"We are going for a walk, my sexy little vat vixen. Unlike the others, however, I'm going to be taking you somewhere with a lot of people."

The vixen cringed in spite of herself, her rubber-sheathed ears swiveling into what he recognized as her shy expression.

"I know you were biogrammed to be extremely reverential toward humans...but, I can't have you hiding and quaking in fear every time the doorbell rings or I have guests."

The vixen nodded her head in timid agreement, even though her nervousness was obvious in the way her tailsack quivered and her right ear twitched ever so slightly.

"So I'm going to acclimate you until you're merely demure instead of terrified being in the presence of humans. To this end, I will target your focus on a challenge: during this walk you will need to recall everywhere we have been and what we did: all the sounds, smells, and feelings. At the end of the walk, you will be interrogated thoroughly. Failure to be complete about your recollections will result in discipline. Success will be met with reward."

The vixen lifted her head as gentle hands worked the polished leather posture collar around her slender neck, her perked ears swiveling as it pulled snugly shut. Peering out of her hood from the almond-shaped lenses framing her icy blue eyes, she watched as he lifted another pool of gleaming latex in his hands and stretched it in his fingers over her smooth black skull.

"Now, you may have noticed that I left out one of your senses. That's because there's an added catch: you'll be doing this blindfolded."

The additional compression was almost an afterthought, but her heart rate increased perceptibly as the third hood robbed her of her eyesight and further dampened her hearing with foam-padded ear pockets. Her nostrils flared, her breath gusting in small jets through the reinforced grommets, trying to assimilate the scents around her into a coherent mental picture of her surroundings.

She faintly heard and felt the clip of a leash to her collar, but the thin leather cord instantly dropped with a barely-felt pat against her knee. She stood in place as his scent swirled and faded from the air, a distant thunk and thud of the workshop door opening and closing...followed by rummaging noises from the kitchen.

She jumped slightly, startled as she felt the leash grabbed up and pulled taut, coaxing her to follow. Her steps were fairly confident at first, relying on her memory of the beach-house's layout, but once out the door, she quickly became confused by the cloud of floral pollen swept up by the wind. Only the clopping of her thin, sturdy boots against the pavement kept her oriented as he lead her to the sidewalk and turned left. She counted her steps, attempting to visualize each house as she passed by. A salty breeze tickled her nose as they reached the end of the block and she suddenly stepped onto soft, sifting, uneven ground. Sand? 

'The beach', she realized, tromping with her heavily-padded and solidly-booted feet across the loose, grainy terrain. The sun was high and hot, and though her body was designed to stay at a comfortable temperature regardless of her external environment, she still soaked in the wonderful warmth compounded by the two other suits encasing her body. She felt the leash go slack again and she used the pause to cast her nose about blindly, taking a new reading. She could smell musty beach blankets, suntan oil, cooking hot dogs, lighter fluid, and charcoal. The pungent smell of body sweat struck her nostrils at the same time two large male joggers passed by. The flare of a stranger's arousal drifted in his wake - she could almost feel their eyes glancing back at her. 

Unable to tilt her neck, she arched her back to aim toward the sky, catching the muffled cry of gulls overhead.

Her leash tugged again, causing her to stumble as she was made to change direction. The ground became firmer and smoother as she followed down a gentle slope when suddenly she felt a splash around her ankles, cool water enveloping and then receding. Her light steps barely sink into the muddy sand, but she did feel her smaller feet trampling across the ridges of the larger steps made ahead of her. She continued to scamper, trying to keep up as another, stronger wave smacked against her knees, a fine spray of ocean mist blowing against her crotch. She squeaked into her gag with surprise, thrusting out her mittened hands ahead of her in an attempt to break the next impending wave. Before long, the water no longer receded and the way forward became much more difficult. She hopped-floated-sunk-stepped after her guide, the cool water feeling so refreshing as it bathed and lapped at her sun-warmed body. 

The undulating surface eventually rose up to her chin, filling her with a thrill of fear and excitement as her not-quite five foot tall form barely managed to lift her nose above the point of maximum amplitude. Blind and deaf beyond the sound of rushing wave and pounding surf, she tried to sense the subtle subsurface currents through her triple-layered latex encapsulation. 

Nothing.

Suddenly, strong hands seized her wrists and clipped the D-rings of her cuffs to the waist-belt of her harness with non-locking karabiners. Her leash found itself looped up over her head and under her jaw several times before being wound across her lips and around her muzzled snout. Those same strong hands wrapped around her from behind, lifting her off the sand and carrying her into deeper water. 

A warm palm suddenly engulfed her right breast, kneading the modest, rubber-coated orb with splayed fingers. Her squeals of panic soon became moans of pleasure as the other hand cupped the sealed mound of her sex, rubbing and squeezing and eventually burying its middle digit into her cameltoe. She writhed in earnest, rolling and bucking her hips into the hand keeping her aloft as his arms pulled her tightly back against his chest. She whined cutely as she sensed a thick bulge press into the small of her back, while at the same time her latex-sacked tail lifted buoyantly between her caretaker's thighs, the slippery material sliding frictionlessly against the heavy sack concealed by nylon swimming trunks.

Finally, the vixen could hold back no longer and her climax announced itself with a shrill squeal and a series of quaking, full-body spasms. Her body went limp thereafter, her mind only keen enough to sense herself being carried back toward the beach. The karabiner clips snapped open once more and her arms were free to drift away from her sides. She felt the sand beneath her boots once more and the leash disentangled from her head. Uneventful minutes passed, her keeper apparently sensing her need for a break to recover. Grateful, she stood silently, allowing the incoming and outgoing surges to rock her forward and back in a comforting rhythm.

When at last her muscles were again under her influence, she nodded her head several times in the affirmative and soon felt the leash tug again. She fought the current until the water dipped below her knees. Stumbling and collapsing onto the shore, she caught the strains of an older, female voice not too far away balking at her appearance and loudly decrying her very existence as mankind's ultimate sin against nature to her male companion. She sniffed the air. From his blooming scent of lust, it was difficult to tell whether he shared her opinion. 

In the end, it mattered little because a few gentle tugs prompted her to rise off the sand and resume following in their original orientation, her glossy tail swishing happily behind her. Genegineered Moreau slave or no, she was happy. 

After a hundred or so sandy steps, the leash went slack again and a strong hand took her wrist and rested her mittened hand on a hard incline beside her. The way her cuff ring slid against it, she could tell it was made of metal.

A hand rail...which obviously meant steps.

She gingerly lifted a foot and sought out the unseen ledge, adjusting for human size. Bumping the toe of her boot she took a more confident step and began following up the wooden planks, using the handrail to follow the upward curve toward a multitude of voices and a cacophony of overlapping, unrelated chatter. It was unnerving to sense so many pass by her traveling up and down, feeling the planks creak and bow with the careless pounding steps. She sandwiched the hand rail between both her puffy rubber paws to steady herself, trying to keep pace.

The gimp vixen gave a muffled yip as a hand suddenly grabbed and squeezed her ass cheek...and judging by the tautness of her leash, the hand did not belong to her guide. Despite herself, a blush burned in her ears as she doubled her pace to stay closer.

Finally on the boardwalk, she tried to remain in close proximity. Electronic noises filled the air as they passed by the arcade, shouting voices handing out paper leaflets and coupons that brushed against her bicep as she shouldered past the crowds. Skateboards vibrated the deck as they passed by, the scent of cotton candy and pink lemonade wafting their sweet signatures to her sensitive nose. Presently, the leash tugged her to the side and into the cool shade of an umbrella. The sound of dishes and silverware clattering, combined with the scent of delicious, savory food nearby indicated a cafe of some type. She felt a hand on her head, applying gentle pressure until she knelt on the floor beside her keeper's chair. Presently, she sensed movement and heard muffled but soothing tones as her leash was tied around a leg of the table, anchoring her like a common feral dog. The humiliation left a strange tingle in the pit of her stomach, but eventually she relaxed, and was soon reclining on her side beneath the table, listening as a waiter whose clothing reeked of cigarette smoke took and delivered her keeper's order - a slice of pizza topped with a delicious-smelling spicy meat.

She awoke to the sensation of a foot stroking against the side of her body. She stirred just as it nudged between her thighs and teasingly prodded her mound. She murred pitifully, arching her back and thrusting her hips into the teasing appendage only to have it quickly withdraw and another commanding tug pull her to her feet. 

The air was much cooler now and the boardwalk seemed only a fraction as busy or crowded as before. She sniffed the air: cool and wet, with a faint hint of ozone. She continued to walk along the boardwalk and after only a few steps she felt a small splash beneath her boot. Apparently it had rained while she'd been dozing. The sound-absorbing pads pressed into her ears were either more effective than she'd guessed or she was more tired than she realized! A sudden, low rumble of thunder shook her out of her introspection, lending support to both theories. Pace unchanged, she sensed the last of the crowds hurrying back to their cars and homes or to the shelter of the indoor businesses and amusements. A handful of heavy raindrops began pelting her rubber-coated body at random, one even hitting a bulls-eye over her encased nipple. With a shudder, she cried out mentally to her creators asking why they'd made them so sensitive!

She followed along for quite awhile before finally reaching the end of the boardwalk, carefully navigating the steps back to the beach level. The intermittent rumblings become louder and more frequent as the storm moved inland, but instead of turning back, the path of her guide became more convoluted. When her leash fell limp again, she wasn't sure where she was. Not even her nose offered any significant clues. For minutes, she stood, shifting her stance and hugging herself as she listened. She sensed him moving around her, watching her...

*click-buzzzzzz...click-buzzzzzz...click-buzzzzzz*

The strange noises make her jump: a digital camera! 

Given that Mureaus were legally considered domesticated animals, were all implanted with a variety of tracking devices, and designed to not last very long outside without their latex skinsuits, it was natural that most owners tended toward an interest in BDSM. Those without the (substantial) funds needed to purchase one lived in envy of those who could realize their dream, thus a rather profitable market was born for images and media featuring Mureaus owned by kinky households. Despite being (she gathered) a very wealthy businessman, her keeper capitalized on this market with his own website to finance her upkeep and purchase all the various toys and equipment he used to enjoy her. Even so, she had been 'customized' with an inclination to cute modesty. Reflexively, she covered her chest with one arm and her nethers with her other, her tail rustling excitedly behind her. Several more pictures followed until, with a tone of amusement in his muffled voice, his hands pulled her arms away from her body and posed her against what felt and smelled like a thick, vertical wooden beam. More photos and her pose was changed again: placed on her back, her arms were swung outward and her legs spread wide. More photography ensured before finally the sound of plastic slipping against canvas signaled the camera being stowed. 

A faint crinkle was her only warning before strong hands grabbed her ankles and pressed them roughly together, a stretchy material drawn tightly around them and wrapping down over her boots until she could move neither her toes or heels apart. Bracing herself on her elbows, she mmphfed and wiggled in half-hearted resistance as the plastic film doubled back and began coiling up her calves, knees, and hips. Each tug drew the plastic tighter, rocking her latex-sheathed legs side to side and driving her rear into a deepening divot in the sand. The plastic halted just below the cleft of her sex, at which point she felt a bent leg propped under her own stiffened knees and heard canvas rustling once more. The next thing she felt was the insistent push of a bullet-shaped object being wedged between the straps flanking her mound.

Her next clue was a scent that sent shivers down her spine, provoking another bout of fervent squirming - the intoxicating aroma of duct tape. It was her favorite brand by the smell of it; part of the stash she kept in an airtight plastic container hidden in the workshop, which explained the quick detour at the beginning of this outing. She could feel a strip being used to bind the vibrator to her harness, keeping it in intimate contact with the swollen and sensitive rubber pearl nestled between her gleaming black lips. From this point, the plastic continued upward, sealing up her hips (while leaving her tail protruding through a narrow gap), cinching over her already corseted torso, weaving over her shoulders and under her armpits, and winding all the way up to her chin. Gentle hands set her down, allowing her to flex at her waist and knees like some mythical lamia. Being so confined brought back memories of the stretchy and warm synthetic womb she'd been grown in and 'born' from, memories that she understood were part of her behavioral programming. She didn't care, of course - it was part of who she was, even if it was a desire etched onto her brain by labcoats instead of something that developed 'naturally'. 

He took up position behind her next, lifting her upper body so that she was in a sitting position. The plastic squeezed tight in response to the change in position, seeming to swallow at her hungrily. But as intense as her feeling of enclosure was, she could sense that her keeper was far from finished with her. Her suspicion was confirmed as his hands lifted her wrists and crossed her arms over her chest like some ancient Egyptian queen from the learning-tapes, her mittened hands resting atop her breasts and her elbows jutting outward.

The plastic pulled snug once more as he wrapped downward from her throat and began to loop in criss-cross patterns, pinning her arms to her chest and continuing until her body was sealed airtight from the chin down. He sat with her then, his hands wandering over her body with a squealing stroke here, a rub there. She was sinking into the pleasure when the air and ground suddenly vibrated in a short pulse, the nearby thunder reminding her of the storm. It seemed to have turned into a hard downpour, but judging from the acoustics and the fact the sand here was dry, she reasoned they must be somewhere under the boardwalk. Pleased with herself at having solved the little mystery, she relaxed into the comforting touches of her keeper and allowed the white noise of the drumming rain to blank her mind.

She woke again on her back to the sound of duct tape being torn from the roll. With an experimental wriggle, she felt the strip pulling at her left shin. She moaned as she felt the roll being passed under and over in its relentless orbit, each overlapping loop climbing higher over her plastic cocoon. Her keeper worked quickly, but was as focused as an artist slashing paint at his canvas, leaving no sliver of her untouched by the tape. Her small form succumbed to its new skintight prison in less than 20 minutes, just as the storm was beginning to abate and just moments after sunset.

The vixen felt well and truly trapped now - that special kind of vulnerability that blends fear and exhilaration in equal measure. She was so much in the zone, in fact, that she almost missed the chemical odor and the staticy, crinkling sound of an industrial waste bag being gathered and pulled up over her body. Once completely inside, she heard the collar of the sack rustle as he gathered up the remainder of his supplies, zipped them into his canvas duffle, and tossed it into the garbage bag on top of her. She could hear the drawstrings of the bag being yanked closed and tied off, and with a grunt and a powerful heave, she sensed her body lift into the air and settle with a padded thud against her keeper's back like a bag of baking flour. No sooner did she feel him take a step than the remote-controlled vibrator nestled beneath layers of tape and plastic blazed to life and dragged the first of several orgasms from her bound body.

Here she was: no sight, muffled hearing, the scent of duct tape filling her every breath, and a buzzing companion overwhelming her ability to determine direction.

Damn him...this HAD to count as cheating!