No-Nut November Bonus Bonus - Denial Pet (Patreon)

It's all dark in your carrying case - one of your two mistresses prefers to tote you around in a large plush-lined box. You're not sure whether you prefer it to the other's method, which is to walk you on a leash to your destination: it's more humiliating, sure, but at least the gawking stares and smirks are better than the long darkness and silence as you whimper and rut into the velvet lining of your prison.

Finally, a thump, and you feel your case being set down. The tell-tale clicks of the latch being undone makes you shiver. Light floods in and you're momentarily blinded - you just about catch your mistress saying "behave nicely, I'll be right back" as you're lifted, stiff and dizzy, onto a cold metal table.

As your vision adjusts, you just about catch a glimpse of a grinning face as a blindfold is fitted over your eyes.

"Ah, sorry, little pet! I always like to have my patients blindfolded for the fitting procedure. That way, they get to have a nice surprise once their new suit is all closed up!"

The voice is androgynous and vaguely accented, and it doesn't bring you much comfort. You try to ask questions, struggling past the 'good pets don't talk back' mentality drilled into you, but the person just hums and gathers their tools.

One strong hand pins your body down as they apply a cool substance to your skin, making you squeak. It feels like you're being draped in a thick, cold rubber, molding to your body and inflating in the room's temperature to render your joints puffy and useless. As it adjusts to your body's heat, it almost feels fluffy and downy like the inside of a pillow, but your thoughts are cut off by a whimper as their icy hands continue to spread it across your belly.

"Shh, shh shh. It's alright. This is hardly the worst part!"

Their laugh doesn't put you at ease. Soon your whole body from the throat down is coated in something thick, plush and oddly fluffy; you're still glowing from the humiliation of those hands rolling you over to coat your back and rear, pushing globs of the substance - some kind of liquid latex, maybe? - up your tight hole.

"Mmm, that'll feel good." They seem to hear your whine of protest, and add, "Not for you. For whoever gets the privilege of testing you out."

They chuckle softly and you feel their hand slide down your body. The new 'skin' is quickly becoming stuffily warm, expanding with each breath and almost tickling you whenever you try to move. Whatever they're doing, it pushes soft tickly fronds against your bare sweat-slick skin as they grab your legs, folding them at the knee and clamping your thighs to your calves. More than ever you're aware of your hands; covered in that smooth swollen substance, they're more like huge useless paws.

Gently, they lift your head, and you have to consciously resist melting into the sensation of their hands against your hair. A click, and some kind of posture collar is fitted about your throat; all sound is muffled by what seems to be a pair of heavy-duty headphones. You strain to hear their shoes clicking on the tile floor, but all you can hear is a faint droning noise, unsure if it's the blood rushing around your body or something more sinister.

Their thumb opens your mouth and - tracing your tongue playfully - they fit something huge inside, straining your jaw. The surprise almost makes you cough, but you quickly adjust, trying to withdraw from the intrusion as they stuff something into your nostrils. No dice. Whatever it is, it's clamped to your head and each breath is difficult, leaving you dizzy and sucking on the insertion for comfort.

Good thing it's only a silicone toy as they grasp between your thighs, causing you to bite down in shock. Their fingers are still frigid! With no clue what's going on, you anxiously suckle and feel your fear subside, before hearing a very faint whir over the drum of your heartbeat.

Some kind of plating is being locked around your most tender spot. The inside feels almost like the soft material encasing the rest of you, but it's slipperier, almost jelly-like. You're pressing against it, straining as the metal plates intersect and lock together, leaving most of your body completely bound by this person's creations.

They're talking, but you can't make it out as they lift your blindfold, grinning still. One finger tugs your collar and you stumble onto the floor, your body feeling simultaneously softer and more hefty, plush, almost swollen. Restricted to your hands and knees, you follow them, crawling to the nearest mirror, when you stop.

You're a pet.

Their fingers massage your hair lovingly as you whine in helplessness at the sight. You're totally encased in metal and rubber, made nearly useless by your squeaking prison, and every movement-

It tickles.

Gripping your hair suddenly in a fist, the individual presses a button on a small handheld device and you shriek into your muzzle as every single fiber and frond of your suit whirs to life. If it weren't for their hand holding you aloft, you'd collapse to the floor as tiny feathery tendrils attack your skin: the spots between your toes, inside your navel, invading the most secret areas you'd never even know were this ticklish.

But the metal casing down below is the worst. The squishy tendrils stroke in long, spiralling, swirling movements, switching patterns between strokes so as not to give you a break. They lick and pulse and tickle inescapably. Within minutes, you feel yourself hitting the edge of release, but their unpredictable movements drop you out of reach before beginning to build you up again.

Trapped on the edge, you slump to the floor as the villain who sealed your fate laughs above you. No movement you make gains you relief from the constant tickling or the merciless stimulation: all you can do is helplessly paw at your body with your huge, soft hands and suck.

You'll make such a good pet.