The tight embrace of latex.

“Don’t worry, it’s harmless—just adds a little interactive fun,” John said flatly, then switched to the second bottle. “This is the key. A synthetic nutrient solution. From now on, this is what will keep you alive. It contains water, electrolytes, essential vitamins, and a very small amount of amino acids and glucose. It can sustain your basal metabolism, but it won’t produce much solid waste that needs to be processed by your anus. Of course, the liquid residue will be slowly absorbed by your anal ball.” The colorless, viscous liquid was slowly injected. Its texture was thicker than water, and as it flowed down her esophagus it made its presence distinctly felt. A faint sense of fullness gradually arose in her stomach—not the satisfaction of enjoying a good meal, but as if some non-food substance had been forcibly stuffed into her. Immediately after, John switched the tube from the green-liquid bottle to the port connected to her anal plug. The woman felt the ice-cold liquid surge in from behind, traveling along the tube straight to the area around the already swollen latex ball deep in her rectum. The itching inside her anus was instantly activated, stronger than in her esophagus, because the rectal mucosa was more sensitive. She couldn’t help clenching her anus, but the bead was lodged firmly deep inside; the contraction of her sphincter only made the spiral ridges on the bead’s surface rub against her intestinal wall, producing an even stranger stimulation. She could feel the liquid being slowly absorbed by the largest anal ball, and the sphere seemed to swell a little more inside her intestine, stretching her rectal wall even wider. A persistent, bloated sensation of needing to defecate mixed with the irritating itch became the constant background sensation of her rear. When John finished all this, he stepped back two paces and crossed his arms over his chest, like an artist appraising a work he had just completed. His gaze swept over her entire body imprisoned in the bottle: her breasts, abnormally large and with skin stretched taut and gleaming because of the vacuum hood; her face, fixed by the crystal mask into an expression of terror, and the lock of hair pulled out through the mask; her slender waist, encircled by an almost invisible crystal belt; and below, her completely exposed genitals, clearly displaying three transparent tubes inserted into her sex. Her limbs hung limply at her sides, unable to move because of the residual anesthesia and the restraints of the straps. “Look at that expression, that posture of wanting to struggle but being utterly powerless…” John’s voice was full of admiration and satisfaction. “This is the most perfect state. Dynamic confinement, an eternal instant. You are my most successful collectible.” Hearing these words, the woman felt as if she had plunged into an ice cave. The last shred of fantasy was shattered. He had waited for her anesthesia to fade and deliberately dragged out the time precisely in order to capture the most genuine terror and struggle when, fully conscious, she realized she was permanently imprisoned. He didn’t want a docile doll; he wanted a living specimen, full of pain and resistance, yet frozen forever. He had never intended to break the bottle once he grew bored. This “permanent experiment” had meant exactly what it said from the very beginning. Despair flooded over her like a black tide. She no longer glared furiously; instead she closed her eyes, though the mask made even that action incomplete. Her tears flowed even harder. She felt that she was no longer a person, not even a living wife, but truly an object—an exhibit called “living bottled specimen.” A dark picture of the future unfolded in her mind: perhaps before long, John would not be the only one standing before this bottle. There might be his “like-minded friends,” or other people he invited to “appreciate” her. She would be like a wonder in a museum, her every bodily detail freely scrutinized by strangers’ eyes; they would watch how she struggled to urinate, how the internal itching made her produce uncontrollable slight tremors, and even watch the mechanism inside her vagina start up because of her involuntary physiological reactions… Just then, the bloated pain in her bladder struck again with an intensity impossible to ignore. The diuretic was working at full force. The intense urge to urinate forced her to face the torture before her once more. She bit down on the tube wall in her mouth and once again began that futile, painful attempt: contract, squeeze, endure the stinging scrape of the gears, wait for that one precious drop of liquid to be expelled. A faint smell of ammonia spread through the air again. “Oh, it’s starting.” John said cheerfully, picking up the magnifying glass again and crouching back in place, ready to observe this “performance” closely. The woman screamed, cursed, and pleaded silently in her heart, but all sounds were blocked by the tube in her throat and turned into indistinct sobs. She had become completely his alone—a toy, a living sacrifice trapped in a transparent cage. And this nightmare had only just begun. The steadily accumulating urge to urinate, the lingering internal itching, the shame of being completely watched, and the boundless fear of permanent imprisonment would become the reality of every minute and every second of her future. ‘I really need to pee… won’t someone come save me?’ This thought, accompanied by severe physical discomfort and cold mental despair, became the only lament echoing over and over in her consciousness. But beyond the bottle wall, there was only John’s focused, appreciative gaze and a suffocating silence. She picked up the set of silver metal dilators arranged from smallest to largest, the smallest less than two centimeters in diameter, the largest exceeding five centimeters. She coated the smallest one generously with lubricant—warm this time, unlike the cold liquid from before. Kal'tsit felt the smooth metal rounded tip press against her wet entrance. She held her breath. The woman advanced slowly but firmly. The sensation of intrusion was unmistakably clear. Despite the small size and ample lubrication, the unfamiliar swelling of being stretched open and filled still made Kal'tsit clench her jaw. The dilator was pushed in as far as it would go, then left there. The woman adjusted a clasp on the frame, securing the dilator's handle in place, so that Kal'tsit's vagina remained slightly held open. The initial intense discomfort gradually passed, replaced by a persistent, hard-to-ignore feeling of fullness. She could feel the cool metal inner walls pressed tight against her warm, soft cavity. "Get used to it," the woman ordered, then turned to prepare other instruments. This "getting used to it" lasted a full hour. Kal'tsit lay supine on the frame, legs spread wide, her lower body holding the cold foreign object, feeling like a piece of meat pinned to a cutting board. The initial shame and resistance were gradually replaced by a numb exhaustion as time passed. Her consciousness began to drift, until the woman approached once more and removed the smallest dilator. The instant of being emptied brought a hollow, contracting sensation to her opening. But immediately after, the next, slightly thicker dilator pushed in. This entry was more difficult than the last; Kal'tsit felt the muscles at her entrance resisting slightly, bringing a dull ache. She let out a muffled grunt, fine sweat beading on her forehead. The woman didn't stop until the larger metal cylinder was fully seated and secured once more. This process repeated four or five times. With each change, Kal'tsit could more clearly feel the extent to which she was being stretched from within increasing. By the time the largest dilator was finally inserted and fixed in place, Kal'tsit was somewhat dazed. She felt as though her lower body no longer belonged to her, having become a container into which objects could be inserted at will. The metal surface of the dilator was no longer cold, warmed by her body heat, but that hard, inorganic texture constantly reminded her of her situation. The scent of lubricant in the air grew heavier, mingling with the distinctive faintly sweet, musky smell of her own secretions, hanging stagnant in the sealed training room. Throughout the entire process, the woman would occasionally lean down to observe the changes in Kal'tsit's vulva up close, especially the fit between the edges of the dilator and the vaginal mucosa, and occasionally lean in to sniff. Each time her warm breath brushed against Kal'tsit's most intimate skin, it triggered an involuntary, subtle tremor in Kal'tsit. Kal'tsit bit down hard on the gag, her heart filled with humiliation, yet deep within her body, along the inner walls of the forcibly dilated passage, a slippery fluid was continuously secreting against her will, even trickling down along the edges of the dilator and the fixed handle, slowly dripping onto the leather pad below, leaving dark wet stains. The woman clearly noticed this. Her fingers brushed over those wet marks, rubbed them together, and lightly smeared them across Kal'tsit's heaving lower abdomen. "See..." There seemed to be a faint, almost pleasurable note in her voice: "Your body is far more honest than your mouth." About two hours later, when the last dilator was removed, Kal'tsit's vaginal opening could not fully close at once, gaping slightly open in a small hole, revealing the moist, crimson mucosa within, before slowly contracting back after a few seconds. Her entire vulvar area was flushed with a congested redness from the prolonged exposure and manipulation, and her clitoris was swollen and glistening. The woman finally unfastened the restraints on her legs and helped her down from the frame. Master pinned her shoulder under his foot, stopping her from coming any closer. “Stay kneeling right there.” She stopped, holding the kneeling, prone position—face pressed to the floor, ass thrust high. The position drove the anal hook deeper into her rectum, and she couldn’t hold back a muffled grunt. “Open your mouth.” Master said. She hesitated for a moment. “Open!” Master pressed down hard with his foot. She was forced to open her mouth—though with the latex hood on, she could only make the motion of opening it, and Master was clearly not satisfied. He reached out and found the seam at the chin of the hood, where there was a hidden zipper. He pulled the zipper open and shoved the ball gag through the opening. The rubber ball gag brutally forced her mouth open. The ball was much larger than her oral cavity. The instant it went in, she felt as if her jawbone were about to split. Her teeth were forced apart, her tongue pressed to the floor of her mouth, and saliva secreted uncontrollably, flowing out through the hole in the center of the gag. The straps on either side of the gag passed through the inside of the hood, around the back of her head, and Master pulled them tight. The moment the buckle locked shut, she completely lost the ability to speak. The gag filled her entire mouth; even the slightest swallowing motion became difficult. Saliva kept welling up and dripping from the gag’s hole, mixing with the earlier filth and gathering into a sticky puddle at her chin. Her breathing was affected too. She could only desperately inhale through her nose, but the hood’s breathing holes were already mostly blocked, and air entered extremely slowly. The feeling of suffocation rose again; she grew dizzy, her vision darkening. “Can’t take it already?” Master’s voice came through the latex, blurred and indistinct. “This is only the beginning.” He stood and walked behind her. She could feel his hand on her buttocks, stroking her through the latex suit. Then he found the chain of the anal hook and yanked it hard— “Mmmph—!” Her scream was blocked by the gag in her throat, turning into a dull whimper. The anal hook was pulled outward, the metal hook scraping her intestinal wall and bringing tearing agony. She could feel the hook’s head being forcibly dragged out from the bend of her intestine; the intestinal wall clung tightly to the metal surface, then was brutally parted. Her anal sphincter was stretched to its limit, and a burning pain spread from her rear hole through her entire pelvis. Master pulled the chain, dragging her backward like a dog on a leash. She was forced to shuffle backward on her knees. With every movement, the anal hook shifted inside her, the pain making her tremble all over. Saliva dripped continuously from the gag’s hole, leaving a wet trail across the floor. When he had dragged her to the center of the room, Master released the chain. The anal hook snapped back into her body from the sudden release, striking hard against her rectal wall. Her vision went black, and she nearly fainted. “Now, crawl one lap.” Master sat back down in the chair and picked up his beer again. “Crawl around the room. On your knees and elbows, like a dog. If I see you using your feet, don’t even think about sleeping tonight.” She looked at the room. It was not large, about ten tatami mats. But to her now, it was like a huge maze. Her arms were bound behind her back, so she could only support her upper body with her shoulders and elbows; her knees were already rubbed raw, and every movement was like stepping on knife points. The gag filled her mouth, breathing was difficult, and saliva kept flowing out, dripping onto the plastic sheet with a soft pat-pat sound. She began to crawl. Elbows propped on the floor, knees moving. The position made her ass stick up even higher, and the dildo in her vagina swayed inside her with the movement, its ridged bumps scraping her swollen, reddened mucosa. The burning of the chili oil had seeped into every inch of tissue; she felt as if her lower body were being roasted over fire, and every movement brought new pain. Masami instinctively wanted to retch, but Master cupped her chin and forced her to keep her mouth open. “Breathe deeply. Smell it.” Master’s voice sounded beside her ear. “Remember this smell. This is the scent you must get used to as a doggy.” Masami forced herself to inhale. The stench filled her entire airway, shooting from her nasal cavity straight into her brain. Her eyes began to water, but Master did not stop. He kept stuffing stockings into her mouth until both cheeks bulged completely and not another inch could fit. Masami’s mouth was stuffed full of stockings; her tongue was pinned beneath them and could barely squirm. Saliva began to flow, soaking the stocking fibers, but that only made the stench stronger—wet stockings released more odor molecules. Her throat made a swallowing reflex, but her mouth was packed so full that she could not swallow anything at all. Saliva could only pool in the gaps between the stockings and then spill from the corners of her mouth, forming a thin transparent thread. Next came the nose hook. It was a small metal device with soft silicone pads at both ends and an adjustable chain in the middle. Master hooked one end of the nose hook onto Masami’s nasal septum, then gently pulled upward. Masami’s nose was lifted, her nostrils forced to open upward. This posture left her nasal passages completely exposed, making it easier to inhale air—and the stocking stench filling the air. The pull of the nose hook was not strong, but it was constant. Masami felt her nose fixed at an unnatural angle, the skin around her nostrils stretched taut. With every breath, more of the stench poured into her lungs. Her breathing began to quicken, the rise and fall of her chest becoming more pronounced. At the collar of her kimono undergarment, the outline of her collarbones could be seen moving with each breath. Master watched Masami’s reaction and nodded in satisfaction. Then he picked up a silicone gag. It was not an ordinary ball gag, but a slender cylindrical body with an enlarged head at the end, its surface covered in granular bumps. The middle section had a recess that fit neatly behind the teeth to keep it from slipping out. Master gripped Masami’s chin, forced her mouth wider, and aligned the gag with her oral cavity. Because her mouth was already stuffed with stockings, insertion required some skill. With his other hand, Master pressed against Masami’s bulging cheek, squeezing out a little space, then pushed the gag in bit by bit. The head of the gag pushed the stocking fibers aside, rubbed against Masami’s palate, and slid deeper toward her throat. When the enlarged head reached the entrance of her throat, Masami’s body trembled violently. Her throat muscles contracted instinctively, trying to reject the foreign object. But Master kept up the pressure, and the gag finally broke through the resistance of her throat, its head lodging at the entrance to her esophagus. Now Masami’s mouth and throat were completely filled. The stockings occupied most of her oral cavity, while the gag occupied the passage from the back of her mouth to her throat. She could not close her mouth at all, nor make any clear sound; she could only produce muffled whimpers from her nasal cavity and the gaps between the gag and the stockings. Her breathing depended entirely on her nasal cavity, and because of the nose hook, her nostrils were wide open, continuously drawing in the stocking stench that filled the room. Masami’s eyes were wide open, her pupils dilated from discomfort and mild oxygen deprivation. Tears kept spilling from the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks to her jaw, then dripping onto her chest. The collar of her kimono undergarment was already dampened with a small patch of tears. …… After the treatment of her mouth was complete, Master began working on Masami’s other senses. First, her ears. Master took out two specially made earplugs. The door opened, and Su Qing’s voice drifted in: “Weiwei? Are you home? The light’s on.” Liu Baiwei froze inside the doll, not daring to move. Footsteps approached the bedroom. The door was pushed open. Through the lenses of the fake eyes, she saw Su Qing walk in, wearing her usual sweet smile. Her gaze swept across the room and finally landed on the “newly acquired” giant latex doll on the bed. “Huh? A new doll? So lifelike.” Su Qing stepped closer, her fingers brushing over the doll’s latex cheek. Liu Baiwei held her breath. Su Qing’s expression gradually turned probing. She noticed the unnatural bulge at the lace seam on the doll’s back, reached out, and parted it, revealing the small brass lock. She seemed to freeze for a moment. Then the corners of her mouth curled into a cold, excited arc that Liu Baiwei had never seen before. “Found you, Weiwei.” Su Qing said softly, her voice carrying a pleasure that made Liu Baiwei’s blood run cold. Liu Baiwei wanted to scream, to struggle, but the thick latex and cotton made her movements extremely slow and feeble. Su Qing easily restrained the arm she tried to lift. What followed was like a nightmare to Liu Baiwei. Su Qing found sturdy nylon rope and began by binding Liu Baiwei’s wrists, which were pinned behind her back. The rope bit deep into the latex, sank into the cotton beneath, and then pressed against the skin of Liu Baiwei’s wrists. Su Qing tied it expertly, the coils packed tightly together, knotted in a complex way to ensure Liu Baiwei’s arms were firmly fixed behind her, elbows almost touching. Blood circulation was obstructed, and her hands soon began to go numb and swell. Then came her legs. Su Qing forced Liu Baiwei to keep a kneeling position, thighs folded against calves, and used rope to bind her ankles to her thighs, forming an inescapable, humiliating pose. The ropes likewise sank deep, locking every joint that might have moved. Then the gag. Su Qing pulled down the zipper at the doll’s mouth, giving Liu Baiwei a brief chance to breathe and plead: “Qingqing! Don’t do this! Let me go!” But Su Qing only smiled and produced a black plastic ball gag. There was a hole in the center of the ball, but it was pierced through by a thick, long dildo-shaped insert. The front end was smooth and rounded, growing thicker toward the back, with a raised ring-like structure at the base. Su Qing pried Liu Baiwei’s mouth open. Ignoring her whimpers and head-shaking, she shoved the gag in. The ball filled her oral cavity, forcing her teeth apart so she could not close her mouth, and saliva seeped out beyond her control. The dildo plunged deep into her throat. The intense foreign-body sensation and gag reflex made her retch continuously, but the thing was lodged too deep for her to spit out. The strap at the back of the gag went around the back of her head and was buckled tight. Now she could not even make muffled sounds. She could only produce extremely faint “mmph, mmph” noises through her nose and the gaps around the insert. Finally, Su Qing hollowed out a huge teddy bear in the room, stuffed Liu Baiwei inside, and zipped it back up. Under the restraints and the pressure of the double layer of cotton, Liu Baiwei could barely move. From the outside, the teddy bear looked almost ordinary. But no one knew that inside the teddy bear was a living, despairing woman, imprisoned. “This way, you’ll always be my good doll,” Su Qing whispered against the doll’s “ear,” though she knew Liu Baiwei might not be able to hear clearly. It wasn’t the softness of cotton pajamas, but a smooth, tight surface with almost no friction at all. She looked down, and her heart clenched—she was wearing a bright red latex bodysuit, covering her from just below her neck all the way to her toes. She had never bought anything like this, much less slept in it. The latex clung to every inch of skin like a second epidermis, even the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed was clearly outlined. A wave of panic hit her. In her fluster, she threw off the covers, and the mirror-like red sheen reflected faintly in the morning light. She sat up, and the latex gave a soft rustle of friction as she moved. The suit was too tight—so tight she could feel the latex pressing against her ribs, her waist and belly cinched a full size smaller than usual. She ran her hands over herself. Her palms were covered by latex too, her sense of touch dulled. The kind of latex suit she’d seen online usually had a zipper down the back, but her fingers searched up and down along her spine several times and found only a complete, seamless surface. Apart from a neat edge around her neck, the only openings in the garment were at her crotch—two small round holes, one for her vagina and one for her anus, their edges so smooth they seemed to have grown there naturally. Monica forced herself to stay calm. She needed to remember what had happened last night. Last night had been ordinary. She hadn’t gone to a party, hadn’t drunk anything, had put on a silk evening gown at eleven and lain down, everything as usual. But that silk gown was gone now. She looked around the room—vanity, wardrobe, chair—everything was in its place. Only the clothes on her body had been replaced. That sense of the unknown sent a chill down her back. She walked to the full-length mirror, wanting to see her whole body. She had barely taken a step when something tripped her. Looking down, she saw a pair of high heels by the foot of the bed—slender heels, a full ten centimeters, also made of bright red latex, their surfaces glossy as lacquer. Monica frowned. She didn’t remember owning these shoes. But strangely, as she stared at them, a powerful urge welled up inside her, as if the shoes were calling to her to put them on. She hesitated for a few seconds, then bent down and picked one up. The inside of the latex shoe was smooth and cold. She slid her foot in, and an immediate tightness spread from the top of her foot to her ankle. After putting on the other one, she stood up unsteadily. Her height had increased a great deal; her field of view had changed, and so had her body’s center of balance. She tried a couple of steps, the high heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor. Just then, she felt something moving inside the shoes—not pain, but a faint, worm-like crawling sensation spreading slowly upward from the soles of her feet. She assumed it was just discomfort from new shoes and thought no more of it, steadying herself against the wall as she continued toward the mirror. The reflection made her hold her breath. From head to toe, she was completely encased in red latex, her body’s curves exaggerated and emphasized. Her breasts looked especially full under the latex’s compression, the position of her nipples clearly protruding. The latex had been specially treated there, forming two small round cups that clasped her nipples tightly. As she breathed, her nipples actually hardened slowly, pushing the latex into an even clearer shape. Her waist was cinched extremely narrow, while the curve of her hips was lifted and amplified like ripe fruit. Her legs were straight and long, the latex wrapping all the way to her toes, each toe individually shaped, so that it looked like she were wearing a layer of red skin. Monica reached out and touched the mirror, her fingertips lingering on the cold glass. Was this really her? This face—the latex hood wasn’t on yet, so her face was still her own—but her body had become terrifyingly unfamiliar. She noticed fine beads of sweat seeping through the latex surface, yet inside the suit she didn’t feel stifled. Instead there was a strange sense of breathability. Just then, she caught sight of a corner of red peeking out from under the bed. She crouched to look. It was a pair of latex panties with a bizarre design: the front was attached to a dildo, and the back to a small anal plug, both made of the same red latex. The dildo’s head was sculpted with realistic glans texture, and its shaft had spiral ridges; the anal plug was a tapered cone with a flared base to keep it from slipping out. Monica stared blankly. A clear thought suddenly surfaced in her mind: this thing should be put on. The thought startled even her. But she couldn’t help reaching out and picking up the panties. There were small fastening straps along the edges of the latex panties. She stepped into them one leg at a time and slowly drew them up to her waist. When the head of the dildo pressed against her vaginal opening, she paused. It was already somewhat wet there from her earlier tension and the friction of the latex. She took a deep breath and slowly lowered herself. The dildo pressed into her bit by bit, the foreign sensation extremely obvious. Then she put on the latex maid outfit, zipped it up at the back, and finally put on the white latex headband and the long black latex gloves. Karin did not have to wait long before Aisha appeared before her again. The complete maid outfit was now fully on her body. Her legs and hands were wrapped in glossy black latex, reflecting a captivating sheen under the light. At the front of the maid dress was a small white latex apron, especially cute, its edges trimmed with lace. Although it was made of latex, it looked remarkably realistic. The whole outfit was especially comfortable to wear. The elasticity of the latex let the clothes fit perfectly to the curves of her body—neither too tight nor too loose. The only thing Aisha felt was lacking was the design of the latex maid dress over the chest. Because the latex maid dress was made of very thin material, when it clung tightly to her breasts, an awkward scene appeared. Two obvious protrusions rose at the chest of the maid dress. The shape of her nipples showed clearly through the thin latex, and she could even see the fine texture around the areolae. The maid dress not only failed to conceal the traces of her nipples, but made them even more prominent and conspicuous. Aisha looked down at the two small points on her chest, her face burning red. She could feel her nipples growing harder under the friction of the latex, protruding even more obviously. Beyond that, Aisha now had a pair of black ultra-high heels on her feet. There was no help for it—there were only four pairs of latex high heels in the room altogether, and the pair Aisha now wore had the lowest heels of them all. But even the lowest heels were still fourteen centimeters high. This made Aisha seem a little unsteady when she walked. She tried to take a step. A sore, swollen sensation rose in her ankle, and she had to hold on to the wall to keep her balance. Still, women have a natural advantage with high heels, and she quickly found her sense of balance. “How is it? Can you get used to the high heels?” Karin asked, her gaze sweeping over Aisha as if admiring a work of art. “It looks a little unsteady when I walk now, but I think I’ll adapt quickly,” Aisha said, then tried a few more steps. It felt much better than before. Karin then took out a pair of gleaming silver handcuffs. The cuffs were made of metal, their surfaces polished very bright, giving off a cold metallic luster. She approached Aisha with the cuffs and said, “I need to put a small restraint on your hands. A maid in handcuffs looks very disciplined. It will bring you a lot of inconvenience, but the maid’s work here doesn’t require many complicated postures. Wearing them makes people feel that you are obedient—that is the temperament we need.” Aisha looked at the handcuffs, and a complicated rush of emotions welled up in her heart. She had never imagined she would be put in handcuffs, but now she stood here in a latex maid outfit, and everything seemed so natural and reasonable. She told herself that this was only a job, and she needed to cooperate. So she took a deep breath and said, “All right, Madam Karin, I am willing to cooperate.” With that, she held out her two small black latex hands. Karin picked up one cuff and gently fastened it around Aisha’s right wrist. The metal made a crisp sound as it met the latex surface, and the cold touch passed through the latex to Aisha’s skin. Karin adjusted the tightness of the cuff, making sure it would not slip off, but also not be so tight as to affect circulation. Then she fastened the cuff around the left wrist. A fifteen-centimeter chain connected the two cuffs, so Aisha’s small latex hands could not move far apart from each other. Aisha tried moving her wrists. The chain clinked and rattled, and she felt an unprecedented sense of restraint. She looked down at the pair of silver cuffs now added to her gloved wrists, and a subtle feeling welled up in her heart—both shameful and exciting. Not long after the cuffs were put on, Aisha saw Karin take out a ball gag. It was a standard black rubber ball gag. The ball was about four centimeters in diameter, with a smooth surface, connected to two black straps. Aisha’s heartbeat quickened involuntarily. She knew what she was going to do next. She obediently opened her mouth and let Karin fit the ball gag onto her mouth. Karin first pushed the ball gag into Aisha’s mouth. The ball forced her teeth apart and pressed down on her tongue. Aisha’s mouth was completely filled, and she could only make muffled whimpers. Then Karin passed the straps around the back of Aisha’s head and fastened them tightly behind her head. The ball gag was fixed firmly in her mouth. She could not close her mouth, nor could she spit the ball gag out. Her jaw was forced open a little, and saliva flowed uncontrollably from the corners of her mouth, dripping down along the collar of the latex maid dress. Fortunately, the ball gag was not very large, so Aisha’s tongue still had some room to move. She tried to push the ball gag with her tongue and found that it did not budge at all. She blinked, her vision gradually focusing—but the sight before her stopped her heart dead. And worse still—everything had been turned upside down. Her hands were cuffed, the cold metal rings clamped tight around her wrists, clinking harshly whenever she struggled. Her body was bound inside a rough, airless orange latex prison uniform, the pungent smell of rubber assaulting her nostrils. The odor was so strong it was nauseating, like burying her face in a pile of freshly manufactured rubber tubing. The chemical stench irritated her nasal membranes and made her want to sneeze, but the pressure in her chest made even that almost impossible. The uniform’s lining was as rough as sandpaper; every slight movement rubbed against her tender skin and brought a burning sting. She looked down and found herself wearing that uniform. Its material clung to her body like a second skin, yet it restrained her far more than skin ever could. She tried to move her shoulders, only to find that the narrow sleeves made it difficult even to lift her arms. Her shoulder blades were wrapped tight, and with every breath she could feel the latex’s unyielding resilience. And standing before her was a familiar figure—another her. Or rather, the “Emi” who in her memory sat high upon the judge’s bench, now looking down at her with cold, merciless eyes, like a cruel mirror reflecting her own fate. That “Emi” wore the same black judicial robe, but there was no warmth in her gaze—only a frigid scrutiny, as if she were sizing up a prey animal caught in a trap. “For the attempted assassination of a judge, the sentence is life imprisonment.” The other Emi announced it in a flat, utterly emotionless voice. Each word fell like an icy raindrop upon Emi’s heart and froze there. Emi tried to open her mouth to argue, but the words welling up in her throat were sealed behind a huge latex gag. The gag’s material was thick and soft, carrying an unsettling warmth, as if it had been peeled from some living creature. When it was pushed into her mouth, she felt an intrusion unlike anything she had ever known. The gag was shaped like a huge sphere, its surface covered in a dense pattern of ridges that produced a nauseating sensation when it touched her tongue and palate. She felt it slowly force her lips apart, press against her gums, and bear down on the base of her tongue. The taste of rubber spread through her mouth—a blend of chemicals and industrial fragrance, faintly cloying, yet enough to make her want to vomit. Instinctively she tried to push it out with her tongue, but the gag was fixed firmly in her mouth. A thin strap looped around the back of her head and was tied tight there, digging into her hair and pulling at her scalp. Her teeth sank into the soft surface but left no mark; instead, her jaw ached unbearably. Saliva began to flow uncontrollably, seeping through the gaps of the gag, dripping down her chin, wet and sticky against the uniform, leaving dark stains. She tried to make a sound, but only muffled whimpers came out—syllables reduced by the gag to meaningless noise. Panic gripped her throat like claws—Judge Emi had now become prisoner Lila. Her mind was a chaos; she could not understand what was happening before her eyes. She tried to remember what had happened, but the fragments of memory were like a shattered mirror, impossible to piece together. She only remembered Lila rushing at her, and then… then she was standing here, in the defendant’s dock, while that “Emi” stood at the judge’s bench. The first few hours after imprisonment were a succession of cruel, dehumanizing torments. Two tall guards dragged her through a dim corridor. The walls on either side were rough concrete, covered in cracks and stains, and the air reeked of mold and sharp disinfectant. Her feet dragged along the floor, her soles scraping against the ground with a harsh sound. She tried to struggle, but the guards’ hands were like iron clamps, locked tight around her arms, leaving her unable to move. She was stripped of her clothes, a process brutal and humiliating. This slave must perform the deep-throat motions autonomously and complete a counting task of exactly two hundred repetitions. The springs and collar around this slave's neck formed a constant restraint; without completing the task, there was no escaping the device. This slave took a deep breath and, using all its strength, thrust its head forward, letting the cock slide deep into its throat again. The counter jumped to “2” with a click. This slave felt its throat stretched open by the cock, its esophagus compressed; the intense foreign-body sensation triggered a fit of retching, but this slave forcibly held it back and slowly pulled the cock out. Saliva drew long threads across its surface, threads that glistened under the light, sticky like a spiderweb. Each deep-throat required overcoming the pull of the springs. When this slave tilted its head forward, the collar tightened further, almost cutting off breathing; when pulling out, the neck tilted back, and the springs pulled it back into place. Repeating this formed a mechanical rhythm. In its mind, this slave began counting. With every completed deep-throat, it silently marked down a number, while feeling the sore ache in its throat and the churning in its stomach. By the time it reached fifty, this slave's throat was already unbearably sore. Its saliva had grown thick, mixed with the sourness of stomach acid; every swallow brought a burning sensation. This slave could feel the muscles of its throat spasming. Every deep-throat triggered a fit of retching, but this slave forcibly suppressed it, because there were still one hundred fifty more to complete. Master came to the device as promised and removed two springs. The reduction in springs slightly eased the pull on this slave's neck, but Master immediately adjusted the spacing of the remaining springs and fixed them in place again, so that the overall tension increased instead. This slave felt its neck being pulled tighter, the collar sinking deeper into its skin. Breathing became even more difficult; every inhale required effort for its lungs to expand under the pressure of the corset. More cruelly, Master picked up an inflatable anal plug from beside him; a hose and air pump were attached to its end. Master slowly inserted the plug into this slave's asshole. This slave felt a cold foreign-body sensation; the silicone surface was smooth, but as it entered the rear hole it brought a swollen, stretching ache. After the plug was in, Master began pumping air—once, twice. The air bladder expanded, stretching the asshole open and pressing against the prostate. This slave's body trembled involuntarily; a current mixing pain and pleasure shot from its tailbone up into its brain. For this slave, addicted to humiliation, this punishment was practically a reward. In its mind, this slave both craved being filled and feared being stretched to the point of unbearable swelling and pain, but its body's reactions betrayed it: the muscles of its asshole contracted involuntarily, tightly wrapping around the plug, trying to retain that sense of fullness. The next fifty repetitions became even harder. The springs' tension increased; each deep-throat demanded more strength, the neck was pulled tighter, and the throat was rammed deeper by the cock. Under the corset's pressure, this slave's lungs could only take shallow, short breaths. Each deep-throat required holding its breath, and only after pulling out could it gasp for air—but that chance to breathe was interrupted by the springs' pull. Repeating this left this slave dizzy from oxygen deprivation. The reflection in the mirror showed a flushed face; sweat seeped from its forehead and ran down its cheeks, mixing with saliva and leaving mottled water stains on the latex suit. This slave could hear its own heavy panting, the gurgling sounds of swallowing, and the click of the counter jumping. These sounds echoed through the silent room, forming an oppressive rhythm. When the count reached one hundred, Master removed two more springs, adjusted the spacing again to increase the tension, and pumped two more bursts of air into the inflatable anal plug. The sense of swelling in this slave's asshole grew stronger. The plug had completely occupied the space inside, and the inflated bladder squeezed the prostate, producing a continuous aching distension. This slave's penis hardened involuntarily inside the latex suit, but it was tightly enclosed and could find no release. This slave could only feel wave after wave of suppressed urge, like a trapped beast struggling in a cage, unable to find an exit. At one hundred fifty, the same procedure repeated. Only two springs remained, and the tension reached its maximum. This slave's neck was pulled almost into a straight line; its head could not tilt back at all and could only remain in a forward-leaning posture, with the cock buried deep in its throat. Even pulling out required using all its strength against the springs. The inflatable anal plug had now been pumped six times in total. This slave's asshole was stretched completely full; every breath brought the plug's pressure, and its prostate was continuously stimulated, making this slave's genitals secrete clear fluid that ran down the inside of its thighs and left wet marks on the latex suit. This slave's mind began to collapse, but at the same time there was a stubborn excitement, because only fifty repetitions remained before the goal. This slave clenched its teeth. Every deep-throat was accompanied by violent retching; stomach acid surged up, burned its throat, and was swallowed back down, leaving a sour, bitter taste. This slave could smell the rank odor of stomach acid mixed with saliva, and the stifling, humid scent of evaporated sweat inside the latex suit—a smell like an animal imprisoned in a sealed space, raw and feral. Finally, when the counter jumped to two hundred, all the springs were removed, and this slave's neck regained its freedom. This slave could not wait to tilt its head back and pull the cock from its throat, gasping in great gulps. Air rushed into its lungs, bringing a cool sense of relief. But the inflatable anal plug in this slave's asshole had been pumped eight times in total. The bladder had expanded to its limit, stretching the rear hole into a swollen ache; the internal pressure burned like fire, and the prostate was squeezed almost numb, yet that aching distension continued without pause. This slave's neck and mouth were relieved, but the torment in its asshole had only just begun. That swollen ache burned like flame inside its body, making this slave's buttocks twist involuntarily in search of some relief—but every movement made the plug rub harder, bringing even stronger stimulation. Life in a Latex Prison Where Orgasms Are Strictly Controlled After spending an entire night in this tight latex uniform, he felt as though the place had been tailor-made for him. The latex clung tightly to every inch of his skin, from his neck to his ankles, with no gap through which air could seep in. It was a warm, oppressive embrace. The fine texture on the inside of the latex left faint pressure marks on his skin, as if reminding him that from this moment on, his body no longer belonged to him. He swore he had heard several girls moaning during the night. The sounds came from the neighboring cells—sometimes sharp and piercing, as if deliberately meant to be heard, and sometimes low and stifled, carrying some indescribable longing. He knew those moans were either meant to make others jealous or to tease them, but soon all such attempts were stopped by the female guards. He heard the sound of latex soles striking the floor, coming closer from far away, followed by the metallic scrape of a cell door being opened. The female guards entered the cell, their movements practiced and swift. Their fingers seemed especially nimble inside their latex gloves. He imagined the girls struggling as they were held down, their mouths stuffed as tightly as possible, the spherical parts of the latex gags forced in until their lips were stretched into perfect circles, saliva spilling from the corners of their mouths and dripping down their chins. Then the guards would add some pretty restraint accessories—perhaps leather straps around the wrists, or metal collars around the neck. Each piece was carefully designed to be both beautiful and functional. If it was a boy, even one wearing a chastity cage, trying to use his hands for pleasure, the guards would put fluffy orange latex mitts on him. The mitts wrapped around his hands like enormous cotton candy, making it completely impossible to bend his fingers, so that any touch became impossible. Girls who tried to masturbate received the same treatment. Every movement was seen and monitored. There was no way to hide pleasure. In this prison, sexual stimulation was strictly forbidden and tightly controlled by the secretary and the guards. Each prisoner’s monthly number of orgasms was regulated and controlled, and they were never allowed to exceed the number they were “given.” The orgasm allowances for male and female prisoners were set according to their respective physiological needs. Some people had extremely high sex drives, but they would certainly be punished for it—their allowances reduced while they were constantly teased. The usual standard was three times a month, which was truly pitiful and miserable, especially considering that the institution itself was designed to be full of sexual stimulation and fetishistic meaning. He remembered the sounds he had heard last night as he tossed and turned on the latex mat—the stifled gasps and whimpers, the pleasure forcibly interrupted—and they made him feel a strange mixture of excitement and fear. Everything between his legs was completely numb. The chastity cage locked everything inside tightly, not allowing him even the slightest sensation. It was a cold metallic feeling, with the latex lining leaving a slight sense of pressure against his skin. His cock was completely confined in the narrow space, making even an erection impossible. He had tried shifting his body slightly, hoping to find some comfortable angle, but the lock of the chastity cage was designed so perfectly that any attempt to adjust only drove the metal edge deeper into his skin, bringing a sharp sting. He could only give up and let the numbness spread through his entire lower body, as if that part no longer belonged to him, but was a locked-up tool waiting for someone else to decide when it would be used. In the basement of an old apartment building in Shinjuku, Tokyo, the light was dim and yellow, and the air was thick with a blend of sandalwood and leather. Suzuki Yukino knelt on the tatami, the black latex catsuit she wore giving off a dark, faint sheen under the lamp. She felt the one-piece garment clinging to her entire body like a second skin, from her neck all the way down to her ankles, every inch conforming with not a sliver of space left. The latex felt smooth and cold to the touch, but as her body warmed slightly, that coldness was gradually replaced by a warm, clammy slickness. She could hear her own breathing, because the collar of the latex suit pressed close against her throat, and with every inhale she caught the distinctive rubber smell of the latex—pungent, yet carrying a certain chemical sweetness that made her heart beat faster. She stealthily raised her eyes to look at the woman standing before her. Sato Miki, the mistress in her early thirties, wore a crisp black suit and held a red leather ball gag in her hand. Yukino’s heart clenched violently; she knew what was coming next. She was afraid and yet vaguely expectant, and that contradiction made her fingers tremble slightly. Miki said nothing, only patted her cheek lightly, signaling her to open her mouth. Yukino obediently opened her mouth, and saliva immediately welled up inside. Miki pressed the red sphere against Yukino’s lips. It was about five centimeters in diameter, smooth-surfaced, and the rubber felt slightly cool when it touched her tongue. Yukino’s tongue instinctively drew back, but Miki pushed firmly, and the sphere filled her mouth. Her palate was pressed up by the ball, her tongue pinned beneath it, with not even enough room to shift. Yukino felt a suffocating pressure, and the airflow from her nose quickened. Miki moved around behind her head and pulled tight the leather straps on either side of the gag. The straps cut across the corners of her mouth, leaving deep marks on both cheeks, then crossed at the back of her head and finally fastened with a metal buckle. The buckle clicked shut, and Yukino felt the back of her head being cinched tight, as if her whole head had been bound. She could no longer close her mouth and could only hold the ball between her lips while saliva kept spilling from the corners, running down her chin onto the chest of the latex suit and leaving a slick trail. She tasted the rubber surface of the gag, a slightly bitter industrial fragrance mixed with the salty astringency of her own saliva. She tried hard to breathe through her nose, but the air drawn in through her nasal passages carried a faint leather smell, coming from the gloves on Miki’s hands. Yukino’s ears rang, and she could hear her heart pounding violently inside her chest. Miki stepped back two paces, admired her drooling appearance for a moment, then picked up a black leather hood. The hood looked like a mask, but it had no openings at all, only a small zipper pull at the forehead. Miki fitted the hood over Yukino’s head, moving slowly, letting the leather cover her cheeks, ears, and forehead bit by bit. When the hood was fully in place, Yukino’s vision went completely black; not a trace of light could get through. The inside of the hood pressed tight against her skin, the heavy weight of the leather bearing down on her ears, muffling every sound so that she could hear only the humming echo of her own breathing within the hood. She smelled a strong leather-tanning odor, that sour animal-hide smell mixed with glue, making her nasal passages itch. Her cheeks were pressed by the leather, and the gag straps at the corners of her mouth were further secured by the edge of the hood, so that no tiny movement of her cheek muscles could ease the pressure in her mouth. Miki tightened the hood’s fastening cord behind her head; the leather cord passed around her jaw and was knotted at the crown of her head. Yukino felt her entire head fixed rigidly in place, so that even shaking it had become difficult. Her consciousness began to blur, because sight and hearing had been simultaneously stripped away, leaving only touch and smell endlessly magnified. She could feel the seam line of the latex catsuit pressing against her spine, that subtle ridge now becoming extraordinarily distinct. Her fingertips twitched slightly inside the gloves, yet she could not grasp anything. Next, Miki picked up a black leather arm sleeve. It was a mitten-style restraint tool, wrapping from the elbow to the fingertips, with several metal zippers on the inside. Miki signaled Yukino to put her hands behind her back. Kneeling, Yukino struggled to fold her arms behind her waist, and the joints of her shoulders gave a faint creak. Miki fitted the arm sleeve over her forearms and hands, then pulled the zippers up one by one. With each pull, the leather tightened a little more, gathering her fingers closely together into two fists utterly incapable of independent movement. Finally Miki pulled up the straps on the arm sleeve and pressed her elbows toward the center until the two fists were pressed tightly together behind her waist, then locked them firmly in place with a wide leather buckle. Yukino felt her shoulder blades being pulled backward, her whole upper body forced upright, her chest thrust forward, and breathing became even more difficult. She could only rely on the rise and fall of her diaphragm to expand her lungs; with every inhale, the chest area of the latex catsuit stretched taut to its limit. She could hear her own heartbeat—thump, thump, thump—as if coming from a distant tunnel. When all the electrodes had been installed, she patted my crotch. The crisp sound came muffled through the latex. She helped me down from the chair, and my legs were trembling; with every step I could feel the electrodes inside me, the metal plates shifting slightly as my muscles contracted, sending waves of stinging pain and tingling numbness through me. She led me toward the bed. I stood in front of the vacuum bed, its deep black latex mattress open and empty inside, like a huge soft-bodied creature with its mouth gaping open, waiting for prey. I lay down as she instructed. When my body sank onto the lower latex sheet, the cold sensation instantly wrapped around my back. The chill seeped through the thin latex bodysuit into my skin, and I shivered. Isabella picked up the upper latex sheet and slowly covered my body with it. The light before my eyes was swallowed bit by bit. When her hands carefully smoothed every fold along the edge of the mattress and pulled the zipper closed, the last trace of light disappeared. I was plunged into absolute darkness. But I could smell. In such a sealed, narrow space, the smell of latex was magnified countless times: a thick, pungent chemical odor with a faint glue-like sourness and the lingering warmth of burnt rubber tires. These smells mixed together and poured wetly into my nostrils, quickly occupying my entire sense of smell. I could taste the bitterness of those molecules in the air; they left a thin, waxy flavor on my tongue. Then Isabella turned on the vacuum pump. The machine began to hum low and deep not far from me, a dull buzzing like some large appliance at work, passing from the floor through the mattress and into my bones. I could hear the faint hiss of air being drawn away, and then my body began to be compressed. At first it was only a slight sense of restraint, as if someone were gently pressing both hands against my shoulders and abdomen. But gradually the pressure grew stronger and stronger. The latex mattress began to contract like the stomach wall of a huge beast, clinging tightly to my body, every inch of skin bearing an even, heavy squeeze. My arms were pressed to my sides, palms flat against the outsides of my thighs, every protrusion and hollow swallowed by the latex. I could hear my breathing becoming more and more rapid. Each inhale required effort against the collapsing space around me; under the double confinement of the corset and the vacuum pressure, my lungs could only expand a tiny amount. My legs were pressed together, knees crossed, ankles overlapping. The latex sucked into the gaps between my toes, and I could feel sweat secreting there, damp and sticky-hot, yet sealed in by the vacuum bed so it could not evaporate. My buttocks were flattened, and every spinous process of my spine was outlined by the latex, as if a stamping machine had pressed marks into me one by one. Isabella’s hands stroked my chest and crotch through the thick layer of latex. Her palms were strong and warm. Each press made me feel the latex deform beneath her, and when her pressure withdrew, the latex sprang back and clung even tighter. Those touches became chaotic and uncertain as they passed through the latex, but precisely because of that barrier, every sensation of pressure became sharper. My body began to heat under her fondling. A humid heat rose from my abdomen and spread through my limbs. My vagina was contracting uncontrollably, and the fluid it secreted was trapped there by the conductive gel and electrode pads, carrying a faint smell of metal mixed with mucus. In the darkness I felt my humiliation and pleasure intertwine. That place had become wet and hot, and I could not deny that I truly craved her. She said this would be a very long, very heavy night in the rubber vacuum bed. The sentence landed in my mind like a stone dropped into water, and the ripples spread outward ring by ring. My brain raced frantically; countless thoughts exploded in the darkness and then merged. I realized I had completely lost control over my body. I was sliding step by step into the trap she had carefully designed, and I did not even want to struggle. That thought sent a surge of almost fearful excitement through me, and the blood beneath my skin felt as if it had been set alight. I clenched my teeth. The latex hood was filled with the hot air I exhaled; that damp heat clung to my face, and I could taste the saltiness of my saliva and sweat mixed together. The vacuum pump kept working, and I was pressed down harder and harder. The latex mattress was like a perfect mold, copying every contour of my body. But Isabella seemed dissatisfied with the effect of the vacuum. She stopped the pump and opened a corner of the zipper. A blast of cold air rushed in, bringing a moment of coolness while I was dizzy from the stifling heat. She adjusted something inside the mattress and then sealed the zipper again. The pump started once more, faster and more violent this time. Before I could adapt, a pressure far greater than before rushed in from all sides. My body felt as if it had been seized by a giant fist, every inch of bone protesting against the squeeze. I could even feel the folds formed by the latex mattress pressing fine marks into my skin, like tiny rivers. She left again. I lay there alone, surrounded above and below by the same darkness and pressure. That isolation flooded my consciousness like a tide. I could only hear my own rapid, heavy breathing through the breathing tube and the low hum of the vacuum pump working nearby. My heart pounded powerfully against my ribcage; each beat was absorbed by the latex mattress and then bounced back, turning into a confusing echo. I tried to move my arm. The movement cost me enormous effort but only made the latex mattress creep a few millimeters. That helplessness began to panic me. My lower abdomen contracted sharply, and the churning in my stomach brought a wave of nausea. But I forced myself to breathe deeply and shifted my attention to the electrodes that were now running. The electrical stimulation program had already started. The current did not make me wait long. A gentle pulse came from the electrode inside my vagina, like a warm little tongue lightly licking my inner walls, making my knees go weak. Before I could savor that tingling, a second current came from the electrode in my anus, deeper and more solid, as if a finger had been slowly inserted and then bent. The stimulation at the two points alternated, rapid and completely irregular. My body could not adapt to the changes; my nerves were teased back and forth between those two sensitive places, and soon my hips began to push upward involuntarily, though the vacuum bed suppressed even the smallest rise. My breathing grew more rapid. The hot air I exhaled formed mist inside the hood, and through that blurred field of vision I could see only endless darkness. It was as if a huge sex toy were repeatedly invading my body, except that toy had no rhythm, no temperature, no weight, yet precisely teased every nerve ending. My lower body was soaking wet. Thick fluid and conductive gel mixed together, and the warm sensation spread from there, becoming stifling and damp inside the vacuum-sealed latex. Then the vacuum pump suddenly stopped. The enormous pressure vanished abruptly, replaced by a strange floating sensation, as if I had finally been pulled up from deep water. I gasped for air. The air had room to move again, and I heard my panting become a little easier. I seized this brief interval to change my position as much as I could, twisting my numb right shoulder slightly. The joint gave a faint click, and the soreness from having my back pressed down for so long began to spread. But that freedom was only an illusion, because soon I felt someone fiddling with something near my head. I heard a faint hiss, and then my hood began to inflate again. Xiaoxi once again stood before that milky-white door, her heart racing, her fingers trembling slightly. She knew that behind the door waited a brand-new latex vacuum bed. Its smooth latex membrane gleamed with a dark, faint luster under the light, like some organism from another star patiently awaiting her descent. The air was thick with the distinctive fragrance of latex, a scent like rubber mixed with vanilla, rich and faintly sweet-raw, drilling straight into her nostrils and making her swallow hard. Xiaoxi’s fingertips brushed across the thin latex surface. The touch was fine and ice-cold, and in an instant fine goosebumps rose all over her skin. She drew a deep breath, feeling the latex scent soak into her lungs. Her head grew slightly dizzy, and heat unexpectedly stirred between her legs. The memory of last time was still vivid: that suffocating pleasure of being wrapped in latex and steadily drawn tighter had left her unable to stop thinking about it. She longed to be completely conquered again by that soft yet powerful membrane. She took off her clothes and stood naked before the vacuum bed, the glossy latex reflecting her blurred outline. Beside her, the young man was adjusting the bed’s airtight seal, his movements focused and practiced. Xiaoxi watched him, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness surging in her chest, like a small deer fluttering wildly against her ribs. Last time, because the seal had not been tight enough, air had kept leaking out slowly and the pressure inside the bed had steadily dropped, so halfway through she had gradually lost that tightly bound, constricted sensation, greatly diminishing the experience. So this time the young man was especially careful, checking every sealed edge and even replacing the tube with a thicker one as the airtight device, making sure there would be no leakage again. Xiaoxi lay gently into the unfolded latex bed, her back pressing against the soft bottom membrane. The coolness of the latex pierced through her skin at once, making her body shrink, then slowly relax again. The young man slowly laid the upper latex sheet over her. The membrane clung to her curves like a second skin. From her collarbones to her lower belly, from her thighs to her toes, every inch of skin felt the latex’s gentle embrace. Xiaoxi closed her eyes, feeling the weight and fit of the membrane, her breathing gradually deepening. The young man began to pull the zipper. The edges of the latex bed slowly closed, locking Xiaoxi completely inside this supple cocoon. Her hands were fixed at her sides, a thin layer of latex membrane between her arms and torso. She could feel her arms pressed tightly down; even moving a single finger took some effort. Her legs were folded up, her knees pressed toward her chest, her soles against the outsides of her hips. In this curled position, every breath she took felt especially clear. The instant the zipper was fully closed, Xiaoxi felt a powerful sense of enclosure rush in from all directions, as if a giant python were gently squeezing her tight, her very bones creaking faintly. The young man started the vacuum pump. The low, even sound of suction rose. Xiaoxi felt the air pressure around her gradually fall as the latex membrane began to contract, layer after layer pressing tight against her body. First her calves, then her thighs and buttocks, then her waist, belly, and chest. The latex membrane clung to every rise and fall, tracing the delicate curves of her body. She looked down and could see that beneath the covering of the latex film she was reduced to a human-shaped outline, like a work pressed out by an exquisite mold. As the pressure continued to rise, the latex membrane grew tighter and tighter, more and more intimate against her body. Xiaoxi’s breathing turned rapid; every expansion of her chest had to fight against the membrane’s firm resistance. The film clutched her ribs deathly tight, making every inhale seem labored and deep. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, blood accelerating through her veins, as if her whole body had become extraordinarily sensitive, every corner compressed by the latex transmitting a tingling stimulation. Xiaoxi tried to move her legs, but immediately discovered that the folded position left her leg muscles completely immobile. Her knees were squeezed against her chest, and every breath pushed against the tightly bound membrane wall. She let out a low moan. The sound echoed within the sealed latex space, muffled and soft, like a murmur passing through a veil. The young man raised the remote and turned the vacuum pump’s power up another two levels. The stronger suction brought a faint humming to Xiaoxi’s eardrums. The latex membrane became almost transparent, clinging to every inch of her curves, so close that even the shape of her navel was clearly visible. She felt her skin tingling faintly from the suction, the friction of the latex turning into a warm burning sensation as it was drawn tighter and tighter. That burning seeped from the surface of her skin into her flesh, like countless tiny currents wandering through her. Xiaoxi frowned, yet the corners of her mouth curved upward. She loved this feeling of being completely controlled, loved this helplessness in which even struggle seemed futile. But the folded-leg position was truly unbearable. Her knees pressed hard against her chest, her ankles crushed beneath her thighs, and the pose sent waves of soreness through her hip joints. Deprived of air, she could only breathe rapidly through her slightly parted lips, each exchange of breath producing a soft, panting sound. “From today on, you’re going to be a living doll for the whole day.” Huo Yan’s voice was soft, yet it pierced her eardrum like a fine needle. Ruan Mian gave a small tremble, her fingertips unconsciously digging into the texture of the floor mat. She knew that once her master spoke, he never took it back. Her breathing grew uneven, and the two soft mounds of her chest rose and fell faintly beneath the thin cloth. Huo Yan first picked up the latex gag from the tray. The milky-white rubber gleamed greasily under the light. A thick industrial rubber smell immediately invaded Ruan Mian’s nasal passages, stinging her eyes until they watered. It smelled like new tires and disinfectant, carrying a viscous kind of oppression. “Open your mouth.” Huo Yan brought the gag to her lips, and the cold rubber layer touched her lower lip. Ruan Mian instinctively shrank back, but the back of her head was steadily held in place by Huo Yan’s palm. She had no choice but to part her lips slightly and let the tubular rubber gag slowly push into her mouth. The outer wall of the rubber squeezed past her teeth, scraped over her tongue, and finally stopped just before her throat. A stronger rubber taste spread up from the root of her tongue, mixed with the saliva secreting in her mouth, bitter and astringent. Ruan Mian couldn’t help retching, her throat convulsing violently, but the straps of the gag had already been tightened. The straps pulled from both sides of her cheeks to the back of her head, fixing it firmly in place. She couldn’t even close her mouth. Saliva seeped from the edge of the gag, dripped down the corner of her lips onto her collarbone, leaving a glistening trail. Huo Yan patted her cheek in satisfaction, producing a crisp little sound. “That’s my good girl.” There was a smile in his voice. A layer of mist immediately veiled Ruan Mian’s eyes, and shame surged like a tide from the roots of her ears to the base of her neck. Then Huo Yan picked up the hood. The deep black latex membrane swayed in his hand like a skin without facial features. He first applied a layer of transparent lubricant to Ruan Mian’s face, thinly covering her brows, the bridge of her nose, and her lips. The cold, sticky ointment made Ruan Mian shiver uncontrollably, every pore standing on end. The hood was slowly drawn down over the top of her head. The latex slid against her skin inch by inch, tightening, clinging. Her ears were folded into the latex layer, and the sounds she heard immediately became muffled and dull. The shaping strip at the bridge of her nose was pinched by Huo Yan’s fingers and carefully pressed into contour. Her entire head was wrapped in smooth, pitch-black rubber, with only her eyes exposed through the openings. No—even around her eyes there was a tight latex edge; she could feel the film tug with every blink. The lower edge of the hood extended all the way to her neck, overlapping with the latex suit she was about to wear. Ruan Mian’s field of vision narrowed somewhat. The black-hooded girl in the mirror looked utterly unfamiliar. She tried hard to draw a breath. Her nasal breath moved back and forth inside the rubber, carrying the hot, damp latex smell steamed out by her own body heat. The smell was even stronger than before, like a cool, moist film wrapping around her entire sense of smell. Huo Yan stepped back two paces and looked her up and down, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. “Beautiful,” he said, in a tone of praise that allowed no disobedience. Next he picked up the pitch-black one-piece latex suit. The inner wall of the suit had likewise been coated with slippery conditioner. Ruan Mian recognized it as the one her master usually called “Little Black.” Its surface was matte, slick and tacky to the touch. Huo Yan opened the long zipper on the back of the suit and first stuffed Ruan Mian’s arms into the sleeves. The latex sleeves clung to her skin, and the chill ran from her fingertips all the way to the hollows of her shoulders, raising a fine layer of goosebumps. She looked down and watched the black latex film slowly swallow her pale skin, as if some living thing were coiling around her. The inner wall of the suit clung to her calves, knees, and thighs; every inch it advanced brought a gratingly tight adhesion. Huo Yan fitted her other arm in as well, then pulled the torso of the suit upward from her waist. “Stand properly,” he ordered. Ruan Mian tensed her body nervously, her toes curling against the floor mat. When the suit passed over her buttocks, it squeezed very tightly. She felt the two cheeks of her ass being forcefully compressed and kneaded into one mass. Her waist was bound extremely narrow; she could almost clearly feel her stomach being wrapped into a thin, narrow channel. Huo Yan closed the zipper from behind her and pulled it up bit by bit. The sound of the teeth engaging was especially harsh in the quiet room. The zipper passed the small of her back, her shoulder blades, and finally stopped at the nape of her neck. Huo Yan gently pressed the clasp into its slot. Ruan Mian’s entire body was now completely enclosed in that tight layer of black rubber. The latex suit perfectly conformed to every curve of her body, even outlining the depression of her navel clearly. She tried to move her fingers. Her fingertips were bound by the latex film, and every bend required several times the effort. Her breathing grew deeper and heavier, because the expansion of her ribcage was restrained by the suit; each breath could only be swallowed to seventy percent full. Her shoulder joints were restricted by the bodysuit; reaching forward, she could only touch the middle of her back. She twisted a few times, which only made the zipper head slide further away. She grew a little anxious, a fine mist of sweat beading on the tip of her nose. "Master…" "Beg me." "Please, help me zip it up." Lu Ming stood up and walked behind her. His palm first rested on her bare nape, his thumb gently brushing over her cervical vertebrae. Ruan Mianmian felt his body heat, and her body gave a slight tremble. Lu Ming's other hand gripped the zipper head and slowly pulled it upward. The metal teeth of the zipper made a fine "zzz" sound as they meshed, extending from her tailbone all the way up to her nape. At last, his fingertips lingered for a moment at the base of her neck, then gently pressed the zipper head into the protective cover. The flesh-colored bodysuit completely sealed her body—apart from her head, hands, and feet, not a single patch of bare skin remained. Lu Ming stepped back and surveyed her body. Her slender waist, rounded hip line, and upright breasts were fully visible beneath the flesh-colored fabric. Even the shape of her navel was clearly discernible. "Not bad. Now put on the black one." Ruan Mianmian picked up the black bodysuit from the floor. Its fabric was thicker, with a matte finish on the surface, and it too had a latex coating on the inside. The moment it touched her skin, there was a cold, tacky sensation—like being adhered to by a mass of deformed jelly. She still put her feet in first; the black fabric enveloped her soles, spreading from the top of her feet to her ankles, then from her calves up to her thighs. With the flesh-colored bodysuit beneath and a layer of black over it, the air between the two layers of fabric was squeezed out, creating a reassuringly tight, binding pressure. She slid her arms into the black sleeves, her fingers through the black fingertip holes, and then Lu Ming zipped up the back for her. Now Ruan Mianmian was completely wrapped in two layers of bodysuits from head to toe—not even a single hair showed through. The black bodysuit reflected a soft sheen under the light, like an evening gown made of fine leather. She flexed her fingers; the tactile sensation at her fingertips was noticeably dulled, yet she could more clearly perceive the boundaries of her body being compressed. Her breathing grew deeper, and each expansion of her ribcage pressed against the two layers of fabric, making her feel like a balloon being cinched tight. Lu Ming had her kneel and sit on the floor, then began preparing the rope. The rope was dark brown latex cord, coiled into a bundle, its surface bearing a fine pattern. Lu Ming first took out a piece about two meters long and crouched in front of Ruan Mianmian. He grasped her right wrist and pulled it behind her back. Ruan Mianmian obediently straightened her arm, feeling the rope loop around her wrist—one turn, two turns, three turns. Each loop fit snugly against her skin, with no excess slack. Lu Ming pulled hard, and the two loops of rope tightened; immediately a clamped, pressing sensation came at her wrists. Right after, her other hand was also pulled over, crossed and stacked on top of her left wrist. Lu Ming used the same rope end to wind around both wrists in a crisscross pattern for several turns, tying it firmly into a dead knot. "My hands can't move anymore." Ruan Mianmian recited silently in her mind. Lu Ming gave her no time to catch her breath. He picked up a second rope and began winding from her elbows. Her arms were behind her back, her forearms nearly parallel, her elbows turned outward. The rope crisscrossed and cinched tight at her elbow joints, forcing her upper arms tightly together. Ruan Mianmian felt her shoulders being pulled backward, her sternum involuntarily thrusting forward. "Ah—" She drew a soft, sharp breath. "If it hurts, remember it—that's the rule." She didn't dare make another sound. Lu Ming took out another long rope, threaded it from behind her through the gaps between her arms and upper arms, then wrapped it around to the front, winding it horizontally twice beneath her breasts, then passed it through the back again and tied it to the knots on her arms. Her torso was firmly secured by the rope; with every breath, the rope bit a little deeper into her body. She felt like a meticulously wrapped gift—unable to move, able only to wait for her master to unwrap her. Next came her legs.