Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

The Epidemic

by Ultraprene

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2006 - Ultraprene - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m+; latex; catsuits; cocoon; encasement; sen-dep; machine; program; suction; tease; susp; mast; sex; climax; cons; X

The author wishes to thank B3=s Wendy, Latex Elf, Lanky in Latex, and others from Rubber Pal for their generous help with ideas and inspiration.

The epidemic was raging, striking one community after another. While it seemed to affect only a minority of the people, those who did catch the disease had more than a 30% mortality rate. Since its first appearance a couple of years earlier, the scientific and medical communities had been struggling to find treatments or vaccines. There had been only limited success until a few months ago when a lab in the UK had discovered how to make a vaccine based on antibodies taken from survivors who had caught the disease and recovered from it. The main problem was that the antibody concentration in blood and other body fluids was too low to produce commercial quantities of vaccine.

Then there was a breakthrough. Semen was discovered to have a fairly high antibody level but that of pre-cum was nearly a hundred times as great. If one could harvest pre-cum from men who had overcome the disease, there was hope of general immunization, and eventual conquest of the disease. Even this blessing had its dark shadow, though. The metabolic byproducts from voluntary muscle movement would contaminate the fluid and reduce its effectiveness.

Our little nation had been lucky in that the epidemic was slow to reach us, but the "holiday" was now over and cases were starting to turn up. I wasn't so fortunate myself. I had caught the disease while on an extended business trip out of the country and luckily survived, although I had to be quarantined until I had recovered and the World Health Organization had determined I was no longer contagious. My girlfriend who had accompanied me on the trip did not fare so well and sadly she succumbed. Being sick myself and under quarantine, I wasn't even able to be with her in her final hours. As if this wasn’t enough, my employer simply couldn't keep my position open so when I finally did return home I was without a job, although the combination of a generous severance payment along with the public unemployment kept me from being totally broke.

A month after I returned to my homeland the first cases turned up there, apparently from travelers who had contracted the disease abroad and had returned before symptoms appeared. The Prime Minister immediately called an emergency Cabinet meeting. They realized that any vaccine produced abroad would probably be needed in the countries that made it so we would have to set up our own production facility. If we could vaccinate a sufficient fraction of the population, we might stop the disease before it took its terrible toll on our people.

The Health Minister reported that there were approximately four hundred survivors in the country, so about 200 males, and of these, perhaps half were of an age and health to serve as donors. Could they be convinced to volunteer a month of service to their country? The Defense Minister (largely a figurehead office now) pointed out that in the old days the country used to conscript young men for military service when we were at war. "The conscription laws are still on the books, and they allow conscription for both war and "national emergency." Surely this epidemic is as much a threat as some of the enemies we used to fight so if we can't get the volunteers, we may have to use these powers. We will, of course, pay the donors the equivalent of army pay either way."

Although the Justice Minister had some reservations based on human rights, he finally conceded that this kind of emergency justified extraordinary measures. Thus the collection facility was set up in a redundant hospital building. A large room was equipped with "clean room" filters to keep it sterile where the donors could be processed and further facilities were made for vaccine preparation, workshops and all the necessary ancillary functions.

It was then that the call went out for volunteers, if you can really call them that. After all, the alternative was to be drafted. But if you volunteered, you would be honored as a hero. Besides, what else did I have to do? So, I signed up.

I was told to purge myself a couple of days before reporting and then only have a liquid diet. I didn't understand exactly why, but complied, figuring there must be a good reason and on the appointed morning I reported to the collection facility. Upon arriving I was given forms to fill out mostly relating to my health history. I was then summoned into a small interview room where I was introduced to Wendy who explained that she would be my attendant. She began by explaining the process.

"You should have received all this information when you signed up but we are supposed to go over it again. Each donor has a custom fitted body mould made to his exact dimensions. It's totally rigid to prevent any movement. You have to be totally immobilized both to control the stimulation, and because the metabolic byproducts of muscle movement tend to contaminate the fluid. I'll show you a finished mould before yours is made."

I was aware that Wendy was looking me over with a bit more than professional interest, and I couldn't help but notice that she was a very attractive young woman.

She continued, "The head part of the mould has stereoscopic video viewers and earphones built in so you can receive sensory input. Some of the time this will be the television networks, but often we will deliver erotic material to help in maintaining your arousal and the flow of pre cum. The mould is fitted with physiological sensors to monitor both your health and arousal levels. It also has some ingenious devices built in for stimulation. Four times a day, we will remove the milker appliance from your penis and clean you up. That will also be when you can urinate into a receptacle. If you need to go at other times, there is a 3-way valve on the milker so you can pee in that and the urine will be diverted to a separate tube. Finally, at the risk of being a bit indelicate, your enclosure includes clinical tubing and fixtures to take care of your other bodily needs."

"Don't people go crazy from boredom?" I asked.

"Actually it's not that bad. Your visual, audio, and physical inputs tend to relieve that. As a matter of fact, before we set up this program we experimented with a few a few volunteers to test out and fine tune the system. None of them hated it and some actually enjoyed the experience. It's possible they had some erotic inclinations toward this kind of thing to begin with."

I replied, "That's sort of a relief. I was expecting to have to go through real Hell."

"As I said, it's not that bad. If it's any comfort, each of us attendants got a sample of the enclosure during the development and training phase. I was put into a full body cast for three days, and I actually found it quite enjoyable. I agree it was a relatively short time, but it did give me a sense of what you'd be going through."

Upon hearing this, I imagined Wendy immobilized in her cast and felt some arousal stirring my manhood.

She went on, "Let me show you an extractor device." She produced from her desk drawer a clear plastic tube, or shell, about 2 inches in diameter and perhaps 8 long. One end was closed off except for two rubber tubes, and the other end opened out into a flange. The first tube was centered in the end cap and expanded inside to a wide rubber sleeve that sealed to the outer plastic tube at the far end. The second tube went through the end cap off to one side and connected to the space between the sleeve and the outer tube. There was another very thin tube which she explained was to deliver a slow but regular supply of lubricating fluid.

Wendy held up the device and explained, "This slips over your penis and seals at the base. There is plenty of lube, of course. A pump cycles between delivering suction to the sleeve, and then pressure to the space outside the sleeve. That way you are alternately sucked and squeezed. The intensity and duration of each phase can be adjusted. The central tube collects the fluid. It also has a 3-way valve so you can urinate. That fluid obviously gets diverted to different plumbing. Several times a day, the pulsations stop for a time and you get a signal through your earphones for that. Unfortunately, as you must have read, you will have to be kept aroused just short of orgasm most of the time, but you do get to climax once a day--We aren't totally mean." At that Wendy smiled as though genuinely sympathetic to my upcoming predicament.

Wendy called out on her intercom, "How long till this next donor?" An answer came back, "We're a little backed up. Probably about an hour."

Wendy then asked me, "While we're waiting, would you like to tour the facility?"

"Certainly, I’d love to." I replied, eager to see what was in store for me.

Wendy escorted me from the interview room and down a corridor where we stopped before a picture window that looked into a large room.

"We can't go in there unless fully suited up, or in your case sealed in your mould. We have to maintain sterile conditions."

At that point a female attendant entered the collection room from a door at the far end. She was totally clad in skin-tight latex, including her hands, feet and head. Even her face was concealed by a rubber respirator mask. I couldn't help but notice that in addition to its practical function, the suit was powerfully erotic as it followed and even enhanced every curve of the woman's body. Wendy saw me looking at the strangely clad attendant and anticipated my question. "The collection room is a sterile environment, first because the donors are intubated and we want to prevent germs from growing and causing infections. The other reason is that we have to avoid any "bugs" getting into the fluid we collect. That's why the total encasement of both the donors and attendants. And every person entering has to go through a sanitizing process.

Inside the room were three rows of extraction stations, each with perhaps a dozen donors, although they were hardly identifiable as such. Each consisted of a sort of mannequin supported between two posts. The support was by means of pivots projecting out each side at waist level. Most of the figures were horizontal, face-up, but some were vertical, head-up, and a few were head-down. Every one of them, however, had a milker attachment protruding at the crotch. Beside each station a desk-top computer sat on a small bench and next to that a diaphragm pump similar to those used with an airbrush was droning away.

Wendy pointed to the station just in front of our window. I could see that the rubber liner of the milker inside the rigid transparent plastic tube was pulsating. An electric valve clicked and the pump changed its sound slightly and the rubber contracted. Another click and it swelled to fill most of the tube's volume. Then the cycle repeated, but it seemed to take a bit longer this time.

Wendy sensed my puzzlement and said, "The cycle varies, both to avoid monotony, and also to adjust the amount of stimulation. To collect pre-cum, the donors have to be kept aroused but short of climax, except of course for their daily orgasm. Some of the wires connecting to the mould are from sensors that measure heart activity, perspiration, muscle tone and contraction, blood pressure and other physiological variables. The computer analyzes these data to determine the arousal level and adjusts the stimulation. The tubes, as I explained, are life-support: feeding, waste removal, etc."

"What about the different positions of the moulds?"

Wendy explained that occasional tilting helped maintain good circulation for the immobilized donors inside the moulds.

"Isn't it pretty uncomfortable," I asked, "being upside down like that one over there? I mean doesn't all the blood rush to his head?"

The reply somewhat relieved my concern. "Actually it's not that bad. First of all the inversion times are generally limited to a half hour. Besides, the mould is so tight that while you are aware of your positions, your body is encased so snugly that there is really no discomfort. If the end of you that is down tries to swell from internal fluids, the external pressure from the mould prevents that. It's kind of like a SCUBA diver being upside down while descending or exploring the bottom. The gradient of water pressure outside balances his internal gradient, You'll see. The only problem we've had is that a few of the volunteers become more aroused while inverted. We can't figure why except that maybe they had a bondage fetish. That could be why they signed up in the first place. A couple of the first donors were close to climax before being turned upside down and when we inverted them they went right over the top. Of course we adjusted the computer programs to detect that and adjust for it. We sometimes let those guys stay inverted more then the regular times."

I scratched my head, somewhat in disbelief, but Wendy said, "Don't worry; you'll survive. Nobody so far has said it was hell, and a few actually enjoyed it so much they even offered to sign for a second term after a couple of weeks' break."

She put her hand on my shoulder and smiled as she gave a little squeeze.

"By the way, I'll be your attendant and I promise to take very good care of you."

Suddenly she looked at a door on the other side of the corridor and pulled me toward it. "The guy before you is getting his mould made. Want to see?"

As we entered the room, a man, totally clad in a perfectly fitting rubber suit, was climbing onto a sort of quilt which was lying a low table which Wendy explained was padded with memory foam to conform to the body. Even his head was covered in a hood which blended into the suit at the neck. Tubes protruded at the nose and mouth, and his penis was encased in a rubber sheath attached to the front of the suit. Once he was lying on his back with his legs slightly apart and his arms just out from his sides, two attendants, a male and a female picked up another quilt-like piece and put it over him. They drew the tubes through holes in the quilt and once the material was in place, the female threaded the donor's sheathed tool through a suitably placed opening.

As soon as the upper quilt was correctly in place, the attendants clamped a rectangular frame down to the table so that it held the upper and lower quilts tightly together. At that point I noticed a hose leading to the space between them. They hooked this to a machine and there was a whining sound--A vacuum cleaner? Apparently so as I saw the upper and lower sheets drawn together like a vacuum bed, sucking the quilted materials to conform tightly to every contour of the man's body.

Wendy explained, "Those sheets of material consist of two layers of rubber with a blanket of fiberglass cloth sandwiched between them. Just before we apply them, we saturate the fabric with a fast-setting resin. It takes about ten minutes for the resin to cure, so we suck it down promptly, creating the front and back halves of the mould. After the resin hardens we remove the resulting shell, cut away the excess material, and install the latches, tubes, and other fittings."

Of course we also install the video eyepieces and earphones in the head of the mould so you can see what is in front of your camera, or to reduce boredom you can watch television. There are also special films to keep you excited. You'll learn about that when the time comes.

My turn came soon. Wendy helped me powder my body and squeeze into my full latex suit. The feeling was certainly unique, but not really uncomfortable and it felt strangely erotic, especially when I slid my tool into the attached sheath. The hood, however, was a bit disconcerting. It covered my whole head, including my eyes and I felt a wave of claustrophobia, but with Wendy's gentle touch and reassurances the panicky feelings faded. The tubes in my nostrils allowed me to breathe easily and that was also a relief. I was then led to the preparation table.

The lower "quilt" felt kind of squishy under me as it deformed between me and the memory foam of the table padding. The attendants positioned my legs slightly apart, my arms just out from my sides, and drew my sheathed penis through a snug fitting hole in the upper quilt. The upper quilt pressed down a bit harder as the frame locked into place and I then heard the whine of the vacuum.

Suddenly my body was pressed from all sides as the resin-impregnated "quilts" squeezed every bit of my surface. Even with the resin uncured, I was totally immobilized. I have to admit it was scary at first, but having been briefed and seeing the process done to a previous donor, I convinced myself that I was safe from any real harm. Just go with the adventure! Apparently so, as I felt my manhood engorge and fill its latex sheath. Somehow this experience was awakening previously unrecognized erotic drives.

Soon the confinement became even snugger and immobilizing as the resin grew warm as it set. Some (unknown) time later, I heard and felt activity outside my encasement and soon the front half of the now rigid case was lifted and the attendants, including Wendy, helped me climb out of the back half. Wendy explained, "They're taking the shell to the workshop to finish it up for you."

During the next hour, Wendy had to perform her duties in the collection hall and I watched her through the window. She had certainly looked attractive in her business suit, but seeing her in that latex costume was incredible. It not only conformed to every contour of her body but its tension actually enhanced her shape. Again, I felt an arousal of heretofore latent instincts whereby I found that a woman tightly encased in rubber was far more erotic than a naked one.

When the mould was ready Wendy, still in her latex uniform, summoned me into the preparation room. The back half was lying on a specially built bench with contoured wooden cradles to support it, while the front was suspended from a hoist with its open side down. The formerly jagged edges had been neatly trimmed, leaving only narrow flanges to support the many toggle latches. I felt the inside of the back half and it was lined with a foam neoprene like the stuff used for wetsuits. The front was similarly lined, and both halves had numerous little metallic pads which I presumed were either stimulators or sensors. My stomach began to knot a bit as I contemplated being confined in that thing for a whole month, but it was too late to back out now.

I undressed and the attendants put my clothes in a carton marked with my name. It was time, and now they helped me climb into the back half of the mould. As I lay back, I could feel the rubber lining hugging my body and was amazed at how perfectly and comfortably it supported me. Next they began lowering the front half but stopped when it was just above me. At this point, Wendy wrapped her latex gloved hand around my penis and gave it a gentle squeeze and a rub causing it, of course, to stiffen. That allowed it to thread itself through the opening provided in the upper half mould as it was lowered the rest of the way.

Interestingly, the two halves didn't quite join until the latches were drawn up, compressing my body in the cavity between the halves. There was no sight, virtually no sound, and total immobility, yet there was no localized pressure or other source of discomfort. These guys had really mastered the art of making these moulds. An indeterminate time passed then suddenly I heard a soft voice in my ears. It was Wendy. "Are you comfortable?"

I tried to speak but with my mouth covered, it was impossible.

The voice then said, "Under your right index finger is a button. Press it once for yes and twice for no. "Yes." I signaled.

"While you are in there we will teach you Morse code. That will allow you to communicate, will relieve boredom, and it's a good thing to know anyway."

"The first thing we have to do, unfortunately, is install your plumbing. This will be pretty rough so we will put you to sleep for a time, but let me describe what will happen. The nose tubes you are breathing through will be removed and then we will insert feeding tubes through your nostrils and into your stomach. We will also run a two way tracheal tube through your mouth to maintain your breathing at all times and finally an anal probe or "butt plug" to take care of wastes. As for urine, we have to check and clean your milker four times a day. During this process, you'll get a signal to relieve yourself into a collection tube. As I explained, there's a backup system in case you have to take a leak some other time. It's a 3-way valve in the extractor. You tap out a code with your signal key, p-e-e (.--. . .) appropriately enough) The computer recognizes the code and switches the valve so the urine is diverted through a separate tube. A mild suction helps that along. You're going to sleep now. Push your signal when you wake up."

With that the air entering my nose acquired a sort of sweet scent and I soon lost consciousness. I awoke and felt my nose and throat full. Air was entering and leaving my lungs with no effort on my part, and my rear passage felt full. The feelings were strange and slightly uncomfortable, but bearable. I then remembered to signal and as I pressed the contact under my finger a tone in my earphones echoed the contact closure.

"I see you're back with us. Shall we begin?"

A gentle touch began stimulating my tool and I could feel it rising. Immediately a soft lubricated rubber sleeve slid down it and, as Wendy explained, the base flange was locked to the front of my encasement. Thereupon, a vibrating suction began drawing me deeper into the receiver while the stimulation increased my arousal. After a few seconds the suction was replaced by a gentle squeezing sensation as the pump forced air into the space between the rubber sleeve and the outer shell. God! it felt so good. The suck-squeeze cycle continued, perhaps two seconds per phase and my excitement grew, but suddenly the cycling stopped, replaced by a steady suction. I was still highly excited and hard as ever, but well short of climax. My sense of arousal then began to recede and under normal circumstances I might have gone soft, but the suction kept me inflated by drawing me into the receiver.

A short time (probably a couple of minutes) later, the cycle resumed, at first at a fast rate, then slower as my arousal increased, but as I neared climax, the cycle this time slowed down and the intensity of the pressure and suction both diminished. The cycle now began varying to hold me just short of the peak. The pleasant feelings of the milker action now were competing with a the frustration of denied climax. I yearned to cum, yet I wanted the sensation to go on forever.

Wendy's voice came through my earphones, "The computer that controls your system is calibrating itself. You will experience a variety of stimulation during this first day as it learns your responses. Enjoy!"

At that, the stereo viewers built into my head shell blinked on. It took a few seconds for my dark-adapted eyes to adjust but the image before me was a naked woman doing a pole dance as in a strip club. I found it only mildly arousing and apparently the instruments noted that, too, because the film then cut to a couple having sex in a fairly "standard" position. Again, this image lasted only a minute until it switched to the same couple, but this time with the woman tied spread-eagle to the bed. The instruments must have noticed my increased arousal and kept that scene on for several minutes. Clearly the computer was calibrating itself to the themes that turned me on.

Of course in my situation I had little sense of time, but the test scenes continued for what seemed to be many minutes while the milker maintained a slow gentle cycle. Eventually, the movies stopped and the screen went blank, but the milker continued. I noticed after a time that the urgency of approaching climax diminished and I enjoyed the sensual massage of the device as it worked relentlessly extracting pre-cum. Eventually, the video reappeared, this time with a slide show of still images, some photos but others drawings. Again it was clear the instruments were testing the erotic value of each and calibrating themselves on the basis of my involuntary responses. The program must have detected a hitherto concealed kink in my tastes as an increasing number of the images included latex and bondage. I wondered whether Wendy was able to read those results and thus discover my innermost secrets.

Hours must have passed when abruptly the pulsations in the milker ceased. Even the suction stopped. Wendy's voice came through the earphones, "Time for a pee break. I'll be removing your milker, but please don't go till I have the collection funnel in place". With that I felt my encasement tilting to a head-up position, although strangely there was only a mild sensation of verticality. There was movement of the milker as the flange uncoupled and removed and another tube placed over my penis and then Wendy instructed me to go. It took a couple of minutes since I was a bit "pee shy" but the pressure within me, enhanced by my tight unexpandable encasement soon won out and I relieved myself. I then felt myself being wiped with a damp cloth, slathered with fresh lubricant and the milker slid back on, aided by its own suction.

The few minutes without stimulation undid any jading or desensitization. As soon as the milker resumed, my arousal climbed rapidly toward an orgasm. The computer program, though, was too smart and recognized this. It somehow detected my rising excitement and temporarily stopped the pulsations. I retreated again from the peak. Once my condition had stabilized, the video show resumed. By now, the computer had recognized the things that turned me on and concentrated on bondage and latex but occasionally it threw in other themes, apparently testing alternate paths to my libido.

After what I guessed was hours, my pleasure from the erotic massage began to wane in spite of the variations in the rhythm and intensity of the milking. My erotic senses were again becoming bored. This is when the additional stimulators started kicking in. I began to feel a tingling in my balls and a mix of mechanical and electrical pulsations in my anal probe. My excitement rose again. At the same time, my stomach began to feel a bit full as the feeding tube came into action. My arousal began to increase shortly thereafter. Why? Oh yes, Wendy had told me I would be getting hormones. They must be in my food.

By now my frustration was becoming considerably stronger than my pleasure. Oh how I wanted to cum! I tried to thrust in and out of the milker but held absolutely immobile, there was nothing I could do. Whoever had designed this system certainly knew his (or her) stuff.

The first day was thus a mix of the most exciting erotic sensations combined with absolute frustration. The only intermissions were the pee-calls. There was some break in monotony, though, when the mould tilted from its usual supine position to either head-up or head-down. When I first sensed myself turning upside down I expected to feel my internal fluids rushing to my head, but surprisingly I didn't. Instead, just as predicted, I felt the external pressure of the mould. Wendy had been right and the sensation was actually quite pleasant. I even noticed my arousal increasing. So did the system and reduced the stimulation to keep me just short of climax.

So went my first day until during my fourth "pee call" when this time I was not wiped clean but the milker went back on with fresh lube. The suck-squeeze cycles were now more intense than ever before and my excitement rose rapidly. Still, as I approached climax, the pumping slowed and held me at the brink. I was supposed to cum now. Had I been lied to? At that moment the erotic movies began showing a woman dressed in perfectly form-fitting black latex and strapped to an X-frame. Just as my horny eyes took in this scene, the milker began pulsing at least four times a second with an intensity I had not felt before. I exploded into the sleeve pumping out my whole day's frustration. My body tried to quiver as every muscle tensed, yet the mould held me totally motionless and this only increased the intensity. At least for the moment, I felt this had been worth the wait.

Having been kept awake by the constant stimulation, I must have either passed out from the orgasm or just dozed off. But gradually my senses returned and at first I felt a sense of panic at the total darkness and immobility until my brain switched on and reminded me of my circumstances. The milker was still working on me but at a rather mild level. It apparently had been working even while I slept. I had wondered (after being encased) how I might sleep, but apparently when one is tired enough it happens even under the most unlikely circumstances.

The second day, my Morse code training began. I had buttons under my right index and middle fingers that I could use as telegraph keys, and a tone in my earphones allowed me to hear what I was sending.

The program instructed me and sent me code through my earphones. The computer decoded my sending and a very pleasant female voice offered corrections and comments. "Pretty good but try to space your dots more evenly." or "your spaces between letters are a bit too long." "That was much better." Within a couple of days I could actually express myself again since the tubes in my throat prevented any kind of speech.

(For hams and others familiar with Morse communication, once I knew the alphabet fluently, the system assigned the index finger for dot chains and the middle finger for dashes, with override as in the iambic keyer.)

It was wonderful on about the third day to converse with Wendy at last. She spoke with her voice most of the time, but sometimes in code, presumably to enhance my training. I learned that she had started this job with some mildly kinky inclinations but that they had grown as a result of her interaction with the totally encased and immobilized men. Her latex "work clothes" which at first had been uncomfortable and a nuisance began to arouse some latent erotic instincts and she now found wearing the suit a real turn-on.

I also revealed my previously undiscovered sexual kinks and she replied that a significant minority of the donors had made similar revelations. Some had said so outright, while others had shown them only through their involuntary reactions to the films. (That answered my earlier question; the attendants could indeed read our responses through the computer.) I asked whether I might see her through the video system and she switched from the "canned" program to a camera. She stepped into the field of view and posed in her perfectly fitted rubber skin and it was clear that the instruments recorded my immediate arousal such that the milker and all the other stimulators had to stop completely for a couple of minutes lest I go over the top. Wendy also noticed and commented, "I take that as a compliment, ... - ..- -.. (Stud).

When it came time for my daily "release" something different happened. After the milker came off, I felt something being rolled over my tool--a condom? Then a warm soft sensation slid down me and at that moment, the camera came on and I saw Wendy had mounted my encased form and was riding me, but she was constantly looking toward the computer screen. Just as I was about to explode, she dismounted, pulled off the rubber and reattached the milker which promptly finished the job.

"Thanks, but why stop?" I tapped out.

Her voice came through my earphones, "The instruments would record that you came without the milker in place. I could catch hell, even lose my job."

Thereafter, when no other attendants were on duty (about half the time) I received that special treatment and although the ultimate climax was not inside Wendy, I still loved the sensation and her very personal attention. I wondered whether other donors were enjoying this sort of special care, but decided it was wiser not to ask.

Some of the time, especially during rest periods, the video was hooked to the broadcast television channels and this allowed me to keep abreast of the news and get some non-pornographic entertainment. Much of the news was, as expected, about the epidemic and there was considerable praise for the brave recruits providing the material for vaccines. There were also reports on the ongoing efforts to produce a vaccine from more conventional materials.

The days passed and I grew more accustomed to the routine and the intense pleasure not only of the long-awaited orgasms, but also the range of stimulation the system was applying. The computer continued to learn to fine-tune the "entertainment" to my responses. It adjusted the vibrators, electro-stim, and visual images for maximum effect and arousal. But best of all was the special attention I was getting from Wendy.

Not only did she sometimes ride me during the approach to my daily orgasm, but occasionally she would tilt my mould to head-down and either service me with her mouth or impale herself on my tool. Still, she always had to stop short of climax and let the machine finish the job. She would also re-arouse me after each pee-call with her hands, mouth or pussy before lubing up and reinstalling the milker.

Wendy had another trick. Apparently she could override the computer and operate the stimulators herself, thrilling and teasing me as she described what she was doing. I'm not sure whether she was actually better than "auto-pilot" or whether it was the knowledge that she was the source of my sensations, but it certainly increased the thrill level.

By the end of the second week I was really enjoying this whole business and developing an increasing attachment to my attendant. It thus came as almost a disappointment when only 3 weeks into the program, Wendy informed me that there had been a breakthrough in producing the vaccine synthetically and the program would be ending. At the time I was only half way through my daily cycle, but she removed the milker, rolled on a condom and, for the first time, rode me to climax, teasing and prolonging the end till my orgasm came as a huge surging explosion of passion.

Thereafter, she and the crew set about releasing me from my long confinement in the mould. I was told that I should spend the next two days at the collection facility to make sure there were no problems and to allow my muscles to recover from their long immobility.

Getting out of the apparatus was actually quite difficult because my muscles were stiff and had lost considerable strength in spite of their regular electro-stimulation. Even breathing without the trachea tube and respirator was strange and I was conscious of the effort it required. It took about an hour before my voice regained its function.

Along with the other donors who were being released I spent the next two days regaining my normalcy through physical therapy. We and the attendants kind of felt like a special club who had shared a most unique and altruistic experience. Most of the donors were unequivocally glad to be free and had found the experience, while not quite miserable, a sacrifice for the public good. They were proud they had saved many others from sickness and possibly death, but wouldn't ever want to endure the process again.

There was, however, a minority, perhaps a dozen who, like me, had found the whole experience an erotic adventure which had brought out latent bondage and submission fetishes. They wouldn't mind being encased in their moulds again some day, albeit for much less extended times. I didn't say anything about my "special" treatment so I had no way of knowing whether it was unique to me.

Before leaving the facility, Wendy and I exchanged phone numbers, etc. and agreed to see each other on the outside as soon as possible.

It took me a few days to return to being mobile and be able to move somewhat normally. It was also very odd sleeping and waking up in a normal bed. It took another couple of weeks to get back to my regular life, paying up my bills, cleaning the apartment, reestablishing contact with my friends. I found that I had become a bit of a hero and was interviewed by reporters from the local newspaper and radio station. In these, I concentrated on the technical details and my sense of helping the community, steering away as much as possible from the erotic components. I balanced the truth, with concealing from the public my newly discovered kink.

A further benefit of my moment of fame was that women found me desirable and I had several dates which led to sex. I enjoyed it, of course, but even in the midst of the act I kept fantasizing about my experiences in the mould and being connected to the milker. To tell the truth, the physical sensations of the mechanical system were actually more intense than actual intercourse.

Although I thought of Wendy often, I couldn't quite bring myself to call her. It was thus quite a surprise and a relief when she called me and asked whether we might meet for lunch. I didn't hesitate at all.

At lunch, we reminisced about the Program, and she asked me whether I still found the whole idea erotically exciting.

"Oh yes! I kind of wish they hadn't scrapped the whole setup when the program ended."

Wendy smiled and invited me to follow her to her home.

We arrived mid afternoon at a big farmhouse outside town. Wendy escorted me into the parlor and then through a door into a room where I couldn't at first believe my eyes. Right in the middle stood my extraction apparatus dominating the otherwise sparse room.

"Ha-ha," she shouted. "They didn't really scrap the equipment. They put it on the surplus market and I bought your mould, along with the computer, and the whole setup. I took a chance that you would want to give it another try--purely for fun."

I was startled and immediately aroused at the opportunity to relive the amazing erotic experiences without the constraints of the Program.

Wendy clearly sensed my reaction and smiled broadly, a smile which I promptly returned.

"Want to give it a go?"

"You bet!"

She went to the closet and took out my rubber suit which she helped me to don.

That first session was wonderful. Wendy sealed me into the tight mould with my already aroused tool protruding. As I adjusted to the confinement, she set the video camera on a tripod and stepped in front of it. Thus in my sight, she undressed and then re-dressed in a perfectly fitting red latex cat suit. This was a new one, or at least not the black suit she had worn during the Program. It was also sexier with formed nipples in the part covering the breasts and apparently extra tightness around the waist to create a corsetting effect. She then donned a pair of high-heeled pumps, red to match the suit. As she maneuvered I noticed some kind of structure in the crotch area of the suit but was unable to discern its details.

Once dressed, Wendy approached my encased form, lubed me up and applied the milker. God! it felt wonderful. I'd missed its constant massage and suction. She quickly brought me close to climax, and then stopped the action, let me cool down and then resumed. All the while she talked through the earphones about how much she had enjoyed working on me during the Program. She revealed how much more she would have enjoyed taking me without the restrictive rules. She ran me through three cycles of arousal and cooling off and then two more with the mould tilted so I was upside down. She then set me level again, removed the milker and mounted me. It was then that I realized the structure of her suit. It had a built-in internal latex sheath. It was also clear that the sheath had little rubber nodules and ridges on the inside which increased my sensation. Given my long preparation, it took only a couple of minutes before I went over the top.

I must have fallen asleep after that because the next thing I felt was the milker running at full intensity and bringing me again to the brink of climax. It then stopped and I felt Wendy mount me again. With the edge taken off my anxiety by the first orgasm, it took a good half hour of love making before I came for the second time. She then left me to relax inside my mould with no activity.

Some time thereafter, I was aware of the latches being undone and Wendy helped me out of the mould. After washing up and dressing in our normal clothes, she prepared a simple dinner. During dinner we talked about the little adventure. We both agreed that the freedom from the Program allowed a far more enjoyable experience. While I naturally loved the erotic activity, I also found the rest period at the end extremely relaxing. I was alone with just my inner thoughts, the only sounds being my own pulse and breathing. The only sensation was the all-over pressure of the rubber against my skin. Having been sated sexually, there wasn't even the erotic tension. I told Wendy that it was the most totally relaxing experience I remember.

She also loved the adventure. Somehow the idea of sex with a totally contained partner was a special turn-on for her. "I don't know whether it's the element of control, or the bondage, but it has a thrill quite different from regular screwing."

"Couldn't you accomplish the same thing", I asked, "by just mounting a wooden dummy with a dildo attached?"

"You'd think so, but somehow knowing you're inside makes all the difference. Again, I don't know whether it's the sense of control and ownership, or knowing that I am also giving pleasure to you."

Needless to say, Wendy invited me again a few days later and we did an even more extensive session. After a couple such "dates," she suggested we try a full weekend and that I clean myself out as I had done for the original Program. I was a bit nervous, but our previous sessions had gone so well that I put any fears aside and reported as planned.

After my first orgasm, I sensed again that sweet smell in the air I was breathing. Some perfume? Oh no! I remember--it's the anaesthetic they gave me at the start of the Program, but that's the last I remembered. When I came to, I was still in the mould and now felt all the plumbing in place. Of course I couldn't speak with the tubes in my throat so I felt for the Morse keys under my fingers. "What's going on?"

"I've decided to keep you somewhat longer but I guarantee you'll enjoy it. Besides, you don't have much choice at the moment. Don't worry; you'll be safe."

Now I was getting scared. What was she going to do to me? With all the tubes in place it was clear I was in for an extended time. I began to assess my situation further. The face part of my enclosure was somehow different. The void space in front of my eyes that had previously allowed me to see the video apparatus was no longer there. Instead the face cover fitted perfectly to my every feature. There also seemed to be a few extra bumps on the inside of the shell in my crotch area. The one thing that was unchanged, though, was the absolute immobility.

Minutes passed and I waited for either the milker or Wendy's touch but neither came. Neither did any sound, nor did even one photon of light penetrate the opaque faceplate. It was absolute sensory isolation. I tried to communicate through my code keys, but the absolute silence in my ears convinced me that the telegraph was dead. I don't know how long it went on, but suddenly there was sensation around my tool. There was a pulsating tingle. Those bumps must be electrodes. I became erect without any volition or erotic stimulation on my part. The electro-stimulation had seized control of my organ. Then something was slid over it, but not the milker. I felt a constriction at the base and then suction. My cock started to expand under the vacuum until it was soon fully erect, yet there wasn't the usual erotic sensation. I was just thrusting into empty space. I later learned that the device was an over-sized plastic tube with an inflatable rubber collar at the root and a suction tube at the end. The effect, however, was far more frustrating than when the milker was in place but inactive. At least then I felt the snugness of the rubber liner. Now there was nothing but the condition of being erect. Standing up with nowhere to go.

My mind and every nerve in my body were craving some sort of stimulus. How long would this go on? Would I go crazy? I tried the telegraph one more time but of course it was still dead. My thoughts kept returning to my time in the Program and the erotic adventures Wendy had created afterwards, but still the boredom was oppressive and by now I was losing all sense of time, and I could no longer sort out clearly what was real and what was imagination.

Then there was a change. I felt myself being tilted head-down. The suction relaxed. The next sensation was so welcome and familiar as I felt myself being sucked into the soft lubricated rubber of the milker. And then it began to work on me. Oh what a welcome relief to the absolute sensory deprivation! It worked slowly at first and with very mild pressure and suction, but gradually the intensity built up. I was approaching the brink when it slowed down, but not enough to let me slide back. It just nursed me up to, and finally over the edge. How wonderful! How welcome!

Following the orgasm, I relaxed and felt myself being tilted head-up. The milker slid off and I felt the rim of the relief jar touch my cock head. That, too. was welcome and I relieved myself. This cycle repeated itself with minor variations. The isolation times varied and my position for cumming also changed, between head up, head down, and horizontal, but each time the milker was the source of my deliverance from the stifling isolation.

As I've said, I had little sense of time, but it must have been at least 3 days when there was a change. I was horizontal and my milker had just started when it stopped abruptly. At that point the face of my mould opened to expose my mouth. (Since the feeding and air tubes entered through my nose, they weren't affected.) I felt something warm and moist touch my lips and realized Wendy was sitting on me. Wishing to please her, I naturally extended my tongue and began working. Her squirm showed me I was succeeding.

At that point the milker resumed its activity. I kept licking and sucking and the milker increased its intensity, but after a few minutes my tongue started tiring and I slowed down. So did the milker. So that's the game. I satisfy Wendy and she makes the milker satisfy me. The device is not just a relief from frustration but it's now a reward. OK, I'll play (as though there were really a choice). After several minutes of conscientious licking, Wendy finally came. I could tell by her spasms and increased juice, and her scream which actually penetrated the supposedly soundproof encasement. The milker now surged to full intensity until I also exploded into the extractor sheath, and then it kept on working for several minutes sucking every drop of fluid from me.

The milker came off, I felt myself being cleaned up, took a leak and was back to the frustrating combination of vacuum and electro-stim. Apparently Wendy enjoyed the licking session because next time the milker came on she tilted me to about a 45 degree head-down position and, (as I later learned) she sat on a low stool while I worked. She also had refined her control because this time we came simultaneously. This was finally getting quite enjoyable and I felt a little shame for my initial fear and distrust. Still, the subsequent waiting period was now even more frustrating, knowing (or not knowing) what pleasures waited at the end.

The cycle continued with alternating periods of overpowering frustration and the most intense physical joy one can imagine. The relief came in numerous forms, but the ultimate mechanism was always the milker combined with absolute immobilization. Sometimes the milker would bring me directly to climax in just a few minutes, while other times it would tease me, raising me to the brink and then stopping just short several times (the number varied unpredictably) before plunging me over the edge. On a few occasions, I was held just at the brink by the stimulation slowing down or the pressure being reduced. In a way this was similar to what I had experienced in the Program, but the now I was being held far closer to climax so the pre-orgasmic tingling went on and on.

By now all sense of time was lost. I know I had been encased for days, but with no contact cues as to day and night or other time references, there was no way to know how many. But then after a particularly satisfying release I was finally released. I had been in the mould continuously for sixteen days. As before, it took a while to get back to "normal," but within a day, I was longing for the stimulation of the milker. It therefore didn't take a whole lot of contemplation when Wendy offered a proposition.

"The purpose of this long process was to condition you, perhaps I should say to addict you, to the mould and the milker. I believe I have succeeded. Here's the deal:

"I invite you to live as my erotic object, or you may decide to leave. If you accept you are expected to spend your nights here and one week out of five. Other than that you may go out into the world as a normal person, even hold a job, so long as it fits in with that schedule.

"While you're here, you will be in your mould and I will use you however I see fit, but I promise you will not be harmed. In fact, I am confident you will love it. While out, though, you will wear a chastity belt to insure that all your sexual energy is mine."

I was about to agree without even thinking, but Wendy insisted I take a week to give the proposal serious thought and move out of my apartment. During that week I thought constantly about my time in the apparatus and how I missed those sensations. On the third day I had a date with one of the women I had met after being released from the Program and, I am sorry to admit, I kind of dropped the ball when she invited me to her place. I could not get myself aroused without imagining myself in the apparatus and my "performance" was, shall we say, less than heroic. The only way I was able to function was with her on top while I continued to fantasize about being encased in my mould and milked. Wendy was right. I am addicted. Within hours after the date I felt unsatisfied and longing for the mould and milker.

I did not yet cancel my apartment but did secure it and set the thermostat low, assuming I would be there only occasionally. And I tied up such loose ends as canceling my newspaper subscription and having my mail redirected to Wendy's

When I returned to Wendy's house it was late afternoon of the sixth day. I just couldn't wait the full week. She was delighted but not surprised that I had accepted. "I knew you would. You have completed my plan," she declared. "Let me show you."

Wendy led me upstairs where I had not yet been before and into her bedroom. The bed, a four-poster, dominated the room and was unlike any I had ever seen. Each post was a body mould from the Program. The two at the head end were upright, while the ones at the foot were mounted inverted. All faced towards the bed. Above each mould was a hook in the ceiling. A block and tackle hung from the one at the right head corner of the bed. Beside the bed was a cabinet containing the control systems. "Your mould is already installed. It's the one on the right side at the head. You will spend your nights in it," she said. "Your mould will be moved to a new position each night, so you will spend two nights head-up and two head-down. I have fitted the upper (or head) ends of the moulds with inflatable latex liners to counter the pressure while inverted so there should be no problem of your blood rushing to your head."

"I understand how that works," I answered, "but what are those other moulds for?"

"Perhaps I should have told you. There are four other donors from the program. You aren't the only one who found the whole experience an erotic turn-on. I put them through the same conditioning process and they are now as addicted as you. We are like a happy family here. So far there has been no male rivalry and we want to keep it that way. It's better to have an incomplete collection than a squabbling one. To help suppress any jealousy I have some specific policies:

"1. All the males get equal treatment; there aren't any favorites.

"2. None of you gets to see me playing with any other.

"3. And finally, 'don't ask, don't tell.' None of you is to ask or tell the others any details of what I do with you. This also helps keep a sense of surprise and novelty."

Needless to say, I was taken aback by the revelation that I was not the sole "beneficiary" of Wendy's kinky enterprise, but she reminded me that from my position inside the mould, the others would be of no concern, but then another question came to mind. "You said four others? That means five total. There are just four bedposts."

"Ah yes. Remember that part of the deal is to spend one week out of five here full-time? The fifth is in his mould in the next room. Up till now, I have had only three active bedposts but now that there are five of you, the set is complete. Don't worry; your full-time week will come."

"Do you just store him there?"

"Not all the time. I need to be satisfied and so do some of my friends. Let's just say he's kept ready, so when the need arises he's already risen."

Wendy led me through a door and into a room where I saw a complete setup from the Program. The subject was at that moment horizontal and the milker was slowly and quietly pulsating. I could see as well that all the "plumbing" was in place, consistent with extended confinement.

We returned to the parlor and spent time talking about Wendy's program and how I would fit in. She was forthcoming about the general features, but reticent when it came to fine details. Either she hadn't figured it all out or she wanted to leave some surprise and suspense. I didn't press. By now I had faith that Wendy was safe. If she had any desire to harm me or do something mean, she would have shown this long ago.

By now it was getting towards evening and the doorbell rang. It was a man whom Wendy greeted as "number 3." She then turned toward me and said, "3, I'd like you to meet 5. He's just joined our family." Apparently part of our objectification was assigning us numbers rather than names, or maybe there was some interest in maintaining a semblance of anonymity. But either way I was hereafter "number 5."

Within a few minutes, numbers 1, and 4 also arrived (2 was in the long-term mould) and we sat around the dining room table for some tea and a snack. Wendy reminded us that we faced a long night so we should go easy on the tea. After watching television for a while and some erotic videos with bondage themes, we prepared for bed. Wendy used the bathroom and shower first, and each of us then did so in turn. While we were performing this ritual, Wendy squeezed into her latex cat suit which was apparently what she would wear to bed. I never cease to marvel at how perfectly it fits her body and brings out every erotic curve. She completed her outfit with a lightly boned rubber corset which she enlisted 3 and me to help lace up snug enough for figure training but not so tight as to preclude sleep.

Wendy attached the hoist to each ceiling hook and lowered the mould to the floor and opened it. The occupant for whom it was fitted then lay in the back half while Wendy closed the numerous latches. Only the fellow's cock protruded through its hole. since the encasement was to be just overnight, there was no need for plumbing and the openings for it were covered. She then attached the hoist to a ring in either the head or foot end of the mould (depending on which end would be up) and hoisted the encased donor into place. The mould was then clamped to the existing wooden post. Finally, she lubed up the milker, slid it into place and locked the flange to the front of the mould.

I was last and followed the examples of the other three. It was so welcome to again be encased in, caressed by, the rubber-lined body mould. I was hoisted head-up (a concession to being the novice?) and attached to the right side of the head end. Then came the longed for feeling of the milker sliding on. In a couple of minutes the cyclic sucking and squeezing began and I was in heaven. The presence of the other donors was now of absolutely no consequence. Wendy lay down in her bed and drifted to sleep, soothed by the soft drone of the pumps and the cyclic sucking sounds of the four milkers as they drifted in and out of phase with each other.

The settings of my milker were rather slow and mild. My arousal thus climbed very gradually. The speed and intensity varied only enough to avoid monotony. It must have taken almost an hour before I came. By that time I was going crazy with frustration but totally immobilized and at the mercy of the mindless machine there was absolutely nothing I could do (other than exert my limited will) to either accelerate or forestall the climax. After I came, the machine continued unchanged, repeatedly sucking and milking my super-sensitive tool. I strained every muscle but to no avail. Eventually my sensitivity returned to near normal and my body accepted the inevitable process. Soon I was becoming excited again and after what must have been another hour, I again came into the pulsating latex beast. After this climax, I wondered whether the other donors were having the same experience, especially the inverted ones at the foot of the bed. The machine then slowed down to a very gentle massage and I slid into sleep.

It might seem strange sleeping upright, but with my body totally supported by the tight fitting rubber-lined mould, I was only mildly aware of my verticality, although there was a sense of disorientation when I awoke and felt the milker hard at work again. This time I came within minutes and soon thereafter felt the mould being lowered to the floor and the latches released. I climbed out and joined the others (except of course for 2) downstairs for breakfast. Wendy then fitted each of us with what looked like a CB-2000 chastity belt and let us go our separate ways. I went back to my apartment and set about seeking a job that would fit in with my new schedule. I told prospective employers that I had a sick mother whose care required me to be home every night and to be away from work every fifth week. I didn't feel good about lying, but I certainly couldn't give the real reason. Eventually I got a part time job as a sales representative, a position which earned enough to maintain myself, although my new lifestyle did eliminate many of the normal expenses.

My second night, Thursday, I arrived at 9 PM as specified and spent a relaxing evening. I shared some of my feelings and experiences with the other donors, and even got to "talk" with number 2, although Wendy insisted that communication in both directions be in Morse. At least it gave me a chance to bone up on my code. Number 2 had been in his mould for three days and claimed to be enjoying his stay. He had, however, been reminded by Wendy not to reveal any details about his activities during the daytime when the rest of us were out. Apparently she wanted to maintain some element of surprise or else didn't want us comparing notes and possibly generating jealousy. He did say that the days were generally quite enjoyable. At 11 o'clock Wendy removed our belts and we prepared for "bed" in the same manner as before. The only change was that the moulds were all shifted one place counterclockwise but I was still at the head of the bed and therefore upright again.

I knew that the third night I would be inverted. Even though the others who had been kept that way appeared to have survived, overnight was still several times as long as I had ever spent in that position. During the day as I went about my business I kept thinking about it and along with anxiety, I also noticed a certain amount of arousal causing me to expand as much as my belt allowed. The pressure thus kept me ever aware of the impending night, creating a self-reinforcing cycle.

I had been advised to eat lightly at dinner and that evening I just nibbled the snack and sipped the tea. Once again I asked the others how it felt to be inverted for the whole night. Again they answered that with the pressure from the mould it wasn't really bad. Finally bedtime came. This evening Wendy was in a leather cat suit which laced all the way up the legs and had additional laces up the back. We all helped her tighten them, especially the back laces which created a corsetting effect. Wendy in fact slept corseted every night as a self-imposed figure training regimen. We were more than happy to assist.

I was put into my mould in the usual way and felt my feet tilt upwards with the hoist. There were then the usual bumps and minor jolts as my encasement was clamped to the post at the foot end of the bed. Shortly thereafter I felt the external pressure on the upper part of my body (now lower of course) increase as Wendy inflated the rubber lining that enclosed my head, neck, and upper chest, but it wasn't air. It was water to give an increased pressure gradient toward the head end. The increased pressure was so steady and constant that it felt like a caressing touch while, as promised, relieving any sense of discomfort due to my inversion. Hey! this isn't bad at all! Finally the milker slid onto me and I was set for the night. I imagined Wendy's leather compressed body lying on the bed in front of me and I was in heaven. In spite of the inversion (or maybe because of it) I slept quite well after my second forced orgasm. And again in the morning, the milker served as my most welcome alarm clock.

The next night I was again inverted but this time things went a little differently. The milker did not come on hard enough to induce an orgasm. It was more like it had been in the Program, keeping me aroused but short of climax. The difference was there was no perceptible variation in the timing or intensity. The milker just kept working at a low, slow level. In spite of the frustration, the monotony lulled me to sleep. I was awakened by increased milker action which was bringing me very close to climax, but then it suddenly stopped. I felt the milker being removed and the cool air against my naked cock. A minute passed with no sensation at all but suddenly I felt lips touch me and then engulf me into a warm mouth. I thought I would cum instantly, but my benefactor slowed her action and held me at the edge for several minutes before drawing me deep into her and forcing me over the precipice. After the night of teasing my orgasm must have lasted half a minute. The inversion and absolute immobility just made it all the more intense.

After that, I just rested, completely relaxed and sated. It was almost a disappointment when I felt the mould being lowered and heard the latches being released.

"I see you survived," Wendy chided. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but that's one of the rewards you get after your second night upside down."

"Thank you. It was heaven. And the inversion made it all the more so. I think, rather I KNOW, I'm going to just love this arrangement.

And I went through the ups and downs, so to speak, of several trips around the bed until it was my turn for the week-long session. Of course I was apprehensive even though I had been through Wendy's conditioning and of course the Program itself, both of which had been longer than the week I anticipated. I guess it was not knowing what to expect.

I had reminded my employer that I would be out for the next week "to take care of my poor ailing mother" before leaving on Friday. I spent the night as a bedpost (head-up this time) and was taken out on Saturday morning with the rest of the crew. Before they left, 2 and 4 helped remove my mould from the bedpost and install it in the long-term apparatus. During the day I had to purge myself for the upcoming session, and help Wendy set up the plumbing and instruments. By mid afternoon I was ready and climbed into the back half. although a bit apprehensive, I was also excited with anticipation for what I was fully convinced would be an exciting week. In spite of the numerous times I have was encased so far, it is still a thrill to feel the cool rubber lining when it is first clamped against my body. I continue to be amazed that such tight compression can also be so totally comfortable.

Of course the next step was the anaesthetic and when I woke up with all the plumbing installed I knew it was in for the duration. The milker was already working, drawing me in and massaging my tool. It kept working, gradually raising me to my first orgasm, and then it just kept on. The sensory overload was almost painful, but soon I was ready to cum again, and I did. Was I being given hormones? Probably. Then a strange thing happened. All activity, including suction, stopped and I was allowed to go soft. After a few minutes (to the extent one can estimate time in these conditions) I felt a tingling in my crotch and around the butt plug. With no other stimulation and without any volition on my part, I was growing erect. Something had seized control of my parts. It must be electro-stimulation placed precisely and with just the right waveforms. I was expanding against the walls of my milker without any suction or pulsations. And it was happening minutes after I had cum, far too soon for my batteries to have recharged. It was a little scary having no control over my body, or at least that part of it.

Apparently this was just a test, because after a while, the tingling stopped and I (and my organ) relaxed. I must have slept through the night because I woke up to a "pee call" and a sense of fullness in my tummy as the feeding tube provided my breakfast. Shortly thereafter the milker began its work and in spite of the nearly soundproof encasement I heard female giggling. Then my mouth cover opened and the milker was replaced with what felt like a latex sheath (confirmed later) that also clamped to the mould front.

Almost simultaneously one female mounted my face while another was on my cock. The electro-stim also started and as I licked for all I was worth, I was also being ridden. I expected to cum soon and feared disappointing my lower benefactor, but somehow the approach seemed to slow down. The attenuated sensations of the sheath were part of it, but I also realized that screwing wouldn't be sufficient to bring me to orgasm. Only the milker could do that. I was truly addicted. so that was the purpose of all that conditioning!

I could now be used as a living dildo (aided perhaps by electro-stim) for about as long as Wendy and her friends wanted, with minimal risk that I'd go over the edge and become useless. If I performed well, the milker would reward me at the end of the session. This was going to be a long week, but a most exciting one. I have made the right choice.

The End


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
latex stories