He woke up in the chair again, the same way he always did — slow breaths through the glowing mask, eyes staring into the endless blue light. But something was different this time. He couldn’t remember. Not just what day it was, but anything. His name. His job. His life before rubber. All of it had been stripped away in the weeks of conditioning, until nothing human remained except his body, twitching with arousal.
The hiss of the tubes filled his ears, pumping signals and commands straight into his brain. His muscles strained inside the skin-tight latex, creaking as he shifted, every buckle and strap keeping him locked in place. And yet he didn’t fight it. He didn’t want to. He had forgotten how.
The programming filled his mind with a single truth: rubber is everything. Rubber is arousal. Rubber is obedience. Every time he inhaled, the thought was reinforced. Every time the light pulsed, his cock throbbed harder, leaking inside its sheath.
The weeks had blurred into one long session. He didn’t know how he had ended up here, who had strapped him down, or even when it began. He only knew that the Voice was always right, that pleasure was obedience, and obedience was pleasure.
More rubber. More arousal. More surrender.
His mind whispered it now on its own, even without the machine. He belonged here. He needed the straps. He needed the mask. He needed the Voice.
And soon, when the chair finally released him, he would not return to his old life. There was no old life anymore. There was only rubber, obedience, and the society waiting for him.
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Would you climb into the chair, knowing you’d wake weeks later with nothing left but lust and rubber obedience?
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