The steppe stretched to the horizon. Far away, just out of eye's reach, a city lay; parts of it rubble, parts of it ruins, parts of it remembered. The steppe itself made spines tingle and throats thick. It was like an ocean with the water removed, and it stretched on past visibility and imagination. The boy shuddered. He felt his spine tingle.

 

He had hoped to see something. It had been ages, years since he visited. Was it so different? Did geology move so slowly, or was this the work of men's hands? The steppe was dry, and weary. Amethyst stared across the devastated plain; this was once his homeland. The ruins of villages bombed years ago, or houses stripped away by the harsh, sometimes radioactive winds stretched across the steppe, pockmarking it with ugly blemishes. If the decay continued, someday it would be pristine - with his memory gone, any evidence that there were once thriving towns and cities in Sector 3 - his homeland - would be dust on the wind.

 

All this he was warned of long before he stepped foot into this blasted land. A shady woman, clothed in a skintight black environmental suit and a flowing, bilious brown radiation-cloak; she had met him as he stepped onto his homeland from the ship, and disappeared moments later. She warned him to stay away, which of course meant he was going to go.

 

Amethyst saw people; refugees, broken and quiet. Almost no children. Quiet old men, most wearing suits. A few did not; either they had none or, as Amethyst had, they were natives - and were raised in this inhospitable land over generations of pollution.

 

These people would give him no information about his supposed homeland. Amethyst tightened his outfit. White thigh-high boots, jet-black nano-latex undersuit, a tight bulge around his package... elbow-length gloves, and of course, a fashionable, form-fitting hood over his face. It was comfy.

 

****

 

He let the hood hang slumped over the railing to his right; its features gave it the disconcerting appearance of a human face, stretched out and languid over the metal railing. Amethyst sighed again. He sat, back to the railing, on his bottom, with his knees arched in front of him. He leaned forward, head in hands.

 

There was a lone tree off in the distance. A single tree, a burning tree, spared from the ash and sand and storms that had given him such grief as a child and unending torment now. The three had traveled for years, moving from seed to sapling and now sat as a silent sentinel in the middle of the town.

 

Amethyst looked up. He was not as alone as the tree. The operative from earlier was here again, this time leaning against the railing opposite him.

 

“You have your hood off.” She wore much more now. In addition to the undersuit – which Amethyst could swear she had polished up to shine all the more – she now wore a heavy mask, a thick, tight gas mask. Black lenses obscured her eyes, turning her into an alien entity of feminine curves and lusty, luscious latex. Pads, muscle stimulators and other devices were visible at points beneath her skintight sheathe, but there was an elegance about it that Amethyst admired. He swallowed, gulping loudly as he eyed the buxom berserker.

 

“I don’t need it,” he said, head only hardly raising from his knees. “I’m a native to the planet.” The radioactive dust kicked up.

“A native?” The woman spoke. Words came from her hood. “That just makes you an even juicer target.” Amethyst felt his body tense as the woman made a fist. Amethyst scarcely had time to react when he felt the first punch, sending him spiraling through a hole.

 

The boy's vision was clouded. He had fallen through the roof. His surroundings were an antiquated old structure; empty hydroponic farming equipment littered the room.

 

He rose, and by the time he made it to his feet, the agent had returned.

 

She had friends.

 

The agent in the black suit was now joined by another female. She wore an identical outfit. Amethyst groaned; mentally, he was ablaze. He licked his lips, and adopted an identical pose. He tried to show sass, cocking his shapely hips to one side. "Ladies," he said. "Can't we just cuddle instead?" His voice was soft - almost feminine. His purple eyes sparkled, and beneath his mask, his mouth creaked into a grin.

 

"I don't want to harm anyone. I just want to explore. Is that so much to ask?"

 

The identically-suited females stared at each other, turning their heads in unison.

"Yes. Yes, it is. You can't be here."

 

Amethyst turned again, flapping his arms. "And why not? I grew up here - somewhere - before I lost my memory. Somewhere here, somewhere on the steppes of Nova, there's information about me. Maybe living relatives. Would you..." he extended an accusatory finger. "Would you deny me that?"

 

"Very well." The women seemed to melt into the shadows. Amethyst took a half-second before they emerged. The room was cloaked in shadow, and it was their doing. Everything was dark.

 

"What was that? Not some ordinary smoke grenade," he said. "Something fancy? Something just for me?"

 

A strong kick to the lower back sent Amethyst to his knees. "Just for you," one of the two agents said. "The Watchwomen normally take no prisoners," the other one said, stepping out of the dark smokescreen. "You're a special case."

 

The two women forced Amethyst further down, prostrate; both knelt on the small of his back.

 

"Special? Hardly." He grinned again, spinning. Both Watchwomen felt their weight work against them, all the pressure on his back turning into a liability as they stumbled in a sprawl on the ground.

 

He stood up, cracking his knuckles. A strong blow to one arm, blocked by another. He traded two blows, then three, then an uppercut against the taller Watchwoman's masked form. She stumbled back, moaning into her radio. He grinned, with his smile turning to frown almost instantly. The other grabbed him from behind. Two strong arms kept his feminine, lithe form restrained - two curves, globes, warm breasts sent his mind into a hormone-drive frenzy of embarrassment.

 

And, worst of all, a single strong kick to his stomach (then another lighter one to his now-erect cock) sent him to the ground. "Pathetic worm. Should have left."

 

Amethyst mewled, grabbing one by the neck. "I'm sturdier than I look." He delivered a heavy jab to the one shorter agent's stomach, knocking the one keeping him restrained off in one motion. She flew through the air before landing in a pile of ancient plant refuse.

 

"We were just going to make you leave. Now, we're going to make sure you never get away." The women reformed; pain and stimulation shot through Amethyst's body as his adrenaline kicked in. He panted slightly. Sometimes, his suit was just a bit too tight; this was one of those times. The thick smart-latex was just a bit too stretchy.

 

All this he concluded as he made a flying leap through the air. One of the women grabbed him before he could deliver the blow. Two firm hands on his butt, with the other woman grabbing his thighs. Their thick, gloved hands on his sensitive spots made him mentally squirm, and physically writhe. They threw him to the ground again with a loud thud.

 

Both of them now pounced as he recovered, together using their weight to pin him. The shorter of the two planted herself on his thighs, forcibly grabbing his package in a vice-grip. He yelped, girlishly at first before moving onto a masculine yelp - but a yelp of pain and half-buried pleasure all the same.

 

The other Watchwoman stepped on him as she would an ant. One foot painfully pinned his forearm to the ground while the other heavy boot teetered on his chest and neck. She placed her hands on her hips, breathing deep into her mask.

 

"Ignorant little slut. If you wanted information, you could have just asked."

 

"Information?" He gulped and gasped. He felt his chest tightening.

 

"Nobody comes here." She tightened her boot on his neck. "Nobody ever comes to this god-forsaken wasteland. This place is down, and it's never getting back up again. You didn't come here looking for your past. You came for something else. Now, who sent you here?'

 

"I came of my own acc-"

 

The shorter woman increased her vice grip. He screamed again; he didn't expect such elegant fingers to cause his package such pain! His yelp was silenced by a boot to his side.

 

"Who really sent you? Nobody comes here looking for family."

 

Amethyst managed to hold back a tear and a sob. "I... came alone!"

 

The two Watchwomen exchanged glances. He couldn't see their eyes beneath their lenses, but he imagined a look of frustrated skepticism.

 

"Whoever sent you isn't getting you back."

 

The shorter one on his knees grabbed something from her tactical belt. It looked like a small, jet-black donut. She stretched it wider and wider, until finally she slipped it over his feet. She unrolled it, and he stared; it had the appearance and possibly even material of a prophylactic condom. He gulped, and this jet-black sack moved over his already-enclosed flesh.

 

She continued to roll, keeping one painful hand so tightly clenched on his cock that he could scarcely scream. When she finally released it, he gulped in fresh air. The sack now unrolled up to his arms, and the taller Watchwoman shoved his arms into the sack. The second layer of thick, skintight material was enough to make Amethyst squirm - and with these two doing it, it was enough to make him moan. He stifled it, but an animalistic mewl still escaped his lips.

 

Tighter and tighter, further and further, the sack eventually reached his neck. He'd not yet encountered this restraining device, but it seemed logical enough. Air seemed to seep out of, but not into, the device - perhaps being vacuumed tight by micromotors at the base. It was snug against his body.

 

The agent smiled behind her mask - and rolled it further. The femboi's face was concealed by his trademark mask - and now even that featured hood disappeared behind another smart-rubber sheath. He moaned and screamed, with the vacuuming quickly pulling it all flush against his face. His bones and features were visible through the latex, and he bucked and squirmed. Air seeped from his lungs.

 

The two women stared for a bit. Amethyst was completely enclosed in the vac-sack, and he had more or less no way to escape. They didn't even need to hold him down; his arms struggled at his side.

 

"There's something... endearing about this one."

 

"How so?"

 

"The way he squirms. It's almost cute. Like he's a kitten. Like he wants to play."

 

"I think he wants air."

 

"Hah hah. That too. But he's just... I don't know. Juicy, in a way. Almost like he's been trained."

 

Amethyst's back arched. He felt his vac-sacked form picked up by strong hands and placed on a gurney, stretcher, or some other similar device. His bucking, form gasped; erotic thrill mixed with the terror or asphyxiation, resulting in an orgy of dizzying stimulation.

 

The Watchwomen locked his form to the gurney, extending bright white straps over his ankles, thighs, stomach, and forehead.

 

He passed into a gentle, hazy unconsciousness just as a pair of oxygen tubes entered his nose.

 

"He stopped squirming."

 

The other agent looked over his vitals, checking each bodily attribute in turn. He checked out.

 

"We'll make him squirm."

 

***

 

Amethyst's mind swam through darkness. He felt his limbs slowed, the hazy nature of his half-conscious existence moving through bright lights and shapes. His synapses fired blanks, arbitrarily showing him images, thoughts, sounds, and smells all half-forgotten. A parent. A cult leader. A woman. A man. Different sounds. Weaponry. Dust. Piano notes wafting through a room.

 

Satinder had removed her gloves. After spending so many hours, even days in her long-term environmental suit, she felt naked without them. Her gentle, unblemished and unadorned fingers moved over the plastic keys. The soft notes of Pachbel's Canon emitted from the piano. She stopped. The keys of the player piano kept moving, moved on by a ghostly nature as she got to her feet and walked over to Amethyst.

 

The Boy - and he was simply referred to as such - be their prisoner. After capturing him, Satinder had taken great joy in watching her newest rubberslut squirm in the vac-sack. Eventually, she had relented, giving him just enough formulated air to keep him alive... but sedated. She saw the Boy stirring to wakefulness.

 

The Chief Interrogatrix - a title she had invented for herself - stared at the boy's form. He still wore his smart-fabric pants (which, of course, looked and felt as latex - a very subtle indication of the slave's tastes) and his boots. He had worn some sort of skirt on the way in - oddly feminine for his outfit - but it was now kept in storage with his weaponry. His shirt, however, was gone. So was his collar and his mask, all sitting in a neat pile near the interrogation room's one exit?

 

Both his arms, though, were bound - and quite thoroughly! A strict armbinder - a sheath of leather - kept his arms behind his back, and then extended to the ceiling. The armbinder itself was kept in place with dozens of red leather straps interlacing like a mummy's bandages.

 

"Are you awake?"

 

Amethyst moaned.

 

"That won't do." Satinder snapped her fingers.

 

The Boy felt his body assaulted. He swam in his haze, breaching the surface into consciousness. Electrical jolts surged through his body. Amethyst, no stranger to torture, felt electrical stimulator-pads placed strategically over his body. His armpits - sensitive. His wrists - somewhat sensitive. His cock, still tightly snug inside his undersuit - hyper-sensitive. Even his neck had a tiny metallic dot, shocking him silly. He felt his heart race, and Amethyst groaned awake as volts erupted over his delicate nervous system.

 

The torture hadn't begun, and he hung limp; arms stretched past his comfort limit behind his back, and body electrocuted.

 

Satinder grinned. "Chin up, slave."

 

The interrogatrix lifted her quarry's chin. She didn't even touch him, but instead forced his head up by perching it on the end of a long riding crop. He moaned. Purple eyes met with hers.

 

"I'll answer your questions. I surrender."

 

"Oh no."

 

"No?"

 

"Oh no. Amethyst, my dear boy, you're not going anywhere. This isn't an interrogation. This is torture. You talk when we say you talk."

 

She began. She moved the crop, with its jet black and hard leather edge, up and down his shapely legs. He twitched at times, legs moving up and making him stand on his tip-toes. He shuddered with anticipation. So did her.

 

"Enjoying yourself?"

 

"Enjoying you," he retorted.

 

"Good. That's what I like to hear."

 

She smacked him. The crop came down on his back. It moved almost as if in slow motion. He shut his eyes tight in anticipation. He felt its hard leather impact on his supple, hairless back. He felt the shock as his body reacted, blood vessels in his body reacting. A massive, red mark immediately appeared on his back. The pain scourged his body, and with his head down in shame, he moaned.

 

It came again. And again. And a dozen more times.

 

He felt the crop against his back and butt. At times, another would come in - torment him, place his cock in a metallic sheath, clamp, or other cruel torments. Sometimes, he would be alone. He didn't know how long this went on. Probably an hour. Probably more. Sometimes, he would pass out - especially when his captor would force his breath away. A kick to his stomach, or a latex gag over his mouth and nose - if he didn't fall unconscious by the Watchwomens' hand, he'd get close enough.

 

"Amethyst."

 

"...."

 

He remained silent.

 

"You've been here for almost a day."

 

The gentle creaking of the luscious, lustrous latex covering Amethyst.

 

"I have someone who wants to meet you."

 

*****

 

One final humiliation awaited the Boy.

 

After a few hours of recovery, the physically assaulted and mentally drained Amethyst was given his costume. He moaned.  He craved some comfort, and the familiar feeling of the smart-latex outfit covering his body was just what he needed. He smiled a bit; slipping into his old skin. His member went hard as he slipped his legs and arms back into the cat suit. His skin was smothered by the luscious, thick latex. A comforting thought indeed.

 

Except for his hood. An electronic visor with auditory enhancements - a pair of goggles and a headset - was now featured.

 

He sat in a chair; large, comfortable, but obviously made for function, and that function was interrogation, if not outright torture. His arms and legs were thoroughly strapped and buckled in. He wasn't going anywhere unless his captors willed it.

"Questions and answers."

 

Amethyst's felt a high-heeled boot on his cock. He blushed again, gripping his armrests. Such feeling; such stimulation. This woman, though he couldn't see her through the visor, was versed in such torment. The boot moved up and down his stomach and groin.

 

"Now. Amethyst. I want to know the truth now. My Watchwomen are at the ready with weapons. Your mind is being actively scanned by the visor. Your body is completely vulnerable. You can't see me; you couldn't fight back even if you weren't restrained. Now, I'm leaving you ungagged, rubberslut, because I want to hear you say it for yourself.

 

You came to Nova for a reason. My associates suspect that you knew of our safe house, and intended to infiltrate it. Is that correct?"

 

"No."

 

"Then why?"

 

Amethyst sighed meekly. "I was born in Sector 63. I just wanted to see it. See it for myself. With my own eyes."

 

"As I suspected."

 

A door opened somewhere. A woman removed the scanning headset. Amethyst squinted at the light. An open door. Escape. Unbuckled shackles.

 

"Go."

 

"Why?" He threw the goggles and headset to the floor.

 

"Because you're useless to us."

 

Amethyst didn't care if this was a trap. He ran for the door. He reached the steppe. He crouched into the desert sands, and disappeared.

 

***

 

Amethyst's bound and gagged form wriggled, struggling against the simulated escape of the headset.

 

Phantom smiled. Her carefully packaged prisoner was oblivious to his continued incarceration.

 

"Was it wise?" Satinder asked her superior very few questions.

 

Phantom smiled. "Oh, don't worry. He'll come around."

 

"When?" Satinder clearly had skepticism that this specimen could be easily broken.

 

Phantom sighed. "Don't worry. I'll keep good watch."