Perma-latex Cyber Sissification

This story is a humanised version of a furry story, so if I suddenly
call a character a fox, it's because I missed that one. The original
story is here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/5639915/
and the picture that inspired it is here:
http://www.furaffinity.net/view/5498671
Both need a furaffinity account with adult pics allowed.

This story contains adult mind control, sissyfication, and rubber coatings.
If you don't like that, please leave, if you do, please enjoy!



The catch on the window gave with a crack. Claid swung the frame outwards,
pulling his crowbar back, and slipped inside. His partner in crime,
who called himself Rock, landed behind him with a heavy thud. "That the
machine?" he said, pointing at the hulking shape in the centre of the
warehouse.

"Gotta be," replied Claid. "You see anything else around here?"

Rock prowled around the walls of the otherwise empty space. The machine
took up most of the space in the building, a mass of wires running from
underneath it to various sockets in the walls and control panels embedded
in the sides. The use of the mechanism was a mystery to the two thieves,
and their client hadn't bothered to explain what it did, simply handing
over a description of the parts she wanted from the inside. And looking at
it, Claid realised that they would have to go inside to get it; the machine
was entirely enclosed, with only the two ends open, gaping black maws with
conveyor belts leading ominously into it.

The place had been easy enough to break into. The two men were dressed in
black, hugging the shadows as they made their way to the address, but they
found no night watchman, and only a few cameras with poor fields of vision.
The client had explained that the owners here didn't really appreciate the
value of what they had, but Claid had sensed she had some personal
connection here: perhaps it was thanks to her that they were having such an
easy time.

Rock clambered up on the belt by one of the entrances. with one gloved hand
on the edge, he pointed his torch into the darkness and flashed it on for a
second. "Wait up! Wait up!" yelled Claid.

He ran around the structure, yanking the cables out. Some had to be pried
loose with the end of his crowbar, but it only took a minute to free the
machine from it's power source.

Rock shrugged. "It's already off, man. There's no point."

"So? It might start up when something goes in. How do you want to find
out?"

Rock snorted though his mask. "Fine. You stay here, then, and I'll get the
bits."

Claid handed him the crowbar and kept watch, glancing out of the window
while lights flashed in the metal tunnel behind him. Rock was grunting
heavily while metallic clanks echoed out of the depths, though he didn't
seem to be making any headway. "Come on man," he said. "You got to give me
a hand here!"

Sighing, Claid followed the other man into the mouth of the machine.

With the torch clamped between his teeth, Rock was shining it on a rack of
what looked like clamps, jutting from the wall. His crowbar was jammed in a
crack as he tried to lever out the supposedly valuable parts, but nothing
was moving. Claid couldn't see why they were so desirable.

Rock leant back and rubbed his hands together, letting Claid take a few
pulls at the crowbar. "I can't get it to shift. You wanna both go
together?"

Rock nodded, and tried to move his feet to get a better position. "Hold up,
I'm caught on something," he said, shining his torch downwards. "Oh shit."

Rock's quiet exclamation sent a chill down Claids' spine and made his brush
twitch. The last time he'd said that was just before a guard dog had woken
up a building full of night watchmen, and the small words scared him more
than any screams would have.

Highlighted in the beams of light, a small platform jutted out of the
conveyor belt. Rock had rested his foot on it, and then... metal straps had
snapped up, wrapping around his trainers and ankle. Clearly, he wasn't
getting out of that unless Claid could find something to cut through the
metal, or disengage whatever had trapped him.

"Shit! Okay, I'll see if there something to cut it off with-"

Claid had rested his hand against the rack of clamps. He hadn't noticed,
but their efforts must have dislodged something, because one of the clamps
had wrapped itself around his right wrist. He pulled it away in shock, only
to have the metal move with him, a thin pole extending from a groove in the
wall. "Wha..."

The thing jerked suddenly, yanking his hand into the air and dragging him
back along the conveyor before he could react, his own feet had trailed
over little platforms and more clamps shot up, capturing his legs. He
flailed his free arm towards the ankle cuffs, then gave up and instead
grappled with the one around his wrist. With his torch lying on the floor
and the light from Rock's flashing further down the metal tunnel, he
couldn't see what he was doing, and let out a shriek of fear as his left
hand was bound and dragged up, wrenching his limbs to their limit.

With a whirr, the machine started up around them. Purple lights glowed with
in recess in the walls, a weak pulse of luminescence that ran along the
conveyor in waves, leading inexorably into the darkness ahead. Claid could
see that Rock's arms had been caught too, and both men were spread eagled
in the same way. There were small black shadows waving over the dim light,
too, and he noticed bright flashes of evil little blades. "Rock!" he
yelled. "Don't move! There's knives!"

Rock froze. Not that he could go anywhere, but his struggles could easily
have left him impaled. The scalpel like blades flicked about him on all
sides, between his legs, right by his ears. Then they withdrew, and for a
second Claid thought they had missed, but slowly Rock's clothes
disintegrated, black cloth dropping to the floor. Even his mask was sliced
away, leaving the dark skinned man naked in his bonds, his forearms and
lower legs disappearing in the low lights.

Rock gasped and looked over his shoulder, obviously more concerned about
what was happening to them than being naked. "Just stay clam," said Claid.
"Keep your eyes open. There's got to be some emergency shutdown-"

The conveyor started moving with a jerk. The grips on his hands moved
slightly after that the ones on his feet, meaning Claid was tipped
backwards, and struggled not to fall and rip his arms out of their sockets.
He found himself where Rock had been standing, and braced for the little
knives to flash out of their hiding places.

But what if it was resistance that would make them stop? There wasn't
anything to loose, he figured, and began to swing his body from side to
side, flicking his body about. Still the blades flew about him, and for a
second he was worried he'd just killed himself - but no, he wasn't cut at
all. The shreds that had been his black jacket and balaclava mask fell
away, his trainers falling to pieces as the machine undressed him as neatly
as it had Rock. Only a few brown hairs from his head falling to the floor
showed that he had struggled at all.

Ahead of him, Rock let out a yell. His arms were twisted behind his back,
forcing him to arc his chest forward like a runner crossing a finishing
line. Muscles shifted under his fur as he twisted on the edge of pain
desperately trying to break free, but he was held still as a new type of
attachment dropped from above. The metal plate didn't look as ominous as
the knives, but a trail of wires led along the arm holding it up.
Attachments, thought Claid, but for parts they didn't have-

The plate pushed against the base of Rocks' skull, in the nape of his neck.
The big fox yelped, and Claid saw something black begin to dribble down his
neck. In the low light, blood glinted darkly on his skin.

"NYYAAAAAAAGH!"

"Rock!" Claid yelled thrashing in his bonds. "Fuck no! ROCK!"

But if the first man could hear, he couldn't respond. He whipped his head
back and forth, trying to dislodge the invading probe, but it was inside
him now. Claid couldn't be sure in the low light, but it seemed like the
wires were moving, pushing further into the twisting, panicked man.

Rocks' struggles dies down. He his head dropped forward, and a thin moan
spilled from his muzzle. He didn't react when the conveyor started again,
dragging Claid into the path of the probe. "No," he yelled at the unfeeling
machine. "No! I'm not gonna let you do this!"

He braced himself. Every muscle on his chest tensed, standing out on his
slim body like cords. For a second he thought he was holding the machine
back, but then it began and his arms were drawn back, all his strength
useless against the implacable cogs and wheel of a machine. His head
forward, eyes down, he didn't see the metal plate coming, only the sharp
stab as it embedded itself in his skull.

Inside the body, there are relatively few pain or sensation receptors,
compared to the skin. Evolution didn't see any need for them- if something
had caused enough damage to get inside, the victim would probably die of an
infection anyway. Even that dense cluster of neurons that we call the brain
feels almost nothing when touched, which explains why Claid felt only the
sickening sensation of wires flowing into his head as metres of nanometre
thick wires flooded into him, curling around synapses and infiltrating
ganglions.

The man felt his eyes twitch, and then lurch. His vision shattered as they
rolled in different directions, rainbows of null sight running like rivers
over the world. Strange whines echoed inside his head and scent he had
never smelled filled his nostrils. For a second, his skin shivered and
shook as thousands of fingers ran over his naked body.

Then Claid was back in the world, hanging from the metal arms, helpless as
the conveyor drew him after his friend.

While Claid had been fighting the brain probe, Rock had disappeared. A
metal cast had slammed down around him, and something like a pepperpot
stood where he had been. Claid watched as the panel split apart with a
hiss, steam spilling out as they drew back. Rock was struggling weakly in
his bonds, but his body had changed. His thick arms and muscular back had
shrunk away under the baleful warping influence of the chemicals. The
muscle man of the duo had gone for good, the slim, weak, masculine left
behind was nothing more than a sissy.

Claid shook his head. That wasn't his word. He'd never called anyone a
sissy before. Faggot, poof, homo, wuss, pussy, he'd called some weak
little shits all that, but sissy? He'd never thought that about
anyone with that word. But the only way to describe his friend now was
sissy.

He noticed how his heat seemed to beat heavier every time that word crossed
his mind.

And now in was his turn in the steaming booth. Claid cried out as hot metal
clamped around his legs and then made its way up, each piece clanking into
place and clicking loudly. He was sealed into a skintight mesh, the heat
burning his flesh. He couldn't breath. The metal was getting tighter,
though, crushing his body, forcing his ribs together, the heat melting
flowing into his whole form. Then something gave in him, and he felt
something dripping out of him. Thrashing and melting, his muscles fading
away, his masculinity flowing out of him drip by drip.

He was terrified to look down at himself as the casing broke away, knowing
what would have happened. The six pack he had worked for so long to get had
gone, a smooth indented abdomen replacing it. His shoulders wasted away,
shrunk in to his reduced chest, legs slim and girly, a tight round bubble
butt.

The body of a sissy.

Ahead of him, he could hear Rock sobbing softly to himself. He'd never
heard the big man cry, but now he wasn't nearly so big. Everything that had
made him so masculine, so powerful had been wiped away. Even if they could
free themselves, they could never go back to their lives, where you needed
to be strong to survive. Now anyone glancing at the two of them would know
instantly that the were nothing more than a pair of sissies. Perhaps
it would be better if they just let the machine finish changing them, stop
fighting and behave like good little sissies.

Claid shook his head, his weak little arms trembling as they were held by
his sides now. Those thoughts... they weren't his. He knew that. It was
just that they were arriving in his head, and they were exactly the kind of
thing that a little sissy like him would think-

It was changing his thoughts. How could he fight something that didn't just
know his every move but changed his mind for him? What could he do except
accept his fate and be a good little sissy?

He let out a delicate little gasp - his mind thinking about he girly and
sissy that sounded - and tried to focus on reality, on anything
except the slow and inevitable destruction of his sense of self. Rock was
standing in front of a row of nozzles, his breath coming in shuddering
gasps. A thin spray jetted from the tubes, black liquid drizzling onto the
brown skin of the man. Slowly, Rock was made to rotate, his eyes meeting
Claid's with a look a helpless terror. The liquid was solidifying as he
span, thickening and obliterating his colouration, the last thing he could
have claimed was his own and not the design of another. Claid watched as
his friend was transformed into a black, featureless mannequin.

The nozzles changed to air, Rock still spinning in front of them, and dried
him off. The thick latex formed a layer that gave no hint of the man beneath.
An arm shot out of the wall at groin level, and Rock squealed for a second.
As he was turned once more, Claid saw what had been done: a ball of latex
had replaced the man's genitals, sealing his manhood from the world
forever.

More airbrushes swung out of the darkness above, smaller this time,
surrounding the sissy. thin jets of pink latex shot out in careful
lines, drawing lines on his immobile body. Knee high boots were drawn on
his plastic flesh, further up, an imitation of stockings and garters. A
heart appeared on the genderless crotch, and further up on the chest, the
image of a bra grew, making it look like tiny little sissy breasts
were growing, capped with stiffened nipples. A girlish pink hairdo was
painted on his bald head. Somehow, sprays had turned the whites of his eyes
black, and now pink irises were sprayed on, along with garish lashes and
thick, ridiculously plump lips.

Raising him off the conveyor, pink high heels fused to his feet. a few more
arms swung down, carrying the frills and ruffs to make any sissys'
heart beat faster. They wrapped around the unmaled man's' ankles and
wrists, delicate and girly.

The nozzles withdrew, and then, almost like an afterthought, or the final
touch, a single arm descended directly above the sissy, carrying a
single bow that it attached, just by the his ear. He spun once more, like a
sculpture being shown off, and if it wasn't for the flickering eyes and
breathing chest, Claid would have thought the thing before him was just a
sissy doll.

Rock was moved away. Claid closed his eyes, trying to bring up enough will
to just struggle against the restraints, and stop being such a sissy.

The jet of hot black latex caught him by surprise. It steamed into his
body, scalding his skin. His head swam as his spun, feeling the thickening
layer of latex built, pressing down on him, smothering his being. He could
feel now that the only thing left of him was - a sharp pain in his groin,
and even that was tucked in and sealed away, the last of him hidden from
sight. He didn't even feel the light touch that drew his sissy
uniform on.

Some thing touched his hand. He looked down, and saw that he'd been placed
next to Rock. The restrains were gone, but their bodies had been made
exactly the same, identical clones from different bodies.

"Do you remember the school?" asked Rock, his voice high and quavering.

"I don't-"

But then Claid remembered. The years he had spent in sealed this latex
suit, being ground to to total unthinking obedience. The beatings from
faceless MASTERS that had followed the slightlst infractions, no matter
how hard he tried to follow them. The lessons, re-learning how to walk,
swishing his arse from side to side in a mincing, sissy
way. Learning how to touch a cock, to worship it before finally being
permitted to lavish his fawning tongue all over it, taking his glorious
MASTER into his obedient mouth.

This had never happened.

Being taught how to use his anus as a device to pleasure men. His tongue,
a thing for pleasing women, when they deigned to let him touch them. And
above all, he had spent years learning how to obey, how to submit, how
to loose his own desires and thoughts and will to those of his MASTERS.
To forget everything that he was and become they perfect sissy toy.

No, it hadn't happened. Not to him, but the memories were pumped into his
mind, fighting for space against his own history of petty theft. Both felt
equally real, for all that he knew the conversion and mental submission
was not his.

"I-I remember," he said, his voice cracking.

The sissy to his left wrapped his rubber fingers around Claid's.
"I'm scared," he said.

The memories in the fox sissy's head had an answer. A well worn
mantra that had never been said before slipped between plump pink lips.
"It doesn't matter if a sissy is afraid, as long as the
sissy obeys."

"A good sissy is an obedient sissy," replied the
sissy that had been its friend.

"A sissy is used for sex."

"A sissy is used."

"A sissy is only what a MASTER makes of it."

"A sissy only matters when a MASTER makes use of it."

Neither of the sissies could tell which were speaking now, as
new statements of the reforged truth dripped off their tongues.

The machine had heard enough of their highly pitched slavish voices.
A thick tube rose up behind them, and the sissies squealed in
unison as their virgin arseholes were stretched open. More tubes
dropped in front of them and obediently they opened their mouths
and took the tubes in, allowing them to make their way deep into
the sissies' lungs and stomach.

The sissy that had been Claid watched as polystyrene forms
sealed the sissy that had been Rock away, the dimensions of
the body made to match the size of the casings. Wooden panels
surrounded them, and nails hammered in, making him ready for shipping.
Machinery at the foot took care of the sissy's breathing,
feeding and waste. The same, he knew would happen to him.

Two large wooden boxes emerged from the machine, ready to be shipped
off to new MASTERS.