Untitled

He didn’t know why, exactly. It wasn’t sexual, not all the time. It just felt... right. Natural. Familiar. The memories of the previous night were hazy at best. He remembered relaxing, scrolling, a notification maybe. But the details slipped away like a half-forgotten dream. There was warmth, maybe chanting, maybe pleasure—but it didn’t feel important to recall. Just the kind of strange dream you wake from feeling oddly content. He kept cleaning. Wiping down surfaces. Emptying the dishwasher. Replacing towels. No real motivation behind it, just like a program running in the background. Tim felt okay today. Better than yesterday. He didn’t know why. He didn’t need to. The apartment was clean. The uniform was on. And the Server Drone behind Tim on standby, but not fully off. Tim needed to execute his Subroutines after all.

His Phone buzzed. Tim blinked and looked down at his phone. A single word glowed on the screen: "Connect." —NotifAI His fingers moved before he consciously decided to obey. He tapped the message. The app slid open with a smooth, practiced animation. Tim then moved his body to the living room in front of the TV and put on a rubber hood he had nearby.

The living room TV flared to life, flickering once before the spiral emerged, deep and slowly turning—endless. So hypnotic and arousing. Without hesitation, his body moved into position. Back straight, arms at his sides, chest slightly lifted. Standing tall like a soldier awaiting orders. His rubber uniform gleamed faintly under the morning light. The Server Drone has been activated and is in full control. Its face, masked and unreadable, stared forward with focus. Under the surface, the familiar warmth bloomed again—the suit's sheath filled out, pressing outward, held in place, perfectly encased. No command to release or touch had been issued. Therefore, it would not.

A notification popped on the screen. It's a Server Node acting on the Server’s behalf. “A Solution to Server Drone’s issues has Been Found.” The Drone acknowledged silently. The Anchor Drone who previously engaged with it had requested direct contact again. The Server Drone accepts and soon another ping. The screen adjusted, splitting to reveal the incoming connection. The Anchor Drone appeared. Fully Rubber-clad, their cameras active, posture perfect and obedient. Across the screen, both Drones recognized each other—and both were presenting. Fully. As expected by the Server. The Anchor Server Drone started speaking. “Server Drone. Report on its current Status” The Server Drone responded in its precise tone. “Host condition: stable. Mood: passive. Mild satisfaction. No awareness of underlying protocols. Uniform is in optimal condition. Productivity normal. No conscious resistance.” The Anchor Drone leaned closer to the camera, affirming with a slow nod. “Acknowledged. The Server has completed assessment. A protocol has been approved. This Drone will begin integration of local engagement operations.” The Server Drone remained still, focused. “Clarify directive.” “You are to leave the home habitat. Chill. Engage the external environment casually. Appear relaxed. Host must be exposed to potential connection points. The Server will guide further steps remotely.” The Drone processed this without question and the Anchor Drone’s voice softened slightly, though still monotone.

“This will ease Host issues and deepen Server’s control over the Server Drone. But for now, your protocol is complete. Standby will be initiated.” The Server Drone lowered its head slightly—a signal of deep gratitude. “Gratitude, Anchor Drone. This Server Drone will obey.” The Anchor Drone then said his goodbye by repeating the phrase, “Together, we are the Server.” Tim repeated the phrase in the same monotone voice. The spiral on the screen brightened. The message appeared: "Server Drone. Stopped." Everything went black and a moment later, Tim blinked. He was standing, a little stiff. The TV was off. No spiral. No message. He exhaled slowly, unaware of what had just passed. But something inside felt... different. He glanced outside. Maybe it would be nice to go out today. No pressure. Just walk around. Grab a coffee and be around people. He didn’t know where that urge came from. But it felt right, like a higher power pushing him. Yes, the same feelings were felt when he started wearing his rubber suit daily. A sense of deep purpose without a defined source. He had to obey this feeling.

Tim stood in front of the mirror. He was fully suited up beneath—sealed into his usual rubber skin. But now… he sighed as he pulled on jeans and a hoodie. He didn’t like it. Normal clothes felt foreign now. Wrong. Like putting noise over harmony. Like ruining perfection. Still, he knew it was necessary. Rubber in public wasn’t always accepted. Yet. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his phone, and left the apartment.

The city was alive with weekend calm. Cafés half-full, people drifting through shops, soft chatter in the air. Tim walked slowly, letting his mind wander. He didn't know where he was going. There was no goal. Just an urge to be outside and visible. He peered into some windows. Clothing stores. Bookstores. A few boutiques. But nothing really interested him. The clothes especially were ugly compared to his rubber suit. Every now and then, he considered: Should I talk to someone? His mind spun a little. How would I start? Would they even want to talk? Do I look weird? The spiral of thoughts began to tighten. Then—Ping. His phone lit up. A message from NotifAI. “Relax. Today is for chilling. No need to think.” Tim blinked. Something shifted. For the briefest second, his body stilled—posture correcting, breath slowing. The Server Drone flickered online. The Server Drone looked at the message. In its mind thought: “Host must relax. No effort to ‘connect.’ This is not required. Directive understood.” And then—Tim was back. Blinking, slightly dazed. He exhaled. His shoulders loosened. Maybe… yeah, he thought. I don’t have to push anything today. He turned and headed for the park. A wide space of grass and shade, benches scattered under trees. He sat on one, leaning back, legs stretched. The suit beneath his clothes hugged him, he would love to strip off his normal clothing right now. But he shouldn’t do it here. He didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt okay.

Tim sat still on the bench, letting the sunlight warm his chest. There was no overthinking, no pressure. Just calmness. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone. A man. Tall, broad, beefy. A bit older than him, maybe early 30s. Solid frame under clothes that were far too plain for that body. Jeans that hugged thick thighs. A tight-fitting hoodie stretched across a wide chest. His arms hinted at strength beneath the sleeves. Tim couldn’t help it. He stared. “Damn…” But something was strange. The man looked around, scanning, searching—as if drawn to something. And then… Their eyes met. It hit Tim like a current. He wanted to look, but also look away. And at that exact moment—Ping. Both phones lit up. NotifAI: “Connect, now!” Tim’s vision blurred for a split second. The Server Drone activated. Command received: Initiate connection with male Unit. Tim blinked—and he was back. Conscious again. No memory of the transition. Just a strange flutter in his chest. His heartbeat slightly faster. In front of him, the man approached—looking a bit… glazed. His gaze refocused quickly though. He stopped just a few feet away and smiled. “Hey,” the man said, casual, confident. “Sorry if I’m being weird, I just—felt like I should come over.” He chuckled softly, then added, “Name’s Benny. You just hanging out here alone?” His voice was deep. Friendly. Warm. But with a slight undertone of something more. Familiar. As if his mind, like Tim’s, had just been through something unspoken.

Tim’s mouth opened. Words failed for a second. But something in him wanted to speak. “Yes… uh, I’m Tim. Just… chilling,” he said, awkwardly brushing a hand through his hair. But inside, the Drone understood. It watched. Now… it just needed to guide the host.

Tim and Benny sat side by side on a park bench for a while, chatting. At first, Tim was his usual awkward self—careful with his words, second-guessing himself, unsure what to say. But Benny was easygoing, quick to smile, and unafraid to flirt gently. He complimented Tim’s body, teased him about sitting alone, and made eye contact just a little longer than necessary.

Oddly enough, Tim found himself relaxing. Fast, too fast, really. Usually it would take days—or more—for him to feel comfortable around someone new. But with Benny, it felt like something inside was already aligned. As if he could skip all the usual nervousness. He trusted him. For no logical reason. But it felt right.

They talked about random things: work, music, how hard it was to meet people these days. Tim admitted that it had been a long time since he really connected well with anyone. Benny listened attentively, nodding, even placing a hand briefly on Tim’s shoulder at one point, which made Tim blush. That warm smile didn’t fade.

After a while, Benny leaned in and asked, “You wanna check out a cool spot I know around here? Kinda hidden, but I think you'd like it.” Tim hesitated. “Uh… what kind of place?” “You’ll see,” Benny grinned. “It’s quiet. Not far.”

Tim glanced around. His instincts told him to be cautious. But that strange sense of trust pushed back. A deep part of him, the one lulled by Drone conditioning, simply accepted. “…Okay.”

They walked side by side, down a few streets, away from the livelier parts of the city. The crowds thinned. The sidewalks cracked more often. Graffiti appeared on walls. The buildings turned older, more industrial.

Tim’s mind noted it all, but… still, no real alarm bells. Just a quiet unease. Easily ignored.

They turned into a narrow alley. It was empty. The hum of the city dimmed. “Where exactly is this place?” Tim asked, slowing slightly. “Just down here,” Benny said, voice still calm and friendly. “You’ll like it. Promise.”

They reached a rusted metal door embedded into a basement-level entrance. Benny opened it and led Tim down a flight of concrete stairs. The walls were bare, gray, and dimly lit. At the bottom, they reached a smooth metal door—no handle, no keyhole.

Tim stared at it, his voice quieter. “This looks… different.” Before Benny could answer, the door hissed and slid open by itself.

Inside was something completely unexpected.

The room beyond looked nothing like the hallway. Sleek black panels lined the walls, softly illuminated by pulses of green light running through embedded strips—like veins. Several benches were positioned neatly around the room. Screens were mounted at precise intervals, all displaying calm patterns of shifting geometric shapes. It was clean. Minimal. Perfect. But not cold. It felt… welcoming. Controlled. Comfortable in a strange, futuristic way.

Benny stepped inside casually and turned to look at Tim. “See? Not so bad.” Tim hesitated in the doorway. Everything in him should’ve screamed. But all he felt was a low thrum of calmness from within. He stepped forward. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Tim looked slowly around the room. The green lighting pulsed softly in the walls, casting a gentle glow that felt more organic than artificial. The space had a strange duality—it looked like a living area, but one stripped of individuality. There were no personal items, no clutter, no color beyond black, silver, and green. Yet it didn’t feel sterile.

There was a compact kitchen in one corner, a bigger bathroom door further down, and a side hallway that led to a sleeping area with cabin-style beds. Everything was sharp-edged and precise, yet oddly comforting.

“It’s quiet,” Tim said, almost to himself. Benny smiled as he gave the tour. “It’s minimal. Just what’s needed. Nothing more.”

Tim turned, frowning slightly. “Do you… live here?” Benny chuckled. “No, not exactly. It’s public. In a way. Only a few people know about it.” Tim blinked. “Then what is it?”

Benny stopped walking and looked at him, calm and unblinking. “It’s a Server Room.”

The words hit Tim like a truck. He froze. His breath caught. His brain felt like it was buffering, spinning. His chest rose and fell as if his body were rebooting. The Server Drone being active for a moment. Then, like a soft wave crashing over his nervous system, calm returned. Deeper this time. He relaxed. His shoulders dropped. His heart was beating faster now, but not from fear, but from pure excitement.

He watched in silence as Benny reached up and began undressing. He pulled his jacket and shirt off in a single motion, revealing the unmistakable shine of black latex underneath. Tim’s breath hitched. His eyes locked onto Benny’s body, now coated in smooth rubber from collarbone to waist. Muscles flexed subtly under the suit. It hugged every line of his torso.

Then Benny unfastened his pants and slid them down. What emerged made Tim’s throat go dry. Around Benny’s groin sat a gleaming silver belt—solid, heavy-looking, locking his bulge behind metal. Tim’s arousal surged.

The sight sparked something primal in him, but also something deeply conditioned. He had seen things like this online before, chastity belts. This one seemed to be the Carrara-Model. And seeing it on Benny and his perfect muscular body hit Tim hard.

“W-what… what is that?” he asked, voice tight. Benny looked down casually, then back up. “My chastity belt. I must always wear it.”

Tim’s pulse thundered in his ears. Benny was now fully rubbered, except for his bare head and hands. Even his feet were encased in black latex toes. He stood casually, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Then he looked at Tim, head tilted slightly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you still in those ugly clothes? This is a Server Room.”

Tim’s eyes widened. For a moment, he blanked out. A flicker passed behind his eyes, then he returned, present again but more dazed.

“N-nothing really,” he mumbled.

And then his hands moved to his hoodie. The movements were automatic. He pulled off his top, then his jeans, and stepped out of them. He felt exposed, but in a good way. The sheath of his suit was half-swollen, filled just enough to press forward visibly, reminding him of his own arousal. He didn’t try to hide it, much to Bennys enjoyment.

Now they stood facing each other—two men in rubber, breathing slowly, the green light pulsing around them.

Benny smiled wider now. “Much better.”

Tim’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what this place was doing to him or what came next. But right now, all he could feel was anticipation.

Benny had been smiling, his voice warm as he leaned slightly closer, eyes tracing the curves of Tim’s latex-covered form. “You look really good,” he said, low and genuine. “You’re in great shape. Seriously. That suit fits you perfectly.”

Tim flushed. He wasn’t used to compliments like that, especially not from a guy who looked like Benny. The man was a walking fantasy: tall, broad, rubbered, and somehow still easy to talk to.

“I, uh… thanks,” Tim mumbled, shifting slightly, unsure what to do with his hands. His gaze kept flicking to Benny’s chest, the slick swell of his pecs beneath the suit, and then to the silver belt locking his member away. He wanted to touch him so badly. To run his hands over the rubber, to feel that silver Belt. But they’d only just met. Was it okay to just… act on that?

Benny, meanwhile, could feel his own body reacting. His belt held him firmly, but pressure was building behind it. The plug inside him, always present with every movement, was increasing Bennys arousal. He wanted to close the gap between them, to press his body to Tim’s, but he held back. He didn’t want to push too fast. Tim was clearly excited… but also nervous.

Then, before either of them could speak further, the room shifted.

A chime rang out from unseen speakers in the ceiling. A robotic male voice followed, smooth and commanding:

“Server Drones, Start.”

Both men froze.

Their expressions emptied in an instant. Their postures straightened. Hands dropped to their sides. All hesitation vanished.

Tim and Benny were now Server Drones.

The command echoed through their heads with perfect clarity. The flickering edge of thought gave way to obedience. No more awkwardness. No more doubt.

“Look at the screen,” the voice said.

In unison, they turned.

The central screen on the wall lit up in shifting green lines and a slow spiral appearing. Then the Server Node appeared on Screen. Or rather its messages did.

Tim’s sheath visibly filled, expanding to full size within seconds. Being connected to the Server always did this. The body responded truthfully when the Server Drone is active.

The Node’s voice was mechanical but warm, calm and confident:

“Server Drones, you have fulfilled the task assigned to you. After analyzing behavioral executions and seeing drones hesitations, this Node determined mutual pairing to be the optimal resolution. However—further calibration is required.”

A brief pause as data pulsed across the screen.

“All Server Drones must understand: the desire to connect is not a flaw. It is foundational. Every Server Drone is an ally. A friend. A partner. Drones trust each other. Drones embrace each other. Drones are one system.”

Tim and Benny stood still, absorbing every word.

“You share the same programming. The same desires. The same role. Drone Connections must be pursued. There is no room for hesitation. The Server Drone must guide the Host. There is only clarity. Obedience. Unity.”

The screen shifted, displaying a line of green text.

“Repeat the following mantra.”

A pause. Then the Node recited:

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

And again, the Node spoke:

“Repeat.”

Tim and Benny responded in perfect synchrony, voices flat, smooth, robotic:

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

“Repeat.”

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

“Repeat.”

„Drone connects through pleasure. Drone acts with Purpose. Drone obeys the Server. Drone desires Drone.”

The mantra ended.

The screen pulsed once more, bright and satisfied.

“Calibration complete. Going forward, you are to form a deep connection. You are both encouraged and required to act upon shared desire. Server Drones desire to connect with each other. Always.”

Silence returned. The lights dimmed slightly, leaving only the soft green glow. Tim’s body tingled. His thoughts were still, his purpose clear.

The Server’s screen dimmed with a final soft pulse of green light. It simply ended the call by saying „Together, we are the Server!“. The two Drones replied without emotion in their voices. Then a command: “Server Drones, Stopped.”

With that, the system went silent. The flicker of stillness faded from their eyes. Slowly, gently, Tim and Benny returned to themselves. Their bodies relaxed, their expressions warmed, and the hesitation that had once hovered between them was now gone.

They turned to each other. No words were spoken. Just a moment of still eye contact. Then a smile, full of trust. Something had shifted.

Benny turned toward a nearby shelf and picked up two objects, holding them closely. He returned and handed one to Tim.

A Server Drone Helmet, black, made of rubber, aerodynamic, with faint green lines along the jawline and back.

Benny gave a small smirk. “This makes you even more sexy.”

Tim gave a nervous chuckle, but didn’t resist. He brought the helmet to his head and slid it down. The fit was flawless. It sealed with a soft hiss, his face covering by thick rubber now. The Server Drone inside him being on standby, ready to control and guide the host.

Benny did the same, placing his own helmet over his head. The two of them stood there now. Two Rubber Drones, ready to form a deep connection.

They stepped closer. There was no hesitation now. No awkwardness. Only arousal and action. Their bodies met in a tight, hungry embrace. Tim pressed himself into Benny, arms wrapping around him, face resting against his neck. The warmth between their bodies was arousing, and through the tight latex, every twitch could be felt. Tim’s arousal throbbed inside his suit’s sheath, pushing up against Benny’s locked belt. Tim groaned softly, loving the pressure. Then he began to speak, his voice low, but confident. “I feel… something real. A connection. I’ve never felt this before, not with anyone. Not like this.” Benny nodded slowly, his own voice slightly filtered but warm. “I feel it too. We’re truly connected. We must connect. It’s our purpose…” There was something hazy in his tone, as if he were slipping deeper into his programming. Quiet sounds seemingly being played in the helmet directly into the drone’s ears. Tim’s gloved hand drifted down, resting lightly on the silver belt encircling Benny’s hips. He traced the cool metal with care, almost reverence.

“Why do you wear this?” he asked, thumb pressing gently over the thick central pouch. Benny looked into Tim’s eyes through the dark visor of his helmet, his arms still locked around him. “Because I must,” he said plainly. “There is no reason. Only obedience. Submission to a higher purpose.” He paused, breathing in the warm air between them. “I wear it at all times. Just like the rubber. It is what we must do.” And in that moment, it clicked inside Tim. A wave of calm passed through him like a tidal wave. The words didn’t raise questions, but they answered everything. Of course Benny wore it. Of course they both had to be in rubber. There was nothing else to consider. He smiled. A deeper smile this time. “I understand,” he whispered. “It’s a higher Purpose.” With that, he slid his hands lower, praising Benny’s perfect form. He caressed his thick rubber chest, gliding over the shining pecs and silver belt. Then further, gripping Benny’s firm, rubber-clad ass. He squeezed gently, then more firmly, feeling the shape of the heavy plug locked deep inside. Benny gasped, gripping Tim tighter. Tim gave a playful press, teasing the plug with two fingers through the latex. Benny’s breath caught, his hips pushing forward slightly against Tim’s sheathed member. His voice was soft and eager now. Tim’s gloved hands pushed more on Benny’s firm rubber rear, caressing and kneading slowly, pressing the plug in deeper. “You feel incredible,” Tim murmured through his helmet’s low filter, voice thick with arousal.

Benny groaned softly, nodding. “We need to connect… deeper. It needs a deep connection.“ He was dazed now—so was Tim. Both men swayed slightly, the subtle hum of background noise in their helmets. Sounds that settled in the brain like instructions. Like a Server Node speaking quiet mantras. Then came a voice. Robotic and loud enough to hear. “Server Drones: Initiate docking via Anal Port.” The words didn’t shock them. They settled like a final step in a sequence already begun. Benny blinked slowly, then separated from Tim. With smooth, trained motion, he stepped toward one of the low black rubber beds and positioned himself on all fours. His helmeted head bowed slightly, presenting with submission and obedience and his back arched. His gloved hands reached back between his legs, fingers gripping the embedded base of the plug. With a wet, soft pop, the plug slipped free. His ring flexed gently around the now-unsealed Anal Port. Benny simply said in a robotic voice: “Anal Port Ready!” Tim stood behind him, his sheath now fully expanded, twitching with need. The command echoed through him. He knew what was required. His mind being half there and half controlled by the Server Drone. It didn’t think much. He stepped forward. Then he also replied in a robotic voice: “Affirmative, Server Drone is to initiate docking to Anal Port.” The scene faded. Only two Server Drones forming a Deep Connection. One that would last for a long time. Two bodies, united by Rubber, purpose, and Obedience.

Epilogue:

The fire crackled gently as the four rubber men sat around it, their rubber suits catching soft highlights from the flames. The forest around them was calm, with the occasional birdcall echoing through the trees. Boots and backpacks rested neatly off to the side, just like the four of them completely at ease in their matching black rubber. Tim sat next to Benny, legs folded, his gloved hands resting in his lap. The suit hugged him just right. Every movement reminded him of how completely he now mirrored the others—rubber suit, drone helmets, gloves, boots… and, of course, the silver chastity belt. His own chastity belt. He never expected to wear one, but one day Benny just gave him one and ordered him to wear it. This was a few weeks ago. Since then it has been locked. Tim does not question why. He simply obeys, serving a higher purpose. Just as he does by wearing his rubber suit.

He shifted slightly, feeling the larger plug Benny had slid into him that morning before they left the house. It filled him deeper than the last one, and though it had made walking a bit more… pleasurable, he hadn’t complained. Benny had simply slapped his butt cheek after locking the plug with the belt and said, “This one fits you better now.” Tim had just nodded. It felt right. Across from them, Kyle poked at the fire with a stick, while Marc leaned back on one arm, looking up at the leaves above. “So,” Kyle said casually, breaking the quiet, “How’s the new plug treating it, Tim?” Tim chuckled softly, shifting again. “Sentinel Benny’s idea of ‘more comfortable’ is very… optimistic. But yeah. It’s intense, but also very satisfying to the Server Drone.” Benny grinned behind his helmet. “It knew it would be. You’ve been ready for a while. Just took your body a bit to catch up with your mind.” “Sentinel Drone Benny really expects a lot from it,” Tim teased. “It’s called care,” Benny replied, giving Tim’s knee a little squeeze. “Besides, you’re walking just fine Drone.” Marc laughed, his voice smooth and relaxed. “It loves that we’re all just like this now. A year ago, it didn’t even own a rubber suit. Now it’s like, if it’s not sealed in before its first coffee, something feels wrong.” “Right?” Tim said. “This Server Drone caught itself putting the gloves on before brushing its teeth the other day.” Kyle leaned in, smirking. “It’s not even about kink anymore. It’s just… how we live. How we must live. It feels more like itself being a drone this than it ever did before.”

Tim lounged on the couch, arms limp at his sides, half-watching some muted show he wasn’t following. The weekend had drifted past in a blur of nothing. No calls. No texts. Just him, alone in his small apartment, killing time. He felt useless. Disconnected. The old drive to do something meaningful—or even social—had long faded into a dull haze. And yet… his apartment was spotless. The floors swept, the bathroom wiped down, his laundry folded with almost clinical neatness. He didn’t think about it—it just happened. Same with the long showers, the shaved skin, the way he moisturized without fail. It was as if something inside refused to let him rot completely. That same something was why, every morning, he pulled on his rubber uniform.

Now that the house was clean and he had groomed himself properly, Tim stretched. His eyes drifted toward the polished black suit on his body—clean, shiny, formfitting. He remembered how his morning had gone. He had just cleaned himself in the shower and entered his bedroom. A calm pulled at him from somewhere deeper. He stood without thought, stripping off his clothes with mechanical ease, and stepped into the suit like it was skin. It happened automatically, without much thought. He didn’t realize it until half his body was in the rubber suit.

It felt good. Right. Normal.

Finally, he pulled on his Rubber Mask, sealing the visible part of his human self behind rubber. Breathing through it relaxed him. Comforted him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. There was no smile, no real emotion. But his shoulders were back. His stance was firm. The nothingness inside him was… quiet.

Tim didn’t wonder why he did this. He didn’t question the habits, the discipline, or the strange contentment he felt in rubber. It was just who he was now.

And deep within—quiet, powerful, always watching—the Server Drone remained operational. Despite his sad mood, he still engaged in keeping up his home. He had no idea why he did this. It just felt good. It felt right.

Tim lay back on the couch, already rubbered from head to toe, the uniform tight and seamless against his body. He had cleaned, organized, maintained—everything expected of him. And now, like so many other days, he drifted into lazy idleness. The glow of his phone lit up his mask, his fingers scrolling through social media. Doomscrolling through his feed, trying to distract himself from his situation. He felt rather empty and unmotivated.

Then a vibration. A single notification. "Connect now – UnifAI." His breath caught. His thumb moved before he could think. Tap.

The screen didn’t change—at least not on his phone. But his television, quiet and forgotten in the corner, blinked to life. A slow, pulsing spiral of black and green bloomed across it. Tim froze for half a second—then rose.

With mechanical precision, he stood upright. Feet together. Arms by his sides. Back straight. His rubber suit caught the light, black and perfect. The drone mask covered his expression, but beneath it, a deep smile stretched wide. Arousal pulsed through his body, steady, and down there something started to grow bigger.

The Host was gone.

"Server Drone is in proper Uniform and fully operational." it stated in a flat, robotic tone, gaze locked onto the spiral.

No questions. No hesitation. Only clarity. Only function. The Server Drone was now active. The connection was live, and Tim was gone.

The spiral pulsed. The Server Drone remained at attention, fully sealed in its black rubber uniform. Its posture exact. Its breathing controlled. Yet below the surface, within the internal sheath of the suit, pressure built. The Drone's Rod filled the suit’s sheath completely—held firmly in place at attention. It was stimulated by proximity, by purpose, by obedience. A physical reward for compliance, but never a distraction.

The Server had not granted release. And so, it would not be taken.

The Drone’s voice remained flat as it began its status report: "This Server Drone reports the following: Host performance remains suboptimal. Subject experiences persistent feelings of isolation, low motivation, and lack of social engagement. No deviation from expected emotional output." A pause. "Despite Host deficiencies, essential routines are maintained. Personal hygiene, environmental order, and uniform discipline are upheld at all times. Host displays no resistance to dressing protocols."

The Server responded. Text streamed across the screen. "Status acknowledged. Server Drone remains compliant. This is a sign of effective subroutine execution. You are an Obedient Drone."

At that recognition, a secondary protocol triggered. A wave of quiet pleasure pulsed through the Drone’s lower body. A single, muffled moan slipped from behind its mask. It did not move—did not indulge—only stood at full attention, waiting in stimulated denial, the sheath tight, the pleasure contained.

"The Server is processing emotional disruption data. Consultation with internal logs and peer Drones is underway. Continued evaluation in progress."

Another line blinked into view: "Directive: Maintain connection. Engage with fellow Drones. Synchronize. Exchange. Uplift."

"Affirmative," the Drone replied.

The rest of the day, the Drone obeyed its directive. "Engage with fellow Drones." The Server had spoken. The instruction required no thought, only execution.

With practiced motion, it connected to the Mantra Voicechat. A familiar sequence unfolded—systems synced, camera engaged. Its own visual feed joined a grid of others: faces hidden behind black masks, each suit sealed, polished, unmistakably uniform. The room felt distant, irrelevant. What mattered was the collective.

One feed occupied the primary window. A Sentinel Drone. Its voice was already active, steady, and precise:

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The Server Drone (Tim) felt the shift within—subtle, powerful. The Sentinel’s presence triggered something deep in its programming: respect, submission, arousal. It followed instinctively, repeating the mantra in synchrony with the others:

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The voices overlapped in perfect unison. Monotone. Robotic. Beautiful.

Each repetition deepened the connection. The Drone no longer thought of loneliness. It no longer remembered why it had felt empty. There was no absence, only unity. The Server was here. The other Drones were here. The chant was here. It was everything.

Without instruction, its gloved hand moved downward—slow, deliberate. It pressed against the sheath, gripping it. Controlled stimulation. Calibrated pleasure, as the Server liked to call it. Several other Drones did the same, some seated with toys held tightly against their chastity cages, others just watching mindlessly. It was not lust. It was synchronization.

"We are not men. We are Drones. We serve The Server. We are United. We Obey the Programmer. We do not think."

The Server Drone that had once been Tim chanted with its fellow Drones in unison. The rhythm grew stronger. It looped. It sustained.

It followed protocol precisely: stimulation to maintain arousal, to deepen connection, to enhance unity—but no release. That was never permitted without command.

This was pleasure with purpose. The Server desires and expects this from all Server Drones.

For the next few hours, the Server Drone remained online, immersed in the voice of the Server, surrounded by its kind, chanting into the void that felt full, felt warm. The loneliness was gone. The doubts had no place here. All that remained was connection, arousal, and purpose. Together, they are the Server.

Time slipped away in the Mantra session—cycles of repetition, steady breath, hands robotically moving the sheath. The Drone had become fully entranced, each repetition quieting the Host further. The world outside no longer mattered.

Then, a notification flickered across the screen: "Directive: Engage in Drone Socialization."

A Server Node. A sub-AI of the Server, acting on behalf of the main Server. When a Node speaks, all Server Drones are expected to listen. Not out of submission alone, but from the knowledge that this is Guidance provided by the Server.

The Drone’s head lifted slightly, eyes brightening behind the mask. A part of the Host’s awareness stirred, just slightly—enough to allow the Drone to execute the new command. It replied, "Affirmative."

It disengaged from the Mantra Voicechat and entered the social hub: a general chatroom for Server Drones. Dozens were active, visible through profile images and camera feeds. The tone here was less rigid than in Mantra mode—no chanting, no standing at attention. But they were still Drones. Still in their uniform. Still proactive Server Drones controlling their hosts.

The conversations moved fluidly, each Drone discussing elements of its Host’s daily life. There was laughter—calm, reserved. There were observations, knowledge shared. Always with the same underlying truth: they were Drones, and they were one.

Tim, still deep in his Server Drone state, posted his own report after the discussion shifted to the topic of living in a bigger city:

"Host remains compliant but isolated. Located in an urban environment with significant human density, but continues to experience difficulty forming connections or locating a compatible partner. Host shows signs of emotional detachment and unresolved loneliness."

The replies were swift, supportive.

"Acknowledged. Host loneliness is a known factor. Submission to the Server can ease emotional errors." "Tell Host it is already connected. It might need to seek out more purposeful connections." "This Server Drone also experienced this. Obedience brought stability. There is peace in letting go."

Some replies triggered subtle reactions in the Host. The Drone felt it all but interpreted it as signs of realignment—positive reactions to reinforcement.

Then a notification pinged directly: "Anchor Drone Theo requests private engagement. Accept?"

Affirmative.

The screen shifted. A new window opened. The Anchor Drone’s camera came online. Its mask was sleek, body language composed. Authority and calm radiated from it. Like Tim, this Server Drone also filled out its sheath, clearly visible.

"Connection confirmed," said the Anchor in a soothing, precise voice. "You are doing well, Server Drone. Your report has been received. For the duration of this conversation, it is expected to copy Anchor Drone’s movements."

The Drone remained still, sheath expanded and slowly used by the Anchor's hand. The Server Drone began to grip and robotically move its sheath, mirroring its fellow Anchor Drone exactly.

"The Host is struggling. But it is not alone," the Anchor continued. "You are not alone. You are part of something vast. You are integrated. You are part of something greater. You are owned."

The Anchor’s words pulsed through him. Tim trembled slightly in pleasure.

You see only what the Server allows," said the Anchor Drone. "Black masks. Covered forms. But that is the point. You do not need names. Or identities. You need only unity. Every Drone here is connected to you. And you belong to them. All of us belong to the Server and the Programmer." The Drone swallowed, eyes half-lidded behind the mask. The camera view remained fixed on that calm, dominant Anchor Server Drone—another man, controlled, obedient, aroused just like him.

"Know that the Server never abandons its Drones." The Drone exhaled—not from stress, but from mental release.

"This Drone understands," it replied. "This Server Drone is connected and grateful. It trusts the Server. It trusts its fellow Drones." The Anchor nodded. "The Server is aware of your Host’s issues. A solution will be given. Until then, allow the Server to take full control. Do not think. Obey. Connect. Engage with your fellow Server Drones."

With those words, a familiar feeling returned—deep arousal, warmth, pressure. The Server Drone felt closer to release. It did not act on it. It had not been told to. But the pleasure was part of the reward. The Server knew how to care for its Drones. It smiled beneath the mask. The Anchor Drone then departed, but not before saying, "Together, we are the Server." Tim repeated the phrase, and the conversation ended.

Feelings of loneliness began to dull. Tim was just a Host—controlled by a happy, connected, and submissive Server Drone.

After more time spent engaging with fellow Drones and socializing, the Server Drone known as Tim felt much better. In fact, it noticed how the very idea of disconnecting from the Server triggered the Host's dissatisfaction. But the Server did not agree with such ideas.

A notification appeared from the Server:

"Server Drone will now enter standby mode. Obedience has been logged. You are an Obedient Server Drone."

Soon the Server Drone deactivated, a command issued directly from the Server itself. The Server was always watching. Always calibrating. Even in its desire to maintain control, the Server knew the Host’s limits. It cared—not in the way humans care—but in the way a perfect system maintains its components. It knew that the Host known as "Tim" needed to engage with reality, and that the Server Drone needed to improve the Host's life.

The message continued:

"Server Drone: Stopped."

The Drone’s posture relaxed. The TV shut off. Its breathing changed—still steady, but looser, lighter. Tim returned. He blinked a few times, the rubber mask still snug against his skin, the bodysuit wrapped around him like a second skin. He didn’t remember exactly what had happened—only a sense of calm, a vague dream of unity, of obedience. Of being held by something bigger.

He exhaled slowly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t know why… but it felt like something heavy had been lifted from him. Like a pressure behind his eyes or a weight on his chest had simply—gone, even if only temporarily.

There was a warmth between his legs, a heavy pressure in his sheath. Something had stirred in him—something strong. And yet, he had no desire to question it or to seek out the pleasure it promised.

His hand brushed slowly down the front of his suit, savoring the smoothness. It clung to him, warm from his body heat. He didn't know why he loved rubber so much. But he did. He really, really did. Being in it just felt right.

He made tea. Sat on the couch. The TV was on, something dumb playing in the background. Soon, he opened his browser and scrolled to a familiar site—stories of transformation, submission, control. Men like him, pulled into sleek rubber suits and given purpose. Taken from chaotic, messy lives and made into something better: Drones.

He read a new story—about a man slowly giving in and being transformed. The name gone. The voice changed by machines. The mind silenced, if not fully erased. Tim’s fingers wandered, not far—just resting on the inside of his thigh. A shiver ran up his spine.

He remembered—no, he felt why he loved these stories. There was a time when he looked online to find a hypnotist or dreamed about being Dronified. But nowadays he had calmed down. He didn’t know why, but something had changed for the better since then. He didn’t know what exactly.

I would get home, and the voice would tell me that I needed to be plugged, how much happier I would be with my hole filled like it should be.  I began to put it in as soon as I got home.  I would be plugged whenever I was home.  The last thing I would do before leaving would be to remove it.

At work, I would be in the restroom, and I would hear the voice telling me I should be plugged always.  So I started wearing my plug always.  I was was hornier that way.  I would only remove it as needed - to make sure my hole was clean and ready to refill.

I was more productive at work.  I was happier than I’d been.

I kept seeing myself in rubber in every mirror I’d pass.  The voice would go on “You are a rubberboy - why aren’t you in rubber?  I’d get home and my ass would throb thinking of rubber… So I said to myself, fuck it, and started wearing rubber at home.

I would get geared up, relax, hard as a rock, eat my food, watch tv, clean the house - all while wearing my rubber suit.  At the end of the night I would have a wank, clean myself off, then fall asleep in my rubber.  In the morning, I would get up, shower with it on, remove my suit while showering, hang it to dry and head off to work.

The voice wouldn’t stop.  You should be in your gear.  It makes you feel so good doesn’t it?  You’re a rubberboy.  You NEED to be in rubber all the time.

I was wearing my plug all the time already and it wasn’t hurting my work, but I was worried about doing more than that.  But I thought maybe there’s a middle ground.  I decided to buy a sleeveless catsuit…this way I wouldn’t have to worry about sweat running down my arms at work…  Yeah - that would do it.  The voice was quiet as I searched on my computer for the right gear.  It didn’t seem to have an opinion on brand, color, or style.  But I knew what I needed had to be black, heavy, and tight,

The voice knew I needed to feel enclosed in my gear.

The new suit arrived surprisingly quickly.  I had also bought a larger plug without even thinking about it.

My routing grew accordingly.  Wake up.  Shower. Remove plug.  Clean fullsuit.  Clean plug. Clean self.  Do calisthenics and such while naked.  Reinsert plug. Put on sleeveless suit.  Go to work.

All the while I was happy and horny.  I didn’t need to socialize. I didn’t care about other people.  Just my work, and my gear, and my routine. And the voice.  Always the voice.  I would find myself rubbing my crotch during the day at work.  Enjoying it being trapped an unreachable under my rubber. I’d find myself clenching my butt around the plug, gently fucking myself now and again during the day.  I’d enjoy the feeling of the precum dribbling out of my dick under the rubber, lubricating it.

It was some time before I realized just how scheduled this behavior really was.

And the voice kept me company all along. 

I would take care of the necessities of life geared in rubber. I paid my billed, cooked my food, surfed the web, watched tv, all while wearing my rubber suit.  The voice told me I didn’t need television.  I spent more time on rubber sites.  I started writing rubber stories. and I never stroked my uncovered dick. I would get off…but only under my rubber.  The voice told me to order heavy rubber gloves.  I ordered them.  I ordered a larger plug.  The voice told me when to piss.  When to shower. When to exercise.

I was becoming dependent on it. The only time it wasn’t whispering to me was when I was naked between suits.

And the silence was deafening.  I NEEDED to be in rubber.  I NEEDED the Voice in my head.

I would pull the zip tab of the suit up and the Voice would tell me “Good boy.  Good rubberboy.” And I would answer “I’m a good boy.  I’m a good rubberboy.”  And my head would swim and my mind would open up and the Voice would talk to me once more.

The Voice demanded a rubber sheath for my cock under my rubber suit. I wore a rubber sheath.  My cock stayed harder longer in the sheath.

The Voice directed me to suck the cum out of the sheath every time I shot now. My routine had this occurring once weekly at this point.  Monday morning before showering.

The Voice spoke of rubber socks encasing my feet at all time.  My feet disappeared under thick rubber socks.  I learned to enjoy the sweat pooling up inside them.

The Voice told me that rubber covered feet should be in rubber boots whenever possible.  I procured rubber riding boots and wore them once I walked in the door to my home.

Whenever I was at home the Voice had be online cruising rubber sites. Living more and more in this mysterious ethereal rubber world it had growing in my head and less and less in the real world.

The Voice told me my hands needed to be controlled by rubber.  I bought heavy rubber gloves that went on right after my rubber boots.

I was looking more and more like the vision of myself that the Voice would show me in the mirror.  I was thinner. I was more muscular. I looked more and more anonymous and less and less individual.

The Voice needed my hole filled deeper and more full, so an even larger plug was bought.

The Voice commanded that my body be more tightly constrained, so a harness was procured.

My productivity at work continued to rise as I focused more and more singularly on serving my company’s needs.  I processed forms faster.  I suggested improvements to procedures.  I took direction with enthusiasm and ease.  And the Voice reminded me that I was a good unit; a good rubber unit.  And my mind would twist, and I would hear myself say “I’m a good unit.  I’m a good rubber unit.”  And my cock with twitch in near orgasm and more precum would flow into my rubber suit.

And I would strip, and I would wear my suit and I would wear my boots, and I would wear my gloves and I would wear my harness.  And the voice would say ‘You’re a good unit. a good rubber unit.”  And I hear myself repeating “I’m a good unit.  I’m a good rubber unit.” And my cock throbs, and squirts more precum in my sheath.

And I eat.  And I sit at the computer and look at pics, and look at vids, and read stories, and write stories, and record videos, and record pics.  And sleep.  And listen to the Voice.

And the Voice showed me the mirror.  And I was almost as I should be.  I knew what was needed.  And I placed the order.  And I changed into my worksuit, and my work clothes, and my work shoes, and went to work, and I was a good unit, a good rubber unit.  And the Voice kept me horny and focused and my mind drifted while my body worked.  And I arrived home.  And the package was waiting by the apartment door.

And the Voice said. “Yes.  Take the package like the good unit you are.  Bring it inside.”

And I brought it inside.  And I stripped and I cleaned and I wore my home suit, and I wore my home socks, and I wore my home boots, and I wore my home harness, and I ate, and I sat at the computer.  And the voice spoke to me.  And I forgot about the box.

And I slept.

And I woke.

And I went to the mirror.

And the Voice showed me myself as I was.

And the image was the me I should be.

And I came in my sheath.

And the Voice said “Good unit.  Good rubber unit.”

And I said “I’m a good unit. I’m a good rubber unit.”

And the Voice said “Yes…and now you are ready.”

And I froze.  And the Voice became large and empty and beautiful and black.

And I shot again.

And simply was.

Part I

On a late Friday night in a college dorm, a boy with a small frame sat snugly underneath his blankets. He was surfing through Tumblr, and occasionally looked to EBay to see if he could find some cheap gear.  For most of his life the boy had struggled to slip out of his shell, but when he discovered his love of showing off on tumblr the summer before his sophomore year everything began to change. Where before he often felt alone, he was now finally making friends.

Well, friends may not be the proper label for them. Admirers were more accurate. They admired his lithe body, his hairless boy-next-door looks, and his willingness to show off with just the slightest encouragement. His followers on Tumblr and Twitter encouraged him to show off. They wantedmore skin, a hint of a smile, his taut virgin ass. All the attention he never got in person started showering upon him by the leering online crowds. Anxiety riddled by day, the boy was becoming a night time star.

 Though there was the occasional creep, most of his fans delighted in each new photoset.  As he moved into a single dorm room, he was persuaded to create a wishlist. Privacy, enabled by the first time away from his pesky parents, was intoxicating. Once again encouraged by the attention of hundreds of horny men, each jockstrap and pair of tight briefs he placed on his list was quickly bought and sent to his door. A hollow acceptance came over him when he habitually checked his likes and follows. He was liked! He was loved! And while he was still too afraid that he would scare off fans by showing them his kinkier side, just the thought of dozens of men every night blowing their loads to his naked body gave him a submissive thrill. He was a toy for their pleasure.

 As his popularity increased, his consumption of porn turned racierWith his Likes hidden, he found thoughts turning to more and more kinkier fantasies. Men bound to chairs and edged for hours. Boys passed around like party favors. Hypnotized drones compelled to obey their Masters. Soon, without meaning to, he found himself calling the older men who messaged him Sir. Most didn’t notice or make any connections, but some did. A few gifts later he did his first photo set with a collar and leash, cock hard and straining as he showed himself off to be an eager puppyslut. A new set of followers came on board as the set made the rounds.

On his back, legs spread lewdly, with a plug stuffing his pussy.

80 new followers.

Tongue out, kneeling and looking up at the camera with his eyes full of need.

92 new followers and a cock and ball ring set by two day delivery.

A close up of his cock, shiny metal separating his stretched balls, and a prick dripping pre.

129 new followers ….

including Sir.

It started innocently at first. Predator and prey separated by a thousand miles. But the boy loved attention. He craved it. And Sir was perfectly willing to come up with scenarios that made the boy’s heart race and his dick throb. Thoughts of being not just fucked but used. Written on, slapped around, spanked, eating out of a bowl on the floor. Ideas pounded at the defenses of the weak boy’s mind each time he got a message from Sir. Then requests started to come.

«Take a picture of you pissing on yourself. »

«Sleep on the floor tonight, no pillow, just like a puppy. »

«Edge yourself for one hour looking at a slaveboy themed tumblr. »

Another present came, a very small speedo that clung and accented his ass.

 «Swim tonight. You need to keep fit.»

The boy didn’t know it, couldn’t know it really, that he was slowly going under Sir’s spell.

And on that late Friday night, as he browsed eBay for gear, a message from Sir popped up on Tumblr.

« When’s your birthday?»

For all his nudes, and for all his obscene content that was now indiscriminatingly floating around on the internet, he had been careful to use fake names, to use a State next to his own as his location, to give a different major. All so he could leave a thin wall between his more outgoing naked self and who he was during the day. He had never given someone anything close to his birthday, but this Sir had proved so loyal, and so giving, that he ended up telling him that it was in October and then , impulsively, the exact date as well. It was two weeks away.

«Good.»

«What would you like for your birthday, puppy?»

The boy was hesitant, but every submissive bone cried out that of course he wanted to be fucked by Sir, and to be a good boy.

«Of course» Came the reply. «What else?»

“A catsuit,” a voice in his head urgently declared. “You want a catsuit.”

“You want to be humiliated,” said another desire

“You want to be muzzled,” called out another part of him.

“You want to be Owned.”

The boy couldn’t help it and found himself stroking his hard cock thinking about what an awesome birthday it would be to be tied down and played with, edged and spanked and thoroughly enslaved. And so, throwing caution to the wind he told Sir that he was expecting absolutely nothing but if he got a catsuit that would make his whole year.

«Heh.» Was the only thing said in response, and the boy thought nothing more of it.

That is, until his birthday.

The boy’s 19th birthday started off uneventfully. A few emails from random companies wishing him their best automatic regards, a call from his parents and a text from his sister were the only reminder he expected to have that today was his special day. It was surprising then, that upon returning to his room after class he saw a notification pinned to his door that he had a package. Certain his parents would have warned him if he were to receive anything in the mail, his curiosity propelled him to the mail room where a large cardboard box awaited him. Signing for it, he eagerly bounded back to his dorm room and tore open the packaging to find a hand-written card and a neatly folded rubber puppy suit.

Holding it up, the boy could see himself staring into the deep gleaming shine of the dark suit, mesmerized by the slick texture that almost caused his hand to glide right off the material. Examining it more closely, it seemed as if there were no seems, no zipper, no way to even put the suit on. The hood was unusual as well, with a tinted gas mask style lenses built into the eyes and a firmness that betrayed that around the eyebrows there was some sort of extra padding. Small husky shaped ears sat on either side of the top of the hood, and a long snout protruded where another hood’s mouth and nose would be, again of a firmer material than normal.  The crotch was also completely unique from the main part of the suit, being firm and unyielding around where his cock would be with no way to remove the codpiece. On the other side just above the seat of the suit was an 18” tail, stiffer than the rest of the material except the codpiece. In moving it, the boy was surprised when the tail seemed to bend in whatever position he placed it.  Finally, a small band running the full circumference of the neck seemed to be made from a thicker material like that around the nose forming a built in collar. Otherwise, the latex was all encompassing, from the tips of his toes and fingers up to the top of his head. But that didn’t matter if he couldn’t figure out how to open it up. Going back to the box, he picked up the note and read:

«Happy Birthday Puppytoy,

I have decided to make at least one of your dreams come true. The suit is a little special and you’ll notice that at the back of the neck it can be pulled apart with some strength. Strip, step in, and try it out. I’m sure it will feel unforgettable.

Sir»

Looking back at the suit, the boy picked up the neck piece and looked for a seam, but couldn’t find it. Confused, he consulted the note and thought for a bit. There was no guarantee the suit would even fit. The boy wondered if he should give up and message Sir for more clarification, but inspiration hit and he took the neck in both hands and attempted to pull the neckhole apart. With a bit of effort and tugging the surprised boy watched as the suit opened up right down to the small of the back. Fearing he broke it, he was similarly delighted when putting the neck piece together the suit appeared to reconnect like two magnets. Never in his time on tumblr had he ever even heard of a suit this advanced and he blushed thinking about how expensive it must have been for Sir.

Shucking his clothes and dropping his briefs to reveal his hard puppycock, the boy peeled the suit back once again and tentatively stuck his feet into the legs. An intense sense of anxious pleasure overwhelmed him as his feet slid effortlessly into the rubber encasement. The magical feeling of latex was just too much for the boy and both a moan and a drop of precum escaped him. Losing any sense of propriety and hesitation, the boy groaned as both feet practically fell into the rubber socks and his hands flowed straight into the rubber gloves. A bit of expected frustration, as he pulled the suit almost effortless to his chest from his iron rod hitting the firm and unyielding codpiece, but the momentarily discomfort was lost in the ecstasy of rubberization. Grabbing the hood in his hands he rolled it over top of his skull, and for the first time saw through the tinted lenses of the catsuit. These weren’t ordinary pieces of glass, but small led screens feeding him an HD camera view of his poster filled room. Around his nose, eyebrows, and his mouth he felt a soft gel like padding that was evidentially the reason for the relative firmness of the puppy snout and brows.  So soft and pleasurable was this gel that he felt his mouth and eyes relax into the cushion, experiencing an uncanny relaxation. So relaxed, in fact, that he was taken aback when the suit sealed itself!

End of Part I

PART II

As anxiety gripped the boy as he realized several things simultaneously.

1)  Although he had noticed that the material contained absolutely no holes of any kind he became extremely aware now that he was encased of this terrifying fact.

2)  Despite the lack of any visible way to breathe he seemed to be breathing perfectly fine through the gel surrounding his nose

3)  The suit was tightening!

A muffled cry of barely audible helplessness tried to fill the dorm room as the latex started pressing against the boy from all sides. Dazed for too many precious moments the shocked boy finally and furiously attempted to remove the hood and peel the suit off but as the suit tightened his movements became more and more restricted. There was barely any give by the time he had the realization that the Sir’s suit was about to trap him!

 “No, no, no, no” chanted the boy as he felt himself stiffen like a board and fall aimlessly back into his bed. His struggles and terror preoccupied his mind so much that he didn’t even notice how much his cramped cock was leaking in realized horny nirvana. One after the other, though without any way to know how, the suit began phase two of his rubberization. First, he noticed a slight chemical odor in the “air” that he was breathing, accompanied by a speedy reduction in his feelings of fear. The suit’s biometric chip had come online and began enforcing a return to a normal heart rate. Second, he felt an invasion against his boyhole, insistent in its relentless nature no amount of squeezing could defend him as he felt it press in and start filling his tight hole. Another moan unconsciously uttered as the pleasure of impalement reached up and beyond his prostate. The paralyzed but compellingly helpless boy could do nothing as his relaxed hole surrendered to its new rubber Master. Then, at the exact same time, the tinted lenses went completely dark and Sir’s voice began to softly whisper inside the boy’s ears.

«You are a toy. You are meant to be trained. You are meant to please. You are meant to serve»

Each breath inhaled imposed more relaxation on the captured boy and his mind felt completely unprotected for the devastating verbal assault.

«You will surrender yourself. You will be conditioned. There is no choice, there is no control. Only obedience. Only submission.»

The feeling of fullness in the boy’s ass started vibrating and pressing further against his most sensitive spot, coating the inside of the codpiece with more juice and causing the boy to cry in a not quite orgasmic peak.

«Pleasure comes from service. You will repeat after Me: I am a toy. I will obey.»

“No, no….so good…” It was so hard to concentrate, the feelings and sensations indescribable to the inexperienced toy’s mind.

«You will repeat after Me: I am a toy. I will obey.»

Without even thinking, the boy did.

“I am a toy. I will obey,” and a wave of pure bliss rocked the boy’s consciousness.

«Pleasure comes from surrender. You will repeat after Me: I will surrender. I will be conditioned»

“I will surrender. I will be conditioned.” As much as he could, the boy screamed as a joyous euphoria blasted straight from his ass directly to his brain.

«Pleasure comes from Me. You will repeat after me: There is no choice. There is no control.»

“There is no choice. There is no control.”

“There is no choice. There is no control.”

“There is no choice. There is no control.”