The slave submits itself to the transformation without complaint. They don't want to do it...far from it. The fate they're about to doom themselves to is a fate worse than death...but the alternative is worse. They don't cry, or scream, or sob...they learned long ago that doing so only made things worse. Now, there was only an empty shell behind their dead eyes, nothing but a quiet horror as their trainer placed the items required for the transformation.

Their hands shook slightly as they reached out and picked up the latex suit, applying a special lotion to every inch of their body before pulling on their shiny second skin. It covered everything, even extended into their orifices. And it was never coming off. They groped, now blinded, for the next piece: heavy metal collar. It fit perfectly around their neck, locking shut forever, plugs interfacing with ports in their neck used to supply them with water, nutrients, and air. Even though the latex, they could feel the prongs built into the collar that would punish them for the slightest misstep.

Next was a series of three plugs, each sliding into a latex-condomed orifice and sealing itself in place, turning the slaves holes and neither regions into sex toys for clients and owners to use as they saw fit, and allowing the administration or draining of any required fluids. The process was quick but far from painless. The slave collapsed, writhing, as the caustic chemicals sealed flesh and metal together.

They would scream, but with their jaw now welded shut and their tongue fused to the Fleshlight that now lived where their mouth would be, it was impossible. Trembling, they stood on shaking legs, and placed their hands into the final piece of equipment, a pair of padded, fingerless mittens, wrapping shaking fingers around the handle inside. They flexed their fingers...but found them glued to the handle. The mittens started to grow warm, like hard warmers, the interior swelling to make the hands within completely useless. But the pressure kept building...and building...and building.

The slave writhed, trying desperately to free its hands, as the flesh and bone within was crushed to a bloody pulp. It was better this way. The slaves hands would eventually atrophy, absorbed back into the body. This new method simply accelerated the process, and minimized the chances of the slave's service being cut short by illness. Eventually, there would be nothing but a pair of stumps with latex bulbs at the end, making escape even more impossible. The slave's limp form was picked up and carried to its cell. It would be allowed a night's rest...a luxury it would never see again. Tomorrow, its service would begin...and it would be decades before, finally beyond the facility's ability to keep it alive, it would finally end.