Dovah squirmed forlornly before shattered glass. She had made quite a mess in quite a short amount of time. There were nearly a half-dozen ‘bots in varying states of disarray on the floor of her sunroom. It was frustrating. She did not have time for this sort of annoyance. She nearly screamed “this is bullshit!”
Of course, she didn’t. She had been heavily gagged. The bots were of a very peculiar design, with a very specific goal.
Nearly a dozen different entities had charged her at once; what chance did she really have? They came in different shapes and sizes, too. None of them were humanoid; all of them were a mixture of simple silver and matte painted black. The ‘bots were hardly the epitome of high fashion, and hardly subtle. In fact, they had gone with a pathetically brute-force approach to obtaining her - a very literal “smash and grab.” The drones had broken through the skylight while she was relaxing, and had quickly proceeded to swarm her.
Already, she was thinking of the difficulty it would take to clean up the mess. Dovah buckled like a wild animal in the jaws of supermassive predator. The wriggling, writhing, and constant cavitation was enough to throw the ‘bot carrying her off balance, but not enough to get free. Not that she really wanted to go free..
The entities that had assaulted here were boring gray and black clumps of metal, yes; but they were autonomous (or perhaps remote-controlled) drones. They were simple, functional, and boring. Long appendages, weapons, spindly legs; they would have looked at home on some battlefield. But instead, they were carrying her to parts unknown. Unknown in part due to the blindfold.
Though she was able to disable a number of them, the rest had swarmed her and quickly had her wrapped and packed like a piece of meat. She was forced to bend, with her knees squishing against her chest and her powerful arms at her sides. Thick reams of silvery tape, occasionally interspersed with an extra-strong layer of reddish rubber-banding was keeping her nicely restrained for the journey.
And what a journey it was! Dovah had been blindfolded with another strip of the restrictive silver tape, but she could feel the wind against her body. Dovah was being carried by the ‘bots - above the ground, probably high above the ground! Maybe all that bucking, thrashing, and attempts to escape was not in her best interests… at least, not yet. If this was who she thought it was, she’d have plenty of time to slake her battle-lust. If it wasn’t who she thought it was… well, she’d still slake her thirst for revenge, but it wouldn’t be quite as sweet.
Eventually, the unmanned vehicles deposited Dovah on a soft, cushioned surface. She wriggled fiercely; the sounds of tape stretching and her form straining against her thick wrapping filled her ears. She eventually wore herself out, tipping on her side.
The tape surrounding her face fell away. She glared, sending daggers out at whomever was behind this.
“You didn’t respond to my invitation.”
Phantom smiled. It was an earnest smile; she was genuinely happy and pleased, but no doubt a part of that came from her situation.
After all, she had the power. Dovah was sitting on a cushioned surface placed atop a long workbench. Above her, the same ‘bots were closing the skylight. In front of her was an impressive and sumptuously equipped workshop… and also, the cybernetic CEO, the pale princess, the bondageer businesswoman herself, Phantom.
“Good afternoon, Dovah. No, don’t speak - though I hear you’re rather quiet anyway. I wanted to ask you if you got my message.”
Dovah nodded.
“So, you saw my offer of wealth, money, and fame?”
Dovah nodded.
“But you didn’t want to take it?”
Dovah did nothing, glaring at Phantom through her gag and squirming in her tape-wrapping.
“Listen, Dovah, you can’t butter me up like that. As much as I love seeing a cute thing like yourself squirming in some silvery tape enclosure, I’m going to need an answer.”
Dovah was silent.
“Drones aren’t going to sell themselves. People buy a smooth, mewling black rubberdoll, and they expect to be able to use it - and not just in the privacy of their own home. They expect to be able to take it out, show it off, and have it perform its duties outside the house. And I want you, I *offer* you the rare chance to help design some of the outfits for the new public face of our product line.”
The woman scratched her chin. It was… tempting, to say the least. Money was good. And it would also be a rare opportunity to have some of her good shown off to the world. The downside being, of course, that it meant working for some megalomaniac like Phantom. She’d rather not have to deal with someone’s ego… but eventually, she relented. With a nod, Phantom grinned, and they got to work.
----
“How are you liking your outfit?”
Dovah grimaced and frowned.
“It can’t be that bad.”
It was that bad. At least, in Dovah’s mind.
Nothing was more humiliating than being dressed by someone else. She normally custom-designed her clothing - she was a master, after all - and being forced to wear Phantom’s tawdry trash had made her ancient blood boil!
Skintight latex gloves that went up to her biceps… a black leggings ensconced in sharp heels… a pink spandex leotard? It looked absolutely ridiculous. This was the sort of outfit that an erotic dancer wore, not a supreme genius like herself. She could already picture forcing someone else into this ridiculous getup, and making them beg. Dovah looked down, sighing at the massive cleavage window. It was hardly subtle.
Of course, she had to sigh - she could hardly moan. The gag was thick and intense; Phantom knew her stuff. A few mystical Shouts and she’d have blown out the glass in the lab, and a few magical words would have sent her speeding out of her little workshop and into Phantom’s most secure zones - ideally dragging that infuriating woman by the hair! Phantom had seen fit to fit a massive plug-gag over her face. A series of four straps - two below and two above her ears - held it in place. The drainplug-style gag kept a thin phallic plug in place, and she’d occasionally tongue over it. It was not the most dignified look. Even if she removed the drainplug, she couldn’t elucidate any words to summon a shout. Instead, only a thin line of dribble would emit. That was not becoming of her status.
At the very least, she was able to work. With all manner of fetishistic and vanilla outfits and materials presented, she got to work. Within a few hours, there were three drones lined up and clad in Dovah’s garb.
All of them were women, and all of them wore the same high-tech encasement - simple black skin, a faceless hood, and a programming collar to keep them docile.
The first outfit for the ‘fashion drones’ was going to be something they could wear in public. A leotard, partially inspired by Dovah’s ridiculous getup, would go over their skin. It layered over a pair of leggings that reached to just above the waistline; all a dark magenta spandex. Over that, though, a large and fluffy dress would hide most of the skintight fetish garb. It was cloth, dark, and had hems of fluffy faux fur. Hanging off the shoulders and going down to the knees, it let viewers know that the drone beneath was wearing something unbecoming but kept it all carefully hidden.
“Very tasteful,” said Phantom. “The mystery is exactly what we’re looking for.”
Dovah raised an eyebrow. Maybe Phantom did understand haute couture.
The second was a bit less acceptable. Skintight black leggings and a black blouse were the order of the day; Dovah didn’t envy the drones under all those glorious layers! But there was a bright shock of color that sent the eye to the center. The latex blouse was a glorious, greedy gold, with a series of plain white buttonskeeping it shut. It turned into a coat over that, black and shining. The whole effect made the wearer look to be wearing more than they actually were - and it also made the viewer’s eyes gravitate towards the center of the outfit, staring at the gold stripe! Best of all was the gold headscarf. It hid the wearer’s hair (not that this drone had any) and added a sense of foreign, almost Orientalist mystique.
Phantom nodded approvingly.
Finally, there was the ‘trap’. Dovah had designed a ridiculous pink and white dress. Puffy shoulders gave it a retro 1980s vibe. Long sleeves garishly clashed with the pink and white. The hobble dress was undone by the awkwardly complementary colors of the corset. Dovah had intended to make this as fetishistic as possible, curious if Phantom - in her inane ways - would enjoy it.
Phantom shook her head. “It needs work. The colors are off. So is the presentation.”
Having passed the test, Dovah nodded. Maybe she could work with this woman after all.
“Dovah, I like the first two. Would you be interested in doing a few more?”
The woman thought about it, tilting her head, tapping the massive gag around her mouth… and finally nodded. Soon, she’d be in Phantom’s good graces. She was already imagining putting this lippy little CEO where she belonged - in one of Dovah’s skintight, inescapable outfits.