You decide to ram raid a sex shop for a bit of extra cash. An easy job. In the dead of night, you steal a range rover, line it up towards the shop window, and hit the accelerator.
There’s two things you didn’t plan for. The walls are reinforced, the sudden deceleration as the car crunches to a stop propelling you through the windscreen and into the shop. The second is that the car is equipped with a FUNbag system. A warm, impact-absorbing shell blasts out of the steering wheel, engulfing every inch of your skin, forcing a coating of silicone down your esophagus and every other orifice. It saves your life. The glass should have torn you to ribbons, but you land without a scrape as the skin cools and congeals about you. You crash through shelves of sex toys, knocking over mannequins and dolls like skittles.
The girl whose car you stole had been a petite young thing and the skin, built on her proportions, is incredibly tight, crushing your bulky male physique down to size, forcing the excess flesh to your chest and ass. The pressure is intense and no matter how hard you fight, you can’t move an inch, not even blink. Your eyes may as well have been painted on. A strangled whisper of a moan escapes your frozen-open mouth.
The owner arrives in the morning. The range rover is towed away, the window boarded up. Police arrive. They leave. And all the while, you’re left lying there, staring unmoving at the ceiling. Why has nobody arrested you?
The owner begins clearing away the mess. He lifts you, brushing dust and glass shards off your tits, and places you next to one of the mannequins in the window. Oh no… he doesn’t think you’re a…? A price tag is hung around your legs. His hands spread your legs wide into a provocative position. The next day, when the window is replaced, you’re still there, displaying your silicone pussy to passers by on the street.
A young man stops to stare in at you.
“Help me.” Your voice is a ghostly whisper, heard by noone.
He moves out of sight, and you hear the tinkling of the shop door, the chatter between the man and the owner as you’re sold. You’re packaged up and carried out.
As he lays your immobile body on his bed, ass upwards, you realise it is you who is about to be ram raided.