Flailing around had become almost fun. Almost. Her armbinder's strictness made sure that any such flails were met with a crushing reminder, a pleasure-laden pain that forced and contorted her body into a wriggling female form. A few times, she tried to wriggle her fingers together. Her palms and fingers alike were flush and pointed downwards. In her own mind, it had made her think of a monk, praying to an icon. Of course, such thoughts always ended up drifting towards the kinky, with the monk turning into some sort of latex-cultist nun, and inevitably swirling off into orgiastic fantasies.
When she did move her arms, the strap around her biceps only let her move them side-to-side. Fine by her. She was so snugly bound that she wasn't going to interact with anyone - or anything. Especially not with the hood.
The hood she appreciated. Its tight, firm grasp didn't bite quite as much as her shoulders or the straps around her arms did. Its tightness was almost comforting in the a bizarre way; it was an extension of her Mistress's warm chest and arms, enveloping her skull. Her nose and mouth were uncovered by it; an elegant triangle of flesh unobscured by the glossy-slick ebony piece that covered her skull, forcing her eyes shut. It left much to the imagination - for any onlookers as well as her. Was there another slave in the room? Was mistress watching from mere feet away? It tantilized and titillated, and the deprivation let her imagination run wild with rooms of onlookers.
Such thoughts made her chest heave. With her arms in a bind, she had no choice but to thrust out her chest. Her generous bust was provocatively ensconced in more leather - of course - , forming another triangle of flesh with her displayed cleavage. She had never before spent much time thinking of herself as a sex object, but she knew - absolutely craved the desire for a mirror. With the bustier and glossy leather cups, she couldn't help but be proud of her body in this form; so forcefully displayed, like a picture in a frame.
The frame, in this case, was all held together by not wood but straps. A massive strap, complete with oversized metal buckle, went over and under her chest. It served to truly highlight her curves, like a picture mate. The straps laced together, keeping her arms up, her chest out, and her collar on.
And the collar! The smell of the oiled leather permeated her nostrils, and she sniffled at times. The smell of her dark lipstick, the occasional drip of saliva from her thickly-ballgagged lips all turned to a pungent aroma that dripped sex and submission. The collar itself gave her a modicum of room to wriggle, but its thick leather embrace was always tangible. Good. She would never admit it in polite society, but this collar was comforting; a comfort of positive, concreteness. Her leathery-fate was sealed; that was comforting.