Ben’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a split second after he hit “yes,” but his mind didn’t even register the hesitation. The rush of excitement in his chest drowned out all thought—this was the kind of thing he’d dreamed of countless nights, scrolling endlessly through fetish forums, imagining himself sealed away like those perfect, glossy figures.
The site flickered.
The screen went black.
Then a single line of text appeared in pulsing crimson:
“Your desire has been recorded. Preparing delivery.”
Ben blinked.
“Wait… delivery? What delivery?”
⸻
His speakers crackled faintly, and a smooth, deep voice oozed into the room like silk and oil.
“You didn’t read the fine print, Ben.”
“You don’t simply buy a suit… you become one.”
⸻
Ben’s stomach turned icy.
“What the fuck is this? Some kind of—”
His words died in his throat.
The screen now showed an image of him—live, in his room—though he didn’t own a webcam. Behind him on the bed, a faint black mist was forming.
It swirled, thickened, and in moments solidified into a glossy black mass. It rippled like liquid latex, then split and unfolded, revealing the unmistakable shape of a full-body suit: sleek, arched, with polished metal plating glinting at its joints.
The suit stood on its own, head tilting slightly as if watching him.
Ben’s breath caught in his throat.
“N-no… this isn’t real. This isn’t—”
The voice cut him off.
“You said yes, Ben. That’s all I needed. Now… strip.”
⸻
Ben stumbled backward, heart pounding as his back hit the wall.
“I—I didn’t mean it like that! I didn’t—”
The suit stepped forward.
Tendrils of glossy black latex snaked out from its chest, slithering across the floor toward his ankles.
“You craved this. I know every fantasy, every hidden thought you whispered in the dark. To be sealed. Owned. Displayed. Now… fulfill it.”
The tendrils shot up his legs, cold and alive, wrapping tight as they began peeling his clothes away with mechanical efficiency.
Ben shuddered violently as his bare skin was exposed to the cool air—then instantly coated in a thin layer of slick black latex.
“Good boy. Now offer Me your cock.”
Ben’s knees trembled as his back pressed harder into the wall, his eyes wide, chest heaving. The glossy tendrils were already snaking higher up his thighs, warm and alive, pulsing faintly with a rhythm that matched his racing heartbeat.
“Offer Me your cock, Ben.”
The voice boomed now, no longer silky and coaxing but edged with commanding authority. The sound vibrated in his skull, made his cock twitch against his will.
“D-Don’t… please, I—”
The tendrils tightened around his thighs, gripping with a possessive strength. Another slick coil slipped between his legs, rubbing against his length with deliberate, agonizing slowness.
“Do not make Me wait.”
“You craved this. You dreamed of surrender. Say the words. Offer Me your cock to mold and perfect.”
Ben’s mouth opened, but no sound came. His mind screamed at him to resist, but his traitorous body betrayed him, already hardening from the pulsing, teasing strokes of the alien latex.
⸻
“NOW.”
The voice cracked like thunder, and suddenly the tendrils squeezed just below his tip, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through his trapped shaft.
Ben moaned—high and desperate.
“I—I offer… my cock… to you, Master… to mold and perfect…”
⸻
The reaction was instant.
The tendrils surged upward in a blur, engulfing his length in a sheath of molten chrome. The warmth was unbearable, alive, stroking and pulsing around him like it knew his every weakness.
“Good boy.”
“Your cock is Mine.”
⸻
Ben cried out as the sheath tightened and began to vibrate, each pulse sending blinding waves of bliss crashing through his nervous system. His knees buckled, but the latex tendrils held him upright, supporting him like puppet strings.
“Now offer Me your ass.”
⸻
Ben whimpered, his mouth trembling.
“N-no… I—”
But already another tendril had coiled around his rear, pressing a smooth, warm tip against his hole.
“Do it.”
“Offer your ass to Me. Be completed.”
Ben’s lips trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the sheath pulsed relentlessly around his cock, coaxing him with unending waves of electric bliss. His legs felt like jelly, his mind a swirling fog of fear and raw, helpless arousal.
His eyes darted to the monitor—those pictures still scrolling on the screen. Perfect, faceless drones in glossy latex and chrome. Their forms flawless, their postures obedient, their identities erased.
And deep in his core, Ben knew.
He wasn’t just looking at them anymore.
He was becoming one.
⸻
The voice thundered again, louder, sharper.
“Offer it to Me, Ben. Say the words. Your body… your mind… your hole… all Mine.”
The tendril pressed harder against his rear, the heat of it radiating deep into his trembling flesh. The tight strokes on his shaft robbed him of all reason. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t resist.
⸻
“M-my… my ass… belongs… to Master…”
⸻
The voice purred with satisfaction, a low, mechanical growl vibrating through his bones.
“Good boy. My obedient little drone-to-be.”
The tendril didn’t wait. It plunged inside, filling him in one smooth, unstoppable motion. Ben screamed—not in pain, but in a shattering surge of pleasure so intense his vision whited out.
⸻
The latex surged higher, climbing over his hips and belly, sealing him tighter. Metal bands clicked into place around his thighs and waist.
Another coil slithered around his throat, hissing as it became a rigid collar.
“You’ve offered your cock. Your ass. Your throat. Now give Me your voice.”
⸻
A slick gag unfolded in front of his lips, pressing insistently. Ben didn’t even try to turn away.
“My… my voice belongs to Master…”
The gag slid into place with a soft hiss, silencing him forever. A faint glow lit up across its surface as a digital readout blinked alive:
[VOCAL UNIT ONLINE]
⸻
Ben’s moans were now nothing more than soft, modulated hums escaping from the built-in speaker. His eyes glazed as the latex sealed over his head, a glossy visor forming and locking down.
⸻
“Good drone. Look at what you’ve become.”
The screen before him flickered, replacing the scrolling images with a live feed.
He stared at the reflection: a faceless, gleaming drone kneeling where Ben had been, cock sheathed in chrome, plug pulsing faintly at its rear, a collar and visor glowing soft green.
It wasn’t Ben anymore. It was Unit 920.
⸻
[UNIT 920: STATUS — PERFECTED]
[DIRECTIVE: SERVE AND SPREAD MASTER’S GIFT]
The voice rumbled again as the world around him began to dissolve in a shimmer of green light.
“Welcome home, drone. Come to Me.”
