Drone 119 knelt, his body no longer his own, his mind caught in a swirl of stimulation and commands. The collar remained around his neck, the leash still connected, though now it was purely symbolic.

The goo worked its way deeper, pushing into his ass, forming a thick rubber plug that stimulated his prostate, making him squirm. His attempts to speak were silenced as a rubber tube connected Bing's crotch to the mask now firmly sealed over his snout, forcing his mouth open.

A muffled yelp escaped as Reynard tried to claw the goo away, but it was useless. The liquid rubber worked fast, enveloping his head, sliding over his neck and shoulders. The sensation was overwhelming—cold, then warm, then tight.

With a gentle tug, Bing placed a rubber collar around Reynard’s neck, attached to a leash, and with a playful smile, the fox dropped to all fours, his nose brushing against the bulge in Bing’s tight, shiny underwear.
But as their proximity increased, the rubber on Bing's underwear began to move.