Silk Bondage Mystery - A String of Kidnappings, They Are Forced to Wear Black Stockings and Custom Restraints

Lena stood behind Evelyn, looking at the photos spread across the bed, her voice filled with confusion. "We've checked all the missing girls' information, and they have absolutely nothing in common. Their backgrounds are diverse: university students, white-collar professionals, freelancers; their ages range from nineteen to twenty-seven; their social circles and work lives are completely unrelated, as if they were chosen at random." Evelyn didn't look up, her gaze fixed on the photos in her hand. She gently stroked the edges of the photos with her fingertips, her voice firm and calm. "No, they do have commonalities, and very obvious ones." She raised her hand, pointing with her fingertip at the figures and hairstyles of the girls in the photos. "Look, they all have standard voluptuous figures, with well-proportioned curves; and their hair, all natural golden waves, was forcibly tied into ponytails by the killer—this is what the killer used to select them." "But these photos, they clearly look like the killer is provoking us," Lena frowned, her voice laced with bewilderment. Evelyn slowly straightened up, turned to face her, a sharp glint in her eyes, her voice calm yet undeniably certain. "He sent these photos not to provoke the police at all. Look closely, the way these ropes are wrapped, though intricate and tight, has a strangely methodical feel; the girls' poses, their hairstyles, even the photo angles and lighting, all exude a deliberate 'refinement'." She paused, then gestured for Lena to look at the photos on the bed. "To him, these bound beauties are not victims at all, but 'art pieces' he meticulously crafted. Each photo is his 'work,' and he left them not to show off, nor to provoke, but to preserve his 'creations,' to satisfy his twisted aesthetic and desire for control." After speaking, Evelyn bent down and picked up another photo, her gaze sharpening, her fingertips pinching the edge of the photo as she examined it inch by inch, her voice growing more somber. "And look, this time the killer is more meticulous, more thoughtful than before. All the victims are wearing the same style of black stockings; this uniformity is no coincidence, it's clearly not their own choice, but was forced upon them by the killer." She held the photo up to Lena's eyes, pointing to the girl's hands and feet. "This uniform black stocking bodysuit was not their voluntary choice. The killer forcibly put this outfit on them to make his 'work' more uniform, more in line with his aesthetic. Look at the hands—the stocking gloves were made into balls, tightly wrapping their hands, forcing their hands into a clenched fist, making it impossible to open them." Evelyn's fingertip lightly traced the toes in the photo, continuing, "And here, the toe section of the stockings this time is deliberately thickened and fits extremely tightly, echoing the design of the hands. Every detail is meticulously designed by the killer." "What does that mean?" Lena's voice deepened slightly, her eyes showing more anxiety. Evelyn looked up at her, a hint of coldness in her voice, and said, word by word, "It means he deliberately made it impossible for these victims to use their fingers and toes normally. Their fingers clenched into fists, unable to touch or untie the ropes binding them; their toes constricted by the thickened stockings, unable to even exert force—they had no possibility of untying themselves from the beginning." Upon hearing this, Lena's face instantly darkened, her brow furrowed, her voice filled with gravity and helplessness. "That explains why we never received any ransom calls or demands after these five beautiful women were kidnapped, not even a single related request. These five girls just vanished into thin air, with no news whatsoever." She paused, her fingertips unconsciously clenching the cuff of her police uniform, her voice tinged with despair. "He never intended to get ransom money from kidnapping. From the very beginning, he treated these girls as his private collection. This way, our investigation is even more hopeless—no ransom, no contact, the killer will never actively contact us, and we'll have a hard time finding any clues to track him." As soon as Lena finished speaking, two officers responsible for the scene investigation approached with their equipment, ready to clear the bedroom and collect the photos for evidence, and to conduct a thorough examination of the floor. "Wait, stop!" Evelyn suddenly called out sharply, her tone urgent yet still steady, her gaze fixed on the floor, her brow deeply furrowed. "Look at the stains on the floor, they seem to have a pattern." Everyone's attention was instantly drawn to the floor. Faint dark stains were scattered between the floorboards and under the edge of the bed, appearing chaotic, like accidental drips. Evelyn quickly moved to a corner of the room, adjusted her position, and found a specific angle. Under the faint light of her flashlight, she observed closely, a sharp glint flashing in her eyes. "Look, if you piece these stains together, they form a pattern." Lena hurried over and looked from the angle Evelyn indicated. The originally scattered stains, from this specific perspective, slowly pieced together into a neat square pattern, with clear lines and distinct outlines—it was a QR code. "It's a QR code!" Lena exclaimed, her voice filled with shock. Evelyn didn't hesitate, immediately pulling out her phone, unlocking the screen, opening the scanning function, and quickly scanning the QR code formed by the stains on the floor. The phone screen lit up instantly, and a video popped up automatically. Evelyn quickly tapped to full screen, leaning in with Lena to watch closely. After only a few seconds, their faces turned instantly pale, and their hearts skipped a beat—the video was actually filmed by the killer himself, completely documenting the entire process of him kidnapping the missing girls. In the video, the killer was completely covered. He wore a large black raincoat, with the collar and cuffs tightly cinched. He wore thick black rubber gloves and high-top waterproof boots. Underneath, he wore a tight-fitting sealed suit, completely covering his skin. Most chillingly, he wore a cold skull mask, revealing only a pair of emotionless eyes, making it impossible to discern any expression. Seeing this, Lena suddenly understood, and whispered in a hushed voice, "No wonder we couldn't find any of his DNA, fingerprints, or even a single hair at the scene! He was so heavily armed, there was no skin contact, so naturally, he wouldn't leave any trace." Evelyn nodded slightly, her gaze fixed on the screen, her voice solemn. "And look, he's so heavily wrapped that even his height and build are concealed by the raincoat and sealed suit. Even if you amplify the video's sound, you can only hear his deliberately lowered, hoarse voice, making it impossible to determine his gender." The video continued, the scene switching to the girls' bedroom. The sleeping girl was curled up at the head of the bed, her long hair spread on the pillow, her breathing even, completely defenseless. The killer tiptoed into the room, his footsteps so light they made almost no sound. Reaching the bedside, he unhesitatingly reached out his gloved hand and firmly covered the girl's mouth and nose. The girl instantly woke up, her limbs instinctively struggling, but due to the disparity in strength, within a few seconds, she went limp and was suffocated into unconsciousness by the killer, falling motionless on the bed. Next, the killer leaned down, grabbed the girl's arms with both hands, and unceremoniously dragged her to the center of the bed, his movements rough yet with a hint of deliberate precision. He slowly and methodically removed all the girl's clothes until she was only in her underwear, her exquisite curves exposed without any obstruction in the dim light. Throughout this, he remained expressionless, as if manipulating an inanimate object. But this was not the end. The killer turned and took out a set of black stocking bodysuits from his black backpack—the same style as all the victims in the photos, clearly custom-made in advance. However, before forcibly putting this bodysuit on the girl, he performed another more meticulous and heinous action. He took out several clumps of fluffy cotton from his backpack. The cotton was soaked in a viscous, special glue. Then, he forcibly pried open the girl's limp hands and tightly stuffed the glue-soaked cotton into her palms. He then forcefully gripped the girl's fingers, forcing her hands into a clenched fist. The glue quickly solidified, and the cotton adhered tightly to her fingers, forming a stiff fist. Evelyn's fingertips were tightly gripping her phone, her knuckles turning white, her voice icy as she whispered, "Look, even without the later spherical stocking gloves, her hands were already glued and fixed from the beginning, making it impossible to open them. This was his true intention—to strip her of her ability to save herself from the root, leaving her no room to struggle." Lena watched the scene on the screen, her face pale, her breathing becoming rapid. "This is too twisted. He calculated every step clearly, just to make these beautiful women completely become 'objects' under his control." As soon as she finished speaking, the killer in the video had completed securing the hands and was slowly putting the black stocking bodysuit on the girl, his movements precise and skilled, fitting perfectly everywhere. After dressing her, the killer didn't stop. He turned and rummaged through the girl's bedroom for a moment, quickly finding a pair of ordinary cotton socks the girl often wore—the kind you see everywhere, unremarkable. He held the socks and walked to the bedside, roughly pinching the girl's chin, forcing her mouth open, and stuffing the crumpled socks into her mouth, blocking all possible sound. Next, he took out a roll of black electrical tape from his backpack, pulled out a long strip, and began to wrap it around her mouth, layer by layer, starting from the corners of her lips. The tape adhered tightly to her lips and cheeks, wrapping around her entire chin, overlapping, leaving no gap, completely sealing her mouth, preventing even a whimper. Surprisingly, the binding on the girl at this point was still simple, only her wrists and ankles were tied together with fine hemp ropes, not wrapped like a mummy as in the photos. The moment the killer finished wrapping the tape, the girl slowly woke up. Her eyes were hazy, and just as she was about to cry for help, she found her mouth completely blocked, only able to emit muffled "woos," her whole body radiating powerless panic. Her dazzling cascade of golden waves was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, the strands lying smooth against her neck, a stark contrast to the black stockings she wore. The tight black stockings perfectly accentuated her voluptuous curves, outlining a shapely silhouette. Yet, her body was ensnared in a bizarre, form-fitting metal restraint, each piece molded to her figure as if custom-made, leaving no room for even the slightest gap. Her arms were securely locked behind her back, multiple metal cuffs fixed at her wrists, elbows, and shoulders, binding her limbs so tightly that even the slightest movement was impossible. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, identical to the other victims in previous videos, unable to open or exert force. Her legs were not directly bound, but her ankles were encircled by heavy metal chains, so short that they allowed only a few centimeters of play. This forced her to take tiny, stumbling steps, making normal walking impossible and each movement agonizingly difficult. Evelyn’s heart lurched as she took in the scene, instantly recognizing the beauty bound by the metal restraints. This was one of the victims from the previous videos, one of the women the man had kidnapped before. "It's you!" Evelyn gasped, her voice low, instinctively dropping the wooden stick in her hand. She rushed forward, her eyes filled with urgency, reaching out to unfasten the metal restraints, desperate to free her. Her gaze first fell on the black stocking mask covering the woman's face. She reached to pull it off, only to find a rigid leather strap connecting it to the back of the head, locked securely at the nape. The material was hard, the buckle tight. No matter how she pulled or fiddled, it wouldn't budge, impossible to remove. Evelyn persisted, digging her fingertips into the buckle, her skin turning red from the friction, but the strap remained unyielding. Next, her attention shifted to the metal restraints on the woman's body. She fumbled for a release mechanism, but the restraints were masterfully crafted, the clasps tight, impossible to open without a key. With no tools, she could only rely on her hands, trying to tear or pry them open. But the metal was hard and cold. No matter how hard she strained, she couldn't budge them. Instead, her excessive force pulled at the woman's bound joints, eliciting a pained whimper and a grimace of suffering on her face. Evelyn's heart tightened. She immediately eased her movements, looking at the pain and helplessness in the woman's eyes, then at her own empty hands. Without a key, without any tools, no matter how desperate she was, she couldn't tear open these metal restraints. She could only watch, bound and helpless, a wave of powerlessness washing over her. Fortunately, the woman's ears were uncovered, allowing her to hear the outside world clearly. Evelyn steadied herself, softened her tone, and tried to make her voice gentle. She leaned close to the woman's ear and whispered, "Were you one of the women kidnapped before?" As soon as she spoke, the woman nodded vigorously, a flicker of light in her eyes, quickly replaced by helplessness. She gestured with her eyes, indicating that she was indeed one of them. Evelyn's heart sank, and she pressed on, "Do you know who the perpetrator is? Where did he take you before?" Hearing these questions, the light in the woman's eyes vanished instantly. Her gaze became vacant, and she slowly shook her head, her eyes filled with confusion and fear. She clearly knew nothing about these questions. The key, small and cold to the touch, trembled in Evelyn's fingers, slick with sweat from exhaustion and nerves. Fumbling, she brought it to the beauty's neck, aiming for the lock on the collar. Her movements were frantic, missing the slot several times as the countdown timer in her ear grew more urgent, each beep a hammer blow to their hearts. The beauty shivered, her eyes wide with despair, a muffled whimper escaping her lips as she watched Evelyn's hands. With only ten seconds left, a soft *click* echoed as the key turned. The metal collar sprang open, clattering to the ground, and the electronic countdown fell silent. The immediate crisis averted, their taut nerves snapped, draining them of all strength. Evelyn collapsed, her body going limp, hitting the cold ground with a thud. She gasped for air, her chest heaving, too weak to even lift a hand. The beauty, freed from the collar, slumped beside her. The other restraints still bound her tightly, but the terror had receded, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion and the dizzying relief of survival. She lay on her side, breathing heavily, sweat trickling from the edges of her silk mask. The sting in her feet and the ache in her body were a symphony of pain, yet she couldn't bring herself to move. She simply stared at the dark night sky, her eyes reflecting a profound gratitude for being alive. They lay there, breathless, too spent to speak, the wind whispering through the trees, a testament to the harrowing moments they had just endured. They rested in silence for what felt like five minutes. The tension slowly eased, their strength returning in small increments. Their ragged breaths gradually deepened and steadied. Evelyn managed to push herself up, rubbing her sore arms and legs. Just as she was about to speak, to encourage the beauty to hold on, to suggest they might find another way out, a sharp, grating *click-click* shattered the forest's quiet. The sound came from the beauty's ankles. The metal chains that had merely bound her feet were now activating a mechanism. Tiny metal components extended from the links, creeping along her black stockings, inching towards her soles. The mechanism worked with unnerving speed, the *click-click* a relentless rhythm as the thin metal bands adhered to the silk, moving without pause. Soon, they encircled her soles and big toes, locking her feet in place, binding all her toes together so tightly there wasn't even a sliver of space to move. The beauty froze, instinctively trying to wiggle her toes, only to find her feet utterly unresponsive. Her soles were clamped shut by the metal mechanism, her big toe and the others fused together. Her feet, which had been able to manage a desperate hop, could now barely bend. She stared in stunned silence, the fear that had just begun to fade flooding back into her eyes, now mingled with a profound despair and confusion. She tried to lift her foot, but her soles and toes were locked so securely she couldn't apply any force. Forget hopping, even a normal lift was agonizingly difficult. She could only futilely twitch her ankles, producing faint metallic clinks. She looked down at her feet, ensnared by the metal contraption. The black stockings were stretched taut, the metal components leaving distinct impressions. Her small feet, which had once carried her forward with desperate leaps, were now completely immobilized, her toes unable to separate even slightly, utterly robbed of their freedom. Evelyn's heart lurched. Without a second thought, she scrambled to her feet and rushed to the beauty's side, crouching down. She urgently reached out, her fingers searching for the metal restraints on her feet. Her fingertips brushed against the cool, hard metal bands pressed against the black silk. They were wrapped tightly around her soles and toes, the clasps locked with an unyielding grip. She pulled and pried, her fingertips raw from the sharp edges, but the restraints remained stubbornly in place. It was clear this intricate metalwork was not meant to be undone by hand. A wave of helplessness washed over Evelyn. She looked at the beauty's immobile feet, her brow furrowed in anxiety. The atmosphere grew heavy. This was a serious problem. From now on, she'd have to carry the beauty. Her feet were so securely locked, she couldn't even stand steadily, let alone move. Any attempt would send her toppling, rendering her completely dependent. The moment the words left her lips, she noticed the beauty's expression turn incredibly strained. The beauty desperately tried to respond, her cheeks flushing a deep red, veins subtly bulging on her forehead. A more muffled, guttural whimper escaped her throat, more urgent than before, yet still not a single clear word could be uttered. Evelyn's heart sank. Looking closer, she realized the beauty's mouth was stuffed to bursting, clearly with an excessive amount of gag material, causing her cheeks to puff out slightly. She then turned her gaze to the black stocking mask on the beauty's face. The mask remained tightly adhered, without a single gap, as if glued to her skin. It was a perfect seal, not only preventing any view of the gag within but also offering no discernible seam for air. The heavy mask, combined with the excessive stuffing in her mouth, completely sealed off any possibility of speech. All the beauty could do was emit muffled whimpers through the vibration of her throat, expressing her desperation and helplessness. Evelyn, unwilling to give up, shifted her focus to the beauty's hands, which were balled up into perfect spheres. Those hands were wrapped so tightly, so roundly, like two small plush balls, exactly like the victims she had seen in the videos. She reached out and gently took one of the small hands. Her fingertips could feel the stiff texture within, with no room for any looseness. She tried to gently pull, to knead, even to dig her fingertips into the outer stocking wrapping. But no matter how hard she tried, the stocking remained utterly immobile. In an instant, Evelyn understood. The beauty's hands, just like those of the victims in the previous videos, must have had their palms filled with thick, sticky glue, then meticulously wrapped in layers of heavy tape, and finally encased in this tight stocking covering. The triple layer of restraint firmly fixed her hands into spherical shapes. She knew, without a doubt, that not only was she currently unarmed, without any tools, but even with specialized disassembly equipment, it would take half a day to undo this triple restraint. Such conditions were simply not present. Evelyn slowly released her hand, looking at the beauty's two round, stiff, ball-like hands. The urgency in her eyes gradually gave way to despair. She clearly understood that these hands could no longer be freed. The beauty was not only unable to speak but also incapable of even the most basic gestural communication. The most fundamental form of exchange between them had become a distant hope. Since she couldn't free the beauty from her restraints or communicate with her, Evelyn forced herself to calm down. She stopped struggling in vain and, seizing this brief moment of respite, crouched down to carefully examine the metal restraints on the beauty's body. This was her first opportunity to observe this bizarre and intricate device up close for an extended period. Her fingertips gently traced every restraint strap on the beauty's body, her movements soft, as if afraid of causing further pain. The touch was still the cold, hard sensation of metal, but this time, she perceived the ingenuity of the restraint system. Each metal strap fit perfectly, precisely locking down the beauty's wrists, elbows, shoulders, abdomen, ankles, and every other critical joint without the slightest deviation. It was neither loose enough to allow any movement nor so tight as to crush the bones. It skillfully limited all her activity without instantly incapacitating her, clearly a result of meticulous design. Evelyn's brow furrowed deeper, her doubts and solemnity growing more intense. This perpetrator must possess an extremely profound understanding of human anatomy. He knew precisely the range of motion for each joint, understood how to bind someone to maximize restriction without causing immediate severe injury. This was far beyond the capabilities of an ordinary person. Either they were a professional in a related field or had conducted extensive research; otherwise, such a precise restraint system could not have been designed. She then subconsciously looked at the beauty's body, completely encased in the black stocking bodysuit. A flicker of understanding crossed her eyes. Given how long the beauty had been bound by such tight metal restraints, common sense would dictate that the restrained areas should already show signs of bluish skin and poor blood circulation, with severe cases even leading to tissue necrosis. Yet, the beauty before her, though pale and visibly exhausted, showed no such symptoms. The answer, clearly, lay in the durable black stocking bodysuit she was wearing. The stocking was made of a special material, not only exceptionally tough but also possessing excellent breathability and elasticity. It clung tightly to the skin without constricting blood vessels, ensuring normal skin respiration and blood circulation even when firmly bound by the metal restraints, thus preventing bodily damage from prolonged restraint. Evelyn's fingertips brushed over the stocking's surface again, marveling inwardly. This stocking was by no means ordinary; its cost must have been considerable. And the entire metal restraint system, with its precise design and high-quality materials, would have incurred even greater expense. With this thought, the image of the perpetrator in Evelyn's mind gradually became more complete and clearer. This perpetrator was far from being just a psychologically disturbed pervert; he was far more terrifying than anyone had imagined. His actions were extremely cautious, from leaving no trace at the scene and remotely deleting videos to meticulously designing the restraint system, every step was flawlessly considered. He possessed a deep understanding of human anatomy, capable of precisely controlling the force and angle of restraint. Most importantly, this sophisticated metal restraint system and the special material of the stocking bodysuit required substantial financial resources, far beyond the reach of an ordinary person. This was, in fact, his peculiar preference, much like what detectives observed on surveillance footage. Each time he captured a "trophy," he would deliberately leave the beauties a sliver of a chance, letting them struggle desperately, attempting to escape. He would then observe from the side, refining his restraint designs based on their escape methods, making each binding more secure, more perfect. But this time, his restraints might have been too perfect, so perfect that I had absolutely no chance of escape. Moreover, he knew I had trained in combat and had a foundation in fighting, so he worried I might break free with my superior strength and skills. Thus, he had specifically chosen the sturdiest black leather this time, and had coated all the seams with an extremely strong, specially formulated adhesive, bonding all the restraints into a single, unyielding unit, leaving me no room to exert force. After inspecting all the restraints, a self-deprecating smile curved the killer's lips. He murmured in a low voice, tinged with a hint of mocking self-ridicule, "Perhaps I was overly cautious." He looked down at my futile struggles, a flicker of disdain in his eyes. "With these restraints, even I couldn't figure out how to break free, let alone you, bound so tightly that you can't even extend your limbs." His words struck Lyra again, infuriating her to the point of trembling. A more intense "whimper" escaped her throat, and hatred practically overflowed from her eyes. But she was powerless, forced to watch him examine her like an object, to hear him mock his own caution, to see him so certain that she could never escape these damned restraints—that despair of being utterly controlled, with no hope of resistance, consumed her once more. The killer surveyed Lyra, now slumped on the floor, with satisfaction. He then turned towards the large suitcase in the corner, bent down, and unzipped it. He took out the remaining modification tools, hair dye, cosmetics, and other miscellaneous items, casually stuffing them into the black backpack he carried. His movements were swift and efficient, without any hesitation. Soon, the suitcase was empty, leaving only a hollow shell, just large enough to accommodate a tightly folded person. After packing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, the killer returned to Lyra's side, looking down at her still struggling in anger. The fervor in his eyes intensified. Without a moment's hesitation, he bent down, grabbed Lyra's leather-bound limbs, and, ignoring her violent writhing and protests, forcibly folded her body further—her already bent arms were pressed even tighter against her sides, her legs were forced to curl up to her chest, and her entire body was compressed into a ball, like a small sphere, even more tightly bound than before, making even slight movements impossible. Lyra cried out in pain as she was folded, her chest squeezed so tightly she could barely breathe. The whimpers from her throat became more rapid and furious, her eyes blazing with hatred, staring intently at the killer, her gaze filled with unwillingness and defiance. But her struggles were merely a futile performance in the killer's eyes; the more intense they were, the more they piqued his interest. A sinister smile played on the killer's lips. He exerted force with his hands, carefully and slowly placing the tightly folded Lyra into the empty suitcase. The narrow confines of the suitcase enveloped Lyra securely. She was so restrained that only her eyes could move slightly; not an inch of her body could budge. Even breathing became extremely difficult. The suffocating and humiliating sensation of being enclosed and compressed pushed her to the brink of collapse. Even in this desperate situation, Lyra did not cease her protests. She desperately rolled her eyeballs, glaring fiercely at the killer, her rage almost burning him to ashes. The protests from her throat never stopped, but they were suppressed by her own restraints and the limited space within the suitcase. Yet, this extreme anger only excited the killer further. He murmured in a low voice, filled with fervor, "That's it, this is the 'rage' I want. The more you resist, the more perfect it becomes." He completely ignored Lyra's protests and slowly pulled the suitcase zipper shut. With a "zip," the zipper was pulled to the bottom, completely sealing Lyra inside. Instantly, the protests and whimpers from within the suitcase vanished without a trace. Not a single sound escaped—clearly, this custom-made suitcase was completely soundproof. Even if the person inside screamed with all their might, nothing could be heard from the outside. After zipping it up, the killer pressed down firmly on the suitcase, ensuring there were no loose parts, and nodded with satisfaction. He then scanned the room, his gaze alertly checking the surroundings, confirming that he had left no trace of himself and that no other unauthorized personnel were present. He took out a small black device from his pocket and connected it to the hotel's surveillance system. His fingertips moved rapidly over the device. With his skilled hacking abilities, within minutes, he successfully corrupted the surveillance footage from all the cameras in the hallway, by the fireplace, and near the TV in the room during this period. He deleted all the footage of himself entering and exiting the room, modifying Lyra, and moving the suitcase, leaving no trace and completely erasing all evidence of his presence. Having accomplished all this, the killer slung his backpack over his shoulder, bent down, grasped the suitcase handle, and gently pulled. The suitcase glided across the floor without making any unnecessary noise. He carefully walked to the room door, checked again that no one was around, gently opened the door, and quickly pulled the suitcase out. He closed the door behind him, sealing the door that held Lyra's despair and rage, as if nothing had ever happened here. Lyra was sealed in the pitch-black suitcase, unable to move an inch. She could only sense the external movements through the swaying of her body. The next second, she felt the suitcase being lifted abruptly, followed by a violent jolt. Her body collided repeatedly within the confined space of the suitcase. The folded, bound limbs sent piercing pain through her, and her chest was squeezed so tightly she could barely breathe. The whimpers from her throat were completely muffled by the soundproof casing, and even she could only hear a faint muffled sound. He then produced another syringe filled with a pale yellow nutrient solution, carefully inserting the needle into the small opening. He slowly injected the fluid into the woman's body, his movements practiced and detached. "This is a high-concentration nutrient. It will maintain your vital signs perfectly. You can survive without eating or drinking, ensuring you won't starve," he said, withdrawing the needle. The tiny puncture wound was quickly sealed by the surrounding latex, leaving no trace. The latex-clad woman shuddered, her eyes filling with intensified despair and terror. A rapid, choked sob escaped her throat. He had thought of everything. Did he truly intend to keep her bound in this damned latex forever, treating her as a "toy" prisoner? The thought pierced her heart like a dagger, plunging her into hysteria. She thrashed with all her might. Previously seated beside the van, her violent struggles threw her off balance. With a thud, she fell heavily to the ground. The hard surface impacted her latex-encased body, sending dull waves of pain through her, but she paid it no mind. She continued to writhe frantically, like a fish out of water, squirming and rolling uselessly on the ground. Her struggles appeared both comical and pathetic. To an outsider, it wasn't resistance, merely pointless flailing. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, fused to her body, unable to lift. They merely swayed with her contortions. Her legs, fused together, kicked feebly. Her feet, encased in latex, could generate no force. Each kick only caused her to spin in place, unable to move even an inch. She thrashed desperately, shrugging her shoulders, engaging her core to try and push herself up. But the latex's restraint was too absolute. The soft yet resilient material clung to her skin. No matter how hard she strained, her movements were minuscule, like a trapped beast bound hand and foot, struggling in vain. The more she struggled, the more pathetic and ridiculous she appeared. Sweat trickled from her eyes, mixing with the sticky latex, streaking her face. Her cheeks flushed crimson, her chest heaved, and her breathing grew labored. Yet, the unyielding defiance and fear in her heart drove her onward. She could not stop, even though each struggle only brought greater exhaustion and pain. The criminal beside her leaned casually against the van, arms crossed, observing the scene with evident amusement and satisfaction, as if watching a captivating performance. He watched her futile writhing and spinning on the ground, her expression of despair and defiance. A wider smile spread across his lips, and he even let out a low chuckle, his voice laced with mockery. "Don't waste your energy. The more you struggle, the more beautiful you become, and the more it highlights the value of my 'collection'." As he spoke, he pulled another syringe from his pocket and slowly approached the woman. Ignoring her struggles, he squeezed out a drop of solvent, creating a tiny opening on her other arm. He then slowly injected the nutrient solution. "This one promotes blood circulation. Long-term confinement in latex can lead to poor circulation. With this, you won't feel numb and can maintain this 'perfect' appearance." His tone was casual, as if discussing an insignificant object, completely disregarding the despair in the woman's eyes. The latex-clad woman's struggles gradually weakened. Exhausted, she could only lie on the ground, her body twitching weakly. Her comical and useless thrashing slowly devolved into faint squirming. She was utterly despairing. Tears mixed with sweat, streaming from her eyes, absorbed without a trace by the latex. She finally understood. This criminal was determined to keep her as a "toy" prisoner for life. No matter how she struggled, she could not escape this soft yet deadly latex cage, nor could she escape this pervert's control. The moment she accepted reality, an overwhelming wave of despair and rage surged through her, nearly suffocating her. She knew her mouth was firmly sealed by latex, rendering her incapable of forming coherent sounds. Yet, she summoned all her strength and screamed into her throat. All the curses, all the venomous imprecations she could muster in her lifetime poured out, denouncing the perverted criminal's cruelty, venting her unyielding defiance and despair. But no matter how fiercely she cursed in her heart, no matter how heart-wrenching her cries, all that emerged through the sealed latex were meaningless "muffled" sounds, dull and weak, unable to convey even a sliver of her rage. Leave a sliver of space. Evelyn could clearly feel the sticky sensation on her toes, and the fear in her heart deepened. She screamed desperately in her mind, wanting to twist her feet away, but her body was controlled by the potion, her limbs motionless. She could only watch helplessly as the glue slowly solidified between her toes. In just a moment, except for her big toe which could still move slightly, her other four toes were firmly stuck together by the glue, pressed tightly against each other. No matter how hard she strained in her mind, she couldn't separate them, not even able to bend them slightly. Her feet became stiff and clumsy. After dealing with her toes, Marcus stood up and took a black, full-body, tight-fitting silk garment from the box. The fabric was thin yet durable, smooth in texture, and its form-fitting cut seemed as if it were tailor-made for Evelyn. He walked to the sofa, leaned down, and carefully pulled the garment onto Evelyn's naked body. The garment was extremely tight, from her neck to her ankles, perfectly encasing her every inch of skin. The moment she put it on, it felt like a second skin, clinging tightly without a single wrinkle, fitting so precisely as if Marcus had already known her measurements by heart. Evelyn's consciousness was incredibly clear, and she could distinctly feel the restrictive sensation of the garment enveloping her body. The airtight fit made her feel uncomfortable, and the despair in her heart grew even stronger. But she couldn't move, only letting Marcus have his way as she watched him take out a small, specially made sewing machine and aim it at all the seams of the garment, stitching them shut, bit by bit. The sewing machine's needle darted quickly, emitting a faint "dada" sound. Each stitch firmly sealed the seams, leaving no gap that could be undone, as if the garment had grown onto her body. After sealing all the seams, Marcus took out a bottle of transparent, special liquid. He unscrewed the cap and evenly applied the liquid to the surface of the garment, from neck to ankle, not missing a single spot. The liquid, upon contact with the air, quickly solidified, forming a thin, transparent film on the surface of the garment, firmly securing the entire piece to Evelyn's body and completely eliminating any possibility of her taking it off. No matter what method she used, she would never be able to peel this garment off her body again. Just then, Evelyn suddenly felt a tightening sensation all over her body. Her intuition was not wrong. She saw that under the effect of the liquid, the full-body black silk garment began to slowly shrink and tighten, fitting her body even more closely than before, as if it had merged with her skin. Even the texture of every inch of her skin was clearly visible. A heavy sense of restraint swept over her entire body, making it difficult for her to breathe. Despair instantly seized Evelyn's heart. She clearly remembered that during her previous kidnapping, she had experienced the exact same garment. Inside this full-body black silk garment were small, tough wires that firmly held the shape of the garment and restricted every movement of her body, making any self-escape impossible. But now, her hands were bound into black balls, her toes were stuck together with glue, her body was controlled by the potion and unable to move, and she was tightly encased in this wire-embedded garment. What could she do? She could only watch helplessly as this garment of despair was firmly put on her, her consciousness clear, feeling every inch of restraint, feeling the garment tighten and cling, feeling the powerlessness of her body being completely controlled. What made her even more devastated was that the glove portion of this garment had no fingers, only a smooth spherical shape that perfectly fit her hands, which were bound into black balls. It was a seamless fit, leaving no room for even the slightest movement. The toe portion had been thickened. Her toes, already stuck together by glue and unable to move flexibly, were tightly wrapped by the thickened black silk, becoming even more clumsy and stiff. Not only could she not pick up anything, but she couldn't even curl them slightly, completely losing all function. Marcus paused his caress of Elena, turning his gaze to Evelyn. A flicker of admiration crossed his eyes, and a twisted, triumphant smile played on his lips. His tone was assured, laced with a hint of amusement. "Very clever, my 'prize' possession. It seems you've finally understood." He strode towards Evelyn, looming over her. His voice suddenly turned cold, laced with an undeniable pressure. "Since you know everything, Detective, it's time you kept your mouth shut. Forever." The words were like a splash of ice water, extinguishing the last vestiges of Evelyn's clarity. The memory of the suffocating, stinging pain from the gag and glued lips washed over her, a deep-seated agony seizing her entire body. The usually resilient woman, who had never bowed down, found herself begging, her voice hoarse and trembling, filled with panic and humility. "Please... don't gag me again. I'll do anything, I won't say a word, I promise... it was just too unbearable, I can't take it." Marcus watched her shed all her pride, her desperate plea. A glint of amusement and satisfaction flashed in his eyes, and a wicked smile curled his lips. "Very well. Since you're begging me so, I'll find another way to satisfy you." Before Evelyn could breathe a sigh of relief, her fleeting hope was replaced by despair. She had just rejoiced at not being gagged again, only to regret it the next second. Marcus pulled a cold, circular steel ring from his pocket. Before she could react, he grabbed her chin, forcing her mouth open, and precisely fitted the ring onto her lips, forcing her mouth to stay agape. Her tongue was trapped in the middle, able to thrash uselessly, unable to even close her lips. Next, Marcus wrapped the straps on either side of the ring around the back of Evelyn's head, pulling them tight and tying them securely, fixing the ring in place. Evelyn thrashed her head desperately, trying to escape the damned metal contraption. But the straps were incredibly tight, and the ring was firmly lodged. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn't dislodge it, forced to maintain an open-mouthed posture with the cold metal clamped to her lips. Before long, saliva began to uncontrollably spill from her parted lips, trickling down her chin and wetting her neck. It soon spread downwards, soaking her full-body black latex suit. The sticky sensation made her deeply uncomfortable. She tried to close her mouth to wipe away the saliva, but the ring held her fast. She could only let the saliva flow, her mouth filling with a sticky wetness, leaving her utterly disheveled. What truly broke her was that the metal ring completely stripped her of her ability to speak normally. No matter what she wanted to say, only muffled "Mmmph" sounds emerged, unable to form a single coherent word. The constant flow of saliva soon soaked a large portion of her chest. The sticky fabric clung to her skin, making her feel stifled and itchy. Evelyn's face flushed crimson, her cheeks burning. She could only twist her head wildly, her teeth biting uselessly at the ring. The saliva in her mouth was churned into strings, sliding down her lips even faster, making her appearance even more pathetic. Marcus stood by, watching her struggles with keen interest, his eyes filled with amusement and the thrill of control. His tone was laced with mockery. "Well? Detective, isn't this 'new method' much more comfortable than being gagged? It won't suffocate you, and it'll keep you silent forever. Perfectly effective." Evelyn glared at him, her eyes filled with rage and despair. Muffled "Mmmph" sounds erupted from her throat, a desperate mix of curses and pleas. But the more she struggled, the more saliva flowed, and the larger the wet patches on her chest grew. Her pathetic state evoked no pity from Marcus; instead, it excited him further. He reached out, gently stroking her saliva-dampened neck, his touch still carrying a twisted brutality. Elena, immobilized beside them, watched Evelyn's disheveled state. A complex emotion flickered in her eyes – sympathy, but more so, helplessness. She was already in a precarious situation herself, forced to watch Evelyn suffer the same fate, at Marcus's mercy, with no room for resistance. Marcus withdrew his hand from Evelyn's neck and turned back to the immobilized Elena. His rough palm, still through her full-body black latex suit, roamed and toyed with her stiff body. His fingertips repeatedly traced her shoulders and abdomen, his movements imbued with a playful brutality, his eyes alight with the pleasure of dominance. Elena grew hot under his ministrations, breaking out in a sweat. Beads of perspiration trickled down her cheeks, soaking the strands of hair at her temples. Her entire body, clad in black stockings and the full-body suit, was thoroughly drenched in sweat, clinging tightly to her skin, outlining her rigid yet unwillingly exposed form.