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Circ tried to go through how he had ended up suited and imprisoned. He ran the evening back in his head.



After a long night of drinking, Circ had stumbled into an alley  to relieve himself. While he had his pants down, he made an  alcohol-induced mistake and started to enjoy himself, trying to have  some quick fun to relieve some needs he’d felt during his raucous  night.



When he felt a presence behind him, he thought it was a cop, and  turned to face him with his pants still down. Instead, he saw angry,  glowing golden eyes; a gooey maw, a menacing visage. The black jackal  mask seemingly grinned, staring at his cock and judging him. There was a  sudden stinging sensation in his brain as the villainous rubber jackal  opened his mouth, expelling a gas that made Circ weak in the brain and  clumsy in the body.



The very last thing he felt - and saw - was the kidnapper  stretching a TIGHT sheet of rubber over his face, making sure he was  unable to cough or exhale out of the gas he’d been given. He slapped  something on his back that deployed some kind of cool, snug liquid over  his body, and Circ had passed out.



Time passed. Circ finally came to, realizing that he was trapped  in a dark, padded cell in some kind of laboratory. The pressure in his  head made it feel somewhere deep underground. He ran his hands over the  suit. The support pod at the small of his back. His muscles, all much  more tightly outlined, more carefully detailed in light of his suit.  Circ spent a moment seeing how high up it went, and realized that it  indeed went all the way. It was so tight that he hadn’t even realized that he was fully  enclosed! High-tech equipment had been keeping him sustained with air,  and the lenses he felt over his eyes were so crystal-clear that they  almost weren’t there. In fact, he ran his fingers over them a second  time and realized that they weren’t there - they were tiny screens. He imagined that from the outside, he was completely faceless, anonymous, and seamless.









After some time to stew, the door to his cell opened, and in  walked a wide, aggressive rubber-suited enforcer. He had the mask of a  pig, from which two imposing-looking ivory tusks jutted. His gas mask  had the same imposing aesthetic as the horror that had captured him, his  body visually broken by heavy harnesses of black leather and shining  steel. The hog approached Circ, carrying a leash in his meaty, gloved  fists. Circ didn’t bother darting as he heard the ‘click’ from the leash  around his collar - he imagined he’d have another chance soon. He was  wrong, and the rubber hog simply took Circ to the door before locking  the leash to a rail in the ceiling. Circ wasn’t being walked by a  person, but by a machine - one that made no mistakes, didn’t slow down,  and was uninterested in his ginger steps through the menacing labs and  makeshift hallways. Circ found himself tugged along through deeper,  darker corridors he had not yet seen, into a room with a heavy sliding  door that closed behind him.



The room was so dark that he thought he’d been blindfolded; the  shadows so intense that he feared he’d gone blind. The rail still pulled  him, bringing him further into the room. He tried to slow down, fearful  of accidentally stepping on something, but the floor was clean and  clear; the same industrial surface as elsewhere. Until it wasn’t.



The last step he took seemed to be a different material. Harder,  a bit unsteady, with a different texture. Circ could feel it through  his leggings, and he spent a few moments stepping around, trying to use  his toes to get any information that he could. It felt like he was  standing on a circular plate.



At that moment, the plate whirred to life. His feet, together  and flat on the plate, were suddenly locked in place. Something warm and  tight flowed over his ankles. And then the lights came on.



A suited vixen, with garb similar to the hog, entered the room.  She had pert ears, purple and black rubber, and a confident, playful  strut. She entered this workshop pushing a cart with a single large  cartridge on it. The room itself had various pieces of machinery lining  the walls, including a fearsome setup surrounding Circ! The Lovely  Assistant approached him, humming to herself. She picked up the  nondescript plastic case, about as large as a tank of oxygen, and placed  it inside an alcove to Circ’s right. She took the time to wave  “good-bye” with her fingers before throwing a switch!



There was a menacing whrrrr followed by the shiny oily squeak of rubber on rubber,  accompanied by a growing tightness around Circ’s ankles! He looked down,  and it looked exactly as he’d feared.



Circ realized he’d been locked into a standing, configurable  wrapping machine. Two twin armatures were working their magic, starting  around his ankles and rising up, now passing his knees, then on to his  thighs. Each armature was dispensing matching thick layers of black  rubber bandages, covering up his gray undersuit and providing a  two-at-once twin layer of restriction. It was already passing up his  knees and thighs and going higher.



He stared down as he saw his manhood packed up with an  unyielding and thick layer of rubber. No special treatment was afforded  to him; he was being mummified like a project, not a person. He wanted  out! But the complete enclosure from his undersuit predicted his  response and reacted accordingly. His mouth inflated with a thick, chewy  rubber balloon which kept him gagged - if not mute.



Mmmff! Nnnnnnrrgh! Nnghnngh!

Evey sound recorded, every motion copied for posterity, every desperate, horny grunt imprinted in digital form.



The pressure was delectable, intense, and nerve-wracking. He  felt his body claustrophobically restrained; a full-body hug that kept  him from doing more than wriggling from his waist down. The suit forced  his arms to his sides just in time for the bandages to enclose his  fingertips, his palms tight against his waist, his wrists, his forearms,  all of them now wrapped and mummified.



He could feel his chest being hugged by the wrapping; see it as  the bandages entered his field of view. It was making him excited. He  imagined how snug this must have looked as his torso was finally sealed.  The sensation of someone rubbing their hands against his tightly packed  up body made him feel warm, tingly, vulnerable.



The warmth wasn’t just from his growing arousal. It was also a  second layer of advanced rubber flowing upwards from his ankles. The  plate was dispensing what was technically a third level of restraint; a  perfect lamination, a glorious patina of liquid, oozing latex that would  seal up every little seam.



It was an experience he couldn’t have imagined. Flowing,  melding, sealing, dripping upwards as if he’d been dipped from his  ankles; gooey gel that stretched higher and higher, racing against the  bandages as they finished their deed.



Circ felt the bandages pass his neck, his face. He screamed,  moaning, groaning, thrusting his head back as it completed its task. He  felt the squeak, the stretch, the finality of his mummification as it finally finished and the armatures retracted.



And, just as the armatures finished, the black liquid varnished  and made permanent their work. It sealed up past his wrapped torso,  neck, and face - leaving a barely visible outline of his face beneath  its unyielding grasp.



“Mmmff…” Circ wiggled, pathetically, adorably, barely. He was nearly  immobile - fitting for a statue. Completely black and utterly seamless  and smooth - with one small exception.



Melding with the tape, interfacing with the suit, the goo melded  and molded around Circ’s manhood. He felt his cock teased out, brought  to point upwards, locked and packed behind a heavy bulge that kept him  touchable but chaste. An upside-down golden ankh emblazoned on his bulge  indicated that all of this had been carefully manicured and designed by  The Specialist, and that his brand would eternally mark his new  statue.



The heat in his body made Circ feeling a great and growing need. What he’d do to be touched again. What he’d give to be toyed with. He was  realizing just how needy he was; last night had ended far too soon, and  he was just desperate to break free of his mummiform and start touching  himself.



That’s when he came in. The Specialist, strutting forward, hands behind his  back, all business. He was uncompromising. Menacing. Glorious, gently  wiping something off his trenchcoat.



“He’s all set, master,” said the Assistant. She gently held out  her hands like a magician or showgirl, displaying the multi-layered  rubberslave’s completed and lacquered form.



“Mobility is minimal. Stable and stasis-ready. Double-layered  for tightness, sealed for freshness. The outer layer should be nick and  thick, protective and hardened by now. Oh, except for his bulge.”



The Specialist reached down, cupping it in his gloved hand. Circ  felt like he was on fire; the shot of pleasure was so intense that he  went instantly hard. Still, he remained tragically edged and needy  thanks to the bulge. Please, he thought, do it… do something! Let… me… cum!



The villain rubbed the package with his thumb and forefinger,  judging Circ’s mummiform carefully. He ran his hand over the toy’s neck,  his torso, marvelling in his own creation.



“Master,” said the Assistant, “It looks like you found a special case. It’s been months since he last had an orgasm.”

The Specialist didn’t respond for a moment, finishing his  molestation on his own time. “Unlucky for him,” he said, in a low, cold  voice that made Circ shudder.



“Have him brought to the designated spot. He should provide good inspiration for any visitors,” said. Circ almost thought he heard a twinge of playfulness in his captor’s voice.



“And if he doesn’t?” asked the Assistant.

“Then we’ll have him locked in a nice glass case. Give him the resin treatment. He’ll make a nice objet d’art either way.”

The Assistant nodded with an eagerness that did not give Circ confidence. He couldn’t fall over, couldn’t talk - he  was reduced to just wriggling and groaning! Some statue he’d be…



“There’s one thing I’d add, Master,” said the Assistant.

“And what is that?”

“Well,” she said, “Most tomb guardians… well, they stand outside doors, no?”

The Specialist said nothing.

“Well… normally, there are two of them, flanking the entrance. And I think we should get him a matching mate.”

The Specialist’s eyes narrowed. The Assistant couldn’t see his mask, but she knew he was grinning.