Huntress Bernice was always a stickler for tradition. She would claim, quite loudly, that the Acolytes of Artemis were of profound and genteel heritage. The ebony-skinned socialite waxed poetic about the traditions of the lodge and how observance of ritual only further exalted their mission. The other members of the lodge generally ignored Bernice. The prey didn’t have that option.

“The inspection commences.” Bernice tugged Natasha by a short leash attached to her thick collar. Natasha turned her head away and her eyes narrowed. Bernice tugged harder, choking the prey slightly, but she only managed to extort a grunt from the target. With her right hand tugging on the leash, Bernice slid her left across Natasha’s spandex-enclosed bust. That action coerced the acutely endowed captive to groan. The huntress kneaded deep into her breasts, cradling them, gripping them, massaging them; supporting and teasing them all at once through careful use of her thumb.

Scientist yesterday, prey today - such was the fate of Natasha Zhukov. The blame for this escapade landed squarely on her spandex-encased shoulders. A tip about the The Acolytes of Artemis had intrigued her enough to investigate personally, and she had even invited Phantom to accompany her. They posed as indulgent wastrels interested in an impossible thrill- the chance to hunt man. A lodge of hunters and huntresses dedicated to “sporting” hunts of human beings was deplorable, but the fate of the prey - kept alive and restrained as living bondage trophies - was astonishing. Naturally, Phantom demanded they investigate the intricacies of the ‘hunt’ further.

Unfortunately, Natasha was now learning first-hand of the Acolytes’ peculiarities. She and Phantom were strictly bound in spandex that ran from her head to her toes. A labyrinth of straps and harnesses kept her secure. The constant jingle of padlocks kept her nervous. The harness included a thick belt, crushing her waist and secured via vertical straps to another pair of belts that neatly framed her breasts. The tight spandex ensured they were available for any molestation wished by their captors, and it seemed that the Acolytes wished quite a bit. Loops around her arms ran to a short armbinder that pressed her forearms (and forearms only) together into a single unit. The armbinder hardly helped her situation, forcing her chest out further still.

The stretching and squeaking of leather signaled tactile sensations across her body. Every time she moved her bound hands, the entire harness seemed to compress. A series of unforgiving leather straps ran from the tips of her balled fists, down between her legs, and up to the belt at her waist. A gentle pull compressed her slightly, but a stronger tug forced the straps to grind against her most sensitive spots. Each and every such tug made her getup jingle; convenience zippers, metal locks, and brass buckles clattered against each other. She was not a predator - she wasn’t even good prey. She sounded more like a sleigh ride than a fair hunt.

Bernice slapped the captive’s chest, and Natasha’s breasts jiggled. She squealed into her gag and squirmed left and right, arms flexing at the sudden sting. It made her curvy form wobble all the more, forced her arms to pull, forcing the breath from her waist, grinding at her womanhood, which in turn made her heaving breasts jiggle… it was a vicious cycle.

“Ex-humans. Filth.”

The ebony huntress stopped her furious gropes at grabbed Natasha by the chin.

“You think you’re better than us. No - you know it. You think that enhancing your body makes you superior? You think it makes you the next step?” Bernice stared up and down at the prey. She looked more like a ponygirl than a transhuman technophile.

“If the next step in human evolution involves fat tits like yours, I’ll decline. I’d rather be a cavewoman like some… cattle like you.” Bernice shoved Natasha away, briefly staring at the other prey.

“It’s not all bad, though. Your “enhancements” let you pass for a human.” Bernice cricked her neck left and right. “It’s better than being some puppet like your pale friend here.”

Phantom was still being dressed during the “traditional verbal abuse” that the huntress had inflicted on Natasha. The olive spandex, the harness, the binder, the thick collar, the boots, and the thick panel-gag; Huntress Halle was busy finishing the harness. The panel-gag sealed Phantom’s lips tightly and working in combination with a thoroughly stuffed mouth, the transhuman’s vocalization was rendered unintelligible if not inaudible. In fact, Phantom regularly punctuated each twist and buckle and lock with ‘mmphs’ and grunts and generally pleasing sounds. She was blushing beneath the panel gag. Natasha knew it.

Natasha knew it for the very reason they were now in this situation. Her connection with Phantom was emotional as well as technological - they were both in constant contact thanks to mechanical enhancements. Phantom’s body flowed with nanites, whereas Natashas were concentrated in an inconvenient spot. Bernice slapped her breasts one final time.

“You two make me sick. You’ve passed through the uncanny valley into some sort of corruption. Your very sight repulses me,” said Bernice. Halle remained silent. “I get the same repulsion in my body that I would were I to look at a malformed mutant. Your “enhancements” are both pathetic and audacious.”

Bernice turned to Halle. The other huntress had finished binding Phantom, but still said nothing. In fact, she didn’t say much of anything; a bulbous gas mask with an opaque faceplate hid her emotions and the skintight neoprene suit hid any indication she was human. No hair, no skin, and judging from the methodical way in which she had encased Phantom, no emotion.

“Halle, what do you think?”

Halle didn’t respond.

“C’mon. We’ve finally got some real puppets and you don’t have anything to say? All those hours we spent discussing the prime hunt? The chance to hunt a transhuman?”

Halle shook her head as if to say, “You discussed it - not me.”

Bernice shrugged and dragged Phantom towards the door.

“All right, toasters. Half minute ‘till sunrise. You know the drill. If you can avoid capture until sundown, you get set free - hell, you get to join us.” Halle readied her shock-rifle. Bernice thumbed the dart-launcher strapped to her side. “Good luck. Daylight in twenty seconds.”

Phantom motioned to Natasha. Reams of communication flowed through airspace, invisible words and messages relayed at lightning speed. Phantom had a plan.

----

The noontide sun was refracted throughout the barn by Huntress Halle’s visor. She stood statue-still, hands on her hips and feet placed shoulder-length apart. Her matte black suit soaked up the sunlight and made it difficult to get a good look at her body or movements. It was hard to even tell if she was breathing. The gas mask and thick visor was the only indicator, with her inhalations and exhalations audible through the industrial filters of her visage.

Natasha wheezed, desperate for air. She bucked and kicked and writhed and gasped for oxygen. Tingling sensations began at the base of her spine as she struggled in her bonds and deprivation.

The scientist was flat on her back and heavily restrained. After her capture, her restraints had been exchanged for far more permanent bonds. While still in her spandex, the Acolytes had slipped her bodacious body into a leather sleepsack. She would have loved to resist, but they had taken their time stunning and shocking her repeatedly until her parts mechanical and organic had taken respite. By the time she regained consciousness, her hands were taped up and slipped inside the sleepsacks’s internal sleeves. It went from the tips of her toes to the nape of her neck and kept her quite snugly packed - even if it was particularly tight against her ample bosom! To ensure there would be no surprises, the two huntresses had also lined long strips of adhesive tape over every zipper and buckle. Half-mummified and enclosed, she was powerless to resist and utterly helpless when they began her torture.

Bernice unwrapped Natasha’s head, removing the thick rubber sheet and letting her suck in every bit of life-giving air she could handle. Already, the scientist looked spent. She was panting and flush, with flecks of sweat and saliva running on her face. Natasha was enjoying this - though the two huntresses would never know.

“All right, fat cow. Breathe deep. You never know when your breath could be your last.” Bernice stood up and circled her captive. The transhuman was on the dirt floor of an abandoned barn, and Bernice was circling her like a vulture.

“Oh - speaking of cow bits - it’s so perfect that your prison is right here in a barn. You say it yourself on your damned business cards. You’re a transhuman. Yes, the barn’s where you’ll stay. Humans get to camp out in the farmhouse.”

Halle turned her masked head to the door. The farmhouse was similarly abandoned. She huffed.

“Okay. Well, we’re actually returning to the lodge when we’re done with you.” Bernice chuckled. “We’re a bit too high class to sleep there. What do you think, Halle - a lodge safehouse, or our own beds? It’d be nice to get home, but we can’t rush it. Halle’s husband thinks we’re out at a spa, and we don’t want to make him suspicious. Isn’t that right?”

Halle crossed her arms and nodded. She seemed so relaxed, despite the unenviable torment they were forcing on poor Natasha Zhukov. This was their spa.

“Anyway, we’re in no rush, but we’d like to be done here by sundown. How about you just call Phantom for us?”

Natasha shook her head. “Never!”

Bernice cocked her head. “We’re going to hunt her down eventually. We just want you to call her so we can be done with it. Wouldn’t you rather her be safe and sound as a trophy than out in the wild? It’d be a tragedy if some farmer saw her and grabbed her instead of us. She’s still bound and gagged - she might hurt herself.”

Ms. Zhukov’s brow narrowed. “You have no idea who she is. There’s a reason they call her a villain.”

Bernice, head still titled, began to grin. “Really? A villain? That’s strange, we’re the ones with the rubber sheet. You’re the one in the sack. What will she do - bravado us to death?”

Natasha began to speak, but her words turned into a muffled scream. Bernice began rapidly wrapping her head in the rubber sheet once again. It was tight; incredibly tight, and wrapped so tightly that Natasha’s features were visible through its impermeable, polished surface. The woman grunted and groaned, eyeless face moaning for hair as she was suddenly enclosed. Halle helped briefly, holding the sheet in place while Bernice took her time tormenting Tasha. She kneaded her chest - more difficult through the sack - and alternated between fierce groping and painful slaps. Her thumb crossed over Tasha’s teat, and she pinched hard. Moans poured from Natasha’s depleted face. Her lungs began to burn and she experienced a brief moment of lightheaded panic. Her mind and body could withstand far greater threats than a normal human, but this was unreal!

A minute, then two, then three passed with increasing jeopardy. She struggled and squirmed, and did all she could to appear pained. Deep inside, she felt something other than panic; she felt pleasure. The deprivation, the teasing, the immensely strict restraints all contributed to a perilous stimulation she knew she couldn’t match. She arched her back again, and vaguely heard Bernice laughing as she took a fistful of her chest. It brought Natasha to another raucous orgasm. She was starved for sex the entire day; endless teasing and bondage had a habit of priming her. Her hypersensitive body was responding predictably with an endless ordeal of orgiastic release. She wiggled her toes as she came. Natasha pleaded with them to stop while hoping they wouldn’t give up.

Life flowed back into Natasha as the sheet was unwrapped from her face.

“Phantom is monitoring you. We know that. You can contact her yourself and tell her to come here, or we can keep it up.”

“Do you worst.” Natasha managed to force the words from her weak jaw. Her voice cracked.

“Our worst?” Bernice retorted. Halle shrugged.

“Well, if you’re not going to call her… we can keep this up, but Phantom still won’t come. So I guess you’re right, we might as well skip to the end. We might as well find a way to cause you such distress that the pale president herself will have to show up.”

Bernice leaned down. “Sound good?”

Natasha tried to spit at her, but found her mouth dry. It instead seemed like she was going for a kiss. Bernice laughed, and Natasha was fairly sure that Halle did so as well.

The acolytes didn’t waste time. Halle retrieved an item hidden beneath a bale of hay. It was a case for Natasha; a coffin in the shape of a woman. The curves were all visible and present, comprised of hard, padded purple plastic. There would be no mistake in its purpose. Their captive made a mewling sound as they presented it to her. Aside from minor ports for sustenance, there would be no escape and no portal to the outside.

“This, my little sex-doll, is your new home. Take a good look.”

Natasha tried not to.

“Like what you see? It might be a little tight; we couldn’t find one to fit your horrible tits. Normally we only use these to transport prey, but it’ll do quite nicely for you.”

Halle placed a pair of cotton wads over Natasha’s eyes, and they swiftly rolled a hood over her head. She was well and truly anonymous now save the barcode on the exterior of the case. It took some effort to move her heavy, squirming and sacked body into the case, but there was never any question about her fate. The ports for sustenance were connected and the shell was closed. Both women together locked the case. Each latch sent a shiver down Natasha’s spine; she could only barely hear it, but each one was a very real nail in her coffin. A squeeze of glue on each latch welded it shut.

She felt her case picked up, moved, and dropped some distance. The breath was knocked from her lungs. Startled, she frantically squirmed and tried to gain some sense of where she was. Panic began to overtake her when she realized she couldn’t. Natasha was used to having extensive connection to the outside world - GPS, weather, and constant contact with Phantom. The first two had disappeared, telling her that either they’d found a way to block out signal with a device, or the much less enviable possibility that they had buried her. The sound of something scratching on the top lid of her encasement indicated that it was the latter.

A few minutes of horror later, Natasha had forced herself to a state of calm. The entire situation was unreal; hunted like an animal and buried like one, too. Her entire form was so precariously and preciously packed that even minute movements were difficult. The scientific term she had assigned herself was ‘claustrophile’ - she had a certain fondness for being tightly bound and stringently enclosed, but this was above and beyond anything that Phantom would subject her to. It made her mewl in her sarcophagus.

She wasn’t sure what would be worse; to contact Phantom and possibly lead her to a similar fate, or to go quiet and hope for rescue. The thought of either was enough to arouse both fear and lust. Natasha frantically tried to calculate the odds of rescue from her mummification and burial, but was distracted by another building orgasm.