A spotlight in a darkened room highlights a prone figure restrained to a steel operating table. The naked male has classically handsome features with pale blonde hair cut short similar in the style worn by Tom Cruise's Von Stauffenberg in "Valkyrie". The skin is smooth and velvet soft, with powerful muscles dancing just beneath the perfect skin. With the exception of the hair on his head, eyebrows and lashes, he is hairless. His sculpted chest rises and falls slowly and he moans as he slowly regains consciousness. The captive attempts to move, but is stopped by the restraints and wakes up suddenly to his situation. He struggles to release himself and fails.
"This one is absolutely perfect, Joachim ... you've done a beautiful job!"
"Thanks, Rolf ... I knew you'd appreciate the new design."
The figure's head snaps towards the sound of the voices as heavy booted footfalls approach. Out the darkness, two men emerge, dressed in smartly tailored and snug Black SS uniforms. Both men are well-built and carry themselves with a lithe and deadly grace. Black leather jackboots and Sam Browne belts gleam softly in the halogen's glare; metal buttons and silver braid glow with the reflected light. The stark wet blackness of latex masks and gloves serve as the perfect complement to the snowy white of their shirt collars and cuffs.
While the masks blur their features, they do nothing to hide the strong planes of the faces beneath them. The pindot eyes of their masks are shadowed by the brims of their Death Head SS caps, giving the illusion of an eyeless stare. The mouths are open; both men have strong, sensuous lips that curl into smiles as they stare at prone man on the table.
The captive stops struggling and gapes in terror at the two men. His fear permeates the air in the room - a sharp, acrid smell that excites the uniformed and booted masters of this facility. The shorter of the two officers - 5'10" to the other's 6'8" - runs a rubber-clad finger around the jaw and pauses just beneath the nose; as the victim breathes in the scent of rubber, his 9" cock starts to twitch and lengthen. The ebon hand continues its journey down between the crevasse separating the thick pectorals and strokes the rock hard abdomen.
"W-who ...?"
The shorter officer caresses the victim's forehead. "Ssshh ... take a look at the man you've become."
With that, he presses a button and the table tilts forward and rotates. The man stares at himself in a full length mirror - his now pale-blue eyes are full of shock and amazement. He wants nothing more than to run his hands over the godlike body he now possesses.
The taller officer now speaks. "Quite the difference from the short and stocky, inferior piece of shit you were before, no? You'll make a proper Reichsklave now, boy. Let's get you started with your new life." With that, Joachim undoes the restraints and the naked man falls to the floor on his hands and knees. As he gathers his wits about him, he hears a quiet "rrrrriipp" and looks up to see the taller officer undo his zipper and a massive cock jutting out, turgid and swollen with need.
"Service me, boy ... NOW!" There is a hard edge of command in the voice and the naked man scrambles to obey, despite the conflicting thoughts running through his head. It is as if his body is not quite his to command and that he is only a passenger in its newly improved prison. His tongue laves the bulbous head and lips strain to close around its circumference. Rubber-clad hands hold the back of the head and start a vigorous skull-fucking rhythm. The sklave takes the massive tool down it's throat and as the tall officer climaxes, greedily swallows the copious amounts of cum pouring into him.
The officer pulls out and a booted foot in the chest topples the blonde man onto his back. The sklave's chest moves rapidly, attempting to draw air into tortured lungs as he licks his lips to gather any of the pearly fluid that may have escaped. Suddenly, he feels another booted toe digging into his heavy ballsac and cock. He gets up on his elbows to see the shorter officer has unzipped his trousers and is presenting another large, engorged member to be serviced. He reaches down and grabs a fistful of pale hair and pulls the sklave to his knees.
"Suck!" the guttural command excites the naked man as he wraps powerful arms around muscular thighs and pulls himself onto the waiting prong. "Mmmmmm ..." the shorter officer moans as the sklave impales himself on the thick tool and begins to piston. The officer grabs the head and pulls it to his crotch; the naked man begins to struggle for air. As he feels the panic build to a crescendo, he releases the captive's head and unloads down the unsuspecting throat. Again, the physical imperative to swallow all of the silvery fluid is too strong to ignore. His cheeks hollow as he removes every last drop from the rigid tool in his mouth before he collapses onto the floor.
Rolf laughs. "My God, what a great cocksucker! How did you accomplish that, my dear doctor?"
Joachim smiles. "A little extra tweaking on chromosome 5. Wait till you see his reaction when he gets penetrated!" The shorter officer zips up his fly and again grabs the sklave by the hair.
"Come, time for your equipage." The three men leave the room.
* * *
Down a corridor and a flight of stairs, the group arrive in front of a door simply labeled "Fitment." Joachim opens the door and shoves the sklave in. "I want him ready in ten minutes!" and slams the door shut. He puts a muscular arm around the trim waist of his commanding officer.
"I believe we have some unfinished business, sir." His uncovered lips curl into a smile. Rolf crushes his lips to those of his subaltern. His rubber-clad hand gives the smaller officer's crotch a powerful squeeze.
"Let's go to my office. It would be highly inefficient ..." A wolfish smile creases his ebon face. "... to leave such important matters dangling ..."
* * *
The sklave is still disoriented as two sets of powerful arms yank him to his feet. He blearily looks into the pair of black, featureless faces holding him immobile. Like himself, these men are well-built and muscular, but unlike the officers, wear no uniforms. They are covered head-to-toe in shiny ebon latex that looks like polished black steel. Locked rubber collars with D-rings circle their necks and 12-eye paratrooper boots sheathe their feet. One of the two has the number "812" stenciled on the upper left quadrant of its chest; the other has "587". As one of his gaolers turns around, he sees the number repeated across the broad, muscular back.
"What's going on ...?"
"Shut up and don't move!"
The two frog-march him to an open sided enclosure. 587 begins to spray him with a viscous fluid that clings to his skin like rubber cement, but feels slick and oily to the touch. After the spraydown, the two handlers pull on elbow length industrial rubber gloves and manhandle him out of the enclosure. 812 shoves in a large black buttplug; the sklave grunts in pain as the massive object settles deep within him.
The gaolers then proceed to force him into a one-piece neck-entry latex suit. Due to the bonding agent/lubricant, the suit slides on easily. Each toe is adjusted into it own enclosure in the rubbery sock and the material is pulled quickly up muscular legs. Cock and balls are forced through a c-ring and thence into a sheath with a small open tube at its tip. A codpiece is snapped on over his still semi-rigid tool.
Inch by inch, the sklave is transformed into a dark being similar to its two handlers. Arms and hands are shoved rapidly into place. The hard points of his nips poke above the surface of the rubber on his chest, and the material settles snugly around the slabbed pecs and among the rifts and plateaus of his abdominals. A rubber hood is pulled over his head and is quickly adjusted. The sklave's eyes - like those of the officers and the men dressing him - are covered by the pindots of the mask; his nose is covered save for small nostril holes but his mouth remains open. The hood is tucked into the suit and additional sealant/lubrication is added. With a "snap" the neck of the suit bonds to the mask, sealing the new sklave into its rubber skin.
"Turn around."
A small padlock is attached to the pulls of the butt-zipper; access to the sklave's plug and ass is now impossible without the proper key. Finally the Reichsklave is pushed firmly onto a stool and a pair of sturdy paratrooper boots are laced quickly onto ebon feet. A collar is placed around its neck as it hears another lock click shut, fastening it permanently into place.
"Get up. You're done." A leash is attached to one of the D-Rings on its collar and the sklave is hauled over to the side of the room. It stares dumbly at it's reflection in a wall mirror - a strongly, muscled glistening black figure with "1140" on its chest. The plug in its ass gives it a painfully full, yet pleasurable sensation as it fondles itself and waits for its masters to return ...
* * *
I will leave it up to the reader to ponder whether this is some type of AU Third Reich story along the lines of "Fatherland", or something that could happen in a not-too-distant future. And just as a final piece de resistance ... here's an image of the newly minted sklave in "administrative punishment."
Many thanks to my very good buddy Reid for providing the shots!
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