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|Storycodes: Solo-M; F/m; cond; mc; captive; bond; tape; latex; catsuit; hood; inflate; enslave; femdom; tease; denial; cons/reluct; X||
|Drone Phantom Solo-M; F/m; cond; mc; captive; bond; tape; latex; catsuit; hood; inflate; enslave; femdom; tease; denial; cons/reluct; X|
"MEET PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT YOU!"
"HOT YOUNG SINGLES IN YOUR AREA."
Theo reared back in his chair. The image flashed again on his screen. Faces of pretty girls, all of them fake; faces of women that probably had had this image stolen long ago. Profile pictures, pulled randomly by web-crawlers to create a facade and a trap.
The very thought that such a website might provide anything more than computer viruses was laughable. Theo leaned in his chair, his knee resting against his home's short desk. He laced his fingers in his hands and stared at the screen, covered in lewd pornography, links, and pulsating sidebar ads. Besides, nobody would really be 'right'. These women weren't real. It's hard to find affection when you're talking to a chatbot.
It was difficult finding friends- male or female - in a big and unfamiliar city. Hence, Theo spent tonight, as with many nights, relaxing at a library or bookstore (he treated both the same) or simply going home, and... well, Theo liked to think of it as simply 'browsing the internet.' But, he knew in his heart, that he was looking at the same thing as millions of other men.
Women. (And sometimes, men.) Covered in latex. Drawings, images, videos... he didn't want to think of it, pushing it out of his head whenever he was away from his computer.
What purpose does work have when there's no play? No, not 'play,' but 'playtime'. Work should have been an enriching experience; either enriching the mind, or enriching the pockets. But Theo found his job to enrich neither. In fact, the most enriching part of his experience was whittling away his precious hours via the internet. By the time he was finished with work, he could scarcely remember what he had gotten done.
One day, Theo was possessed of a most indelible idea. He would finally click on one of those advertisements. Using a borrowed computer, he hadn't the forethought to care what the ad might do.
"SEXY BORED LADIES WHO WANT YOUR BODY!"
Seconds passed by, then minutes. Theo had committed the unthinkable. His eyes rapidly scanned the screen, darting left and right and never focusing too long on any one salacious image or piece of text. Wading through popups became a chore at first; then it became the goal. Every movement, every second was a new infusion of digital lust, all brought via the magic of the internet.
Theo's eyes stopped.
"Want to chat? I really want to meet you."
Theo turned his head around his empty house, devoid of life and movement save the twinkling lights of the city outside. He silently looked about, as if expecting intruders to judge him.
His hands - and his sex drive - made the decision that his logical mind could not. He responded as elegantly as possible. He didn't want to sour his 'relationship'.
'what are you wearing'
Edo was the restaurant most people only dreamt of. Sushi and cuisine of the rarest quality. A wait-list that required appointments to be booked weeks in advance. Discussion of master chefs that had spent centuries perfecting the craft of fish and vinegared rice. Theo was smart enough to know that he didn't belong here, and neither did his 'date'.
The restaurant itself was deceptive. Immaculately clean but with seating for only a dozen, Edo gave the appearance of a tiny cafe. Only the prices on the menu - and the strange lack of a bathroom seemed to indicate that this was anything but a hole in the wall.
When Theo's date walked in, there were scarcely six people present. None of them turned their heads to stare at her. Theo felt that it was rude not to stare. Her skirt was practically a corset against her hips and curvaceous bottom. The sheer, smooth stockings only served to further her figure. The blouse looked like it was made of PVC, black like the rest of the outfit. Theo instantly associated this woman with sex and desire. She had already become an object of lust from the moment she walked in the door.
Giselle crossed her legs at the booth, and Theo followed suit.
Pleasantries were exchanged; information, names, history, personal tastes, turn-ons and turn-offs. Theo definitely felt very aroused, and yet simultaneously very small.
Giselle's short blond hair shimmered all the brighter, a platinum against black-framed glasses. She laced her fingers together in front of her, and leaned on her fist.
"You seem nice. Much nicer than online. You seem like you really just want to spend some time with people. You seem a bit pent. Which is, you know, good, in its own way."
A nervous laugh came from the young man's mouth. He wasn't sure what she was getting at.
"Y'know. People do silly stuff when they're not in the right mindset. Like if you're tired, or really bored, or really horny you can make crazy decisions. Like meeting someone in person after you met them on the internet." Giselle let a smile cross her face, just a tiny one at the side of her lips.
"Yeah. You know how it goes. You probably hear and see it a lot in your line of work." Theo curled his lips. He instantly regretted bringing it up.
"Being.... your job requires you to be a 'people person', a social sort. You no doubt get sob stories all the time."
Giselle's smile widened. "Yeah. Very subtle, good recovery. Will you still be talk to me via porn sites when I'm old and gray?"
"No, because when we're older I'll see your face on the pillow next to me."
"Hah. Heh heh. Okay, that was good. Very good. I swear, if you get any smoother, I'm gonna fall right outta this chair."
Theo was feeling emboldened. "Then I wish I was the floor."
Giselle's smile hung in the air before falling. "That was very cute, Theo. But I have a secret. I'm a wizard, and I'm about to cast a spell on you."
"What, that's your comeback? I'm pretty entranced already." Theo was on fire! He hadn't felt this confident in a long time.
"Watch this." Giselle placed her hand on his wrist, lacing her fingers gently over his knuckles and pinning it firmly to the table with her weight. Raising her gaze, it slowly raised from his feet to the barstool to his groin and chest and finally, for first time, meeting his eyes.
Theo froze. The room cleared out. Everyone save him and Giselle walked out the door silently. Theo was frozen solid.
His jaw listlessly hung open, his voice gently cracking a mixture of 'huh' and 'um,' words frozen in his throat before he could expel them. His strong, weathered hands lay on the table where they had been minutes before, unmoving and unchanged. A bead of sweat appeared on his brow.
Giselle's mouth was straight; haughty creases borne of many laughs and grimaces remained unfurrowed and she neither smiled nor frowned as she reached into her purse. Her eyes gave off a radiance that conflicted with her unbiased expression. They glimmered like gems, darted like a fish. A predator had cornered her prey, and she was eager to indulge herself.
He remained sitting, hands fogging up the table with perspiration. Her fingers had produced a shimmering ovoid tape dispenser. Her face unmoving, she leaned onto the bar. With one hand she held it immobile in the air, and with the other she stretched out a long, silvery-blue strip of tape. It made an oily, squeaking sound that filled the air. She took her time, stretching it to its limit. He saw his reflection in its opaque blue surface.
The predator, Giselle, had no need of violence, and luxuriously stretched it around his face. He felt it around the back of his head, adhering tightly against his flesh and skin, wrapping around one cheek and then the back of his head before covering his lips. As though it was molded, as though it was made for him he felt its caress and compress his lips and face.
She wound it again, and another time. The second two were so fast, so tight. It was enough to break the spell.
For a moment, he struggled. She tumbled off the barstool with him in tow, his head landing on her chest and neck. He struggled to his feet, falling back down onto his rear. He scrambled, legs and arms flailing, backwards until he hit a corner of the room. It wasn't just her 'spell' that had been broken; it was as though he had been rudely woken from a pleasant, deep sleep. He felt panicked.
"Maybe, just maybe... maybe I am not a wizard. Maybe I'm not an evil sorceress. Maybe - it's possible - that I planted all those messages subliminally, preying on your deep-seated desires for bondage, domination, submission. Maybe I have powerful friends, and we simply told all those people to leave. And, if that's true, then the fact that you're sitting here and basically letting it happen? Well, I know what you do online. I wouldn't need any sort of magical spell; just some mental conditioning, something that could be inserted into your psyche... maybe via a website?"
Giselle sat on top of his stomach, and he felt air rush from his lungs and through his nose.
"You seem nice. Play nice, and this evil queen - that being me - will keep you. If you can't learn to play nice, then-"
"...then I sell you."
Time doesn't stand still or slow down; one's perception of time doesn't change. Afterwards, however, your memory shifts; you remember every second of that car crash or accident with slow motion, excruciating detail. Every millisecond of your most panicked moments are recorded with your mind's best film and most exacting equipment. Giselle's recent acquisition was busy bucking in the backseat of her car. This memory would last with him forever. Giselle smiled again, curling her lips slightly.
A forceful fight had ensued, and Theo's muscles yet ached from his loss. Arms behind his back, legs tightly bound together with cinching rope, and his body harnessed; he panted slowly but surely, and as his bruises formed he also grasped the enormity of his bondage. Criss-crossing his body, around his legs and thighs and arms and wrists, he felt masterfully roped in one place. Several seatbelts laced him against the seat, and tinted windows gave him only a dim perception of the world outside Giselle's vehicle.
The lump in Theo's throat was fear; the one in his mouth was a bright red ball-gag. Giselle had cackled when she parted his lips and inserted it, and had laughed like the witch she jokingly claimed to be when she locked it around the back of his head with a click. Theo protested, of course. "I don't know what you're trying to do, but it won't end up well for either of us." Giselle had delivered a chilling response; "Actually, it'll be either terrible for you or absolutely tragic for you. Your call."
"Hugggngh." Theo drooled out a few masculine-sounding grunts.
"That's nice, sweetie."
Stagelights but no cameras; chairs but no visitors. The small theater could scarcely seat 100, and perhaps 20 were present. The empty chairs did not change Theo's 'stage fight.' His expectation had been to perform.
Backstage was no nicer.
"Theo, it really is too late to cry, and I would rather you didn't. But if you want to beg or mewl or try to look cute, I'm all for that."
Her captive acknowledged. "I don't understand what you want, Giselle. You know I want no part of this."
Giselle had just finished untying her quarry. Theo knew better than to run. There were curvy women and muscled men watching every doorway. Besides, Theo was naked.
Well... nearly naked.
Giselle snapped the band of the latex briefs around his groin; the only piece of 'clothing' he was permitted snapped against his supple flesh. He felt his curves ripple so slightly.
The only other object adorning his body was his collar, and that was attached to a large and sturdy leash. Giselle pulled him in closer. He rubbed the back of his neck as Giselle lectured him again.
"I merely require your behavior to be a mixture of distressed and sexy. You do this, and your outcome will be absolutely grand. Fail, and your fate will be out of my hands."
"You'll let me go? I pose and you let me go?"
"I said the results will be positive. You've really got no choice. You can choose not to cooperate, in which case I simply bind you back up and return you to the trunk of my car. That is, until a fitting punishment can be heaped upon you. You really have nothing to lose."
Theo balled his fists. "I don't like taking orders from online whores."
Giselle grinned through gritted teeth. "You don't want to take my reasonable instructions? I'm not the one..." The mistress finally resorted to striking. She slammed her open palm against his butt, and squeezed tightly. "...I'm not the one with the collar."
Lingering doubts festered in Theo's gut. The situation was intensely ironic.
Theo couldn't count the hours he had searched for, indulged in, purchased and obsessed over captivity; bondage just as this, with shows, mistresses, nubile young captives. The bulge between his legs grew slightly upon this reflection.
A seed of submission had been planted. Giselle strode around the stage, showing off her latest "acquisition." She spied him, fantasized about him, and grinned a most true smile when she noticed her prey's arousal. She gave a short speech extolling his features; svelt body, vaguely athletic; not terribly fit, but physically capable and flexible in the right ways. Words rolled from her lips that terrified Theo.
"Pliable." "Servile." "Usable." These were not words normally ascribed to a human being.
"And so," Gisielle recounted, "I will return - in one week's time - with my findings. I know of his background. We all know what it means. But - but - I think we can overcome it. I think that we can prove that there will always be a place for us. David may slay Goliath, but we need not come to blows. We can survive. We'll thrive... and my training of the Reformed Drone will be our proof.
Giselle ended her speech. She punctuated her statement with another firm goose to Theo's rear. She noticed him grinning.
The time for Theo's "training" was at hand. There had been days of relaxing. Giselle seemed coquettish. The first day at in her townhouse was dedicated to relaxation; it was almost intimate. Theo had been lulled to relaxation through some dining, movement, exercise... things a trendy couple would do.
The second day was the opposite. It began with him being roughly moved from the bed, rigorous physical training; a visit from a doctor who took a variety of vitals. It was all intermixed with spanking, vigorous and intense groping, and a lot of verbal humiliation.
On the third day, Theo awoke. Giselle's townhouse was a fortress. Locks, soundproofing, tinted windows and narrow corridors kept him from going far. Giselle was completely unpredictable; she spoke constantly of turning him into a bondage slave. "Just like in your stories, dear!"
The scariest part was when Theo realized he hadn't even tried to escape.
"Good morning, ma'am." The third day opened with the greeting that Giselle had whipped into him.
"Good morning, pet! Normally, our training lasts for weeks."
"It feels like it's been an eternity."
"Time will fly once you're having fun," she intoned. "But we're accelerating things. Today is the last day."
"Last day of... before...?" Theo cocked his head slightly.
"The last day of your training. After this, we're done."
"Done, ma'am? As in, this little fantasy of yours is over? I get to go home? I leave and we pretend this never happened?"
Giselle stared back, as if he had asked a silly question. "All I said was that we're done."
Theo swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. He clenched his fists into balls, then crossed his arms, then clenched them again. His captor simply sat on the bed, eying his naked form over. She drank it in - seeing his exposed flesh like this would be the last time for some time. For a long time, even. His masculine curves, his chest, and especially his legs - she had an appreciation for his legs - made Giselle purr.
"Am I going to get dressed?" Theo asked.
Finally, Giselle's lips curled into a vulpine smile.
A word that Theo didn't hear passed from the madame's lips. By the time Theo realized she had said something, his unconscious mind had taken over. Just as in the restaurant, he all but went limp.
He felt his feet fed through a pair of holes, then the unforgettable feeling of taut material stretch up his calves. It squeaked slightly, and Theo chirped. In his mind, it was thick rubber; pungent and unyielding. Industrial and sublimely skintight, in his mind's eye the stretchy substance already gleamed with oil. It was a single piece; a pair of luxurious tights that he felt with the utmost certitude had been made for exact dimensions.
Not exact. A bit tight. Inescapably tight.
It worked up his thighs, covering his rear. Form-fitting yet also molded, the tights cupped his cheeks individually, allowing for maximum access to anyone desirous of savage goosing. He imagined the curvature, precise edges arcing over his legs and butt. Giselle's fingers ran over the material, giving her usual squeeze.
Theo was in a trance, a dream-state where his unconscious fantasies and waking nightmares had merged. His conscious thoughts were simple; "It's only a photo shoot, she wants to take pictures of me." His unconscious thoughts were of vice and lust in his new skin.
What he didn't see, he felt.
"This is going to be downright magical," she rejoiced.
As the suit covered his cock, Theo gave another chirp. His package was a spherical bulge, sealing him up and dooming his chances at sensual release but for the capricious choices of Madame Giselle. Theo nearly broke from his trance; he nearly woke up. Giselle stared at the bedroom door, seeing to it that he couldn't escape should he awake.
She used every tool to work the suit up his body. She pressed her chest against his tugging at it, she used her knee as a fulcrum; with work, she had brought the suit to his arms. Bit by bit, the taut catsuit became his skin. The arms gave her trouble. Her soon-to-be slave was so relaxed that she had to daintily work them through the sleeves of the catsuit. The suit's arms were now mittens, giving a wide mitt and a thumb. His digits were hopelessly pinned beneath a snug, shiny rubber surface.
There was a tension in the air. From the top of his neck to the tips of his toes (his feet being encased in padded and reinforced 'shoes'), he was enclosed. Giselle produced a glossy blue corset, wrapping it around the latest drone's abdomen. It went from his chest to his lower waist, and a heart around the navel gave it a trendy icon. She squeezed it, cinched it, and with that jolt of pressure, Theo finally awoke.
And yet, Theo did nothing. Theo blinked a bit, but he only pursed his lips. The seamless, tight garment compressed his body, proudly displaying his pectorals (beneath the shiny layer of course) and hips.
"You look wonderful." Giselle sounded like an artist or stylist. "I like this. I love this. You look delicious." She ran a finger from his chest, down his boned waist, to his snugly-packaged groin.
"I like it."
Giselle was taken aback.
"What was that? Say that again; Giselle, the mighty wizard, didn't hear you." She tried to regain her composure through haughtiness.
"I... love it." He bit his lip. "It's dream."
This was an opportunity. They both realized it. "Take these," the Madame said. The last item on the bed were two pairs of metal cuffs. They were metal, completely shiny and with obvious machining. Each of the four cuffs (two for arms, two for legs) bore rings and sockets.
He knew exactly what to do. He needed no prompting, locking himself into his suit with four clicks.
The Madame took her slave's hand and jolted him to his feet with a hard yank. She was shorter than him, but she felt like a giant next to a mouse.
The hood - ah, the hood. Giselle had slaved over it, choosing it, fabricating it, making sure it matched in every way. It was two distinct layers; one to cling to his face and enclose him, the other to cover it in a perfect, faceless sheen. Like any good drone, really, this one would be unique in its dress and behavior but faceless all the same.
The first hood was padded, and he accepted it, chirping and mewling frequently. A mixture of panic and regret saw fit to seize him, but acting upon said feelings was not an option.
The inner hood stretched over the slave's face, covering it in a padded black. His nostrils flared as he accepted a pair of tubes; his hair disappeared beneath its snug embrace.
Only 'mmphs' and 'mmrrgghs' were audible; no coherent speech escaped his now-gagged lips. She drew a second hood over his head; a heavier rubber, thin layer of padding inside it. It covered the straps, locks, and internal sustenance equipment. With this second hood, his features had disappeared; he had a smooth exterior. Giselle contemplated - and planned - to attach 'ears' to the hood should the desire for a rubber puppy cross her mind.
Giselle guided her new drone into the closet.
There was one room that Theo had never seen during his brief and enforced stay in Giselle's home, and that was the closet. It had been alluded to enough; mentions of toys and equipment and occasionally prods about being "in the closet" all came from Giselle.
Now, he was inside it, though he understood very little. He knew that he was isolated, but standing. His arms and legs were under immense pressure, and not merely from his enclosure. He surmised that from his thighs and biceps down, his arms and legs were encased in some sort of inflatable prison. He could hardly move them. His cock, too, in its package, also seemed to be 'plugged' into some sort of contraption.
Giselle had spent months working on this device, all hidden in her closet. A massive rig, designed to enclose the wearer and turn them into exactly what she needed them to be. And now, Giselle needed only to watch.
A voice rang inside his head.
“Oh my, look at this. You’re all trapped with nowhere to go.”
Theo perked up. He didn’t understand how this sound - and these images - were coming to him, but he had some guesses.
An image of Giselle, dressed in sparkling red, appeared in his mind.
“This is a very special honor for you! To be a Drone is to be the absolute most valuable of slaves. A drone works; moving, pushing, pulling, feeding, fixing, caring, servicing your owner. You’ll learn to love it, and never complain.
For you will be among the most content of all possible slaves! Your individuality, drone, is a thing of the past. You have no number; you are merely New Model Drone. You have an undying passion for servicing those around you, and an unyielding desire for pleasure and to obey.
You have no fear; for you are in immense bliss. You are not gone; the parts we need are locked deep inside. You are not yourself; you are ours, Drone, and you love your mistress. You deny your desires, serve, and service her. Nothing is more pleasurable than being manipulated by us.
Others will see your shiny body, salacious and sexy, but inside you’ll swirl with bliss.
The Drone wiggled and moaned as his mind and body were conditioned by the training rig. Giselle simply stared at him in wonder. She moaned a bit. She, too , was eager.
The New Model Drone stood at attention in the theater. This room was now packed. Everyone in the room marveled. The information was correct. It was a breakthrough!
"As you can see," Giselle reported, "Even before his conversion, he was hardly ordinary."
"As you can see, Theo - his former name - was employed at Mirage Corp for several years as a contractor before joining full-time." The crowd sneered at the mention of the name. "As is standard, he underwent some form of mental conditioning, shielding his mind against... well, exactly what we tried to do. To his knowledge, he had a dreary job, probably never realizing that he dealt with slaves, captives, and all manner of lascivious luxury on a daily basis. He probably never realized it at all. He probably went home, wondering why he felt the way he did."
The crowd murmured gently.
"Having selected him as a potential target, we used his oblivious nature, implanting suggestions to him via certain Internet protocols. By the time we made our move, we already had a few 'spells' and hypnoses at the ready. Our customized suit keeps him properly contained. Not an inch of skin shows; his escape is impossible. Ladies and gentlemen of the DomiNetwork, this is proof. Not everyone can be a leader, but anyone can be slave."
Giselle punctuated her remark with her trademark slap. She firmly grasped her favored Drone by the rear and pulled him close as the applause thundered.
Drone lay on his Madame's chest.
Giselle was feeling *particularly* lazy after a long day of programming. She lay on the couch, head tilted to her right, one hand firmly on a wireless remote for her television/computer. It was comfy. She got the chance to stretch.
What was more was the New Model Drone. There were others now, but she kept this one. He lay, his head firmly planted between her breasts. Even under the hoods, she knew he could feel the touch of her bosom. She had designed the suit, after all.
The suit itself was now completely shiny. The blue and black had been polished, the advanced polymers scrubbed. He reflected light like a mirror.
With one hand, she lazily clicked the control. With the other, she snaked her fingers up and down the drone's body. Thoughts of their time the past few months sprang to her head. Intense mounting, stirring copulation. Pleasure for her beyond doubt - and, she had no doubts the drone felt similarly. She had designed him.
Her fingers ran over his butt and back. A small shudder echoed over her possession's spine. She always made him shudder. She didn't need to order it. He simply did.
A low, relaxed moan escaped her rubberpet's gagged mouth. All seemed well in her world and his.
It was magical.
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