Alex sat in the corner of his cell. He was tucked into a fetal position, with his legs protecting his vitals and his arms around his knees. His neck - covered as it was with a wide metal collar - and his back were both sensitive, doubly so as he pressed against the cell’s wall. He occasionally shifted to stretch. They were both quite tangible.

          At first he assumed that this was somehow related to his aggressive behavior. He convinced himself that this was somehow retribution for what he’d done late in the evening. When his eyes adjusted to the dim LED lighting, he was now quite convinced that they were unrelated. It was almost comforting to assume that his imprisonment was purely arbitrary - that he would never face any sort of retribution.

          The cell’s bars were a padded plastic, but were spaced wide enough that Alex could easily see the single cell across from him. The being inside it sat motionless at first. As Alex began to move more, so did his fellow inmate.

          “He” was completely trapped. He sat on a wide bench with his legs spread wide. The prisoner wore a white canvas straitjacket that covered his top half completely. His arms were trapped in a strict self-hug. When he moved, Alex could see his elbows straining against the white fabric, squeezing but unable to break through. His hands disappeared into his armpits. Three wide buckled straps kept his arms taut together, against his chest, and against his waist. No buckles or locks were visible, though he could hear the clink of D-rings.

          A fat collar around his neck - the same model as the one Alex found - kept his posture somewhat straight. D-rings on it were attached to thin metal cables, each of which ran to the walls. He could turn his head - but then again, why would he?

          The prisoner’s face was rubber. It was black, spooky, shiny, and totally all-encompassing. Alex stared at it for a while, barely able to make it out in the dark. It completely conformed to his facial features. He imagined it was tight in every way; snug against the eyes, the nose, lips…

          Once his eyes had adjusted he could make out sculpted indentations for the eyes. The nose was sculpted as well. Two dark, rubber lips were half-open, as if in the middle of a short speech or in surprise. The tongue was sculpted too. He thought he saw it moving, and occasionally heard grunts. The prisoner’s sculpted face was pure black rubber. Essentially, he had no face. An ordinary hood - the type Alex might wear on a sweatshirt - was flipped up over the back of his head. It gave him an eerie appearance, like a cultist or criminal.

          His legs, too, were encased in shiny black rubber. He wiggled his toes at times and stretched. His legs were chained together with heavy shackles, which in turn ran to the wall. He could move - he might even be able to stand - but what was the point?

          A door opened. Light poured into the cells. Alex squinted his eyes shut.

          Silhouetted behind the light he saw two figures; one male and one female. The male wore a mask like a jackal’s head; two glass lenses glowed with eerie light. Air wheezed through his gas mask filters. He was a towering figure in his coat. He slowly entered with a swish of his thick rubber gear. Each bootfall was accompanied by the clink of metal.

          Behind him was a shorter woman, clad in a similar mask. Her outfit was ornamental and attractive, with a bolero and flared gloves.

          “My Lovely Assistant,” said the towering villain, “Please take Number Thirty-Nine away. We’re done with him.”

          Alex squeezed tight, trying to back further into the corner. The man across from him moaned and groaned. The shaking of chains rattled to whole room.

          “Of course!” said the Assistant with a chipper bow. “Right away.”

          He bucked and squirmed, trying to wriggle away. Unlike Alex, he had nowhere to hide - not even a corner of his rubbery prison. The Assistant rubbed his rubber-encased head with the loving appreciation of a pet owner or parent. She gently stroked his mask, lavishing attention on his latex-coated lips. 

          “You should be thanking The Specialist. He did a number on you. You look marvelous.” She unhooked his chains and began forcing him out of the cell and down the hall.

          Alex gulped. He felt sweat furrowing on his brow. He felt a raw sort of fear; an excitement that bordered on arousal. He was hard with stimulation. The sight and sound and smell of all this rubber, combined with the tremendous sight of “The Specialist” sent him into a frenzy.

    The Specialist walked forward and leaned down. Alex mumbled something pitiful. The Specialist took his head in his chin. His ‘mask’ opened, revealing a gooey maw and long tongue. He could taste Alex’s fear and arousal. He put a gloved thumb between Alex’s lips, gently stroking the outside of his vermillion and gums. Alex understood what awaited him.

     

     

    ----

     

     

    Alex strained against the chair. He knew that The Specialist would be back any moment.

    He was surprised when his collar suddenly created a thin ‘undersuit’ for him. He knew from that moment that this doctor was sparing no technological expensive. A pair of black contact lenses covered his eyes. Even without a blindfold, he was sightless and helpless. They projected images on his retinae in terrifying clarity. He saw himself from multiple angles, being led from one prep room to another. He saw rubberclad women giggling to themselves as they spoke to The Assistant. He saw the cells where he had woken. He saw a morgue-like room with drawers in the wall.

    Most of all, he saw himself. He was trapped in multiple layers of bondage, strapped to a chair, and helpless. He had no way out. He knew it.

    The undergarment was snug and form-fitting. It kept him ‘plumbed’ and ready for other gear. It was tight, stretchy, and arousing. It teased at his rear and tickled his sensitive manhood.

    The second suit was taut, rubbery, and unforgiving. It clenched tight against his chest and biceps. It slowed his movements and reactions. As he was taken from room to room, he knew that he was slowing down - his movements hobbled by the increasing pressure on his body. Thick, black, polished to a sheen, and carefully crafted; he’d fantasized about gear this tight before.

    When The Specialist sat him in the chair, he tried to resist at first. The doctor had no time for that. When he resisted the buckles, the Specialist threatend him first, then acted on the threats. He grabbed Alex’s head and wrapped a latex sheet around his face two times. He choked for a few surprising seconds, airless and surprised. The latex was taut; he imagined he must have looked like the man in the other cell. After twenty seconds of airless gasping, the Specialist relented. Alex didn’t resist again, thinking to his dizzying and terrifying suffocation.

          Straps bit at his ankles, his calves, his thighs, and all up and down his arms. He flexed his fingers one time too many, and the jackal rewarded him with a pair of sealed rubber mittens.

          When the Specialist returned, he flicked on the lenses, giving Alex his ‘own’ view back.

          “This rubber mask is your new face,” said the doctor. Alex’s hair stood on end. He heard his breathing, and felt warm exhalations on his face.

          “I’m going to admit to you right now - you’re nothing. You’re not one of my pet projects. You’re not the recipient of advanced transformative technologies. Those lenses? That suit? To me, it’s all child’s play. You’re a little pup for which I’ve no use.”

          “Unfortunately, I’m in need of funds to finish my upcoming project. That’s where you come in. You, as well as Subject Thirty-Nine - remember him? Don’t worry, he doesn’t remember you. Anyway, you are a simple product. A rubbery toy for fucking or pain; for pleasure or prison. You’re a chew-toy, to use simple language. No permanent harm allowed, though - you’re only a rental.”

          The lenses changed views. He saw another man strapped down to a table. He might have had the same gear, he might not. He couldn’t see, as the man’s face and torso were totally covered by a grinning dominatrix. She laughed with earnest glee, grinding her latex-clad groin against his face. Moaning from both echoed in his ears. Airless squeaks and struggles alternated with gasps of pleasure. The vixen arched her back at the same time as the rubberslave, and the feed cut back to the prep room.

          “That’s just one possible fate. Maybe it’s a good one, maybe not. Either way, it’s not your choice. 39 is being rented out by a vixen with a penchant for rubber. I have a feeling that you are going to be rented out to a master with a love of mummification. Anyway.”

          Alex felt the hood over his face. He could smell the rubber, and the fumes that came as it was cemented and locked to his collar. He could feel his erogenous lips sliding into place, his tongue entering its designated sheath. He stammered as the Specialist ran his fingers over his newly-encased lips, mewling as he pinched his nose shut. Strong gloves teased at his taut visage while another played around his manhood.

          “I know you’re excited. I can feel it. I can smell it. Oh, and I can see it, too; you’re not very subtle, are you? No, Number Forty - that is, you - I can tell how horny you are. You’re craving my Assistant’s womanhood on your member, or maybe #39’s hands.

          “Gmmmmmnggh!”

          “Don’t try and speak,” said The Specialist. Alex wasn’t speaking. He was grunting. He felt a zipper open and the thin layer around his cock stroked. He lenses went dark. He felt gooey undulations around his shaft. Something was teasing at his member, alternating between pressure and gentle touches. Long strokes became faster.

          “You can’t see at all. You can feel. I wonder what you think is happening.”

          Alex shook his head left and right. He felt his arousal, so long suppressed, rising to fore.

          “Is it my gooey maw sucking you off? Maybe it’s my hands with some domi-gel. Maybe I’ve got one of my pets in here, and she’s about to suck you dry. You don’t know, do you? Do you care?’

          Alex grunted again. He felt a phallic mass grow in his mouth.

          “Go ahead. Admit to yourself that you’re enjoying it. Cum if you can. Prove to me that you’re a willing volunteer.”

          A tight, massive glove closed around Alex’s chin and the top of his neck, brushing against the collar. The hand was tight, but not choking. He was so charged that his neck was one massive erogenous zone. The collar teased and vibrated, and the gloved fingers stroked his chin like a puppy.

          “Do it.”

          Alex came. He erupted, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He grunted and moved his tongue. He squirmed in his rubber mitts and two layers. He huffed as he pumped into the air, already craving more. His lenses lit up, featuring a close-up of his rubber face and head tilting back.

 

----

 

    Alex sat on the bench in his cell. His legs were spread wide with heavy chains. He shifted, feeling the occasional pulse of the plug against his prostate. He panted into his mask, struggling against his canvas jacket. It was all quite real, and quite tangible.