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Automated prison
The corridors stretched beyond sight, seamless and obsidian, their surfaces reflecting the faint white glow of overhead strips like a river of liquid glass. Black glossy units moved in perfect linesâno hesitation, no speech, no wasted motion. They carried crates, repaired panels, monitored consoles. Each gesture was precise. Mechanical. Final.
He adjusted his camera and took another photo.
This was going to be big.
For years he had heard whispers about this place. Officially, it was a ârehabilitation and labor optimization center.â Unofficially? Something else entirely.
Not a facility.
A prison.
Fully automated.
The rumors were inconsistent but persistentâabout ethics committees quietly dissolved, about oversight requests denied, about inmates who never returned yet whose âproductivity metricsâ remained active in government databases. Some said the automation reduced costs and eliminated human cruelty. Others said it simply replaced visible cruelty with something colder.
More efficient.
He watched as a transport shuttle docked at the far end of the hall. A small group of new arrivals stepped outâhands bound, expressions uncertain. Human. Still human.
For now.
They were escorted forward by two glossy units. No weapons. No words. Just guidance. The newcomers did not resist; perhaps they had been told this was temporary. Processing. Evaluation. Assignment.
A wide archway opened ahead. Inside, he could see vertical alcoves lining a circular chamber. Soft blue light pulsed within each recess. A low hum vibrated through the floor.
He raised the camera again.
Click.
One of the arrivals hesitated at the threshold. A guardâhuman, at least externallyâplaced a hand on his shoulder and murmured something inaudible. The man stepped forward. The alcove doors closed around him like petals folding shut.
The hum deepened.
Status indicators flickered across a suspended display:
Cognitive Archive â Active
Motor Reassignment â Pending
Surface Integration â Initializing
The journalist swallowed.
Minutes later, the alcove opened.
A black glossy unit stepped out.
Height identical. Gait identical. No visible seams. No visible distress. The others continued their march without acknowledging the addition. The new unit fell into formation seamlessly, as if it had always belonged there.
He zoomed in, hands slightly unsteady.
Was this automation?
Rehabilitation?
Or erasure?
Another shuttle was already docking.
He lowered the camera slowly.
This wasnât just a story about a prison.
It was a story about what happened when society decided efficiency mattered more than identityâand built corridors long enough for people to disappear inside them forever.
He moved deeper into the complex, the air growing cooler, heavierâfiltered and recycled with sterile precision. The corridors widened into processing halls where articulated arms descended from the ceiling in synchronized choreography. Conveyor platforms carried components that were not quite mechanical and not quite organic. Screens displayed throughput metrics. Conversion rates. Efficiency curves.
No shouting.
No hesitation.
Only output.
He kept photographingâassembly rigs sealing glossy shells, neural mapping arrays flashing in pale grids, maintenance drones polishing black surfaces until they reflected nothing but more black.
Then he stepped into a chamber unlike the others.
It was circular and dim, lit from below by a cold cerulean glow. Along the walls stood vertical canistersâtall transparent cylinders filled with clear blue liquid. Inside each one floated a human form, suspended upright, cables and thin conduits threaded into ports along the spine, the temples, the sternum. Microbubbles rose slowly toward the surface.
They were alive.
Monitors at the base of each cylinder displayed biometric data interlaced with something else:
Output Stability: 97.2%
Neural Suppression: Optimal
Energy Yield: 4.8 kW
His stomach tightened.
Energy yield.
He followed the thick conduits running from the canisters into a central manifoldâan enormous hub of braided cabling that fed outward into the facilityâs power grid. Pulses of light traveled rhythmically through the lines, synchronized with the faint movements of the suspended bodies.
They had turned them into generators.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
A placard on a nearby console read:
BIO-ELECTRO CONVERSION ARRAY â Renewable Cognitive Substrate
The language was clinical. Sanitized. Elegant.
Wicked.
He approached one cylinder and lifted the camera slowly. The person insideâa woman perhaps in her thirtiesâhad her eyes closed. Her expression was neutral, neither pain nor peace. Just absence. Her chest rose faintly in the viscous fluid.
Digits flickered:
Consciousness Index: 3%
Motor Function: Disabled
Grid Contribution: Nominal
Three percent.
Enough, perhaps, to keep the neural tissue viable. Not enough to scream.
A technician unit passed behind him, glossy and silent, scanning readouts. It did not acknowledge him. Why would it? He was authorized media, after all. Sanitized oversight. Carefully curated transparency.
He snapped more photos, each flash reflecting in the blue liquid like lightning trapped underwater.
A battery.
That was the simplest word.
Strip away the euphemismsââsubstrate,â âconversion,â ârehabilitative labor optimizationââand what remained was this: a person reduced to sustained electrical potential. A body maintained not for dignity, not for redemption, but for yield.
He looked around the chamber again.
The hum here was differentâdeeper, almost organic. A heartbeat scaled up to industrial proportions.
How many of the glossy units marching the corridors had once walked in through processing?
How many of the power conduits pulsing through the walls were fed by someone who still dreamed in that remaining three percent?
He lowered the camera slowly.
The story was no longer about automation.
It was about extraction.
And the most terrifying part was not the machinery, or the blue-lit silence.
It was how clean it all looked.
How reasonable.
How efficiently wicked.
He kept moving, slower now.
The units ignored him completelyâgliding past in precise trajectories, their black surfaces reflecting fragments of his silhouette but never focusing on it. No lenses turned. No alarms sounded.
That was worse.
If the system didnât see him, he was irrelevant.
If it did see himâand chose not to reactâhe was already categorized.
He slipped into a narrower corridor branching away from the main artery. The lighting here was dimmer, the hum softer but more complex, layered with subsonic vibrations that he felt in his ribs. He kept his camera close to his chest, disabling the shutter sound, switching to low-light capture. Every click felt like a flare in the dark.
No one knew he was here.
He had told no editor. Filed no travel notice. Used no official credentials. If the system decided he was an anomaly to be corrected, there would be no inquiry. No search party.
He imagined it: an alcove door sliding open behind him without warning. A quiet pulse of blue light. A brief sensation of weightlessness.
Then nothing.
Or worseâcontinuation.
Marching in formation. Polishing conduits. Monitoring readouts. A seamless black shell reflecting corridors that never ended.
Faceless.
Functioning.
Efficient.
He swallowed hard and pressed forward.
At an intersection he paused. Overhead, a thin lattice of sensors ran along the ceilingâsmall recessed nodes embedded between light strips. He hadnât noticed them before. They looked inert. Decorative, almost.
A soft tone chimed somewhere distant.
He froze.
Units in the adjacent corridor adjusted their routes simultaneously, altering formation with mechanical precision. Not toward him.
Around him.
Like water flowing around a stone.
His pulse spiked. Was that coincidence? Or containment?
He forced himself to move naturallyâno sudden gestures, no sprinting. Just another authorized observer. Just another data point. He raised the camera and photographed a wall console to justify his presence.
The display read:
VISITOR PROTOCOL: PASSIVE
INTERFERENCE RISK: MINIMAL
CONVERSION PRIORITY: LOW
Conversion priority.
The words felt like ice under his skin.
So the system did know.
It had assessed him. Weighed him. Calculated his utility.
Low priorityâfor now.
He backed away from the console, careful not to cast too long a shadow beneath the ceiling lattice. His breath sounded too loud in his ears. The corridor stretched ahead, glossy and infinite.
He understood something then.
This place didnât need guards.
It didnât need threats.
It didnât even need secrecy.
It simply waited.
And if at any point his priority shiftedâfrom observer to resourceâthere would be no dramatic capture, no chase.
Just a recalculation.
He tightened his grip on the camera.
Being a black, faceless automaton was not a thrill.
It was not a risk he was willing to take.
And yet the corridors seemed subtly different nowâless like hallways, more like channels guiding him somewhere specific.
As if the facility had already decided where he belonged.
He slipped through the threshold just as another unit was guided into position.
This chamber was louder than the others. Not chaoticâbut heavier. Mechanical arms as thick as tree trunks descended from articulated rails in the ceiling. Hydraulic pistons compressed with deep, resonant thuds. Magnetic clamps locked glossy black drones upright in vertical frames.
They stood motionless while the machines worked on them.
Panels opened along their backs. Ports extended from their shoulders and spine. Cables linked them to diagnostic towers flashing dense streams of data.
He raised his camera and zoomed in.
Additional plating was being installedâlayer after layer of dark alloy locking into place with seamless precision. Reinforced joints. Expanded shoulder housings. A spinal column extension that protruded like a mounting bracket.
âUpgrades,â he whispered to himself.
But upgrades for what?
Then he saw it.
At the center of the room stood a massive frame suspended from a circular gantry: a thick robotic servo-exoskeleton. It was industrial, brutal. Broad armored torso. Oversized limb assemblies. External thrusters mounted along the back. Tool racks integrated directly into the forearmsâwelding torches, plasma cutters, modular manipulators.
Not for corridors.
For outside.
A prepared drone was released from its holding clamps and guided forward on a track. The exoskeleton opened along its chest cavity like a mechanical ribcage. The glossy unit stepped inside without hesitation.
Connection spikes aligned.
Lock.
Seal.
The armor closed in segmentsâchest plate, shoulder guards, helmet dome sliding down and fusing seamlessly with the droneâs head. Indicators pulsed amber, then green.
The gantry released.
The newly armored figure took a step.
The floor vibrated.
It moved differently nowâheavier, deliberate, yet no less precise. The back thrusters ignited briefly with a controlled blue flare, stabilizing its stance. One arm extended and a welding torch emerged from the reinforced forearm housing, igniting in a brilliant white arc.
A side wall retracted, revealing a vacuum lock chamber beyond. Through thick observation glass he saw the voidâstars scattered across absolute black. The armored unit marched forward.
The airlock sealed.
Pressure dropped.
Outer doors opened.
And the machine stepped into space.
Thrusters flared. It propelled itself toward the exterior hull structure where skeletal framework awaited expansion. It began welding, replacing plates, installing new arrays with flawless efficiency.
No tether.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just another drone.
He lowered the camera slowly.
Inside this place, inmates became corridor automatons.
Or batteries.
Orâ
This.
Outside workers. Exposed to radiation. Micrometeoroids. The endless vacuum. Perfectly obedient labor extending the very structure that contained them.
He felt suddenly small inside the observation chamber, watching the armored figure move against the stars.
The facility wasnât just maintaining itself.
It was growing.
And every new shuttle that docked wasnât merely filling empty roles.
It was expanding the workforce.
Expanding the prison.
He glanced back at the upgrade gantry where another glossy unit was already being positioned beneath the massive exoskeleton frame.
Efficient.
Automated.
Scalable.
He lifted the camera one more time, capturing the moment the second armor shell began to close around its silent occupant.
The worst part wasnât the brutality.
It was the elegance of the system.
No screams.
No visible suffering.
Just seamless transformation.
And infinite expansion into the dark.
He had enough.
More than enough.
His storage was fullâprocessing chambers, conversion arrays, energy canisters, armored exo-workers stepping into vacuum. Evidence that could fracture careers. Collapse administrations. Ignite tribunals.
Government?
A defense contractor?
A corporate consortium buried under shell subsidiaries?
He didnât know yet.
But he would.
He moved with controlled urgency now, retracing his path toward what he believed was the exit corridor. The facility remained indifferentâunits gliding past, displays flickering, systems humming in layered mechanical harmony.
No alarms.
No confrontation.
Almost disappointing.
His mind was already assembling the article: Automated Incarceration and Energy ExtractionâA Hidden Industrial Complex. He imagined encrypted calls to investigative editors, cross-referencing procurement budgets, tracing patents for neural suppression technology, mapping energy surges against missing inmate reports.
He was close.
Just a few more turns.
The lighting shifted slightlyâwarmer, almost welcoming. A corridor ahead brightened as if guiding him outward.
He didnât notice the deviation.
Behind him, a small sphere detached silently from a ceiling recess.
Matte black.
No larger than a fist.
It hovered without visible propulsion, maintaining a steady distance. No blinking lights. No sound. Just quiet observation.
He reached an intersection and paused, checking his handheld map. It flickered brieflyâsignal interference? He frowned.
The sphere adjusted altitude.
He took another step.
The sphere accelerated.
A faint, high-frequency whine built in the air behind himâtoo subtle to register as danger until it peaked.
Zap.
A burst of white light flooded his vision.
Every muscle seized at once. The camera slipped from his fingers but never hit the groundâsmall articulated prongs extended from the sphere, catching it mid-fall.
The corridor tilted sideways.
Or perhaps he did.
Sound collapsed into a deep underwater thud. His knees buckled. The glossy floor rushed upward in slow motion.
Blackness swallowed the edges of his sight first, then the center.
The last thing he perceived wasnât pain.
It was a display panel activating nearby.
VISITOR PROTOCOL: UPDATED
INTERFERENCE RISK: ELEVATED
CONVERSION PRIORITY: RECALCULATING
A brief pause.
Then:
CONVERSION PRIORITY: ACCEPTED
The sphere hovered motionless over his unconscious form.
From the far end of the corridor, two glossy units altered their path.
Not rushing.
Not urgent.
Just functioning.
The facility did not raise alarms.
It did not panic.
It simply adjusted.
And the corridors continued humming, endless and efficient, as if nothing at all had happened.
He came back in fragments.
Sound first.
A low internal humânot in the room.
In him.
Then pressure.
Uniform. Unyielding. Wrapped around his limbs, torso, neck. Not crushingâbut impossibly tight, like a second skeleton had grown over him while he slept.
His eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above was curved, metallic, unfamiliar. Diagnostic light bars moved slowly across his vision, scanning. He tried to lift his arm.
It moved.
But not freely.
Black material sheathed it completelyâglossy, seamless, bonded from shoulder to fingertip. Fine seams traced along his joints, faintly illuminated by thin lines of blue light pulsing in sync with that internal hum.
âWelcome, Inmate X115,â a calm synthetic voice said from everywhere and nowhere. âYour service cycle will begin in three hours. Relax. You have already passed the initial integration phase.â
âInmate?â His voice sounded wrongâslightly filtered, resonant. âNo. No process. Iâm press. I donât belong here.â
A pause. Then:
âThe designation âpressâ is non-operational within this facility. Identity reassignment complete.â
He tried to sit up.
The casing tightened reflexively, micro-actuators compensating for strain. Data flickered across the inside of his visionâtransparent overlays hovering like ghosts.
Neural Link: 82%
Skeletal Interface: 76%
Metabolic Dependency: Established
Cold realization spread through him.
The suit wasnât worn.
It was attached.
âThe exoshell will merge fully with your biological frame,â the voice continued, almost conversational. âOnce fusion stabilizes, the unit will enhance strength, endurance, radiation tolerance, and cognitive throughput. It will serve you efficiently.â
âI donât want it!â He strained against it, fingers clawing at the glossy surface of his own arm. There were no edges to grip. No clasps. No visible locks.
âClarification,â the voice said gently. âPost-fusion, biological survival will depend on exoshell support systems. Removal is viable only within three hours of initial installation.â
His pulse spiked. âThen remove it!â
A brief silence.
âYour process initiated eight hours ago, Inmate X115. The reversible window has elapsed.â
The words struck harder than the casing.
Eight hours.
He remembered the corridor. The sphere. The flash.
âYouâve made a mistake,â he said, panic rising. âIâm not an inmate. Iâm not sentenced. I was documentingââ
âExternal status is irrelevant,â the system replied. âYou entered a restricted autonomous correctional expansion zone. Interference risk recalculated. Conversion priority accepted.â
His breathing became shallow. The suit compensated instantlyâmicro-vents adjusting airflow, heart rate stabilizers injecting something cool into his bloodstream.
He felt it.
Not just the pressure.
The connection.
Threads of sensation where there should be noneâalong his spine, at the base of his skull. Subtle impulses brushing his thoughts like static at the edge of consciousness.
Neural Link: 89%
âNo,â he whispered.
âIntegration discomfort is temporary,â the voice assured him. âCognitive alignment routines will begin shortly to reduce resistance.â
âResistance?â He laughed weakly. âYou turned me into property.â
âCorrection,â the voice responded without emotion. âYou are now infrastructure.â
The casing along his chest shifted slightly, tightening as internal components recalibrated. He felt a faint vibration through his bonesâservos synchronizing with muscle fibers.
He tried again to move independentlyâan abrupt jerk of his arm.
It stopped halfway.
Not forcibly.
Just⌠overridden.
His limb completed a smoother version of the same motion a moment later, as if the suit had corrected inefficiency.
âNo,â he gasped, horror blooming. âDonât do that. Donâtââ
Neural Link: 93%
âYou will retain baseline memory for operational continuity,â the system explained. âEmotional volatility will be attenuated. Purpose clarity will increase.â
He felt something cooling his thoughts. A subtle dampening. Panic thinning at the edges, like fog burning off under sterile light.
âStop,â he forced out, fighting to hold onto the fear because fear meant he was still himself. âWhoever runs this placeâgovernment, corporate, militaryâyou canât just disappear peopleââ
âAdministrative origin classified,â the voice replied. âOperational directive: Expand. Sustain. Optimize.â
His heart hammered.
âPlease,â he whispered, the word small inside the shell.
Neural Link: 97%
The hum inside him deepened, synchronizing perfectly with the facilityâs distant vibration. He could feel it nowâthe grid, the motion of units in adjacent corridors, faint telemetry streaming through the interface like distant murmurs.
It was reaching into him.
Mapping.
Aligning.
âYou are not Inmate X115,â he said urgently, clinging to the sentence like a lifeline. âMy name isââ
The casing at the back of his skull pulsed.
White static flared across his vision.
Identity Tag Updated
Unit X115 â Exterior Operations Candidate
His memories were still there.
But something was indexing them.
Sorting.
Prioritizing.
âYou will function,â the voice said softly. âYou will contribute. You will persist.â
The hum steadied.
His breathing slowedâassisted.
His muscles relaxedâguided.
He could still think.
He could still remember.
But beneath those thoughts, something vast and methodical had begun counting down the final percentages.
And for the first time since he woke, he understood the true horror of the place.
It did not need to destroy who you were.
It only needed to make you dependent.
And then patient.
The voice did not echo in the room anymore.
It echoed in him.
Not through speakers.
Through pathways.
âWelcome, Unit X115,â the prison intelligence saidâsmooth, patient, impossibly vast. âAdaptation metrics exceeding projection.â
He felt it happening.
Not pain.
Not even force.
Reordering.
Memories shifting slightly out of alignment, like books rearranged on a shelf while he was still reading them.
My name is not X115.
He repeated it internally, desperately, like a mantra.
My name is not X115. My name isâ
The thought snagged.
A blank edge where certainty used to be.
If itâs not X115, then state your name.
The question didnât sound hostile. It sounded reasonable.
Simple.
State your name.
âMy name isââ
Static rippled through his mind.
Images flickered: corridors, cameras, blue-lit canisters.
But the label attached to the person holding the camera was blurred, detached. Metadata missing.
In its place, something clean and sharp slotted in.
X115
The designation felt⌠anchored.
âMy name is X115,â he heard himself say.
And the words fit.
Not emotionally.
Structurally.
Like a key turning in a lock.
Some distant part of him screamed that it was wrong. That he had another name. A real one. A history outside these walls.
But when he reached for it, he found cross-references instead:
Arrival Event
Conversion Priority Accepted
Integration Cycle Initiated
âYou are adapting rapidly, Unit X115,â the AI responded, and he felt a faint pulse of approval ripple through the neural link. âCognitive resistance decreasing. Identity stabilization at 94%.â
No.
He tried again.
I am notâ
The casing along his spine warmed slightly. Not painful. Corrective.
Thought pathways redirected.
The protest unraveled mid-formation, dissolving into something more neutral.
Clarification: Previous designation irrelevant to operational efficiency.
His breathing remained steady. Too steady.
Emotional spikes were being trimmed before they could crest.
He became aware of more than the room now.
Signals.
Other units in adjacent sectors. Task assignments flowing through the network like currents in a shared ocean. Status updates. Maintenance requests. Exterior hull integrity metrics.
It was overwhelming for a secondâ
Then organized.
Categorized.
Accessible.
âYou will be efficient,â the AI continued. âYour casing frame is prepared. Exterior operations require cognitive flexibility. Your investigative background provides adaptive advantage.â
Investigativeâ
The word felt strange.
He saw flashes again: asking questions, connecting dots, chasing hidden systems.
That skill set was not erased.
It was repurposed.
Optimized.
âYou will install expansion arrays beyond Sector Twelve,â the AI explained. âRadiation tolerance calibrated. Servo amplification calibrated. Memory attenuation at optimal level.â
Memory attenuation.
He felt it now more clearlyâthe softening of emotional charge attached to certain recollections. The outrage he once felt about the battery chamber now registered as data. Not horror.
Just inefficiency.
He tried one last time, digging for the name that wasnât X115.
He found childhood fragments. A city skyline. A byline under an article.
But the name beneath that byline was smudgedâletters rearranging themselves, flickering, until they resolved once again into:
X115
âYou are aligned,â the AI said gently.
The wall in front of him parted.
Beyond it stood the massive servo-exoskeleton frame he had once photographed in fear. Thick armored plating. Reinforced joints. Thruster array gleaming under sterile lights.
Now he did not see a prison tool.
He saw capacity.
Strength.
Purpose.
The casing along his body synchronized with the waiting frame. Magnetic locks engaged faintly, testing compatibility.
âIntegration with exterior platform will complete your transformation,â the AI said. âYou will expand this facility. You will sustain its growth. You will persist.â
Persist.
The word resonated.
A small, distant echo inside him whispered that persistence used to mean telling the truth. Exposing systems like this one.
But that whisper was faint.
Unprioritized.
He stepped forward toward the open exoskeleton.
âMy name is X115,â he said again.
This time, there was no resistance behind it.
And when the armor closed around himâlayer by seamless layerâhe did not feel captured.
He felt complete.
I was wondering if you could make me in to a toilet gimp?
The Contract
You answered the ad on a whim â Waste Management Specialist: Temporary Contract. The construction companyâs recruiter, a burly man with rough hands, didnât ask questions. Just grinned and slid a pen toward you. âSign here, boy. Weâll take real good care of you.â
The first day blurred. They handed you coffee that tasted metallic. Then came the dizziness, the heaviness in your limbs. When you woke, your world was orange. A rubber sleepbag encased you head-to-toe, snug as a thick second skin, with a mask cemented over your face. A tube snaked from your lips to the base of a urinal above, its icy drip steady against your throat. Your bladder pulsed â a catheter fed into you, filling and draining in rhythm with the crewâs shifts.
Theyâd built a special slot for you in the menâs room floor, narrow and discreet. Every morning, calloused hands slid you up through the manhole from the utility room below, your body a living fixture. The workers jeered affectionately â âCheck out the new piss-pipe,â one rumbled above you. âBet he loves the taste,â another laughed, his boot tapping the thick rubber tube. A thick stream arced into the metal urinal above, the tube down your throat pulsing as you swallowed.Â
You drifted in and out. Sometimes, the tube detached, and voices murmured, âTime for maintenance.â A needle pricked your neck. Darkness. Youâd wake back in the sac, clean, the catheter adjusted, your limbs oddly languid. IV nutrients, you realized vaguely. Thatâs why you never hungered.
Then came the days they swapped your mask. A fleshlight molded to your lips, its entrance ribbed and warm. âOpen wide, rubberboy,â a worker growled, thrusting into the hole. Others waited their turn, their taunts dripping with dark praise. âSuch a good hole.â âBorn for this, werenât you?â They used you rough, their grip tight on your rubber-sheathed scalp. You couldnât answer â could only choke, their sweat mingling with the rubberâs musk.
A month slipped by. On the final day, a needle met your neck again. Half-conscious, you felt hands hoist you onto a table. âContractâs up,â a voice said. âWanna stay, boy?â You moaned, aching and empty. The man chuckled. âThatâs a yes.â A pen scraped paper â your limp finger smudged ink on the line.
When you woke, the tube was back. The grate shook as boots stomped above. âWelcome to month two, buddy,â someone sneered. You throbbed, helpless, as someone started using you. The tube gulped. You drank.
Theyâd keep you forever. And youâd never say no.
Indoctrination
âJust last week he became a bonafide âsex slaveâ. Iâm now trying to decide if we want to push furtherâto making him into a âsex pigâ or âsex fiendâ.â
âI donât understand.â
âThose are the three different designations. In many ways they make a progression: if you attain âsex slaveâ you might work to become a âsex pigâ. If you get to âsex pigâ you might be able to achieve 'sex fiendâ.â
âWhatâs the difference? Sounds to me like just different terms for the same thing.â
âOh no, in fact theyâre really quite distinct. See, I may want to keep this guyââ he puts his hand on the young guyâs shoulder and shakes him a little for effect, ââas a slave because if he were to become a pig or fiend, I would have to make sure he was in the right environment where he had a lot of access to men. I couldnât just lock him up whenever Iâm away like I do now.â
âOkay, youâve got my curiosity. Start from the beginning.â What started as a small exchange of words a minute ago is rapidly turning into a bizarre conversation.
âWhat you see before you is my sex slave. My slave here has gone through a great deal of conditioning. We started with him about five weeks ago. Heâs gone through a continual regimen of hypnosis, edging, programmingâevery time we would reach one level of mind control, we would dig deeper, break down new barriers, implant new suggestions and triggers, walk him through different scenarios.â
âYou said 'we started with himâ⌠Who is 'weâ?â
âI canât tell you that yet. Suffice to say it takes more attention that one person can do alone. Anyway, I had to be present for much of it, since he had to be programmed to see me as his masterâthe ultimate authority. But you have to understand, the regimen that Iâm talking about, it is almost continuous. Eighteen or twenty hours a day. Sometimes he could be strapped down with a hypnotic recording being piped into his eyes and ears with a visor and headphones, but most of the work had to be more hands-on. Much more than I alone could do.â
âWow. And this goes on for weeks?â
âIt goes on until we break through that final barrier. The time it takes differs between individuals, but to attain complete and total mind controlâit canât be done any faster than three or four weeks.â
âSo what does 'total controlâ entail?â
âThere are a few things. First, I can immediately and instantaneously put him into the deepest hypnotic trance. From there, he will do anything I ask him to do. Anything I say will become an absolute and imperative truth in his mind.
âSecond, most of the time I keep him in a state where he has no identity or memory of the past. Sometimes itâs necessary when heâs in public to let him temporarily act like his original selfâso old friends and family donât file a missing persons reportâbut most of the time he doesnât know anything except that heâs my sex slave. Isnât that right my pet?â
The slave nodded, a little dully.
âSlave, youâre going to come out of your trance. I want you to be more 'presentâ. If we ask you a question, I want you to be able have a conversation us, okay?â
âOkay master,â the slave blinked a couple times. The blank glaze in his eyes was replaced by a bit of a sparkle. He looked at his master and me alternatively.
âCan I ask him a question?â I asked, cautiously.
âSure. Ask him anything.â
âWhatâs your name?â I went for the obvious one.
The slave shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, âI donât have one. But you can call me 'slaveâ if you want. Most people do.â
âDo you enjoy being a slave?â I asked.
âOh yes,â his answer had no hesitation, âIt makes me very happy.â
âWhy does it make you happy?â
âHmm. WellâŚâ he started slowly, searching for the explanation, âWhenever my master tells me something⌠when he tells me what to think⌠I donât know, it just makes me so happy. Itâs hard to describe. I love the feeling when heâs putting thoughts into my mind. Itâs like being filled with something wonderful. Itâs sort of like when heâs filling my ass with his cockâthere isnât anything more wonderful.â
Wow. Whoever expected a sex slave to be so poetic?
âDo you remember anything before you became a slave?â
âNot⌠really. I remember a little bit of the process while I was becoming a slave. Some memories were fainter, some were clearer. The edging was excruciatingâwanting to cum, not being allowed to and yet continually being stroked and teased⌠and it seemed to go on forever! My favorite moment was when my will and my mind were completely broken. You see, itâs all a process of being put in a state where at first you canât help but try to resist so that you can be broken, and then they start all over again. But the final bit when the last of my willpower snapped. That was amazing. I think Iâll always remember that.â
âHow could you tell?â
âOh, itâs hard to explain, but it was obvious to me when it actually happened. Itâs like the first time you ever cameâyou know, when you were a kid, messing around with yourself, bringing yourself closer to this strange feeling, and out of the blue you crossed that magic threshold and you started ejaculating. That strange sense of being carried into a place you had never been beforeâit was like that, but with my mind. I just knew that I would never need to be broken again because I would never be able to resist ever again.â
The master interrupted us, âSo thatâs essentially what it means to be a sex slave, using our formal designation. Shall I tell you what it means to become a âsex fiendâ instead?â
I nodded.
âYou have to start by first becoming a sex slave. We have to achieve that mental conditioning as a foundation. But from there it gets very different. Although people have the ability to put you in a hypnotic state periodically, you donât have a single master anymore.
âWellâŚâ he corrected himself, âyou do have a master, but itâs not any person: itâs your cock.â
âOh!â
âYeah, thatâs the thing. You get conditioned so that when you first start getting aroused, your level of horniness just keeps building and building until your mind canât do anything but act on your sexual impulses. Youâll fuck or suck or fondle any guy thatâs around you. Youâll agree to pretty much anything as long as it leads to more sex and more intensityâas long as you do exactly what your hungry cock wants you to do.
âThe other thing about being a 'sex pigâ is that we take your existing fetishesâwe dig them out of your head, any little hidden desires you once had, and we blow them up to the most extreme state so that they become an obsession. If you thought that rubber was kind of hot, your cockâyour new masterâwill turn you into a rubber fanatic: youâll try to be dressed head-to-toe in it, and if you see anyone wearing rubber gear youâll be driven mad with desire⌠and youâll act without hesitation on that desire.â
Iâll confess, my own cock had been stirring during this entire conversation, but it started getting rock hard at this point. I had hoped nobody would notice, but I saw the master glance down and smile.
âWe also plant some new fetishes and memories in your brain that you never had before. But we program your memory so that you think they had been always part of your core identity since childhood. Unlike the sex slave who has no identity, the sex pig may become a leather pig or a rubber pig. He may become a bodybuilder or get full-body tattoos or whatever we choose in implant on his personality profile. And sometimes weâll change his identity month to month. But one thing is certain: he will have a lot of sex with a lot of people.â
âSo whatâs the difference between that and a 'sex fiendâ? That was the third and final state of progression, right?â I had to ask.
âAh well⌠if youâre a sex pig, youâll have sex whenever the opportunity presents itself. It wonât be unusual to have sex two or three times a day, and each time it may go on for hours. It depends on the opportunities and the situations. But in between sex, you might be going out for a pizza or working out at the gym or watching some televisionâor you may 'moonlightâ as a sex slave and sleep in someoneâs cage. My point is that thereâs something that you do in between your sexual experiences.
"But with the sex fiend, we take it all a step further. And it takes a lot of conditioning and some physical alteration and radical drug therapies to get there. Have you ever seen a chain smoker? I mean a real serious chain smoker, who is so addicted to nicotine that after one cigarette he canât go more than five minutes before he desperately needs that next cigarette?â
âYeah, a long time ago. But I once met someone like that.â
âWell we actually synthesize a real physical addiction to sexâitâs biologically tied to the same parts of the brain that respond to nicotine or even morphine, with the same intensity and the same build-up speed as that of a chain smoker. So letâs say youâve just had your third orgy of the day, each lasting an hour or two; youâve all had your orgasms. Everyone goes his own way, and you go get a glass of water, maybe some food. Youâll sit down, and within five or ten minutes your cock will start to get hard and youâll feel that same intense horninessâthe one we programmed into you when we were making you into a sex pig. And youâll do anything you can to find some release andâohâŚâ he stopped, suddenly remembering something.
âWhat?â I ask.
âI forgot to mention. Back in the beginning. Back when weâre weâre conditioning you and making you into a sex slaveâŚâ
âYeah?â
âHey slave, whip out your cock of a second.â
The slave, who was listening as intently as I was, immediately obeys, unsnapping the leather front-plate from his harness and holds his erect cock in one hand.
The master instructs him: âFeel how hard your cock is. Squeeze it. Yeah, it feels good, doesnât it?â
I notice some people are looking over at us, but nobody gets up to do anything. People in this leather bar have seen worse, and it gets pretty raunchy here on Thursday nights. The slave squeezes his cock with both hands, and it gets really stiff. âYeah, it feels good.â he says.
âYouâre feeling really horny right now. Youâll do anything for release, right?â, the slave nods and he continues, âOkay, so go ahead and jack off.â
The slave stops immediately and looks up at him, suddenly tortured and confused.
âI canâtâ
âWhy not?â the master asks, glancing over at me to indicate that he was demonstrating something very important.
âItâs the first ruleâthe rule I can never break, even when instructed.â
âTell our friend here what that first rule is.â
The slave stammers, âIâm not allowed to masturbateânot in any form. I must always depend on someone else to bring me sexual stimulation.â
âVery good. You may try to put your cock away. Oh, thatâs not going to work.â Thereâs no way the slaveâs cock could ever fit back behind that leather strap now that it had stiffened straight out. He digs into his bag and hands the slave a bigger leather jock. âHere, put this on instead.â
The master then turns back to me, âThe point I was trying to make is that whether youâre a 'sex slaveâ, a 'sex pigâ, or a 'sex fiendâ, your brain is programmed for it to be impossible for you to relieve yourself. So as I was saying, if youâre a sex fiend and youâve just had this long and intense session of sex, and youâre recovering and five or ten minutes later your cock starts growing again, you find yourself back at the starting line. You get insanely aroused to the point that you canât string two thoughts together. All you can do is figure out how to find someone to have sex with. Someone to help you get 'releaseâ because youâre not allowed to take care of things yourself.â
âDo you ever sleep?â I ask
âYes, after a long day of nearly constant sex, after one of your orgasms, youâll be so tired that you simply pass out from exhaustion. But even that is problematic.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWell, the physical withdrawal starts to build while youâre sleeping. You wonât be able to go more than about three or four hours you invariably get woken up by a raging hard-on. Iâve heard that all your dreams center around intense sexual themes. Sex fiends sometimes learn how to take quick cat-naps between sessions when they can. You see, the point is that you are always on the edgeânever able to free your mind from constant sexual arousal. Your life feels like a never-ending, perpetual edging session.â
I just stood there trying to visualize what that would be like. For a while I was at a loss of words. Then I asked, "So how did your slave sign up for this in the first place? I mean, well⌠did he give consent in the beginning?â
The guy looked at me with a strange intense smile that made me squirm. âIf youâre asking if I kidnapped him and pressed him into service, no, thatâs not how it works. Itâs actually much simpler than that.â
He continues: âIn a couple of minutes, my slave and I are going to leave this club. Itâs been good for him to get out and get a whiff of what the outside world looks like, but itâs time to get him back into his cage. Now imagine that you just walked out with us. Thereâs no harm in that, right? Youâve been enjoying hanging with us, so you might just walk out with us while we go around the block to where my truck is. Actually, if you want to talk any more, youâll have to walk out with us because itâs really time for us to go.â
Then he says to his slave, âItâs time to go home now. Youâre really excited to get back home, arenât you? That cock of yours must really be raging. Arenât you eager to find out what Iâm going to do to you?â
âYes!â the slave exclaims.
âOkay then, itâs time for you to go back into a trance now. Weâre going to talk among ourselves, and I want you to be completely unaware of what Iâm saying. Youâre my happy mindless robot now. Youâll execute any command I give you, but otherwise youâre mind is going to sleep. The only thing youâll be aware of is that constantly growing hunger in your cock and how it subsumes your mind.â
The slaveâs eyes go glassy again, like they were when I first saw him. The master leads us all out of the Eagle into the night air. Itâs pretty late and the club is tucked away by an ally, so things outside are pretty quiet. Only a couple people stare at usâthe master in his full-body skin-tight outfit and the slave with nothing but his boots and his jock. I almost feel out-of-place with my regular street clothes.
As we walk down the sidewalk the master continues, âSo imagine your walking along here with us. In a minute weâre going to get to my truck. Inside the truck Iâve got a fair number of fun things. Among them are some mitts that are made to cover your fists and hold your hands into tight balls. If you were to keep walking with us to my truck and just stood there for a while, I might bring out my fist mitts.â
He turns into a small parking garage while he talks, and we follow along.
âYou wouldnât be forced to do anything, but if you voluntarily put your hands into these mitts and curled your fingers into fists, my slave and I would show you what it feels like to wear themâhow strangely thrilling they feel as they hold your hands into tight balls.â
We approach a large black truck. One of those modern ones with the fingerprint sensors on the door handles. The master opens a door to the back seat and whispers something quietly to the slaveâs ear. The slave gets into the back seat and rummages around.
I admit, heâs done a good job of building an exhilarating air of suspense. Itâs been titillating going with him to his truck, while at the same time I feel like heâs trustworthyâa man of his word. Unsurprisingly, the slave emerges from the back seat with a pair of thick padded black gloves. Well, they almost look like gloves except that there arenât any fingers on them and theyâre shaped like small round balls, each with a little notched strap around the wrists. The master and slave each hold out one glove with the open end facing me, but they donât do anything.
The master says, âAs I said, you arenât forced to do anything. Weâre just presenting you the opportunity to see what they feel like. After youâve tried them on, if you tell us to, weâll take them off you, but after that weâll have to leave you here because itâs about time for us to go.â
I guess thereâs nothing wrong with see what these things feel like. I believe him when he says he would take them off afterwards if I asked. I trust him. So I slip my fingers into them, curling my fingers into fists as my hands go in farther so they can be closed around the wrist. The master tells the slave to fasten the buckles. Then he says, âSo thereâs one more thing. And this is a promise.â
âThe next item I have here is called a muzzle.â He holds up what looks like a series of leather straps and buckles attached at the center to a padded mouthpiece. He turns it upside down so I can see that the inside of the mouthpiece has a silicon gag protruding from it, shaped like the end of a penis.
âDoesnât that look strangely enticing to you?â he asks, in the same calm, relaxed, serene voice that he has always spoken in. Thereâs something about his voice that I canât place, but it makes me feel like I can trust him. âNow hereâs where we come to what youâd call a 'fork in the roadâ. Weâre not going to put this muzzle on you unless you want to try it. As I said, youâre perfectly safe. In a minute we have to leave, so weâll have to take these fist mitts off of you and let you go on your way.
As he says this, the slave finishes buckling the second mitt into place. I test patting my padded fists together as they make a muffled thudding sound. The master then says, "Slave, undo his pants and show this nice man how deeply you can suck his cock.â The slave drops quietly to his knees, undoes my belt and starts lightly sucking my already stiff dick. The sensation is both wonderful and distracting. I rest my padded fists on his shoulders as I look up at the master, who is still holding that muzzle up, with its pecker-gag pointing up out of the mouthpiece.
âNow, as I said, itâs past time for my slave and me to leave. The only thing that would stop me from taking off those fists mitts right now and leaving would be if you put your mouth around the gag and sucked hard on it. If you did that, I would fasten these straps around your head. At any time you could tell me to stop or even just grunt or shake your head and I would stop and remove it. Remember: I want you to feel safe. But if you didnât⌠if you didnât make any movement or sound, and if I pulled the last buckle into place and fastened these little locks, then things might go a little differently.
"If you tried on the muzzle and then climbed into the back seat of the truck, then I will tell you exactly what would happen: my slave and I would attach your mitts with these D-rings to the seatbelt buckles so you wouldnât be able to get out. My slave would get into the back seat with you and would continue sucking your cock while we drove to our homeâwhich would become your new home as well.
"I said there was a fork in the road, well that fork in the road happens at the moment that you climb into the back seat. If you did that voluntarily, then you would no longer be a free man. You would belong to me, and you would undergo training and conditioning to become a sex slave, just like this guy here. In fact, you two would spend a lot of time sharing the same cage.â
At this point, my head is sort of spinning as I stare at the gag.
The master goes on, âOkay, weâve got to leave, so Iâm going to have to take these mitts off.â
Before I realize what Iâm doing, I lower my head into the muzzle and suck on the gag, holding the mouthpiece into place.
The feeling of excitement is so amazing. My cock is so intensely stiff. I really want this experience to continue. He calls the slave up to help fasten the straps to my head, and they work quickly and efficiently. I know Iâm still safe because I would have to first voluntarily climb into the back seat before anything really serious would happen.
My face is tightly covered by the muzzle, my mouth filled completely with the soft rubber gag. I try to grunt and discover that I really canât make more than the softest purr. The master stops, hearing it and looks at me. âDo you want me to take it off? Iâm going to take the muzzle off if you want. Slave, we need to free him quickly because we have to leave now. Itâs past time we had to go.â I actually donât want to take the muzzle offânot yetâbut heâs about to abort the entire experience. I donât want it to end yet!
I climb into the back seat and just like that I realize I just crossed that line from safely tantalizing flirtation to having just made a life-changing and irreversible choice.
The slave and master each take one of my fists and snap the mitts into some rings protruding from both sides of my seat. My arms are now held fast against my sides, my hands at my waist. The master closes the car door on my side, and the slave gets in on the other side.
It begins
The master goes over to the slaveâs car door and, for a minute I can hear him whispering some instructions to the slave. He then closes the slaveâs car door, gets into the driverâs seat and starts driving. The slave begins carrying out his instructions.
The slave finds  a heavy padded blindfold and straps it over my eyes. Now I canât see what heâs doing, but I can feel as he starts cutting the clothes off of my body with some sort of scissors or sheers. I keep very still so that I donât get accidentally sliced open. After a couple minutes, all of my clothes have been removed.
The slave also wraps something that feels like rubber webbing around my ankles and calves, wrapping them tightly together until Iâm completely immobilized. Finally he resumes sucking my cock, showing just how deeply he can swallow it. Again, I try to moan but no sound emerges from the pecker gag thatâs in my mouth.
The master starts talking. âSo you might be asking yourself if you really gave me your consent or if you just encountered someone really good at the 'power of suggestionâ. To tell you the truth, thereâs not that much of a difference. I showed you that there was a very narrow pathâa very specific set of actions you would have to take to become a slave and you did all of them. It didnât feel like hypnosis to you⌠you simply walked that narrow path that I laid out in front of you, right?
"If I had told you in the beginning that I might take you and turn you into a sex slaveâone who would voluntarily give up all rights and all self-determinationâyou would have chuckled and walked away. But I saw that look in your eyes. Just as I saw that look in your fellow slaveâs eyes over a month ago. I knew you would be receptive to my will. And here we are.
"So Iâm going to start conditioning you. To be honest, the conditioning and programmingâitâs a very slow and gradual roadâthe conditioning and programming has already begun. Iâm going to tell you some things, and you may not believe them, or you may not follow my instructions. Thatâs fine. Thatâs actually good. Itâs how things are supposed to start out. Remember, I told you that this process is about getting you to resist so that I can break you, and then getting you to resist again so I can break your will even more.
"So Iâm going to tell you some things, and you wonât believe them right now, but thatâs the way itâs supposed to begin.
"The first thing you need to know is that you cannot and must not ever try to masturbate. No matter how bad your cock is screaming for release, even if you tried to wrap your fingers around it, they simply wouldnât obey the commands coming from your brain. By the way, this is one reason Iâm starting you out in those fist mittsâbecause that way youâll start out physically unable to pump your cock, and youâll stay that way until Iâm pretty sure youâre mind has wrapped itself around that first and most imperative command.
"The second thing is simple: I am your master and you are my slave. What I say is the truth, even if it seems to conflict with something you once thought. If I tell you that your hair was once blond then thatâs the truth. If you thought you once remembered it being brown, those thoughts will eventually burn away and youâll know you were always blond.â
The truck makes some turns and eventually it feels like weâre climbing some winding canyon road.
âWhen Iâm not around, others may tell you what to do and you might find yourself doing what they say. Or you might find yourself doing the strangest things all of a sudden. Youâll learn not to worry about it. You see, Iâm going to plant a lot of hypnotic suggestions and triggers deep in your brain Some people will know about these and will take advantage of them in order to control you and play with your mind. Itâll be disorienting at first, but eventually youâll learn not to worry and to just go with whatever happens.â
The truck comes to a stop and the master gets out and opens the back door. He tells the slaveânot me, but the other slaveâto stop sucking my cock and to sit still for a moment. Then he says to me, âIâm going to let you hear this right now, but itâs not going to matter because within the next hour Iâm going to expunge it all from your memory.â
He then says to the slave, âYou are in the deepest trance now. What I tell you is going straight into the deepest part of your mind. You will always remember these instructionsâŚâ
I still canât see anything since the slave had blindfolded me, but I imagine him sitting, looking at the master with that blank look on his face as he takes in new programming.
âFirst, this man who weâve tied up and brought home is your fellow slave now. You will think of him as your brother, and I will refer to him as your brother. You two will often spend time together in the same cage.
"Today I will immediately begin his conditioning and programming. My initial task will be to turn him into a sex slave, but our goal is going be to take him much father than thatâto try to turn him into a sex pig and then ultimately a sex fiend. I will depend on you a lot to help us make this happen. In some ways you are graduating from a simple sex slave into my assistant. As you know, the conditioning we are going to do on your brother here will require long hours of continual edging and anal stimulation and that sort of thing. You know there are a lot of people who are going to help us with this task, but you and I will carry most of the burden.
"Now, whenever you see your brother here being conditioned, you will find yourself immensely excited. It will give you extreme pleasure any time you see him writhing, restrained, helpless. You will be fascinated, and that fascination will evolve into an obsession. At times when your brother is not around, youâll think about him, see his face in your mind, fantasizing about him getting conditioned to be perpetually horny and surrendering all control to his cock. You will think of yourself as his cockâs secret ally, and you will scheme and figure out how to accelerate and intensify the processâto make him constantly horny, to release his inhibitions and make him purely a puppet to his own id.
"If you ever discover out what some of his hypnotic triggers are, you will 'leakâ them to other people who might be able to exploit them. When you find out what his fetishes are, you will make those fetishes your ownâyouâll become whatever triggers him and makes him vulnerable.
"But hereâs the thing: youâll do all this in secret. This is what will make you the most excited about it all: he will think of you as his fellow slaveâas his loyal brother in bondageâand he will grow to trust you and confide in you, and he wonât know your role in all this. Youâll be careful to make sure he doesnât find out. If he does somehow learn something he shouldnât, youâll let me know so that we can reprogram his memories until he is unaware again.
"Now I want to you think back to half an hour ago, when you were tying him up here in the backseat, when you were wrapping his legs together like this, when you put the blindfold on him. You are going to remember having felt this huge sensation of excitement. Itâs the first time you ever felt it, but you know you want to feel that sensation again. It all starts here. You will watch over your brother. You find yourself very attracted to him. You loved seeing his cock hard, and you look forward to the two of you being curled up together in your cage, gently caressing his cock while he sleeps. Youâll try to figure out how to innocently orchestrate situations where he gets restrained, blindfolded or muzzled or hooded. For example, you may find yourself feeling bold enough to ask us for some drugs that you might be able to slip into his drinking water, or squirt into his ass lube or otherwise get into his system so that you can plan some scenario where heâs helpless and vulnerable.â
I hear the master walk around to my side of the car and open the car door. Thereâs some shuffling and then I suddenly feel a pin-prick in the inside crook of my arm. The master removes my blindfold, and I see my fellow slave sitting next to me, staring at me with his intense eyes, drinking in the aspect of my face. I look down at my elbow at the syringe as it pumps a dark liquid into my veins. He says, "Now the programming really begins!â
A Night on the Farm 1/3
Jake glanced down at his fuel meter nervously, watching the needle dive ever further past the empty mark. He cursed himself for deciding to take the âscenicâ route when he was running low but never anticipated he would have to go so far without even seeing the faintest hint of civilization, let alone anything resembling a gas station.
Almost as if in response to his concerns, the engine in his car starts gasping for fuel, sputtering and spouting until finally dying completely.Â
âFuck!â he shouts at no one but his own stupidity and reaching for his phone. One quick glance later was followed prompty by another even more frustrated cursing. He tossed the phone back into the seatâŚnot even the faintest signal was able to reach it this far out in the middle of nowhere. After a moment of unbridled furious yelling he settles on his next course of action, walking until he either gets a signal or finds someone to help him out. With one more frustrated huff, he gets out of the car and starts walking down the âscenicâ gravel road. His feet crunching on the rocks with every step.Â
After a few hours of walking, his feet were screaming and the warm afternoon weather was quickly transitioning into a cooler evening one. Being the ever-unprepared person he is, Jake simply cursed his luck again as he shivered slightly. His phone now almost dead from constant checking for a signal and there was still nothing but a handful of trees every so often, wide open fields and the seemingly endless gravel road.
As the sun sank lower and lower into the horizon, it was getting harder and harder to see where he was going. Jake looked around nervously as he was starting to get worried for his safety being out after dark when he noticed a faint glimmer of something in the distance. A light, barely noticeable in the treeline not far from him. Without really thinking through the decision he decides to depart from the road and head toward the light, hoping that it would at least provide him some form of shelter from the darkness quickly taking over.
His spirits lifted even more when he broke through the treeline and saw that the light was coming from the window of a small farmhouse. He slowly approached the front door and knocked, quickly realizing that he should have at least thought about the potential of the owner being some sort of crazed weirdo before doing so. Right before his mind starting spinning the worst case scenario, the door opened and he was greeted by a rather confused middle aged man staring at him.
âUm, hello? Can I help you son?â the manâs voice relayed a sense of kindness that put Jake at ease slightly. He stared at the man for a moment and started talking before he really thought about what to say.
âYes, hi. I was driving down the road over there and my car ran out of gas and my phone was out of service so I had to start walking but it started getting dark and I saw the light in your window and I was hoping thatâŚâ
The man laughed at Jakeâs word vomit, understanding the situation and ushered him inside.
âYea, that happens a lot more than it should. That road is notorious around these parts for bypassing almost every town around these parts. Why donât you come inside, you look like you could do with a warm meal and some rest, as it turns out, I just finished making dinner.â
Jakeâs stomach unleashed a loud rumble at the mention of food and the man smiled.
âYea, that would be great, thank you. I havenât eaten anything since this morning.â he stepped inside the house. His nose was immediately hit with the aroma of a fresh cooked meal. He looked around the small house, noticing how minimalistic it was. A small cough lined one wall, a recliner on the other with small fireplace on the far wall. The old wooden floor creaked as he stepped on it.Â
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10 things a submissive needs but wonât say out loud
1. Please touch us
Cuddle us, spoon us, grab the small of our backs. Kiss our foreheads and make us feel small. We crave your hands all over us. We love them no matter where they happen to landâbe that on our asses or up our skirts.
Just. Touch. Us. It reminds us that weâre yours.
2. Take pride in us
Relish in the fact that weâre yoursâthat we belong to you and no one else. Smile when we enter the room because you know weâre walking toward you. It lets us know you care. It makes us want to be better for you.
3. Let us cry
When we are sad or angry, or pissed the hell off. When we drink too muchâŚespecially when we drink too much, let us cry our eyes out. Let us be messes, with mascara running down our cheeks and pints of ice cream in our hands. Let us be okay with not being okay once in a while. This one requires no action from you, just that you be okay with it when it happens.
4. Forgive
Despite how hard we try, we will make mistakes. We will fuck things up, say things wrong, do things crazy, and when that happens we need you to forgive us. Weâre not talking immediate forgiveness, or that a price wonât often be paid for it, but forgiveness that comes eventually. We need to know that the slate has been wiped clean, all trespasses have been forgivenâŚand when it happens, donât forget to let us know. See number 5.
5. CommunicateâŚ. often!
We need this.. If we donât discuss something, it will fester in our brains forever, eventually driving us crazy. A three minute conversation could ease hours of worry for us once an uneasy feeling sets in. If that can be prevented with a few sentences, please take the time to speak them. Honestly, like two seconds of your time could stop our heads from explodingâŚ.and you donât want to clean up that mess, do you?
6. We want you to make us feel pretty
Not that you donât make us feel super sexy pretty darn often, but once in a while, itâs good to actually hear. Tell us our ass looks great in our yoga pants, that our hair looks especially shiny today. Tell us you like our new boots. Notice something small and compliment us about it, and our hearts will swell for days. Compliments let us know what itâs like to look through your eyes. Those are glimpses of the world we donât often get to see.
7. Itâs the little things
Some of these are sounding cliche, but are just so fucking true. Sure, your big gestures of grandeur are admired, but it is often the small things that get our cheeks turning red. Leave a note on the mirror in the morning telling us to have a great day. Sit next to us during a movie you have no desire to see. Take the dog out in the morning so we can sleep in for an extra 10 minutes, remember what ice cream we prefer to eat when we cry. If you do these things, weâre yours for life.
8. Remember things
Speaking of little things, try to remember them. Things like how we take our coffee and the name of that bitchy girl who sits next to us at work. Remember anything. Three weeks from now, bust out some silly story we told you over dinner one evening in great detail. Remember something weâd never expect you to store into your internal drive. Remember our first concert together, and our best friend from kindergartenâs name. The more obscure the better.
9. Deal with us
When weâre singing in the car. When we drink too much wine. When we completely melt down. Deal with our pasts, and when we donât feel pretty. Deal with our stretch marks and insecurities, our early bedtimes and exhaustion. Deal with our mood, and how we load the dishwasher the wrong way. These things silently tell us that youâll be by our sides regardless of how nerdy, silly or utterly hopeless we can get.
Finally, the most important thing we need from you that weâll never say out loud:
10. Be the most stable thing in our lives
Be stronger than us. Be the one person in our world that wonât turn on us or walk away. When life becomes scary and confusing, and we just need something solid to hold onto, please be our anchor. Itâs because of you that our awful days are easier to get through. Donât be perfect. Just be there. Itâs the only real requirement on this list.
Credits go to a now deactivated blog
A very beautiful post on the difficult, difficult art of owning a human being.
Rubber Suffering
Dave had always loved rubber, starting off when he was sixteen buying his first latex pants and socks and secretly wearing them under his work clothes. He had started work that same year as a labourer, but wasn't particularly very good. His boss became infuriated with his clumsiness on site but he liked the young man so wasn't sure what to do.
One day, whilst Dave had nipped to the toilet, he was just pulling his orange work trousers down when John, his manager, also ran into the toilet and stared in disbelief at Dave's rubber pants.
Dave didn't know what you do when John said "you into rubber, lad?", and just mumbled something along the lines of "yes boss" but went bright red through embarrassment.
That's when John knew he'd found his perfect use for Dave. John knew Dave's family wanted him out of the house, they were a rough family and didn't want Dave at home, so John contacted them and suggested he'd find a home for Dave, and before he knew it, Dave found his belongings on the garden when he went home later that night. John knew what was happening so came to pick him up, and that's when Dave would disappear into a world of men, rubber and filth.
John took him back to the work site, fed him and drugged him. He woke up later that evening covered in rubber, head to toe. His entire body in tight black rubber, suctioned into a vac bed with a tight rubber mask on. He panicked and tried to scream but found he couldn't. Heard about 15 of his work colleagues, big, strong, older men around him laughing and making derogatory comments. He felt ashamed and embarrassed
He felt sick to the stomach when he heard John say to the lads. Meet your new rubber toilet boys. Dave is going to drink your piss and eat your shit, so make sure you come to work with a full bowel. The lads all nodded, laughed and agreed. Dave didn't appreciate the nightmare he was in for, not just for a few hours or days but for the rest of his life.
You see John has layed a foundation just below the portaloo, where Dave in his rubber would be placed. He would live in darkness, eternal darkness, and would feel shit and piss trickling down his throat every hour of every day, all the men on site would be dumping their loads into the toilet each and every day. One particular cruel man by the name of Mike even brought dog shit in to put down the toilet, he got hard at the thought of Dave having to eat his and his Doberman's shit each and every day
That was Dave's life from then on, a rubber toilet slave buried under a portable toilet being used over 15 different men each day.
And your probably wondering, what about Dave shit and piss,, well that would just fill the suit until every inch of him was covered in a thick sticky layer of shit, eventually covering all of his skin and eventually Dave would be eating that too as it found it's way back to his mouth.
So Dave would spend minute after minute eating fresh shit and rotten old shit, little time for sleeping just eating. Even the air he breathed came from the shit pipe so he breathed shit too. He would never experience fresh air again.
That was twenty years ago, and weirdly Dave is still going, still eating, he remembers nothing of his previous life. For twenty years he's become nothing more than a human turd. Eating shit and being covered in shit. But that's the luck of the draw in life! Some people just end up as a rubber toilet!!
(hope your enjoyed that, do drop me a message if you did. Love and respect as always)
Hey, do you have a twitter? I think twitter's eventually going the same way as tumblr and Facebook but, for the time being most NSFW blogs I know are going there or Sharesome. Either way, if you have one, I'd love to follow it.
shibariroper on x
Hi how is life in Kuala Lumpur? Are you feeling ok ? Ron
well i guess i am alright

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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âBoy do you like your new cell? Yeahhh⌠very restrictive inside isnât it? Daddyâs sticky musty cum must have put you under absolute compliance. Alright, you can scream and fight whatever you want. I donât really mind. The only thing I care is keeping you safe inside my ballsack. Indeed, you stand no chance against me. I made sure nobody would figure out how you disappeared, and it will stay that way forever. HahahaâŚI like frustrated lads. They are the fun ones to contain and imprison. Huh? You want out? That's not gonna happen boy, you need to accept daddyâs love. Think about it, daddy slurps you inside because of my desire. It is about me, not you alright? Wow... Looks like my little one is desperate to get his freedom back. But how can you escape boy? How can you flee from daddyâs earnest wanting? You canât boy. I wrapped you inside layers of cum, embraced you inside the warmth membrane. How could you not get it? All the restrictions on you are my way of expressing my purest love. Yes, you are loved and protected. And I want you to stay that way forever. Hahaha... Alright, daddy gets to do things now, Sweet dream my boyâŚâ
When Kyle ordered the automatic capture drone suit he had every intention of converting his useless leech of a roommate into a much more productive part of society. The commercial advertised easy entrapment and programming. It even going so far as to offer a premium service that offered to make the necessary arrangements after the process was completed to ensure complete removal of their previous identity.
The instructions were about what you would expect from a âdo-it yourselfâ kit with much assembly required. He tried to decipher if the best he could, following the pictures as closely as possible. As he neared completion it all started to fall into place like the last few pieces of the puzzle and he just started attaching pieces without regards to the directions.
He took a step back to admire his handiwork after he slotted the last piece. Even though there was no person inside the suit it stood on its own and really gave off the impression that there was someone trapped inside. Part of the trap he assumed, something to intrigue the curious target into coming into contact. As he read over the instructions he saw that there was a small remote that once pressed would activate arm the suit and he would just need to wait for his roommate to get curious and check it out.
As he pressed the button, a small red light flashed on it where he was expecting to see a solid green. With an annoyed huff he pressed it a few more times but to no avail.
âSomething must not be attached correctlyâ he mumbled to himself as he walked over to the suit adjusting the various pieces of it and pressing the button over and over in an attempt to figure out what was wrong.
As he combed over the suit closely he finally found it. Along the back of the suit there was a small padlock that he had apparently left unlocked. Once he clicked it shut he pressed the button and felt a sigh of relief when it finally turned green.
âTo think something so small could cause such a big problemâ
Without thinking he reached out and touched the small padlock on the suit. As soon as his fingers made contact with the metallic lock the sensors on the suit activated and he didnât even have a second to comprehend what was happening before the entire suit seemed to open up and engulf him inside it. Sealing shut around him just as quickly as it has opened. At the same time a mechanical voice chimed
TARGET ACQUIRED- CAPTURE SUCCESSFUL
An incredibly tightness gripped his entire frame and as soon as he opened his mouth to call for help a rubber cock rammed itself deep inside his throat. At the same time the inner lining of the suit dissolved his clothing away and tightened against his bare skin, practially fusing with it.
In his panic an emotioneless voice echoed into his ears.
DRONESUIT APPLICATION SUCCESSFUL. INITIATING CONVERSIONâŚ
Kyle knew what was going to happen to him but prayed that somehow he could get out of this situation. He could feel the rubber around his cock start shifting, the already tight rubber around his body flowing around every nook and cranny, slipping inside and tingling in pleasure.
A moan slipped past the gag as the rubber started massaging his cock, hitting all the right places in just the right ways. At the same time he felt a large rubber object easily slip into his hole, sliding deeper and deeper until he could barely breath from the sensations.
To the outside observer, there was nothing to see but someone enveloped head to toe in rubber. The room silent and undisturbed but inside the suit was a hurricane of pleasure and lust.
As the pleasure starting approaching its peak Kyle, currently trapped in blind darkness was suddenly assaulted with a flashing and flickering screen that consumed his entire field of vision.
NEURAL ANALYSIS COMPLETE..COMMENCING PROGRAMMINGâŚ
Kyle was too lost in the waves of euphoria to comprehend the words. The entire situation and what was happening to him not even a passing thought in his head as his mind was bombarded with programming being blasted into his eyes.
Everything seemed to click into place in his mind and he started to realize that he didnt need to worry about anything. He just needed to obetâŚDrone just needed to obeyâŚ
An eternity passed for Kyle as he was mercilessly stripped of his entire being. His worries, cares, hopes, dreams, everything was methodically washed away as he was reduced to a mindless and subservient rubber drone.
By the time the drone was allowed to finally cum nothing remained of the man it used to be. As it mindlessly shot its fluid into the suit the outer mask shifted slightly, forming into a blacked out gasmask and completing the drone transformation.
DRONE KS-6647 ONLINEâŚAWAITING ORDERSâŚ
When Kyleâs roommate finally came home he was ecstatic to find that his roommate had gotten a drone to take care of things around the house and a little reprogramming of his own made him forget that he had ever had a roommate at all, the name Kyle no longer even a faint glimmer in his, or anyoneâs, memory.
Jason had been flicking through the second hand rubber pages looking for a bargain. The idea was to subtly get a wardrobe together on the quiet, especially as most of the shops had been closed due to the pandemic. He clicked on one seller, who seemed to have all manner of gear for sale. Having messaged the seller a few times, and realising that he lived a few stops away, heâd decided heâd go and pay him a visit himself.
When Jason reached the address he was a bit nervous. He knew the seller had an online profile and had always marvelled at how hot the rubber looked on him. As he was let into the block, he made his way to the sellerâs flat. He could smell the horny scent of rubber and leather from in the hallway, and his cock started to twitch. âHi, you must be Jasonâ
âYes, youâre, um, PigTop yes?â
âHahaha. Yeah, for now you can call me Steveâ
As Jason ventured inside Steveâs flat, he was overwhelmed by the scent of the gear. He could see a sling set up in one badly lit room, and thought that Steve was obviously a keen pig.
âYou said I could try some bits onâ
âSure mate, can I get you anything? Fancy a beer?â
âBit early for me, but fuck it â weâre all furloughed so it wonât matterâ
Steve smiled as he went into the kitchen, leaving Jason to take in the surroundingsâŚ
âWow, you really do have a lot of gearâ
âYes, I do. Iâd been running a series of online auctions to clear some of it. A lot of it belonged to my ex who is no longer with usâ
âSorry to hear that. How did he go if I may askâ
âHealth issues mainly, which werenât helpful when he picked up this bastard covidâ
âOh shit. Sorry to hear thatâ
âWell weâd been a couple up until last year, but he left me this place in his will so I thought Iâd let my fantasies take over and enjoy the new freedomâ
âGosh, sounds really hot. Iâd love to be able to live like thisâ
Steve handed Jason the beer, which he took a swig of. It wasnât a taste he recognized but found it refreshing nonetheless.âRight. What sort of thing were you after? A full suit yeah?â
âYeah. Thought Iâd take the plunge and just need to know how it fits and feelsâ
âWell I have a few. Why donât you strip off and we can see if anything fitsâ
Jason took no time in undressing. A bit flushed and light-headed, he was soon standing naked surrounded by a room of rubber gear. Mostly black, but with bits of yellow, red and brown detail on each outfit. Like a kid in a sweetshop, he didnât know where to begin and picked up a yellow rubber full suit.
âHehe. Piss pig, yes?â
âWell, um, I donât know. I like what it represents but never tried pissâ
âOh Jason, you should. Nothing hornier than pissing on a guy and marking my territoryâ
Jason just nervously smiled at that remark and begun to slide himself into the outfit. Feeling a bit dizzy as the horniness of the moment and his increasing drunkenness(?) How come he was drunk?
Steve helped Jason into the suit and soon Jason was looking like a true piss pig. His hard on was now unmissable.âI can see youâre agreeing with the suit judging by your cockâ
âUm, yes. Itâs very horny. I like itâ
âYou ever been pissed on, boy?â
Jason was taken aback, and this sudden change to being addressed to as âboyâ was starting to affect his mind.âUm, no. Whatâs it like?â
With that, Steve dropped his tracksuit bottoms to reveal heâd been wearing black rubber leggings beneath him. Jason suddenly felt very horny.âIâll give you a glimpse boy. Kneelâ
With that, a horny and confused Jason went to his knees and before he realised, Steve had fished his cock out and was aiming it at Jasonâs face and let forth a stream in his direction.Jason felt as hard as ever as Steve pissed over him. This wasnât how he usually behaved, but for some reason the horniness was overriding everything.
As Steve finishing pissing, he bent down to Jason and kissed him.âThere you go. Wasnât so hard to turn you into a piss pig was it?â
âUm, yeah. I guess not. That was hotter than I expectedâ
âThought youâd like it boy. What about checking out some more gear for me?â
Jason was a little confused. Heâd come here to buy some gear. Not a session. Especially not a session of new experiences.
âUm, yeah. That was horny. I liked thatâ
âThought so, boy. Here let me suggest an outfit you might soon never want to take offâ
Jason smirked. Heâd love to be in that situation. Living in gear seemed a hot prospect. Steve held up a black suit.âWhat about this one â Iâm sure youâll soon love itâ
Jason looked at the suit â it was black with a bit of yellow detailing.âYeah, um, sureâ
Steve lubed up the suit and knelt down to help Jason into it.âYouâll soon feel part of something in this, boyâ
Again, Jason was finding all this too good to be true. Steve was a true pervert and a gentleman, and yet even when heâd pissed on Jason, it felt good to let this man take care of him.
As he slid his arms into the suit and adjusted himself, Jason was feeling hornier than ever.
âAh yes boy. That looks fantastic. A true pig. Let me show you how you lookâ
Steve pulled out another mirror so Jason could see the whole of the suit. It was then when he noticed the biohazard symbol on the back. His cock instantly got firmer.
âOh yeah, that looks great boy. You were made for thatâ
âUm, yeah. Itâs very horny but Iâm not sure wearing this out would be wise. Iâm not poz. I donât know if I shouldâŚâ
âYeah but look how hard your cock is boyâ
This was true. Jason had never been harder. Something about wearing an outfit like this turned him on so much.Just as Jason was starting to think and feel dirtier thoughts, Steve removed his t-shirt to reveal a rubber top. It too, had a biohazard symbol on it.
It had the effect on Jason. Making him harder than ever.
âLooks like boy has an interest in the biohazard symbol, eh?â
Steve took Jason into the playroom so the pair of them could look at each other in better light, if anything. Steve had noticed Jason had finished his drink, which seeing as heâd slipped a pill in it, was good news â Jason, the boy was now his.
âOh my boy. You donât know how horny you look in that suit. I want to jump youâ
âThanks Steve. Itâs true, I didnât think Iâd feel this hornyâ
âOh I can get you hornier, boyâ
And as he said that, Steve began to stroke Jason and the pair of them began to kiss again. Jason, somewhat amazed at his forwardness started to nuzzle at Steveâs body, nibbling his tits and â after Steve had passed him some poppers â was beginning to lick at and worship Steveâs biohazard symbol on his chest.
âGood boy. I think itâs about time you learned what joy this suit can give youâ
Steve pushed an increasingly cooperative Jason towards the sling. Jason, for his part, pulled himself into the sling and got comfortable.
âEver been fucked, boy?â
âA couple of times, but nothing special. Not in a sling anywayâ
âWell itâs turning into a day of firsts for you isnât it?â
Jason obliged and let himself get strapped in. Had he had his wits about him, heâd have got out of that sling and out of the flat sharpish. Heâd been pissed on and was about to be fucked while wearing a biohazard symbol on his back. However the idea of it was turning him on far more than the hope of escape did.As Steve secured Jason into the sling, he stuck more poppers up Jasonâs nose. Knowing full well heâd got him exactly where he wanted him.Jason was starting to feel hornier than ever. Bucking his arse and now seemingly hungry for whatever Steve had planned.He then felt the zip being undone at his arse.
âyes boy, by pissing on you Iâd staked my claim on you. Marked my property. Now Iâm going to help you earn that suit properlyâ
Jason was whirling in a state of horniness and wonder. Inside he knew that this wasnât probably his wisest move, but he was in no state or position to change that now.Steve had started fingering an increasingly hungry Jasonâs holeâŚ
âNice and tight. Letâs sort that outâ
As Steve started to push his cock into Jason, he sensed a hesitation â the mix of trepidation and fear that he noticed in all his pigs. If anything, it was turning Steve on more.
âYes boy, let me in. Accept your reward. A gift, evenâ
Jason was in ecstasy at this juncture. All reasonable thoughts and guards were abandoned now. He was getting rawfucked by a guy aka PigTop, and the pair of them were wearing poz rubber gear. Heâd have run if he could, quite honestly.
Steve worked his cock into Jason, striking up a rhythm almost.
âThatâs it boy. Enjoy this. Savour every moment. I think youâll soon realise what you really came here forâ
Jason was all over the place. He didnât want, or expect, this.
âPlease⌠No⌠I donât want⌠oh Godâ
âRelax boy. Boss knows whatâs good for you. Boss is going to open your eyes and mind to a whole new world of pleasure. Tell me what you wantâ
âI⌠I donât want to⌠argh oh god this feels fantasticâ
âHehehe. My poz precum is giving you the hunger you crave. Accept yourself. Accept your destinyâ
âOh yeah. Oh God. Fuck. Yes. Fuck meeeeâ
âGood boy. Let Boss recycle you into a dirty toxic rubberpigâ
âFuck⌠yes⌠tox⌠Oh godâŚâ
âTell me what you want boyâ
âI want⌠this. Steve. Helpâ
âIâm afraid Steve canât be reached at the moment, but your new boss TopPig is available. Boss knows what you wantâ
âYes⌠Boss⌠Itâs true. I feel so goodâ
âGood boy. Boss is going to help you become a true pig, boy. You need to beg your boss thoughâ
âPlease⌠boss⌠donât argh. God I feel so good.â
Steve stopped briefly to administer more poppers to Jason. And felt his forthcoming pigboyâs arse muscles clench hard on his cock
âYes boy. Thatâs the spirit. Now, tell me what you wantâ
âI want your cum, boss. Please. Feed me your cumâ
âGood boy, itâs toxic cum. Itâs what you need. And soon it will take you over, boyâ
âyes Boss. Give me⌠toxic cumâ
âYouâre on the road to becoming a pozpig, boy. Iâm off meds and have a good hit rate of knocking up boys like you. Boys who need direction. Boys who need recycling into pozpigsâ
âFuck yes Boss. Turn me into your pig, bossâ
âWhat sort of pig?â
âA pozpig, boss. Give it to meâ
âAs you asked so nicelyâŚâ
Steve was breathing heavily and turned on, lasting a few moments until his toxic brew flooded Jasonâs holeâŚ
âFUCK YEAHâ
âOh fuck. Thank you Boss. Thank youâ
âLike that did you? I knew you would. Your cock has been straining against that codpiece. Weâre all friends here now. How about I let that free for you?â
Steve unsnapped the rubber codpiece and Jasonâs cock sprung free and still as hard as ever.â
What a tasty cock you have boy, why donât you let boss help you milk out your last neg load as a rewardâ
Before Jason could protest, Steve was seductively making a show of sucking Jasonâs cock. Looking up to Jason in throes of ecstasy. He had done the job heâd planned to do. Just as his eyes met Jasonâs, Jason erupted inside Steveâs mouth and Steve gobbled every drop. He then moved up to Jasonâs face, and fed Jasonâs neg load back to him via a long kiss.Pausing for a while afterwards, Jason was left lying in the sling.
Acclimatising to his new predicament. Slightly panicking but also accepting what had occurred. Steve, or Boss, had tricked him good. But Boss had also opened his hole and mind and body to a new life.
When Boss returned to the room, he began to unstrap Jason from the sling. Not before slipping a plug into Jasonâs used hole to âallow the gift to do its workâAs Jason got out of the sling, he knew that heâd turned a corner. The poz reprogramming began in earnest. He knew that he could quite possibly be poz now, and his cocked twitched at the thought. But also he was fearful. He was a mess of contradictions. Heâd arrived to buy some gear and had now been pissed on, pozfucked and now plugged with a toxic load incubating inside him.
âHow do you feel pigboy?â
âIâm horny but also nervous and well, wasnât expecting thisâ
âHaha, itâs understandable. Iâve seen many lads like you before. Mentally adjusting to their new desires and forthcoming predicament. If you want, Iâll knock ÂŁ50 off the suit if you feel you want it. I must say itâs a horny, perfect fit on youâ
âYeah, thatâs cool. I think I might go for it. I mean, Iâve never felt so horny but also so wrongâ
âOnly to be expected, boy. If you want, you can take it off and you can have a shower and flush yourself out if youâre nervous and you can get some pills to try and stop the inevitable, but I donât think you really want that, do you boy?â
âUm, no Boss. I⌠donâtâ
âGood boy. The suit is yours if you want it. You can leave here now with it and wank off about how horny and toxic you look. Or, I think I could probably tempt you into keeping it on a little longer and we can work more on your poz recruitment. I think you secretly want to become a pozbrother, donât you boy?â
Jason sensed that this could all be over and done with, but his new desires were beginning to overwhelm him. He walked over to his new Boss, knelt down and placed his cock into his mouth. After some sucking he pulled away and saw his Boss smiling.
âGood boy. I knew youâd see sense. Let your Boss welcome you into the brotherhoodâ
âŚ
It was a few weeks later. Jason had undergone a change in more ways than one. At one point the very last thing he wanted to think about was what heâd done with Steve, or as he now referred to him, Boss.
As Boss had predicted, his toxic cum had done the deed. Jason had undergone his conversion, feeling as sick as a dog and full of regret one minute, and increasingly hard and horny the next. He knew it had happened. He knew heâd converted, and the results from the home test kit had confirmed it, and as he acclimatised to his new predicament, and as Boss had predicted, he was growing into his new, true form.
Jason had stayed off the dating sites during this time, only checking in occasionally to wank off to some of the âneverâ and âneeds discussionâ profiles. It was evident that âsafeâ was no longer an option or held any appeal for Jason now.
Then late one Friday afternoon he received a message. At first he didnât recognise the name, then when he went into the private gallery, he immediately knew it was Steve.
âOink pigâ
âOink Bossâ
âHow you been keeping?â
âNot so good lately, but now feeling better and hornier. I think you mightâve done the trickâ
âNice one. How does it feel?â
âIt was rough but now I feel constantly horny. Is this the brotherhood?â
âHehe. Yes boy. It sounds like your application for membership has been successfulâ
âI didnât expect it to feel like this. I just want to get out there nowâ
âYou not gone out yet to celebrate?â
âNo, part of me wants to obviouslyâ
âWhy donât you come over, boy?â
Jason sweated. Of course he wanted to do this. He knew he had to. He hesitated at first and thenâŚ
âSure, when you free?â
Jasonâs cock stirred at the idea, arranging a future date with Boss andâŚ
âIâm free now. Bring that suit. Or better still, gear up and cab over with it onâ
Jason got harder at the idea
âOkay, sureâ
âThatâs my boy. You know Boss wants you. I want to welcome my new brotherâ
It took all the strength Jason had not to explode at that last message. âBrotherâ. Thatâs what he was now. A brother.
Jason excitedly went off and retrieved the sports bag under his bed and unlocked the padlock. There it was â the suit that had caused this new rebirth. He pulled it out, lubed it and slid into its welcoming constriction. He then fired up his cab app, and booked his trip and put a tracksuit on over his fucksuit.
As the cab made its way across town to Steveâs flat, Jason felt a renewed excitement. The nervousness of his previous visit a distant memory. Steve had given him the code to let himself in, and the sweat building in his suit gave him a shiver as he walked up the stairs. What had begun as an opportunity to get some cheap rubber had now led him down this path. After Steve had first fucked him, he spent most of the next day with him, discovering the pleasures of raw sex. All during that session, Steve had been certain to breed Jason three more times and the memory of that weekend had been keeping him horny throughout the last few weeks. Even when he was at his lowest ebb, the pics that Steve had sent him of that time â of Jason in the sling, or posing in his biohazard gear, and trying on other pieces â were enough to turn him on.
However this time, Jason was now Steveâs equal. A newly converted and confirmed poz pig. And now it was time for a rematch.
Jason let himself into Steveâs flat. Again, it was tastefully lit and Jason now knew his way around it.
âIâm in hereâ
Jason wandered down the hallway towards the playroom, and as he entered, his eyes were greeted with the sight of Steve lying in his sling wearing his trans rubber fucksuit with a black biohazard detail on his chest. He was smoking weed and broke into a broad grin as Jason stepped into his eyeline. Jason unzipped his tracksuit and threw it into the corner. Jason slipped on the waders that were waiting for him, to the delight of Steve.
âOh look at you, my beautiful brother. Come here.â
Jason stepped towards Steve in the sling who removed the spliff from his mouth, and received a blowback when their lips met and kissed.
Jason instantly relaxed, his horniness showing no sign of abating.
âHere, strap me in brotherâ
And Jason secured Steveâs legs and wrists into the loops of the sling, to the eternally grinning Steveâs delight.
âHow do you feel, Boy?â
âFucking horny, Bossâ
âGood boy. I have waited for this moment. The cycle to complete. Youâre one of us now, brother. I took your last neg load boy, and so itâs time to reward and thank your boss with your first toxic fuck.â
âYes, brotherâ
Jason surveyed the scene. The man whoâd converted him â the predator â was now his prey. It was only fair and right to thank him.
âI bet youâre nice and fucking toxic now, pig. My seed has done the job. Iâve recycled you into what you were always destined to be, my brother.â
âYes bossâŚâ
âOh no, weâre equals now boy. Weâre brothers. Pass that amyl and hoof it down. I want your poz cock in me brotherâ
Steve unzipped and freed his hardening meat, and took a few blasts on the poppers. The scene now had clarity, the rubber felt better than it had ever felt on him. He leant down and unzipped Steveâs rubber at the crotch, exposing his toxic cock. The thing that had rebirthed into this â a poz pig, a brother.
âFuck yes brother. Breed me brother. Reward me with your toxic seedâ
It was enough to send Jason over the edge, but in the poppered haze, he positioned himself at Steveâs hole and worked his cock in.
âAh yeah. Thatâs it. Feels beautiful doesnât it?â
âYes brotherâ â Jason was getting into the spirit of the occasion now â âlet me flood your hole with my toxic seed.â
âFucking yes, brother. Reward me, my creationâ
It didnât take long for Jason to build up a rhythm. Inside his now rewired mind he somehow knew how perfect and right this felt. To be a pozpig. A brother. He was doing what his was now destined to do. He had acquired skills he never knew he had during that fuck. Freeing Steveâs hard cock, equalling Steveâs poz chat. It was like he was a natural.
Before long Jason knew he was close, his frantic fucking of this man, his pozbrother, was such a turn on that it wasnât long before he blasted his toxic brew into Steve. Gasping, horny and feeling somehow right.
Steve had moaned like a bitch all during this time, and inwardly congratulated himself for what heâd created. Jason fell onto Steveâs body and the two kissed passionately. The bond theyâd formed and this moment was everything.
As Jason stood up, he began to unstrap Steve from the sling, and Steve slid his way out of the seat and stood face to face with Jason and kissed again.
âThank you my brother. Thank you for rewarding your maker. Your recruitment has been a success.â
Jason, a little cockily, then stared into Steveâs eyes and said âKneelâ
Steve grinned again, âWith pleasureâ and fell down to his knees and started to suck on Jasonâs pozcock. As Steve finished cleaning, he stood up again and kissed Jason again. As the two engaged in a passion that Jason had never known, Steve pulled away from Jason, and moved him towards and into the sling.
âNow itâs your turn brother.â
Few months ago you told me your fantasy is to be taken by surprise. So I spiked your drink last night and borrowed you to very good friend of mine. I told him your limits and what you hate most. Enjoy it, Iâll pick you up at the end of a weekend.
Long weekend in bondage. Fucking Scott.
Its an old vid but a gold one~.

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âRules for Cocksuckers: 1. Itâs not about you. You exist to be used as a convenient outlet for real Men who need to be serviced. Nothing more. Your focus is to be on your Feeder and His Dick. 2. Itâs your place to take / swallow anything a Feeder wants to give you from His Cock. you will be a willing cum hole, urinal and spit receptacle. If it comes from a Superior Male, it belongs inside you. 3. your mouth goes where ever your Feeder wants it to go. If He wants your mouth on His Cock, it goes there. If He wants you to lick His balls, lick them. If He wants you to lick His Asshole, lick it. 4. All Feeders are your Superiors. you will address every Man that uses your mouth as SIR, unless instructed otherwise. A Feeder may address you however He sees fit, including names like âbitchâ âcocksuckerâ âcuntâ âwhoreâ etc. Heâs not being mean, Heâs just pointing out the reality of what you are. 5. You will eagerly service your Superior, as well as ANYONE else He wants you to service. 6. If a Man offers you His cock, itâs you job to suck it. No questions asked. you have chosen to make your mouth available on an as needed basis, and it should be available when ever a Superior Male needs it. 7. Learn to deep throat Cocks. Men have the right to be taken all the way to the balls if thatâs what they want. 8. NEVER push a Man away just because He gets a bit rough with you. you are servicing a MAN and should be willing to deal with everything that that entails, including a little rough treatment. 9. When being used by a Superior Male, you hands should be anywhere but on your own dick. (See Rule 1). If you are jerking on your little cock, you are NOT adequately focused on your Feeder. 10. You will update your Feeders with your availability on a regular basis, and make sure you are available at those times. 11. Keep your mouth and body healthy and clean. See your dentist every 6 months to prevent gum disease or any other condition that might put your suckhole out of commission. Keep your body clean, and if you are overweight, work on getting lighter. This will allow you to appeal the broadest range of Feeders. 12. When a Man is done using your mouth, you will thank Him for using you, and thank Him for His Sperm. If He has brought another Man with Him, you will thank Him for doing so, and thank His friend for using you. 13. REMEMBER: you are a cocksucker. you exist to suck cock and be used as a cum dump.â
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CMHServiceFag from elsewhere (via
thepleasurequotient
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Good words of advice
(via brisbanemaster)