Between a rock & a hard place

Forced Workout

Karl is a man's man by day - a deep-voiced, broad-shouldered construction worker known for his raw masculinity and no-nonsense attitude. But beneath his work gear hid a secret: ultra-sheer, glossy pantyhose stretched tight over his powerful thighs and thick calves. He had been dying to show this side of himself, craving the thrill of being exposed and used in the silky fabric. And when he saw a street poster about a rare fetish event coming to town, he knew he had to grab the bull by the horns.

Inside the pulsing fetish club and amongst other men who dared to show their true selves, Karl had never felt more alive. Briefly stepping into the graffiti-covered bathroom to adjust his outfit, he decided to snap a mirror selfie. He tugged at the waistband of his shiny pantyhose, admiring how the delicate nylon clung to his muscular legs and framed his heavy, straining cock - sans undies. The glossy fabric shimmered under the neon lights, already damp with precum.

Back on the crowded dancefloor, a tall, confident blond with a predatory grin locked eyes with him. Their bodies collided. The blond’s hands immediately explored Karl’s ass, squeezing the slick, shimmering nylon. He could tell exactly what Karl was.

“I know your kind. Big tough man by day,” the blond murmured hotly against his ear, “but dressed like a proper slut for daddy tonight. Ready to give yourself over, baby?”

The words sent heat rushing through Karl. They barely made it to the dim back alley when the blond pressed him hard against the rough brick wall. He dropped down, running his tongue along the silky sheen stretched over Karl’s thighs and bulging crotch, savouring the glossy texture.

Standing again, the blond spun him around, ripped a small hole right at the seam of the pantyhose and thrust inside him in one smooth motion. Karl moaned loudly as the blond fucked him hard, gripping his harness and slapping his nylon-covered ass with every deep stroke.

The warehouse echoed with the distant drip of rusted pipes and the low hum of the city outside its cracked windows. Agent Marcus Williams had been the perfect plant inside Viktor Kane’s syndicate for eighteen months. Chiseled, loyal on paper, always one step ahead of the raids. Until this afternoon.

Viktor stood behind him now, tailored black suit immaculate against the delapidated space, one hand resting possessively on the traitor’s sweat-slicked abs. The man who’d once called himself Marcus was naked except for the skin-tight, glossy crimson tights that clung to every ridge of his thighs and the obscene bulge between his legs. A heavy black latex hood sealed over his head, blinding him, muffling his breaths into hot, desperate gasps. Thick leather cuffs locked his wrists high above, chained to the ceiling beam. A spreader bar forced his ankles apart, the cold metal bar locked just above his red-hosed feet, leaving him stretched, tip-toed, displayed, utterly helpless.

“You thought you were so clever,” Viktor murmured, voice velvet and venom. He traced a single fingertip down the deep central groove of Marcus’s eight-pack, feeling the muscles twitch and clench. “Feeding my secrets to your handlers while you run around for me like a good pretty little soldier. But moles get exterminated, don’t they? Or… repurposed.”

Marcus tried to snarl through the hood, but it came out a broken moan as Viktor’s palm slid lower, cupping the heavy, trapped cock straining against the shiny red fabric. The material was so thin it might as well have been painted on; every vein and ridge was visible, the head already leaking a dark wet spot that Viktor smeared slowly with his thumb.

“Eighteen months of blue-balling myself just to keep an eye on you,” Viktor continued, voice low and amused. “Watching you parade this perfect body around my club, knowing you were lying every time you called me ‘boss.’ Now I finally get to have this."

He squeezed harder, milking the shaft through the tights until Marcus’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, chains rattling. Pre-cum soaked the crimson material in a spreading stain. Viktor laughed softly and stepped closer, pressing his suited chest against the agent’s bare back, the contrast of cool silk and warm, oiled muscle making Marcus shudder.

“Feel that?” Viktor whispered against the hood where the ear would be. “That’s your new life. No more badge. No more handlers. Just my personal fuck-toy. Every night I’m going to string you up like this, edge that fat cock until you’re crying inside this hood, then fuck you raw while you thank me for the privilege.”

He reached down and yanked the waistband of the tights just low enough to free the agent’s aching erection. It slapped heavily against the ridged abs, flushed dark and dripping. Viktor wrapped his fist around it—slow, torturous strokes, thumb circling the slick head on every upstroke.

Marcus’s thighs trembled, calves flexing against the spreader bar. A guttural, humiliated groan tore from his throat as Viktor brought him right to the edge, then stopped, squeezing the base until the orgasm died an agonizing death.

“Not yet, mole,” Viktor purred, sliding two fingers back between the firm globes of Marcus’s ass, finding the tight, oiled hole already winking and ready from the plug he’d forced in earlier. “You don’t get to come until I’ve ruined every hole you tried to hide from me. Until you’re leaking my cum down those pretty red legs and still begging for more.”

He twisted his fingers deeper, curling them against the prostate while his other hand resumed the merciless edging. Marcus’s entire body arched, muscles standing out like carved marble, chains singing with strain. The hood hid his face, but the way his cock throbbed and wept told Viktor everything.

Viktor leaned in, lips brushing the latex over the traitor’s mouth. “Welcome to your new assignment, agent. This assignment is permanent. You'll learn to become nothing but a sex toy, and be grateful for it."

Daniel had always been drawn to the forbidden thrill of sheer nylon. A competitive bodybuilder with a sculpted physique that turned heads at the gym, he kept his deeper cravings private. One sleepless night, scrolling through obscure fetish forums, he stumbled upon a mysterious website that promised “the ultimate second skin.” No reviews, no returns, just a sleek listing: ultra-sheer pantyhose and a full-body nylon cocoon, both in glistening nude tone.

He ordered them on impulse.

Two days later, the package arrived in plain black wrapping. Heart pounding, Daniel locked his apartment door, stripped down, and slid the pantyhose up his powerful legs. The fabric was impossibly smooth, clinging like liquid silk to every ridge of his quads, calves, and the heavy bulge between his thighs. He let out a low groan as he adjusted himself, already half-hard.

Then came the cocoon.

It was feather-light, almost weightless, yet it stretched luxuriously as he stepped inside. He pulled it up over the pantyhose, working the gossamer material over his broad shoulders and thick arms until it enveloped him completely, sealing at the neck with a soft, self-adhering collar. The sensation was immediate and devastating - cool, slick, and alive with friction against the double layer of nylon. Every subtle shift sent ripples of pleasure across his skin.

Daniel stood in front of his bathroom mirror, legs spread, and surrendered.

He edged for what felt like hours. The cocoon caressed him with impossible tenderness, stroking his nipples, hugging his abs, cradling his throbbing cock in a warm, silky embrace. Pre-cum soaked the front, making the material glisten. He was lost in it, moaning, hips rolling, chasing release that stayed just out of reach. Bliss.

Until the cocoon began to move on its own.

At first it was subtle - a gentle tightening around his waist, a slow contraction along his thighs. Daniel’s breath hitched, mistaking it for heightened pleasure. But the pressure grew. The nylon compressed against his body, molding tighter, thicker, sealing every contour of his muscular frame. His cock, trapped and aching, throbbed harder as the fabric squeezed with rhythmic pulses.

“What the fuck…” he whispered, suddenly alert.

He reached for the neck opening. It was gone. The seamless material had fused perfectly, leaving only smooth, glistening nylon where the entrance had been. Panic surged. He clawed at his chest, trying to rip the cocoon open. The fabric stretched but refused to tear - now impossibly strong, like reinforced spider silk. His powerful arms strained, veins bulging, but the nylon simply gave and rebounded, hugging him even tighter in response.

A low, continuous wave of orgasm began deep in his groin. Not a peak, not a crash - just a relentless, rolling pleasure that never crested. His cock pulsed helplessly inside the double sheath, leaking steadily as the cocoon continued its work. It contracted further, pressing into every crevice, tracing the deep cuts of his abs, the cleft of his glutes, the thick muscles of his back. It felt like a thousand silky fingers massaging him all at once.

Daniel thrashed onto the bathroom floor, gasping, but the motion only heightened the sensation. The nylon began to invade. Thin, questing tendrils of the sheer material slipped past his lips, under his tongue, filling his mouth with sweet, slippery silk. Others pushed gently into his nostrils, his ears, even the sensitive opening at the head of his cock. He felt the invasion everywhere - inside and out - turning his body into a living nylon prison.

The low-grade orgasm intensified, becoming his new permanent state. Every breath, every twitch, every helpless flex of muscle fed the pleasure. The cocoon had become a second skin, tighter than skin, molding perfectly to his powerful form. It shimmered under the bedroom lights, highlighting every curve and bulge of the trapped bodybuilder.

Daniel’s eyes rolled back in helpless ecstasy. No escape. No end. Just the endless, silky embrace.