The room was still warm. The Directrix stared at the heaving form of her love Helen, still splayed on the bed. The plaything was smiling. Her mouth was closed, occasionally releasing quiet moans, eyes staring up at the regal posters of the bed. She turned to her side. The Directrix watched her plaything’s toes quiver and twitch; presumably still feeling aftershocks of pleasure from their night together.

It would be sad to say ‘goodbye.’ The evening they’d spent together had been thoroughly pleasant. Helen had been such a treat the past few days; ever since The Directrix had seen her and ordered her arrested on manufactured charges. In fact, Phantom thought, she’d given Helen a truly blissful few days. The woman was so devlishly kinky. She was utterly submissive in her hands; a beautiful and sweet thing in short brown hair and adorable glasses. Phantom was going to be so sad to let her leave.

Which was why the Directrix had determined that she’d never leave. The villain walked over and gently kissed Helen on the forehead as she drifted off to sleep, basking in the warm afterglow of their intimacy together. When she woke, she’d be down in Processing; a converted manufactory now taken as a hall of horrors. Helen would go in, and she’d never come out - though a faceless and nameless bondage toy would eventually emerge. The Directrix would have them design all kinds of ideas and gear for her new permanent pet. And “pet” would be a good space to start. Having the beautiful Helen as a hooded and heavily gagged kitten would be a blissful way to keep her around; so much better than the sweetheart roaming free out in the cold world. Yes, better to keep her sealed and squirming forevermore. Directrix Phantom knew that she was just so kind to do this to her. She even felt the need to lean in and give Helen one more kiss before departing.

She had a day of logistics tomorrow. The bland but critical work of going over her pocket empire’s financials was always AI-assisted, but still took time. She’d need to physically ascertain the city’s resources. Maybe pay some Dominion bribes. Finances were never going to be perfect, but she hoped she could squeeze a bit more money out of the mines and service sectors before turning to letters of marque. Paying pirates was not a thing she wanted to do again. Their leaders were still languishing in her prison (and their underlings long since sold off) from the last adventure with such licensure. The Directrix headed towards her wardrobe. She might leave the leather military gear off for this excursion. Maybe she’d try on some glasses. They were so cute on… what was her name? The girl in the other room? Phantom was already moving on to other things when her guards disappeared Helen.

Jeanette never forgot a face. She never forgot a friend. And she never ever gave up on either. As a domineering dame and keenly malevolent mistress, Jeanette always assumed that if she met a person, she would eventually call on them for assistance. Everyone - whether friend or foe - would eventually learn to fear her, obey her, and serve her in different ways. To this day, she was still extracting the occasional meal out of boy-toys and playthings she’d met years ago. With just one angry call, she could grab a ride from a submissive servant, or get information on upcoming business ventures from another indebted idiot.

Therefore she always had to keep tabs on her many contacts and resources. And sometimes, those contacts also counted as friends in addition to resources. Jeanette kept a little black book filled with the names and information and weaknesses of every single one of them. As such, when one of them was missing, Jeanette wanted to update that name as soon as possible. And when not one but two of her friends were MIA, well - Jeanette was obviously going to find them and bring them back into her little sphere of influence, even if they were kicking and screaming.

Her most recent lead was that they had both been seen on Promise, the sovereign city of the fearsome Directrix. Likely, they got involved in some foolish acts of rebellion and ended up arrested. No matter. It didn’t matter how authoritarian this dictator was, Jeanette knew how to apply the perfect amount of funding in the perfect place. It wouldn’t be too hard to set up a meeting with the Directrix, wherein she’d explain the situation and offer a small suitcase full of money and favors. She’d be back with her girls by the start of the week.

The logistics meeting was finishing up. All that was left was the import of ore and materials; shipping containers full of goods and a few smaller transports with passengers. As the rest of her logistical staff was eying over security camera footage of the shipments, The Directrix was staring deeply at grainy recordings of the visitors and passengers. One of them had caught her interest. She took her newly-minted glasses off of her face, tapping a finger against her lips.

            “No idea,” he said. “A businesswoman? A tourist?”
            Phantom gazed at her deeply. She was smitten. “No, something more. She’s mine.”
            The rest of the staff sighed audibly, knowing that the Directrix was about to be distracted for the rest of the day. Their work completed, they filed out - leaving Phantom alone to smile, grin, and plot a perfect ‘meeting’.

The restaurant hummed with black and gold. The door opened, and in that moment, it was exposed to the outside world. Cars parked just outside lined long streets. Automated vehicles came and went, and the club across the street pounded with the sound of heavy machinery as construction continued. As the automated doors closed, it became quiet once again.

Glowing glass panels from the ceiling indicated changing specials and options. Blocky, angular 3D-printed chairs and tables were of reasonable manufacture - far cheaper than real wood or imported plastic. A dozen other visitors enjoyed dishes that ranged from fabricated to entirely home-grown. Red trim over white plastic; the smell of food, the sound of low hushed conversations. Jeanette and The Directrix sat, enjoying drinks after finishing appetizers. The Directrix leaned her head on both of her hands, green gaze piercing deep into Jeanette’s soul.

The visiting domina opened up her purse. Her puffy purple jacket was so glamorous, accentuated by real fur trim and a tight red sweater underneath. Phantom could hear her crossing her legs, leather-clad thighs squeaking as she did so. There was a moment of tension until she revealed a business card. The Directrix cocked her eyes; Jeanette met them with a mirror-gaze.

“So, if you do see my friends… you’ll of course call me. And if you’re interested, you can call the number underneath first. They could provide… services if you need anything. Something to reward your search; I’m sure a busy dictator like yourself is always so occupied, and if you had it in your heart, it would mean a lot.”
The Directrix smiled. “The funny thing is… I don’t know if I need a reward. Finding a friend is its own reward. Don’t you agree?”

            Jeanette shrugged.
            “Oh, you’re not interested in being my friend, Jeanette?” Phantom feigned emotional injury. “Very well. We can have another relationship.”
            Jeantte smirked. “Sure… you could be one of my many clients. You’d be surprised how many powerful people call on me for various services and exercises.”
            Phantom returned it, shutting her eyes and placing a napkin to her mouth. “I would be surprised. Someone as careless as you gaining success would be a big twist.”
            “What was that?”
            Jeanette’s retort made her realize the entire cafe had gone silent. Every single person carefully stood up, wiped off themselves, and exited the restaurant. Every one of them, a paid agent, actor, or intimidated civilian in the service to The Directrix. Every one of them averted their gaze as Jeanette stammered with curiosity. As they passed through the door to exit, noise from the outside world streamed in; when they finished, the absence returned. The quiet was so deafening; somehow she could barely hear a thing in the stifling environment of the cafe. The Directrix had a smile that seemed to scream into Jeanette’s ears.

Sweat dripped down Jeanette’s orange hair. Hours of interrogation was starting to get to her. The mistress would never break like one of her playthings, but she might start to crack. Jeanette was dressed in a prisoner uniform; there’d been no trial this time. Not even for show. Jeanette wasn’t going to be a prisoner; she was going to be damned as a rubber plaything.

Thick black rubber. Red accouterments; tall boots and thigh-straps. Garters of steel chains. Among Phantom’s favorite was a heavy boxtie-binder, keeping her arms totally encased behind her back, and associated with a fantastic little charness. The red leather and steel mated with glowing red locks. Red for ‘denial,’ red for ‘stop’, red for locked. Phantom’s gaze and voice and presence were the only things that could unlock all the heavy steel and unyielding high-tech rubber. That would also require Jeanette to acquiesce, and that was simply not happening. Despite being heavily strapped to a chair, grabbed and groped and choked, she wasn’t breaking. Twenty seconds of airless horror when Phantom wrapped a latex sheet around her face hadn’t broken her; nor had thirty. Prisoner 99 was a tough nut to crack.

The prisoner had no name, just a number - a barcode imprinted on her tits. But she had a real mouth on her. Phantom had kissed it as she choked the mistress; the sheet over her face made her so pretty, and she’d eagerly touched lips with those glossy, encased curves.

Phantom shook her head and clicked a few buttons on a remote. A screen on the wall hummed to life, showing a prisoner in black and red moaning, groaning, begging, pleading. Her thrusts and gyrations weren’t just resistance - they were lewd, needy, earnest, hot, steamy. The way she shook demanded to be touched and groped and used. The prisoner formerly known as Tara was trapped in a thick suit, enclosed in a black-and-red harness sack. The way it hugged her body was extreme; glowing locks kept her packed to the absolute limit, her flesh squeezed and body hugged in strangely erotic ways. She was hooded and masked, with an extra blindfold and plug-gag fitted over her hood. A single printed photograph of Tara’s face- blonde and smirking - hung from her mask. It fell off as she shook.

There wasn’t even a negotiation as she was slowly lowered into a small cylinder in the floor. The screen followed her as the poor blonde dolly was fitted into a tight tomb-cell, compressed and squirming and hugged from every side by her rubbery prison. On the screen, Phantom used the front of her boot to force the squirming captive all the way down, squeaking into the inflated pads of her isolation unit before closing a hatch over it.

The Directrix filled Jeanette’s mouth with a colossal sponge, fitting it past her lips before wrapping her mouth with a deviously heavy panel-gag. She could feel her body bulging beneath it, crushed in the unyielding grasp of Directrix Phantom. The dictator was almost giddy as she pulled out an electro-whip, letting it flop to the floor. A malignant grin crossed the villain’s face. Jeanette was unable to speak thanks to the incredible gag… but she mewled out a melodious, pathetic groan.