The Solution

Test Tube

There is no up.  There is no down.  I cannot tell any orientation.  The sameness pressing against me from every side fades to a constant that I no longer notice.  How long have I been in this cocoon?  How long will I remain in it? 

The rest periods are the hardest.  Minutes or hours of nothing, no sensory input other than the constant pressure that successfully blends into nothingness.  The darkness over my eyes, the lack of sound, the lack of any change in tactile stimulation, the constant presence of the sweet, thick odor of raw rubber in my brain.  I have completely lost any sense of time.  Have I been here for hours, days or weeks?

Not knowing the cycle completely disorients me.  How often does the sweet paste that passes for nourishment pass through my mouth?  How often is the sports drink pumped into my mouth?  How often does the thick ring gripping the base of my cock send pulses through while the visual display link comes to life with scenes from the outside, scenes of erotic pleasure so amazing that I have no option but to grow rigid and explode in carnal release?  Scenes that continue to arouse me as I explode quickly two or more times in quick succession, carried to heights of erotic lust while the constant pressure on the rest of my being persists.

As I come down from the erotic plateau of carnal fulfillment, my sphincter relaxes its grip on the hard intruder planted deep inside me and I feel my bowels release the gush of waste through the hollow tube.  I know the stuff passes through attached tubing and out of my cocoon.  Warm water fills me after the evacuation, stretching my capacity to endure the ache from the filled cavity, the press of fluid against my prostate, seconds stretching into minutes of a different eternity before release, flushing out and cleansing my insides of any residual material.   The ritual repeats itself at unknown intervals.  Time has ceased to have meaning for me.  My captivity is measured in carnal lust, feeding, drinking, waste release and enema cleansings and rest cycles.  Do these cycles repeat each hour?  Do they repeat every three hours?  Do they repeat every six hours?  I cannot tell.

The Volunteer

I arrived at the Personal Fulfillment and Rehabilitative Studies Laboratory with mixed emotions.  The alternative to the organizational restructuring had been bluntly relayed to me, "Either you move to this trial program as a program specialist or you can find a new job.  Your position has been downsized but you have the basic attributes needed to move into Research and Development Division.  They are working on new forms of public institution management techniques and need people to work on the implementation project."

I soon learned that the primary attribute required was having no known family inconveniences or personal ties.  The ability to express ideas, analyze and report observations or organizational skills were very much secondary to the primary requirement.

I was given a thorough physical examination and assigned sleeping accommodations in the lab.  The examination took about five hours and included the usual humiliations associated with these types of exams.  I didn't think much of the assignment to a room until my evening meal came.  The tray had only some sort of milkshake on it.

"What is this?"  I ask.

"It's your dinner," the attendant says.

"I don't get any solid food?"

"Nope.  You are on a strict fluid diet until further notice.  It has something to do with the follow-on tests that are ordered for the day after tomorrow."

"I see.  I'm drinking my meals for the next two days?"

"I suppose you can just fast, but I'd recommend you drink up.  The health shakes aren't really that bad and you need to keep up your strength."

"Right.  Well, I guess there's a reason," I reply.

"There always is," the attendant says.

The evening of the second day, the day before my appointment for further examination, I am having cramps.  I visit the bathroom several times.  I conclude that the last "health shake" included some sort of strong laxative.  Considering the liquid diet and this purge of my insides I begin to wonder at what the additional tests are going to be.

One thing for sure, they are getting a tired and sleep deprived specimen in the morning but I conclude that isn't a problem in their plans, other wise they would have done something different to me.

Preparations

The room is stark white and black.  White walls, white ceiling, black composite floor - a rubberized cushion that not only softens footfalls but provides some warmth for my bare feet, black and silver chrome examination table and overhead high intensity examination lamp, white enamel medicine cabinet, various instruments that look vaguely medical sitting on shelves behind the glass, a refrigerator and several IV stands are in the room. 

I sit patiently on the table.  The hospital gown covers my front but is gaping in back.  Patiently, no wonder they call hospital or clinic visitors patient.  Medical people seem to have their own timetable and it has little to do with timeliness. 

A nurse, at least she is dressed in nurse's attire enters the room.  She pulls on a disposable rubber glove from a box.  I watch as she stretches the thin latex membrane over her hand and hear the rubber snap into place as she lets go of the cuff.   She pulls a second glove from the box and repeats the slow donning of the latex skin on her other hand.  It's almost a ritualistic process as she pulls the rubber over her fingers and hand then as high above her wrist as possible before she releases the cuff and the rubber snaps against her skin.

She takes a probe from the nearby tray.  Tubing snakes from it to a pregnant plastic fluid bag hanging from the one of the IV stands.  She picks up a tube of something and slathers the probe in gel. 

"Roll on your side, facing the wall and lift your legs.  Try to relax your muscles as I push this inside."

She is giving me an enema.  Now I wonder if the earlier testing discovered something I should know that has prompted this additional testing.  For now I can only grunt and grit my teeth as she pushes the well-lubricated probe inside me.  First she probes me with her slick fingers, stretching my sphincter muscles with two fingers, massaging the tight opening and willing me to relax.

"Good, very good," she says encouragingly.  "Now just a second as I put the probe in.  This will feel a little uncomfortable but just try to relax."

I feel the sharp pain of the intruder as it passes the first muscles and pushes against the inner recesses before I will myself to relax and the cold metal wand enters. 

"Now as much as you might want to let go and push the wand out, you must hold it tightly inside you while I administer the enema."

The nurse releases a clip on the tube connecting the bag and I feel warm fluid filling my lower cavity.  The pressure builds and I want to expel the stuff but squeeze my muscles against the narrow neck of the wand to hold the thing inside me.  After several seconds, it seems like minutes, I feel the pressure subside.  The nurse changes the bag hanging on the tree with a fresh one and I feel the pressure build again.  The whole thing repeats four times before she seems satisfied that I am cleansed.

"You're clean inside, It's time to clean you up outside."

She leads me to a shower and strips off the robe, leaving me naked.  I blush at the exposure.  She just smiles at me easily.

"I've seen it all before.  Just get into the stall and let the shower do the rest."

I climb into the shower stall and water bursts from no less than five spouts.  Water sprays me roughly at different angles.  My skin tingles as the stinging spray washes me.

"Work the water into your skin.  Use the washcloth to scrub everything," the nurse shouts above the roaring sound of water.

"I have no soap," I protest.

"It's in the water.  You just need to scrub."

I feel the water coursing over me.  I put my head under the shower and work the soap-laced water into my scalp.  Just as the nurse said, suds begin to form on my body.  The water feels very soft and suds are thick.  My skin feels slick as I rub everything I can reach.  I find the water stings my eyes so I squeeze them shut as I scrub.  I spin under the pelting water and enjoy the vigorous feeling.

"Reach out.  I have a scrub brush for you to use on your back."

I blindly reach through the curtain and grasp the offered brush.  I scrub my back with the brush until she says that I've done enough.  I hand back the brush.

"Use your face cloth and scrub your arms, legs and body again," she says.

I feel for the cloth, knowing that the water must still be laced with the cleaning chemicals.  I scrub some more.  My skin is feeling so slick as the cloth passes over.  The conditioner in the water must be very good.  I scrub at my crotch and down my legs.

"All right, the rinse cycle will begin.  You can open your eyes in about thirty seconds."

I let the water wash over my head.  My scalp tingles from the water.  My hair is short anyway, but I think the water is pelting right against my skin.  I put my hand to my head and feel... just the skin!  I rub water from my eyes and open them to see my naked body denuded of all hair.  The last vestiges of hair are slowly swirling at the drain in the floor.

"What the hell?" I exclaim.

"It's part of the procedure.  It grows back eventually," the nurse says.

"When?" I ask.

"When the project is over."

"Ummm.  You mean this project only runs a few days?"  It seems a logical question since hair is always growing.

"Not exactly.  As long as your body is in the special suit required for the project, hair growth is blocked."

"How can that happen?" I ask and wonder at my near future.

"It's all part of the process.  It works and that's all you really need to know.  In fact, you seem to ask way too many questions."

The nurse comes to me and before I realize what she is doing has pulled my arms behind my back and snapped cuffs on.  Before I can protest this new turn of events she pulls a stretchy rubber hood over my head and stuffs the internal gag between my teeth.  I am looking through two openings that are covered with a clear film.  Before the eye openings mist up from my breath, two tubes from the nose of the hood are pushed into my nostrils.  In addition, I can breathe through a small tube inside the gag.  I feel foam pads expand to seal the tubes inside my nose.  My ears canals fill as if silly putty is being forced into them.  Since I'm cuffed and hooded, I have little choice but to let the nurse lead me to the next stage of my changing status.

Handlers, not too gently sit me down on a bench.  Through my hood lenses I see a pile of shiny black material at my feet.  The handlers lift my left foot and begin to work the thing over my ankle.  I quickly recognize the material is rubber.  Then they lift my right foot and work it into the rubber legging.  They begin to pull the material up my legs.  The inside of the clothes is slick and it slides easily over my smooth skin.  The rubber is thick and tight.  I feel the cold material mold to my skin and warm to my body.  The feeling is surprisingly pleasant.

I see my legs encased in black.  The second skin squeezes and massages my calves and thighs.  I realize that the suit will cover all of my body since there is still plenty of black rubber hanging just below my hips.  The fellow behind pushes a hard object against my sphincter and I protest as he pushes his slick fingers inside to open me enough to force the probe in.  Unlike the enema wand, this is a wide probe that stretches me harshly.  I grunt into the gag.  I wanted to shout an obscenity.

"Don't worry buddy," the attendant says.  "You'll get used to it soon enough."  His voice seems to come from inside my head.  The earplugs must incorporate a communications device in them.

At my front the other attendant slips my cock into some sort of sheath.  I feel him push my scrotum through small opening of unyielding material.  Once the bulk of my sex is past the opening, I feel them settle in the tight but stretchy enclosure.  Despite my discomfort I find myself growing aroused.  The tight sack gripping my cock and balls feels even tighter as I respond, quite surprisingly, to my situation.  The growing cock slips into a hardened shell in the sheath that seems to guide it.  I feel a slight pain as something enters my urethra.  The attendant holds me still.

"Good.  Just let the tube slide in," he says as he works with the sheath to make sure the catheter tube is fully inserted. 

I look down but cannot see the tube on the outside.  The fellow must notice my glance and the question in my eyes.

"The tube passes under the cock between the sheath wall and along your ass crack to connect with the butt tube.  You'll be completely plumbed and ready for a nice long session when we're done."

I struggle futilely.  I have a need to resist though I know it's lost.  A third and fourth attendant come in to hold me.  These guys are all big brutes and probably moonlight as bouncers at a local strip club.

They lock wide ankle cuffs around my legs and I am held to the floor.  One of them unlocks the cuffs at my back while two of them hold my arms.  The fourth fellow slides the left sleeve onto my arm and works the fingers of attached gloves over the proper digits.  He quickly repeats the operation with my right arm and hand.  He slides the sleeves up the arms until the rubber is pressing against my chest.  I notice my cock throbbing as I am slowly encased in this rubber suit.  If anything I am now painfully hard and needing immediate relief.  I cannot believe how the whole bizarre process affects me.

The zipper closes the suit and I feel the rubber pressing even tighter to my body.  Wide strips of rubberized tape are applied to the zipper seam.  Tape wraps around my neck, sealing the hood to the suit. 

"Apply the solvent to the seams," I hear the nurse's voice for the first time since the dressing process began.  "Very nice.  The seams melt right into the suit just as advertised.  There is no visible seam to show where the zipper is or the hood mates with the neck.  He is a perfectly seamless rubber object.

The nurse step in front of me and I see she has changed from her regular nurse's uniform into a shiny rubber suit similar to mine.  She walks up to me and grips my throbbing cock in her gloves and gives me two or three quick and hard strokes.  I can't help but explode into the catheter tube and I feel my throbbing rod pulsating in her hand.  Though I find relief in the orgasm, I find that my cock remains somewhat rigid and thick in its sheath.

"I hope you enjoyed that.  You'll find you're going to have many more of those in the days to come.  Just think of yourself as a perpetually horny rubber sex machine."  She leans to my hooded face and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  I involuntarily shudder as she kisses me.  Is it from the kiss or her words?  I think it's a little of both.

"Take him to the confinement area."

The Experiment

I stand in another room of the facility.  A pool of water is in front of me.  I also see a pile of very heavy looking rubber on the floor.  The pile of rubber reminds me of a fuel bladder uses for contingency air operations, or maybe a water bladder for a tent city.  It appears to be about the same bulk as either of those two items when they are empty. 

An attendant leads me to the center of the rubber pile.  He lowers a winch from the ceiling and attaches cables from the winch hook to reinforced rings on the rubber pile.  He pushes a rubber respirator nose cup to my face.  It must have some type of rubber cement as it fits snuggly to the rubber hood.  The nose cup has an inlet valve and outlet valve like the type used in gas masks.  I see two hoses on the floor that must be attached to the cup.  When I inhale, the inlet valve opens to let in air.  When I exhale, the outlet valve opens while the air pushes the inlet valve closed.  This way there is no chance of bad air mixing with fresh air inside the long hose.

He holds up the inlet tube and pushes his palm against it.  I suck the mask to my face.  He holds up fingers. 

"Hold your breath for one, two, three, four, five, six... and breathe," he commands as he takes his palm off the tube. 

Then he covers the outlet tube and I feel my breath push back from the pressure caused by the seal.  Again he counts as I push to let the air out.  I feel my face getting hot from the exertion.  He runs a small instrument around the edge of the seal and looks at the readout in search for leaks in the seal.  Satisfied with his findings he releases the tube and my breath rushes out.  I quickly suck in my next breath, fully expecting him to close off that tube again.

"He's all set to go," I hear the voice in the communications link. 

The rubber at my feet is lifting around me.  It is closing around my legs, hips, waist, and chest slowly swallowing me in its black maw.  The thing reaches my neck then covers my head and I cannot see.  Then I can see as a view appears in my lenses.  I see the black sacking suspended from the hoist and I can barely discern a human form under the material.

"If you can see the bag, hold your breath," I hear through the commo link. 

I hold my breath.

After many seconds I hear, "Resume breathing."

Now the tubing that is hanging out of the top of the bag is being attached to more tubing.  I quickly realize that my breathing, my food, my drink and my waste disposal relies on these umbilical cords from the bag to the outside.

Next there is a sudden press beginning at my legs.  I can see the bottom of the thing bulging as it fills with something.  It isn't filling with air, but with fluid, probably water.  I watch in fascination, as the thing slowly grows firm with the fluid.  I am still standing on the floor as the thing presses against my legs, my body and head.  The pressure builds and my breathing restricts as I push against the pressure.  I wonder if this thing can crush the life from me as my feet seem to lift off the ground and I feel the sameness of the surrounding ambiance.  The bag must be double walled and the water is sandwiched between two layers of very durable rubber. 

The black water bladder is an obscene sausage that completely hides the humanity inside.  I see water spurt from a valve at the top and realize there is a safety factor in the system.  My breathing is difficult but not impossible.  I seem to be under the pressure equivalent to being under about twenty feet of water.  I remember swimming with one of those systems with a long hose attached to a float that allowed you to swim to about thirty feet without scuba or holding the breath. 

The crane begins to drop the bloated bag to the floor and as it tips on its length, I feel no change in my orientation.  There is literally no up or down inside my cocoon.  Even though I know I am lying down, I have no idea if I am on my side, my back or facing the floor.  The constant pressure will soon be lost to my senses as its unchanging presence ceases to trigger sensory responses.

My cock throbs in the restricting sheath and ball sack.  I can still feel that and of course as long as there is the commo link and the virtual reality display in the eye lenses I should be fine.

The picture changes as the nurse/catwoman comes in and straddles my encasement.  She begins to wildly rock against the surface and I can see she is approaching her own orgasmic release.  I feel my throbbing cock pulsating and then the ring about the base begins to actually vibrate.  Is this my imagination working because of what I see or is there some sort of electronic pulse being applied to the sheath.  I feel the growing cock and know that it is real.  I soon am thrusting wildly inside my confinement and exploding again into the catheter tube that is no longer painful.  I see catwoman arch her back as she cums while riding my bloated cocoon.

"Very nicely done," I hear over the link.  "We will just roll you into the pool and let you rest a while."

I see the image of the rubber bag being pushed into the pool and slowly sinking to the bottom.  The long hoses are visible passing along the floor and over the edge into the water.

"You rest now.  We'll wake you for feeding and more fun later.  Good night, sweet dreams."  The VR picture fades to black and the commo link clicks as it obviously switches off.

Lost in Fantasy

My life is reduced to the unending cycle of erotic rubber sexual fantasy, feeding and purging, and rest.  The pungent rubber scented air to my breathing mix, the VR fantasies and the accompanying sounds are my only sensory inputs.  I look forward to those times since they always precede the more explosive sexual fantasies.  The cycles may be hourly; they may be daily, they may be weekly.  I have absolutely no idea.  I am completely lost in this fantasy and perhaps more alarming, I do not want it to ever end.  I am reduced to being entombed in a water-filled rubber membrane sitting under about eight feet of water.  I wonder why they seem to feed me that funny lozenge every once in a while.  It is such a change from my regular diet of liquid that I almost always gag on it.

I do not know what life would be like if I ever left the safety of this cocoon.  I do not know if I can ever adjust to what used to be a normal life.  I am sure that if I am released from my confinement I will need to find a rubber mistress to take me in as her personal slave.  I fear I am completely obsessed with latex bondage and I don't care!

Epilogue

"The test is a complete success.  Our volunteer shows absolutely no signs of physical damage from his circumstance," Dr. Stevens puffed at his pipe.

"You have physical records, of course?" Asked the State Director of Corrections.

"Absolutely.  We have a baseline physical and we have conducted remote probes periodically.  His vitals are monitored continuously and we have inserted probes through his tubing every six months to determine if anything might be amiss internally."

"I see.  How about cruel and unusual punishment?  You know how the ACLU can be."

"Just put your prisoners into a sex fantasy cycle whenever the snoops come around.  That'll chase them out in a flash. Besides, I thought you were looking to use these on only the inmates that are life without the possibility of parole?"

"That's true.  If your figures are right we can cut the cost of keeping a lifer behind bars by about 75 percent."

"That's the ticket."

"How long has that fellow been in your pool did you say?"

"I didn't say but since you ask, he's been there fifteen years.  I doubt that he even knows how long it's been and I bet he never wants to leave the security of it again."

"I see.  We'll need about 1000 of your cocoons for starters.  When can you deliver?"

 

16.02.03