HOME | DD

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

* * *

Robert couldn't help but stare. She certainly didn't meet his expectations of an alien - though then again, he wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting.

She - at least, that was the easiest pronoun he could think of - wore tremendously imposing, thigh-high boots. They were, in fact, the first thing he noticed; they screamed for attention. Stiletto heels complemented an acutely angled toe. It was glossy black, covered in seams, straps, and reflective shine so robust he could almost see himself. He could certainly see himself licking those boots. He blushed at the thought, turning red once again.

Matching the black boots were elbow gloves. They were a similar ebony, with bright gold trim, and spoke of an imperious, militaristic attitude.

Contesting for his attention was her golden catsuit. He saw seams, but no buckles or easy way in or out. When she turned, he craned his head, trying to ogle the shapely form. A convenience zip running from her navel, crossing her groin, and ending at her lower black seemed to be the only point of entry or exit. The 'alien' seemed to be entirely sealed within her suit.

The matriarch's face was obscured by a heavy hood and a gas mask over that. Two polygonal lenses were the only point of ingress to her face. Thick facets made the light occasionally angle off of them, creating a segmented effect. Tiny filters around her nose and mouth made Robert use his imagination. She was already dressed like a fetish model; it was a small jump to imagine that plump, red lips pouted behind the rubber mask.

"So, are you going to slip into something more comfortable?" Robert quipped.

It was the best he could manage, given the situation. The room appeared to be mostly white - white walls, white floor, a white four-poster bed with mostly white sheets - but it was poorly lit. The candles gave off a yellow light, and the entire room had the eeriness of a medieval castle. A low hum and sounds from outside the room sounded like a spacecraft. It was utterly bizarre.

At least his restraints were understandable. He wore thick, metal bands around his wrists that were padded with leather. D-rings at each wrist were attached to long chains of a golden-brassy material. It clinked when he moved his hands. Each chain was fairly long, and attached to receptacles in the wall. It gave him a decent amount of movement, though not nearly enough to leave the bed.

At best, Robert could try to pose. Since all he was wearing was an embarrassingly tight pair of briefs, there wasn't a lot he could do. Hoping to keep his captor pleased, he was doing everything in his power to appear attractive.

She cocked her head. "Explain."

Robert's eyes darted left and right. "Oh, you know. You, ah... you want to maybe take off some of that? Just a joke."

"I do not understand your 'joke,' hominid."

"Well," he said with a forced smile, "My name is Robert, but you can call me whatever you'd like."

"Understood, hominid."

He gulped. She wasn't much of a conversationalist.

"You're not much of a conversationalist."

Ooops. Did he say that out loud?

"No, I am not." Her voice was consistent in pitch; not terribly feminine.

A long pause. She stared at him for a time, then leaned in against the foot-board.

"So... you said I was acquired?"

"Abducted, acquired, procured. These are all synonyms appropriate to describe your situation. You are now a possession of the Exhuman Hive. Your knowledge and distinctiveness will be gauged and assimilated. Your body will be altered and perfected to fit our purposes. Eventually, your utility will be assessed and you will be allowed to join the hive as a drone."

Robert stared. He didn't have a witty remark this time.

"I have decided to personally assess you." She leaned in again, this time closer. He could see her dark eyes and skin, barely visible behind the gas mask. Her voice sounded so clear, as though uninhibited by rubber and metal.

There was a clinking sound. Robert realized his arms were being drawn back; the chains were retracting. In a few moments he was helpless - trapped in a Y-pose with his arms raised and chained.

"Do I get a fancy suit like yours?" He tried his best to drop a quip.

"Silence. Your speech permissions are now revoked."

The matriarch leaned in, crawling over the bed. She was slow - more like a cat than an insect. Each time her legs moved, Robert gorged himself on the sheer visuals of her body - the sleek black, the shining gold, and her dark, piercing eyes. It made him want to curl up and service her. It was quite powerful.

She slipped something over his lips, and he was thoroughly gagged. Speech was quite difficult beneath a latex sheath. Not that he had much to say about it, anyway. The moment she unzipped her suit, he knew he wasn't going to have much in the way of discernible language. He quickly retreated into 'mmphs' and moans as she mounted him. The wild clinking of chains drowned out all but the vicious squeak of rubber.

****

Robert was busy polishing his matriarch's mask. At least, he was trying to look busy. Being the preferred plaything of a matriarch wasn't very time-consuming. The responsibilities were few, so he had to create his own. Anything at all to look busy - anything to make him seem necessary. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen if he wasn't deemed 'necessary.' He didn't want to find out.

At the very least, her inspections had been quite welcome. She was intimate, slow, graceful, and while Robert felt guilty admitting it - she could be an animal when she wanted to. Her 'inspections' often lasted quite some time, and involved intimate explorations of every nook and cranny. He blushed at the thought of coupling with her again... maybe this time in a suit of his own.

And so it was to his surprise when the Matriarch, Eve-251 entered unannounced in the middle of the wake cycle. He hadn't been expecting her until late in the evening. Further adding to his surprise were the four worker-drones flanking her.

His first thought was imagining an orgiastic coupling. Upon reflection, he realized that his time in the hive truly had affected him - especially if sex was becoming one of his top priorities!

"Unit Robert, your inspection period has ended. I have carefully assessed every inch of your body for imperfections and examined your mental and physical faculties. We have found you wanting in some areas, but remarkable in others. In some ways ,you have surpassed all expectations."

Robert gulped and grinned. "So, what do you think? Maybe a promotion? Maybe I could join the hive?"

She nodded, her face still steely behind her mask. He didn't think he'd ever seen her face.

"Correct. You will be utilized to produce nectar. Your body is far too useful and unique to simply deploy as a drone. You will be assigned to production rack 3 on deck 4 starting immediately."

And so it came to be. For weeks - maybe months - Robert had busily speculated on what, exactly, would be his fate. Apparently, this was a promotion - to be considered such a perfect specimen as to deserve this - but it certainly didn't feel like any sort of promotion.

Finally stripped, Robert enjoyed a long sonic shower. Dozens of worker-drones carefully led him to the cleaning and preparations rooms; their female figures clashing with their dark, industrial clothing. They never spoke, save the occasional grunt - he never even saw their faces behind their gas masks.

The first layer was the same black material that seemed to be standard issue amongst the hive. It had the look, smell, and texture of rubber; pungent, thick, and stretchy. The drones carefully guided each foot into matching stockings, mating these garments with the legs of a fearsome catsuit. Dozens of gloved, feminine hands were helping him every step of the way, moving with the perfect unison that only a hive could possess. He could buck and kick if he wanted, but what was the point? There were so many drones carefully guiding him in that he scarcely moved a muscle.

He saw each leg disappear in the catsuit, followed quickly by the warm sensation of heavy enclosure. The outfit molded to his calves and thighs.

Something was prodding at his rear, and he squeaked slightly at the stimulatory sensations around his manhood as the catsuit was zipped up. It possessed, most curiously, a thick sheath and pouch for his manhood. Access to his most sensitive spots was quite easy, and he quivered at the thought of way stimulatory delights - or horrors - they could subject him to.

He was growing stiff, aroused by the constant touches of the females and coupled with the growing pressure of his rubber suit. Each hand was wormed into the long, fitted sleeves and sealed in place with an elbow-length glove. Bending his joints was becoming progressively more difficult as his undersuit began to cure and stiffen. By the time he started to jerk in a panic, it was too late.

The first layer was completed by the hood over his face. It mated with the suit, and was glued in place by a metal shackle around his neck, sealing the hood to the catsuit with a brief flash of heat. His eyes, ports for his nose, and mouth were given access but his hearing was already dimming.

Eve was never the sort of matriarch to cut corners. She had inspected him and knew that he could be quite virile when so provoked. Robert felt his arms behind his back, crossing and tensing with the suit. The palms of his hands were tucked against his elbows, trapping his digits and appendages in a snug box-tie. His legs, too, were kept together, with his manhood's sheath proudly protruding from the front.

The drones, at Eve's mental command, sealed their humanoid machinery into position. Once his arms were in place, they lashed a single sheet of their smart latex around his stomach. It stretched and squeaked until they had wrapped him from stem to stern. His arms were trapped in a stretchy prison. He wiggled, gyrating left and right to test it. At first he could find some degree of freedom. This was dashed when one of the drones flashed a white light over his body - shrinking the material and suddenly sealing him inside. His taut arms could scarcely flex.

A similar procedure was applied to his legs, as well; stretchy gold bands of their material were looped around his legs at key points. When they felt he was sufficiently coated, they flashed the light again, transforming them from individual wraps to a solid, second layer.

He was half-expecting them to perform the same feat on his manhood or face. It wasn't to come - not yet, at least. He was lashed to a hovering gurney and wheeled through the halls of their strange hive-ship.

Upon arriving at their destination, Robert was treated to a surreal image - an entire wall, honeycombed with glowing hexagonal cells. There was one single cell unoccupied and dark. He bucked , stretching against the rubber. The fear of becoming lost and forgotten ,trapped in a rubber prison like the other victims here was nerve-wracking.

Eve, perhaps, sensed this. Already she was preparing the final touches; tubes for sustenance were inserted and locked in place. The milking device was locked around his cock, and interfaced with the electrical emitters already covering his body. She set the system to perform a few tests, first - bringing him close to orgiastic release before shutting down. It wasn't necessarily better to keep him on the edge... but it was much more fun.

He was breathing heavily, panicking as they prepared to slot his gurney into the cell. It was endearing; the way he arched his back. she imagined him blushing beneath the hood. His pleas for mercy or leniency were easy to ignore, and got much easier as she began the second hood.

She began pulling it down, over his head, and then paused after she had covered his eyes.

Robert tried to mouth out a cry for help, but it was silenced.

A warm, passionate, and exploring kiss stunned him. Pert and plump lips met with his own, and he felt a wet tongue teasing his own tongue and lips.

Before he could mouth a question, he heard the hiss of the Matriarch re-applying her own gas mask. The second hood slid onto his face, sealing and locking against the first. A tube wormed its way between his lips and expanded into a feeder gag.

The cell was closed, numbered, cataloged, monitored, and finally sealed. Sticky, amber-colored resin filled the tiny cell, gluing the moaning Robert in place.

Dark lenses played hypnotic imagery. Robert felt time slip away; his life became a dreamy morass punctuated by intense stimulation and coupled with obscene , erotic communication. Soon enough, his only thought was to produce and please the hive.

That, and a longing for those lips.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

* * *

Robert couldn't help but stare. She certainly didn't meet his expectations of an alien - though then again, he wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting.

She - at least, that was the easiest pronoun he could think of - wore tremendously imposing, thigh-high boots. They were, in fact, the first thing he noticed; they screamed for attention. Stiletto heels complemented an acutely angled toe. It was glossy black, covered in seams, straps, and reflective shine so robust he could almost see himself. He could certainly see himself licking those boots. He blushed at the thought, turning red once again.

Matching the black boots were elbow gloves. They were a similar ebony, with bright gold trim, and spoke of an imperious, militaristic attitude.

Contesting for his attention was her golden catsuit. He saw seams, but no buckles or easy way in or out. When she turned, he craned his head, trying to ogle the shapely form. A convenience zip running from her navel, crossing her groin, and ending at her lower black seemed to be the only point of entry or exit. The 'alien' seemed to be entirely sealed within her suit.

The matriarch's face was obscured by a heavy hood and a gas mask over that. Two polygonal lenses were the only point of ingress to her face. Thick facets made the light occasionally angle off of them, creating a segmented effect. Tiny filters around her nose and mouth made Robert use his imagination. She was already dressed like a fetish model; it was a small jump to imagine that plump, red lips pouted behind the rubber mask.

"So, are you going to slip into something more comfortable?" Robert quipped.

It was the best he could manage, given the situation. The room appeared to be mostly white - white walls, white floor, a white four-poster bed with mostly white sheets - but it was poorly lit. The candles gave off a yellow light, and the entire room had the eeriness of a medieval castle. A low hum and sounds from outside the room sounded like a spacecraft. It was utterly bizarre.

At least his restraints were understandable. He wore thick, metal bands around his wrists that were padded with leather. D-rings at each wrist were attached to long chains of a golden-brassy material. It clinked when he moved his hands. Each chain was fairly long, and attached to receptacles in the wall. It gave him a decent amount of movement, though not nearly enough to leave the bed.

At best, Robert could try to pose. Since all he was wearing was an embarrassingly tight pair of briefs, there wasn't a lot he could do. Hoping to keep his captor pleased, he was doing everything in his power to appear attractive.

She cocked her head. "Explain."

Robert's eyes darted left and right. "Oh, you know. You, ah... you want to maybe take off some of that? Just a joke."

"I do not understand your 'joke,' hominid."

"Well," he said with a forced smile, "My name is Robert, but you can call me whatever you'd like."

"Understood, hominid."

He gulped. She wasn't much of a conversationalist.

"You're not much of a conversationalist."

Ooops. Did he say that out loud?

"No, I am not." Her voice was consistent in pitch; not terribly feminine.

A long pause. She stared at him for a time, then leaned in against the foot-board.

"So... you said I was acquired?"

"Abducted, acquired, procured. These are all synonyms appropriate to describe your situation. You are now a possession of the Exhuman Hive. Your knowledge and distinctiveness will be gauged and assimilated. Your body will be altered and perfected to fit our purposes. Eventually, your utility will be assessed and you will be allowed to join the hive as a drone."

Robert stared. He didn't have a witty remark this time.

"I have decided to personally assess you." She leaned in again, this time closer. He could see her dark eyes and skin, barely visible behind the gas mask. Her voice sounded so clear, as though uninhibited by rubber and metal.

There was a clinking sound. Robert realized his arms were being drawn back; the chains were retracting. In a few moments he was helpless - trapped in a Y-pose with his arms raised and chained.

"Do I get a fancy suit like yours?" He tried his best to drop a quip.

"Silence. Your speech permissions are now revoked."

The matriarch leaned in, crawling over the bed. She was slow - more like a cat than an insect. Each time her legs moved, Robert gorged himself on the sheer visuals of her body - the sleek black, the shining gold, and her dark, piercing eyes. It made him want to curl up and service her. It was quite powerful.

She slipped something over his lips, and he was thoroughly gagged. Speech was quite difficult beneath a latex sheath. Not that he had much to say about it, anyway. The moment she unzipped her suit, he knew he wasn't going to have much in the way of discernible language. He quickly retreated into 'mmphs' and moans as she mounted him. The wild clinking of chains drowned out all but the vicious squeak of rubber.

****

Robert was busy polishing his matriarch's mask. At least, he was trying to look busy. Being the preferred plaything of a matriarch wasn't very time-consuming. The responsibilities were few, so he had to create his own. Anything at all to look busy - anything to make him seem necessary. He wasn't entirely sure what would happen if he wasn't deemed 'necessary.' He didn't want to find out.

At the very least, her inspections had been quite welcome. She was intimate, slow, graceful, and while Robert felt guilty admitting it - she could be an animal when she wanted to. Her 'inspections' often lasted quite some time, and involved intimate explorations of every nook and cranny. He blushed at the thought of coupling with her again... maybe this time in a suit of his own.

And so it was to his surprise when the Matriarch, Eve-251 entered unannounced in the middle of the wake cycle. He hadn't been expecting her until late in the evening. Further adding to his surprise were the four worker-drones flanking her.

His first thought was imagining an orgiastic coupling. Upon reflection, he realized that his time in the hive truly had affected him - especially if sex was becoming one of his top priorities!

"Unit Robert, your inspection period has ended. I have carefully assessed every inch of your body for imperfections and examined your mental and physical faculties. We have found you wanting in some areas, but remarkable in others. In some ways ,you have surpassed all expectations."

Robert gulped and grinned. "So, what do you think? Maybe a promotion? Maybe I could join the hive?"

She nodded, her face still steely behind her mask. He didn't think he'd ever seen her face.

"Correct. You will be utilized to produce nectar. Your body is far too useful and unique to simply deploy as a drone. You will be assigned to production rack 3 on deck 4 starting immediately."

And so it came to be. For weeks - maybe months - Robert had busily speculated on what, exactly, would be his fate. Apparently, this was a promotion - to be considered such a perfect specimen as to deserve this - but it certainly didn't feel like any sort of promotion.

Finally stripped, Robert enjoyed a long sonic shower. Dozens of worker-drones carefully led him to the cleaning and preparations rooms; their female figures clashing with their dark, industrial clothing. They never spoke, save the occasional grunt - he never even saw their faces behind their gas masks.

The first layer was the same black material that seemed to be standard issue amongst the hive. It had the look, smell, and texture of rubber; pungent, thick, and stretchy. The drones carefully guided each foot into matching stockings, mating these garments with the legs of a fearsome catsuit. Dozens of gloved, feminine hands were helping him every step of the way, moving with the perfect unison that only a hive could possess. He could buck and kick if he wanted, but what was the point? There were so many drones carefully guiding him in that he scarcely moved a muscle.

He saw each leg disappear in the catsuit, followed quickly by the warm sensation of heavy enclosure. The outfit molded to his calves and thighs.

Something was prodding at his rear, and he squeaked slightly at the stimulatory sensations around his manhood as the catsuit was zipped up. It possessed, most curiously, a thick sheath and pouch for his manhood. Access to his most sensitive spots was quite easy, and he quivered at the thought of way stimulatory delights - or horrors - they could subject him to.

He was growing stiff, aroused by the constant touches of the females and coupled with the growing pressure of his rubber suit. Each hand was wormed into the long, fitted sleeves and sealed in place with an elbow-length glove. Bending his joints was becoming progressively more difficult as his undersuit began to cure and stiffen. By the time he started to jerk in a panic, it was too late.

The first layer was completed by the hood over his face. It mated with the suit, and was glued in place by a metal shackle around his neck, sealing the hood to the catsuit with a brief flash of heat. His eyes, ports for his nose, and mouth were given access but his hearing was already dimming.

Eve was never the sort of matriarch to cut corners. She had inspected him and knew that he could be quite virile when so provoked. Robert felt his arms behind his back, crossing and tensing with the suit. The palms of his hands were tucked against his elbows, trapping his digits and appendages in a snug box-tie. His legs, too, were kept together, with his manhood's sheath proudly protruding from the front.

The drones, at Eve's mental command, sealed their humanoid machinery into position. Once his arms were in place, they lashed a single sheet of their smart latex around his stomach. It stretched and squeaked until they had wrapped him from stem to stern. His arms were trapped in a stretchy prison. He wiggled, gyrating left and right to test it. At first he could find some degree of freedom. This was dashed when one of the drones flashed a white light over his body - shrinking the material and suddenly sealing him inside. His taut arms could scarcely flex.

A similar procedure was applied to his legs, as well; stretchy gold bands of their material were looped around his legs at key points. When they felt he was sufficiently coated, they flashed the light again, transforming them from individual wraps to a solid, second layer.

He was half-expecting them to perform the same feat on his manhood or face. It wasn't to come - not yet, at least. He was lashed to a hovering gurney and wheeled through the halls of their strange hive-ship.

Upon arriving at their destination, Robert was treated to a surreal image - an entire wall, honeycombed with glowing hexagonal cells. There was one single cell unoccupied and dark. He bucked , stretching against the rubber. The fear of becoming lost and forgotten ,trapped in a rubber prison like the other victims here was nerve-wracking.

Eve, perhaps, sensed this. Already she was preparing the final touches; tubes for sustenance were inserted and locked in place. The milking device was locked around his cock, and interfaced with the electrical emitters already covering his body. She set the system to perform a few tests, first - bringing him close to orgiastic release before shutting down. It wasn't necessarily better to keep him on the edge... but it was much more fun.

He was breathing heavily, panicking as they prepared to slot his gurney into the cell. It was endearing; the way he arched his back. she imagined him blushing beneath the hood. His pleas for mercy or leniency were easy to ignore, and got much easier as she began the second hood.

She began pulling it down, over his head, and then paused after she had covered his eyes.

Robert tried to mouth out a cry for help, but it was silenced.

A warm, passionate, and exploring kiss stunned him. Pert and plump lips met with his own, and he felt a wet tongue teasing his own tongue and lips.

Before he could mouth a question, he heard the hiss of the Matriarch re-applying her own gas mask. The second hood slid onto his face, sealing and locking against the first. A tube wormed its way between his lips and expanded into a feeder gag.

The cell was closed, numbered, cataloged, monitored, and finally sealed. Sticky, amber-colored resin filled the tiny cell, gluing the moaning Robert in place.

Dark lenses played hypnotic imagery. Robert felt time slip away; his life became a dreamy morass punctuated by intense stimulation and coupled with obscene , erotic communication. Soon enough, his only thought was to produce and please the hive.

That, and a longing for those lips.