Jeanette’s face was red with anger - more red than her bright hair. Not that anyone could see it. It had been shaved close as part of prisoner processing, and the remainder was now tucked under a hood.

The hood  - black and glossy with brighter trim  - didn’t cover her entire face, and left openings for her plump lips and bright eyes. It was the only thing not covered, though, for Jeanette - after being tried and interred and now the rubber-sealed captive of the evil Directrix - was in deep. Though the Directrix was about to show her deeper.

She was utterly, utterly, utterly doomed. From the first moment, she’d been dressed in high-tech latex and unyielding rubber. A tight suit. A tighter sack. It felt like a snake swallowing her whole. The tight suit was seemingly designed to interface with the sack; after being polished and lubed, her prisoner suit fit quite nicely inside the thick rubber of the prisoner sack, and both of them seemed to have dozens of tiny snaps, straps, and locks to ensure that they were completely mated. That meant - in her case - no chance for a simple escape. No amount of tugging or tearing seemed like it was going to get enough force to dislodge her body from the sack.

The snake metaphor went further; even her neckline was squeezed tight. It was like an anaconda, leeching her life away. The sensation of a tight force around her neck was deeply sensual. It forced a mewl (that hopefully nobody heard) from her lips, and forced her to blush bright red - which hopefully Phantom couldn’t see, due to the hood.

The only other watcher in the room was Tara - now quite thoroughly hooded and squirming off to the side. A quiet, mewling observer to the whims of The Directrix.

After being suited up in a prisoner catsuit, then locked within the internal sleeves of the snake-sack, she’d been harnessed up and hung from the ceiling. A heavy weighted ball was attached to her legs, and she was hoisted into the air. The harnessed mistress Jeanette now hung precariously over a small cylindrical hole in the ground, one filled on all sides by inflated padding.

This “oubliette cell” was to be her punishment, said The Directrix - unless any of her rebel friends arrived to rescue her. But that was looking less and less likely by the minute. Jeanette hadn’t been sure if she wanted to be rescued, but she knew she wanted to get this dumb domina out of her hair - forever - and done with this endless taunting.

“Would you just shut up about your prisons?!” said Jeanette. “God, get a real hobby. Like exploiting them, whipping them… instead of just bragging about these cells, whatever you called them.”

“Oh, since you asked. It’s one of my little oubliette cells. Small. Very small. Almost too small for your fat rear, but close enough. The interiors are all totally padded with S-compound flexible gel, an advanced polymer designed to contract or expand remotely. You’ll really enjoy it. The heat is going to crush you like a diamond… or give you enough space to think you can get out. It goes down about three meters. Or does it go longer? Hard to say… it’ll feel like a bottomless pit once you’re inside.”

“Very cute,” said Jeanette. Oubliette, like the French phrase; no escape. “So, I take it that all of these other cells are graves for your enemies?”

Jeanette looked around the room with growing worry and anticipation. She noticed eight other cylindrical pads in the floor… did all of them also have the prisoners of The Directrix? She noticed some names on some of them… Helen, Theo, and others that had been rubbed off by time…

“You’d be surprised,” said the Directrix. “I’m too lenient to my people. Many that I entomb alive come out sooner than you’d expect.”

“Let me guess,” said Jeanette, “because you’re merciful?”

The villain shook her head. “No, because they’re broken, beautiful dolls. And I need the space. I take them out and they’re delectable raw material for me to use. Though some of them… some I’m afraid I just leave unfinished. I might lose track of them. After all, out of sight, out of mind… perhaps I’ll forget when their sentence is up. And speaking of… time flies by when they’re all sealed up.”

Jeanette growled. The time!

“What time is it? How long left?”

Phantom shrugged. “Time to get a watch, dear.”

“I’m a powerful mistress,” spat Jeanette. “I’m used to other people telling me the time. So, how long until some of the rebels break in here and have you begging”

Phantom smiled and shrugged. “Well since you asked…” Phantom said, looking at the clock readout, “That’s time. Midnight. End of the day. And look at that.” She pointed downwards, and Jeanette could see her sacked body just barely touching against the inflated oubliette. “None of your friends came to rescue you. A pity… but maybe you could still be of some use to me.”

‘USE?!” said Jeanette.

“Oh yes. We could be very good friends indeed. All you have to do is beg. Ask. Plead.”

“Get fucked, you dumb whore. Guess my REAL friends are too smart for you.”

The Directrix mocked her with a fake pout. “Oh Jeannie, you’re hurting my feelings. I thought we were closer than this.”

She hugged the bag close. So close. She was gripping it like a vise, squeezing the infra-fluids and crushing Jeanette’s spirit and body. Too close. Phantom’s head was at a height perfect to whisper into her ear.

“Nobody came for you. You’re of no further use to me as a person, Jeanette. I wasn’t giving you an option to be valuable to me. I just wanted to see you beg.”

She turned the bag to face her. Jeanette’s eyes were fearful, an external shield to hide the deep arousal behind them. The phalanx was broken. Phantom had outflanked her. She saw the way the arousal manifested in Jeanette; twitching and licking her lips, swallowing, eyes darting left and right. Flushed cheeks. A slow response time every moment Phantom indicated how completely doomed she was.

“No. No, I’m too strong. I’m too valuable to y-”

“You’re weak. And you’re nothing.”

The Directrix caressed her cheek softly. “I am law. I am the state. I am power incarnate; vested in me, granted by what I make, enforced as I see fit. You are just… an accessory.”

Jeanette’s lip quivered again. The Directrix made a mental note; she’d be a very nice chair. Even better as something mobile, though. A trophy wife to carry around a bag might be in the works.

She hugged her tight again, and saw no reason to hold back. She rubbed her body up against the prisoner’s sacked form. She loved it. Embraced her, embraced the lewd and taboo torture. She squeezed her tight, and Jeanette was singing with the voice of an orgiastic angel. Phantom slipped a finger between Jeanette’s lips, letting her suckle and twitch on them for a moment before withdrawing and wiping the saliva on her face. The intensity was outstanding; the heat from her bagged slave was intoxicating. Oiled and polished rubber on rubber, met with kisses and slaps and pinches to her toy’s face. The poor thing could barely move, but she loved every minute of it.

All of Jeanette’s responses were exquisite. The way that she squirmed moved in sync with her inflated gear and deflated ego, and Phantom reduced the pressure just enough to let the rubberized slut squirm. Enough to feel her curves beneath the gear, enough to let the woman’s legs part and her thighs grind. God, Jeanette was so steamed. It was as if she’d been in the sauna, relaxed and forcibly made into something softer, more pliable.

Phantom gently fit her toy’s mouth with a kiss first, then a small tube. She pumped her mouth full with an inflatable gag, sealing it full of high-tech gel before locking a heavy panel-gag over it. It’d help to keep her sustained for a nice, long time. And then, over the panel gag, another kiss. Phantom couldn’t help herself. And, because she was in a lewd and layering mood, a second hood. This one totally covered her face, unlike the first which had openings for her eyes and mouth. This one included a few micro-screens to keep her entertained, and made sure the the gag was never coming out and no light or information was coming in. Very nice.

All the while, Jeanette was still trying to resist. The mixture of ‘no’ and ‘need’ blended together, and she still gasped in horror at her situation, still struggled to break the cables even as The Directrix brought her to the edge.

God, please, she thought. She wasn’t sure what she was praying for. Release, of some kind. But either way it was The Directrix providing it. She lost track of herself, mentally becoming weightless and floating in a horny haze as her captor stepped backwards. Phantom wiped saliva from her lip with a glove, smiling and panting. God, that felt good.

She was already fantasizing about taking her out for some more fun. If she didn’t intentionally forget about her and leave Oubliette 9 as a tomb to a great rival. Both thoughts left her as she backed off, taking a seat in the throne she’d enjoyed earlier. A snap of her fingers, and the dolly crawled over to her. Phantom spread her legs and enjoyed the sensation of a former foe turned to an oral service.

With one hand, she pulled the hooded head of the doll up close. With the other, she waved her fingers and commanded the winch to lower. She managed a gentle wiggle goodbye.

“Farewell, Jeanette! I win.”

Jeanette’s eyes rolled back into her head. Phantom matched her. The final image of the mistress being lowered into the oubliette was just about the hottest thing she’d ever seen. The cruelty, the wrath, the decadence of it all washed over her. Phantom was overcome with imagery of just how luxurious and immoral it was; the taboo nature bringing her to new, heartless levels of arousal as she watched Jeanette squirm her last.

And, at the same time, Jeanette - confronted with her state, trapped in a haze, squirming until the last, brought herself up to the edge - only reaching it as she felt herself well and fully stuck. She realized that she was actually stuck - it wasn’t just her head. God, WHY?! It gave her just enough head-space that she understood how well and truly doomed she was.

“MMNGNGNGHHH!?”

She had a few moments of lewd clarity to squirm, to buck. To try to squeak herself out. She was stuck in the inflated oubliette; she was up to her shoulders. But she was making progress, the squishy sidings were good grip, she could just barely start to squeak and move upwards.  Yes yes… The Directrix must have been distracted.

And that was when Phantom put her foot down.

Jeanette felt it against her forehead. The strong boot, the tall heeled sole of The Directrix forcing her down, down, pushing her into the hole. She squirmed and arched her back and moaned and tried everything, rubbing herself into a frenzy as she was pushed down, down… the pressure on her forehead only abating when she realized she was inside the oubliette. She heard the laughter of Directrix Phantom, followed by the lid slamming shut.

Something broke within her, and she realized she was over the edge. She came with such intensity that Phantom thought she’d rip her suit or deflate the cell .But that was of course, impossible. Jeanette was hers.

Phantom salivated at the thought. She imagined her , deep underneath the floor, cumming and squirming. Hating it, defiant to the last, yet now utterly unable to resist. Hours of gas and programming and edging taking their effect as the mistress Jeanette went over the edge, over and over again as she sunk deeper into submissive servility.

She went back to her chair and pulled Tara up to her legs. Hearing the sounds of Jeanette losing so utterly was driving her mad with excitement. Yes… she was going to listen to this all night. And then the next day. Jeanette wasn’t going anywhere. She was hers… all hers.

Phantom bit her lip and whispered something, staring at the cylinder, observing holographic imagery of the woman within squirming.

“Mine…”