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The Supreme Directrix sat atop a winged chair of rich crimson in her private office. Its high back framed the dictatress as she lounged, legs crossed and resting on some rebel, now rubberized and used as a piece of furniture. The rebellion-or at least, *this* rebellion, had been crushed. Its leaders were all imprisoned, some already sold off and all of them punished. A few remained on display in her dungeons, still awaiting the touch of their Directrix.
Beside her, Helen stood. She was silent, but visible. Very visible.
The Directrix – Phantom – turned to consider her companion. Helen’s hood was a masterpiece of bondage engineering, smooth and sealed and nearly seamless. Its polished surface caught and reflected the colors in the ambient lighting of the office, the shape of Helen’s latex-covered face glistening in its polished glory. A long, brunette ponytail permitted to cascade from the upper-back of the hood added a whimsical touch. Meticulously brushed and cared for, much like her outer layers, it was long from * years * of hooded containment; a soft contrast for the enforced anonymity of her covered face.
The gag within was anchored so thoroughly that escape was not a consideration. There was no escape . It was a reality Helen had long since accepted—and seemingly embraced. Her muffled breaths and occasional low moans were the only sounds she could produce, and they pleased Phantom more than words ever could.
The gag, to Helen's surprise, actually could vary in consistency. Remote-controlled elements let Phantom change it to suit her whims. If there had been a time when Helen had ever been ungagged since its application, she didn't remember it; she'd been unconscious for any moment where her mouth wasn’t completely and utterly packed for YEARS. Phantom had teased Helen with stories of how her gag had been changed several times during the course of her time as an adjunct to the dictator; once, it was a fat ballgag, then a plug, at times set up to allow an insertion plug, but for for as long as Helen could remember, her mouth had been filled with an ultra-heavy inflated mix of sponges, expansion pads, inflatable gaskets and bladders and more. The packing trapped her tongue, parted her teeth and pressed towards her throat.
Outside of her mouth, the packing absolutely * BULGED .* Phantom couldn’t get enough of the aesthetic and audible combination; it bordered on perfection. Internally-inflated muffling elements. All anchored, impossible to remove. The packing was simply too filling unless it was remote-shrunk but that was only if Helen’s mouth were accessible. Instead, the brunette woman’s mouth–her entire head–had been perfectly sealed over by layers and layers of hoods. Hoods which were lacking in seams . Rumors were that those hoods had zippers once, but one of the Directrix’s favorite little tricks led to the zipper being super-glued over and smoothed over by melting down another layer of latex smart-seal, turning the hood’s only release into a perfectly smoothed over area. A final layer of super-glue and melting latex smart seal connected the base of the hood to the rest of Helen’s catsuit, ensuring that there was no way to remove the hood again.
For an extremophile like the Directrix, it wasn't enough to pad inside. (That would be weak.) Helen was quite firmly squeezed outside as well, with gel-forma max-sec padding pressing against her lips whenever Phantom wanted. Which was often. The smart tech was even able to react to a blown kiss, simulating it with a forced kiss internally...
After her third year serving as the perfect perma-prisoner of the Supreme Directrix, Helen had managed to develop a surprisingly extensive gag-speak vocabulary. Phantom could understand and have full conversations with "Prisoner H-1." She was up to H-78 now, but that didn't matter; H-1 was H-1 . There was something special about her. The subdermal augmentations that Phantom had installed for Helen could, of course, allow Phantom *full and complete interaction* whenever she wanted. Phantom could still 'hear' Helen’s voice as if it was ungagged, reveling in the fact that she was the only woman that could still claim that power given Helen’s bondage. Phantom could have long and robust conversations with Helen whenever she desired; Helen was usually tuned such that the earbuds plugged deep inside her hood transmitted the room audio anyway, as Phantom did so love having someone to chat with after long and draining days dealing with the minutiae of her dominion.
For her part, Helen could communicate in a variety of ways. Years of practice had honed her ability to type on the smart-glove-tips she wore (at least, when her hands aren't mitted), sending her thoughts privately though the Wave Interpretation Sensor Emitters so Phan could still enjoy this particular woman's wit while ALSO getting the rush of having Helen under total, anonymized control. Phantom preferred her slaves mostly covered, but she did so enjoy playing with Helen’s body especially, so she wasn’t always THAT anonymous. After all, Helen had a pair of lovely breasts that Phantom enjoyed doing all manner of interesting things with, covered or not…
Even in her comprehensive bondage, Helen remained razor-sharp. Bearing it and wearing it like the prize that she was. And that was why having her reduced to a rubber slut like this was so much hotter.
Though that wasn't to say that Phantom made Helen’s experience easy. No, it couldn’t all be roses and reward. Helen was still her PERMA-PRISONER, after all. The *favorite *of the Directrix, yes. But like a stalker with her prey, or a fan with her object of fandom, Phantom couldn’t help wanting to be a cruel and unpredictable at times. Remind Helen that she was owned, biting back a bit of control. Enforcing her will. That usually meant denying Helen her remaining senses, options, and permitted abilities.
Punishments took the form of denying Helen her own toys (Helen herself had become something of a feared domme, when she was permitted mobility). It meant plunging her into exquisite denial ; edging, teasing, and giving her not a shred of a chance of orgasm for days. It meant sealing her in FULL ISO , too; earbuds set to white noise or lewd sounds, communication tools deactivated, her voice set to 0%, her collar inflated so she couldn't even squeak out a gagged grunt (okay, she still could, but just barely ) and ZERO radio-connectivity. No words in, no words out. Just brutal, intense, extreme rubber bondage. Phantom would sometimes threaten Helen, telling her that this time was forever .
In truth, the Directrix had no interest in wasting such a precious pet and companion like that, but it did get Helen squirming... and Phantom loved that. She loved seeing Helen mewl, moan… truly feel the impact of her perfectly sealed restraints. Grapple with the knowledge that she was helpless, muffled. Owned. Oh, it was so pleasant. So luxurious. But best of all? Helen served as one of Phantom’s most useful special agents as part of the Regime.
Helen, despite her bondage, also worked as a special-tier executive assistant. Beyond attendant, beyond adjutant, she was a unique adjunct to Phantom.
Others, inferiors, saw a totally, completely overwhelmed rubberized woman sitting at what appeared to be an administrative desk in Phantom’s office. Pathetic, needy, mewling, moaning. An aesthetically-serving secretary, at most. Visitors would often think to themselves, “Who was she? What is she even doing here? Rocking and moaning? Getting off on her treatment?” None of them understood Helen’s remaining abilities, what her suit still allowed her to do. Helen was an expert listener. People ignored her, or pitied her. And they spoke around her freely. They didn’t know that she was listening, that she was calculating, that she was often transmitting information to the beloved Directrix.
Therm-optic camouflage also made her an expert impersonator. Gear would make her appear a normal, ungagged, unhooded woman when necessary, have her sent off to do some recon, to sit in on meetings… all the while she was safe, protected, and utterly, completely, unendingly sealed up in the most exquisite packed and padding that Phantom had ever, ever, ever imagined. And she looked good. Damn good. Whether with the holoprojector, or whether simply standing unfettered but rubberized. Her job as an imposter was well taken. She knew she had done well when the plugs buried inside her started to stir. Or when she was equipped with her smart-strap to provide pleasure to Phantom.... or given a sub or two of her own that she loved training and playing with.
After her first 5 years of service, when her value has been firmly established and her responsibilities grown, The Supreme Directrix got tipsy one night and asked if she'd ever like to have her gag removed, or if she'd like the hood to come off. Phantom thought on this moment often.
…Seeming to think for a moment, Helen instead went and and retrieved a leather panel harness gag, and told Phan through the tablet to make one with no buckles at all , that snapped together with rivets so it's perfectly tight, and put that on her over the hood. That was a magical moment. Phantom barely slept that night, she was so excited.
That was quite some time ago.
….Phantom’s fingers danced idly across Helen’s hooded head, tracing the curve of her neck and teasing strands of her ponytail.
“Five hundred and seventeen days,” she mused aloud, her voice carrying both amusement - and a little excitement. “You’ve done well, Helen. Still making those delightful little sounds. Still thinking, scheming, even after all this time."
Helen responded with a soft, muffled sound, somewhere between a hum and a groan. A good sound. Phantom smirked, tapping the tablet to pull up Helen’s diagnostics. The interface displayed a mesmerizing array of data—from the inflation levels of her gag to the neural feedback from her hood. Everything was running perfectly, as always. Still, this was no time for complacency.
“Let’s ensure everything is in proper working order, shall we?”
Phantom set the tablet aside and rose, her casual robe parting just enough to reveal a glimpse of her form beneath. She moved with practiced grace, burnt into her after a six-month intensive training session on Centauri Prime. One hand cupped Helen’s chin, lifting her hooded head to meet Phantom’s gaze. Not that Helen could see, of course, but Phantom enjoyed the symbolism.
With deliberate care, Phantom pressed a command on her tablet. The gag within Helen’s hood subtly shifted, inflating just enough to draw a sharp, muffled whimper from her. Phantom leaned in, her breath warm against the smooth surface of the hood.
“Still comfortable? Or is that a little too much?” . She knew full well Helen couldn’t articulate a response. The sounds Helen made, however, were answer enough. Good.
Phantom’s hands roamed further, testing the seals of the hood, ensuring the smart-latex was as seamless as ever. Her fingers brushed the spot where a zipper might once have been, now smoothed over into an unbroken expanse. “No escape,” she murmured approvingly. “Never ever ever. Just how I like it.”
Next came the internal gear. Phantom pressed another command, activating the plugs buried within Helen. The response was immediate—a shiver that coursed through Helen’s bound form, accompanied by a muffled cry that sent a thrill through Phantom. She adjusted the settings, alternating between teasing pulses and complete stillness, watching Helen squirm in her bonds.
Helen looked so good in the gag and was able to take it so well, even when standing semi-imperious in her bonds, or in the heated throes of manipulated passion that the Directrix. She really was something exquisite.
“You really are remarkable,” Phantom said, almost to herself. “I wonder... could you break number three’s record? Two thousand, four hundred and fourteen days. A lofty goal, but if anyone could do it, it’s you…”
Helen’s response was another muffled sound, this one carrying a note of challenge. Phantom chuckled, giving the ponytail a playful tug. “Careful, my dear. I might take that as a yes.”
On the rare occasions her hips are uncovered for Phan's amusement, or when Helen is directed to use her gagged mouth to please her Directrix, … well, this only increased her desire to test this plan. The fact that Helen had never once given up making moans and sounds even when "thinking" at her, well -- there are reasons Helen's been kept around for the five-hundred and seventeen days so far.
They sat like that for hours, the Directrix’s mind sharp and her control absolute, while Helen’s bound form remained a testament to both her endurance and their unspoken bond. And as Phantom’s fingers traced lazy patterns over the leather and latex, she couldn’t help but smile, already planning Helen’s next challenge.