It comes in a small, box. How it came to be in your possession is not important.


Two rectangular buttons on either side depress with a well-machined click, and the lid swings open gently.

 

A sweet, musky aroma permeates the air around you.

 

Inside is a neatly folded thing of a silvery blue-gray material.

 

 

 

You touch it.

 

It is smooth. Slippery. Silky.

 

 

 

Impossibly so.





A small card sits above the garment:

 

 

 

Subjugation Suit

 

 

 

Perhaps it’s ignorance, or maybe it’s overconfidence. Or merely a simple oversight. For whatever reason, you pay the words no heed.

 

The card finds itself discarded.

 

 

 

The rubbery material is cold to the touch, and sports a collar of slightly thicker material. A hood hangs loosely off of it.

 

 

The suit is small.

 

 

 

Too small.

 

Smaller than even the most petite of frames.

 

 

 

Fully unfolded, you find the feet hang barely as far as your hips.

 

 

 

 

Like a molted skin, the suit’s limbs hang as shriveled tubes in a mock reflection of a human form.

The suit poses a question.

 

And as you work the material in your hands, you quickly find that it offers an answer as well.

 

 

 

 

Like putty, you play with the malleable rubber in your hands.

 

Like putty, the thin material pulls easily without any hint of damage.

 

Like putty, the material slowly draws back to its original size of its own independent volition.

 

 

 

 

 

The heady aroma fills your lungs.

 

 

There is nothing left to do.

 

 

You fumble for a seam and find a pinhole opening in the back of the attached hood.

 

Kneading it in your hands, you work the suit’s opening to a manageable girth. A fine powder coats its inner surface, which turns to a gel as you continue to pull the material.

 

 

 

 

Wide enough.






Disrobed and seated, you guide both feet into the oily confines of the garment.

 

The gel tickles your skin as it coats your legs, sliding across you like a warm, lover’s tongue. Your feet find its place before the suit clears your legs, but you continue to work the fabric around your body and up around your hips.

 

It wraps strangely around you. Ill-fitting and misshapen as you pull it across your form.

 

You reach in and find a glove and settle the latex around your fingers. Clenching your fist around the glove, you raise it high, pulling the material up around your waist from inside the suit.

 

 

 

It stretches impossibly well.

 

 

 

Your off hand quickly finds its place and you repeat the action.

 

The collar, stretched out, hangs loosely just off your shoulders like a modern fashion statement.

 

 

 

 

You catch your breath.

 

 

 

 

 

You’ve enveloped yourself from the shoulders down in this rubbery material.




As the suit rests, its collar slowly draws itself tighter around you, climbing up and over your shoulders of its own accord.

 

 

Loose folds of fabric straighten into a taut membrane around your body.

 

 

In minutes the collar has collapsed snugly around your neck.

 

 

The hood hangs loosely around your neck like a loose latex scarf.

 

 

The material continues to shrink around you.

 

 

The thick musk fills your lungs….

 

 

 

 

 

 

…warming you.

 

 

 

…calming you.

 

 

 

…arousing you.











Your movements are… sluggish.

 

 

 

Thoughts… slower.

 

 

 

Not that there’s anywhere to be.

 

 

 

Nothing to rush to…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The silvery-blue material continues to shrink around your body…

 

 

 

…collapsing into every crevice of your form.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You are compelled to continue.


The suit’s collar cradles your chin as you gather the fabric of its hood. Of a thicker material, the collar supports your neck firmly.

 

The rest of the hood is translucent.

 

You draw it tight over your head.

 

Unseen, the opening begins to close behind you.

 

 

 

 

Your vision is… mildly obstructed.

 

 

 

 

Breathing is impossible… and yet, somehow, you no longer require it.

 

 

 

 

The material continues to shrink around your body.

 

 

 

 

The thick perfume permeates your skin.

 

 

 

 

A carnal desire consumes your being.







The suit continues to shrink around you.

 

 

 

It coats your form in a seamless lamination of rubber.

 

 

 

Through some mechanism it vacuums itself to your skin.

 

 

 

Its opening reduced to a minuscule pinhole cinching your hair.

 

 

 

The material grows increasingly tight, and increasingly strong.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like putty, the suit has begun to set on your body.

 

Like putty, you have allowed yourself to be subjugated by the suit.

 

Like putty, you have done so of your own independent volition.