Markéta had been taught a peculiar distaste for nudity. It did not disgust her or horrify her to see her body, but it was unusual. That was Phantom’s doing. She stopped undressing for a moment to wonder to herself how much of it had been sent, programmed by Phantom… and how much of it was herself. Was it her environment? Was it something about her nature? Markéta’s body was slender, muscular around her legs and thighs. She was pleased with the form with which she was endowed.

She was staring in the mirror in Phantom’s hi-rise penthouse, somewhere about the offices of the villain’s company. Mirrored walls showed Markéta her pale skin and light pigtails; her environs, a modern and comfortable surrounding with an air of sterile captivity. She looked at the quality, wastefully expensive floor; she looked at the tall ceilings; she looked at what she was fairly certain was a trapdoor leading to some oppressive rubber trap. And then she stared at herself in the mirror as she layered a lycra leotard over her form.

On thinking about it, it was almost certainly her environment. Almost entirely. After all, Phantom mandated uniforms, clothes, and layers of attire at almost all times. In her presence, she abhorred complete nudity. Phantom rejected it. She’d rather have Markéta be clothed in servile garments, layered up in exotic materials, or utterly packed up and stored away than simply see her nude.

Markéta imagined it had something to do with power; with control. As one of Phantom’s playthings and dress-up-dollies, Markéta was made to wear all manner of garments at the whims of her captor. Usually she was left to her own devices, though, and that meant something warm and comfy. The top floors of the mistress’s office-apartment were a bit chilly, leading to a cozy, fluffy, and textured sweater - almost universally worn under a layer of nylons. The stockings depended and varied from day to day, but oftentimes the stocking clothed almost her entire body. Instead of a blouse or shirt, Markéta had  been ‘taught’ to instead enjoy the encompassing, snug sensation of spandex and lycra. And instead of pants, well - once again, lycra catsuits had a certain appeal.

She was sitting on a couch, lounging after doing some exercise when Phantom returned. She didn’t have to use words; she simply nodded and smiled her approval. Staring at Markéta’s stocking-clad feet, thighs, hips - yes, she was doing exactly what she wanted, which was sitting and being very pretty. Although there was more to it today. Phantom sat down on the couch next to Markéta, pulling her feet onto her lap and rubbing them tenderly.

“Hello, dolly,” Phantom said. It was an endearing term, but it had an ominous feeling to it as well. Dollies weren’t people.

“Good afternoon, Miss Phantom,” she said. Markéta shifted her weight to lounge, resting her head - one of the only places of her body free from layers of skintight clothing - on her hand.

“I’ve need of a very good dolly like yourself,” said the villain. “And you’re going to comply. Play a part in my little charade.” She let out a deep breath and chuckled to herself. “You see, I’m about to capture a visitor who will be attending tomorrow. And I need a few captives in the room with her. You know, to spy on her, to report on her behavior… to make it all feel real.”

Markéta nodded. “So you need me to be a ‘plant’?”

Phantom nodded. “Yes, but not some potted plant in the corner. I need you because you’re real. You’re about to be the absolute perfect squirming, shining captive. A threat for what will happen if Agent 99 doesn’t comply.”

Markéta started to sit up. “Wh-what… what does this consist of exactly, mistress? Do you need me to recite lines?”

Phantom shook her head. “Well… there’s one in specific. Begging. Moaning, wheezing and drooling into a thick gag.”

Markéta blushed, sitting up and tapping a finger against her chin. “I… well, if you need me to act as a captured spy, well… I would certainly be moaning, yes…”

“Good. I’m glad you’ve volunteered. You’re going to make me look like the most delectably brutal, intimidating queen that Agent 99 has ever seen.”

Nightfall came, and Markéta - after a nap and some preparatory time - was ready to be “in character” for Phantom. She didn’t realize just how real Phantom was going to make it, though. The interrogation room was dark, with a one-way mirror. The lights were dim save for spotlights on her from above - surely showing off the reflections of her clothing. It was a good thing MirageCorp smart latex could help cool her down, because she was already getting hot and steamed under all the layers and lights…

Markéta was wearing more than her usual bodystocking and hosiery. This time she’d been forced into a high-tech sneaking suit; some kind of advanced synthex / lycra material. It hugged her a bit tighter than she’d been expecting… though not nearly as tight as the interrogation chair. Her arms were strapped in with thick cuffs around her wrists - very scary - and a second pair of straps around her forearms. There was a big leather lock around her neck, too, in case Phantom wished to tighten it. And that was to say nothing of the heavy shackles around her ankles and calves in case she tried any kicking.

Markéta felt a heavy hood removed from her face, and stared into Phantom’s glowing, manic green eyes.

“Your fellow agent is watching, you know,” she said, pointing at a one-way mirror. That must have been ‘visitor.’ The villain immediately launched into a prepared script, watching Markéta start to squirm in the synthex.

“You know, you're quite a catch. A beautiful, smart, daring woman who can infiltrate any place, charm any person, accomplish any mission. You're a rare breed, and I admire you for that. But you're also a fool. A fool who thought she could outsmart me, who thought she could play me for a fool. You underestimated me, and that was your biggest mistake. You see, we have ways of making you talk. Ways that will make you beg for mercy, ways that will make you wish you were dead… unless, of course, Agent 99 bails you out, or you acquiesce.”

At that point, she realized that she hadn’t been briefed on any kind of script. She stared at the mirror with pleading eyes, and then at Phantom.

“Please, I think there’s - I’m not sure what to say. My name is Markéta, and I’m-”

Phantom cut her off, placing a gloved hand over her mouth. “A secret agent who’s fallen into my web. Tsk tsk. Not interested in talking, are you?”

Markéta stuttered as Phantom released her hand. “I really don’t know anything. There’s been - am I supposed to - to - supposed, uh, is there - I don’t have anything to say!” she said. The exchange continued for several more bouts, each time Phantom tormenting her further. Tightening straps. Whispered horrors in her ear. And finally, growing threats.

“Fine,” Phantom said. “Markéta won’t talk. The agent is no longer of use to me.”

The captive’s heart skipped a beat. She was tugging on her straps with all her might with growing intensity, growing strength and need. She tugged, feeling the synthex suit all over her seeming to tighten with the heat.

“If you’re worthless as an agent… then maybe you’ll be of some worth as a dolly.” Phantom pinched Markéta’s nose shut, forcing her to yelp and gasp. With her mouth open, she slipped a wide ballgag within, a tight strap locking it in place. Over the gag went a spandex gwen hood, leaving her nose and eyes visible but covering up her hair - Markéta’s pigtails exiting through holes in the sides. She was drooling now, groaning, struggling.

“Let’s get rid of this agent!” Phantom said, and went over to a wall. The captive’s eyes went wide as she threw a thick-looking switch. Above the interrogation chair, something opened up, and suddenly the ‘spy’ felt a thick weight splashed onto her waist… a weight which was spreading and growing.

Latex? Rubber? No, some kind of strange advanced smart material, one which was rapidly moving to engulf her, swallow her whole, tighten all around her. Another layer? Phantom must be mad! But “Agent Markéta” could do nothing to escape it. The smart-latex was growing, going from a glob of goop on her waist to some kind of enchanting, thick, rubbery skin. It slid with slowness at first, going from her waist to her thighs and chest, capturing and sealing up her breasts in some thick suit. But the heat seemed to nourish it, and Markéta was only getting hotter.

All these layers, all this peril, all these words. She was shuddering now, quivering, and the liquid latex was only getting bigger. Faster. It spread down to her thighs, individually coating them before going to her knees, calves, feet and toes. Her fingers flexed, gripping the interrogation chair with all her might, trying to break free from an increasingly impossible and implausibly tight fate. She jerked left and right but the liquid latex just flowed beneath the restraints - ensuring a total and complete encasement.

Her head was last, meaning that Markéta got to see it as it approached in the mirror. She stared as the rubber, pressing on her synthex suit, neared her neck and hooded face.

“Oh,” Phantom said, “Since I no longer have need of you as a spy… I suppose we could put you to better use.” Phantom showed off a high-tech pair of goggles and calmly fastened it over Markéta’s face. She couldn’t struggle away as suddenly the hypnotic lenses pressed against her visage. Not that she was able to think much… it was so hot, so exciting, so lurid. Her toes were quivering as it approached the top of her neck, hugging her from every side, every inch.

Phantom waved into the mirror. “Looks like we’re about to say goodbye to Markéta. I wonder if our next agent will be more… pliable?” She leaned in, sitting atop the lap of her “captured spy” and feeling the liquid latex tightening into an inescapable slave-suit. She leaned in to kiss the gagged lips of her dollie, taking more than enough time to feel the hooded face against hers, to hear the mewling ,to feel the heat. And finally, when she was done, she finished it off with another hood - this time with a pair of openings for the lenses, but nothing else. And once that was on, the liquid latex flowed over it, leaving the dolly as nothing but a black-skinned slaveslut to be trained; no identity but a pair of pigtails and lenses.

Markéta started to shudder as the “interrogation” came to an end. She felt something welling up deep in her core, and felt her thighs and arms twitching almost without her knowledge. Sweet nothings poured into her ears. Lewd sounds and sights began to overtake her. She moaned, mouth agape and thrashing in her interrogation chair as Phantom dismounted, observing the glossy little plaything one more time as the light went out.

The “dress rehearsal” was done, and she left Markéta to enjoy herself. She was wondering if Agent 99 would be a good captive and switch sides… or if she’d end up as another beautifully Dolly.