Happy Sack Turns My Boss To Goo

This rubber trap locks my old boss down tight. He squirms at first, but the latex doesn't give. I seal him in, head to toe, and the sack does the rest. His cock's already hard under the black shine, circumcised head straining against the squeeze. Bound up, he can't fight it. Can only feel. The cocoon pulses. Tightens. Milks him slow. Every twitch feeds the heat. His head disappears. Eyes go glassy behind the clear panel. Mind leaks out one drop at a time. By the end he's nothing but a dripping, obedient thing—humming, empty, ready to serve. The boss is gone. What's left inside doesn't even remember his name.