Archived Version

One day, I suddenly had a sudden inspiration, and I don't know what state of mind I was in when I wrote this. The inspiration died down towards the end, so just take a look if you want.

“Well then, let our little game begin,” H said to Nicole with a grin.

“Okay~ I'm all ready,” Nicole said, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and fear.

Both Nicole and H had spent a long time preparing for this bondage game. They had known each other for years, regularly playing SM games together involving latex suits and restraints. Nicole frequently served as H's play partner, bound and toyed with at his pleasure, while H — a seasoned dominant — had long since mastered every variation of bondage and confinement play. When Nicole brought up her desire to try something more extreme, H agreed without hesitation and designed a custom restraint scenario just for her.

H produced a specially made latex thong and told Nicole to put it on. The underwear contained a catheter that ran directly into the bladder; at the catheter's intake end was a tiny pressure sensor, so the tube would only open when the pressure of accumulated urine inside reached a certain threshold. The external end of the catheter was connected to a twelve-centimetre vibrating dildo beside it, and at the base of that dildo was a small tube linking it to an anal plug nearby. The anal plug was something else entirely — a full fifty centimetres long, thin at the front and thick at the rear, soft enough to fill the entire passage of the intestines. The ten centimetres closest to the anus were remotely controlled and vibrating. Wearing that thing was designed to drive Nicole absolutely insane. The catheter tubing fed into the anal plug as well, chaining everything together: bladder to cunt to ass, one continuous line.

“When the bladder is ready to void,” H explained, “a micro pump at the base of the vibrator will draw the urine up into the vibe. The vibrator has a double-layer design — the inner layer is the vibration mechanism, and the outer layer is a reservoir that expands as it fills. So our little toy here will keep growing longer and thicker~ Then, once the vibrator is full, the anal plug's own pump draws the urine from the vibrator into itself. When the plug accumulates enough, its own pressure valve expels the fluid. That's how we handle the waste. Heh.”

Nicole worked the catheter slowly into her urethra, pushing it deeper — and when it finally seated inside her bladder, a wave of urgency hit her at once. But the pressure valve at the tube's end told her in no uncertain terms: nothing was coming out. From this moment on, she was holding it.

With the catheter secured, Nicole lined up the vibrator and pressed it into her cunt. At its current size it slid in without much resistance.

The anal plug was another matter. Given its length, she needed H's help. Together, they worked the long plug inch by inch into her body. Once it was fully seated, Nicole pulled the latex thong into place. From the outside, nothing looked unusual at all. Who would ever guess that three foreign objects were buried inside her, plugging every opening?

With the latex underwear on, Nicole was then told to put on a full-body black latex suit. It pulled on from the neck down, with a small opening at the crotch to allow the drainage tube from the anal plug to pass through. The suit itself had no unusual features — except that it needed to be coated in a very particular lubricant.

H explained that this lubricant did more than protect the skin. It contained a special biological adhesive capable of bonding the latex to the skin's surface. Once applied and set, the suit would be virtually impossible to remove without being fully submerged in a specially prepared chemical bath.

Hearing this, Nicole felt a flutter of private excitement. Being a permanent latex doll — that's actually kind of thrilling.

With H's help, she was fully suited within minutes. Ten minutes later the latex had fused completely to her skin. When Nicole grabbed a section near her forearm and tugged, it felt like pulling her own flesh.

What a strange sensation, she thought. The whole surface of her body felt compressed and cinched, the latex mapping every contour of her figure — full breasts, narrow waist, rounded hips — rendered in seamless, alien black.

“Oh, the suit has a little extra feature at the chest,” H said, his smirk widening. “There are two small electrodes at the nipple positions. Continuous stimulation. Non-stop.”

Looking at that smile, Nicole felt her stomach tighten. He's going to completely wreck me.

H produced a pair of concealed earbuds and pressed them into Nicole's ears, then packed the ear canals shut with silicone putty. He followed this with a full-coverage latex hood. The eye panels were specially constructed — embedded with micro projectors that, when connected to an external camera feed, would allow Nicole to see the outside world. At the nose, two slim breathing tubes were inserted into Nicole's nostrils and fed directly down into her lungs, ensuring that any accumulation of fluid below would never threaten her airway.

Her mouth received a gag. The gag tapered from thick at the opening to slim at the far end, the narrow portion sliding all the way down into Nicole's stomach. It made her heave with revulsion — and she couldn't push it back out. The wide section filled her mouth completely; from now on, her jaw was locked open.

Airway and alimentary canal were now entirely separated. The nose was for breathing. The mouth had been reassigned.

Once the hood was fitted, Nicole's head was a featureless black latex doll-head, with only the mouth and nose connections venting small puffs of breath. H then sealed the hood to the neckline of the suit with latex adhesive, enclosing Nicole entirely — a black latex mannequin, human-shaped, airtight.

With the projectors still off, Nicole's world was total darkness. Her ears heard nothing. Her mouth could form no words. She could only remain still and let H continue.

H fitted a neck corset around the latex, Nicole's throat. As it tightened, her head was locked in place — chin raised, gaze fixed upward, unable to turn. Next came a corset, laced firmly, compressing her waist another full size smaller.

Nicole felt the collar's pressure settle onto her throat like a hand. Every attempt to turn her head was pointless. Then her waist was crushed by another band of force until she could barely draw breath. H is absolutely brutal, she thought to herself.

H folded Nicole's arms behind her back into a reverse prayer — both hands stacked, palms together, wrists and elbows lashed with straps at multiple points. Her fists were encased in locking mitts that kept the fingers curled and useless. A final strap connected the back of the mitts to the metal ring on her neck corset, drawing her arms up and pinning them there. Her arms were gone. They simply no longer functioned.

With the arm restraints complete, H lifted her and laid her on the bed. He bent both legs — thigh to shin — and strapped each one in place. Once both legs were secured, H brought out a second latex suit, one size smaller than the one Nicole was already wearing. This one had no arms; the legs ended at mid-thigh. Its overall shape was an inverted Y. Three small holes opened at the face — for mouth tube and nose tubes — and one opening sat at the crotch.

H stretched the suit's leg opening wide enough to admit Nicole's bound legs, then fed her in — legs first, then torso, then head — until she was entirely swallowed. The suit contracted around her as it settled, the crotch opening seating over the anal plug's tube, the mouth opening fitting over the extension of her gag, the nose holes aligning with her breathing tubes.

Throughout the process of being dressed in the second suit, Nicole had cooperated, following H's guiding pressure with small adjustments. But as the latex contracted and gripped, she felt a new layer of compression close over her entire body. In the darkness, the sensation was overwhelming — the squeeze, the foreign objects packed inside her, the faint rolling pleasure that came with every tiny shift. She could only writhe slightly, small helpless movements, and the pleasure crested again and again, unstoppable.

H looked at the doll squirming on the bed and gave a quiet laugh. Already getting off on it. You have no idea what's coming.

Latex doll complete. H produced a mould made of transparent vinyl, one centimetre thick, split into front and back halves. Its profile matched the inverted-Y shape of latex Nicole exactly. The knee area had slight foam padding built in; at the outer edge of the knees, a flat square baseplate extended thirty centimetres to each side and two centimetres thick.

H lifted the latex Nicole and slowly settled her into the back half of the mould. Nicole seemed to sense what was happening — she went still, cooperative, letting herself be arranged.

H brought the front panel down over her. The face cutout aligned precisely with her gag extension and breathing tubes; a fitting at the crotch locked onto the anal plug's connector. The two halves pressed together and sealed, enclosing Nicole with no gaps, no give.

H was not done. He produced a dozen screws and nuts, placed them at every pre-drilled point along the mould's seam, applied thread-lock compound to each, and worked through them methodically. When he set down the screwdriver, the mould was one solid piece. Getting Nicole out would require destroying the hardware.

Through the transparent shell, all that was visible was a black Y-shaped latex doll, motionless — head tilted up, a connector extending from its mouth, another at the anal port. Were it not for the faint sound of breath from the nose openings, no one would ever guess that the mould held a living person.

Nicole, sealed inside her inverted-Y shell, understood in her body what she could not see with her eyes: she was completely, utterly immobile. The two layers of latex had still allowed the smallest twist, the tiniest shift. The mould allowed nothing. One position. Forever, it felt like. The thought of holding this for days filled her with dread and something she could not name — a deep, shivering arousal at her own helplessness. A latex doll in a shell, fate unknown.

When it was done, H loaded the mould containing Nicole into the car and drove out toward the outskirts.

He brought her to a quiet road that wound up into the hills. At the point where the road began its ascent, there was a small rest area — a turnout meant for travellers to stop and stretch. It was far from the city. On weekdays, the only visitors tended to be cyclists and hikers running the mountain route. Weekends saw a few more people.

H pulled into the rest area and parked beside a public restroom. He carried Nicole inside, into the men's side, hung a CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE sign, and locked the door behind them.

He went to the last urinal at the far wall and set Nicole aside. Then he lifted the floor tiles beneath the urinal — a section about one and a half meters square. Beneath them was an iron grate; beneath the grate, a square pit. H had prepared this pit in advance.

He lowered Nicole into the pit. The baseplates at her knees had large holes drilled through them that aligned perfectly with anchor bolts H had already set into the pit floor. He threaded on the nuts and tightened them. The mould stood fixed at the bottom of the pit, upright, in its inverted-Y posture. H then retrieved a soft tube that was already waiting in the pit and connected it to the anal plug's fitting. Nicole's expelled urine would flow down through that tube into the underground drainage.

H connected a second tube to Nicole's gag fitting. This one ran up to the underside of the urinal directly above her head. Two smaller soft tubes connected to her nose fittings, also running up — but to the top rim of the urinal bowl, positioned clear of the splash zone so that urine could never block her airway.

The installation was complete. Nicole was now a waste-processing fixture. She only needed customers.

H replaced the iron grate and relaid the floor tiles carefully. From outside, nothing had changed. The urinal was a urinal. No one would ever think to imagine that a latex doll was crouching in the void beneath it, waiting.

Back in the car, H opened his monitoring equipment. A micro camera concealed in a corner of the restroom came to life, its angle covering the urinal above Nicole's position. A second camera inside the pit looked directly at her. One screen showed the latex fixture in the pit. Another displayed a cardiac waveform — H's safeguard, allowing him to track Nicole's physical and emotional state in real time and intervene if anything went wrong.

He switched on the vibrator remotely. The heart rate spiked immediately. H smiled with satisfaction. Like finishing a piece of art.

Everything was in order. H drove home. The cameras would tell him everything he needed to know.

For Nicole, the sequence of events had been a blur of tilting and swaying, then the vibration of a car, then more movement, then the sensation of being stood upright — knees folded beneath her, weight on her kneecaps — and then stillness. She was wondering what came next when her vision suddenly switched on.

The projectors came alive.

Half her visual field showed the interior of an old, dingy men's restroom — worn floor tiles, a row of yellowed urinals thick with mineral stains. The other half of the image showed a camera feed of the pit: a black latex doll-figure sealed in a transparent mould, tubes running from its mouth, tubes at its crotch.

She was looking at herself.

I've become a urinal. The realization hit her in waves — a nauseating thrill, a surge of pure shame-arousal — followed immediately by panic. If I actually end up full of piss — if they actually fill me — that's completely insane, she thought, and her whole body shuddered, going nowhere.

“My dear Nicole,” H's voice came through the earbuds. “For the next week, you are a urinal. Please do your job faithfully. Heh.”

“Mm — mmm — nnh,” Nicole could only hum, her mouth packed full and useless. The thought of urine pouring into her made something in her brain short-circuit — revulsion and arousal, indistinguishable.

Then the vibrator came alive inside her.

H had switched it on remotely. The sensation tore through her — intense, relentless — tangled up with the shame of what she was, what she'd been made into. She twisted uselessly inside the mould, a long moan building in her throat, going nowhere.

However hard she tried to make noise, H couldn't hear it. However hard she strained against her restraints, nothing moved. On the camera feed, the latex doll in the pit was perfectly, serenely motionless.

H watched the heart rate monitor and nodded. Then he started the car and drove away.

Nicole came down from the vibrator's assault slowly, wrung out. In the darkness and compression of her shell, she tried to settle herself. I'm a urinal now. There's nothing to do but accept what comes out of it and pray not too many people use me.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she saw, through the camera feed above, a group of young people in athletic gear file into the restroom.

One of them stepped up to the urinal directly above her head.

No. No, no — don't use mine. Please, not mine. I am not a toilet. I don't want to drink piss—

No matter how she raged internally, the mould did not move. Did not tremble. Did not register her existence.

The stream hit the bowl.

The urine came down the tube and flooded into her throat in a wave of heat and that sharp animal reek — and Nicole gagged violently, her whole body convulsing inside the shell with nowhere to convulse to. The tube poured it in regardless of her retching, the liquid filling her throat, and in that moment of absolute helplessness, with urine running down her throat and no way to stop it, Nicole came. The vibrator chose that exact moment to switch back on. Pleasure detonated through her body.

I really am a toilet.

She held on to the small mercy that it had only been one person. When the group left and quiet returned, she let herself breathe. They said hardly anyone comes out here. How was there someone already—

She couldn't make sense of it.

What Nicole could not see was that below the hill, not far down the road, a large group was making its way toward the rest area — and it was a sizeable crowd. Someone near the front was carrying a banner. Across it, in bright letters: [COMPANY NAME] FAMILY FUN OUTING DAY.

Whether what Nicole was about to feel was terror or helpless, drowning pleasure — that was difficult to say.

She was about to be very, very full.