* * *
Roki did everything he could to extricate his left leg from the muck. He didn't think that this was a very good spot for a meeting, and his fears were quickly proving well-founded. His left leg was stuck up to his ankle, and he already felt his right leg starting to sink into the soft earth.
He rubbed sweat from his forehead and twitched his ears daintily. This meeting was a total bust; probably just an excuse to embarass him and waste his time - not to mention soil whatever clothing he had worn. If nothing else, he planned to leave this place with all his clothes intact. And so he sighed and went back to tugging, trying to arch his foot so as to keep the boot on when it would eventually lift from the muck.
After huffing for a few seconds more, he tried to grab at the various vines and roots that criss-crossed the mucky forest floor. He bent over, rear poking into the air, and took a bundle of verdant green vines in his hand to get more friction.
Something sticky spewed onto his hands. He grumbled audibly, then shouted to the air in frustration. The whole forest probably heard him. He furrowed his brow looked at the sticky sap. It was odd, thick, and a bright green. It seemed to harden in the palm of his hands.
A squelching, oily sound made drew his eyes further down. He cocked an eyebrow, and yelped again. The bundle of vines had extended probosci and long, pink-petaled flowers. Each flower was extruding massive amounts of the same sap. It had a pungent, aromatic scent to it that reminded him of hardened rubber. A few seconds later, he realized it felt similar as well.
The sap was spraying from not one, but three of the flowers - and more seemed to be sprouting from the soft earth. It arced through the air, coating him with a messy splatter. He reached out to block the streams with his hands, only to find them doubly-coated in quickly thickening green sap. Roki tried to remove it, rubbing it against his legs, and thighs, but to no avail. It seemed to dry almost instantly. He shoved his arms into his armpits to try and scrape it off, and to his horror, found his arms firmly trapped in place.
He felt his face turning red. Both his legs were now firmly trapped beneath the soft earth, and he had no way of blocking the oncoming streams of sticky sap. His legs grew stiff under another layer of rubbery sap; his curves were coated once, then twice; with each passing second, more of his body disappeared beneath the tightening sheen. His stomach and chest also began to disappear; the rubber hardened, squeezing his arms further together and outlining his straining muscles. He shook his rear, trying to dislodge something - anything - and was greeted by another squirt of sap around his ankles; then another thick bubble around his manhood.
It was becoming harder and harder to deny, but Roki was becoming ravenously aroused. The sap had an aphrodisiac effect wherever it contacted his skin, and every inch below his neck contacted the hardening green sheathe. Beneath a thick layer of rubber, he felt his manhood grow stiff. He mewled pathetically, hoping and praying that nobody could possibly see him. He clenched his rear and arched his back. He agonized between constant stimulation and a growing fear. The rubber wasn't giving way; if anything, it was tightening and drying, seeping and expanding into every hidden nook and cranny. It didn't leave much room for his cock, and he gasped at the intense pressure on his hardening shaft. Foliage began to sprout around his neck, creating a "mane" of rubbery green leaves.
Roki moaned again, his mouth gaping wide. He squinted his eyes shut, and suddenly found his expression stuck. The leaves had spewed a salmon pink layer of sap over his head and ears. It was significantly thinner; enough so to allow him to breathe, but it was tight - significantly tighter. It shrunk, pressing against his closed eyes and coating the interior of his gaping mouth. The aphrodisiac sap forced devious thoughts into his mind, and as he moaned for help, he eagerly imagined being used and abused by a passer-by. His cock throbbed again. A bulb formed around his extended manhood.
It would be another half hour before he was able to work himself into a hazy orgasm. A particularly pathetic moan escaped his hooded head. The plant eagerly soaked up his ejection, and began working him towards another.
* * *
* * *
"I take full responsibility for your failure," Phantom said. She had an apologetic tone, and her head was bowed. "It may have been your actions that resulted in the mission's failure, but..." Phantom raised her head. Her green eyes sparkled; they looked down at Rossem's feet in an apologetic gaze.
"But you would never have been there if i had not ordered it."
Rossem squinted his eyes and blinked in disbelief. Was Phantom, the president, and his unquestionable leader actually apologizing? And at that, apologizing for HIS failure? It was HIS careless decisions that resulted in his discovery. He had been ordered to intercept a shipment of conditioned slaves from a rival organization, and he had taken some time to 'sample the merchandise.' While he had enjoyed it, it also meant that he missed the rendezvous; his escape was narrow, and he had been unable to recover any of the slaves for MirageCorp.
And now, here he was, being debriefed. Well, he had already been "debriefed." After his return, he had been stripped to the nude, cleaned, and dragged to an interrogation room. A group of drones provided him with a new outfit.
Rossem remembered feeling the slave catsuit stretched over his form. He was of thin build, but the suit was thick. The rubber membrane left very little to the imagination.
Long, elbow-length gloves were rolled over his fingers and forearms. They were black as well, matching with his new skin. Normally, he wore a colorful garment with exotic gold and white trim - this lacked even that much individuality. The drones applied a thin layer of cement around the seams, melting the gloves onto the suit. They repeated the task with a pair of stockings. Rossem shivered as they were rolled to his thigh; the drones performing the procedure seemed to relish the act, rubbing gloved fingers over his inner thighs and gently teasing at his sheathed member.
Here he sat; plumbed, packed, and locked into an interrogation chair. Phantom preferred the boardroom setting, so this "debriefing" happened in the corporate meeting room.
"I have gone over all possible reports, Rossem. I have concluded that failure was essentially inevitable; the mission and your skill-set were simply incompatible. Your skills are best used elsewhere."
Rossem grinned. She understood. She was going to let him off easy!
"I will be apologizing to our other conspirators for your failure. I will also not be wasting your skills on simple field operations."
This was it. He was preparing a gracious response in his head. What should he refer to her as? Perhaps 'gracious mistress." He opened his mouth to thank her for her mercy. Phantom shoved a single, gloved index finger inside his mouth and closed his lips around her digit.
"Suckle, slave. Obviously, you're no good at field work. I should have known you'd be a drone from the very start."
He blushed a bright red. He tried to grin, but it was a nervous grin.
"Hm. You're not terribly good at suckling, either. Such a shame."
She withdrew her finger, leaving him panting and blushing. Faced with the inevitable, Rossem shut his eyes and let his mouth fall open.
A rigid mask covered the lower half of his face. Hardened plastic and rubber covered his nose, cheeks, and forced a flexible sheath deep within his mouth. Gas flowed into his nostrils. A metallic tube descended from the back of the interrogation chair, extending two halves of a metal sphere around his head. They locked in place, and finished the application of his drone hood. Rossem felt two plugs enter his ears, and squirmed in his seat as a warm liquid began to pour and cure around his skull. Rubber flowed around his head, rising over the mask, his ears, and hair. Within a few moments, the liquid had cured and solidified into a featureless drone hood.
Phantom filled out a few boxes on her former employee's file. She shut the folder and sighed; Drone 908 would be a nice addition to her collection, but she would miss Rossem's playful nature. She would miss ruffling his blonde hair and scolding him for his mischief. Maybe one day she would promote him from drone back to employee. Maybe.