You notice movement out of the corner of your eye and turn your attention from trying to attack the waistband of your irremovable black leather pants to see glistening black latex working its way around the right arm of your sweatshirt. Shit!
You try using the broken scissors like a knife to cut off your shirt, but by the time you start the rubber stuff is already crossing your chest with a gooey spreading band. It cuts a little, but flows back together without a seam the movement you try to make another one and as you try to make gains around your neck it is busily gaining territory everywhere else on your torso. Eventually you give up in frustration and head to your bathroom mirror to get a better look at what the contracting latex is making itself into.
At first it is as formless as the sweatshirt is absorbed, but as you watch a patterns emerge. Watching it develop it soon becomes clear it is becoming a sort of padded motorcycle jacket of the type worn by riders of sport bikes. Sleek and modern, but in this case made of a combination of rubber joints and details with leather plates covering some sort of hard composite you hear when you tap one of the breastplates.
Nothing happens for a while as you examine the jacket looking for any weak point to attack it at, but a sense of needing to be somewhere is nagging at you. You want to go... riding? You've never been on a motorcycle before, but those are the images forming in your head. It is perfectly obvious it is the outfit that is doing this to you, but the urge to go out gets stronger and stronger.
Trying to resist is like like watching pornography and not masturbating, though. Eventually you say aloud, "Fuck it. I will. I don't care what happens."
The little bit of you that is still thinking logically objects that you'll need a helmet, gloves, and boots as well. But your next thought is that the same process that got you into this all black outfit could easily solve those lacks. Going to your closet you find a full ski-mask, a pair of winter gloves, and a pair of old rubber galoshes. The ski mask goes on first followed by the boots and gloves and you stand there feeling a bit nervous and foolish looking in the mirror.
Then you see it, the first strands of rubber making their way up your covered neck converting the fabric. Within moments your head is entirely covered except where there were openings for your mouth and eyes. And then it is covers up your eyes leaving you afraid and in the dark. You are breathing heavily through your mouth and then you feel and taste the rubber invading. You want to close to keep it out, but you cannot because it is your only way to breath. You are thinking you've really screwed up until your vision clears.
The stuff has become a hard shiny black helmet with an area that you suppose you must be seeing through, though you cannot see any way to flip up this 'visor'. There are two sets of slits about where your nose would be and you realize you're breathing through them now while below a round opening leads into a tube that must extend through your mouth and down your throat. You certainly cannot feel or see your tongue anywhere in the tube and you don't seem to be able to close your mouth at all.
Looking down at your hand you see the latex already at work changing them into leather gloves and the rubber galoshes have become rubber and plastic boots. From head to foot you're ready to mount up on a mechanical steed.
You walk out your front door with great confidence despite the rubber monsters you saw earlier. Walking down the street you eventually see a green Kawasaki racing bike parked inconspicuously next to an apartment building. It is just the sort of thing you want to ride and though a tiny part of yourself is nervous about its owner you go to just sit on it for a minute.
You get a thrill as your ass makes contact with the padded seat. You feel like you just want to bend over an fuck the motorcycle and looking down you see, without much surprise that a web of latex is expanding from your crotch into the seat. Whatever is happening feels so good that you just don't care what it is. You pull your legs in and your thighs start melting to the bike as well as parts start to move.
You realize now as your transformation continues that what happened earlier was just a preparation for this. You're not wearing a helmet, that shiny black shape is your head just as much as you gas tank and kickstand/legs. The change has reached the handlebars. They disappear as you start to feel the tires, your tires, you won't need to steer yourself with your hands
You lean forward as if already out on the road letting the tank mould itself into a rest for your torso and arms when they're not needed. Everything that isn't shiny metal is turning lovely black, your color. You can feel your motor, chain and gears. It is all you and almost ready. You start your motor feeling the lovely rush of cool air into your intake to mix with fuel to produce fiery power. Only one thing left to do. It is draining, but you puncture your arm to let out a nice black pool of latex to wait for someone. Maybe the owner of the motorbike you absorbed, maybe someone else. It doesn't matter so long as you spread. There are lots of people in the world who could and should become biomechanical monsters like you. Soon, hopefully, there will be a whole society of creatures like what you've become.