“He opened the basement closet. Hanging inside, swaying slightly as if it had been waiting for him, was a full black glossy rubber suit.”
“What is this thing…?” he muttered to himself as his fingers brushed over the surface. The material felt smooth, unnervingly cold. Then, clear as thought but not his own, a whisper echoed inside his skull: Put me on…”
“It’s cursed,” he whispered, trying to back away—yet his hand refused to obey, still gliding over the sleek surface as though spellbound. The voice pressed harder in his mind now, low and commanding: Put me on.”
He should have run. Every part of his mind screamed it, yet instead his hands reached up, pulling the suit from the closet. Without realizing, he pressed it against himself—hugging it, breathing in its strange, intoxicating smell, shivering at the smoothness against his skin. The voice pulsed through him, more insistent now: Put me on. You need me.”
He couldn’t resist any longer—the need was too strong. Shaking, he stripped off his clothes. The suit welcomed him instantly, sliding over his skin as though it were alive, as though it were the one wearing him. Every inch that sealed shut sent a shiver through his body, binding him tighter, sinking him deeper into its glossy embrace.
“Yes… you need me,” the suit whispered, its voice vibrating inside his skull. Ecstasy surged through him—he wanted the suit, wanted nothing but its grip. In the mirror, a stranger stared back at him, wrapped head to toe in glossy black, gleaming under the dim light. His hands roamed over the slick surface, unable to stop touching, caressing. The voice deepened, coaxing, commanding: Yes… you need me. Give in. Release for me.”
Why resist? There was no reason anymore. His hand moved helplessly, stroking the glossy surface, each motion sending a surge of bliss through him. The voice filled his head, overwhelming, irresistible: Yes… give in to me. Stroke. Release. Come. His body obeyed before his mind could even catch up, surrendering everything to the suit’s command.
“Come for me… feed me,” the voice demanded, wrapping around his thoughts like chains. He couldn’t stop—even if he wanted to. His release tore through him, and the suit drank it in, tightening, pulsing with a life of its own. Yes… you feed me, it whispered with dark satisfaction. The pressure against his body grew firmer, more possessive, as if claiming every inch. Then came the command again, sharper, hungrier: Feed me again.
**“Feed me… make me stronger… make me complete. Come for me,” the suit commanded, its voice now thunderous inside his head. His body convulsed with need, every nerve set alight, compelled to obey. Each release seemed to sink him deeper, the glossy skin tightening, molding, fusing until it no longer felt like something he wore—it was him. With every offering, the suit’s hold grew heavier, its whispers deeper: Yes… more. You are mine now. Feed me until nothing of you remains.
“Yes… my host,” the suit purred, tightening around him like a second skin that breathed and pulsed. Come once more… and be my puppet forever. His thoughts blurred, fading under waves of ecstasy. Each stroke was no longer his choice but the suit guiding his hand, moving his body. He felt himself unravel, surrendering not just his release but his will, his identity, until the only thing left was the glossy puppet the suit had always intended him to be.
He comes one last time. Every shudder, every pulse feeds the suit until it hums with completion. The world blurs, his body trembling, his mind dissolving. Slowly, inexorably, he fades—melting into the glossy black, becoming inseparable from it. There is no “him” left anymore. Only the suit remains, alive, whole, and now, finally, complete.
He stares into the mirror. What he sees is no longer a man—only glossy black, smooth and perfect, every contour fused with the suit. He is complete. Forever sealed. Forever a part of it. Forever controlled, yet utterly blissful, lost in the ecstasy of surrender.
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