The Specialist's Statue

by Phantomdotexe (ao3)

Circ tried to go through how he had ended up suited and imprisoned. He ran the evening back in his head. 

After a long night of drinking, Circ had stumbled into an alley to relieve himself. While he had his pants down, he made an alcohol-induced mistake and started to enjoy himself, trying to have some quick fun to relieve some needs he’d felt during his raucous night. 

When he felt a presence behind him, he thought it was a cop, and turned to face him with his pants still down. Instead, he saw angry, glowing golden eyes; a gooey maw, a menacing visage. The black jackal mask seemingly grinned, staring at his cock and judging him. There was a sudden stinging sensation in his brain as the villainous rubber jackal opened his mouth, expelling a gas that made Circ weak in the brain and clumsy in the body. 

The very last thing he felt - and saw - was the kidnapper stretching a TIGHT sheet of rubber over his face, making sure he was unable to cough or exhale out of the gas he’d been given. He slapped something on his back that deployed some kind of cool, snug liquid over his body, and Circ had passed out. 

Time passed. Circ finally came to, realizing that he was trapped in a dark, padded cell in some kind of laboratory. The pressure in his head made it feel somewhere deep underground. He ran his hands over the suit. The support pod at the small of his back. His muscles, all much more tightly outlined, more carefully detailed in light of his suit. Circ spent a moment seeing how high up it went, and realized that it indeed went all the way . It was so tight that he hadn’t even realized that he was fully enclosed! High-tech equipment had been keeping him sustained with air, and the lenses he felt over his eyes were so crystal-clear that they almost weren’t there. In fact, he ran his fingers over them a second time and realized that they weren’t there - they were tiny screens. He imagined that from the outside, he was completely faceless, anonymous, and seamless. 

After some time to stew, the door to his cell opened, and in walked a wide, aggressive rubber-suited enforcer. He had the mask of a pig, from which two imposing-looking ivory tusks jutted. His gas mask had the same imposing aesthetic as the horror that had captured him, his body visually broken by heavy harnesses of black leather and shining steel. The hog approached Circ, carrying a leash in his meaty, gloved fists. Circ didn’t bother darting as he heard the ‘click’ from the leash around his collar - he imagined he’d have another chance soon. He was wrong, and the rubber hog simply took Circ to the door before locking the leash to a rail in the ceiling. Circ wasn’t being walked by a person, but by a machine - one that made no mistakes, didn’t slow down, and was uninterested in his ginger steps through the menacing labs and makeshift hallways. Circ found himself tugged along through deeper, darker corridors he had not yet seen, into a room with a heavy sliding door that closed behind him.

The room was so dark that he thought he’d been blindfolded; the shadows so intense that he feared he’d gone blind. The rail still pulled him, bringing him further into the room. He tried to slow down, fearful of accidentally stepping on something, but the floor was clean and clear; the same industrial surface as elsewhere. Until it wasn’t.

The last step he took seemed to be a different material. Harder, a bit unsteady, with a different texture. Circ could feel it through his leggings, and he spent a few moments stepping around, trying to use his toes to get any information that he could. It felt like he was standing on a circular plate. 

At that moment, the plate whirred to life. His feet, together and flat on the plate, were suddenly locked in place. Something warm and tight flowed over his ankles. And then the lights came on. 

A suited vixen, with garb similar to the hog, entered the room. She had pert ears, purple and black rubber, and a confident, playful strut. She entered this workshop pushing a cart with a single large cartridge on it. The room itself had various pieces of machinery lining the walls, including a fearsome setup surrounding Circ! The Lovely Assistant approached him, humming to herself. She picked up the nondescript plastic case, about as large as a tank of oxygen, and placed it inside an alcove to Circ’s right. She took the time to wave “good-bye” with her fingers before throwing a switch! 

There was a menacing whrrrr followed by the shiny oily squeak of rubber on rubber, accompanied by a growing tightness around Circ’s ankles! He looked down, and it looked exactly as he’d feared. 

Circ realized he’d been locked into a standing, configurable wrapping machine. Two twin armatures were working their magic, starting around his ankles and rising up, now passing his knees, then on to his thighs. Each armature was dispensing matching thick layers of black rubber bandages, covering up his gray undersuit and providing a two-at-once twin layer of restriction. It was already passing up his knees and thighs and going higher. 

He stared down as he saw his manhood packed up with an unyielding and thick layer of rubber. No special treatment was afforded to him; he was being mummified like a project, not a person. He wanted out! But the complete enclosure from his undersuit predicted his response and reacted accordingly. His mouth inflated with a thick, chewy rubber balloon which kept him gagged - if not mute. 

Mmmff! Nnnnnnrrgh! Nnghnngh!  

Evey sound recorded, every motion copied for posterity, every desperate, horny grunt imprinted in digital form. 

The pressure was delectable, intense, and nerve-wracking. He felt his body claustrophobically restrained; a full-body hug that kept him from doing more than wriggling from his waist down. The suit forced his arms to his sides just in time for the bandages to enclose his fingertips, his palms tight against his waist, his wrists, his forearms, all of them now wrapped and mummified. 

He could feel his chest being hugged by the wrapping; see it as the bandages entered his field of view. It was making him excited. He imagined how snug this must have looked as his torso was finally sealed. The sensation of someone rubbing their hands against his tightly packed up body made him feel warm, tingly, vulnerable. 

The warmth wasn’t just from his growing arousal. It was also a second layer of advanced rubber flowing upwards from his ankles. The plate was dispensing what was technically a third level of restraint; a perfect lamination, a glorious patina of liquid, oozing latex that would seal up every little seam.

It was an experience he couldn’t have imagined. Flowing, melding, sealing, dripping upwards as if he’d been dipped from his ankles; gooey gel that stretched higher and higher, racing against the bandages as they finished their deed.

Circ felt the bandages pass his neck, his face. He screamed, moaning, groaning, thrusting his head back as it completed its task. He felt the squeak , the stretch , the finality of his mummification as it finally finished and the armatures retracted. 

And, just as the armatures finished, the black liquid varnished and made permanent their work. It sealed up past his wrapped torso, neck, and face - leaving a barely visible outline of his face beneath its unyielding grasp. 

“ Mmmff…” Circ wiggled, pathetically, adorably, barely. He was nearly immobile - fitting for a statue. Completely black and utterly seamless and smooth - with one small exception.

Melding with the tape, interfacing with the suit, the goo melded and molded around Circ’s manhood. He felt his cock teased out, brought to point upwards, locked and packed behind a heavy bulge that kept him touchable but chaste. An upside-down golden ankh emblazoned on his bulge indicated that all of this had been carefully manicured and designed by The Specialist, and that his brand would eternally mark his new statue. 

The heat in his body made Circ feeling a great and growing need. What he’d do to be touched again. What he’d give to be toyed with. He was realizing just how needy he was; last night had ended far too soon, and he was just desperate to break free of his mummiform and start touching himself.

That’s when he came in. The Specialist, strutting forward, hands behind his back, all business. He was uncompromising. Menacing. Glorious, gently wiping something off his trenchcoat. 

“He’s all set, master,” said the Assistant. She gently held out her hands like a magician or showgirl, displaying the multi-layered rubberslave’s completed and lacquered form. 

“Mobility is minimal. Stable and stasis-ready. Double-layered for tightness, sealed for freshness. The outer layer should be nick and thick, protective and hardened by now. Oh, except for his bulge.”

The Specialist reached down, cupping it in his gloved hand. Circ felt like he was on fire; the shot of pleasure was so intense that he went instantly hard. Still, he remained tragically edged and needy thanks to the bulge. Please , he thought, do it… do something! Let… me… cum! 

The villain rubbed the package with his thumb and forefinger, judging Circ’s mummiform carefully. He ran his hand over the toy’s neck, his torso, marvelling in his own creation.

“Master,” said the Assistant, “It looks like you found a special case. It’s been months since he last had an orgasm.”

The Specialist didn’t respond for a moment, finishing his molestation on his own time. “Unlucky for him,” he said, in a low, cold voice that made Circ shudder. 

“Have him brought to the designated spot. He should provide good inspiration for any visitors,” said. Circ almost thought he heard a twinge of playfulness in his captor’s voice.

“And if he doesn’t?” asked the Assistant.

“Then we’ll have him locked in a nice glass case. Give him the resin treatment. He’ll make a nice objet d’art either way.”

The Assistant nodded with an eagerness that did not give Circ confidence. He couldn’t fall over, couldn’t talk - he was reduced to just wriggling and groaning! Some statue he’d be… 

“There’s one thing I’d add, Master,” said the Assistant. 

“And what is that?”

“Well,” she said, “Most tomb guardians… well, they stand outside doors, no?”

The Specialist said nothing.

“Well… normally, there are two of them, flanking the entrance. And I think we should get him a matching mate.”

The Specialist’s eyes narrowed. The Assistant couldn’t see his mask, but she knew he was grinning.