexing and bending carefully to loosen herself up.

“You’re even prettier than I expected. You’re so slim too. You must work out quite a lot?” Said Amy.

“I think I hear a hint of surprise there. I go to the gym every other day. Don’t you?” Said Dehlia.

“Maybe not quite that often,” said Amy, who only exercised Tuesdays and Thursdays and couldn’t afford a ‘proper’ gym at all. Dehlia smiled knowingly in response.

“So now to put it all back on again, sort of… First the corset,” said Dehlia.

Amy picked up the black rubber corset from the heap of rubber clothing. Unlike the one she’d just removed, which had been unexpectedly light, it was thick and heavy. It came up high in the front, with cups for the breasts, but was otherwise similarly styled. Dehlia turned and stretched her arms out forward towards the wall of cabinets, so that Amy could fit the moulded rubber component onto her.

Amy pulled the two sides of the corset closed and struggled to hold it in place while she threaded the laces, Dehlia helping her only a little. With the laces in place, she tied the first knot and began to pull them tight.

“How do I do this? Isn’t there a little lock like the other one?” Amy said, confused.

“Not on this one, you’ll just have to pull. I’ll lie down, and then you can brace yourself and really pull,” said Dehlia.

“Won’t that hurt you?” Said Amy, unsure of herself.

“Not unless you tread on me in those shoes or something. This corset doesn’t lace tight enough to hurt me. You should be able to get the two sides to completely meet. When you’re done, hook each pair of laces around the little hook and then you can tie them together without it slipping loose,” instructed Dehlia.

“I think I understand,” said Amy.

It took a lot of tugging on Amy’s part, and she was partly glad of her rubber gloves. It definitely needed some sort of gloves to grab the laces properly. On the other hand, very slippery black rubber was not the ideal material. Also she found the exercise was making her quite warm, and she could feel the slippery sweat trickling down between her bodysuit and her dress, making the two stick together. Despite that, the suit did seem to be keeping her skin dry – at least there was no discomfort. In fact, the warmth did seem to ease up the grip of the bodysuit a little and it was more flexible. Sweat beaded on her black rubber covered breasts, almost as if it were skin. The sight of it set more frustrated horny thoughts running in her head.

“Now fold the cover over and buckle it in place,” said Dehlia.

There was a flap to cover the excess length of laces on this corset too, but instead of a zipper, it was secured by a series of shiny, silver buckles. As Amy fastened them tight, she realised that the corset was exactly the sort of perverted bondage gadget that she’d always been afraid of. It didn’t seem so scary now, but then again, she wasn’t wearing it – but she would be associated with it in public. That might be difficult.

Would people think they were prostitutes? Did prostitutes wear rubber? Amy was dubious: she wasn’t one hundred percent certain she’d ever seen one. The ones she thought she’d seen were drab at best and somewhat shabby: nothing like the exotic and pristine look the rubber created.

“What’s next?” Said Amy, beginning to enjoy the experience of dressing Dehlia. It was fun squeezing her into something tight for a change.

“Clear stockings. You know how to put them on don’t you?” Said Dehlia.

“You want to use the talc?” Said Amy, sorting through the remaining rubberwear for the stockings. They weren’t really clear, more of a translucent skin tone.

“If you like. They’re stretchy, but it will be easier,” said Dehlia.

Amy sprinkled her hands with talc and smoothed it down Dehlia’s leg. Her skin was so smooth. Not a trace of stubble or hard skin. Amy loved the feeling. Dehlia’s legs were very firm, but with a softness that no man’s leg would have. Amy took longer smoothing in the talc than she needed. When it seemed like she couldn’t go on any longer she rolled up the first of the stockings and pulled it up Dehlia’s leg. With the assistance of the talc, it was done easily. Finding the second stocking wasn’t so easy.

“I hope you’re enjoying the sight of me crawling around on the floor in a cocktail dress, looking for your other stocking,” said Amy, well aware that when she leant over it revealed her little translucent white shorts.

“I think that’s it, there,” said Dehlia with a smirk. She was right, and the other stocking was soon in place.

“How’s that? Are they straight?” Said Amy.

“Close enough. It’s not as if you can see the seams. There should be some suspenders that match the corset down there somewhere,” said Dehlia.

Amy sorted six black rubber suspender belts out of the diminishing pile on the floor. Dehlia showed her how to fit the first one, and Amy put the rest in place.

“Nice and tight?” Asked Amy.

“Tight enough for public,” said Dehlia.

“Whatever do you mean?” Said Amy, admiring the black rubber straps stretched tight over Dehlia’s bottom. They dug just a little into the soft flesh.

“You’re funny,” said Dehlia.

“So, I guess this is your dress? This is next?” Asked Amy.

“Yes, that’s good. I hope you like the dress,” said Dehlia.

It wasn’t really a dress so much as a cocktail skirt in very glossy blue plastic. As Amy fastened up the back with one of Dehlia’s special removable sliders, she realised it was a blue version of the dress she was wearing over her bodysuit. The bodice came up to just short of Dehlia’s corseted breasts at the front. Amy couldn’t believe how tiny the dress looked. Did her own look just as insufficient? The little ruffles of the skirt barely covered the tops of her stockings. If she moved, they were bound to show. Amy wondered if there were any panties in the pile. She hadn’t seen any, and it looked like Dehlia would need them.

“How do I look? Don’t you think it’s sweet?” Said Dehlia.

“It kind of matches my outfit, doesn’t it?” Said Amy. It did look very similar, but was different in every detail.  The colour was the biggest difference: red for Amy, blue for Dehlia.

“I thought you’d notice. I wish someone could mistake us for sisters, but that will never happen,” said Dehlia wistfully.

“I don’t know, but I’m a little nervous that they’d be thinking something else entirely,” said Amy. She immediately regretted it, quite surprised at how prudish her comment sounded on reflection. “Well, you know what I mean?”

“You think people will assume we’re lesbians?” Said Dehlia, apparently untroubled.

“Not that... Not that I have anything against lesbians, but you know I wouldn’t want to confuse anyone. You know, mislead anyone?” Said Amy.

“If it upsets you I can find something different to wear,” said Dehlia sadly.

“No. I didn’t mean that. I really want to enjoy this, but everything seems to carry so much meaning. I’m just confused,” said Amy.

“Don’t worry about what people will think. They’ll love you for sure. They’ll adore you. Oh, I’m hoping they’ll like me a little bit too, but that’s not the point. Besides, as for looking like a lesbian, do you think dressing like this will turn men off?”

Dehlia grinned, and Amy’s fears were silenced. What could she say? She’d never looked as sexy as this. She asked herself what she was afraid of, but there was no time for an answer.

“OK. See, this is my happy face,” said Amy with a cheesy grin.

“Perfect. You’re wonderful. There are just my gloves and shoes left to go. How about that?” Said Dehlia.

Amy covered Dehlia’s arms in talc. They were lovely and smooth too, and her fingers were so thin, quite delicate. Amy had never noticed that before. The gloves were long black rubber that came half way up the upper arm. The top of the gloves squeezed the flesh, so you could tell they were quite tight. Dehlia brushed Amy’s cheek with her rubberised fingertips.

“How does it feel?” Said Dehlia.

“Shiny,” she laughed, “I mean slippery: smooth, so smooth,” said Amy.

“Exactly,” said Dehlia, stepping into a pair of shoes almost identical to the ones Amy was wearing. Dehlia’s platforms weren’t quite so tall in the sole, partially evening out the height difference between the two women.

“Do I have to get down there and do your little straps up?” Said Amy.

“I did it for you,” said Dehlia. “You don’t mind do you, not really?”

“Well.. No. I just like to act lazy when I can… I don’t suppose it’s easy for you to get down there with that corset on?”

“It’s not supposed to be,” said Dehlia.

Amy struggled with the tiny buckles, finding it terribly difficult to work them with her gloved fingers. Typical of Dehlia, she thought. The buckles weren’t ordinary buckles, and had an awkward little ratchet that was devilishly hard to get the strap under at first. Amy wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that Dehlia had put similar shoes on her without warning her. She was certain there was no way she could undo the buckles with her gloves on. Amy felt helpless and controlled, yet paradoxically very powerful at the same time. It made her feel so horny, and the feeling just wouldn’t go away. She was hungry for something, and no easy way to get it.

“You might have said that the buckles on those shoes don’t come off very easily,” said Amy.

“No, I suppose they don’t, but it’s not like they lock or anything extreme. I go on so much I just thought it would have been boring to explain about that too. I don’t want to sound like a lecture on clothes fastenings,” said Dehlia.

“I like listening to your explanations. You make it all sound so sensible, when it’s actually so indulgent,” said Amy.

“That’s sweet,” said Dehlia laughing.

“I suppose if I’m to keep with your plan I should do your hair like mine?” Said Amy.

“Do you think so?” Said Dehlia happily. “I think those blue elastics will match.” She was referring to the pair of matching bright blue PVC scrunchies that were the only thing remaining to fit.

“Your hair’s so long though. It’s not really going to look the same,” said Amy.

“It’ll have to do. Besides, your hair is longer than you think. You’re just used to it,” said Dehlia.

Amy brushed Dehlia’s raven black hair out, but it was hardly necessary. It was so smooth and silky, like a shampoo advert with no sign of a tangle. Amy fitted the elasticised accessories and adjusted the result. They reminded her of an over-perky youth TV presenter she remembered from a few years back, though the rubber didn’t completely mesh with that image.

“You hair’s so smooth that I’m not sure they’ll stay where they’re put,” said Amy thoughtfully.

“I’ll make sure they don’t get loose,” said Dehlia, glancing across at herself in the mirror.

“Do you like it?” Said Amy, moving so that they could compare outfits in the mirror.

“It makes all the bother seem worthwhile doesn’t it? I feel so good, and I think I look good too. Well… You know how I think you look. With all this you still make me feel plain,” said Dehlia.

“No,” said Amy. “I don’t want to do that. You’re too complimentary.”

“I’ll just have to hope that’s it,” said Dehlia.

“So we’re almost ready to go. Don’t tell me you have matching makeup?” Said Amy. I bet it’s impossible to get off if you do, she thought to herself.

“No, but I do have something,” said Dehlia, disappearing out of the door.

Amy was wondering if there’d be time to play with herself again, and she was just getting to the stage of pressing her hand against her crotch through all the rubber – experiencing the whole sensation – when Dehlia returned. She’d barely been gone a minute.

“Here, head up,” said Dehlia standing behind Amy so she couldn’t quite see what was coming. Amy complied, and felt something cool close around her neck with a snap. Amy would have guessed jewellery, and she was almost right. In turned to the mirror and could see that a shiny red PVC choker encircled her neck. Her fingers instinctively moved to the catch at the back, but with the rubber gloves on there was no way she could figure out how it worked. At the front, there was a thick little metal disk, almost flush with the surface. Amy figured that the choker actually passed through it, because she could feel it cool against her throat too.

“What’s this?” She asked Dehlia, pointing to the disc. The tricky closure at the back would have made her nervous, perhaps even frightened before, but now it seemed like part of the pattern: something completely expected and typical of Dehlia.

“It’s just a silver shiny thing. It looks very cute,” explained Dehlia who Amy now noticed was wearing a matching choker in blue.

“OK. Cool,” said Amy.

“You expected more?” Said Dehlia teasingly.

“Are we ready to go? I feel ready to go. Don’t you?” Said Amy, who genuinely feared yet another outfit modification.

“Almost,” said Dehlia teasingly.

After a quick makeup session, during which Dehlia did her very best to make their makeup look the same as each other, even though it was completely different, they headed out.

“The back door’s the only way out now. It’s too late to use the front,” said Dehlia, leading Amy through a door in the downstairs corridor. It opened into a small dark space with another door at the back of it. Dehlia fumbled with the locks in the near darkness while Amy held the door to the corridor open, letting a little light spill in. “The bulb’s blown,” added Dehlia, as it to explain why she didn’t turn on the light.

The door opened onto a dirty hallway dominated by a wide stairway, once carpeted but no longer. The junk in the hallway reminded Amy of the rundown places where some of her friends lived: a litter of broken television sets, black plastic sacks full of garbage, and discarded junk mail trodden into the floor. Dehlia locked the door behind them and led the way, past the stairs to the main entrance door. The door itself was graced by an array of broken mail-boxes. Slots in the door opened onto each one, but most had no back, and some were missing altogether. Evidently if there were any residents in the flats they had to trust each other with the mail.

“There are residential units above some of the other shops, but the one above me, and the one next door were converted into storage years ago. At least I think it was years ago from the state of it when we moved in,” rambled Dehlia.

They stepped out into a cobbled alleyway somewhere behind the Arcade. It wasn’t a narrow alleyway, but it was suitably dark, and only the backs of things looked onto it.

“It’s warm out,” said Amy feeling the gentle evening breeze on what little of her skin was exposed. It had been a hot day and it looked like being a warm, very pleasant evening.

“If we walk around the corner to Solaris we can eat there and then get a taxi into the centre,” suggested Dehlia.

“Do we really need a taxi? These shoes aren’t so bad,” said Amy.

“I think it would be best,” said Dehlia.

“Good point,” said Amy, noticing that if she paid attention it was possible to catch glimpses of Dehlia’s naked buttocks when she walked exuberantly.  She guessed that anyone watching long enough would be bound to catch a glimpse of her pussy. Even at a normal pace, Dehlia offered an almost continual display of her clear stocking tops and six black rubber suspender belts. Amy recalled how embarrassed she’d been about wearing something similar the previous week: she hadn’t been able to do it. Now she was going out with somebody dressed in an even more suggestive manner. She wondered if that was not so bad, or perhaps worse? Was there nothing she could do about it?

They walked round the corner and on to the next block where a collection of pubs and cafes were beginning to fill up with the early evening trade. Solaris was a café bar where the aspiring beautiful people went to be seen. The front of the café was composed of glass doors that folded back to open the complete frontage onto the street. Dehlia chose a table that offered a good view of the street and Amy joined her, though she would have preferred a more secluded spot.

While Amy flipped through the menu, wincing at the prices, Dehlia put forward more suggestions.

“Why don’t we go somewhere that you wouldn’t normally go to? Then you won’t have to explain anything to your friends. Somewhere unusual maybe?”

“If I’m being daring I might as well go somewhere new,” said Amy. “I can’t afford anywhere really expensive though: this place is about as much as I can afford.”

“Don’t worry; my treat. I suppose for this town the prices are a little high, but they’re not ‘capitol city’ prices. I’ve probably just got used to being ripped off when I go out,” said Dehlia.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a sponger,” said Amy.

“Yes, come on, somewhere you would never go: pick the place the most exclusive, intentionally obscure and expensive party place you would never go. I’ll promise you, we’ll get in: I will arrange it somehow. I’m quite resourceful,” grinned Dehlia.

“Well, I can’t really think of much in town that’s like that. Like you said, it’s not a capitol city: the variety is not so huge. I’ll think about it,” said Amy.

“It’ll be exciting: like you’re somebody different. Nobody will know who you are. They’ll think this is the usual you,” said Dehlia.

“How can you call this ‘usual’?” Said Amy laughingly.

“You’d be surprised,” said Dehlia.

“I probably would be. Yes. I understand. If I can’t think of anything do you have anywhere in mind?” Said Amy.

“I don’t know where is good now. I’ve been away too long. I know what’s around here, as you say ‘old town’, but that’s it. Surely you know some places that are a little ... theatrical?” Said Dehlia.

“Am I theatrical now?” Said Amy.

“I don’t think that’s exactly the phrase of the moment, but it’s how I’d describe somewhere like Moneypenny’s or Studio 54,” said Dehlia.

“I guess there’s the Works, and Vertigo,” said Amy, wondering what ‘Studio 54’ was. “I know too many people that go to the Works, and tonight would be hip-hop night there anyway. I’m not even sure they’d let us in, for our own safety probably. I don’t know anything about Vertigo. I’ve just, you know, seen it?” Said Amy.

“I suppose we can give it a try. If that fails I’ll try and think of something,” said Dehlia. She paused and looked around. “I think I need a little something. Something light. What about you? Do you want to get food? Or just a coffee?”

“I’m guess I’m not really hungry. If I have a latte, it will fill me up, but don’t let me stop you,” said Amy.

A few moments later a waiter arrived. His tight black sweater and trousers gave him a beatnik look: very retro, very café culture. Amy might have thought him pretentious under different circumstances.

Dehlia quietly explained her order while the waiter stared at her breasts. Amy was used to occasional breast staring incident, but this was a whole new level of experience. The waiter seemed transfixed. He couldn’t seem to pay attention to their orders as his gaze moved between Dehlia’s and Amy’s chest. He didn’t even have the sense or the politeness to pretend he wasn’t looking. It was as if their outfits absolved him from all requirements of politeness and good taste, and in a sense, it did. It wasn’t as if she’d really stuck to the rules of polite dress, and as for Dehlia, she was way beyond any limits that society tried to impose.

“He couldn’t stop staring at you,” said an almost flabbergasted Amy once the waiter was gone.

“Oh, I thought he spent more time looking at you. You should think of it as a compliment. He seemed quite ... captivated, don’t you think?”

“You could put it that way. Slavering would be another,” giggled Amy.

Dehlia started laughing too, and their fit of giggles didn’t subside completely until after the coffee arrived.

After dawdling over coffee, and Dehlia’s tiny meal that seemed to consist of a sliver of parma ham and some melon balls, it was still only seven. To kill time they ordered half a bottle of wine between them.

Over drinks Amy imagined that they got to know each other better, though on reflection it seemed to more that Dehlia found out all about Amy. Amy told Dehlia all about her family, and what she didn’t say Dehlia could figure out for herself. Something had driven Amy away from her parents. Amy said she could never go back. She hadn’t spoken to any of her family since she’d left. She had an older brother but she hadn’t seen him in years. She’d worked her own way through college and now she had her job as an actuary: calculating insurance premiums. If she could pass her ongoing exams she could move up the ranks and make lots of money, but it wasn’t so easy to pass the exams when there were so many other things to do.

Dehlia talked about moving. She had a house out in the suburbs, on short-term rental. Now that the shop was underway, she was moving into the Arcade building, into one of the places above the shops, though not actually above her shop. She explained how she had a lot of things in storage, and other things coming from somewhere unspecified that she would have to fit into her new accommodation – so she’d made sure she had a lot of space. By the sound of it, there would be plenty of room for the most outrageous collection of possessions.

“The apartments are varying sizes, some normal, some double size, some bigger,” said Dehlia.

“So yours is one of the largest ones?” Said Amy.

“Sort of, probably the largest in fact. You remember how the ceiling in the store room is very high?”

“Uh huh,” nodded Amy, who was thinking more that she needed to visit the toilet than about what Dehlia was saying.

“All that roof space isn’t easily accessible in most of the apartments, instead there’s a ceiling and then a large attic space… Well, I’m sure they would have made that into some kind of studios or something, but there are no windows or anything so they just left it as a high roofed attic. Except that somebody who had the place back years ago decided that was a waste. They put false walls and ceiling into the attic, and made smaller rooms up there. There’s plenty of ceiling height. There’s a wrought iron spiral staircase. If it hadn’t been so badly looked after the last few years it would be a palace.”

“It needs renovation then?” Said Amy.

“Absolutely: I’ve got a very good deal on the lease, and it’s mine for the next ten years – so it’s worth doing it. Even if I want to move I can sublet.”

“Cool,” nodded Amy. “Rent just eats up all my money every month, I wish I could buy somewhere or something,” she added in a similar, but personal vein.

Dehlia smiled thoughtfully. “It’s still early but we could head out now. It gives us more time to check out Vertigo. If we don’t like it there’s plenty of time to go somewhere else.”

“I guess so. You’ve got a phone?” Said Amy making to stand.

“No problem,” said Dehlia, reaching for her bag.

“OK, I’m just going to freshen up while you call,” said Amy. She paused, something occurred to her. “So, how do I go to the ladies’ in this suit?”

Dehlia smiled, “Because of the design of underwear, you can just go as normal. You don’t have to unzip anything unless you want to… You know…”

Amy sat in the toilet fingering her rubber covered pussy lips. They were still spattered with droplets of urine. The faint sensation was incredibly tantalizing: she was just warming up. She knew already that she couldn’t easily get herself off, but the dulled sensation was so intriguing she had to try a little of it. With a sigh she stopped herself, cleaned up, hauled up her still sticky shorts and pulled her dress down into place – what there was of it to pull.

As she washed her hands and touched up her makeup she noticed that the young woman next to her seemed to glance sideways at her whenever it seemed that Amy wasn’t watching. Amy could see her eyes in the mirror without having to look her way. She was wearing a tight little paisley patterned dress and a mass of junky silver jewellery. Despite her ordinary appearance, there was something nasty in the woman’s expression – something bitter and resentful. Amy remembered Dehlia’s words. Amongst other things, they’d been praying on her mind.

Amy had been noticing the same expression on women all night, in the café and out on the street. They were all looking at her and Dehlia in the same way. It was easier to cope with when somebody else was getting the same treatment, but in the restroom she’d been on her own. It seemed like everyone who’d walked past on the street had noticed her. Most of them had pretended they hadn’t, while some of them stared blatantly. The men seemed almost hypnotised but there was something unpleasant on the women’s faces, almost all of them.

Dehlia’s happy expression did a little to halt Amy’s introspective decline. She was still at their table, looking as if she hadn’t moved.

“I’ve paid the bill, so we’re ready to go,” said Dehlia.

“How much do I own you?” Said Amy.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dehlia. “It’s no problem.”

“If you’re certain,” said Amy doubtfully.

“You’re looking down. Did something happen that I missed?”

“Oh nothing. Just been thinking that’s all. You know how people keep staring?”

“That’s worrying you? It’s nothing. You should stop all that thinking if it makes you unhappy like that. You feel good in yourself don’t you?”

“I guess.”

”That’s what matters – and that the people close to you are happy.”

“You have such a sensible philosophy, but… I’m OK now anyway,” said Amy. She wondered about Dehlia’s last statement. Did Dehlia want to be close to her? Did Dehlia want to make her happy? Did she want to make Dehlia happy? So many questions… If she did, what would it entail? Her head was buzzing with the wine and the coffee. It was easy to forget such complicated thoughts. She wasn’t drunk from a glass and a half of wine, but she almost wished that she were.

Vertigo was a club that existed at ground level as a narrow doorway. From the street it was hard to tell there was a club there at all. If Amy looked very carefully it was possible to spot the sign over the door: black writing on a near black background. The most obvious clues were the open doorway and the loud thumping bass noise issuing from and around it, a noise that seemed to soak up through the pavement.

Amy had heard strange rumours about Vertigo. It was a place that people had warned her not to go to. She’d heard that the people that went there were strange, cliquey, and quite possibly rich enough to ensure that it ran for their benefit alone. She wasn’t even sure if it was actually open to the general public.

They descended the steep flight of stairs, heading down not one, but two floors into a darkness near pitch black. At the bottom, Amy could sense a faint purple glow of blacklights coming from round what she assumed to be a corner. By touch she found her way into the light. In front of a small, unattended cloakroom loomed a powerful, heavily proportioned man, dressed completely in heavy black leather. His head was bald, heavily tanned, and something else seemed to be missing. She couldn’t place what it was at first, but later Amy realised it was his eyebrows. Her eyes only came up to his chest, and Amy guessed she was nearly five-ten in her platforms. He was big.

“How much?” Shouted Amy over the thump of the music.

The bald man looked Amy up and down, and then his gaze moved behind her to Dehlia. He grunted to himself.

“Go on in,” he boomed into her ear, still only just audible. Amy stepped back and said to Dehlia, “He just told me to go in. Guess there’s no charge?”

“I guess not,” said Dehlia, catching hold of Amy’s elbow and letting Amy lead her into the club.

 to be continued...

02.07.06

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