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Description

The Supreme Directrix knew what Jeanette was telling her. She didn’t need to know what she was “saying.”
“NGHN! NNNGGNYGRR!”
Jeanette was saying ‘thank you.’
Not willingly. Not intentionally. Jeanette was not grateful for what was happening to her. But in her own way, her own desperate pleadings were acclimations to the Directrix. It pleased her; it delighted her. It was gratifying, as gratifying as it could be, to see a condemned prisoner begging like this.

Ah, yes, Jeanette. This was her end. She was utterly, utterly, utterly doomed. Jeanette was dressed in an extremely thick and advanced suit; tight, thick, inflated. The first layer was protective, and had innumerable implants and ports to provided stimulation, torment, and support. That prisoner suit had been worn for quite some time, practically printed on to her body, highlighting her curves.

The out layers were not quite so flattering. In fact, they didn’t make her look feminine at all. It reduced her. Jeanette was a powerful, fearsome mistress with friends in high places. But in the domain of the Directrix, she was nothing. A worm. A grub. A faceless prisoner.

Faceless was critical, because in addition to the inflated “PERMA-PRISONER” sack, Jeanette had been robbed of even her identity. The Directrix had scrubbed her records from the prison, removed evidence from the security cameras, and then sublimely sealed her face in something skintight. An ultraprene mask that hugged her, automatically loosening and tightening to make sure her face eternally trapped in a pathetic vacuum-sealed grimace. Hot stuff.

The tight suit, therefore, had to match. The sack itself was textured and designed to inflate. Once slipped inside, it mated with Jeanette’s prisoner attire - locking, sealing, adhering. And then inflating. Phantom had filled it with advanced compounds borrowed from another dictator, one who had a similar interest in prisoners in rubber.

And on the outside, something protective. The textured “silo suit” was kept in place by extremely thick rubber and steel bands. It felt like a snake swallowing her whole. She felt it happening, her ‘swallowing,’ as she was fit inside. Dozens of tiny snaps, straps, and locks to ensure that they were completely mated. That meant - in her case - no chance for a simple escape. No… zero chance for any escape. No amount of tugging or tearing seemed like it was going to get enough force to dislodge her body from the sack. And she did try, fruitlessly. She was being gulped down. Devoured by darkness.
Swallowed. The snake metaphor went further; even her neckline was squeezed tight. It was like an anaconda, slowly crushing her body but also her spirit. It was making Jeanette low on breath but high on life. The intense pressure around her neck at all times starting to get to her, making her light-heaed, vulnerable, and above all, needy. After all, her erogenous zones were constantly teasing her; the sensation of a tight force around her neck was deeply sensual. The Directrix recorded a tiny mewl from Jeanette’s lips.

The only thing that The Directrix missed was seeing this dumb whore’s face. The mask was so tight, she could imagine the expression beneath… but she couldn’t see Jeanette’s visage. She could imagine it well, though. Jeanette’s face would be red, her eyes wide from the endless squeezing. Slight tears welling up from the unyielding pressure, cheeks bulging from a gag. Blushing, grinding, and in Phantom’s mind, eyes wide with fear and anger. The Directrix was smiling just thinking about it. This was just for her; nobody else got to see Jeanette. Nobody else got to see Silo Slut #5.
Jeanette - after being tried and interred and now the rubber-sealed captive of the evil Directrix - was in deep. Though the Directrix was about to show her deeper. After being suited up in a prisoner catsuit, then locked within the internal sleeves of the silo-sack, she was given a few accoutrements. Her legs were trapped, with tiny nodes to tease and torment her feet - tickling or teasing. And below that, a heavy weighted cylinder to drag the bitch down and make sure she’d go in, no matter how tight the inflated rubber could be.

Far too heavy and immobile to walk, gravity-lifting drones hauled Jeanette into the air. Former mistress, now just an object. Jeanette now hung precariously over a small cylindrical hole in the ground, one filled on all sides by inflated padding.

This “oubliette cell” was to be her punishment, said The Directrix - unless any of her rebel friends arrived to rescue her. But that was looking less and less likely by the minute. And they would not be arriving - Phantom already had them in custody. Soon enough, they’d be #6 and #7.
“All right, Jeanette - prisoner S-5. You’re about to enjoy one of my cruelest prisons imaginable. The oubliette. French, of course for “no release.” The interiors are all totally padded with S-compound flexible gel, an advanced polymer designed to contract or expand remotely. You’ll really enjoy it. The heat is going to crush you like a diamond… or give you enough space to think you can get out. Which you won’t. It’s not that deep, but it’s going to feel like a bottomless pit.
Jeanette was floating. Squirming. And she was desperate. She started to plead.

“Mmngggh…”

She turned the bag to face her. Jeanette’s face was just a grimace under that thick, adhering rubber. The phalanx was broken. Phantom had outflanked her. She saw the way the arousal manifested in Jeanette; twitching and licking her lips, swallowing, eyes darting left and right. Flushed cheeks. A slow response time every moment Phantom indicated how completely doomed she was.

Jeanette’s lip quivered. Phantom hugged her, rubbing her cheek against her. She wanted to feel it, knowing that nobody would see it. She hugged her tight again, and saw no reason to hold back. She rubbed her body up against the prisoner’s sacked form. She loved it. Embraced her, embraced the lewd and taboo torture. She squeezed her tight, and Jeanette was singing with the voice of an orgiastic angel. Phantom slipped a finger between Jeanette’s lips, letting her suckle and twitch on them for a moment before withdrawing and wiping the saliva on her face. The intensity was outstanding; the heat from her bagged slave was intoxicating. Oiled and polished rubber on rubber, met with kisses and slaps and pinches to her toy’s face. The poor thing could barely move, but she loved every minute of it.

All of Jeanette’s responses were exquisite. The way that she squirmed moved in sync with her inflated gear and deflated ego, and Phantom reduced the pressure just enough to let the rubberized slut squirm. Enough to feel her curves beneath the gear, enough to let the woman’s legs part and her thighs grind. God, Jeanette was so steamed. It was as if she’d been in the sauna, relaxed and forcibly made into something softer, more pliable.
Phantom gently fit her toy’s mouth with a kiss.

“One last kiss,” Phantom said. Jeanette screamed in orgiastic agony.

All the while, Jeanette was still trying to resist. The mixture of ‘no’ and ‘need’ blended together, and she still gasped in horror at her situation, still struggled to break the cables even as The Directrix brought her to the edge. God, please, she thought. She wasn’t sure what she was praying for. Release, of some kind. But either way it was The Directrix providing it. She lost track of herself, mentally becoming weightless and floating in a horny haze as her captor stepped backwards. Phantom wiped saliva from her lip with a glove, smiling and panting. God, that felt good.
She was already fantasizing about taking her out for some more fun. If she didn’t intentionally forget about her and leave Oubliette Silo #5 as a tomb to a great rival. Jeanette began to lower, the drones letting her slide into the cell. Phantom was enjoying it… until she got stuck.
“I’ve been looking forward to disposing of you from the moment I caught you.”
The pressure was intense. It was like being in a vise. Every single part of Jeanette’s body was being pressed, with her neck down like she was in a volcano. And it was hot too; she could feel herself sweating, as if she was in a pressure cooker. The high-tech gear wicked it away,
Phantom said as she watched Jeanette slowly descending. Except for one problem. She was stuck. The rubber too inflated, the pressure too high, the padding too generous. And so… Phantom walked over and decided to do it herself.

She placed her boot up in the air for a moment. And then, slowly, carefully, she put her boot down onto Jeanette’s smooth, shiny, glossy head. The perma-prisoner begged for mercy that would never come as Phantom applied pressure, carefully, slowly. So slow that the SQUEEAK was driving Jeanette mad. Her end was so slow! So horrifying! Every millisecond felt stretched out.

“TIME TO SEAL YOUR FATE.”

Jeanette’s eyes rolled back into her head. Phantom matched her. The final image of the mistress being lowered into the oubliette was just about the hottest thing she’d ever seen. The cruelty, the wrath, the decadence of it all washed over her. Phantom was overcome with imagery of just how luxurious and immoral it was; the taboo nature bringing her to new, heartless levels of arousal as she watched Jeanette squirm her last.
And, at the same time, Jeanette - confronted with her state, trapped in a haze, squirming until the last, brought herself up to the edge - only reaching it as she felt herself well and fully stuck. She realized that she was actually stuck - it wasn’t just her head. God, WHY?! It gave her just enough head-space that she understood how well and truly doomed she was.

“MMNGNGNGHHH!?”

She had a few moments of lewd clarity to squirm, to buck. To try to squeak herself out. She was stuck in the inflated oubliette; she was up to her shoulders. But she was making progress, the squishy sidings were good grip, she could just barely start to squeak and move upwards, until Phantom pushed down once again.

Jeanette felt it against her forehead. The strong boot, the tall heeled sole of The Directrix forcing her down, down, pushing her into the hole. She squirmed and arched her back and moaned and tried everything, rubbing herself into a frenzy as she was pushed down, down… the pressure on her forehead only abating when she realized she was inside the oubliette.

She heard the laughter of Directrix Phantom, followed by the lid slamming shut.
Something broke within her, and she realized she was over the edge. She came with such intensity that Phantom thought she’d rip her suit or deflate the cell. But that was of course, impossible. Jeanette was hers.

Phantom salivated at the thought. She imagined her , deep underneath the floor, cumming and squirming. Hating it, defiant to the last, yet now utterly unable to resist. Hours of gas and programming and edging taking their effect as the mistress Jeanette went over the edge, over and over again as she sunk deeper into submissive servility.

The door shut. It closed. Phantom laughed long and hard.

Kya-hah-hah-hah-hah!

Jeanette mewled in her rubber prison. The smallest movement was a crack of thunder in her unyielding rubber tomb. A buzzing began, and Jeanette heard Phantom laughing.

Description

The Supreme Directrix knew what Jeanette was telling her. She didn’t need to know what she was “saying.”
“NGHN! NNNGGNYGRR!”
Jeanette was saying ‘thank you.’
Not willingly. Not intentionally. Jeanette was not grateful for what was happening to her. But in her own way, her own desperate pleadings were acclimations to the Directrix. It pleased her; it delighted her. It was gratifying, as gratifying as it could be, to see a condemned prisoner begging like this.

Ah, yes, Jeanette. This was her end. She was utterly, utterly, utterly doomed. Jeanette was dressed in an extremely thick and advanced suit; tight, thick, inflated. The first layer was protective, and had innumerable implants and ports to provided stimulation, torment, and support. That prisoner suit had been worn for quite some time, practically printed on to her body, highlighting her curves.

The out layers were not quite so flattering. In fact, they didn’t make her look feminine at all. It reduced her. Jeanette was a powerful, fearsome mistress with friends in high places. But in the domain of the Directrix, she was nothing. A worm. A grub. A faceless prisoner.

Faceless was critical, because in addition to the inflated “PERMA-PRISONER” sack, Jeanette had been robbed of even her identity. The Directrix had scrubbed her records from the prison, removed evidence from the security cameras, and then sublimely sealed her face in something skintight. An ultraprene mask that hugged her, automatically loosening and tightening to make sure her face eternally trapped in a pathetic vacuum-sealed grimace. Hot stuff.

The tight suit, therefore, had to match. The sack itself was textured and designed to inflate. Once slipped inside, it mated with Jeanette’s prisoner attire - locking, sealing, adhering. And then inflating. Phantom had filled it with advanced compounds borrowed from another dictator, one who had a similar interest in prisoners in rubber.

And on the outside, something protective. The textured “silo suit” was kept in place by extremely thick rubber and steel bands. It felt like a snake swallowing her whole. She felt it happening, her ‘swallowing,’ as she was fit inside. Dozens of tiny snaps, straps, and locks to ensure that they were completely mated. That meant - in her case - no chance for a simple escape. No… zero chance for any escape. No amount of tugging or tearing seemed like it was going to get enough force to dislodge her body from the sack. And she did try, fruitlessly. She was being gulped down. Devoured by darkness.
Swallowed. The snake metaphor went further; even her neckline was squeezed tight. It was like an anaconda, slowly crushing her body but also her spirit. It was making Jeanette low on breath but high on life. The intense pressure around her neck at all times starting to get to her, making her light-heaed, vulnerable, and above all, needy. After all, her erogenous zones were constantly teasing her; the sensation of a tight force around her neck was deeply sensual. The Directrix recorded a tiny mewl from Jeanette’s lips.

The only thing that The Directrix missed was seeing this dumb whore’s face. The mask was so tight, she could imagine the expression beneath… but she couldn’t see Jeanette’s visage. She could imagine it well, though. Jeanette’s face would be red, her eyes wide from the endless squeezing. Slight tears welling up from the unyielding pressure, cheeks bulging from a gag. Blushing, grinding, and in Phantom’s mind, eyes wide with fear and anger. The Directrix was smiling just thinking about it. This was just for her; nobody else got to see Jeanette. Nobody else got to see Silo Slut #5.
Jeanette - after being tried and interred and now the rubber-sealed captive of the evil Directrix - was in deep. Though the Directrix was about to show her deeper. After being suited up in a prisoner catsuit, then locked within the internal sleeves of the silo-sack, she was given a few accoutrements. Her legs were trapped, with tiny nodes to tease and torment her feet - tickling or teasing. And below that, a heavy weighted cylinder to drag the bitch down and make sure she’d go in, no matter how tight the inflated rubber could be.

Far too heavy and immobile to walk, gravity-lifting drones hauled Jeanette into the air. Former mistress, now just an object. Jeanette now hung precariously over a small cylindrical hole in the ground, one filled on all sides by inflated padding.

This “oubliette cell” was to be her punishment, said The Directrix - unless any of her rebel friends arrived to rescue her. But that was looking less and less likely by the minute. And they would not be arriving - Phantom already had them in custody. Soon enough, they’d be #6 and #7.
“All right, Jeanette - prisoner S-5. You’re about to enjoy one of my cruelest prisons imaginable. The oubliette. French, of course for “no release.” The interiors are all totally padded with S-compound flexible gel, an advanced polymer designed to contract or expand remotely. You’ll really enjoy it. The heat is going to crush you like a diamond… or give you enough space to think you can get out. Which you won’t. It’s not that deep, but it’s going to feel like a bottomless pit.
Jeanette was floating. Squirming. And she was desperate. She started to plead.

“Mmngggh…”

She turned the bag to face her. Jeanette’s face was just a grimace under that thick, adhering rubber. The phalanx was broken. Phantom had outflanked her. She saw the way the arousal manifested in Jeanette; twitching and licking her lips, swallowing, eyes darting left and right. Flushed cheeks. A slow response time every moment Phantom indicated how completely doomed she was.

Jeanette’s lip quivered. Phantom hugged her, rubbing her cheek against her. She wanted to feel it, knowing that nobody would see it. She hugged her tight again, and saw no reason to hold back. She rubbed her body up against the prisoner’s sacked form. She loved it. Embraced her, embraced the lewd and taboo torture. She squeezed her tight, and Jeanette was singing with the voice of an orgiastic angel. Phantom slipped a finger between Jeanette’s lips, letting her suckle and twitch on them for a moment before withdrawing and wiping the saliva on her face. The intensity was outstanding; the heat from her bagged slave was intoxicating. Oiled and polished rubber on rubber, met with kisses and slaps and pinches to her toy’s face. The poor thing could barely move, but she loved every minute of it.

All of Jeanette’s responses were exquisite. The way that she squirmed moved in sync with her inflated gear and deflated ego, and Phantom reduced the pressure just enough to let the rubberized slut squirm. Enough to feel her curves beneath the gear, enough to let the woman’s legs part and her thighs grind. God, Jeanette was so steamed. It was as if she’d been in the sauna, relaxed and forcibly made into something softer, more pliable.
Phantom gently fit her toy’s mouth with a kiss.

“One last kiss,” Phantom said. Jeanette screamed in orgiastic agony.

All the while, Jeanette was still trying to resist. The mixture of ‘no’ and ‘need’ blended together, and she still gasped in horror at her situation, still struggled to break the cables even as The Directrix brought her to the edge. God, please, she thought. She wasn’t sure what she was praying for. Release, of some kind. But either way it was The Directrix providing it. She lost track of herself, mentally becoming weightless and floating in a horny haze as her captor stepped backwards. Phantom wiped saliva from her lip with a glove, smiling and panting. God, that felt good.
She was already fantasizing about taking her out for some more fun. If she didn’t intentionally forget about her and leave Oubliette Silo #5 as a tomb to a great rival. Jeanette began to lower, the drones letting her slide into the cell. Phantom was enjoying it… until she got stuck.
“I’ve been looking forward to disposing of you from the moment I caught you.”
The pressure was intense. It was like being in a vise. Every single part of Jeanette’s body was being pressed, with her neck down like she was in a volcano. And it was hot too; she could feel herself sweating, as if she was in a pressure cooker. The high-tech gear wicked it away,
Phantom said as she watched Jeanette slowly descending. Except for one problem. She was stuck. The rubber too inflated, the pressure too high, the padding too generous. And so… Phantom walked over and decided to do it herself.

She placed her boot up in the air for a moment. And then, slowly, carefully, she put her boot down onto Jeanette’s smooth, shiny, glossy head. The perma-prisoner begged for mercy that would never come as Phantom applied pressure, carefully, slowly. So slow that the SQUEEAK was driving Jeanette mad. Her end was so slow! So horrifying! Every millisecond felt stretched out.

“TIME TO SEAL YOUR FATE.”

Jeanette’s eyes rolled back into her head. Phantom matched her. The final image of the mistress being lowered into the oubliette was just about the hottest thing she’d ever seen. The cruelty, the wrath, the decadence of it all washed over her. Phantom was overcome with imagery of just how luxurious and immoral it was; the taboo nature bringing her to new, heartless levels of arousal as she watched Jeanette squirm her last.
And, at the same time, Jeanette - confronted with her state, trapped in a haze, squirming until the last, brought herself up to the edge - only reaching it as she felt herself well and fully stuck. She realized that she was actually stuck - it wasn’t just her head. God, WHY?! It gave her just enough head-space that she understood how well and truly doomed she was.

“MMNGNGNGHHH!?”

She had a few moments of lewd clarity to squirm, to buck. To try to squeak herself out. She was stuck in the inflated oubliette; she was up to her shoulders. But she was making progress, the squishy sidings were good grip, she could just barely start to squeak and move upwards, until Phantom pushed down once again.

Jeanette felt it against her forehead. The strong boot, the tall heeled sole of The Directrix forcing her down, down, pushing her into the hole. She squirmed and arched her back and moaned and tried everything, rubbing herself into a frenzy as she was pushed down, down… the pressure on her forehead only abating when she realized she was inside the oubliette.

She heard the laughter of Directrix Phantom, followed by the lid slamming shut.
Something broke within her, and she realized she was over the edge. She came with such intensity that Phantom thought she’d rip her suit or deflate the cell. But that was of course, impossible. Jeanette was hers.

Phantom salivated at the thought. She imagined her , deep underneath the floor, cumming and squirming. Hating it, defiant to the last, yet now utterly unable to resist. Hours of gas and programming and edging taking their effect as the mistress Jeanette went over the edge, over and over again as she sunk deeper into submissive servility.

The door shut. It closed. Phantom laughed long and hard.

Kya-hah-hah-hah-hah!

Jeanette mewled in her rubber prison. The smallest movement was a crack of thunder in her unyielding rubber tomb. A buzzing began, and Jeanette heard Phantom laughing.