The wooden crates and empty, metal drums banged together as Roland stacked them. The wolf cringed with each noisy collision and folded back his ears. He had never been the most agile fur and he hoped his innate clumsiness wouldn’t ruin his chance at finally getting a big scoop. They clanged some more beneath his paws as he scrambled to get on top of the unsteady pile and poke his snout over the fence to peer down onto the other side.

He was almost six feet tall with a broad shouldered build, but even he had to stand on his tiptoes just to see over the barrier. There was nothing seemingly out of the ordinary with the row of defunct riverside warehouses and factories, but Roland had been pointed that direction by more than one fur, with each fretfully checking over their shoulder before they did. There was definitely a bombshell story there, and he intended to investigate. He struggled to pull himself over the fence. His suit jacket and tie snagged on the old, rough wood on his way over and he had to inelegantly extract himself from each so that he wasn’t caught dangling by them on the abandoned side of the fence. The last thing he wanted was to need to call out for help. Not only would he lose the lead, but he was sure to get fined for trespassing as well.

Roland dropped down the last several inches and puffed out a few heavy breaths. He didn’t work out as much as he should and the exertion from simply hopping a wall coupled with the pudge around his stomach and thighs made him regret skipping so many days at the gym. Despite his best efforts he couldn’t seem to tug the fabric loose and didn’t accomplish much more than ripping the seams. The wolf sighed and shrugged. If ruining his last decent suit was the price to pay for breaking the story of the year and jump-starting his career in journalism, he would gladly pay it. He undid the top button of his shirt and pushed his thin-rimmed, silver wire spectacles, which had almost fallen off while he clambered over the fence, back up his angular snout. 

The lupine ventured forth into the dockside district, looking for any windows that weren't caked in grime or boarded up. 

Roland was 35 years old and still pursuing his dream job as an investigative reporter. Unfortunately, over the last several years his editor rarely gave him an assignment any more serious than pointless fluff pieces on mildly interesting local occurrences. He at long last mustered up the nerve to demand something more meaningful. His boss, not unimpressed with his determination, told the would-be correspondent that if he could uncover a big, exciting story on his own, he would put him on the front page and allot him all of the resources and respect he needed for future work. 

The wolf had put his skills to the test. He scoured court documents, police reports, and internet message boards. He bribed cops for tips and met with shady figures in smoky bars to discuss rumors. He even consulted so-called psychics (although that method turned up more dead ends than all of his other efforts put together). There was no avenue he wasn’t willing to traverse in search of a story that needed exposed. Eventually, while digging through a dry stack of case files, he discovered that over the past several months there had been a significant spike in the number of missing anthros around the city.

Most of those who had vanished had been seen near the riverfront shortly before their disappearance, but there was little otherwise tying them together and the warehouse district was a large place. It was only via a hint from a local resident that Roland trusted that this particular cluster dilapidated building was feared by neighborhood residents. There were whispers that furs were kidnapping others and dragging them off to there, but why no one could say. Nobody had a firsthand account. It was always on the word of a friend of a friend of a friend.

Armed with his cell phone, camera, and notepad, the wolf intended to find out just what was going on. He couldn’t ask the police for help- he was going to be trespassing and breaking and entering into condemned buildings after all- and he certainly didn’t have enough in his bank account to hire a bodyguard. As he drew closer, the reporter noticed peculiar noises. His pointed ears perked up and rotated toward the source. Buzzing and clanking could be heard coming from inside of one of the derelict factories. It was as though the old manufacturing machinery was still very much active. His sensitive nose also detected the faint whiffs of oil and rubber in the air.

Roland circled the workshop before coming to a side door that sagged on rusty hinges. It was both heavy and locked, but warped enough that he could just work some nearby debris into the gap between the door and frame to pry it open. Once the bolt finally popped loose he poked his head inside. Despite the grease and dirt on the windows, enough hazy light filtered in from all sides and above that he could make out the whole operation. He gasped when he saw.

There was the grinding of a massive, autonomous assembly line. What it was meant to produce was a mystery, but the fact that it was powered on and humming with life was interesting enough as it was. This was supposed to be a forgotten and desolate area of town, but somebody had to be paying the electricity bill. Although he saw no active operators, the combination of a secret factory and missing persons immediately made him consider kidnapping victims being forced into labor. After glancing around to make sure that he hadn’t missed any guards he snapped a few pictures of the facility with his camera.

An enormous conveyor belt slowly revolved around the room, past lifeless motorized arms and through mechanical tunnels where dripping or pressing or clamping or drilling noises could be heard. It was wide enough that a couple of furs could comfortably stand upon it shoulder to shoulder. On a second floor walkway above the churning machinery the wolf spied an overseer’s office of some kind. Its large, dusty windows overlooked the entire factory floor. Even from where he stood, Roland could see that it housed open laptop computers and filing cabinets. If he was going to dredge up any more information, he knew that’s where he would find it. 

He sniffed about for the scent of another fur, but now that he was inside of the building the potent stench of rubber had grown overpowering to his senses. He crept further in, moving as stealthily as he could in the open area, and shut the door quietly behind him. He found a stairway on either side of him leading up to the second floor and scurried up one toward the office. The lupine hoped that if there were any other anthros around to hear him then the sound of the machinery would mask any footsteps he made on the aging metal stairs. Once he made it up to the office, he found the door unlocked. After pausing to listen to make sure that the coast was clear, he entered. The walls had posters and schedules tacked up, all yellowed with age, likely having been there since before whoever converted this plant had taken over. A smattering of filing cabinets and other furniture along the edges of the room appeared just as ancient. A few things stood out to the reporter among the dusty mess. One was a hefty lever of newer construction set into the floor near the large, half-open window that overlooked the factory floor. Another was a pile of discarded clothes in one corner. Lastly, was the several laptop computers in sleep mode which had a myriad of wires trailing off of them and down through the window onto bits of equipment below.

He nudged the touchpad on one of the computers with a bundle of cables coming out of it and couldn’t believe his luck. The screen immediately brightened and he wasn’t prompted to enter a password. What he found was baffling. A dozen overlapping screens appeared on the monitor. The wolf clicked through them. They were mostly black with splashes of color here and there. It was all graphs, data, power usage, fill levels, and so forth, presumably related to the pieces of equipment in the warehouse. He couldn’t be sure what it all meant without further context. He took photos of what he saw, but the machines seemed to be numbered or shortened to only a few letters, giving little clue to their function.

Roland moved to another laptop. This one was open to a spreadsheet with a list of names in alphabetical order. Each name on it had dates and snippets of information next to it. Age, sex, height, weight, notable personality traits, and some other things he wasn’t quite sure about; concepts somehow measured and labeled like “exposure,” “experience,” “programming,” “susceptibility,” and more.  He skimmed the info. The dates were all recent and he recognized some of the names as belonging to missing furs. 

“Who left the damn door open!?” An angry voice snarled from down the stairs.

The lupine peeked through the dusty pane and saw a pair of anthros at the entrance, a red-furred stag and a wild boar with a marbled chocolate and caramel pelt.

“Don’t look at me,” the cervine responded dismissively. He scanned the room and then up toward the overseer’s office. His gaze met Roland’s and the duo locked eyes for a split second before the wolf shook himself out of his shocked stupor and dropped to the floor. “Hey! Who’s up there?” The hart shouted.

“What’s that?” His thick-tusked companion asked, voice gruff and rumbling.

“I saw someone up in the office just now. Somebody must’ve snitched. Catch ‘em before they cause any trouble. I’ll take this direction, you go that way.”

He heard the pounding of hooves split up in two directions and noted that there were two entrances to the room, one coming in from either side. The thuggish duo thundered up the metal stairs. The wolf needed to act fast. Whatever operation he had blundered into was serious business. He jumped upright and ran to each of the office’s doors, locking each. They were as old as the building itself and didn’t seem sturdy enough to keep out a strong pair of furs hoping to break in for long. Roland was neither armed nor much of a fighter. He checked his phone, but wasn’t getting a signal (not that help would arrive fast enough if he actually got through). Banging started on each of the doors at almost the same time.

There wasn’t anything in the room that he could use to defend himself, especially if his pursuers had any weapons themselves. There wasn’t any obvious escape route either. He threw the window the rest of the way open. Its rusty hinges creaked and protested loudly. It wasn’t the largest opening, but if he sucked in his belly he could just about fit through. Roland leaned out to gauge the drop. It was a long fall to a hard floor, but if he could climb out and swing himself from the lip onto the conveyor belt it would be significantly shorter and more survivable.

He wished he had more time to steel himself for the challenge. The journalist promised himself that if he made it out alive he would work exercise into his daily routine more often. He pulled himself through the aperture, managing to get his last footpaw over onto the precarious ledge on the other side just as one of the doors slammed opened. He took a deep breath and lowered himself down until he was dangling from his fingertips. His claws dug into the splintering wood and his vision swam when he started swinging back and forth. All the while the fur in the room searched for where he had mysteriously disappeared too. There were only so many desks he could've huddled under or dark corners he could’ve hidden in, so he had mere seconds as a head start before the anthros discovered how he had escaped.

Roland gulped nervously and let go of the precarious edge, landing in a sprawl on the conveyor belt. He rolled onto his back and panted, staring up at the window. The boar and stag poked their heads out of the opening and glared down at him. They smiled mischievously at one another. The buck gripped the nearby lever.

“Poor choice, wolf,” he announced before yanking back on the device. 

The lupine reporter tried to stand, but staggered and tripped due to the sudden movement of the conveyor belt beneath him. He looked to the main entrance. It was still hanging ajar, while the goons were way up above him. All he had to do was hop down off of the assembly line and book it to the door. Assuming he didn’t crush his camera during the tumble he had all of the evidence he needed, both to get the proper authorities involved and to make his big break in the industry.

He prepared for another jump. This next one was a bit shorter than the previous fall, but still unnervingly high. Just as he tensed his haunches the robotic arms with clamp-like pincers that lined the conveyor belt started to stir. They buzzed as they moved and twisted. He slowly glided past them. Whenever he was about to spring off of the belt, one of the mechanical limbs simply rotated to impede his path. He growled in frustration after a couple of failed attempts, fearing that the deer and his porcine friend would block his escape during the delay. To Roland’s surprise, the brutish pair that had chased him earlier did nothing but watch, snickering, from the window.

“Don’t worry, pup. We’re not going to hurt you. Not much anyway. You probably won’t fetch as nice a price as some of the other furs we’ve put through here, but we're not going to say no to free merchandise,” the swine stated.

He blinked back at them, trying not to let his trembling paws give his nerves away.

An unexpected tug at his shirt collar demanded his attention. He turned toward it to find that one of the mechanical claws had caught his shirt. While he tried to wrest himself free another came in, pinching the fabric while managing to avoid grabbing his fur. The machine pulled in opposing directions, causing the shirt to loudly rip at the seams and tear into two strips of cloth that dangled from his body. He stumbled back onto his rump on the conveyor belt again. The shreds of his shirt fell away. Another cluster of arms that he slowly rolled past reached for his slacks. One crushed his belt buckle and slipped it cleanly from the loops, while others clipped onto each leg of his pants and started yanking. They dragged his trousers down and off his legs, leaving Roland in only his underwear.

At about this time the boar criminal and his antlered ally made their way down the steps. They casually strolled side by side, eventually meandering alongside the conveyor belt as it made its slow circuit. The stag snatched Roland’s pants and plucked his wallet from the pocket, then tossed it to his friend who was quick to rifle through it. He pocketed his spare cash and phone  before indifferently examining his ID.

One of the robotic claws grabbed the waistband of the wolf’s blue and green boxer briefs as well. He clutched the elastic and struggled to keep them on, but his strength was no match for the machine. When they ultimately ripped and were removed in tatters he was left stark naked on the conveyor belt, save for the camera dangling from a strap around his neck and the glasses hanging askew on his snout.

The slightly overweight body of a wolf in his 30s was on full display. His plush coat was mostly off-white with an uneven dusting of reddish-brown fur mixed in, making him look as though he just rolled around naked in a pile of dirt. He had a respectable, albeit not particularly impressive, sheath and sac. Combined with his thick thighs and backside he was unlikely to win any beauty contests. If he managed to flee now he would be stuck running back into the street in the nude, but he was too scared to consider what a mess he must have looked. 

His ears and fluffy tail drooped as he steadily rolled toward a large, box shaped machine with a dark square tunnel cutting through it.

“Enjoy step one, wolf. Make sure you moan nicely for us,” the stag chuckled.

Roland tried to slink back away from the contraption, awkwardly crawling on all fours, but the conveyor belt simply sped up in time with him to make any progress impossible. Despite his best efforts, the entrance swallowed him. He was enveloped in darkness as he went through the gap. The tunnel was nearly as long as one wall of the complex and soon the light became nothing but a bright square far in front of and behind him in the gigantic box. It made him feel trapped, helpless, and isolated. Inside, lights suddenly flickered on, momentarily blinding him with their flash.

Before anything else happened, his camera was plucked from his body and whisked away to places unseen. So much for his evidence, but he had bigger problems to worry about.

A crimson ball gag was lowered before him, its strap stretched taut between two mechanical claws. There was no way he was going to let it muzzle him that way. The wolf clenched his jaw and turned his head, only to catch more movement in his peripheral vision. Another object descended behind him. It was a thick, onyx buttplug which glistened a healthy coating shiny lube that dripped off of its flanged base. The device moved fast, but he noticed it in time to throw himself forward onto his belly while it was lining itself up with his tailhole. It drove forward into the air above his tail, narrowly missing his hole and grazing the fur along his lower back. He was about to roll over and plant his ass on the belt to prevent any further attempts when he felt the pressure of a padded cuff closing around each of his ankles. The device lifted his lower half enough to prevent him from getting any leverage. 

The machine lined the toy up with his pucker. He tucked his tail but still felt the cold, slick sensation of the tip prodding against his fissure. He panicked. The toy thrust into him, hard and fast. His eyes bulged. He gasped, then unleashed a pained whimper as his tailhole swallowed the tapered bulb until it was firmly anchored within him. He flexed his throbbing ring around it. Laughter echoed in from outside in response to his groan, just audible above the whirring and clanging of the strange mechanism. 

As he opened his muzzle to whine about the intrusion the gag was stuffed into his maw, making his jaw sore as he bit into the squishy silicone. It was fastened behind his head and muted his scared exclamations into muffled moans and unintelligible pleading. Roland reached behind his head and tried to undo the gag, but in his blind fumbling he couldn’t quite figure out the latch. He felt the plug lodged inside his rump begin to swell. It inflated in distinct pulses, like beats of a heart, growing fatter as air was pumped into it. It expanded further and further until it was as easily as large as the girthiest fur he had ever taken beneath his tail.

While the journalist tried fruitlessly to remove the gag the machine grasped his forearms. Heavy, padded mitts of synthetic rubber were lowered over his paws and cinched tightly at the wrists, locking them into useless fists. At the edge of each was a small metal ring, which the apparatus remained attached to for the time being. Each stuffed gauntlet had the pattern of a paw print upon it, raised and rough to give traction. While both of his arms were still held firmly above his head another device approached his groin. It hovered there for a moment above his maleness. The lupine’s dread intensified. He wasn’t sure what it was going to do and feared the worst. To his surprise it seemed to be thoroughly measuring the size and shape of his genitals. After several seconds of this, the machine produced a cage that fit perfectly around his plump sheath. He felt the cold press of steel bars close around his length and behind his balls as the chastity device was locked into place. He heard clamping as it went on tight. There was no visible padlock like he would expect to see. It instead ended up being secured with a single rivet. Without filing through the metal, it wasn’t going to come off. He rolled out of the tunnel to find his pursuers still ambling alongside the conveyor belt transporting him.

His face burned with shame at being displayed naked and on his knees, paws still held aloft near his throat. His tailhole ached from the brutal intrusion, and he feared his captors had the worst intentions.

“I hope you never planned on using your useless cock again, mutt. How did you like the first phase?” The pig laughed cruelly. “Sorry it was so rough. We don’t bother with any stretching or preparation around here. For what it’s worth, you didn’t cry out as much as most do when you got plugged. But I’m guessing that this isn’t your first time with a fat toy up your ass, is it?”

“You're going to love what comes next,” his partner added, nodding to the next stage along the conveyor.

The belt ended abruptly at a large vat of shiny, viscous, black liquid. With his locked mitts preventing a full range of motion he was afraid that he was going to be dropped in to drown in the strange substance, but what would be the point in that? As he came near a robotic limb dropped down from above him. It wrapped a thick, ebony collar around his throat, buckling it tightly enough that it didn’t restrict his airway but it was uncomfortable to swallow. It lifted him stiffly upright by one of several shiny, chrome rings along it, keeping his wrists even with his neck just as he went over the lip. 

The wolf struggled and kicked as he was dunked into the goop. The material was warm, but not hot enough to scald and he quickly realized that it was some form of latex.

Resistance grew more difficult as he was plunged deeper into it, until only his paws and head remained above the surface. The substance clung to Roland’s fur and swiftly adhered to the bottom edge of his new collar and the cuffs on his mitts. He felt it squish and slide against the paw pads on his feet, and against his flesh as it seeped around every strand of fur. After a minute or so he was lifted out of the vat. Excess liquid dripped off of him, but what remained quickly thickened. As it dried it relinquished its hold on each follicle of his coat and formed a sleek rubber suit around his entire body. It squeaked softly as his thighs rubbed past one another and was glossy where the light struck it.

The assembly line brought down a scalpel-like blade behind him. It made a precise incision starting just beneath his shiny, encased tail. The razor edge glided along the latex, going beneath him and up to just above where his newly chaste cock and balls were. He felt the cold caress of air only briefly before the automated stitched a zipper onto the opening and drew it shut. The reporter was again unceremoniously deposited on the conveyor belt on the other side.  

“Almost done now,” the deer commented. “You actually look quite nice encased in rubber. I bet we actually will get a nice commission for you at auction.”

Auction!?

The wolf needed to get away. He tried to again climb off the machine but it was a daunting task without the use of his paws and he was thwarted at every turn. Finally he was shunted into another contraption. Knee pads were strapped around his legs and without warning his ankles were bound tightly to his thighs by a belt around each, making him hunch unnaturally on his paws and knees. Short lengths of chain were clipped between his wrists and his collar, keeping his nose mere inches from the ground if he wanted to crawl. His glasses were taken from right in front of his slate-gray eyes, making what little he could see a blurry mess. 

A sturdy, latex hood in the shape of a lupine head attached to a gas mask was lowered over his face. He tried to squirm and twist his neck and angle his muzzle away, but he was no match for the persistent machine. The hood was fastened to his collar, completely sealing him inside his rubber prison. The pointed ears on the hood had a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over them and the goggles of the mask were completely blacked out, leaving Roland blinded and deafened. All he could hear was his own heavy breathing, with the added hollow echo of the filter on the mask. The weight of the breathing apparatus wasn’t significant, but it was enough to be noticeable and uncomfortable given the way he was forced to position his body with the excess bondage.

Lights exploded before his eyes. A spiralling haze of color, swirling hypnotically about itself commanded his attention. At the same time, harmonic tones piped in through his headphones. It was a strange, synthesized melody, simultaneously unnerving and calming. His anxiety inexplicably softened. Despite the horrific scenario, Roland found himself getting drowsy. 

Complacent.

Relaxed.

Obedient.

Soon he was practically drooling mindlessly as he watched the pattern and listened to the track. He felt the overpowering urge to give into an authority figure. To fall under another fur’s sway, be a thrall, and please a master. The thoughts were as undeniable as they were invasive. Everything else, including time, lost all meaning and the world seemed to dissipate into nothingness.

Roland recovered from his fascinated stupor to the sound of snapping fingers an indeterminate amount of time later. It was the boar who had chased him earlier, sneering at him. The lenses of his goggles were no longer blackened or covered with kaleidoscopic spirals. He could see, somewhat. Without his glasses fine detail was difficult to make out and the rims of the goggles hampered his peripheral vision. He was outside on a dock. The sun hung low and painted the sky. It had been midmorning when he started his investigation, but now it was almost night (although if it was even the same day he couldn’t tell). There were at least a dozen compact yachts parked along the pier and he seemed to be on a low, makeshift stage in front of a tiny crowd of well dressed anthros.

The journalist’s thighs were cramping from holding the same position that they had been locked in for seemingly hours. Not to mention how tender his tailhole and jaw both were from being stuffed for so long. His stomach growled painfully. 

He pulled back and sat on his haunches, not an easy task given his bindings. This put a lot of pressure on the swollen plug lodged in his ass and with the chains connecting his mitts to his collar made him retain a begging position. He stiffly looked left and right, and noticed several other furs bound in similar latex suits to him. A devious looking squirrel stood at the front of the stage. It seemed like he had been addressing the gathering for a little while and was winding down. Another anthro, a fox by the look of his build beneath the form-fitting rubber encasing his body, was forced to crawl to the front of the stage. His name and age were listed off along with some derogatory remarks about potential uses for him as a sexual slave, including a fair few hard fetishes.

A round of auctioneering started. It was more subdued than in the movies, with wealthy furs raising their paws when values were called out. The money they were throwing around could buy a fancy sports car. Eventually the auction was won and another prisoner was brought forth. The process repeated. Every so often a rubber-clad anthro would cry or panic or yell for help or try to scurry away only to be swiftly silenced and stopped. This took several forms. Some were merely grabbed and threatened. Others seemed to be stunned with a shock collar or baton. Another was immediately pacified by the swirling lights on his visor. 

Finally it was Roland’s turn on the block. The bidding began soon after and before long he was the “property” of a powerfully built bull. The wolf was led to him via leash and the stag from earlier handed the buyer a remote control.

“This controls the size and vibrations of the plug. This, the shock collar, This controls whether he can see, is blinded, or forced to focus on a hypnotic pattern. This is where you can change the programming of the visor and headphones. And of course, the zippers for the gag and access to his various holes. If the rubber suit or equipment gets damaged, you can send him back to us for a free repair, so don’t feel the need to avoid being as rough as you like. And if he somehow resists the hypnosis and you don’t feel like breaking him through conventional means, we can always reprogram him properly for you. We leave them relatively unchanged to start, since some purchasers like to program their new buys themselves with their own favorite coding,” he explained as if it were a speech he had given more times than he could count. “We’ll even throw in an engraved tag, if you’d like.”

Roland looked pleadingly up into his new owner’s eyes, but the callous bovine only smiled smugly down at him

“I look forward to breaking you, pup. I’m never gentle. You’ll be howling before tonight is over.”

Before the wolf could respond with a whimper or beg for his freedom, the bull pressed a button on his remote and the splash of colors across his eyes made the world fade from his consciousness one more.