By THHoudini and yohan555

Chapter 4 – Bound Desires

Nat woke up in the dark, not knowing where he was. He could not see anything. Then he remembered, Yohan had tricked him, tricked him in a straitjacket that was more than a normal asylum restraint. A straitjacket that was somehow magical and that had transformed and fused with his body. The darkness he lay in wasn’t just a void—it was a living, breathing beast, a predator that didn’t merely surround Nat but sank its claws into him, seeping through his skin, threading into his veins like a venom that burned and begged for more. It wasn’t silence—it was a symphony of torment: the creak of leather stretching taut over his thrashing body, the thud of his pulse roaring in his ears, the faint, slick whisper of spandex shifting beneath the straitjacket’s iron grip. That jacket—fuck, it really wasn’t a jacket anymore, he had not dreamed that. When the blinding white light had faded, it had shed its innocently looking soft clothing shell, transforming into a seamless, glossy shroud of black leather that fused to him from his broad shoulders down to the thick curve of his hips. No buckles, no seams, no escape—just a second skin that clung tighter with every breath, every twitch, every curse he spat into the void. It was still reacting to his movement, still adjusting to him as he moved.

Nat’s chest heaved, each ragged gasp a stolen rebellion against the leather’s suffocating embrace. He’d mastered restraints before—shackles that bit into his wrists until they bled, bodybags. that crushed the air from his lungs, underwater tanks that turned his defiance into a drowning art form. But this? This was no performance. This was a prison that knew him, that wanted him, and it was winning. His arms, locked in the fused sleeves, pressed hard against his pecs, fingers clawing at the slick interior with a desperation that clawed back at his pride. The symbols etched into the leather pulsed—faint at first, then brighter—glowing like embers against his sweat-drenched skin, their heat sinking deep, branding him with a hunger he couldn’t name.

He arched his back, spine bending in a taut, dancer’s curve, shoulders rolling with the fluidity of a man who’d escaped a thousand traps. The leather didn’t give—it gripped, tightening like a lover’s fist, molding to his torso until it squeezed his nipples through the spandex, turning them into stiff, throbbing points that ached with every shift. A jolt of raw, unbidden pleasure shot through him, straight to his groin, and he snarled, teeth gritted against the moan threatening to spill. “I’m Nat,” he rasped, voice a jagged blade cutting through the dark. “I don’t fucking break.”

He twisted harder, hips slamming against the padded floor—soft, too soft, a cruel mockery of comfort that cradled his defeat. His legs, still free below the leather’s hem, kicked out with savage force, toes curling as they met nothing but emptiness. The motion dragged the silver spandex tighter across his crotch, and his cock—fuck, that traitor—swelled instantly, thick and heavy, straining against the fabric’s unyielding grip. He hated it, loathed the fire igniting beneath his skin, the way every struggle stoked it higher. The leather’s cool surface grazed his spandex-clad abs, the friction relentless, and his erection pulsed, a stark, obscene outline against the shimmering suit. Pre-cum oozed forth—slow at first, a warm bead, then a steady trickle—soaking the fabric, seeping down his inner thighs, a slick, humiliating mark of his body’s revolt. He bit his lip, tasting blood, but the groan ripped free anyway, low and guttural, a sound that echoed his shattering control.

“Fuck this,” he growled, voice fracturing with rage and a hunger he couldn’t bury. He was an escape artist—master of his craft, king of the stage, a man who turned every chain into a spotlight. But here, in this endless night, his pride was a dying ember, crushed beneath the weight of the leather’s relentless claim. It tightened again, a living pulse that drank his defiance, and the symbols flared brighter, their heat searing into his bones, whispering promises of ruin he couldn’t unhear.

The sound of a door opening pierced the silence, sharp and deliberate. Nat froze, heart slamming against his ribs so hard he thought they’d crack. The air thickened, heavy with the intoxicating reek of rubber and leather—sharp, primal, inescapable. It clawed at his lungs, sank into his blood, and he knew—he fucking knew—he wasn’t alone. A dim light went on, illuminating his surroundings. He saw that he was in a large room,

“Yohan?” The name tore from his throat, a snarl laced with dread and a flicker of something darker—something that begged despite his fury.

A low chuckle rolled through the dark, rich and syrupy, dripping with menace and delight. “Back in the realm of the living, Nat? And still fighting?” Yohan’s voice slithered into his ears, a velvet chain wrapping around his will. “Yes, the jacket draws its transformation energy from you, from the essence of your body. And more so, it draws especially on your lust and your arousal. It makes and keeps you horny, an eternal state of unfulfilled desires and bondage.”

Nat thrashed, a wildfire of rebellion blazing through him. “Let me out, you twisted fuck!” he roared, but the leather clamped down, crushing his chest until his lungs screamed, the symbols blazing like molten iron against his skin. His legs kicked harder, bare soles slapping the padded floor, but the cocoon only squeezed tighter, pressing the spandex into his groin until his cock throbbed with a desperate, aching rhythm. Pre-cum flooded now, a hot, sticky rush that drenched the fabric, pooling between his thighs, and he choked on a sob, humiliation burning hotter than his lust.

Yohan didn’t speak—just moved. Nat felt it first—a brush of heat against his cheek, firm and deliberate, the scent of rubber hitting him like a drug. He jerked back, head twisting, but it returned, slower this time, dragging across his jaw, leaving a trail of fire on his skin. Then, a gloved hand—rubber, cool and sinfully soft—pressed against his chest, fingers splaying wide over the taut expanse of his pecs. They slid, slow and teasing, tracing the ridges of muscle beneath the leather, circling his nipples until they hardened further, throbbing points of agony and bliss. Yohan’s thumb flicked one, then pinched, rolling it hard through the spandex, and Nat’s entire body convulsed, a high, broken moan ripping from his throat.

“Fuck—stop—” he gasped, but his hips bucked, grinding his trapped cock against the fabric, pre-cum gushing in a fresh wave, soaking his thighs until the spandex clung like a second skin. Yohan’s laugh was low, indulgent, a sound that sank into Nat’s bones. “Stop? Oh, Nat, you don’t mean that,” he purred, voice dripping with mock pity. “Look at you—leaking like a goddamn fountain. You’re begging for it. It’s making me extremely horny, especially now that I am finally dressed in my favorite outfit.”

The hand slid lower, gloved fingers tracing the quivering plane of his abs, then pausing just above his groin. Nat’s breath hitched, his cock twitching violently, straining so hard against the spandex it felt like it’d burst. Yohan’s fingers dipped, brushing the swollen tip through the wet fabric, and Nat’s hips jerked up, chasing the touch with a shameless, needy thrust. “Nnnngh—!” The sound was raw, animalistic, and Yohan hummed, pleased. “So sensitive,” he murmured, rubbing slow, lazy circles over the head, pre-cum smearing under his touch, the slickness amplifying every stroke. Nat’s thighs shook, his body trembling on the edge, and he bit his lip bloody to stifle the scream building in his chest.

Then—fuck—something new. A heavy, searing weight pressed against his face, dragging across his cheek with deliberate slowness. The scent of rubber thickened, mingled with a primal musk, and Nat froze, pulse skyrocketing as he realized—Yohan’s groin, his cock thick and straining beneath tight rubber, grinding against his skin. It slid higher, brushing his lips, and Nat’s mouth parted on a choked whimper, the heat of it searing his senses. Yohan rocked his hips, dragging the bulge across Nat’s open mouth, and Nat’s tongue flicked out—fuck, he couldn’t stop it—tasting the rubber for a fleeting, humiliating second before he recoiled, shame flooding him hotter than the pre-cum soaking his suit.

“Like that, do you?” Yohan’s voice was a dark purr, vibrating through the air. “You’re falling apart so beautifully. I can see you react to me, to my rubbered self. It seems you like this” His gloved hand returned to Nat’s cock, pressing harder now, stroking the full length through the spandex, fingers curling around the shaft as pre-cum streamed, a relentless flood that left Nat’s thighs slick and trembling. Nat’s hips bucked again, a desperate, involuntary rhythm, and he sobbed, the sound wet and broken. “Fuck you,” he snarled, voice a shattered whisper, but his body betrayed him fully, grinding into Yohan’s hand, chasing the edge he couldn’t reach.

Yohan’s laugh was a blade of silk. “Stubborn to the end,” he mused, fingers tightening, stroking faster, the wet shlick of pre-cum filling the silence. “But your body knows what you are, Nat. Say it—tell me what you’ve become.” Nat’s vision blurred, tears of rage and lust stinging his eyes, his cock throbbing so hard it hurt, his entire being unraveling under Yohan’s rubber touch. The symbols flared brighter, twisting into a living pattern, their heat sinking into his soul, whispering truths he couldn’t deny.

“No—fuck—no—” he choked, but Yohan’s hand squeezed, thumb pressing the tip until a fresh gush of pre-cum soaked through, and Nat’s resistance cracked. His lips trembled, voice a wrecked shadow. “I’m—I’m yours—fuck, I’m yours—” The confession tore from him, a surrender that burned, and Yohan’s smile was a predator’s triumph, sharp and gleaming in the dark.

“Good boy,” he whispered, voice thick with satisfaction. “But we’re not done yet.”

 

Chapter 5 – Further encasement.

Yohan walked briefly away to come back with a further pile of black leather. The symbols on the straitjacket glowed, pulsing faster now, as if anticipating that there might be more coming. Nat, still in his straitjacket, was struggling in the darkness, his arms still tightly wrapped, unable to free them. He was panting, his cock still trapped and hard inside his silver spandex bodysuit, but he was getting exhausted.

“What are you doing?” Yohan put his boot onto Nat’s chest to hold him in place, and with a swift motion, pulled a leather leg sack over his feet. Sitting down on Nat’s chest, he slowly and steadily pulled the sack up over his legs, trapping his ankles. The leg sack was made of thick and supple black leather, and it fitted him snugly, like a second skin, holding his legs firmly together, his thighs tightly compressed, and his calves and feet wrapped together. The leather was soft and smooth, and at the moment, it felt warm and comforting around his lower body. He further pulled the leg sack up until it covered all of Nat’s lower body, it coming to rest just below the fused, hard-shell leather straitjacket.

Nat could feel the smooth leather against his legs, the sensation making his cock pulse and leak inside the tight confines of his spandex bodysuit. His balls ached with the need for release, but there was nothing he could do. He was trapped, unable to move, and it was only a matter of time before the same fate would befall him again. Shall we give you a last chance, before we make your legs immovable as well?”

Yohan was sitting on his chest, his hands reaching for his spandex-covered dick, which was throbbing with anticipation. With one swift move, he grabbed Nat’s spandex covered cock and his gloved hand started to stroke him, moving his hand up and down his length, slowly at first, but quickly picking up the pace.

“Ahh, ffuck!” Nat moaned, the stimulation sending shockwaves through his body, his cock twitching in the other man’s hand. Yohan’s grip tightened, and he continued to stroke his cock, faster and faster, his gloved hand moving up and down his shaft. Nat’s back tried to arch involuntarily, but the solid leather straitjacket held him form, a low groan spilling from his lips.

“Come for me, Nat. Come for me and you’ll have your last taste of freedom. Then you’ll be mine.”

The words sent a shiver down his spine, and his cock pulsed in Yohan’s hand, leaking pre-cum, his balls tightening. He was close, so close.

He closed his eyes, the sensation of the rubber gloves stroking his cock overwhelming him. He was losing himself, and he didn’t care anymore. All he could think about was the feel of the rubber gloves on his cock, the feeling of being trapped in the straitjacket, the feeling of being dominated by this man. He was a slave to his desires, and he could not deny how his body was reacting to it. The pleasure built up, his cock throbbing, the sensation of the rubber gloves on his cock sending him over the edge.

“Yes, yes, I’m going to cum,” Nat moaned, his hips thrusting upwards, his cock pulsing in the rubber-clad hand.

“Yes, cum for me, Nat, cum for me one last time” Yohan said, his voice a low growl.

Nat’s cock throbbed, and he could feel his balls tightening, his body trembling. He was so close, so close.

With one final stroke, Nat’s body tensed, his cock pulsing, and he came, shooting his load into the spandex of his bodysuit, the fabric clinging to his sensitive shaft. His cock throbbed, spurting its seed, and his body shuddered, waves of pleasure washing over him.

Yohan’s gloved hand kept stroking his cock, milking his orgasm, his body shaking and his cock throbbing.

The last drop was milked from his balls, and Yohan released his cock, his hand slowly stroking the now sticky, wet fabric. His chuckle echoed in the chamber. “You could not help yourself. You had to come. And now, you are truly mine. I have given you the ultimate gift, the last orgasm of your life. But now, it is time for you to become the ultimate art object. The ultimate living sculpture.”

With a swift motion, he grabbed the leg sack, and pulled it up further, over Nat’s cum-stained spandex crotch, so it touched the rigid straitjacket. The symbols all of a sudden started to glow again and then, the leather of the legsack began to tighten – no, not just tighten, but seal. A glossy wave was rippling down his legs, fusing them together, encasing his cock in a vice of leather and spandex that now pulsed with his heartbeat. He could feel the leather soaking up his cum, nourishing itself on it like a living being, his cock growing hard again. The feeling of the tight, sticky leather on his legs was intense, and he let out a moan, the pleasure mixed with pain. He could not help but to start squirming and writhing, his legs trapped and bound. The symbols flared bright, and the leather started to grow. The leg sack was fusing itself to the straitjacket, becoming a solid, single piece. Nat groaned, his body wracked with the sensations.

“Yes, that’s right, you are mine now. You will become my perfect, sexy, bound, and helpless art object.”

Yohan watched as the last of the leather flowed down Nat’s legs, sealing them into a single, smooth mass, the symbols pulsing brighter with every heartbeat. Nat’s back arched, a scream ripping from his lungs—pain, pleasure, shame, and something deeper, a total collapse of self. The symbols blazed, their light flooding the room, revealing walls lined with straps and hooks, a crimson glow bathing Yohan’s rubberized form.

Yohan knelt closer, gloved hand still stroking over the now rapidly solidifying leather leg sack stopping the frantic struggles that Nat was still capable of. “You’re mine,” he murmured, breath hot against Nat’s ear, “and this—” he tapped the leather, “—this now also owns you. And it’s only begun to feed.” The cocoon pulsed, a living heartbeat that drowned Nat’s own, and darkness surged, thick with whispers of eternity, promises of a ruin so deep even Yohan’s voice trembled. Nat’s scream faded into a whimper, his body quaking, his mind splintering. And as he looked up into Yohan’s rubber covered face, his latex-clad body towering over him, he knew that it was too late.

“That’s it. That’s a good boy. Your legs are now part of the straitjacket, fused forever. It is impossible to separate the straitjacket and your legs anymore, and they will never come off again. No matter how hard you try. Your legs, like the rest of your body, will be forever encased, forever trapped, and forever mine. I will let you rest now a bit, before the next stage. And don’t worry, there is a lot more to come.”

Nat lay on the floor, his body a trembling mass of rubber and leather. He was a prisoner, and his captor was the straitjacket. The symbols on the black leather started glowing again, and he could feel his arousal rising again. It was a slow, steady burn, and he couldn’t stop it. The leather was feeding on his desire, and the more aroused he was, the tighter it became. It was like a living thing, a beast, a parasite, and it was draining him of his strength. Nat was powerless to stop it, and his body began to shudder. What more was there to come?

 

Chapter 6 – The Masked Exhibit

Nat lay trembling on the padded floor, the fused straitjacket and leg sack pulsing in time with his ragged heartbeat, each throb a cruel reminder of the orgasm Yohan had wrung from him. The spandex bodysuit clung to his cum-soaked thighs, sticky and warm, the fabric stretched taut over his still-hard cock, which stirred again despite his exhaustion. The symbols etched into the leather glowed faintly, their light flaring with every flicker of arousal, tightening the cocoon just enough to coax a low, broken moan from his lips. He was trapped—body, mind, and soul—yet flickers of defiance burned beneath his shame. “I’m Houdini,” he thought, the words a fading mantra. “I don’t fucking break.” But the leather knew better, its hunger growing with every bead of pre-cum that seeped from his throbbing shaft, soaking the spandex further.

Yohan loomed over him, his rubber suit gleaming in the crimson light of the padded cell, the glossy black surface reflecting Nat’s pathetic state like a distorted mirror. A gloved hand traced the air above Nat’s chest, as if savoring the ruin before him. “You thought coming was the end?” Yohan purred, voice a velvet blade slicing through the haze of Nat’s despair. “That was just the beginning.” Nat’s breath hitched, a snarl caught in his throat, but the leather tightened in warning, squeezing his nipples through the spandex until they hardened into aching points, sending a jolt of unwanted pleasure straight to his groin. He bit his lip, tasting blood, but the moan escaped anyway, a raw, guttural sound that echoed his fracturing will.

Yohan knelt beside him, his rubber-clad form radiating heat and menace. He unzipped a slit at his groin, revealing his thick, straining cock beneath a thin layer of black rubber—no skin showed, only the gleam of his fetishistic armor, true to his obsession. “The leather demands more than your cum, Nat,” he growled, voice low and hungry, the symbols on the straitjacket flaring brighter as if in agreement. “It wants my essence to bind you to me—forever.” Nat’s eyes widened, a muffled “No—fuck—” escaping before Yohan gripped his jaw with a gloved hand, forcing his mouth open. The leather tightened around Nat’s chest, arousal spiking against his will, the symbols blazing with a heat that seared into his soul. Yohan pushed his rubber-clad cock past Nat’s lips, the texture slick and bitter, heat radiating through the thin layer. Nat gagged, tears stinging his eyes, shame burning hotter than the lust pulsing in his groin. The leather hummed, its glow syncing with Yohan’s shallow thrusts, compelling Nat—his tongue moved reluctantly, tasting rubber and musk, each stroke a deeper mark of surrender.

Yohan groaned, hips rocking—“Take it all, Nat. Carry my identity into eternity.” Nat’s resistance cracked, the leather pulsing in rhythm, and as Yohan came, the hot, bitter flood spilled down Nat’s throat, branding him deeper than any chain. Yohan pulled back, a gloved finger wiping a stray drop from Nat’s lips—“Good boy,” he purred, “now you’re ready.” Nat’s mind reeled, the taste of Yohan’s cum lingering like a curse, mixing with the shame and arousal that the leather fed on, tightening its grip as his cock twitched helplessly, leaking pre-cum into the already-drenched spandex.

Yohan stood, retrieving a hard leather mask from a nearby table, its surface etched with the same glowing symbols as the straitjacket. It was sleek and featureless, save for a small tube at the mouth—“To keep my sculpture fed,” Yohan said with a smirk, his rubber suit creaking as he knelt again. Nat thrashed weakly, head jerking—“No—don’t—” but the cocoon held him firm, the leg sack keeping his lower body rigid. Yohan pinned Nat’s shoulders with a boot, forcing the mask over his face, its edges fusing with the straitjacket’s collar in a faint sizzle of magic. The tube pressed against Nat’s lips, dripping a bitter liquid—nutrients or poison, he couldn’t tell—mixing with the lingering taste of Yohan’s cum, amplifying his humiliation. The mask sealed shut, cutting off light and air except for the tube, Nat’s breathing growing ragged, his muffled cries turning to moans as panic and perverse thrill collided. His cock throbbed harder, pre-cum soaking the spandex in a relentless flood, the leather tightening in response, drinking his shame like wine.

With Nat’s face now sealed, Yohan dragged a glass case into the center of the padded cell—a tall, narrow cylinder, its transparent walls glinting under the crimson glow, its base studded with hooks for chains. “Your stage, Nat,” Yohan said, voice thick with anticipation, “where Houdini becomes eternal.” He hoisted Nat upright, the fused cocoon making him a rigid, writhing mass, and positioned him in the case, the leather gleaming like obsidian against the glass. Chains dangled from the hooks—Yohan wrapped one around Nat’s torso, the cold metal biting into the leather, teasing a Houdini-esque pose—“Not yet,” he mused, adjusting the chain with a gloved hand, “I’ll chain you fully when you’re ready to shine.” Nat felt the glass press against the leather, cold and unyielding, trapping his heat inside the cocoon. The mask trapped his breath, the tube dripping more liquid down his throat, bitter and thick, forcing him to swallow or choke. His cock leaked again, pre-cum pooling at the base of the spandex, the leather tightening in rhythm with his racing pulse, feeding on his torment.

Yohan stepped back, retrieving a spray-bottle of viscous, faintly glowing liquid from a shelf—a clear substance that shimmered like molten glass. “The final touch, the bonding agent,” he said, his voice a low, husky growl. “It will fuse the straitjacket and your skin together forever, creating a seamless bond with the Amber, making it impossible to ever remove you from the block and the case.” Yohan’s gloved hands kept spraying Nats body systematically, and the symbols over Nat’s leather cocoon symbols glowed brighter as he did so, the leather pulsing like a heartbeat. Nat’s cock twitched, his balls tightening. “Soon,” Yohan murmured, “you’ll be amber, Nat—preserved for eternity.” Nat’s mind reeled—“Not amber, not forever”—but his body betrayed him, arousal spiking as the leather tightened further, the symbols flaring brighter with every leak of pre-cum. Yohan’s gloved hand brushed his own rubber-clad bulge, mirroring Nat’s torment—“Look at you, leaking for your own ruin,” he growled, adjusting the chain slightly, ensuring Nat’s pose was perfect but leaving the full setup for later—“One final touch, Nat, and you’ll be eternal.”

Nat hung suspended in the glass case, partially chained, the leather mask muffling his whimpers into faint, desperate gasps through the feeding tube. He could feel a warmth creeping through his body, as the bonding agent began to cure. The symbols flared brighter, the cocoon pulsing with a hunger that devoured Nat’s fading resistance, each throb a reminder of Yohan’s claim—of the cum still burning in his throat, of the leather that owned him more than any man could. Yohan stepped back, his rubber suit catching the crimson light like a second skin, his eyes glinting with unhinged satisfaction—“Almost perfect,” he whispered, “but perfection takes time.”

Nat’s mind fractured—shame, arousal, and despair colliding in a maelstrom. He’d been Houdini once, the master of escape, the king of the stage. Now he was nothing—a trembling mass of leather and rubber, a living sculpture carved by Yohan’s hands, branded by his essence. The darkness surged around him, its faint glow casting shadows on the padded walls, where straps and hooks gleamed like waiting teeth. Yohan turned away, his silhouette fading into the crimson haze—“Rest while you can, Nat. Tomorrow, we finish this”—leaving Nat suspended in the glass case, the vat of a gelling agent looming nearby, a promise of an amber eternity that would seal his fate forever.

 

Chapter 7 – Fly Stuck in Amber

The gel was a living thing, its warmth a slow creep, the liquid viscous, clinging to the straitjacket and spandex bodysuit with every move. Yohan had connected the breathing tube to an automatic ventilation system that had been installed at the base of the glass case, and had also connected the secondary tubing that would supply liquid nourishment. He went over to a control panel on the wall and from above, a pipe lowered to come to rest just above the open end of the glass case. Nat could hear something happening even though he was unable to see or say anything. At the push of a button, a thick, syrupy, amber-colored fluid was flowing into the glass case and was slowly rising, engulfing his lower body, then his upper body, slowly, slowly. The viscous amber fluid had a strange warmth, almost as if it was alive, and the feeling of the liquid covering the leather bodysuit was almost pleasurable, in a way. Initially, the fluid was soft and sticky, and it had a smell that was intoxicating. Nat could feel his cock pulsing, his body betraying him once more. The symbols on the jacket glowed, and the straitjacket tightened, squeezing his legs and cock, a reminder of his helplessness. He was a prisoner, trapped in the straitjacket, his fate sealed by his own foolishness.

The amber fluid kept rising, enveloping his chest and neck, slowly filling the glass case. It was a strange sensation, feeling the liquid cover his body, eventually submerging his head in it, further dampening any noises that might have been heard. Nat felt like he was floating, weightless, surrounded by a warm, syrupy amber, his world reduced to the sound of his breathing and the feeling of the leather shell’s tight embrace. Nat tried to move, but he could feel the resistance increasing as the amber fluid started to harden. It was getting more difficult to move now, and the amber was pressing in on him, making it harder to breathe. Yohan looked on, watching Nat struggle in the amber, his futile struggles only making his eventual capture all the sweeter. Nat struggled harder, but it was no use, the amber was too strong, and eventually, Nat became still, his final movements captured forever. Yohan leaned in close, his breath cold against the glass case. “Don’t fight it, my boy. Embrace it. You’re part of something greater now. A masterpiece.”

Nat hung there, suspended in the amber, his body encased in a rigid prison. His mind was full of confusion, his thoughts swirling, his body aching. He felt like he had been plastered in, the leather mask pressing tightly against his face, the tube dripping a bitter, nutritious substance. His cock throbbed, a traitorous pulse, and his balls tightened, the symbols on the straitjacket still glowing brightly, lighting up whenever he started to get briefly aroused by the hopeless situation again. This was it, this was the end. Yohan had won. There would be no escape. Nat could only hang there, trapped in the amber, a fly in a spider’s web, a living sculpture, a slave to his own desires, and the straitjacket would not let him go, ever. The thought filled him with a mixture of horror and excitement. He would never escape, he would never be free.

Yohan looked on, with a satisfied smile. “It is done. I have waited for so long, and now it’s done. You are perfect. My greatest achievement.” He walked over to a panel on the wall and flipped a switch, and with that, a glass plate was lowered onto the case, sealing itself to it with a clunking noise, leaving a perfectly formed amber shell in a display case, with Nat encased inside. The light reflected off the amber, the symbols on the jacket and mask glowing faintly, casting a faint orange glow around the room. Nat could not move, could not speak, could not cry out. The only sound was the rasp of his breath, the faint drip of the tube, the steady beat of his heart.

He was suspended there, hanging, floating in the amber, a fly in amber. There was no escape. He was doomed, forever.

Outside of the town, Yohan’s house remained as secluded as ever, its secrets hidden from the world. The gallery below, now home to its newest addition, was private – a testament to Yohan’s twisted vision of art. The centerpiece stood frozen in amber. No longer moving, no longer struggling. Just a single sculpture, suspended in time. And in the shadows, the symbols on the straitjacket continued to glow faintly, as if alive, feeding on the despair and arousal of their captive.

The End.

Metal would like to thank the authors, THHoudini and yohan555, for this story and welcome them to the Prison Library