Specimen ZR0-53 in the new numbering system. Z indicated low-tier males. They were not fit to be a beloved bed-pet, nor were they strong enough for bodyguard duty. They were replaceable. “R0” indicated “resistance zero.” Unlike some captives, which were cherished for their strong nature, there was to be no disobedience permitted. 

The specimens didn’t know what happened when they failed. But The Supreme Directrix didn’t need to say, didn’t even need to imply it. Their imaginations - what little there was when they weren’t serving or suffering- filled in the blanks. 

Number 53 trembled. Rubber grasped him firmly, and Phantom’s training crushed  him. The only sounds he was making was the wheeze from his small air passages; deep tubes inside his nose (that also provided proper sustenance) and the occasional rubbery squeak. ZR0-53 was trying his best not to squeak, though. ZR0 was to be seen and not heard, lest he never be seen nor heard from again. 

Due to the blindfold (padded of course, designed to gently squeeze against his head without damaging his eyes) he couldn’t see where he was, but he imagined that from the sounds in the room he was in some kind of display room. He generally couldn’t hear anything else in the room from afar, save for occasional discussions, laughing, sometimes other sounds… the tap-tap of Phantom’s heels on a hard surface. 

The Supreme Directrix was his life now. That was what she’d said when bringing him here, and who was he to disagree? He was a bottom-tier rubber slut and this was his punishment. He occasionally thought about it, but usually, he was busy thinking about something else. He was thinking about the thick, squished, rubber bulge between his legs, and thinking about how needy he was, and always would be.

Ultra-tensile rubber swallowed him whole, a beast from mythology gulping down its prey. Pressing on it from every angle. The red rubber suit had been practically vulcanized solid. His knees bent into a frogtie, sitting formation, a symbol of unending obedience, an image of an object. That rubber was so thick, nearly two millimeters, that his legs were absolutely immobilized. In case he ever needed to crawl around, some nice squishy grip-pads had been applied to his knees, but it was quite clear that his days of walking and running away were over. No, he was a permanent rubber chew-toy for the Directrix. If he was lucky. 

The gag was so heavy. At first he felt it tickling the back of his throat. With time he got used to it, it shrunk, but it had left him something of a ‘broken’ man. He knew that the only uses for his mouth were pleading (which was not allowed) and perhaps eventually as an oral service station. Eventually. Because right now, his job as decor, as an immobile trophy, had no end date. 

Thick rubber. Heavy gag. Intense hood. Steel restraints. And of course, the null bulge that kept him eternally edged. 

Cock pressed tight. Swollen, aching, locked up. No release date set - not on his manhood, not on his imprisonment. The Supreme Directrix would never say. There were rumors during his training that sometimes, other rubbersluts would achieve an elusive, precious orgasm - ruined or not - but only because that the possibility of that orgiastic release was more cruel. The only time he’d ever go over the edge was to remind him of what he couldn’t have. 

What he’d do if he was free… his body screamed for her. How he wanted to use her, bang her, fill her, feel her lips. None of that was going to happen. Hell, he would have settled for any sensation at all; he would have settled for the chance to speak his mind and tell her what he thought.

You are the most powerful and beautiful mistress. Please, let me serve you! 

No, even that was denied. The Directrix did not need desperate platitudes from some zero. And if he could say it, he knew two things; first that she’d simply say, ‘no’. And second, that he’d be punished. Brutally. The gag was wired into the collar around his neck, and the collar connected directly to Phantom’s computer systems, rigged with a cruel little device that could detect any sound he made. Any moan, whimper, or gasp—anything above a whisper would trigger a sharp, stinging zzzzzzzzap. 

The Supreme Directrix walked through her gallery, gliding like a pale ghost. Observing her rubber-sealed men. Taking in the power, the visage of every one of them rubberized, denied, denied, and denied. She approached ZR0-53. He couldn’t hold it in. He just found himself about to groan for attention. His cock was just so needy, the rubber was too tight… 

A muffled, pathetic noise escaped his gag, barely a whimper, but it was enough. A fat plug in his ass hit him like a truck. A biting zap—a jolt that made him jerk, his whole body spasming. Phantom tilted her head, amused.

“What was that, 553?” she asked, her voice dripping with cruel, mocking curiosity. “I hope you didn’t attempt to make any noise. You are to be seen, and not heard.” 

She stood over him as he knelt. Staring at one of many conquests.

“Better be quiet, gimp!” she shouted sharply. “You’re just one moan away from another shock.” 

And both of them knew that he need it, deserved it, and would get it. That he’d be zapped, tormented, edged and teased endlessly. Such was the fate of a ZR0. 

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The Supreme Directrix enjoying one her estates on planet Promise, ensuring they are denied and used so horribly ! 

Art by SantaimaZ!