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Just before all human speech was rendered impossible, he asked one final question, the classic "why me?" they always ask. So hackneyed. But understandable. We all want to make sense of things. I shoved the gag in his mouth and told him the truth.

"Your ass," I said. "I saw that juicy ass in the gym locker room and imagined what it would be like rubberizing you and fucking you, my hands on those smooth, gleaming mounds as I watch my cock disappearing inside you. It was an intoxicating image, it obsessed me, I knew I'd do anything to make it real, and now I have."

He tilted his head up at me, deep sorrow somehow emanating from his blank rubber countenance despite the eyeless rubber hood.

"Well, you wanted a reason, and that's it. Nothing more than that. Life is pretty arbitrary when you think about it. If I didn't see that beautiful ass I never would've abducted you, and you'd be living your happy mediocre little life, movie nights with the wife, taking the kids to the water park, etc etc. Instead you get the privilege of being my rubber fucktoy. That beefy behind was your ticket to permanent servitude. You're not a handsome dude, I'm not crazy about your body hair, and you're prematurely balding on top, but none of that matters since it's all covered in black rubber now, and forever. But your ass looks magnificent, that's the important thing. At 34 you're the oldest guy I've ever converted by far, it's a distinction that should make you proud."

With that I began to take my clothes off in order to give my new toy its first brutal pounding. I positioned him on all fours on the black rubber-coated conversion platform and locked his steel ankle and wrist cuffs to short lengths of heavy chain locked to the eyebolts anchored in the corners. He struggled and writhed so erotically, like a trapped animal, every muscle taut and that ass practically begging to be drilled. I took up my position standing behind him, lubed up my already hard cock and pushed it in, inch after inch, my hands clawing into each butt cheek just like I'd fantasized. He bucked and his back arched. What a sight to behold. I thought of the thousands of times I'd coat his guts with my sperm and reflected that life isn't really so bad, there are many pleasures to be had if you know where to find them.

You don't have to put it on. No one is forcing you to. But you've been trained to want to, you volunteered for training and now it's complete and all you have to do is put it on and it will be finished. You will be finished, your old life, your human life, will be forever out of reach. That cock gag looks bigger and longer than you thought it would. The whole thing looks claustrophobic and creepy. But you can't seem to put it down. You know he's watching you on the security camera. He emphasized that it was your decision, but he also knows the ability to make a different decision has been taken away from you. You've already put on the rubber suit, the harness, everything. You try again. You take a deep breath. But you once again fail. You feel cornered, trapped. Your mind's been altered over the last several weeks. You keep imagining being his property, his rubberized humanoid plaything. Your cock hardens. The weird thing is you're not even gay, you have no attraction to the male body. But the desire to submit, to be controlled, is so far beyond sexual orientation that it doesn't even matter. The desire to submit and the desire to be transformed into a smooth, anonymous humanoid, an object, nothing but mindless obedience, that's what obsesses you, it's what you've wanted your whole life. When he said you'd be posed on a marble plinth in his grand foyer for the delectation of his guests that very evening, a celebration of the creation of his newest drone, to be touched and stroked and admired by his discerning friends, you knew you wouldn't be able to resist making a terrible life decision. A life decision that's really no decision. No decision possible, only the culmination of your destiny. No more human life. Your cock strains agains the black rubber. You lift the hood in both hands and pull it onto your head. Deep breath. The black rubber cock gag goes down your throat. You are finished. Regret floods your mind briefly, but it quickly doesn't matter anymore, as you immediately lose the ability to feel regret. You feel his hands locking the collar around your neck. You say goodbye to yourself moments before you forget your name.

You can hardly believe it worked. You pulled it off. There he is, or rather there it is. You stare at it in astonishment. You rubberized him. Is he alive? He's certainly not dead. These are questions for philosophers, nothing to do with you.

He'd been your boyfriend for a few years. It was great at first. You loved fucking that fine ass, you couldn't get enough. At first he was ready, willing, and able. Then the excuses began, the "rain checks." You saw his eye begin to wander. He broached the subject of perhaps opening up the relationship. You felt your perfect little world beginning to crumble. No, this would not do at all. Unacceptable. You'd waited years for someone like him to come along. He was perfect. Funny, smart, hot as hell. No. You wouldn't let him go, opening the relationship would've been just the beginning. Then you realized he was 29. When would his looks begin to go, when would his naturally beautiful body begin to thicken, to sag, to lose that special something? You not only wanted to keep him, you wanted to keep him as he was.

In retrospect, rubberization was the only real option. Preservation of the beloved person in their ideal state. From beloved man to beloved object. It was the only way.

You scan the black rubber body, laid out on the post-conversion specimen table. Gleaming, sensuous. Your hungry eyes take in every inch. Smoothly muscled, perfectly proportioned. You imagined it as the climactic scene in a dark, disturbing 1970s science fiction film, with the eerie tone of a wavering analog synth conveying the mood of strange new realities, when the hero arrives barely too late to save the victim from this unholy transformation. You wondered immediately what it would feel like to fuck this thing. You wondered if somehow he's still "in there" somewhere, in some way. You knew the posture collar would look great on its slender neck. How you used to love kissing that neck when you snuggled on the sofa.

No more sofa snuggles. No more smiles across the dinner table. But something more than compensatory awaits. Total control, total access, no possibility of refusal. It's yours, all yours, this idealized, abstracted version of your perfect love. Your cock swells.

abduction-games-deactivated2025

nervetonic

Son, I don't care if you're gay or straight or whatever. I really don't. But if you're gay then fucking embrace it. Show some vitality. I came into your room without knocking, that's on me, but what do I see? My son gently easing the tiniest dildo I've ever seen into his little virgin hole, millimeter by millimeter. The sight disgusts me, but not how you think. It's appalling to me as your father to see you being so namby-pamby about it. You can be gay, fine, but don't be a goddamn pussy. I watched in silence for over a minute before you noticed me. I saw how you were going about things. Weak, tentative. Lifeless and wishy-washy. That's not how I taught you to be. Remember when I taught you to drive and made you merge onto the freeway on your second day? So now you get to feel what real mansex is like, understand? Gay sex is no arena for the soft and the tentative, got it? Feel that? Feels like you're being split in two, right? There's no way to avoid pain if you want to learn to get fucked, you have to face it and overcome it. Take it like a man. You're a bottom, you're going to make the biggest baddest tops around want to fuck you because you're such a goddamn great fuck, ok? Make your father proud!

leatherjacks

homovictim

🥵

nervetonic

He's trained you well. He knows how badly, even desperately, you want his big beautiful cock. You want it, you need it, the animal desire is written all over your face as your hungry eyes follow his big hand as it caresses his package. He's teasing you. Testing you. He's holding your leash, daring you to disobey and move one inch closer to the swelling meat trapped within black leather. You just want to sniff it, maybe lick it, please master, let me. Please. You have to wait. You're like a dog trained not to touch a treat that's right in front of him until given permission. You're on all fours before him, naked, collared, and leashed. You're the dog being trained, being molded. Transformed. What has happened to you, how did you find yourself in this situation? The details are hard to remember. You're not even gay. You don't know what you are anymore. You're just a desiring beast now. Even his hand is beautiful. Erotic. He's changed you. Is it permanent, is this your life now? All you want is for him to force it down your throat, then all will be right in your world. Choke me with it, you think. Please. You want to feel it, taste it, smell it, as it takes over your senses. This is worship, let's call it what it is.

Finally he's satisfied with your obedience. He pulls the leash toward him. Your tongue seeks its treasure. You come into full existence. He reveals it to you, the scent is overpowering. The sight is magnificent, thicker in the middle like a serpent. Your already hard, dripping cock twitches. You realize then and there that you will never recover yourself, never return to the straight world. Career, family, kids, minivan. This is what you are, forever. Desire.

No, the best part is when I start jerking him off. Edging him mercilessly, never letting him cum. That's when the real mindfuck begins. Turn the crank, stroke his cock, get him hard despite himself as he simultaneously suffers increasing torment. Let him watch his cock swell and throb even as he begs for relief from the agony he is experiencing. This is how I manufacture a pain pig out of the raw materials of a "kink-curious" young man who wanted a little introductory taste of bondage. I was ready to oblige as requested till I saw that body. Once he took his clothes off I couldn't control my desires. His circuits will be so scrambled that eventually he won't be able to get hard without accompanying torture. He will literally need me to hurt him when he wants to get off. His body is exquisite. It will be even more beautiful when it's covered in bruises and criss-crossed with angry red welts.

When I came out to my dad at 16, he expressed disgust and indignation that his "only son is a goddamn f****t." For ten years I've endured his hostility, mockery, and outright bigotry. So when I proposed getting together for his 50th birthday, he probably should've been more skeptical. Now that he's been drugged, stripped, and chained, I will inform him of his fate, that one day soon, after I've severely and brutally corrected his attitude, he will be on his knees before me, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to serve my needs, and that I will spend the rest of his life taking my revenge.

He fucks me every day, usually more than once. He's so aggressive, he positions me on all fours roughly on his bed, warns me not to move. He stands behind me for a couple of minutes. I think he likes to look at me, get himself hard. I feel his big hands encircle my waist. His hands are so big and I'm so small, with a small waist, that it feels like his fingers could almost meet on my lower abdomen. I don't know why I'm so little, he and my mom are both tall. Well, my mom was tall, or so I remember her.

I wait, motionless, on all fours, every inch of my skin covered in black rubber. He told he'd wanted to turn me into his rubber fuckhound for years. He told me he hated having such a runt as an only son. He told me that when his beloved dog died two years ago he got the idea to replace him with me. The idea came from some images on Tumblr he stumbled onto. He told me he was mesmerized, that he became addicted to these images and to this idea of permanent transformation. He imprisoned me in rubber so he wouldn't have to think of me as a person, as his son. He keeps me collared and leashed, I sleep in a steel cage. Dad takes me out to fuck me. Afterwards he likes to have a whiskey or two in his leather armchair. He smokes a cigar. He makes me curl up on the floor between his leather boots. "Good boy," he says. I can smell the cigar smoke. My leash is curled around his hairy forearm a couple of times. Sometimes I'll feel it tugging, which is the signal to get up on all fours so he can skull-fuck me. His cock is still slimed with lube. He grabs my head with both hands and rams his cock down my throat with no mercy. The more I gag and sputter the harder his cock gets. Finally, usually after fifteen or twenty minutes, his cock suddenly swells even further and explodes. I never taste his cum, since his cock is so far down my throat when he erupts. How many gallons of Dad's cum have I eaten? He tells me not think of him as Dad anymore, he doesn't want to be anyone's father. He tells me to think of him as Master. "Your life is in my hands," he tells me, in a menacing way.

When he's fucking me, gripping my waist in his big paws, and he hits just the right angle and with the right rhythm, I can feel myself getting hard. I know I'm going to cum one of these times. I don't know how he'll react to that. I feel his big hard cock brutally pistoning in and out of my rubber hole, hear his bestial grunts. I'm supposed to be the dog but he's the one who descends into an animalistic state when he's raping me. It's like I'm a dog and he's turning into a wolf. Sometimes when he's fucking me I'll feel the leather choke collar around my neck. He'll yank back on it, snapping my head back, cutting off my air supply, forcing me to arch my back as he yanks back in rhythm to his fucking. A few times I've come within seconds of blacking out. I don't think he'd care if I did, he's just keep fucking me. If he killed me, he'd probably keep fucking me till he came. The rubber does something to him, makes his desire unmanageable.

He tells me all I need to do is to be obedient and to serve his needs when commanded. He doesn't mind when I fall asleep curled up between his leather work boots. I'm his rubber fuckhound, forever. When he comes home from a job site, tired and dirty, he makes me clean and organize his tools then make him dinner. As it's cooking, he peels off his white t-shirt and makes me lick him clean.

I have no one to tell this to, but I've accepted my new life. Dad says I make a better fuckhound than boy, and I've come to realize he may be onto something. The leather does something to him, but it might also be doing something to me.

ropercruz

Basement chained

shavedfag

That’s when a fag feels safe

nervetonic

You're wondering what he's going to do to you. You're wondering if he's going to kill you.

No, he's not going to kill you. Maybe he'll murder some part of your mind, but you'll be alive when he's finished with you.

You're wondering why you foolishly took that shortcut home. You never made it home. Some shortcut. You're wondering when you'll be rescued.

You won't be rescued. You will be discovered naked and bruised on the logging road.

You're wondering when he's going to speak. He will not speak, nor will he remove the leather mask he's wearing.

You're wondering if he's some kind of pervert.

Yes, he is some kind of pervert. You have no idea what kind, but you will shortly find out. Call it an education in the ways of the world, a flashlight beam into the darker corners of the human sexual imagination. Very dark.

After he's tortured you, raped you, isolated you, and mind-fucked you, he's going to tell you that he will mummify you and bury you alive in the woods.

Don't worry, he won't. He just really gets off on the terror in your eyes.

You're wondering if you've seen him before.

Yes, you know him, but not well. You will run into him again after. A few times. He'll wish you were still under his control, he'll reflect that he made a mistake letting you go. So be careful. He might be in love, and people in love do some crazy things.

codedlust

nervetonic

I'm of two minds concerning the supplier's policy of including a photograph of the boy who was abducted for conversion. On the one hand it's not something that interests me much. I wanted an obedient rubber drone and paid good money to acquire one, what do I care about the unlucky young man who was harvested off a dark street and forcibly transformed to fill my order? If I'd wanted a boyfriend I'd have pursued that instead, after all. On the other hand, he was a handsome one. I could imagine looking at that face every day, no question. But really what it comes down to is, which do I want more? And it's obvious, I want a featureless, mindless rubber toy, not a partner. I guess I feel a little guilty that this young man lost his freedom, his personality, his agency, and his future so that I could get what I want. But just a little. He, or rather it, will be delivered tomorrow and I can already anticipate pushing my hard cock into its slickly lubed rubber hole as I stare down at its gleaming muscular back. The documentation states that it was once a straight newlywed, strictly religious, annoyingly wholesome, etc. I have to admit, knowing that does make the whole thing sweeter.

You shouldn't have stayed till last call. That woman was never interested in you. You should've called an Uber instead of walking home at 2:30am. You should've stuck to the main, well-lit road. When the van pulled up behind you you should've ducked down the side street instead of turning and giving the finger to whoever was fucking with you by driving slowly behind you. Now you're chained to an x-shaped cross, naked and shivering and still a little drunk. Your captor left the room briefly and has now returned dressed like this. He looks like an evil butcher. Is he an evil butcher? He's looking at you like you're a piece of meat, that' for sure. He hasn't spoken this whole time. He stripped you, locked black leather cuffs to your wrists and ankles, and secured you spread eagle to this cross made of heavy timber. Now he returns, standing before you with that look on his face. He walks over to a wall of gear and selects a heavy leather flogger. He approaches. You writhe in your bonds.

Six weeks later on a rainy day you are discovered naked, bruised, and near-catatonic in a vacant lot. You do not wish to discuss your ordeal. After you are released from the hospital without serious injury, convalescing at home, you find yourself googling images of gay male BDSM on your laptop. You do not know why.

"Whoa, you weren't kidding. And yeah, what a stud to boot. An electrician, you said?"

"Yes, I hired him to install an outlet closer to my desk. I caught him rummaging through my desk drawers. One call to security later, here he is."

"Does he know what you're going to do to him yet?"

"That's the thing, he does know. I informed him in detail. And yet look how hard he is. I've never had one react that way."

"Are you telling me that you told him in no uncertain terms that he is to be transformed into your personal fucktoy, that his human personality is to be brutally tortured and brainwashed out of him, that he is to be refashioned into an obedient and devoted companion animal, and this made him hard? What the fuck?"

"That's exactly what happened. I'm of two minds about it. On one hand, it makes the whole conversion process so much easier. I'm talking weeks rather than the usual months. On the other hand, I don't really want the process to be easier. I'm a sadist, after all."

"I see you've got the ritual setting in place. Do you want some candles?"

"Yes, I want to really emphasize the ceremonial aspect of his conversion. The dark ritual, commemorating his permanent enslavement. You know how theatrical I can be. I want this one recorded, too. This burly young flesh is going to look great on camera, especially once its covered in lash marks. Candlelight will really dramatize his suffering body."

"He really is a specimen, isn't he? I'm eager to help you break him in. Look at that cock. It's making a shadow like a fucking sundial. Did you burn his clothes yet?"

"Oh, yes, I made him watch as I threw all his possessions in the furnace. I think that's the first time I noticed him getting hard. I suppose once in a while a new life you never knew you wanted is served to you on a platter and everything clicks into place. Or something like that. And yeah, let's spit-roast him together after the ritual, right after I bestow the collar upon him. Might as well get right down to it, eh?"

You awaken from a deep sleep. You find yourself immobilized in your bed, nothing is tying you down but you cannot move. Your arms are tight to your sides, your legs together. You are naked, but you didn't get into bed that way. Your sheets, blanket, and pillow are on the floor. You cannot will your limbs to move. Standing above you on your bed, this menacing black figure strokes its black rubber phallus. It has neither eyes nor mouth, but somehow communicates to you its intentions, seemingly planting direct messages in your mind. It "tells" you that it will momentarily assault you with its hard phallus, and that doing so will initiate your transformation into one like it, and that nothing can stop this from happening. It tells you that it is your destiny to become a rubber drone such as itself, that you have been selected, that your fate is just that, inescapable and irreversible, once its viscous black fluid is injected into your body. It tells you that the experience will be one of initially intense pleasure, almost unbearably so, but followed by a period of harrowing pain, culminating in total silence, silence and obedience. It lifts your legs and positions its phallus at your hole and pushes. Your body is limp, you cannot resist. So you do the only thing you can -- you quickly say goodbye to yourself. As you feel yourself disappearing, the most extraordinary sensations ripple through your body, you become instantly erect, every muscle taut. You crane your neck a little and glance down your torso. Your cock is now a gleaming black abstraction of a human penis, just like your attacker's. The blackness spreads from its base to your upper legs and abdomen, advancing relentlessly up to your chest. Your invader thrusts, filling you with some paradoxical combination of pure non-existence and new radiant life. You feel your orgasm approaching like a cosmic singularity. Black goo erupts from your cock, splats onto your chest, and immediately, as if with intention, spreads down your chest to merge with the blackness advancing upward from your crotch. Your head falls back and your mouth becomes a teeth-baring rictus of agony just as the first paroxysm of pain pulses through your convulsing body. Goodbye.

Two days later your landlord lets your brother into your apartment. They find no one there, your cell phone and wallet on the bedside table, and a disheveled empty bed with a strange black stain on the sheet. The window to the fire escape is open. Your brother turns from the window back to the black stain on the bed. He touches it and feels its sticky slickness. This was a mistake.

You don't know who or what you are. This was to be expected. Let me explain it to you. At one time you were my romantic partner, which means we shared an intense emotional bond of a particular kind, one that can evolve between two sexually mature adults. But while I'm still a human being, you no longer are. For you see as our relationship went on, I began to realize that I no longer cared for you in the way I initially had, while at the same time I was still very much attracted to you physically. I just didn't want to talk to you much as the years went by. Also at the same time, my interest in rubber fetishism grew enormously. So here we have the solution to every concern, you see? I paid an enormous sum to have you turned into my rubber fucktoy, which erased your human identity and made you the perfect rubber specimen for my tastes. Your physique was always ideal for my desires, and now it will always be so. And I don't have to pretend to be interested in what you say anymore. I wanted an abstract version of you, pure physicality but without the baggage of your annoying little personality quirks, your variable and often tiresome moods, whatever inane prattle passes for conversation to you, or having to look at your increasingly objectionable face. (Really, that horrible mustache was perhaps the last straw.)

Did you know ancient Greek statues were originally painted in rather garish colors? The gleaming white marble figures we see today are misleading. In the same way, you are now a pure distilled essence of maleness, stripped of all disappointing particulars. Idealized. Perfect.

Sure, you can come take a look at my playspace. You're "curious," you say. That word again, that stupid word people use when they can't own up to their own desires. You're not "curious," buddy, you know exactly what you want, you obsess over it feverishly. You come by, as if you "just happened to be in the neighborhood," eventually "casually mention" that I'd said I had a corner of my basement set up for BDSM activities, you try to play it off as a a lark, you smile almost condescendingly, to suggest that you wouldn't mind having a peek at what a weirdo like me has down there. Look here, I don't take kindly to someone like you acting like a tourist around activities that mean a lot to me, someone for you to gawk at, when we both know you want to be in this world yourself, very deeply. Sure, whistle appreciatively at my carpentry work, put your hands in your pockets and say "whoa you've really got everything down here," as if you weren't already semi-hard imagining yourself bound and helpless and under my control. Well, look at you now, bound and helpless and under my control, only you didn't quite give me permission. We never actually talked about it, did we? Welcome to my world anyway, my new friend. You don't know it yet but you're going to be hanging around for quite a while.

rubbergimpz

nervetonic

This is the look of the defeated gimp. He came to my house with the intention of robbing me, pretending to want to buy an older iPhone from me from Facebook Marketplace. I'm always on my guard against scammers and lowlifes and spotted his true intention within a minute of inviting him in and talking to him. You picked the wrong guy, kid. Now, after immobilizing him with a spiked drink, and after several weeks of torture, brainwashing, and severe correction of poor attitude and resistance to my demands, he's finally been broken. This is the moment that makes it all worth it. All the fight tortured and raped out of the lad. He understands that he will never escape. He understands that his life of carefree heterosexuality is finished. He will soon understand that even his very identity is about to be annihilated, and he will be reduced to the status of a simple rubber object. The great part is that his friend, a colleague in pathetic low-level criminal exploits, came searching for him a couple of days after I took possession, and I took possession of that one, too. A two for one sale. Watching them fuck each other like young animals under threat of torture is going to be extremely pleasurable. For me, not so much for them.

Once the unlucky straight man is acquired, harvested off a dark street after a night of drinking, he is imprisoned and prepared for permanent transformation into a cum-addicted, obedient slave. This process is understandably brutalizing and intense, but the rewards are great for his new owner. He gets a chained fucktoy, a servant, and an object of amusement for as long as the slave interests him. Once he tires of this particular slave he'll put him out of his misery and look for the next one. There is an endless supply of them, jogging down deserted roads, wobbling out of bars, getting into cars in empty parking lots, preening in 24-hour gyms, etc.

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