She was lying on her chest. Her arms and legs were separated, splayed and separated; as though she had fallen and was laying  over what felt like a balance beam.

A single light hung in the air; an incandescent bulb that send warm sensations across her bare back. The heat and warmth was uncomfortable, but she was too groggy to try and move out of the way. She had been woken gently, as though she had left the curtains open and the morning August sun had poked through to wake her.

She coughed again and tilted her head on its side, sucking in air. She felt a chilling sensation creep around her lower back and a prodding around her armpit and ear. A doctor's stethoscope, a thermometer. She was too hazy to come up with an analogy, but would later come to the conclusion that it was not unlike cattle being administered a physical.

Her arms and legs wouldn't respond to her mind's cry for movement. Barely a twitch; hardly a spasm; and yet, she felt them hanging down limply from her sides, comfortably swinging gently.

She wished she hadn't. The next position only made her crave that weak, limp feeling.

Other than what the light illuminated, she couldn't see a thing. A concrete floor, the beam she lay on; the only other thing that she could see were the numerous gloved hands, both male and female, that were reaching for her.

The hands were male, female, short, long, slender, stubby; but all of them wore elbow-length gloves that had the most shiny and reflective surface imaginable. In the dim yellow light, they shone a bleached bone color, like skeletons reaching from the grave en masse.

And, as panicked as she was, she never thought to try and see who the hands were attatched to. Not that she could. The light cut off abruptly at the edge of the sconce; whoever was doing this to her was just beyond the visible ring.

Some of the hands poked, some prodded. A few continued taking measurements, checking her pulse, and one continued using a chilly stethoscope to measure her rapidly increasing pulse.

A few of them work together in tandem; all the precision and timing of a machine, with the sensation of an angry mob. They pull her forearms against her shoulders; her hands nearly palming her shoulder-caps.
On each arm, a second set of hands produces a roll of what looks like electrical tape. With laser precision, the hands roll the tape from elbow to armpit, trapping her arms flush.

Her legs undergo a similar experience with only subtle variations. The effect is no lessened by the first encounter.

And then – the hands, just as quickly as they had arrived, leave. The poor girl heard a few shuffling footsteps, as though the 'people' who were working on her took a few steps back.

A shudder. A shake.  A rattle and a roll. The beam began descending. The sound of hydraulic pumps fills the air and the smell of lubricant and grease  reached her nostrils.

The tightness once again made her miss lying in a haze.

The floor beneath her opened up – or maybe it had  been like that the whole time. A plasticky aroma that nearly made her pass out threw the industrial smells into the back of her mind.

She felt her body engulfed- starting at the elbows. She reflexively shut her eyes tight and puckered her mouth shut in fear; trying to squint hard enough to make her realize this was a dream. She stayed like this for a good twenty seconds, holding her breath and scarcely moving. Her whole body was suffering the same feeling; a disconnect, an ebon-black and thick darkness; soupy and all-consuming, as though she were buried in pillows and blankets.

Her body had to remind her to breathe. She inhaled, only to find her nostrils sealed airtight. She panicked, wiggling left and right vigorously. Her lungs started to ache and burn as she began to struggle. Within seconds, her squirms had turned to vicious tugging and pulling, thrashing about like a fly in a spiderweb.
Her captors obviously delighted in seeing their package viciously thrashing, but they did not let it last long. Within a moment, she felt them poke a pair of holes in the still-cooling gel.

***
She would not comprehend it at the time, but shortly thereafter she found herself curious as to why they did what they did. Why did they wake her up? It would have been easier to let her stay unconscious throughout her process. And for that matter, why did they not simply let her drift into unconsciousness while she thrashed due to lack of oxygen? Was it mercy – or did they want to keep her awake for their own pleasure?

***
She panted, breathing what little air she could through the holes in her suit. The coating deteriorated slightly, giving her more breath with each passing second – but it never felt like enough. Her entire body was ablaze; she felt both energized and drained; brimming with vim but lethargic. They had tucked her whole body below the surface and gently seen fit to tuck her hair into a cap. It was like a second – no, a first skin; the layer was thin and, in a few places, flimsy. Not to mention that it was still warm and dripping unevenly; it hadn't finished 'cooking'.

She would later regret that thought. Were her creators psychic? They had certainly seemed to act as such; granting her every fear to her with unrelenting accuracy.

Her captors did not relent at that; far from it. She felt them tugging, pulling; first, they removed the rubber around her eyes and special spots, giving them access to her visual senses to tantilize and taunt her as well as to her special spot  for a more physical torment.

Then, they began sealing her over a second time. Aerosol cans sprayed across her body, hardening and stiffening the still-warm liquid like wax over a candle-wick. And then, to her dismay, they began anew. Long, thick pieces of, to her dismay, industrial rubber, covered her quite nicely.

She felt like the reverse of a molded toy. Rather than being molded from the inside out, the 'mold' -  that is, the stiff rubber – was being locked around her. Each place felt stiff and unrelenting, with just enough give to leave her flexible beneath two layers of restraint. It was horrid, and terrifying. Across her legs, across her arms, across her stomach; they were almost chitinous in nature, like the plates of a crustacean or insect. It only served to make her groan and mewl helplessly.

They had taken her mobility, and they even saw fit to take her dignity. The gloved arms adhered small lenses over her eyes, as they would a pair of goggles. These blackened out all sight and blended in well with her new, second coating. Her rump was caressed gently, sending her off-guard only long enough for them to insert a large sheath into her slit, as well as other tubing for her rear and urethra. She felt cold; more as though they were being 'installed' on a product than inserted into a person.

At least, thought the captive, things could not get any worse.

The floor opened once again, and she found herself being lowered into another dark, encompassing pit.


This time, she shut out all that she could; thinking of happier times. Happier times when she wasn't so tightly bound and toyed with. Plugs were inserted into two of her newfound openings, and the lenses blocked out all light as the felt herself being coated a final time. It was as though she was quite literally being 'baked' into her skins. The first layer was now surely adhering and binding with the second, creating an inescapable coating that could scarcely be removed piece-by-piece.

She shamefully thought of the animalistic position she was in. Walking, plodding around on her heavily coated elbows and knees was hardly ideal.

By the time that she had exited her trance-like attempt at blocking out her condition, they had once again poked holes for her nostrils  and cleaned off excess coating from her rear-  but not her eyes, leaving her blind and nearly deaf. However, she could scarcely swear she could hear her captors speaking – if only in her head. "Pets don't need to be able to see."

She endured just one final embarrassment as they hoisted her onto her back. She was still dripping, but it no longer mattered to her captors, and she could hardly feel it. They 'painted' over any missing spots with thick, broad, and luxurious strokes – which of course, their captive interpreted as teasing and painfully erotic groping. She moaned as they covered her breasts, smoothed over her stomach, brushed horsehair paintbrushes against her nipples, and slowly covered their captive's uneven spots – sealed up with a kiss.

She lay there for a minute – maybe two – as they sat in almost complete silence. She wriggled her arms and legs into the air, hardly able to move in her tight – and in spots, rigid – coating. It was dreadful; waiting for them to select what to do with her.

They made their selection. She felt a buzzing throughout her body as vibrators sprung to life, and her captors again moved their hands across her body. But this time, it was not just practical – it was purely erotic. Every sensitive and sensual spot was touched, regardless of how deep beneath her coating it was. It drove her insane with erotic stimuli; each second was another of nearly painful erogenous bliss; pumping, kneading, massaging, even the occasional pinch; it built and built for what seemed like eons until she finally moaned in a rancorous orgasm.

Still in afterglow from a monumental burst of pleasure across her body, there was no resistance as she was casually picked up from the  ground. A pair of cat-ears were glued to her rubber-coated head; a tail to her plug; and a leather collar snapped 'round her neck. She was luxuriously smooth as they caressed her affectionately.

She moaned again, ready for another session of blissful stimuli, subconsciously pushing the negatives of her situation all the way to the back of her mind. But she was being picked up; moved once again; daintily inserted into a leather-lined kennel and the iron cage locked shut.

She purred – almost unintentionally- as her mewls of pleasure and calls for help went unanswered among the dozens of other rubber kittens that also occupied her new home.