Onyx's breathing patterns shifted. The three guards would easily overpower any ordinary infiltrator, easily transforming any infiltrator into a mewling, moaning worm, carefully ensconced in the most over-the-top and high-tech restraint equipment on the planet.

This would be easy. She lowered her head the moment the first security officer fired her weapon,
and the blob impacted harmlessly on the wall behind her. Without turning her head, she stepped
forward three times at precise intervals, each time avoiding further shots by the second guard. The
gel-rounds traveled between her legs, narrowly missing her calves, and again impacting solidly on
the white wall behind.

Such timing came with a cost. Every motion was rehearsed in her head, and as Onyx moved she
there was absolutely zero margin of error. The next round nearly grazed her left arm - she expected
better discipline from these droned officers. It was enough, though; Onyx had crossed room, nearly
five meters, in as many seconds. The next motion was just as precise - bringing left fist into the
stomach of the front officer. The male lurched; the drones didn't seem to anticipate physical combat.

Onyx stiffened her upper lip, moving the palm of her hand to the stunned male's sternum. With the
wind already knocked from him, he was sent reeling backwards into the female guard. The two
collapsed onto one another; a meaty thud that mixed with the sensual squeak of rubber on rubber.
The two sounds together were quite pleasing.

The third and final guard had fired nearly a half-dozen times, spraying gel rounds wildly. One
impacted an etched glass display, shattering it with a tremendous cacophony. Another the ground in
front of Onyx; four more were dead-on target. The gel, of course, was much slower than a
conventional weapon - Onyx had already predicted the guard would fire, and had dodged before
she'd even had the chance to pull the trigger. Drones were so predictable. Onyx was already
analyzing them for further study. They had no compunctions about shooting at their fellow drones;
intruders and employees all looked the same when lovingly encased in rubber.

Onyx took her time with the final drone. She sprinted forward and delivered a series of kicks to the drone's abdomen. As she staggered backwards, Onyx took the time to grab her. She was a delicate
creature; these drones seemed far more suited to eye candy than any real combat. Onyx stared at the
drone as she tried to regain her footing; it was an efficient design. It truly was eye candy; it would look far better bound and squirming than trapped in a vainglorious struggle. She tilted her head, breathing heavily through her mask before delivering a chop to the back of her neck. The drone fell unconscious.

There was no doubt that an alarm was raised. Onyx decided to take a seat, and since the hallway
lacked any obvious benches, she took a seat on the barely-conscious drone. The drone groaned. It
wasn't even clear how it was treated around the building. Was it male? Was it female? Did it count
as an 'it' or a person? Very curious. Blood Onyx leaned in, weighing further onto the drone and
eliciting a further, weak groan. "It" was somewhat pathetic. In fact, the entire response had been
lackluster. No doubt intentional, at that; a security officer and two drafted drones was hardly a
response from a MirageCorp.

She slapped the drone's stomach a few times and stood up. "Take a break," Onyx said. She got to
her feet, taking a moment to stretch. Her powerful muscles relaxed and as she looked up. She made
visual contact with the security camera, which had taken in every millisecond of the melee with the
drones.

Images of this intruder filtered through the camera and and flowed throughout MirageCorp's
networks. Phantom, MirageCorp's undisputed leader, busily studied the intruder. Augmented reality
objects popped up in her field of vision as she inspected the unit, identified by a broadcast tag as "Blood Onyx."

She was powerfully built. If she was human, Onyx would have been a prize specimen; a body like
an Olympian and a quick mind. She wasn't human, though, judging by biological readings, and
would be less recognizable without that suit. Phantom was very interested in finding out what sort
of things this particular subject could do. What did she enjoy? What did she hate? What teased her?
What stimulated her? What would make her quiver and beg for attention? These questions and more
began percolating in Phantom's mind as she shut off the viewer and left. She didn't even need to
leave the building; a new subject was coming to her! Phantom grinned, activating security guards as
she moved towards the intruder's location. She was already fantasizing about what she looked like
beneath all that rubber.

This would also require the removal of her oversuit and undersuit, of course. Unit 5901 "BLOOD
ONYX" had been enclosed in a marvel of engineering from the moment she was forcibly inducted
into the "Grell-Sub Agency." Her undersuit provided a permanent skin of rubber that stretched from
her ankles to her wrists, integrating with her alien physiology. When she was first contacted by the Agency, Onyx had laughed the representatives out of the room. Capturing someone like Phantom
was a joke; Onyx craved a real challenge. A hunt and a kill, not some silly breaking-and-entering
job. The Agency had disagreed, and several months of traumatic indoctrination later, Onyx relented
and joined them in their quest for 'peace and prosperity.'

She saw her reflection in a mirrored window. Onyx moved her hands to her mask. She wore a
massive black gas mask over her hood. It covered her short hair and its blackened lenses removed
the last indications of any biology. Two long, black horns stretched from the back of her mask,
enclosing her hair and a variety of sensor systems. It was far less than practical, but it allowed Onyx an extra level of intimidation against her foes. Plus, it let her keep her hair. It was a jet black color, in contrast with the industrial dark beige that made up much of her shining infiltration suit. More practical than her helmet but just as revealing, the infiltration gear was beige with black trim and infuriatingly skintight. Blood Onyx had, more than once, inquired about its construction. Why did she need it? Why did it feel and look like rubber? Was there any purpose aside from denigrating her further?

Onyx squinted behind her mask and moved her hands down to her hips. Her voracious appetites for
stimulation had, in part, been her undoing. It was a longing for touching and simulation that finally broke her, and now she regretted it. Without the permission of The Agency, she was trapped in the oversuit; its gloves and apparati had become her new body. They controlled her still; any sort of orgiastic release or physical stimulation was off-limits until she completed her mission. The pads and belts beneath her suit would make sure that no matter how hard she tried, how desperately she longed, she could never satisfy herself. Not without finishing her mission.
She stood for another moment. MirageCorp was famous for doing exactly the opposite - stimulating
their captives until they were willing to do anything to please and sign away their very souls in
exchange for further teasing and touches. Perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone - be rid of this ludicrous chastity device AND get closer to Phantom.

As the alarms blared, Onyx sat on the ground. She gently moved to a prone position, putting her
hands behind her head in a sign of surrender. Deep within her mask, she smiled as the first security arrived.


****


She had never quite been able to decide if she preferred black or white. Black, a color of mystery
and shadow, ebony glamor and haute couture. Black was fashionable and iconic, and its essential
mystery brought an erotic allure. Black, as they say, went with everything.

She also loved white. White was pure and pristine. There was an irony; the unblemished virtue of
white contrasted so deliciously with other colors. The red of a gag, the dark hues of hair and
exposed skin all juxtaposed against white's splendid softness made for a dark parody of purity. Not
to mention how intimidating and ethereal white was.

Phantom decided on white. White walls and chairs and window-frames and a bed. The whole room
looked like an ordinary living room, a bizarre juxtaposition of mysterious white objects and high-tech sensors. It made her more comfortable. It told any visitors that she was supremely comfortable, and that this domain belonged to Phantom.

Not that Blood Onyx was privy to the delicately-crafted view.

Onyx was a gorgeous mass of shining black and gleaming metal. Bright spotlights and a single heat
lamp all shone on the statuesque figure. Above a decorative fireplace, mounted just above the white
mantle, Onyx's body was buckled , strapped, and welded against the white wall.
Her hands were ensconced in spherical mittens. Each hand was grasping a rubber ball in addition to
their enclosure. Even were she free, the oiled and gleaming spheres prevented any sort of tactile
interaction.

Her suit hadn't been removed; Phantom loved having her captives bound in a version of their
normal equipment. The agent's stealth suit remained, but her helmet had been removed. Along with
the rest of her equipment, it was placed very neatly on a side-table next to the fireplace. It was
replaced by a thick, heavy rubber hood. The villainess had relished forcing it onto Onyx's head. It
was quite enjoyable to see her struggling, her strong and vicious eyes while she was gagged. There
was an exquisite pleasure in feeling the rubber in her fingers, in seeing Onyx squeal, and the moans and squirms from the faceless rubberslut as she was locked onto the wall, arms and legs in a
massive spread-eagle. Metal, locking segments - around her elbows, forearms, waist, thighs, ankles,
and neck - magnetically buckled her against the paneling.

Marvelous. Gorgeous. Inescapable. Phantom crossed her legs and sipped from a tall glass of wine.
Blood Onyx made a splendid addition to the room. Phantom's favorite part, of course, was the
rubbery squeaks. Blood Onyx's hips wiggled - very endearing - and her generous breasts bobbed
slightly whenever her torso jerked. It was almost hypnotic. Every wiggle was accompanied by a
moan and mewl, each of them furious and heavily muffled through the thigh rubber hood. The agent
was clearly furious at her latex enclosure, but Phantom couldn't have been happier. It was time to
relax and let her newest object some time to stew. Onyx had been captured before and understood
the routine. Slowly, but surely, she was going to be tortured into submission. The thick rubber was
hot, snug, and impeded her breathing. Energy that might have been used to escape was spent on
sucking air through the tiny tubules providing air.

Her hands gripped and clenched in the mitts. This was sublime! She could never admit it- never,
ever - but the supreme rubber enclosure was to die for. Even in her bondage, there was some part of
Blood Onyx that fantasized about becoming Phantom's permanent rubberslut.

There was another, of course; another infiltrator that had attempted to bring Phantom to justice.
Blood Onyx had seen him when she was first captured and the initial interrogation began. He was a
strong, handsome man with pale skin and dark, purple eyes. He looked like an agent and was built
like one. No doubt he had been an elite spy. Had been. Past tense. Thanks to her enhanced hearing,
the alien infiltrator could hear moaning of a male through her hood. She dreaded it and swallowed
reflexively; the thought of being reduced to a mewling and heavily restricted playtoy was eerie.
In fact, Phantom was busy fantasizing about turning Onyx into a similar playtoy. It was an evening
in, and Phantom finished her wine in a toast to her latest acquisition. All the while, her previous
acquisition toasted to her grace. He might have had a codename, but now he was only known
as Rubberslut. The appellation was unmistakeable. It was emblazoned for all to see but only a few
to comprehend; a careful barcode of white and black that crossed the forehead of his hood, his
collar, and along the length of his thigh. Phantom and her chosen few would instantly recognize him
for what he was - not Special Agent Amethyst or a powerful individual, but a favorite slave to
provide tender, loving comfort. And comfort he did; while heavily gagged and occluded, Phantom -
and her currently absent guest - enjoyed the sensations of his latex-clad hood between their legs,
nuzzling and warming them with the precision that only a practiced rubberslut could provide.
Phantom glowered over her captive, taking another sip of wine. She was quite pleasant like this.
Already, the fireplace was warming her, making her sweat, and reminding this infiltrator the
consequences of attempting to eliminate one of the galaxy's most dangerous cyborgs.
Onyx knew the consequences; rewards of a successful operation and the chance to toy with "one of
the galaxy's most dangerous cyborgs." Behind her hood, Onyx smiled.

"Itami," Phantom said over the intercom. "Come upstairs whenever you're ready. I've got a surprise
for you."

The moment Phantom released her hands from the intercom, Blood Onyx decided to give her a
stuning surprise.

Muscles rippled beneath multiple layers of rubber and restraints of cold steel. Onyx's form stretched against the body-sheath, straining against her confinement. Inhuman strength surged through her alien form.


The steel restraints wouldn't budge. The drywall, however, crumbled to pieces, as did the beams
behind her. Onyx fell to the floor as the mantlepiece fell to pieces. Smart-glass shattered and
concrete dust filled the room.

Phantom was already signalling to her security teams. The surprise was so complete; Phantom had
never once suspected that Onyx might have the superhuman strength to escape such bonds! A
shame, Phantom thought - she might have to be restrained in far heavier equipment. It would
disguise her lovely figure.

"Excuse me," said Onyx in a low voice. "Aren't you going to offer me a glass of that wine?"
She was creating a certain curiosity. Phantom stood from her throne and peered into the concrete
dust filling the room, trying to spot her acquisition through electronic smoke. The pungent smell of burning electronics and drywall filled the room, as did the aroma of dark red wine.
Onyx let it dribble down over her rubber. Phantom turned her head to the right and her eyes grew
wide.

The alien entity was fast- mind-blowingly fast. Three quick blows to Phantom's stomach and chest
sent her stumbling backwards, and the CEO nearly tripped on her own throne. She quickly
stabilized herself, one high heel landing against her throne. As Onyx prepared for another blow,
Phantom launched herself into the air.

The monochrome menace's knee was stopped only inches from Onyx's face. She felt herself pushed
back, her grace saved by a last-minute block with her forearms. Two more high kicks came directly
towards her, but Onyx was able to deflect each one in turn with her mitts. Each mitt was splendidly
broken, Phantom's powerful kicks were just enough to damage the plasteel locks.

Onyx somersaulted backwards, along the way letting her mitts fall to the floor.

"Blood Onyx, you really should have just told me that you wanted to dance."
Onyx said nothing for a moment, then raised her dark eyes. She removed Phantom's hood, replacing it with her signature, horned gas mask and helm.

"I'm not much of a dancer. Do you sing?"
Phantom raised an eyebrow as Onyx came directly forward. She darted left and right, dodging Onyx
in turn as her force missed.

It was, in fact, ingenious - Onyx was behind Phantom. The cyborg had moved directly into her trap
- her dodge was a feint, and Phantom had been forced into allowing a hit directly on her head!
No force came, no blow with a fist - but things went dark all the same. Phantom inhaled, finding
only the pungent smell of rubber entering her nose.

She grabbed at her face as the hood auto-compressed. Onyx had presented Phantom with a device
designed to subdue anyone, regardless of their power level - including Phantom!
The cyborg felt a painful kick to the back of her knee, followed by a sweep around her ankles. She
fell to her knees, and then forward to the ground, slamming her breasts and now-padded hood
against the ground. Her cushioned fall landed in a dull thump.

"Mmmmpphhhh...." Phantom clawed at her face. The hood was all-encompassing. It integrated
itself into her hears, lenses prying against her eyes, a fat plug entering her lips and growing faster.

Any words were muffled, any attempt to see, hear, breathe - hell, even any attempt to think
logically were disrupted by careful emitters and devious intruders. She was isolated in all ways save touch.

The hard edge of Onyx's knee pressed heavily on Phantom's hooded head.

"Stay still, Madame President. You won't run out of air if you're calm, but if you keep groping like that you're going to pass out."

As she rolled, Onyx delivered a stunning kick to the villain's stomach. She buckled - pain was an
abnormality! It had been a long time indeed since Phantom last felt such physical trauma. The
squelching sound of Onyx's leg extending and retracting was music to her ears; at least MirageCorp
knew how to make a proper slave suit.

The neutralized Amethyst - embracing his role as Rubberslut - was similarly dispatched. Without a
doubt, he was a capable combatant in his own right, but he has hopelessly outmatched. An alien
assassin, or a captive already decked out in a gimp-suit... there wasn't much combat, just a few short blows to keep him pliant.

It was nearly two minutes later that the door opened. Itami entered, walked four steps, and froze in surprise.

She was doll-like in the extreme. Dark hair and pale skin made her look superficially similar to
Phantom, but she had a far less restrained appearance. A vibrant purple-and-pink kimono, waistlength hair, and bright purple lipstick brought patches of color to her otherwise porcelain visage.

In that two minutes, Phantom had offered some sincere resistance; blind, deaf, and rendered mute,
she was a nonetheless fearsome combatant. Of course, she couldn't hold a candle to the
unrestrained and sensitive Onyx. Blows had pummeled her body, knocking the wind from her,
bruising her, groping her, teasing her as she tried to flee. And now, she was subdued - albeit
temporarily. Onyx enjoyed the exacting service of Phantom between her legs. Heavily hooded,
mentally exhausted, and bound (Onyx had found a smart-rubber applicator and used it to bind
Phantom's arms in a prayer position behind her back), Phantom's head was pressed between Onyx's
wide thighs. It was high, it was suffocating, and it brought Onyx no small amount of pleasure.

Sure, a willing captive was nice, but there was nothing - nothing - like a freshly-subdued and defiant acquisition.

"I like what you've done with the place," Itami said, giggling. "I've killed people for less. Disrupting my lunchtime is very dangerous." She smacked her lips.
No words emanated from the captive-turned-captor.

"Is that it? You're just going to stand there?" She tilted her head. "Erm, sit there? Phantom looks
tired, you should let me take over at the very least."

Itami began walking forward. Energy crackled through her fingertips.

"So listen here - I don't know your name, by the way, and my name is Itami - listen here, dark lady, but Phantom and I were going to have a chat about a new art piece. And I'm guessing that was
supposed to be you."

Onyx shoved her slave away, then delivered a kick to Phantom's chest. She squealed in her hood
and fell to her side.

"That wasn't very nice at all, art piece. Phantom's a great lady. She probably wanted you happy,
healthy, and on her side. Unfortunately," Itami said with a giggle, "I'm not quite as interested in any of those things! Oh, but I do love tea-time. So let's get this over with so I can enjoy it."
Onyx crossed her legs. Itami's high heel clacked against the tile of Phantom's study. Another step , and another loud clack. And one more - and this one didn't make a sound.

It did, however, squeal. And it did as well cause a squealing sound from Itami as her foot was
sucked further into the gel of the false floor. She was up to her ankle in a half-second. Lightning
crackled from her fingers. Her hair stood on end and it was clear that it was having no effect on the lifeless and artificial room.

Itami barely had time to send a bolt of energy at Onyx. The security systems, so perfectly designed
to restrain any visitor, activated as an unauthorized visitor entered the room. Perhaps Phantom had
intended it as a practical joke - but now it was no laughing matter.

Gel raced from the floor. Robotic arms extended from other tiles. Itami's hands were grabbed and
forced behind her back. Jet-black ichor seeped from the mine, running up beneath her sheer clothes
and ripping them as it ensconced her. The floor itself was rebelling against her; smart-latex
synthmaterials oozing from the ground and exploring the latest acquisition.

"Phantom! Phantom, turn it off! Amethyst, are you here!? Hellmmphhh!?!"

The latex enclosed Itami in only a few seconds. It ran over her figure, compressing and trapping her delicate curves within a prison of jet-black rubber. By the time it got to her porcelain face, Onyx was already making plans to pack the two of them in. A few seconds more, and even Itami's face
disappeared. Only the barest outlinne of her features - her nose, the sockets of her eyes - remained.

Blood Onyx's mission was a success. Villains were so gullible, so easy to trick and always so busy
delivering speeches.

"Foolish little females. Not to worry - my Agency will find ways to make you talk. Soon, you will
say whatever we want you to. I'll make sure to request that you keep the monologuing to a
minimum, though."

The assassin delivered another kick to Phantom's breast, and smiled.


*****



Somewhere on an Agency prison-craft, two figures shared a single cell. Small, dark, and shadowed,
lit only by innumerable holo-readouts indicating brain-patterns and vital signs. They were dark gray items of a most curious composition. They were both in an upside-down "Y" shape, tapering at the bottom and curving and bulbous at the top. There were numerous seams and seals along the caskets, as well as innumerable micro-locks. Plugs and tubes indicated points of entry and egress.
Perhaps most curious of all were the sounds and the micro-movements that emanated from the
caskets. Inside their plastic prisons, two prisoners were being tormented. Plugs in their nethers,
intruders in their womanhood, and electrical probes across their bodies prevented them from resting
mentally or physically.

Phallic plugs in their mouths provided an additional component. Each was kept on a steady diet of
nutrients and drugs. It forced them into a perpetual torpor, a state halfway between wakefulness and dream. In it, they were susceptible to the unending pleasure and eternal stimulation provided by the plugs and pads. It was fairly invigorating, though they were certainly unable to respond.
The two rubberclad prisoners squirmed in their caskets, scarcely able to move. Only their
metahuman physiology allowed them any amount of movement. Part of their gyrations were no
doubt caused by the random stimulation of their plugs, but other responses were likely caused by
the electrical discharges. Pads across their body at sensitive locations provided alternations between shocks, vibrations, and tickles. Erogenous zones such as armpits, inner thighs, neck, and wrists were all so beset.

Assaulted and manipulated on a physical, emotional, and mental level, the two encased villains
would eventually break. Blood Onyx was busy being debriefed about their weaknesses and how to
properly exploit them once they could be sufficiently reprogrammed.

Deep within these caskets, the two women giggled. They gorged themselves on the joyous
sensations of helplessness and impenetrable bondage. Each, in turn, fantasized themselves breaking
free. They planned an escape, analyzed what little they could from their sensory-deprived states,
and began to formulate a plan to leave.

Of course, they wouldn't be leaving without Onyx. She was going to suffer ten-fold for her
indiscretion.

And so, the two figures moaned, groaned, wiggled, and plotted.