Something slightly Different on a Monday

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It is Monday again

so we need something

to brighten our day

and what better than a

new piece of art from

our wonderful friend

Christeen.

Like polished nails?

your gonna love this

Hi Everyone

     Ok so something a little different, New art will follow as usual soon, but today we step back in time, to some very early art, but with a modern twist. I have been playing with Ai story creation and have placed a few images into the system and a few quotes and let it run. After a few tweaks we have this story.

  One thing we can get from this is that Ai is still no match for a skilled story teller such as our dear Skinnie stallion.

    

    I have a few more of these and one which has just started over on Patreon. But that is a much sweeter love story.

    As I say new art will return next week. It is always the same after the calendar is posted on Patreon.

But I hope you like this bit of sticky fun in the meantime

XXX

Andy

Now this has not been edited by me, it is purely Ai and therefore not perfect. It does not follow the images you see here, but they were used as prompts. However as an exercise it is interesting

The Mannequin's Transformation

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar sight. He was lying on a cold, metallic surface, the dim glow of overhead lights casting eerie shadows across an endless array of strange mechanical arms and conveyor belts. His body felt exposed—utterly bare. He gasped, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself, but before he could react further, a loud whirring noise filled the air.

Panic clawed at his chest as he scrambled to sit up, only for thick, rubberized straps to shoot out from the sides of the table, wrapping around his wrists and ankles with an unnatural precision. His struggles only tightened their grip. The sound of machinery shifting around him sent his heart into overdrive.

He didn’t understand what was happening. This had to be a nightmare.

A soft hiss echoed through the room, and a mechanical arm descended toward him, a fine mist spraying over his bare skin. The scent was chemical, slightly sweet, and his skin tingled in response. Before he could cry out, a deep hum resonated through the factory floor, and the table beneath him tilted, sending him sliding downward into a cylindrical chamber.

Warmth engulfed him.

Thick, glossy liquid latex bubbled around his body, rising like quicksand, swallowing him whole. The sensation was shocking—tight and embracing, the heat sinking into his muscles. He kicked, struggled, but the liquid had a mind of its own, clinging to every inch of him, molding itself to his form. His fingers clawed at the surface, but the latex was like honey, stretching and reforming seamlessly around his limbs. It crept up his throat, closing in, encasing his neck, his jaw, his lips—until his entire head was submerged.

Silence.

For a moment, he felt nothing but the liquid cocoon, the warmth pressing into him, conforming to him. He tried to scream, but the latex had fused to his lips, sealing them in a permanent, smooth pout. He was no longer breathing—but he wasn’t suffocating either. The latex was alive, pulsing around him, nourishing him through unseen means.

Then, motion.

His suspended body was lifted from the thick vat of liquid and carried forward by unseen mechanisms. The latex, now solidified into a second skin, shimmered under the industrial lights. The seamless material hugged his body in a way that felt unnatural, unnervingly perfect. His chest rose and fell in slow, mechanical movements, his body completely unresponsive to his frantic mind.

Another set of machines came to life.

A massive feminine mould, split into two halves, yawned open before him. The contours were distinctly feminine—curves where his had never been. His latex-covered body was gently placed inside the mould, his arms and legs fitting snugly into the sculpted indentations. A metallic hiss sounded, and the mold clamped shut around him.

Inside, it was tight. Inescapable.

The heat returned, and the latex reacted. It began to expand, pressing out against the mould's confines, sculpting him, reshaping him. His body contoured to the new feminine form—his waist narrowing, his hips widening, his chest pressing outward into smooth, featureless mounds. The latex was his new skin, adjusting, fusing with his very being.

Then—stillness.

The mould peeled open with a mechanical sigh, and Ethan—if he could still be called that—was lifted free.

The factory lights reflected off his gleaming new form. A perfect, glossy mannequin, featureless but unmistakably feminine. His arms hung at his sides, fingers gracefully posed. His face was a vision of artificial beauty—lips frozen in an alluring pout, eyes delicately painted but blank, devoid of expression.

The final touch came next.

More machines whirred to life, moving with a gentle but precise care. Soft cloths brushed over his form, polishing the latex to an immaculate shine. His new body gleamed like a doll on display, flawless, inanimate, obedient. The last traces of his former self dissolved beneath layers of polish and synthetic perfection.

And then—nothing.

The factory fell silent, the transformation complete.

Ethan had become a mannequin, a permanent fixture in a shop window, his mind trapped in a body that could no longer move, no longer fight.

Forever enclosed in gleaming latex.

Forever still.

Here is the second one. Again not perfect but it has it's moments. This one is actually based on some of my own captioned art and works quite well.

The Doll Factory had been a skeleton of its former self for decades, its towering frame silhouetted against the stormy sky. Once, it had bustled with life—or what passed for it—as artisans crafted lifelike figures coated in shimmering latex. But the laughter, the clatter of tools, and the hum of machinery had long since faded, leaving only a hollow echo within its muted walls.

On a night when the storm howled like a beast set free, Andy, a timid and gentle-hearted teenager, sought refuge from the relentless rain. His usual route home had become a torrent, forcing him toward the looming structure on the hill. The Doll Factory, whispered about in hushed tones by townsfolk, was the only shelter in sight.

Pushing open the rusted doors, Andy stepped into the darkness, the scent of aged latex and metal thick in the air. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he navigated the maze of abandoned machinery and half-formed figures. The storm outside roared louder, but the factory itself seemed to hum, a low, almost imperceptible vibration beneath his feet.

Andy found an old cot in what must have once been an office. Exhausted and soaked to the bone, he lay down, unaware of the factory's awakening. As he drifted into uneasy sleep, the dormant vats deep within the factory stirred, their contents—thought to be long dried—began to bubble and glisten once more.

Hours passed, and Andy awoke to a chilling sensation crawling over his skin. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, encased in something cold and smooth. Panic surged as he realized his body was being slowly engulfed by a thick, glistening latex, seeping from the walls and floor as if the factory itself had come alive.

"Oh god, what's happening to me?" he cried, his voice muffled by the encroaching material.

The factory seemed to pulse with a life of its own, the walls whispering secrets of forgotten times and lost souls. Andy's pleas echoed through the empty halls, but no one came. The latex crept over his face, silencing his cries, his wide, terrified eyes the last to be covered.

When the storm finally passed and dawn broke over the horizon, the Doll Factory stood silent once more. Inside, where Andy had sought refuge, now stood a new figure—a perfect, lifelike doll encased in gleaming latex, forever frozen in a silent scream.

The factory had awakened, and its hunger had been sated. For now.