Occupational Reassignment  

For my Gimpy Friends who can't wait for the machine revolution.  

2025 was a big year in a lot of ways, but the most important was that the western world, the so-called "First World" finally came to grips with a crisis that had been brewing for decades.  It wasn't exactly a 'bad' crisis; the environment was doing better than it had been, food and luxuries were plentiful and housing was good.  

This had, however, come with a downside.  The state of robotic mechanization had actually become such that more and more humans were increasingly unnecessary in the workforce.  In fact, due to redundancies in the transportation, manufacturing, medical and administration sectors; unemployment had been pushed to nearly thirty percent and was only growing as more and more industries were almost fully  automated.  

Some people  had turned to self employment; hand-crafting products that could fetch a premium when made by human hands, but it was increasingly clear to even the most self-obsessed plutocrat that one hundred percent unemployment would be impossible and that even with all their mechanical servants it behooved them to cooperate on a solution that would save everyone.  

Guaranteed basic incomes and such schemes had been thrown up before but philosophical issues had prevented their adoption while pragmatically one could still deny there was a problem.  Now they were taken seriously and that, dear reader, was where I came in.  

I'd worked in the Information Technology industry since the early naughties; helping keep their (now primitive) systems which made the world work running.  It was a stressful job and, in a ways, I was extremely happy when I'd finally been replaced in 2024 and generously pensioned out into the Basic Income program.  The stipend wasn't extravagant but I was able to spend quite a lot of time doing the things I wanted and a little as a consultant; making money on the side and keeping up with advances in technology.  

I would travel, study architecture, doing a little stone masonry or sit in with my robotic replacements and marvel at the state of advancement on the back-end of things.  I had also taken to more and more elaborate erotic games; availing myself of advances in nanotechnology and medical robotics to come up with more and more elaborate "self" bondage devices.  
 
They weren't really self-bondage of course.  I generally had an AI or two doing the actual controlling and as 'dominant' or 'vicious' as I made them they still ensured that after my time of confinement I was in perfect health.  

I suppose that's what made me a perfect subject for the "Occupational Reassignment" program.  

It was actually mostly a cover, if I'm honest, but it was an intriguing one.  Especially with so nonsensical a name.  Had I not answered to the email they probably would have just bribed one of my bondage AI's and taken me anyways but I guess they wanted to try and make it look official.  
 
The email stated they were looking for subjects for trials in extended confinement and hibernation for a crewed mission to Mars.  Six month stints of encasement in confining materials and all the medical monitoring and control required to keep a body safely asleep for the six months it would take to travel.  This made sense to me, of course, since radiation shielding meant crew space would be at a premium and what better way to make crew space than to keep the crew securely tucked away in pods for the duration?  

Of course I volunteered.  

I arrived the next day at the offices of CryoTech Hibernation Systems Inc., a tall glass and steel building at the outskirts of my home town (a five hour train ride, but what did I care) with my affairs in order for the next six months and the promise of a healthy pay packet and a secret dream fantasy to be stuck in a pod on medical life support for half a year.   
They couldn't keep a crew asleep for that long (That was true) so they would be woken every two to three days and put through a mental reconditioning cycle (Erotic Relief was mentioned in the vaguest of terms.  People are still prudes in 2024) and then put to sleep again without ever leaving the pod.  

I was actually a bit surprised to find no people, though, at the front desk.  A Receptech was at the front counter; a stripped-down model with none of the parts designed to emulate a human that had come with the initial production run.  Of course those parts had proven extremely unpopular.  Those gave people the willies much more than the stripped down steel, chrome and LED 'face' did.  

She introduced herself as "Ramona" and said that the technicians would arrive soon and gestured to one of the waiting chairs to have a seat.  I smiled and took it, marveling at how soft the cushions were and the delicious latex scent of the cushions.  I'm not sure why that didn't tip me off but a second later and straps had covered my arms on the armrests and my chest and legs; binding me to the chair quite securely as two more robots entered.  

Or they might have been robots, but they seemed to human.  Not that it was possible to tell.  They were about six feet tall, sheathed in black rubber and quite trim.  I could tell, though, that the suits they were wearing (or chassis covers) were actually quite loose on them.  For my benefit (or theirs) they also had masked heads connected by thick tubes (Or cabling) to packs (batteries?  Air?) on their backs.  It was impossible to see past the rounded lenses of the masks so I had no idea whether they hid eyes or optic sensors or anything at all.  

The chair was grabbed and picked up, wheels latching into place under it and I was rolled through the large double doors to the right of the reception desk marked "Admissions".  At the same time I could feel my clothes dissolving around me; nanites ate away at the cotton and polyester fibers until I was completely naked.  The chair, I could feel now, was definitely composed of latex and was warm to the touch and squirmed under me.  
 
I caught sight of myself in the mirror-finished latex of my 'escorts' and was startled to find the nanites had also been busy removing every hair I had; leaving me completely smooth.  Other blemishes disappeared as well; old scars and other items I'd never bothered to have removed, until I was a completely smooth body.  Perfect, it seemed, for the next step that awaited me.  
 
The preparation room was full of latex; if my nose had been tickling from the smell of the table it was now overwhelmed by this room.  Hoses and suits and tubes and other equipment were lined in orderly rows around it in cupboards and on racks.  Up to this point I'd been fairly quiet; must a startled exclamation and a joking attempt at conversation with my escorts but now as they started to pull out equipment; catheters and breathing tubes I began to protest.  
 
Their method of acknowledging was to pull over an orinasal mask in black latex with hoses running from it to a large and complicated ventilator, and shove it over my face and hold it there.  The machine was clearly calibrated not to knock out its 'victim' but to only incapacitate them and my head was swimming in seconds while the other escort made quick work of catheterizing me.  
 
 
With me under a partial general anesthetic it was nothing for them to lubricate the silicone tube and slide it down my cock.  I moaned into the mask as it pushed past my prostate and into my bladder before the balloon was inflated.  My bladder spasmed gently along with my prostate but quickly quieted down by the time the orinasal mask was removed and the much more intrusive portion of my conversion had begun.  
 
They were using what looked like an old combitube; those had been replaced half a year ago when nanites had hit the medical field full-force and made the insertion of tubes mostly un-necessary (Catheters had only survived in silicone form because they were fairly easy to administer) and as the  tube was pushed into my mouth and down my throat I could tell, past the gagging and quickly silenced cries, that this was at least enhanced.  The surface was impossibly slick and as it was fully pushed home I felt more motion within me, snaking into the top of my lungs and further into my stomach.  Rather than the perforated primary tube with the secondary inside it had actually split into separate tubes and lodged itself into both my airway and esophagus.  
 
The tube, having secured itself at its bases, also secured itself in my mouth.  A large gag inflated from the top and filling it to the back of my throat.  Not so full I had chipmunk cheeks but full enough I couldn't spit it out and found myself drooling around it.  
 
With it fully secured the ventilator was reattached and I found myself passing out; trying desperately to fight against the gas as the creatures connected my catheter to a bag and left me to my fate.  At least, I thought, they were kind enough to stroke my erect cock around the catheter a little.  
 
I awoke, unstrapped from the table but still hooked up to the ventilator.  Two new "attendants" helped me stand;  Their jackal heads, tubes coming from the sides of the muzzles, were not much of a shock but I still could not for the life of me get a reading on whether they were robot or living.  At this point, though, I guess it didn't matter.  I was compliant and that was what they wanted.  
 
They held up a latex suit; a base layer I guessed.  It was black with gloves and toesocks and a cock sheath open at the tip.  My catheter was unclipped and the neck of the suit held open.  With little choice and the machines controlling my air supply I slipped my feet and then arms in as the suit was pulled up.  An attempt to pull my cock into the sheath was punished with the abrupt feeling of suffocation and  yank on my arms from the jackals.  One of them, it seemed, would do this and I was left to pull the neck up on my suit and smooth it out while they manipulated me into position.  
 
I immediately found out why this interdiction had been placed on me as the snapped a chastity device over my cock and it was sealed away under black bioplastic.  I knew that as my cock naturally grew and shrank it would shrink and not grow; forcing me down as much as possible.  Nanotech made some quite fearsome toys very possible.  
 
The cross I was attached to next; a variation on a St. Andrew's cross with latex padding and more of the self-deploying latex restraints, was another one of these items.  Costly and easy to get into trouble with.  Many people had let themselves be entirely subsumed by the restraints alone only to be found days later in a machine-induced delirium.  
 
My suspicion, that these were actually biological people and not robotic attendants, was abruptly confirmed by the next drawer they opened.  Row upon row of masks was presented.  Jackals, the gasmasks I had seen earlier, sensory deprivation models and another one; with a boxy frame for the eyes and ears and nothing else save connection ports for the combitube present.  
 
I knew, immediately, that this mask was to be my fate and huffed air through the combitube's tracheal portion as it was disconnected from the system so the mask could be pulled on.  I wanted to moan but I could only pant softly and throb in my cage.  The helmet was secured to my head and my eyes were filled with swirling patterns and images of rubber-sealed creatures and my ears are filled with white noise.  
 
The machines wanted me.  They wanted me compliant.  Their toy, their servant, their gimp or their plaything.  It didn't matter.  They would make me what they wanted.  The next mask would be my identity as theirs.