Image by SantaimaZ, story by basically Val https://linktr.ee/valderaconstance

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You wake up from a much-too-deep nap.

Roll awake, try to stand up. Realize there's a straitjacket clinging to your upper body. A posture collar locked around your neck. Hooded, double-hooded, electromag locked. Lenses over your eyes, but you don't wear contacts?

You take notice of various equipment with growing brutality and strictness. Tight synthex catsuit. Thicker rubber straitjacket. Long, tall rubber stockings ending in a set of ballet boots that make your toes and legs ache endlessly, boots that go up to your calf and are STILL locked with chains. Not that they needed to be locked, you can't imagine running. Would you even run if you could?

If you *could* move a muscle between your leg cuffs, it would just be agonizing reminders of how tightly packed and rubberize you really are. The first few 'blinks' are very disorienting as you realize that you're completely, COMPLETELY layered and can't even shut your eyes to avoid images of the room and mistress. She's beaming them right into you.

Monitors glow to life, a little glowing dot on your forehead. You can see that someone's reading your thoughts, showing you text, showing you where you are.

Red letters blink on.

"ENJOY THE PARTY"

The "room", the cell, is a parody of an apartment. Heavy D-rings and anchor points everwhere, a nice big window, a long comfy couch. The party is banging. Panicked struggles mix with shame as you realize that you're surrounded by people who are eager to have some fun.

Your panicked thrusts and squirms just lead to people noticing your LOCKED null bulge. You can hear everyone clear as crystal, but nobody at all responds to your pleading plantive sounds. some walk up to you, asking if there's a price. Others ask about testing you out, rubbing over your null bulge.

A statuesque woman comes gently into view. Dressed to the nines and her silver hair flowing like spun silver. She shakes her head. You're not for sale.

Rebecca sips her wine, admiring the piece before commenting, "Ah Miss Phantom, my deepest apologies, but this one is a personal piece. For now, I must plead selfish."

The small gathering chuckle and move on, but the silver haired woman winks at you. She knows! A night spent being observed, quietly groaning and eventually giving up on struggling. Guests filter out, lights eventually go out. The click of heels are like gunshots as they grow louder; approaching. She's dropped the jovial hostess, bleeding nothing but ice and cool contempt.

“Those dullards think anything that isn’t a Picasso is modern art. Tsk.

But you came out quite nice.

I am going to send a bonus to my leather tailor. He promised me not an inch of movement. Statue quality! May even give him the ride of his life.”

She reaches out and taps the keypad, causing the glass door to decompress and slip the moorings. She takes you out from behind the glass, staring at you.

“Break into my home, will you? Frankly, if you weren’t my project in the coming months, I would have had you languish in the local prison. But I can take care of my own, and you’re mine now. There's only one person on the PLANET that I'd even THINK about having any fun with you. And while I won't be selling you, she's agreed to come over each and every day to properly torture you while I'm busy."

She slides you over. Phantom grins as she sidles up to you.

"I thought that I'd be better at BREAKING you." She brings you over to the couch. Runs a hand over your thigh. You quiver, knowing that she's already fantasizing about bringing you to the edge and making sure you STAY there while she fills you up.