Left foot, right foot. Left foot...

A sudden jerk threw Natasha off-balance! Phantom had tugged at her. She seemed to be lagging slightly behind. Her balance wobbled for a moment. Her enhanced senses were just barely enough to save her from a fall, but not enough to keep away that sudden, bizarre sense of vertigo that always kicked in when one was teetering on the edge of collapse.

Right foot... uh-oh. Natasha took another step, and heard a loud and profound 'mmngh' sound from in front of her. A pressure on her neck indicated that this time, Phantom was in front of her!

All of this was cruel and unusual. It was practically impossible to walk with her own getup, and that said nothing of her attached partner.
Natasha, for her part, was doing her best.

The boned corset stretched up past her waistline and provided a window for her generous bust to pop through. Tight spandex and minimal support meant that her chest was free to bob and weave as she stumbled through the darkness.

Her corset was matched by a strict hobble-skirt. It was comfy as a hobble-skirt could be. Comforting, in a way; it was the sort of item that marked her as a woman of class and dignity. She didn't need to walk when she wore a hobbleskirt. She was above such trifles.

As if to drive the point home, knee-high boots tucked beneath the skirt that ended in tall wedges meant that every step was just extra precarious. The armbinder that kept her arms flat against each other and behind her back only further served to make her lean back at an unnatural angle... and show off her chest all the more!

Tasha was blind, deaf, and snugly bound. She heaved deep, still unable to communicate with Phantom by any means thanks to the signal-deadening gas mask. She couldn't see, couldn't speak, could hardly hear thanks to the hood that was locked under considerable layers (not the least of which was her collar!) and turned even Phantom's annoying grunts to muffled 'mmphs'.

She could only imagine what sort of gear Phantom was wearing. In Natasha's mind, Phantom was probably totally free-  unbound, ungagged, and only going along with this to torment and tease her further. She felt a pang of annoyance at the thought. Surely, Phantom was free as a bird and teasing her. Oh well. When all was said and done, the prank would be over and they'd be back to normal.

Of course, Natasha couldn't have known that at the same moment, Phantom was dealing with a pair of punishingly tight ankle cuffs, desperately wishing she had something as free as a hobble-skirt!

She wobbled again; Phantom nearly falling forward but catching herself at the last moment. Though she couldn't know it, both women were bound, gagged, completely anonymous underneath their gas masks (unless one counted their iconic costumes and Natasha's bust!) and stumbling forward. If nothing else, they were stumbling together.

One wrong move, and they'd be on the ground, splayed against each other. Natasha couldn't help but envision Phantom flopping around, rubbing and grinding and lost in lewd, lascivious motions. It'd be silly, and Phantom would no doubt blame her for it... but such was life. Being punished by the CEO was an occupational hazard - bound, gagged, hooded, and smothered was a part of the job! For that matter, so was being trapped in an armbinder, gas mask, corset, hobble-skirt, and tied to said hazard.

This was cruel, unusual, and practically impossible. That didn't mean they weren't going to try.