Musings of a Queen.

The queen was lounging in the center of her hive, where her firstborn had been made what she was now. All around her was bustling activity, her children hard at work to expand - already, every last inch of the floor and most of the walls were covered in the shiny smoothness of hardened goop, the former piles of boxes and old furniture now mounds of latex, perfect for resting and lazing around.

Stroking the back of one of her newest daughters, the one that had been born affixed to the floor, the queen smiled. The smallest of the hive, this one differed in more than just general size. No pipes on her back, the legs digitgrade and ending in dexterous claws rather than more or less human feet, the queen's precious daughter was also much less voluptuous than her sisters, lithe and toned with much more modest curves. The queen had dubbed her the Runner, back when she had returned to the core of the hive and the newborn had raced towards her with a burst of speed higher than any of her sisters was capable of, only rising on her back legs a single step before launching herself into the queen's bosom, greeting her mother with a tight hug.

And although she was by far the smallest and weakest of her daughters and barely capable of producing more than a mouthful of black goop at a time, the queen loved her as much as the others, enjoying the Runner's company as she looked upon the works of the hive. The drones crawled along the floor and over the walls, spreading spot after spot of goop, but it was their younger, much larger sisters that were doing the most of the work. More specifically, the Iacolatrix.

Sired by the Warrioress, the two shared a special bond and hadn't been apart since the Iacolatrix's birth, which was for the best - the latter's enormous endowments made her crawl bowlegged and bow-armed, slowly and ponderously, shuddering with lust as her sensitive nipples dragged over the floor. The Warrioress' strength would greatly aid the Iacolatrix, should she need to be defended or simply get across an obstacle she was unable to overcome herself.

Right now, too, they worked in tandem, the Warrioress' fist rapidly pumping her massive, ribbed cock to dribble black goop onto the floor and soon shoot it all over the walls while the Iacolatrix gyrated and pumped her hips, driving her ever erect shaft through the valley in-between her enormous breasts, making the gargantuan orbs jiggle and bounce as her moans mingled with the strained grunts of the Warrioress. Soon, another large spot of these offensively rough concrete walls would be replaced by dripping, slowly hardening black goo, turned smooth and shiny and rubbery.

The near-delirious sounds of bliss were the perfect backdrop for the queen's thoughts. They revolved around the future of the hive, and by extension the future of the city they were in. As much as the queen loved her daughters, she was certain about one thing, more certain than she'd ever been about anything else in either of her lives: The hive had to grow. The queen wanted, no, she needed more beautiful offspring, more daughters to cherish, a family of countless latex beings that would help her turn the world smooth and shiny.

The queen's full, plump lips pulled back into a smile, sharp metallic teeth glinting in the twilight.