#rubber story

[mybigboots]

"Drip" - Part One

Drip

Written by Boggy Fryer, The Cape Cod Boot Boy

Part One: Slickman

“What the hell do you mean, ‘accident’?” Frank barked as he burst through the doorway. 

Joel, who looked as though he had been halfway through completely chewing the nails clean off his fingertips, jumped in surprise and gave out a little squeak. He snatched up his clipboard from the desk where it had been resting and began to wave it frantically under Frank’s nose. Joel was moving it so fast that Frank could barely see what was written on it – but he could definitely make out a lot of hastily scribbled notes and a lot of it in red ink.

That was a problem in itself. Joel, anal and uptight as he was, made it a point to never use red ink unless something was wrong – and Joel NEVER used red ink. Snatching the clipboard from his foreman’s flailing hand, Frank rapidly scanned the page and saw something else that worried him: for the first time in the history of his employment, (and quite possibly his life), Joel’s penmanship there was messy. Joel was the sort of man that could write with a perfectly calm hand should he be walking barefoot on a bed of nails in the middle of a level nine earthquake. The fact that there was both red ink and it was barely legible meant that this was not good.

“Joel, what the hell happened?” shouted Frank. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, desperate to calm himself. “What is this? What is this! This,” he shook the clipboard at Joel before hurling it into the nearby trashcan by the desk, “is crap, Joel. This is crap, you hear me? What in God’s name happened?”

Joel opened his mouth and shut it, and then opened it again, and closed it again. He looked like a fish gasping for air. Losing patience, Frank grabbed Joel by the shoulders and shook him.

“Answer me, Thorpe! What accident? What happened? Tell me! Now!”

Joel looked ready to faint, he was so pale. Despite being shaken back and forth, he managed to gasp out the words, “There’s been a… a… something happened to them…”

“Joel Douglas Thorpe, I swear with God as my witness…” roared Frank. Joel seemed to come to his senses upon hearing his full name thrown out there like a parent calling out a naughty offspring. Wrenching himself free from his boss’s grip, he straightened his tie, adjusted his glasses that had been knocked askew on his nose, and took a deep breath.

“Mr. Shelton,” he hissed, “We have a problem. A big problem. There was a leak, in the factory, and some of the employees were… exposed. And it changed them, Mr. Shelton. I don’t know how, but it changed them and they’re…” his breath caught for a second, and he swallowed, “They’re not the same anymore, Mr. Shelton.” He lowered his voice and stepped close to Frank. He hissed, “I’m not even sure they’re human!”

Frank Shelton, president, founder, lead inventor, and head muckity-muck of Slickman All-Purpose Liquid Latex, took a few very heavy steps towards his desk and dazedly sank into the comfy office chair behind the desk. His eyes stared straight ahead without seeing a thing, and as Joel launched into a longwinded explanation of what happened, Frank’s mind began to float away and back to where this had all begun.

Frank had, after years of finding no use for his twin degrees in Engineering and Bio-Molecular Research, stumbled upon a miracle. While screwing about in his laboratory for the hundredth time, praying for a scientific breakthrough, he had invented something incredible: Slickman.

Slickman was a whole new brand of liquid bonding material, with the elasticity and durability of rubber, the sheen and texture of smooth latex, and near-unlimited uses. It could bond together the heaviest of substances, from cement blocks to steel girders. It could mend even the tiniest cracks so smoothly that it would be like they were never there and form an unbreakable seal. It was springy enough that if someone ran into a knife coated in Slickman, the blade would harmlessly bounce off their skin. Hell, a bowling ball coated in Slickman could be dropped on your head and you would feel as though someone had dropped a tennis ball on your noggin. It protected you from heat, it insulated you from cold, it kept you from suffering electrical shocks, and it could be molded into any length, shape, or form that you pleased (or in Frank’s case, paid him to make).

The stuff would change the world. The stuff would take the world by storm. There was only one tiny drawback: Slickman was technically… alive.

Frank snapped back to reality as Joel’s voice came to him across the desk. 

“From what we can tell,” Joel went on, “Only a select few have been affected. Our factory team was quick on the uptake and quickly moved them to the med office here in the factory, but when the symptoms started to get worse, we transported them quietly downstairs to the basement for containment.”

“The other workers,” Frank said sharply, “Do they know anything?  Did anyone see what happened?” Joel glanced pointedly at the wastebasket off the side of the desk where his clipboard had landed, as if to say “Well, if you’d just read my report, you’d know all that, Bossman.” He cleared his throat and went on, “They saw it happen. We were quick to spread the story that they suffered some minor burns and were being moved to an infirmary to be treated.”

“Good man.”

“Thank you, boss,” said Joel with a blush. Joel Thorpe was a good kid. Fiercely dedicated and very hard-working, the boy was fresh out of college, twenty-four years old, and he looked as though he’d stepped off the page of a magazine advertisement. Girls would have found him adorable, Frank knew, if Joel ever took off those horn-rimmed glasses, ever loosened that tie or unbuttoned a few buttons from his dress shirts, or put the slightest crease in his appearance. Joel’s hair, always a tight dark brown combover, seemed to never fall even slightly out of place by sheer force of will. He had a bright future ahead of him, and he’d made the choice to jump onboard the S.S. Slickman as Frank Shelton’s factory foreman – and now he was wrapped up in this nightmare too.

Joel continued: “We held an emergency drill a little later and took the chance to check out the other workers. They all checked out, no one else has been affected. No one knows anything. We’re in the clear.”

Frank scowled at this.

“In the clear.” He repeated. “Except for…”

Once again, Joel unraveled. He began to pace back and forth, and he took off his glasses and began to polish them on the end of his tie at an alarming rate. Any faster and the glass would wear straight through.

“Except for those affected.” Joel muttered. “Eight of them. Eight workers in all, all male, all still here in the factory. They’re downstairs. I’ve had Chip down there, sending up hourly reports, and I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“And just what, pray tell, are you hearing?” whispered Frank, putting his head in his hands and waiting for the news he’d been preparing for.

“The Slickman seems to have…” Joel searched for words. Frank held his breath. “It seems to have… taken over, boss.  It seems to have somehow possessed them.”

Frank Shelton covered his face with both hands, hiding Joel from sight, and began to breathe heavily. 

So. It was happening again, just like before. He should have seen this coming. He should have stopped the production at the first sign of trouble, but it was too late for that. 

After he’d developed the Slickman, Frank had been only too eager to flog it on the open market. He’d demonstrated it at trade shows, he’d cozied up to the right clients, and he’d even arranged a romantic candlelit dinner with one of his on-the-fence investors. But it had all paid off. Slickman was ready to roll out, the factory had sprung up and was pumping out the product in containers for home-use to industrial gallon drums for big businesses. And a few days after a nice dinner, Frank had returned to his lab, still tipsy off several glasses of wine, and happened upon his first ever container of Slickman, the first he’d ever brewed up.  Frank had decided to keep it around for sentimental reasons. 

Opening the top of the container, Frank had stuck his hand in and raised it up to see his whole hand, from fingertips to his wrist, coated in shiny black latex. He’d said to it, “You and me, my friend, are going to change everything.”

And then, without warning, the make-shift glove had suddenly reached over and grabbed hold of a pencil sitting on the tabletop, and scribbled on a piece of paper:

YES FRANK

WE WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING

Frank had jumped up from that table in horror, knocking over his stool, but found himself unable to move away from the counter. His gloved hand suddenly seemed to weigh a ton and was holding him tightly in place. Grabbing hold of his shiny wrist with his other hand, Frank had pulled as hard as he could, only to find that it felt exactly like a glove, fit to his hand perfectly, and he could not remove it.

“What the hell?” Frank had hissed. He’d thought he was drunk. There had been an awful lot of wine, actually… but then the shiny black glove had grabbed his bare wrist and effortlessly dunked his other hand into the container of Slickman. 

“What is this?” Frank had yelled. He’d planted his feet against the table and attempted to wrench his hands free, but it was too late. When they raised themselves from the plastic tub, they were both wearing a pair of shiny latex gloves. He couldn’t so much as wiggle his fingers. He’d yelled again, this time calling for help, but it seemed like the Slickman had had enough of his noisemaking. Quickly, the gloves had raised up to his neck and unfastened the tie he had been wearing for his business dinner. Unable to stop himself, Frank had watched helplessly as he had swiftly wrapped the tie around his own mouth and tied it behind his head, gagging himself.

Panicking, Frank had fought to control his hands, but they would not answer. His hand found the pencil and paper again and he wrote:

SUBMIT FRANK

Then, without warning, his hands had forced him up from the table and had quickly begun to undress him. His shirt, then his undershirt, were quickly removed. He’d stood there, alone in the dark lab, and had been forced to grab a small brush that he kept nearby on the table. Dipping it into the tub of black goo, Frank had quickly placed the tip against his left arm and had started to paint. More out of fascination than anything, Frank had stopped struggling and watched as he gently began to coat his entire arm, from shoulder to wrist, in the rubber. Pretty soon, it looked as though he were wearing a long tight glove. The Slickman must have somehow sensed that he was admiring the handiwork and raised it before his eyes.

Frank had grunted through the gag, and his other hand had removed his tie (although he was now no longer sure if it were himself of the Slickman that was truly calling the shots). Taking a minute to gasp for breath and calm himself, Frank had whispered to the container of Slickman before him, “What are you? What do you want?” At once, his other hand had written on the paper on the counter:

WE WILL BE ONE

“What does that mean?” Frank’d hissed, “How can you be alive? You can’t be alive! You just can’t!” Evidently not wanting him to ask more questions, the shiny hands stuffed the gag back into place in Frank’s mouth. A sudden horror had surged through Frank’s heart when his hands had reached down and started to fiddle with the clasp on his belt. What the hell was it going to do down there? He didn’t even want to think about it. A second later, he’d found that he didn’t have to.

The Slickman was working fast. In seconds, Frank had removed his belt and then loosened his pants. They’d fallen around his ankles. Frank had been determined not to move his feet even the slightest bit, but a sudden darting motion from his arm had knocked him off balance just long enough to lift his left foot off the ground, and then his arms, now more a pair of shoulder-length gloves than anything else, had moved on with the business of pulling off his pants and socks. Frank had started to freak out when a moment later he was naked in the middle of his lab after he’d also been forced to remove his underwear.

Right then, Frank felt a chill that had had little to do with the cold, dark lab space. His entire body was exposed to the Slickman like a blank canvas before an artist with a pallet and brush. Begging the Slickman for freedom, Frank’s muffled pleas for mercy had turned into moans of despair when his arms had picked up the entire container and dumped a liberal amount onto his chest. A heavy glop of the Slickman splattered across his naked chest, washing down his body. Everywhere the Slickman had landed, he instantly both felt and saw it becoming one with his body.  He was a pretty well-built guy for his age, but as the goo coated him, he suddenly become aware that all he could see was the tightest outline of his chest and stomach, of his waist and his thighs.

His hands had gone to work instantly.  Like the claws of some robot, they had started to rhythmically brush his body up and down, smoothing the shiny ooze into every part it could reach. The gloved arms didn’t just slap away at the material, they moved slowly and methodically. He felt it rub his groin and at once Frank’s panic was replaced by bliss. He’d never felt anything like that before down there. Long, slow strokes came as the gloves wrapped around his dick and balls, smoothing them, and Frank let out a traitorous moan of pleasure. His body became slick and shiny, and he found that the more of it was covered, the less of it was responding to him. He ran his hands over each other, them smoothed down his chest and his hips, and then returned to his balls and dick again. Now they were pulling them sensually, almost playfully, touching them, coating them. Rather than just vanish into a sheath of rubber, though, like some toy store action figure, they grew larger and wider, more perfect, covered in rubber. His feet, covered with the drippings of the Slickman, were perfected as well. At once he didn’t feel like the Slickman was between his toes, but more that it was his toes, his entire foot, in fact. In fact, the only part that was left was his face.

As if psychically linked, the Slickman reached down and took a handful of the ooze, cupping it in a hand, and raised it towards his face. Frank, having been admiring the sexy way his rubber-covered body was making him feel, and how his dick under all this slime was springing to life, realizing that the end was staring him right in the face. He shouted at the top of his lungs, “No!”

With sudden adrenaline born of fresh terror, Frank had wrenched his right hand away from the table and swung it wide. As luck would have it, he had left the glass beaker containing his only hope at that moment – the solvent – on the table. His flailing arm made contact with the beaker, which flipped over and flew into the air before falling back to the desk with a crash. The glass had shattered and splashed the clear chemicals across the table – and across Frank’s body.

He’d felt the strange grip that the Slickman had been holding over him instantly break. Seconds later, Frank stood there, peeling and ripping the quickly cracking latex from his skin, hurling it away from him in large pieces. It stung like hell, almost like tearing off a layer of Frank’s own skin, but he hadn’t stopped until every scrap was gone. 

For the next two days, Frank was a wreck. He’d spent the next day convincing himself that the entire incident had been just his imagination. Unfortunately for Frank, the slight burns on his skin and the loss of the hair all over his arms, not to mention his crotch, were too much to ignore. Then there was the note scribbled on the lab table with those haunting words that Frank MUST have written, but couldn’t possibly have.

And then, the day after that, when he’d finally wrapped his mind around the fact that it hadn’t been some kind of crazy hallucination, he’d received a big fat Thank You basket of wine, cheese, and scented soaps from one of his investors. His mind had nearly blown a fuse – Slickman was within days of hitting the shelves. It would be in every home in the country. It would be used in every factory, and would be applied in every auto shop. Electricians, plumbers, repairmen, farmers; so many people were about to become so many victims.

Frank had instantly started work on more solvent. A lot more if it. Gallons upon gallons of it. To cover his bases, Frank poured it first completely over the original batch of Slickman. As soon as it was nothing more than a withered pile of shreds, he had burned it. Next, he’d haunted the factory and the lab for the next few days. He’d read every report and called up every supplier until they were sick of him. After almost a week of frantic searching for the slightest sign of trouble, he’d turned up nothing. Whatever strange, frantic phenomenon had taken place in Frank’s personal lab had yet to appear anywhere else. Frank dared to dream that it was the original batch. That maybe he’d left it hanging out for so long it had literally and figuratively gone bad. That thought provided no comfort – how does an inanimate object with no brain or soul develop both and turn on its creator? But Frank wasn’t one for philosophy, he was all about the bottom line, and the bottom line right now was good, so long as nothing went wrong.

Nothing, until now.

“Boss. Boss!” Joel’s voice broke into Frank’s concentration again. He started, looking up from his hands.

“Yes, Joel?” Frank said tiredly. “More bad news?”

Joel looked exasperated. He seemed to also be on the verge of tears. Slapping his documents down on the table, which he must have dug out of the wastepaper basket while Frank was in his reverie, Joel began to run his hands through his hair.

“Mr. Shelton, we have no idea what to do about this!” he hissed. “For God’s sake! They’re mutants! There is nothing in the books about what to do when your employees are exposed to liquid latex and turn completely into monsters! Boss, what are we going to do?” Frank would have found Joel’s little meltdown funny had he been in any other situation in the world. Joel’s hands closed over his face and he seemed to sway as he shook his head back and forth, all the while muttering, “What are we gonna do, what are we gonna do, what are we gonna do?” In a heartbeat, Frank was there at his side, enclosing his young assistant in his arms. It was perhaps a great deal more than was necessary, but at least Joel stopped moaning. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” whispered Frank. He held him tightly, closing his eyes, and at the same time feeling Thorpe’s tight little body through his crisp and clean office clothes. Joel stiffened at this, but said nothing. Today was the day for dealing with this nightmarish crisis. It was not the day for Joel to find out that part of the reason Frank had hired him in the first place had been that he had developed, within seconds of laying eyes on him, a total crush and a major hard-on for the guy. That would wait for another day. If that ever came.

“We’ll get through this,” said Frank quietly. “Damned if I know how, but we’ll get through it. We can get through this, Joel, you hear me? Don’t go to pieces on me now.”

It took almost another minute for Joel to compose himself and snap out of his hysteria. Gently breaking away from Frank, he took a second to remove his glasses and wipe the lenses, straighten his tie and collar, and brush off his shirt. When he was once again breathing normally, he asked Frank, “Alright then, bossman, what are we going to do? What’s our first step?”

Frank closed his eyes and thought back to that night in the lab. The rubber slithering over his skin, bonding with him, his own hands controlled by the shiny black slime, the blind terror with which he had fought back as it sought to take over his whole body, piece by piece… and the erotic, sensual pleasure he had felt as it wrapped around his dick.

“First things first, Joel.” Frank said at last. He stood and swallowed hard, hoping that he was exuding a calm and a confidence which he did not in any way feel.

“First things first, Joel,” he repeated. “Take me to them.”

[tightsweatyclothes]

An idea for a game: she is bound and placed within an enclosure, less than a metre in height. She just needs to get out of the enclosure to get to the unlocked door, and freedom. Easy enough to push herself against the enclosure walls and get up, but the catch is that touching the enclosure walls will set up debilitating shocks in the collar, so that even a brush will send her into a frenzy of agony. She can try to get her legs underneath her from a sitting position, but the armbinder behind her either messes up her centre of gravity, or forces her torso forward, blocking her own bound legs from getting beneath her body. She may, with great effort, push her bound limbs into a kneeling position, as above, but from there it is almost impossible to stand up. The door beyond the enclosure stands ajar: once out of the enclosure, she could literally push it to get out of the warehouse, whose metal roof makes it a furnace in the heat. Hours pass, and her tormentors have force-fed her bitter and rotten-tasting fluids to stop her from overheating several times before leaving her to her struggles once more, but she is no closer to freedom than before, though it stares her right in the face. At night they leash her to the corner and recharge her collar, and she sleeps as best she can while bound, and in the day the struggle begins anew, sometimes with a bunch of keys for her restraints, which hands trapped in an armbinder cannot possibly use, thrown in to tease her still further.

[tofu83]

What men bred for

4. Stallions and Cows

Countless transparent glass columns are filled with milky white liquid. The liquid surges and gradually recedes, and white figures appear from them.

Now in each column is a smooth, hairless, muscular male figure without genitals. The color of figure’s skin gradually deepens from completely white to normal skin color. Then, the hair and the genital grows, and the figure becomes indistinguishable from a real person.

A strong gust of wind blew through the columns, leaving the men dry and clean. There was a beep in the room and they all opened eyes, the glass of the tube also retracting into the floor. Countless men who looked exactly the same stepped out of the platform, turned left, and walked towards another room.

The two "wild earthlings" escorted by the security drones were shocked by the sight in front of them.

"You were cultivated in this factory, but not in this cloning room. Only the best individuals will be cloned and directly made into adult individuals for rapid shipment." The drones explained to them in a monotone, emotionless voice.

"And you are prey-type humans who were raised from infants to adults using traditional methods, and then released into the wild for hunting. You do not have the memory here because according to regulations, all products leaving the factory must have their memories erased."

Before the two humans could understand the information they heard, a naked man wearing a helmet walked past them with two armored men wearing the same helmet.

"They are the latest products: Space Patrollers. They will be partially mechanized and equipped with armor before leaving the factory to adapt to the harsh environment of outer space. The one in the middle should be considered "the best of the best", so the mechanization process was stopped. He will be modified into a "Stallion" and he will provide his semen to create excellent clones until he die."

" Yet you two are an inferior breed that does not know how to obey your alien masters. You cannot become soldiers, guards or other useful characters, except used as nothing but food." the security drones said.

"However, the R&D director of the factory believes that even wild low-level species like yours can be domesticated, so he arranged this factory tour for you."

The two prisoners were taken to the next room, which contained a row of huge glass tanks filled with milky white liquid, a super muscular man wearing a helmet and covered in black rubber armor, and a group of men wearing helmets, boots and metal briefs.

"What you see is the Bellwether and a whole herd of Cows. The screens on the inside of their helmets are playing scenes of human sexual intercourse in a loop, and the metal underwear constantly stimulates their genitals and arseholes, keeping them on the edge of climax for a long time.

The difference is: the semen of the Cows is of high quality and can be used as high-quality nutrition for the alien masters. They should fill the entire tanks with semen every day;

The Bellwether is responsible for managing the entire herd of dairy cows. Their own semen is of poor quality, but their desire for semen is so strong that they are not allowed to ejaculate but are fed semen as a reward for their work.”

"So why are the masters showing us this?" one of the prisoners asked tremblingly.

"It is a very good start for you to start calling 'Masters'. You will make preliminary adjustments, put on the mind control helmet, and assist the R&D director in the laboratory as a 'Quality Control Assistant' for one month. The earthlings who can serve as the Master's personal assistant is supreme glory."

"And after that?"

"After one month, your helmets will be removed, and the R&D director will review your degree of domestication to determine whether you can become better individuals, or you can only be destroyed."

Before the two prisoners could react, they were put on helmets. A spiral appeared in front of their eyes. The director's whispers sounded in their ears. At the same time, they also felt a device being installed on their groin, giving them a comfortable feeling.

The drone released the two prisoners, trembling with pleasure at the "reward" the armor had given them.

The two prisoners, now "Temporary Drones", were completely hypnotized, controlled by the helmet's instructions, and walked towards the quality control room like robots.

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 2: The transforming Party

Tyler could feel the excitement bubbling up as he parked outside Matt’s house. He hadn’t seen his best friend in weeks, and this party felt like the perfect way to reconnect. The energy in the air was different tonight, and Tyler was ready to unwind. But what made this night even better was that his friend Alex, a childhood buddy, was coming along too. Tyler hadn’t told Alex about the strange changes happening with his brother Luke, or the bizarre polo shirt trend he’d noticed at home and around town—tonight was just about fun.

Tyler checked his phone. A text from Alex popped up: "Here. Meet me at the front!"

He stepped out of his car and spotted Alex approaching from down the street. They gave each other a quick bro-hug and laughed, reminiscing about old times as they walked toward the house.

"Man, I haven’t been to one of Matt’s parties in ages. Should be fun," Alex said, grinning.

Tyler smiled but felt a knot forming in his stomach. Something had been bothering him ever since he heard about Matt wearing the black latex Fred Perry polo. He hadn’t been able to get a clear answer from Matt about it, and his gut told him something was wrong. But tonight, he wasn’t going to worry about it—at least, not yet.

As they stepped into Matt’s house, the music was thumping, and the place was packed with people in their twenties, dancing and chatting. Tyler immediately spotted Matt in the kitchen, surrounded by a group of guys. As he approached, he saw it—the same black latex Fred Perry polo with yellow details that he’d seen on Luke and other guys recently. It fit Matt tightly, gleaming under the lights in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

Alex didn’t seem to notice the shirt, instead excitedly talking about plans for the weekend. But Tyler’s eyes stayed glued to the polo. He had to ask.

"Matt, dude, what's with the shirt?" Tyler asked, trying to sound casual.

Matt smiled—an eerie, too-perfect smile. "It’s the new thing, Ty. You’ll see. Come on, man, relax. Let’s grab a drink."

Tyler and Alex exchanged a glance. Alex’s smile faded a bit, as if sensing something was off too. Still, they both decided to go with the flow—for now.

Later, Tyler and Alex managed to slip outside to the backyard, trying to get away from the growing crowd inside. The backyard was quieter, but Tyler couldn’t shake the weird feeling. Matt had always been the most laid-back guy, but now there was something different about him—something controlled.

"Hey, man," Alex said, breaking Tyler’s thoughts. "What’s going on? You seem tense."

Tyler glanced toward the house, lowering his voice. "It’s Matt. And it’s this… shirt. I don’t know, but something’s up. Everyone’s been wearing these black latex polos lately. My brother, some guys from the neighborhood—it’s spreading."

Alex frowned. "You think Matt’s involved?"

"I don’t know," Tyler admitted. "But something isn’t right."

Just as they were talking, Matt stepped outside. Tyler tensed, but Matt’s smile seemed genuine—yet eerie. He approached them with a drink in hand and, without prompting, began talking.

"You know, Tyler, I wasn’t sure about it either at first," Matt said, his tone unusually calm. "But once I met the coach, everything made sense."

Tyler stiffened. "Coach? What coach?"

"Coach Johnson. The guy who runs the soccer team. He’s the one who introduced me to the polo. Said it’s about more than just soccer. It’s about focus, clarity… success. It changes you, Ty. Makes you better."

Tyler’s heart raced. His mind flashed back to his brother, Luke, who had been acting strange ever since soccer practice. The pieces started falling into place. "You mean Coach Johnson turned you?"

Matt’s eyes gleamed in the low light. "Not just me. A lot of us. It’s spreading through the town. The polo—it connects us. You’ll understand once you wear it."

Alex leaned in, whispering, "Tyler, this is messed up."

The night took a darker turn when a group of new guests arrived. They were all dressed in normal clothes—jeans and casual shirts. Tyler watched as Matt and a few other guys in the black polos welcomed them with wide smiles, offering them drinks. But Tyler noticed something strange: whenever Matt or another guy handed out a drink, they also handed out a folded black latex Fred Perry polo.

Tyler’s stomach dropped as he watched the scene unfold. At first, the new arrivals hesitated, just like Jason had earlier, but after some encouragement, they began putting on the polos. And even.. gas masks?

One by one, the men’s expressions shifted from confusion to calmness. They began to mirror the behavior of the other guys already transformed. Their casual clothes were discarded, and the black latex polos with yellow details took their place, shimmering eerily under the house lights.

Alex grabbed Tyler’s arm. "We need to get out of here."

Tyler nodded, but before they could leave, the door to the backyard opened again—and this time, Coach Johnson stepped through. He, too, was wearing the black polo. His presence was commanding, and everyone turned toward him.

"Tyler," Coach Johnson called out, his voice smooth and authoritative. "It’s time for you to join the team."

Tyler’s blood ran cold. "I’m not doing this."

But then he saw them—two men standing behind Coach Johnson. He recognized them immediately—they were the brothers of two guys he had grown up with. And just like everyone else, they too were wearing the polos. The brothers’ expressions were calm, eerily serene.

Matt stepped closer, holding out a black polo with yellow details. "It’s inevitable, Ty. Put it on, and you’ll understand."

Alex looked at Tyler, his eyes filled with fear. "Tyler, don’t do it."

Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest. The black latex Fred Perry polo gleamed in Matt’s hands, and Coach Johnson stood nearby, watching Tyler with calm, knowing eyes. The parents behind Coach—men Tyler had known all his life—were wearing the same polos, their faces eerily serene. This wasn’t just about soccer anymore; this was something much bigger, much more terrifying.

Alex gripped Tyler’s arm tightly, his voice low but urgent. “Tyler, we have to get out of here. Now.”

But Tyler couldn’t move. His mind was racing, trying to piece everything together. Matt had been turned by Coach Johnson. His brother Luke had fallen into the same trap. And now it was spreading—through the neighborhood, through the town. What had once seemed like an innocent trend was now a full-blown takeover.

The air felt thick around him, the weight of expectation pressing down. Everyone at the party—the guys in their twenties, the parents, even his best friend—was looking at him, waiting for him to make the choice. And the polo... it was right there, just inches from his hands.

Matt’s voice broke the silence. “You don’t have to fight it, Ty. The polo will change everything. It’ll give you focus. Clarity. You’ll be part of something bigger than yourself.”

Tyler shook his head, trying to resist. “I don’t want that.”

But Matt’s expression softened, and for a moment, Tyler saw a flicker of the old Matt—the friend he had grown up with. “I thought the same thing at first. I didn’t understand it. But once I wore the polo, everything made sense. You’ll feel it too.”

Tyler’s eyes darted to Alex, who was still gripping his arm, silently pleading for them to leave. But as Tyler’s gaze swept the backyard, he realized something chilling: the exit was blocked. Two more guys in black polos were standing near the gate, their faces blank but watchful.

There was no way out.

“Tyler!” Coach Johnson’s voice boomed across the backyard, snapping Tyler back to attention. “It’s time to make a decision.”

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just run—they were surrounded. And if he refused to wear the polo, what would happen? Would they force it on him? Would they make him like they had made Matt, Luke, and the others?

Alex’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ty, we can’t stay here. We have to fight this.”

But Tyler was paralyzed. The weight of the polo in Matt’s hands seemed to pull him closer. The promise of focus, of clarity, of belonging—it was tempting, even though he knew it was wrong.

Coach Johnson stepped forward, his face calm, almost fatherly. “You’ve always been strong, Tyler. That’s why you’ve resisted this for so long. But strength doesn’t come from standing alone. It comes from being part of a team. And this... this is the ultimate team.”

Tyler’s mind flashed to his brother Luke—how different he had become since soccer practice, how distant but focused. And then he thought about Matt, who had always been the most laid-back guy he knew, now a willing servant of whatever force was behind this polo.

“I... I don’t want to be like this,” Tyler whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Matt stepped closer, holding out the polo. “You won’t lose who you are, Ty. You’ll just... be better. You’ll understand.”

Alex pulled Tyler back a step, his voice rising. “No! This isn’t you, Tyler. You’re stronger than this!”

But as Alex spoke, Coach Johnson’s eyes narrowed. He gestured to one of the guys standing near the gate, who moved silently toward Alex, grabbing his arm and twisting him around. Alex yelped in pain, and before Tyler could react, the guy pulled a folded black polo from his jacket and shoved it toward Alex.

“No!” Tyler shouted, moving to intervene, but it was too late.

In a swift, practiced motion, Alex was forced to his knees as the polo was yanked over his head. The black latex gleamed in the moonlight, and Tyler watched in horror as Alex’s expression changed. The panic in his eyes faded, replaced by a calm, almost empty look. The transformation was fast, brutal.

When Alex stood up again, he was different. His eyes no longer held that spark of rebellion. Instead, they were distant, calm, and focused—just like everyone else’s.

“Tyler,” Alex said softly, his voice flat, emotionless. “You should put it on.”

Tyler’s heart sank. His last ally was gone, taken by the same force that had claimed so many others. Now, there was no one left to fight alongside him.

Coach Johnson stepped forward again, his expression unreadable. “There’s no need to fight anymore, Tyler. The polo is waiting for you. Once you wear it, everything will fall into place. You’ll be part of the team.”

Matt smiled, holding out the shirt one final time.

Tyler’s hands shook. He could feel the pressure building, the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. There was no way out, no one left to help him. The polo felt inevitable.

But just as he reached out to take it, a memory flashed in his mind—a memory of him and Luke playing soccer in the backyard as kids, before everything had changed. They had always been a team, but it had been on their terms. This... this wasn’t a team. It was control.

Tyler took a deep breath. “I won’t do it,” he said quietly.

Matt’s smile faltered. “Ty, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not putting it on,” Tyler repeated, louder this time.

Coach Johnson’s eyes darkened. “You don’t have a choice.”

But Tyler took a step back, refusing to take the polo. “Yes, I do.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The air was thick with tension, and Tyler could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on him. But he stood firm.

Coach Johnson’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well.”

And with that, he gave a curt nod to the two men by the gate. They moved toward Tyler, fast and efficient, ready to force the transformation on him.

But before they could reach him, Tyler bolted. He ran through the crowd, pushing past the guys in black polos, ignoring the shocked gasps and protests. He didn’t know where he was going—he just knew he had to get out.

Alex, now with his hair slicked back, was ready to find his best friend and make him join them forever.

Tyler’s feet pounded against the pavement as he sprinted down the street, the cool night air filling his lungs. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of the transformed, but he didn’t look back. His only thought was escape.

He ran and ran until the sounds of pursuit faded into the distance. Only then did he stop, gasping for breath. He was alone, in the middle of a quiet, empty street.

For now, he had escaped. But Tyler knew it wasn’t over. The black polo was everywhere—spreading through the town like wildfire. And sooner or later, they would come for him again.

Tyler sprinted down the empty suburban street, his heart pounding as he put more distance between himself and the house. His mind raced with fear and confusion—his friends, his neighbors, everyone he knew was falling under the influence of those black Fred Perry polos. But he couldn’t stop, not now.

Just as he rounded a corner and ducked behind a row of parked cars to catch his breath, his phone buzzed. He fumbled for it, seeing Zach’s name on the screen. Surprised but relieved, he answered quickly.

“Zach?” Tyler whispered, glancing around to make sure he was alone. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

There was a shaky intake of breath on the other end. “Tyler… man, I don’t know what’s happening,” Zach whispered, his voice quivering with fear. “My dad… he’s changed. Just like everyone else. He keeps telling me I need to put on the polo, that it’ll make everything better.”

Tyler felt a chill run down his spine. “Zach, listen to me. You have to get out of there. Don’t let him make you put it on. They’re all… they’re not themselves anymore. We have to get somewhere safe.”

There was a rustling sound on the line, and Zach’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I know, I’m trying. I’ve been hiding in my room, but he won’t stop. He keeps knocking on the door, saying it’s for my own good. Ty, I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

Tyler’s pulse quickened. “Can you make it to the soccer fields? It’s abandoned; no one will look for us there.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Zach replied, “Okay… I’ll try. Just—wait, no! No, Dad, don’t—”

Suddenly, there was a muffled scuffle on the other end of the line, followed by Zach’s voice calling out, “No! I don’t want it! I don’t—” And then the call went silent.

Tyler stared at his phone, his heart hammering as dread washed over him. Zach was, just like his brother Troy, gone. Their father was pleased.

Tyler sprinted down the dark streets, adrenaline pushing him forward. His heart pounded as he turned corner after corner, his mind racing. He knew they were close, and he had no choice but to keep running. The voices of the transformed echoed faintly behind him, calling his name, urging him to stop fighting.

He needed somewhere to hide—somewhere he could catch his breath, think, and maybe even find a way to fight back.

Before he knew it, he found himself at the edge of the familiar soccer field where Luke had practiced countless times. The field was empty now, the bleachers casting long shadows under the moonlight. But Tyler couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of something lurking beneath the surface. He spotted the locker room building near the bleachers and made a break for it, slipping inside and quietly closing the door behind him.

The air inside the locker room was thick and heavy, carrying a distinct, musky scent. Tyler wrinkled his nose, trying to ignore it as he moved deeper into the room. But the smell only intensified as he walked further, and he soon realized the source: dozens of black Fred Perry polos, identical to the ones he had seen at the party, were hanging on racks along the walls. Their yellow details caught the dim light, creating an almost hypnotic effect as they swayed slightly.

The faint hum of a ceiling fan was the only sound as he pushed the door open of coach his office. Inside, the room was dark, illuminated only by a small desk lamp casting a pool of light over the cluttered desk. Tyler’s gaze fell on a stack of papers and a checklist lying on top, each item written in Coach’s neat, meticulous handwriting.

Turn Matt. 2. Turn Alex. 3. Lure Tyler to the soccer fields. 4. Trap Tyler. 5. Turn Tyler.

The final line sat unchecked, standing out in a haunting way. Tyler’s chest tightened as he realized this was more than a casual plan—Coach had orchestrated everything.

He took a slow step forward, drawn to the wall on the far side of the room. It was covered with framed photos, each one spotlighting different moments and faces. His eyes widened as he recognized the faces in the photos. There was Luke, his brother, standing proudly in a black Fred Perry polo with yellow details, his face calm and focused. Below Luke’s photo was a small label, handwritten in bold letters: Polo Drone 088.

Tyler’s breath hitched as he scanned the other photos. There was Matt, Alex, and others from the soccer team, all wearing the same polo with the same serene, almost detached expressions. In the center of it all, a larger framed photo of Coach Johnson (Polo Drone 001) stared back at him, his gaze intense and commanding. Tyler could feel the weight of Coach’s stare, as if it reached out from the photo, binding him in place.

The room was completely silent, and he felt both comforted and unnerved by the eerie calm. He crouched down behind a row of lockers, breathing deeply as he tried to steady himself. But each breath filled his lungs with the overwhelming musk from the polos, a heady, almost intoxicating scent that made his mind feel hazy.

Tyler’s head began to swim, the scent sinking deeper into his senses. He knew he needed to stay alert, to keep his guard up, but his resistance was slipping with each breath he took. His heart still pounded, but it was slower now, his thoughts beginning to drift. The scent was comforting, reassuring, like a gentle voice telling him everything would be alright if he just… gave in.

He tried to shake his head, to clear his mind, but it only seemed to make the pull of the polos stronger. His gaze drifted to the neatly arranged rows, their soft fabric glinting faintly in the low light, calling to him.

“It would be so easy,” a voice in his mind whispered. “Just one step, and all the running, all the fear, would go away.”

Tyler shook his head again, trying to resist. But his hands seemed to move on their own, reaching out toward one of the polos hanging on the nearest rack. The fabric felt cool under his fingertips, and a strange sense of calm washed over him as he held it in his hands.

He brought the polo closer, his mind growing hazier as the musky scent became overpowering. His grip tightened, the soft fabric pulling him in, his fingers tracing the yellow details almost instinctively.

The room felt warmer now, the silence enveloping him like a blanket. Tyler’s resistance faded with each passing moment, the familiar scent and the feel of the polo overpowering his senses. It was as if the shirt itself was speaking to him, urging him to embrace the calm, the unity it promised.

As if in a trance, Tyler slowly slipped the polo over his head. The moment it touched his skin, he felt a strange peace settle over him, his thoughts quieting, his body relaxing as if it had found its purpose. The musky scent filled his lungs, grounding him, connecting him to something greater.

He looked down at himself, at the shiny black polo that now clung to his body. The yellow details gleamed in the dim light, and his fingers brushed over the fabric, feeling a sense of pride he couldn’t explain.

His mind was empty, his fear gone, replaced by the steady, calm focus he had seen in his brother, in Matt, and in Alex. He was no longer Tyler, the one who resisted. He was part of something bigger now, something that filled him with purpose.

As he stepped out of the locker room, his movements were calm, controlled, each step aligning with the rhythm of the voices that had once chased him. Now, he was one of them, ready to bring others into the fold.

The night felt different now. The world around Tyler was still, serene, as he walked back toward his house. The familiar streetlights cast a faint glow on the shiny black Fred Perry polo he now wore, its yellow accents catching the light in a way that felt almost otherworldly. Tyler moved with calm purpose, the faint, lingering musk from the locker room grounding him with each step.

When he reached the doorstep of his home, he paused, taking a slow breath as he felt a sense of clarity wash over him. Everything had fallen into place.

Inside, the house was quiet, the soft glow from a single lamp spilling into the hall. Tyler made his way toward the living room, where he found his brother, Luke, sitting calmly on the couch. Luke looked up, his gaze unwavering, his own polo a perfect match to Tyler’s.

“Welcome home, Ty,” Luke said, his tone warm but calm, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Tyler moved to sit beside his brother, feeling a strange sense of peace. The resistance, the confusion, all of it felt like a distant memory, replaced by the quiet purpose they now shared.

They sat in silence, basking in their newfound unity. After a few moments, Luke’s gaze drifted toward the hallway closet, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“We’re almost complete now,” he murmured. “Coach said there’s always room for more.”

Tyler’s gaze followed his brother’s, and there, nestled in the back of the closet, he noticed three neatly folded black polos, each one identical to theirs, the yellow accents gleaming softly under the light.

Their father’s voice sounded from upstairs, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “Tyler? Luke? Is that you boys?”

Tyler and Luke exchanged a knowing look, their smiles widening ever so slightly. They both rose from the couch, moving with quiet, steady steps toward the hallway closet, each of them taking a polo from the pile.

The house was silent as they made their way up the stairs, their expressions calm, their purpose clear.

And as they disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, the last light in the house went out, leaving only the faint scent of musk lingering in the air.

[thebramblewood]

They're going on a best friend date. 🥰

Previous / Next

Helena: Caleb, get dressed. We’re going out.

Caleb: [mumbling] Oh, but Dru and I were just getting comfortable.

Helena: She looks like she’d rather be elsewhere. And so would I. I’m tired of being a recluse with you. All I can think about when I’m hanging around here is my next meal.

Caleb: But where are we-

Helena: It’s a surprise! Would you rather I ask your sister instead?

-

Lilith: Where are you two off to? Oh, are you having one of your little mental conversations. You know I hate that. It’s so unfair! Fine, don’t tell me. But at least take your hellcat with you. [to rubber ducky] I guess it’s just you, me, and that… thing. Now, what are we going to do about them keeping secrets from us?

-

Helena: Why have we never taken this path?

Caleb: Enemy territory.

Helena: Oh my god, is this the way to Vlad’s? You have to show me his place!

Caleb: [weakly] Helena…

Helena: [shudders] Ostentatious and creepy as fuck. It’s strange how little I noticed that first night. And what I do remember is all fragmented and blurry, like a dream.

Caleb: Well, you had an awful lot to drink, and you did technically die. [ruminative pause] Then, of course, there was all the glamouring-

Helena: Glamouring?

Caleb: Vampire party trick. Like hypnosis, but more sophisticated. Once you learn it, you can make yourself as discreet or flashy as you’d like. Most humans have encountered vampires without even realizing it. If they stumble into this place  — and make it out alive — they likely won’t remember how to return. Straud and the other ancients keep it well-shrouded.

Helena: [nervously] Does it work on other vampires? I’ve barely seen any-

Caleb: We can always see our kind for what they are. You’ve just been unobservant.

Helena: Hey! I’ve been distracted. It’s hard not to have tunnel vision when you’re in perpetual survival mode.

Caleb: You’re feeling better now. I can tell.

Helena: I’m full on plasma and ready to party!

Caleb: [chuckles] Seriously?

Helena: Well, not quite. You’ll see.

Caleb: You know, I could just peek into your head and-

Helena: [teasingly] Too bad your morals will never allow it.

[kink-creator]

THE RUBBER DOG

Short Story

The council has voted: the handsome jock will become an obedient rubber dog.

--

"You can't do this!" he yelled, to the councilmen's amusement. The chamber filled with gas. His panic only made him breathe deeper.

Slick black rubber spread across his skin. He felt something form in his ass—a silicone plug. It grew bigger and outward to shape a long black tail, bobbing gently as he shuddered from the feeling.

A thick rubber dog mask formed over his face, darkening his vision. His mind was growing cloudy. He let out a muffled groan of protest: "You won't … get … away … w—WOOF!" He stood still for a moment, shocked at his sudden loss of … something. He couldn't remember what.

He breathed the gas, deeper and deeper. It made him relaxed; euphoric.

It started to feel so good to be a dog—an obedient, slutty rubber dog. He dropped to all fours and trembled with pleasure. He panted greedily and wagged his tail in the air. Degrading himself, with the councilmen watching, made him so hard.

Ten minutes of ecstasy passed, and the dog couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He came inside his rubber suit, whimpering, growling, panting stupidly as his body convulsed. With that pathetic ending, his transformation was complete and irreversible.

The gas receded, and the chamber door opened. Still quivering, the dog crawled out toward the councilmen. He was desperate to lick his masters' boots—desperate to suck on their bones.

--

If you like what you see, check out my other AI videos:

The Conversion Pool

The Red Singlet

From Prep to Pig

A Gimp is Born

The Drone Factory

The Vampire's Thrall

A Hero Corrupted

And short stories:

The Rubber Dog

[sanzaibian]

Congrats on 1,000! I was hoping you could give me a haircut! I always wondered what if look like with a pompadour or soemthing like that

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! Thank you for choosing our service !” You are welcomed as soon as you set foot inside the building. “You will be accompanied by Rilaj Mam, an associate of Dr. Davod, who is known for having studied all sorts of arts of the hair. - Please call me Rilaj, using mam makes me feel old !” A voice is being heard from further inside the shop. - Sorry, but it’s in your namecard !”

As those two bicker, you approach the place where this mysterious man is, and find a quite small man, dark-skinned, folded eyes, and silky black hair arranged in a man bun – although the rest of the head is flawlessly shaved down to the skin. He wears colorful clothes, including a big bandana, and presumably the large hat and the pair of sunglasses that have been put down on the counter, all hiding what your trained eyes recognize as a ripped body.

But when you come just a little but closer, that short guy, presumably Rilajn suddenly turns to you – almost looking up to you – and smiles, full of kindness, though there is a tinge of malice behind his pitch black eyes.

“No matter ! I now have work to attend to !” He finishes the bickering, before addressing you. “I was waiting for you ! Please take place on this seat !”

You oblige, finding the seat to be extremely comfortable, much more than most barbershops you’ve ever been to. Almost too comfortable, considering this shop is temporary, after all… However, you’re here to relax and change hairstyles. Your hair has grown quite a lot since last time, and it’s about time you arrange it up. And trying a new style is just the cherry on top.

“So…” Rilaj, the barber, starts, coming with a bottle full of a weird black substance. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that… your hair is way too short to make a good enough pompadour. You should have come in like… two months or three to have enough length to do what you wanted.”

You look at him disappointed. As if to prove it, he takes a strand of hair from the very front of your mop and drops it down your face, only reaching the base of your nose. And this shop is going to be closed by the time you grow enough hair, so although you can always come to another later, shelling out money for what is simply a bit of a silly tryout feels pointless.

“However, the good news is that I have a way to make a great pompadour thanks to my very special technique. So… are you interested ?” The barber offers with a malicious voice.

Still taken by your disappointment, you don’t think much and, foolishly, you agree immediately. You see his smile grow, as you are regretting having agreed so quickly while not considering what this technique is.

“Great ! Well, we shall start with a bit of trimming, no ? ‘Cause your hair might not be long enough, but it still needs shaping for this new cut !”

He draws out clippers and installs on it quite a big guard. Then, he turns it on, and starts mowing at your hair, tufts of it dropping from the sides of your head. His cutting style is quite peculiar, though, using the clippers only bit by bit, tuft by tuft, as if he was cutting with scissors. However, when he has finished one side of your head, continuing by working on the back, letting yet more strands of hair fall, you notice that the result is very regular, with each hair the exact same short size.

Somehow, that unorthodox technique works, and you are left with a great and very soft carpet of hair – which you were able to feel once he put down the clippers. Then, he draws out some scissors, of which one side is shaped in a sort of comb-like structure. He explains to you how it will make your hair less dense, which will make it easier to style, and better able to receive the special technique.

As he chops down some hairs on top, making the remainder of the mop lighter, you notice how silent he is throughout the whole ordeal. Although he seems like quite a jovial guy, even quite chatty at times, he doesn’t seem to be like other barbers, pulling you into discussions about what you did recently, or other mundanities. But looking at his pitch black eyes, matching his pitch black hair, you feel a weird sense of… tiredness ? coming from him. You can’t quite describe it, but as is always said : the eyes are the door to the soul. And behind the eyes you feel a truly ancient soul.

“That’s about it ! Now we’re coming to the good stuff !” Rilaj suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts. “Let me just show you…”

He takes the bottle of black stuff in his hands, and presents it to you through the mirror, before uncapping it.

“This is what I call nuuch’ay ! Don’t try searching it, you won’t see anything about it on the web. It’s an old tradition from my people, forgotten today, but that is very potent.”

He starts dropping it on your hair. It has a very slimy texture, and drops slowly. Looking at its pitch black but slightly shiny form, it almost looks like rubber… Once the bottle is fully emptied out, he puts it away on the counter. You look at it and notice a label, on which there is something written. You can’t understand it, the letters spell words you haven’t seen anywhere, but you do note that the handwriting is very neat and elaborate. It’s the kind of style that would belong in a historical document.

“Now, let me just rub it all in, and then I’ll be able to… pull your hair out of your head, let’s put it like that.”

You are quite disturbed by this. As he is spreading the black goo, you’re wondering about what kinds of irreversible damage it would make to your hair… if it’s pulling out your hair, won’t it damage the follicles ? Destroy your hair, and making go bald when the hair inevitably drop ? But as you’re considering whether to flee as a matter of precaution, you find that you’re actually unable to move. You look at his eyes… still a deep, deep black hole…

You are now trapped.

Concentrated, Rilaj starts, as promised, pulling on your hair. He does it first in the front, and just as he starts pulling, you feel weird… as if he is pulling on other parts of your body. You look at yourself, and aren’t really able to notice anything that has change… but as he suddenly pulls a second time, you feel a bit weird in your belly.

He pulls once again. You feel… tighter, as if the flab that you had been accumulating over the years was being… pulled back. Another pull. This time, you feel weird in your jaw, a weird sense of tingling all over your face… and on point, you notice that, as he pulls another time, there is no more facial hair. If you could draw your hand to your face, you’re sure you would feel it to be all smooth.

He continues pulling, the pain and the tightness being felt on all parts of your body. You look up at your hair, and notice black strands, reaching far higher than they ever have… and they are stood perfectly. It’s a feeling that you’ve never had, and as he pulls yet another time, tightening your body yet again, you feel kind of… hot ? Like, you’re wearing a haircut quite elaborate, your face is devoid of beard… you feel beautiful, and, dare you think, cute !

He continues pulling out your hair, continuing to tighten everything in your body, as he starts combing your new longer hair. The comb goes higher, and higher, your body feels tighter and tighter, until he goes back to the rest of the hair, revealing a big, tall, but not obnoxious pompadour.

The definition of beauty and hotness.

And as he finishes combing the rest, the barber looks at you, smiling from a well done job, just like you are from a wonderful haircut. You are enamored by the pomp, so much that you fail to realize how big your clothes now are on you. You want to feel it, you want to touch it… but before you can make your hand reach, not even registering how you’re suddenly able to move, Rilaj blocks your arm.

“No, you can’t touch it just yet. It needs to dry up a little bit more before you can, else you will mess everything up.”

Dry ? You do as said, but that use of words does throw you for a loop. And your barber notice, since he then adds a few precisions.

“See, the nuuch’ay is derived from rubber, and we need to let it dry a bit before it can keep its shape. I have variants that dry a lot faster, but for hair, only this one gives out good results.”

Of course ! It’s rubber ! You knew it ! Especially now that you look again at your pitch black and slightly shiny pompadour, the same color as the short guy’s man bun. He goes to fiddle with his tools, putting away the comb, scissors and clippers, and drawing out another bottle full of that black thing… “nootcheye”, was it ? Whatever, that rubber thing he put on your head.

Feeling he was finishing up, you feel like it’s appropriate for you to stand back up… but just when you are in a vertical position, you feel something dropping. You look below, your pants and your underwear are on the ground, your shirt being the only thing still hanging on, although it is by now only hovering around your body.

You cry in shock, drawing the attention of the barber, who smiles, almost mocking you – though you don’t feel anything truly mean about it.

“Oops ! I guess I didn’t consider that law from that one smart French guy – what was his name… Lavoisier ? yeah, Lavoisier’s law of conservation of matter.” He half-mocks, sticking out his tongue.

You glare at him, growing angry.

“Okay, okay, don’t need to be this upset ! I was going to explain how the nuuch’ay works before you left anyway !” He throws his hands up in surrender. “Basically, it’s just stretching your body so that the hair is higher, so it had to take mass from somewhere else – that somewhere being your fat, mostly. « The nuuch’ay is currently keeping your body stretched, meaning that you will stay like that for quite a while. However, once it completely dries up, it will crack and then your body will go back to normal, whence why I couldn’t use the instantly drying up nuuch’ay.”

He starts helping you out of your shirt, revealing a lithe body, one that you hadn’t seen since early puberty. Although you can see muscles, they lack any definition, and are only revealed by the low amount of body fat you now have. By all definitions, you can now call yourself a definite twink. No matter how much of one you already were, by now there is no mistake, with how hairless and skinny you are.

“It should last about a month or two, I didn’t check when I made this bottle, but if you want to end it early, you have to warm your hair up with, for example, a perming machine.” He continues to explain, as he starts uncapping his other bottle of ‘nootcheye’. “But until then, your hair will stay exactly like this, no matter how much you squeeze it, wash it, or mess it up !”

As if to prove his point, he squeezes down your pompadour, and as he removes his hand it bounces back into place, as if nothing had happened. Bewildered, you let your hand reach your hair, messing it up in more and more extreme ways, but like rubber, it always gets back to its place. It just feels… surreal.

“By the way, we don’t have any spare clothes for you – all the spare are made for bigger people – so I will use this bottle to create clothes. Don’t worry, I have great taste.”

He pours the bottle of nuuch’ay he had in his hands, and it spreads over all your body, from your neck down to your feet, creating a big, black, shiny jumpsuit. But as it settles, red accents and multiple crevasses appear, until it has formed into a kind of black leathery tunic, one that you would more readily see in fetish publications than in the street.

But you love it.

And under the smile of Rilaj Mam who artfully wanders out of the field of view, you take a photo to commemorate that new hairstyle, that new shiny black pompadour.

But before you go out of the barbershop, after having collected your bag and your unfortunately big clothes, Rilaj stops you.

“Sorry to bother you, but could you grant me a favor ?” He draws out a short red cigarette. “I found that thing when I went to Tokyo a few weeks ago, and I think your uncle might be interested in it.”

You look at him shocked when he suddenly mentions your uncle – especially knowing the unfortunate fate he suffered.

“Now, don’t make this face. I knew who you were ever since I saw your name booking this haircut, that’s the reason I chose to cut your hair. That guy at the welcome desk can attest that I’m very selective with my clients.” You hear a frustrated ‘yes’ from far away. “But if you have any questions, ask them to him, I won’t say anything he doesn’t want me to. After all, he is the only one who has the right to answer them...”

Hearing his tone, it feels as if he wanted you to ask questions to your uncle… Does he feel smart for trying to so blatantly manipulate you ? Or does he realize that you can’t ask questions to your uncle and expect a coherent answer anymore ?

“And, seriously, don’t use that cigarette. You saw how potent the nuuch’ay is, and this is more insidious. On that, send my regards to your uncle. Xtiqaatz’at chik na qii’.”

Without waiting for you to react, he leaves out the door, leaving more questions than answers.

[etheral-moon]

His hottest moments, argue with the wall. ˚˖𓍢ִ໋✧˚.⋆

[starphenie]

whenever i think of how nikki's personality has changed from her first game to her latest i get so emotional.. bring back silly lazy genki girl nik </3

[bookshelf-in-progress]

No matter how many times it happens, I'm always shocked by how reliably all my problems with any given story are solved by making it shorter. If I go into a story with the idea that it'll be long, that I should use as much detail as I want to craft a full-length and fully-fleshed-out story instead of a short one, it always turns into this rambling, meandering, soulless thing that's no fun to read, and I get tangled up in so many flimsy, sprawling layers of character and worldbuilding that the plot becomes unworkable.

The minute I tell myself, "Let's make this as short as possible," the problems fall away, I find the heart of the story again, the pacing is brisk, scenes get multiple purposes, the world feels deeper because I'm implying things that spark the reader's imagination rather than trying to put every threadbare, boring detail on the page. Every time. You'd think I'd have learned by now.

[tightsweatyclothes]

It is difficult to properly describe the disorientation, the helplessness of sensory deprivation. In the first few days, or what I supposed to be days, I screamed constantly into the gag, trying to hear my own voice, but even the vibrations of bone conduction had somehow been stilled by the hood. I did not realize how much our hearing and sight are taken for granted until I was denied of them completely. Each movement I made was halting, hesitating, desperate for anything that would break the stuffy dark and silence, yet fearful of what lay outside my skin-tight prison. Countless times did I try to pry off the hood, pry the suit off, but it stayed on, and my only reward was sweating worse into the itchy suit from the exertion. My tormentors prodded me with a sticks, shocked me with electricity, and I could neither see nor hear them. It was utterly infuriating. At first I tried to swipe at them, to retaliate, but with my sight and hearing gone, I could not even lay a finger on them. They would trip me up, and each time I put my gloved hands against the ground, trying to feel out the ground, to support myself and stand, I would find myself kicked down again, and nothing could tell me where the next blow would land. My only hope was to kneel, silent and docile, hoping they would tire of tormenting me. Who knows how many hours I spent like this, cowering and helpless, alone in the hot and muggy dark, afraid to move a finger for fear of the abuse coming back? Countless times did I pray for someone to save me from the stillness, the darkness which pressed in on me and suffocated me, and not once have my prayers been answered.

[tofu83]

Offset your own debt

Martin Fisher lost a lot of money on a gambling machine and was caught and locked up in a small room. The Boss said he could leave after his friend paid off his debt. But he knew no one would help him and he must escape while he couls to avoid execution. It was strange that the back door of this room was unlocked, so he quickly slipped out.

Behind the door was a long corridor full of screens. After he took a few steps, all the screens lit up, and they were all spirals that kept turning.He felt dizzy and at the same time, a soft voice came from the loudspeaker:

"You lose everything, including your clothes, take off your clothes!" He subconsciously followed the order and stripped himself naked.

"You also lose your old identity, you are nothing." He nodded in understanding.

"Whatever the Boss gives you, you accept unconditionally. Now put on the rubber shorts. You will wear them forever. It marks your new identity: the Boss's slave." A mechanical arm handed over a pair of rubber shorts, and Martin put them on. A little tight, but it feels exactly right.

"You are too thin to be a qualified slave. Drink the Boss's latest protein drink, and then start your process." He drank the drink handed to him by another robotic arm. It was very thick and tasted salty. It also had a fishy smell and was not tasty, but he liked the nutritional supplements given to him very much.

"Now lift the barbell, lunge forward, and follow the instructions." Martin started moving and working out.

His skinny body should not have been able to bear such a rigorous exercise, but under deep hypnosis, he far exceeded his limit. And because the Boss's special drink not only prevented his body from getting injured, it also allowed him to rapidly evolve due to high-intensity exercise. His shoulders and back were getting wider, his limbs were getting thicker, his chest muscles were getting bigger, and his abdominal muscles were getting more obvious. When he reached the end of the alley, he had changed from a nerd to a jock.

The robot arm took the barbell away, and Mark came to a door. "Your transformation is almost complete, now comes the final test."

He stood still. After a series of changes in his body caused by exercise and supplements, he could no longer think and could only accept instructions.

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

"The Boss's slave," he shouted back.

"What is your name?"He couldn't answer. His head had undergone a violent transformation and he had completely lost his memory.

"Your name is M13."

"My name is M13."

"As the owner's property, M13 has offset Martin Fisher's debt. Martin Fisher is allowed to leave, and M13 will stay forever."

"M13 will stay forever."

"Very good, your transformation is 100% complete and you are allowed to open the door and enter."

The Boss was half lying on the bed, enjoying the massage from two slaves while watching his newest slave walk in. M13's toned body was full of sweat and glistened under the light, which made the boss very satisfied.

M13 knelt down in front of the Boss, lowered his head and asked, "How may I serve you, master?"

[hard-like-ai]

seeing your work; turning people into rubber skinheads, chavs, etc. has really made me realize how nice it would be if something similar were to happen to me. What would have to change in order to become a rubber soldier?

Indeed, envisioning yourself as a rubber soldier conjures up images of a striking figure clad in shiny latex and PVC, with every muscle accentuated to perfection.

However, the magic of such a transformation lies in the precision of your words. A 'rubber soldier' might not just entail a shiny uniform but could literally mean becoming a RUBBER soldier.

As the transformation begins, you might first notice your compression T-shirt hugging your torso a tad more snugly than usual. Then, a peculiar sensation sweeps over you as your muscles stiffen, your skin takes on a glossy, green sheen, and you feel both powerful and constrained simultaneously.

In the blink of an eye, your uniform and boots seem to dissolve, melding into your very being. Now, you stand not just dressed as, but truly embodying, a toy soldier - resolute and unyielding.

Your every movement resonates with a surreal, rubbery echo. As you move, the stiffness of your body becomes apparent. Each motion is deliberate, almost mechanical. The most immediate and striking change is the pervasive scent of rubber and plastic mixed with sweat that now seems to emanate from your very pores. It's a constant reminder of your transformation, a heady and unmistakable aroma that clings to your newly glossy skin.

Isn't this what you asked for?

[alcoris-shiz]

The Big Boss Of Hell Himself

Chapter 1: Remember Me

Description: You died, well at least that’s what Lucifer had witnessed right? You were killed in his meeting with Heaven all those years ago when Charlie was just little. Lilith and he had split up when Charlie was only years old, then you came into his life. He was courting you at the time, Charlie adored you, you adored him and as you tried to help redeem demons, they shot at you saying an incantation that Lucifer didn’t even know. Then suddenly out of the blue, he gets a call from Charlie that there is someone at the hotel for him. She remembers you, but you can’t remember anything except a white light and waking up feeling lost.

Inspired by multi-fandom-imagine: And You’re In My Heart (Tumblr)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Lucifer’s POV

I played- I mean placed my duck very particularly on a shelf. It looked just like them, so pretty. Next to my other ducks. This was probably only my 1,000th duck that looked like Y/N, but it was the most resemblant so far. I proudly had it sitting next to my duck which looked like Charlie and I. 

We were barely together, I know I had only been courting them, but either way, it hurt to think of them. They would’ve accepted a proposal, I know this. But why now? Why did they have to leave so soon? We were partners! They’d been there since the beginning. Lilith may have helped me start it, but Y/N was there for me to get the job done. When it seems everything fell apart. 

Their wings being ripped from their body flashed through my head and I winced at the memory. How they’re body were thrown into a portal lifelessly and they were gone. They died fighting for my dream and while I know it was also their dream. I know it was their dream because it was mine. They did so much for Charlie and me and yet they were the one who suffered. Now here Charlie was taking the same stance, almost as if they were related and not Lilith. Those two always had so much in common.

I felt my eyes tear up and had to look away from my most recent project when my phone began to ring. I flinched grabbed it hurriedly and answered. “Heyyy… you?” I said awkwardly, cursing myself for not rehearsing before answering.

“Hey, Dad! I have… someone here who I think you’d like to see!” I sighed as I waited for her to say who it was, but the line was quiet and awkward.

“May I ask who it is? I’m pretty busy,” I said awkwardly in reply.

“It’s a surprise, just be nice when you show up. They’re not really in the right headspace and I think that seeing you will help them a lot.” Charlie said happily. Well, who could it be? Happy to see me? Was Lilith back? I missed her, but I feel like that’s the last person I would want to see. But a chance to see Charlie? Alright! Good enough reason to show up!

“Well, are you asking me to come see you as well?!” I asked I felt excited at the idea of coming to see Charlie, but she just laughed. 

“Yeah Dad, you can come see me as well. But I promise, you’ll be more than happy to see them.” I sighed again at the idea of having to socialize. 

“Alright, alright… I’ll be there in 20!” 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Around 20 minutes later I stood awkwardly in front of the hotel, should I even knock? I already said I was coming over… This is for Charlie!

I knocked on the door and it was quickly opened. “Heyyy bitch~,” I said and then paused awkwardly, my arms outstretched. I saw the spider thing in the back cover their mouth, clearly trying not to laugh. “Bad intro again? Hah, I’ll just work on that some more Sweetheart,” I chuckled rubbing the back of my neck.

I got a better look at Charlie and she had tear streaks down her face but was smiling. I felt myself immediately go into dad mode as I hugged her tightly. “Honey, why have you been crying? Did someone do something?~ 王’ĮĮ ƘíĮĮ ፐん巳ണ~” I snarled and she shook her head in my chest. I breathed a sigh as she pulled away. “No… it’s- just come see them,” she whispered and grabbed my hand, pulling me into the hotel.

She led me to our new beautiful dining room we had designed as she hurried inside.

That’s when I saw them…

My eyes swelled. This is an awful joke… they’re dead. I can’t be seeing this, there’s no way. They’re long past dead. “Y-Y/N?” I whispered looking at their face. They’re beautiful face where they sat looking so confused. “I- You’re Lucifer I guess?” I felt my chest swell hearing their voice once again. But why were they questioning this? I put on a little weight and aged a little, but I couldn’t look very different! They looked the same as the day they- 

“They seemed to have lost their memories. They said they just woke up in an alley and saw the hotel, assuming they could find help, they knocked. The last thing they remember is white and waking up, they don’t know any of us.” Charlie whispered.

“That’s okay, it’s so okay. My darling, we’ll help you. I’ll never leave you helpless again my dear,” I whispered slowly walking towards them. They looked up, eyes teary as well. She must be stressed, where did that emergency duck go that I had brought?!

I quickly pulled it out and presented it to them. It was a small classic rubber duck that just felt soft when you squished it. Charlie had said it may be a little more relieving for stress and it had become one of my new favorites. What a clever daughter I have!

They slowly reached up and touched it, looking at my eyes they grabbed it. That’s when I heard them giggle quietly. Oh, how I missed that laugh and their voice. “Thank you, I love ducks,” they giggled and softly squished it. That’s still my darling, that’s definitely them. 

“My dear, how are you feeling? Do you need to rest? I can help you! I make a great pillow if you need one! Or I mean I can also get you pillows I guess. I can be the blanket! Or just get a blanket.” they laughed again and smiled at me softly.

“No I’m okay, I feel like I’ve slept one hundred years, I don’t think I wanna sleep ever again.” they whispered.

I chuckled, right. “I’ll let you guys talk,” Charlie said and hugged me. “Thank you,” I whispered to her as she nodded and left the room. 

“I know you don’t know this and it sounds crazy probably, but I missed you. So much dearest.” I said softly to Y/N. They looked at me quizzically. “I don’t remember you, but I feel like I also missed you, somehow. That probably sounds crazier.” They said chuckling.

“No,” I said grabbing their hands softly, making sure they were okay with it. But they grabbed my hands as well and looked at me softly. “It’s perfectly okay and makes sense. You’ve been through a lot. I thought you had… were dead?” I felt my eyes fill with tears again and bit my lip, trying to keep my tears at bay.

“I died?” they asked softly looking shocked. I nodded. “Yeah, but I’m more than thankful you’re here.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Word Count: 1,279 A/N: So this is the first idea for a story I'm writing. I'm taking some of my favorite prompts for Lucifer that I've read and turning them into an actual story. If you guys have a specific prompt you wanna see, I'd love to see it. ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ~ Master List~ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

[imagined-rubbermen]

There's a lot that no one ever tells you about acclimating to becoming a rubber drone. Granted, everyone that used the Dronification Kit can't really talk about it, and most of them won't communicate just because their "master" forbids, or something. The lack of needs wasn't hard to get used to, if anything that's a lot of worries off my back. But no breathing? No talking? The lack of bodily functions felt alien. At least I could still see and hear, even if I lacked the body parts to do so. But my hearing and vision was so clear, so crisp, that it was overwhelming. The combined sensory deprivation and amplification was a lot to handle, so I did what usually helps me; I took a walk.

It was raining that night, and the rain kinda helped calm me down. I could differentiate each droplet hitting my new rubber skin, and it drowned out my anxiety. The increased sensitivity was a godsend now, and I savoured it. As I walked, my movements became more simplified, rigid, focused, yet flexible, softer, pliable. I assumed that's my flesh and bone turning into rubber now. The ideas in my mind about how to use my new body made me feel like my blood was pumping, even if I lacked such.

When I got home, I went to the bathroom to dry off. However, the rain made me so smooth, I got a little carried away. I relaxed and felt myself up right on the spot. I rubbed myself all over, my tightly defined chest, my smooth helmet like face, even my crotch. That last one was the biggest surprise, I didn't have anything down there. No shaft, no balls, no anus. There was a weird lock imprint on my bulge, but other than that, I really liked it. I knew I'd love being a featureless rubber drone.

Eventually I felt the sensation of climaxing; the rush, the release, the exhaustion, but I didn't come. After all, I didn't need human anatomy to pleasure myself. The best part? It took almost no time at all for my new rubbery, smooth, elastic body was ready for round two, and I went again, my body squeaking alone on the bathroom floor. After climaxing again, I let myself fall asleep on the bathroom floor.

It's weird now, my life that is. So many people think I have a "master" or an "owner" but instead I'm the master of my life. I'm made of rubber now, and if anyone gives me any issues, they can barely hurt me, while I show them what I can do. Now I have complete control of myself, my emotions, my body, my life. My libido is ready to fire on all cylinders whenever, and I can feel myself for hours sometimes, and can easily stop. I was like a machine, although I kinda am.

Of course, I saw an opportunity, and sometimes sell my "services" to lonely men that need that sexual satisfaction of an object. Of course they know I'm in charge, and getting into a fight with a rubber drone is not something I'd advise (although some of those guys really liked it, so what do I know?). I'll let them play with me. Some guys like to smell and lick me, like how I would play with rubber drones before I became one. Some guys would try to fuck me, although without any orifices, their shafts rubbed against me until they came. A few beat me, which I kinda liked, probably cause my rubber body would bend and twist with ease.

Mainly though I've found myself being kind of a therapist, letting men air out their emotions out. Sure, a few were still in the closet, and few were still a virgin. For those men, I went the extra mile. Of others, they'd just talk. I guess being a gay man can be isolating at times, like how almost no rubber drone I met seems to be independent. Unsurprisingly, being made of rubber meant I was comfortable to hug and cuddle, and in those moments, being a rubber drone is really worth it.

From that, my life is perfect now. The strangest thing is that I don't need clothing anymore. My body is so featureless that I don't feel naked, like my rubber skin is a suit anyways. Even when I do wear clothes I tend to mainly wear plain, oversized clothes, mostly gym stuff. However, sometimes at night I'll walk alone in the nude, just me and the night air. And when it rains like that first night I was a drone, it's so... Perfect...

It's not for everyone, maybe not even you. But if you still want to experience it, I'd suggest a gimp suit first before getting a Dronification Kit. Or if you just wanna find out what a rubber drone is like, I'm $50 hour.

[a-s-levynn]

Aww Trevin's family grows yet again 🥺🫶🏻