Sure, I guess. But wait... why are they flesh colored? That seems suspicious...

Figuring that this could be no worse than the exercise leotard, you step into the pants. Something about them being rubber and flesh colored raises an alarm in the back of your mind, but you're too far gone, too obedient, too submissive, too mentally weakened through this whole exhausting, horny, stressful, life changing experience to be able to pin down exactly what's wrong with that idea.

And so, you carefully (you're naked and hairless, thanks to the car-wash shower)... carefully, step into the closet and into the pants.

Strangely, underneath the pants are two holes in the floor, about 6 inches deep. As you thread a foot through each leg of the pants, you step down and place each foot into its hole. You are facing the back of the closet.

Reach up and grab the handles.

You look up. In the (low) ceiling of the closet are two openings that match the two holes in the floor, and recessed inside of these openings are handles. You carefully thread your hands into the openings and grab the handles.

Thank you.

Said the ever-polite-aerobics-instructor-girl-next-door-but-somehow-still-dominating-and-controlling house-computer, into your earpiece.

**HHHSST**

The holes in the floor and ceiling close tight around your wrists and ankles.

Of course they do, you roll your eyes.

Thankfully, the edges are trimmed in soft rubber, which press firmly, but not painfully, against your wrists and ankles.

You are trapped. Like always. Should you have expected anything less?

"Not again. Why exactly, do I let this happen to me, over and over?"

You wonder what it is about your personality which thinks it's perfectly OK to blindly walk into traps like this, again and again. It's almost like you want an evil computer to feminize and control you.

A motor behind the wall starts whirring and with a jerk the metal valet-arms slowly rise, sliding the rubber pants up your legs.

**snap!**

**hisssssss**

Somewhere, an air-pump starts.

You look down at the pants.

Fuck!!

There's a large funnel, in the crotch. And it's aimed directly at your cock and balls.

"Not again," you grumble. 'Not-again' is rapidly becoming the theme of this room.

As the funnel gets closer you feel air moving around your legs and crotch, and then with a *floop!* your penis is sucked into the funnel with your balls. The funnel bends backwards, drawing your penis and balls down and back... between your legs.

Down and back?

Is it tucking me?

Is this freakin' machine tucking my junk back between my legs???

Then you squeal in shock as you discover that the entire inside of the pants is coated with some cold, sticky gloop.

As the arms pull higher -- forcing the pants up, over your hips, and over your waist, your ass cheeks, crotch, legs and stomach -- all parts of your lower torso squished into the cold, gluey, sticky substance which coats the entire inside of the pants. You dance your body back and forth, trying to get more comfortable. The pants are sculpted such that there's an intimate fold that rises up between your buns, lifting and separating them. You feel your asshole exposed to the open air behind you.

*thump*

*thump*

*thump*

With a series of aggressive tugs, the arms seat the pants firmly, trapping and squeezing your body from hips to legs. Your penis is **** down between your legs and your balls are jammed up inside your body.

You breath a sigh of relief as the arms and vacuum hose (which, all this time, was aggressively sucking on your penis, ensuring that it was in the right position within the pants) detach from the pants.

*SLAM!!*

"The fucking closet door closed? I am trapped in this closet? Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!"

NOW WHAT???