There was no up or down; nor time or space. The two boxes existed in a sleepy dream-state, waiting for their owner to return.

 

It had been weeks. Weeks of relentless teasing and conditioning. Weeks of their bodies being teased and pushed to new extremes. They were growing hazy.

 

Rossem Klyn was still 'himself'. He was aware of what was happening. She was wearing down his resolve. She hadn't resorted to brute-force brainwashing or conditioning. She wasn't trying to break him. She was trying to bend him. He was being molded to her will, physically, emotionally, and mentally.

 

First, there was the physical aspect.

 

Rossem was a modern elf; he had always been proud of his body. He was svelt and sexy, and the thick suit he wore when on-mission was as comfortable as a second skin. He loved showing it off to everyone who could see it. Even when accepting jobs and bounties, he'd enjoy the look of potential clients staring at his glorious booty. It brought him a sort of pleasure that he couldn't quite pinpoint. He was sexy, and he knew it.

 

But this devil-woman had him captured and encased in the conditioning vac-cube. It left him helpless at all times. And it had given time for her technology to reshape him. He had more of a pear-shape now. His hips and butt was curvier, his thighs more pronounced. His waist was slimmed slightly and his muscles, while still possessing definition, stood out less. It made him seem… feminine? Female? He wasn't sure what the words to use were, but he knew that he'd need to go shopping when she let him out. Perhaps something in pink…

 

And therein was the emotional level. Most of the time, Rossem was trapped in a dreamy world all his own. His body was covered in pads and points that would provide pain and pleasure - often both - to change his thoughts. The lenses over his eyes would display the image of him - proud, aloft, and free - and he'd be shocked. Then, he'd see himself on knees and bound, licking at his Mistress's legs. Then pleasure. Gentle shocks and powerful electrostimulation alternated. They were reading his mind, and deciding what he did and did not like. An image flashed of him taking Phantom to task, of sealing her in a thick rubber suit and…. And no shocks? Perhaps she was planning something. Perhaps she simply couldn't envision a world where he'd ever think of turning the tables.

 

But he didn't have much time to think. Within his rubber encasement, he was usually trapped in a sleepy state; abstract dreams and idle pleasures filled his mind. Rapid eye movement and long periods of rest characterized this pleasant twilight world in which the elf was ensconced. Waking up from it was often a rude and surprising experience. Often times he'd be in a new and unfamiliar setup.

 

Today, he'd woken outside his cube! But he was in a very familiar position all the same.

Rossem, alongside his "sister" (a version of him from another world, and now transformed into a female) elf, were something even less than test subjects; they were furniture. Rossem wiggled and felt his body totally enclosed in rubber; thicker, glossier, and with less opportunity for testing than that of his previous enclosure.

 

It was hardly uncomfortable… or was that just the conditioning? Had he been told just to think he was comfortable?

 

It didn't much matter. When he had awoken, whenever he was awake - there wasn't much time for thinking.

 

Images were blasted to his eyes via special contact lenses.

Sounds filled his ears.

Sensations racked his body with touch-simulating electrodes.

Smells and tastes were suggested. It was all so real. But it couldn't be real.

 

The scenarios came fast, often times lasting for a few seconds.

 

He'd be kneeling, submitting to a mistress.

Then he'd be licking her boots.

Then he'd be tending to her body.

He'd remove her clothes and dress her.

He'd massage her sensitive spots and make her feel like a queen.

 

"You horny little slut." The words were always accompanied by good sensations. He grew to crave the names.

 

"You're cute little slut. You just crave attention, don't you? You're all sealed up and begging to be toyed with and teased. You want it. You need it. Will I give it to you, hmm, now that's the question…"

 

Another scenario; another world. Or was this the real world? A world where he and his 'sister' were kneeling and holding up a glass table in the Mistress's abode? A world where he was plugged with a thick, ribbed dildo, one that teased at his nethers and made him curl his toes? This was a world where he found himself constantly grinding against his female copy, his curvaceous and feminine rear against hers; where he was thickly encased and not a single millimeter of skin was visible. The only identifying mark for the two rubber-clad drones was a single heart of gold, placed just above their rear and pressed against the clear glass of the table. It let everyone know that they were droned and encased and conditioned, and despite the fact that their arms and legs were not restrained, they were 'safe.' They hardly breathed in their forniphiliac enclosures, conditioned to do nothing but sit pretty for mistress.

 

Rossem was having a hard time telling where he was. This was the pose; this occupation, this job as furniture must have been what she had removed them from their boxes for. But how long would it last? How long before she'd zap them back inside for more testing?

 

He didn't know, but he wanted to please. He didn't just want to be a good drone; he was a good drone.

 

Rossem clenched his body together. He let his thoughts drift away. He let only the visions enter his mind. Visions of obedience and dominance; of sublime supplication to the greater Mistress. Thoughts poured from his head line wine from a glass as he knelt, holding the glass table on his back like Atlas.

 
Something entered his lips, and reflexively, he set his tongue to work on it. But it wasn't a plug, nor mistress's finger this time; it was something small with buttons and switches...?

The vibrators across his groin sprung to life. He continued his work, as he was trained to do, suckling on the remote and setting his stimulatory torture to endless random and unpredictable recombinations in the process.

Conscious thought was replaced with sensation. And not merely the ghostly sensations of conditioning and mind-control, but the very real sensations surrounding him.

 

The thick rubber cloyed at his skin. It was tight and snug and kept him completely anonymous. At best, his hands were kept in tight mitts of the stuff. His face was totally obscured; not even his hair was visible, though he was sure that she'd change it up soon enough. And of course, there were the toys. Two vibrating eggs that flanked his manhood and the fat plug in his rear was more than enough to send him into a frenzy. As he became more aware of his surroundings, so too did he become more aware of just how stimulated he was. He'd awoken to a living hell - or heaven - of pleasure, and there was no escape. There never would be any escape, as long as Mistress demanded it.

 

The drone knelt in stoic silence. Sensations racked his body and mind. Deep within his layers of enclosure and hypnosis, he was at peace.