By Rubbag

TRAINING OF UNIT 6 COMPLETED AFTER

3 DAYS 22 HOURS AND 14 MINUTES

CORE BODY TEMPERATURE 26C

CONFIRM

The message flashed once more on the control pad before Augustus pressed the Confirm symbol, letting the pad go blank as he put it to one side. He leaned forward, his elbows onto the desk, his palms pressed together resting against his mouth. According to the time stamp, Unit 6 had been ready since last night, but it seemed churlish after such an effort to rush these last moments. No, he would spend a little time contemplating his triumph.

Two young men, both were strong-willed before their transformation into mindless units, trophies on his wall. They were both in position Storage Mounted 01, heads down, arms tight to their sides, legs together, feet pointing to the floor. The first position of their training is also their last, a symmetry of which Augustus approved.

There is a click as he turns on the recorder.

“Control, activate Unit 6 and Unit 5 and present them.”

There is that little pause as the Control System waits to ensure that its Master has finished issuing instructions.

And then their heads rise up perfectly in synch, blank silver eyes staring forward. Their arms move out from their sides by only the length of a hand, but from the tips of each finger a subtle curve grows up through each arm.

There is a slight whirr of gears and they begin to descend, but not simply to the ground. The bar they’re mounted on swings forward and down along a curve, and they simply alight as if weightless, sliding free of the dildos in one easy movement.

They walk forward towards Augustus like dancers, graceful and unsettling, each movement too like the one before. Augustus rose to his feet as they take the two steps down to the main floor of the office. Feeling himself aroused as he watches the light reflect off their rubber skin. Bodies, muscle, ripped and perfect rippling beneath their new skin. In perfect time they both reach the centre of line of the room, every movement in synch, slaves to their control impulse.

They stop.

Frozen.

In place.

Augustus catches his breath.

Feels his blood racing.

As he looks at their beauty, at their emptiness.

He walks out from behind his desk.

Passing to the right.

Breaking contact with them.

As he looks down to the floor of the Club below.

At the four units on display there.

Four soon to be Six.

He turns back to look at the two behind him.

He passes behind Unit 5, lightly brushing his hand over its ass but giving it no more regard than this, it has already been active, its story already complete on tape. He glances to his left at the tape recorder on the desk, reel slowly turning, microphone in place. And then he is beside his latest creation, and even his disciplined mind is for a moment overwhelmed by the perfection of his work.

“Perfect.”

“Simply perfect.”

He takes a step back.

Just a moment to look at the pair together.

Their backs arched, their arms gently curved right down to the fingers and held just a little forward of centre. Their legs stiff, like their bodies, held upright but still somehow poised as if on the cusp of going forward. Then he remembered the model for this position, a floor gymnast ready to run forward.

He moved in closer again, letting his hand glide down the smooth surface of the back, like rubber, like glass, cool and clear. Then he moves around to the front, gently moving its right arm out of position and then watching with amusement as it slowly returns to its original position.

He stops again only inches from the Unit’s chest and looks up to the masklike face. The Unit still shares Jed’s beauty, but now that beauty is cold and hard, the features more angular, more uniform. The hair, the skin, even the inside of the mouth coated in a thin sheen of bio rubber, making the skin hard, making it shiny, like a manikin in a shop window. He looks across to Unit 5, to what was once Josh, and sees the same features, the same stiff blond hair, the same blank silver eyes. They did not know it, but in reality they had been controlled for the past five years, their lives leading to this moment. Guided to the same college, their SATs adjusted to match, they had been placed in the same dorm room, even their growing love for each other had been carefully managed.

Augustus let fingers gently trace down the face of the Unit, Unit 6.

“Nothing to say, Jed?”

There was no response.

Not the slightest flicker of movement.

He had not expected any.

He let his gaze and his hand wander down between the deep V of its chest before gently teasing his nipples, still erect, still trying to strain out through the rubber of the chest, their perfect dimes of red now pale through the rubber coating.

Nothing.

And then his hand runs down, exploring the smoothed slabs of each ab in turn.

And then he feels it.

He sees it.

Its swollen cock and balls.

Folded in on themselves.

Still packed, still held in chastity.

Packed and crushed.

Not enough room.

Even less as he squeezes it.

Firmly in his hand.

He looks back into its face, but there is nothing.

No pain.

No pleasure.

No desire.

Only.

“Nirvana,” the man whispers to himself, perhaps too quiet to be recorded.

He looks again into its silver eyes, blank and empty.

It is empty.

It is blank.

No thought.

No consciousness.

Except that which the Control System gives to it.

“How do you feel?”

Nothing, it is empty.

But there are still rules.

“Unit Six, how do you feel?”

He steps, releases his grip on it and steps back, watching as its head tilts just a little to the right as it listens to its new thought.

[ –This–unit–is–unit-six–it -has–no–thou-ghts–or–des-ir-es–Sir– ]

Its voice cold and monotone.

The man had of course expected this response. The question was meaningless to it, so it had reverted to its primary default response.

“Unit Six, do you remember Josh?”

The same tilt of the head and.

[ –This–unit–is–unit-six–it -has–no–thou-ghts–or–des-ir-es–Sir– ]

Not the slightest flicker of recognition on its face, the two boys had been lovers and now they stand not ten feet apart, each of them now a blank without awareness, without desire, each perfect in their emptiness. Augustus turns and walks to the desk where the recording reel still spins slowly. He stands beside it close to the microphone, ignoring the urgent flashing light on the intercom. Marcellus can wait, wait until the last few words of this game have been spoken, words that only Augustus will ever hear. Despite the two silent figures behind him, he knows that by any objective measure he is alone in this room.

“Do you remember what you said to me, Jed, on the cell phone?”

Watching the reel spin almost to its end now.

“You said you would never call me Dominus, and I said there would be plenty of time for that later, Jed.”

The man looks up again at the boy.

At the object.

“Unit Six, identify this speaker.”

A mindless object which tilts its head just a little to one side.

[ –Yo-u–are– ]

Too simple to have thoughts of its own.

[ –des-ig-na-ted — ]

Having to be told what to think what to say.

[ –Dom-in-us–ze-ro- one– ]

An object obedient now only to Control Channel 6 Control.

[–Yo-u–are– Au-gus-tus– ]

And then it is empty again.

The man takes one last, long look at the silent figures before him. Allowing himself to savour his domination over them, feeling all the years of effort which have led to this moment. Two young men, two college jocks irreversibly reduced to mere automata to be owned and enjoyed.

“Goodbye, Jed.”

Augustus smiles even as he uses the boy’s redundant name for the last time.

“Ending this recording of subject Jed Bishops acceptance into 24/7/ Life ownership by the Strict Club in settlement of all outstanding debts as agreed between both parties. End.”

Click and stop as the recording winds back in. The light on the intercom is still flashing, urgent to the sender but not to Augustus, it can wait for a few more moments as Augustus carefully put away the tape, all that remains of the boy’s old personality.

There remains only.

“Control, set Unit Five and Unit Six to duty cycle three, proceed.”

Unit 5 moves first, being first in the command queue, its arms go down to its sides as it takes a step back and then turns smoothly to its right. One step and then another and then the original turn is repeated to leave it facing the entrance through which it is to leave. Unit 6 begins to move, its arms go down to its sides and then it turns to the left, one step and then another and it reaches the center of the room only seconds behind the previous unit. Augustus opens the old-fashioned folder on his desk, he does not watch them leave, they no longer matter.

The light on the intercom is still flashing insistently.

At last he flicks the intercom open.

“Yes, Marcellus?”

There is a pause, and then the voice of Marcellus comes through above the faint old analogue crackle of the speaker.

“Have you had time to consider who our second driver should be?”

Augustus picks up a photograph from inside the folder. The photograph is slightly blurred. Taken surreptitiously, it shows a young man in a black rubber wetsuit who has just emerged from the water, which fills the frame behind him. He is obviously a triathlete, wearing a navy swim cap, swim goggles, a nose clip, his head tilted to his right as his left arm reaches back over his shoulder, searching for the zip as he runs.

“And who would you recommend, Marcellus?”

He looks at the photograph beneath the same young man, an interesting face, very boyish, made more so by the lightly rounded forehead looking much younger than his 24 years of age.

“Candidate one, Thomas Empson.”

Thomas was indeed the best of the three candidates, his body slim and athletic, an amateur triathlete of some success. He was also the oldest and most experienced as a chauffeur, the other two can be kept in reserve for future need.

“Agreed, are you ready to proceed?”

Indeed, Thomas’s file was the only one on his desk.

“Yes, we can have him here next weekend, he likes shooting craps, thinks he’s good.”

Two years of careful work guiding the boy to this moment.

“I look forward to meeting our young friend. See to it, Marcellus.”

And with a flick of his finger, Augustus closes the com link before again picking up the photo of the boy in his wetsuit. The boy looks good in his black rubber, water streaming from his body.

Perhaps in some way, this boy has always known he was destined for rubber.

And the file is closed.

 

THE END

 

Note from Metal

I would like to thank the author, Rubbag, wherever he is, for writing this story. This is certainly one of the all-time greats, when it comes to cock-in-your-fist gay bondage stories. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I did preparing it for posting here. Merry Christmas, fellow prisoners!

The original source of this story is the popular RUBBERZONE site, which features a vast library of content — including many, many more excellent stories like the one above, plus pictures, original videos and user profiles.

Squirm, proprietor of Rubberzone, granted me his blessing to share this story here. I did copy edit the original manuscript, fiddling with some of the grammar, punctuation and spelling, to make it a bit easier to read. I hope the original author won’t mind.

Again, huge thanks to Rubbag, Squirm and Rubberzone.

And, if you fuckers have not already done so, I would strongly encourage you to go over to the Rubberzone site now, and explore.