Bernice longed to roll down the windows. It didn’t matter if you were a hedonistic huntress or pathetic prey, everyone loved fresh air. There was a slim (and growing shorter) window of time between the heat of summer and the chill of winter that she sincerely loved. There were a few days or a few weeks sometime in the midst of Autumn when the temperature indoors was perfectly attuned to the temperature outside. She loved to turn off all the climate controls and let the air into the home. The cloying, false scents of fragrances and fresheners and detergent seemed to flow away. She loved walking into her home and smelling the fresh, earthy tones of a cool October day.

    She grinned and shifted. The car’s leather interior squeaked slightly against her catsuit. Bernice unbuckled a few of the belts and dropped some of the pouches. She wasn’t hunting any longer. The Acolyte of Artemis was already relaxing; luxuriating in the back seat of the luxury SUV. The long trip from the farmstead - Halle’s favored hunting grounds - was made far more bearable by the hooded head between her thighs. Bernice tugged her husband’s enclosed form close against her womanhood. The squeaking audibly increased.

    “Hush, dear.” Bernice ran a hand over the smooth contours of the leather. She had ordered it custom-fit - only the finest for her partner - and she was glad of it. Every inch was perfectly occluded with soft, black hide. It had been carefully sewn and manufactured, and, when laced and locked, created a seal so tight and form-fitting that Bernice swore she could make out his facial features.

    Perhaps she only imagined it, but visualizing his visage - wrought with pleasure, pain, or desire - brought her endless delight. She tensed up her thighs. He grunted at the sudden increase of pressure. After a few seconds, he started to grunt for air. A few moments more, and he began to struggle. Considering that he wore a matching leather slave-suit, and that his suit was covered in locked D-rings and straps-  well, he didn’t have much of a chance to resist.

    She let him squirm for nearly a minute before easing up. The acolyte leaned in, listening to the greedy intake of fresh air through the metal-ringed nose holes.

    “That was for making Halle and I wait. We were sitting around that old barn for nearly an hour waiting on you to show up with the car.”

    He muffled something through thickly-packed lips.

    “No excuses. The chastity belt stays on, smother-slave.”

    A regretful moan grumbled through the hood. Bernice stroked him again, leaning back and restin her head on the side of the car. She longed for air as well - but rolling down the window to enjoy it would give away the scandalous situation inside the car. Letting some degenerate witness her unmasked visage or see her hobby was utterly inconceivable to the huntress.

    Halle, still clad in her mask and suit, was at the wheel - allowing Bernice the backseat all to herself.

    “Well, we caught 50 percent.”

    Halle grunted through her gas mask. It was a sound of agreement.

    “I really do wish that we had grabbed Phantom, though. I mean, we searched forever. It’s like she just disappeared. Torturing that fat-breasted cow was fine and fun, but really - Phantom was supposed to be the highlight of my weekend. She was rumored to have all sorts of functions. Dangerous stuff, the kind of power we couldn’t possibly let propagate. Yeah, I’m sure she’d have been a real fighter if we’d found her.”

    Bernice’s husband moaned a bit.

    “Hush, dear. Anyway, I had high hopes. I imagined her kicking and screaming, hobbling along even if she was half-unconscious or injured. I can seriously - Halle, just picture her trying to wriggle away, legs bound and her on the ground. Trying to escape in that ridiculous spandex camo. I personally was looking forward to taunting her while we dragged her off to the barn.”

    Another grunt from Halle.

    “You know - it really was a fun hunt. You were fantastic out there, even if I didn’t see you much. Natasha proved a bit of a challenge but your aim was true. I really, really loved locked up that sidekick of hers. I’m almost sad we had to bury her, but it just wouldn’t have been right to bring back just one trophy, y’know?”

    Halle said nothing this time.

    “But… ah, well. So we lose one. The other members of the Lodge can get as many trophies as they want. We still go after quality, right?”

    She waited for a moment, but the only sound was the movement of the car over a small-town road.

    “Really, though - wouldn’t it have been neat to see those green eyes one last time before we encased her for good? The rush, the thrill, the power… Just imagine it. Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it. Locking up some transhuman like that would’ve been just… amazing. Seriously, I can’t stop fantasizing about that transhuman getting locked up for good.”

    The car coasted to a halt at a stoplight.

    Halle turned her head. The oily-squeaky sound of her fully-body suit against the interior was the only sound for a brief moment. Bernice tilted her head. Halle leaned a bit, and was now facing straight at her partner. Then, she spoke, with a strange voice.

    “Yes. I think about it quite a bit.”

    Bernice felt a lump grow in her throat. “Halle” took off her mask. She screamed for a moment when she saw her driver’s glowing green eyes, pale skin, and a growing, malign grin.

    ---

    The trophy room had come and gone. Sometimes, the trophies would all be released or sold; other times they were merely needed elsewhere. But Phantom had grown desirous of a collection once again. Figures in varying poses now lined the gallery, each with a plaque and each with a distinct spotlight. Natasha was the first item that any visitor would see. She’d be released, eventually, but the case had been soldered together permanently - and any attempt to break the seal would irrevocably damage the case. The gallerist wanted to keep it intact, if only for a bit longer, to let viewers observe the craftsmanship. A camera and screen indicated the inhabitant’s facial expression, showing Natasha in varying states of disarray, quietude, or arousal.

    The real centerpiece was the figure in the back. She - as it was definitely a ‘she’ - was smothered in an endless and unbroken layer of latex. The result was complete anonymity; padding and strategically enhanced curves had concealed features that might identify her. There was no hair visible, and even the plaque simply said “ANONYMOUS, by PHANTOM.”

    Occasionally, the figure would twitch. Viewers were encouraged to speculate on the cause, titillating themselves with ideas of brainwashing or pleasure or pain as they saw fit. It was open to interpretation. The gag within the trophy’s mouth caused her cheeks to bulge out slightly. Now and again, moans would emanate from the trophy. Viewers noted that the date of acquisition was the same as Natasha’s, and would comment on the peculiarity. Were the two somehow related?

    As the days wore on, Natasha was released and her stand removed. The curiosity was soon forgotten, though visitors would comment on the latex-and-steel trophy for long after.