You were kidnapped, stuffed into a sack, bound up with tape all over your naked body. You toss and turn inside of a container in the back of a van where they put numerous others. Your naked bodies and cocks rubbing all over one-another as you struggle inside each of your respective duct tape bindings in the dark and one person even fucked the guy pressed up against you as you felt the secondhand thrusts plap against your thigh. Eventually when the ruffians make their rounds and are satisfied with their catch, you are hauled off. A rubber bag with a thin tube is stuffed over your head before you’re put into a proper set of tape and stuffed into a sack. They pour sedative down the tube as you sputter and gurgle on it until it flows on its own down your mouth. You feel dizzy, then everything goes numb, then you fall unconscious.

You fade in and out of consciousness, barely catching glimpses as your barely conscious anesthetized mind fades in and out. You see the printer permanently moulding the suit over your body in hot strings layer by layer. You feel each bag you are stuffed in. You feel a variety of implements shoved in your holes and virtually every time a different tube is coming from your mouth, reaching halfway down your throat with a notable bulge in your neck as the tube fits its way down. Finally you come to. You don’t know when you wake up but you slowly come to realize what you are staring at.

It’s you. In a mirror box. You’re in a latex Brian Griffin suit. You rub your nubby bulge with your boot-mitted hands and writhe as your cock strains inside of its cruel little prison bubble. You can’t lie down, you can’t sit up, there is no comfortable position for you. You try to blink or close your eyes but the clear contact lenses over your eyes hold them open. You look around and see an infinite chain of reflections, you can see every angle of your body no matter what direction you look. It’s impossible to rest your arm over your eyes in any position. You rub those boot-mitts all up and down your slippery body as you slide around the frictionless box. No matter where you look you see the faceless toy in the reflection; a plastic novelty sex doll; YOU.

Will you ever be free of this box? Or will you be stuck looking at yourself forever? Why are you here? Is this part of some experiment? Someone’s sadistic sexual pleasure? Can they see you inside the box writhing around like some dumb helpless living doll stroking your bulge and humping the floor? There were so many moments under the sedative that could have been dreams or could have been real. The moments with the tubes throatfucking you being forcefully plunged inside your throat pouring liquid down your gullet seemed real enough. But you heard multiple conflicting stories. Some points they were talking about medical experiments to perpetuate life, other points they talked about making you into a sex doll, other times they said they would make you into a statue or bury you or put you on display. Who knows which of these stories are real. They could all be dreams and the truth is beyond you. They could all be part of the same story. You could be stuck here forever and ever and ever until you become a mindless sex crazed drone or you could be here temporarily until they take you out and do something else with you. Maybe you’ll be rescued and this isn’t so permanent but a long chapter in your life.

But one thing is certain, this is a living hypersexualized nightmare and you find yourself enjoying it the less you think and the more you hump and rub~
Maybe you should just focus on that blank plastic face in the mirror and squish your bulge as much as you can futily hoping the pressure will sate your pervy little crotch-worm~