Shop More Submit  Join Login
About Literature / Hobbyist Member PhantomFemale/United States Group :iconmiragecorp-intl: MIRAGECorp-Intl
When bondage meets industry!
Recent Activity
Deviant for 7 Years
Needs Premium Membership
Statistics 234 Deviations 28,211 Comments 186,907 Pageviews

Random Favourites

Activity


Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes)
Waiting in a line was worse than waiting around. There was no leaning or sitting, just constant standing. There was no possibility of dozing off or losing attention, for there was always the chance that the queue would proceed. It was maddeningly dull.

Except for today. Today, Alashra's wait in a line was the most terrifying, horrifying, and unendingly stressful experience she could have imagined. Her heart raced with every forced step and fingers clenched at the constant sounds emanating throughout the hall. Every sense was overloaded; her eyes flitted across a dark room, seeing shadows against dim light on every wall. Her nose was assaulted with odors of exotic jasmine and spices mixed with oil. And of course, there was the unending chanting; the chanting which seemed to have no end. 

Her day had not started on a positive note. Alashra had spent unending, back-breaking hours slaving - quite literally - on Exemplar Khymrasa's tomb. Gigantic gears, cogs, and machinery that she had no chance of understanding. It had come across to hear as a great surprise, when, on the final day of construction, the gears - which the thought to be part of a religious device or trap  - came to life.

Already, Khymrasa's voice boomed through the hall, echoing with the strange tones and ethereal cues of magic. Strange and supernal words filled the ears of Alashra and the other workers as well. Each of them, in turn, was a person held by an arcane order. 

"To my many loyal servants! Construction is finished, and you have performed admirably. Your payments have already been sent. Please, return to the foyer of the tomb, where I will personally greet you."

She grew suspicious. Alashra was jaded. She, along with the other dozen or so workers, marched back to the foyer. Odd, since there was another exit nearby.

The foyer consisted of a massive stone plinth at the center where Khymrasa's body would eventually lay upon her death. She was relatively young, and the matriarch of a large family. She had no need of a tomb - not yet, in any case. In the center of the room, surrounding the central plinth, were several dozen stone disks, each base slightly raised above the carefully-hewn floor. Alashra could practically see herself in polished rock. She grinned; it had been her own handiwork.

"Stand on the disks, laborers." The voice boomed, and as though it were a vision, Khymrasa appeared. She wore elaborate headdress and a tight, cotton robe that hugged her every curve. Golden jewelry and bangles ringed her arms and the ankles of her bare feet. Shining beads hung from her ears. Her wrap covered her olive skin with a bright white, lit by a single ray of light from outside the tomb. She appeared to glow, with her many golden rings and piercings sending shines and glimmers across the foyer hall.

It was customary to provide a bonus to laborers; usually through some ceremony that dedicates the tomb. Alashra's mind could scarcely predict Khymrasa's cruel streak. 

Khymrasa stamped her staff against the plinth she stood on, and hell broke loose. 

Bandages of softest linen shot from the circumference of all twelve disks. These long lines of soft linen cloth each smelled heavily of spices, dried out in the hot sun of the desert. Magically prepared and possessing incredible strength, the bandages universally wrapped around the ankles of the laborers; Alashra included. Attempts to leave were impossible; all that she could do was fall over. Even as Alashra did so, she was stood back up! Bandages wrapped around her knees and wrists, several times apiece, and raised her magically back into the air to a straight standing position. It gave her the chance to make eye contact with the cruel captor as she began to pontificate.

"As we all know, human sacrifice is illegal in the Kingdom. So be not alarmed. I would never break such a hallowed law."

Bandages moved around Alashra's ankles. They were tight here; extra-tight. They already kept her feet bound to the stone circle; their pungent, soft textures gripped her like glue. 

"Unfortunately, I am in need of slaves and caretakers in the afterlife. And you all have done such a sublime job, I have decided to keep you. Therein lies the rub, though; I am nowhere near death. So, I have a simple solution; preserve you as my royal larder! Each of you, encased in perfect seals and kept alive through my own magic. It should and will be an honor! Each of you, poor laborers, will experience strict and completely inescapable mummification by the hand of a royal Exemplar. What could be greater?"

Grinding stone filled the ears of the shouting captives. Alasrha herself clutched at her ears so great was the din. Chanting of spells, from somewhere deep within the temple, seemed to be on par with the grinding sounds. The single light above closed, and the room was now lit only by the bizarre glow of Khymrasa.

The disks were moving. She couldn't see what was at the far end, but she hear the sound of more bandages, moaning, squirming, and soon after, silence - followed by loud grinding stones. The gears and cogs were powering this room; she just didn't know what it did.

Bandages began their encasement of each victim in turn. As the stones moved, more layers would be added; it was a veritable assembly line, and Khymrasa was at the halfway point. So dark was the room, that she couldn't see what awaited her far on the other side.

The bandages that rooted her were just the start. The layers were horizontal and careful; every inch brought another strip of bandage. It coated her at her ankles - again, just for good measure - up to her knees, her calves, thighs... and her hands. Both arms were forced into a crossed position around her stomach, hugging herself tightly as the first layer continued. Her laborer garments were systematically ripped from her body, leaving only her bare olive flesh to feel the brunt of the encasing assault. It covered her belly snugly, and then wrapped her extremities; each finger was wrapped, then together as a single mitt, then finally back over her similarly-wrapped breasts. The curves of the bandages removed the individuality and created a single, sleek outline; no blemishes or traits of personality were visible as it proceeded to her chin.

"All slaves - ahem,  sorry, you were "laborers" - will be paid handsomely. Each of you is given the gift of magical youth, here, with me! Of course, to maintain said spell - and to maintain your magical wrappings - we need two things. First, the room needs to be completely dry; water and moisture will destroy the magic that makes the bandages as hard as steel, as well as... oh, you'll see. Furthermore, you need to be completely wrapped - a perfect seal. Inside and out alike."

Alashra gritted her teeth and shut her eyes; she didn't want to feel the assault on her body. Bandages filled her up from the inside out, with moistened rolls of soft cotton plunging into her womanhood and rear, expanding and spreading arcane energy through her body. Her lips were spread and mouth packed tight, stifling the pleas for mercy into pouts that exited her lips.

Bandages held her upright as a second layer descended. Though the first had started clean, the many wraps that encased the victims grew messier as they reached the arms and legs. A second layer of wider bandages solved that - stretching over breast, arm, leg, and any remaining flesh. 

The plugged mouths of the captives were gently wrapped; thin layers and strips at first starting at their moaning lips. Then, thicker bandages which wound all the way 'round their heads, proceeding to further layers that concealed their faces. Alashra saw it happen before it reached her; layering over her lips, then nose and mouth, then eyes and short-cropped hair. So tight were her wraps that even her hair disappeared; compressed tight against her skull. A smooth layer of thick off-white was the only indication that a moaning and mewling woman was below. 

As the 'production line' continued, a few minor touches - extra wraps around key areas and enchanted runes of wax - were applied. When she reached last stages, she could scarcely detect what was happening.

Resin poured from the ceiling. It slathered over the form of Alashra and each slave that had come before her. In the dry atmosphere of the tomb, it set within a few moments; Alashra moved to the next area, her disk grinding against the stone floor, and more resin poured.

This repeated four times more. Each time, the hardening resin would dribble down, coating the white mummies in exotic shades of amber. By the third, it was no longer clear as to whether the mummy was male or female; by the fourth, it was only a vaguely humanoid shape. Well and truly encased, but messy. 

At the last station, Alashra was motionless. She stewed in her own head, magical energies disrupting her thoughts and sapping what willpower she did have. A granite mold - one that she herself had carved - emerged from the walls. She was 'stamped' ; pressed in a mold that turned the messy resin into the final, outer shell of a sarcophagus. It was an elegant thing, a slim and vaguely feminine casket that held within it one of the 'grave goods' for the sorceress. No sound or movement escaped.

An hour later, all had been completed. Each and every disk now held a mummy, encased and enclosed and molded. Khymrasa grinned; she had taken to luxuriating, enjoying a crystal-clear pitcher of water and a plate of figs.

"Well, I have some time to spend Corbeau - one of my other possessions. Ta-ta." The exemplar casually threw the remnants of her meal to the ground, and strode out of the tomb with a haughty chuckle. Her laughs were the only sounds that echoed through her future tomb. 



Grave Goods
Contains bondage, mummification, encasement.

Mummy bondage isn't everyone's cup of tea. I try to make the content of the stories clear in the comments section, so that users seeking titillation or entertainment can avoid that which is averse to their proclivities. 

That said, I generally try to write for myself; art can be something you hold tight and in secret. Design needs someone else's involvement on the part of the user or reader.

This story is just for me. I enjoy the wrapping, the tightness, the inescapability; it's bondage taken to its logical end. Mummification is the ultimate role reversal; leaving someone snug, intact, but utterly helpless and vulnerable through strict and snug wrapping. It's like being weightless, or in a sensory-deprivation tank. And for me, strict encasement and magic isn't necessarily a bad thing to help establish kink and tone.

This story was inspired by a Sebastian piece, found here. bastianmage.com/puffincare/puf…
Loading...
  • Mood: Joy
  • Listening to: "The Moth Radio Hour"
  • Reading: "The Secrets of Cats"
  • Watching: Sherlock
I sometimes feel an earnest guilt about submitting others' work on my account. When it's a gift, I submit it so that it gets more coverage; when it's a commission, it's an idea I want to show off. 

First of all, I'm making a declaration; if I submit some visual art, I'll alternate it with something original I've written.

Second, and I'd like to re-iterate this; I don't draw anything. I write a lot. 

There are many artists who draw images to accompany vignettes or chapters; I like to imagine myself as being a competent enough writer to let her work stand without visual accompaniment. 
Phantom Interrogated by phantomdotexe
Phantom Interrogated
"Please, I have had a terrible few weeks. Let me go, there is no need for such hostility. Loosen the bonds, leave the room - nothing bad will come of it. I beg of you, then, from one villain to another - just a little leniency. Wait... what's that in your hand? What are you going to do to me?"

Don't worry, Phantom is just playing up the damsel aspect in order to manipulate her captor. (At least, that's what she's telling herself!) This absolutely stupendous piece was totally unexpected; done by the eloquent, earnest, and genuine :iconhiveminder:. You should head over to his page ASAP and check out his other lovingly-rendered art and the intense story that goes with it!

Personally, I'm especially in love with the slightly vulnerable expression and the glamorous way he's rendered Phantom's dark lips... 
Loading...
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes)


"There's a convention in town." 

"What kind of convention?"

"One for people like us."

Vague words from Phantom; Natasha shrugged.

"Enjoy, Ma'am." Natasha continued working. She flipped through hard-copy pages and augmented reality displays - images that appeared only ot her, projected directly from her neural computer to her eyes and then brain. Fingers danced daintily over reams of information on rivals and competitors. Working in Phantom's "living room" meant that there were fewer distractions; no captives, no moaning, no improper amorous relations. 

"I was thinking you would come." Natasha's hair stood on end. Ominous clacking of Phantom's heels echoed in tune with her deep voice. "You are my employee, and I think you would do well to go to a conference with me."

Natasha shook her head. "Sorry, Ma'am, but I am occupied. Strategy doesn't formulate itself."

Something warm pressed against Natasha's retro haircut. She blushed, and the red in her cheeks contrasted with the white of her skintight labcoat. 

Phantom gently moved her stomach against the scientist's neck, with her breasts gently sagging onto Natasha's head. "But Natasha," she said, "You are more than just my employee. You are my friend!"

"Then why does my employee ID say 'slave'?"

"Slave, captive, employee, friend, hostage. It is all part of a continuum. You would not want to go to a party alone, would you? Come along as a favor. It's a gathering of scientists, transhumans, and like-minded individuals."

Natasha blinked. Her virtual workspace receded in her mind.

 "Phantom, c'mon. Like, to start with, I'm busy with something you asked me to do. Something that could determine the future of your career as an evil mastermind, or whatever. Your words."

"Second, I don't people . Not the same way you do. Maybe if I was in the mood, Phantom, but I'm not; I'd rather spend a quiet night in with-"

The last few words of Natasha's response fell by the wayside. Phantom spoke over her. When Natasha continued, she felt a single, gloved finger hushing her, covering her lips.

"It'll be fun."

***


Starlit, empty sky ensconced and encompassed the valley. Wide, rustling plains and gentle winds gave moonlit, ebony embrace an eerie quality. Every sound was underscored by the soft, hissing whistle of grass and leaves. So great were the stars that they mixed with the terrestrial sounds and smells. The sounds synchronized with the twinkling above, almost as if the sky was hissing in disdain.

"You said this was a convention." Natasha folded her arms in a self-hug. She held her arms tightly, occasionally shivering against the cool Autumn air. Natasha had dressed warmly, though Phantom scoffed at her excessive wardrobe. 

The wind picked up grass , and it hissed in its dew-covered chill.

"Yes. We are convening. The transhumans I mentioned are coming to us. The Hive. That is what they call their organization. They're meeting us here."

"The name doesn't sound friendly, Phantom."

Phantom stopped walking. The field seemed to go on forever, broken up only by rocks and hills.

"They are not a friendly sort. They are hostile, and have relatively little regard for the human rights you and I so cherish. They consider themselves far and beyond such trivialities. Much anything 'human' is beyond them, in fact. At least, that's what I understood from our transmissions," Phantom explained.

Natasha stopped as well, panting slightly. "What's your collateral, then?"

"Collateral?"

"You know. You arranged this meeting - what's to stop them from just showing up and doing horrible things to us?"

"I explained to them my status as a villainess, my personal gravitas, and my vast financial resources; I could be more than a thorn in their side. I could end them."

"Phantom..."

"Yes, Natasha?"

"All of those things are very..."

"What?"

"They're very human."

"Elaborate."

"I thought you said they didn't get about such 'human' things.".

A bright light extended from the sky.

Everywhere the light touched her skin; every inch and nook that the light seemed to softly wash over turned a bright purple. Not her skin, but something more. It appeared below her clothing, a purple and opaque coating. It was so fast, so sudden, that Natasha never bothered to resist, and she never bothered to comment on the familiarity.

It was familiar, in a way. Suddenly, thick latex covering her body. But the manner of its application was utterly alien. The smell and sensation of tightness totally covered her. Her bra, sweaters, pantyhose-  all of them were now far away from her lithe skin, separated by a suddenly-growing layer of purple latex. 

Her clothing seemed to rip all at once. Her bra and hose, already far too tight, went first, tearing off into shreds as a new, thicker, larger replacement subsumed them. Gloves, shoes... in a few seconds, Natasha was gone. 

In her place, still kneeling in the same half-confused mid-sentence pose, was an entity of purple latex. 

She knelt, and she felt the most thorough coating seeping together. Her knees locked, the coating on her rear fused with that on her heels. It was thick, and it was stretchy. She could move quite easily, even talk; it was thin enough around her mouth and face.

She felt someone touching her - presumably Phantom - and muffled sounds of surprise. Then, another burst of heat; the sensation of soft light falling over her helpless, wholly hooded head. The sound of rustling grass had been replaced by the sound of struggling. Phantom, too, was gone, her clothes shredded, and her skin totally encased by this purple latex. 

The two felt their bodies lifted into the air as the rubber hardened and stiffened. In a few minutes, all that remained of their midnight meeting was a few tatters of clothes. A soft morning rain washed most of the shreds away.


***

Isolation quickly grew to unnerve Natasha. Her body, heavily augmented by nanotechnology concentrated in her chest, allowed her to awake from sedation far in advance of schedule. Her mind rose to activity, but some sort of field kept her body from doing the same. She dangled, listlessly and floating helplessly in place. It was embarassing, awkward, and bizarre; still trapped in the thick embrace of the latex-like purple, she twirled in place, hovering as though in free fall. Escape was her top priority, but it also seemed impossible. How long should she float like this?

She surmised that this was an examination. Much easier to touch and examine the subject if they weren't strapped or tied down to some sort of slab or X-frame, as Phantom often preferred. The heavy and encompassing rubbery embrace truly did coat every inch of her helpless and voluptuous figure. It was spreading her, filling in cracks and nooks normally obscured by clothing. Her captors twirled her - at least, she felt fingers on her thick encasement - to examine different spots. Her latex enclosure seemed to provide some modicum of information to them. All it told her was that she was a prisoner.

After the initial examination, Natasha was returned to holding. She was blind, but could see; her ears and sense heavily ensconced, but not forbidden to her. A greater awareness entered Natasha's mind through her technological augmentation, and through it, she sensed the room; each tiny machine and signal echoing through her mind to create a pointillistic image of her prison.

The 'storage' chamber seemed to be a massive room, hundreds of meters across. It truly evoked the imagery of a beehive. Hexagonal cells seemed to cover every wall. Some were small, shoulder-width across, and others were large enough to be cargo doors, which she surmised they were. Her insight exposed to her the doors' opening and closing, and large components shifted through its berth. These heavy doors were the only obvious points of egress.

It was the other cells that distracted her. Natasha was in just one such a cell, as were what might be hundreds of others. Each and every cell was identical in size; dehumanizing to the extreme. Orange, advanced ceramics made up the cells' composition, and within perhaps half of them was a living, human entity. Every entity was placed into the cell feet-first, and lowered meticulously, thoroughly, and slowly into a sticky substance. It seemed to be organic in composition - no nanomachines, no monitors - and Natasha could scarcely sense it further. These poor saps - herself included - were shoved down 'till the waxy substance nearly reached their chins. Within a few moments, an electrical surge would wrack the pod, sending the victim into a painfully stimulated tizzy and instantly solidifying the wax. They would be trapped, the top of their neck and heads free to writhe. 

Almost all of these cell-dwellers were "dressed" as Natasha was; synthetic smart-materials that coated and probed and encased their wearers. A single, thick layer of rubbery enclosure. Natasha surmised that since she was breathing, the goop was air-permeable - though its heavy restriction kept her stomach from expanding to its max capacity. At times, she'd be short of breath.

She knew that she was the exception, though. Unlike anyone - anyone - else in this room, this cell was simply too small. Not due to massive size or weight, but simply her bust. Natasha's massive breasts dominated her physique; she had done her best to hide it during the walk with Phantom, but now it was impossible. Her body was totally highlighted and outlined by her personal prison, and her gigantic chest was more than obvious. Each of her mammaries was compressed against the flat walls of her hex-cell, in turn forcing her backwards. When the transhumans first dragged her to the cell, she imagined them stomping and shoving her with all their physical might to squish her into the cell. Her bust also protruded upwards, with the tops of her curve visible over the wax-layer that kept her imprisoned.

Almost all of the other cell-dwellers were wearing similar coatings, but a few wore less and some wore more. Those with less sometimes had bare faces entirely; free to talk and beg. She occasionally heard muffled yelps from the others, somewhere far across the cells. Those with more had been equipped with masks or metal cowls to restrict them further.

Phantom was one of those who had been deemed 'important enough' to be so equipped. Natasha was unable to see her through the coating, but mentally linked with her. The entire room was swimming with electronic devices despite the plainness of the cells. It wasn't difficult to monitor her CEO's vital signs, and after what Natasha surmised was a day or so of stasis, she was able to navigate to Phantom herself and open a direct line of communication. Data crossed between them instantly; no words or syntax was required.

Planning was resolved in a few seconds. After an analysis of the "wax," Natasha had determined that it reacted to electricity. Phantom concurred, stating that she had been afflicted with 3.1 miliamps of electricity, which had forced the 'wax' into solid mode. The next step would be to create an electric current strong enough to short and discharge a comparable level of electricity through the wax - which would hopefully return it to liquid, allowing a modicum of movement. This could be achieved in a variety of ways; Phantom recommended a minor static buildup; she could use this to interfere with some of her more delicate interal systems, causing said discharge. Natasha agreed.

The two also agreed on terminology; the encasing liquid was 'wax' and the foodstuffs that they occasionally were fed would be 'nectar.' 

Feeding seemed to be regular. Every other day, Natasha would suddenly feel strong hands on her coated head. Feminine, thin fingers would move around her perfectly-enclosed features; fingers prodding at where her ears should be, stroking the faint outline of her lips beneath the rubber; cutely and daintily pinching the mound where her nose was. Then, the 'feeding'. A tiny tube was forced through the rubber, between her lips, and into her mouth where it would expand. Then, without mercy, she felt a warm, sweet substance pumped into her mouth. The first time, she yelped, screamed, and thrashed, practically choking on it. The force-fed liquid ran down her throat as she writhed, loathe to swallow some strange extraterrestrial concotion. Eventually, she felt her muscles relax, and soon , the nectar flowed into her body freely.

It was during these moments that she could ascertain the appearance of her captors as well. They were humanoid , and maybe even looked human. She couldn't tell, though; organic features did not appear to her extra-sensory techno-sight, only signals. She sensed wide-lensed masks that gave them an almost insectoid look, with gas filters where the proboscis might be. Sleek suits covered their bodies. Natasha liked to think that they kept with the 'hive' theme, and dressed themselves in gold and black.

Such pleasant thoughts always flowed to Natasha after consumption of nectar. It was a food, presumably, totally metabolized by her body - there was no waste involved. She felt a pleasant warmness that flowed from her core to her extremities, followed shortly thereafter by equally-pleasant relaxation of her muscles. And then, after both, she felt arousal. Natasha imagined that sexual libido was a side-effect of the nectar, but she could't be sure.

After all, she was in the midst of a very forbidden fantasy. Thick rubber, encasement, and total coating? Not to mention force-feedings and constant control. It was technological servitude; she was a slave to these machines. Every thought, every movement reminded her of an unending arousal; her womanhood begged for stimulus but such outcomes were impossible. In this cocoon, she felt safe and secure; with her skin covered, she felt pleasure - though her logical mind knew she should feel panic and desperation.

Again, just as she had many nights prior, she would work herself up. She'd grind her thighs however little she could, squirm, and moan to herself. Squeaks echoed from her sealed lips. Sparks flew inside her head as breath became harder to come by. 

And again, she'd work herself into a useless tizzy before slowly riding waning throes of arousal. She didn't know when she and Phantom would manage to escape, but she knew it wouldn't come soon enough.

***

Phantom had estimated that they had been here for nearly two weeks. Much of the time had been a dreamy sleep, often alternated with long periods of boredom split up by the occasional feeding. She wasn't sure what was in the 'nectar' they were being fed, but she knew she didn't want to find out. Phantom quickly metabolized and eliminated any traces of the stuff that entered her digestive system. She only hoped Natasha had been able to follow suit.

It was on the last day of the second week of their imprisonment that she felt herself being raised. A surge of electricity sent her body into overdrive, and in a moment she was floating. The wax was liquid again.

Strong hand hauled her out of the hex, and stronger straps belted over her stomach. She was strapped down to a hovering gurney - medical in design, with plastic bands around her breasts and limbs to keep her down. The gurney quickly escorted her from the cells, leaving perhaps hundreds more to their fate. Phantom put the other captives' plight from her mind- ignoring all save one, a particularly busty Russian scientist named Natasha.

***

Natasha sat shivering and nude. The coating had been completely removed from her body; the layers of heavy ensconcement all gone. She sat in a tube, totally vulnerable and helpless. Listlessly, she lay her head against the side of the glass tube. She clutched herself in a heap.

The glass tube seemed to have several lights shining on it from above - spotlights. She felt like a freak; a sideshow attraction to these inhumans. 

More lights flickered on. A cold, female voice echoed through the tube.

"Subject Natasha. Please stand up."

Natasha was cold and naked. She made no motion.

"Very well."

"Observe subject Natasha. She claims to be a transhuman. She claims to be on the same level as the members of the Hive. Even so, observe her base tendencies. Malaise. And what of her augments? Expanded lung capacity? Mental acuity? Micro-manufactories in her breasts?" 

Natasha blushed.

"However useless this basic human is, all things in the Hive must have their placed. As the current Matriarch, I have determined her body will be well-used."

Now she stood, interest piqued.

"Subject Natasha contains nanomachine swarms in her mammaries. Production only occurs under certain circumstances; stress and arousal. We plan on maximizing both. She will be a living factory for the Hive, producing our newest substance, 'Honey'. Any who partake in her secretions will be hopelessly addicted and pliable to the needs of the Hive. Now, observe our subject's transformation from pathetic individual to a tool of the Hive."

The roof of her cylinder opened simultaneously with the floor. Natsaha's feet edged to the sides of the cylinder as the apertures grew. Menacing equipment grew from the floor and ceiling of her cylinder. 

From the bottom, a concave arch grew. She swallowed reflexively and shied away from it.

"Subject Natasha, mount the saddle. Failure to do so will result in the termination of Subject Phantom."

Natasha nodded and sighed. Pretend you're at home, pretend you're with a friend. Pretend it's all for fun.

The alluring analyst slowly moved one thigh, then the other over the metal saddle. Its cool touch made her bare skin shudder. This isn't like home. At home, there would be others  - others with a soft touch and possessive grip. 

The saddle's gentle curvature rubbed against her bare slit. She felt red flush to her cheeks. Others must surely be watching; she didn't need to see their staring faces or lenses to know that. 

"Subject Natasha, relax your body. Observers, take note; both subjects came to us and are clearly capable of advance intellect and intricate planning. As such, both of their restraints will deviate from usual enclosure in the Cells; instead, observe a new, specially designer layer of our "wax." 

Natasha felt her legs clench and her fists form into balls. A warm, tantilizing sensation extended from her slit and upward. She felt an incomparable fullness, quickly extending out from her womanhood to completely cover her groin and moving to her legs. "How original." She managed at least one insult.

It was, without a doubt, different than the material she'd been encased in before. It was faster, slicker, and had an oily dark sheen over it. It quickly moved to her rear as well, and she let out an aubile grunt as it intruded. Solid, ribbed, and yet still oily-slick, the lubricated intruder quickly snaked its way deep into her rear. 

Soon, it wasn't just her groin, but her legs as well. Thick sheen extended to her tip-toes, covering, solidifying, and then sending another layer to stiffen the job. Her legs were moved, muscles unable to resist, into a kneeling position. She sat on the saddle with her knees pointed down and her ankles swiftly attached by the growing coating to her thighs.

Natasha had enjoyed such treatment before, but there was more to it. She had been starved of such contact for so long. Now, it was more than just a liquid encasement; it was a warm and inviting coat. It spread to the small of her back and up to her arms. 

Everywhere it went, it solidified. Less rigid than metal, but without the give of latex or rubber. The substance was refined; a mix of the wax she had been encased in and the ink she'd been coated in during her intial abduction. Danger-prone Natasha; now facing the least escapable of both.

Yet the fear had drained away from her after her first days of enclosure. Now, she felt ecstasy. The nectar had taken its toll, and the constant cravings were now at her forefront. She didn't just crave carnal release; she craved to be touched and dominated. The Hive was all too happy to comply.

Her arms were folded behind her back. First, her fingers were laced together, then the wax layered itself over her limbs. They were stringently adhered to her back, fitting with the curvature of her spine and pointing directly down. The wax burnt and then cooled and burnt again as multiple layers crashed over her teats, armpits, wrists; every sensitive and erogenous zone. 

It extended higher, past her neck, over her mouth, and up to her nose. She felt the hair on the back of her spine raise as it past her nostrils, giving her the barest modicum of air. 

"Do you see her motions? Dirty, carnal, and base; an animal in heat. It is under these conditions that we can begin production of 'honey.'

Conventional restraints were lowered from the aperture in the top of Natasha's tube. A massive ceramic brace lowered and clasped around her quivering and writhing arms. Multiple buckles, matte black, sealed and glued themselves over her legs, forcing her against the saddle. Small tubing snaked its way up from the ceiling to meet with her nipples.

"We could leave her as such, but production with just one unit is highly inefficient. We have added a force multiplier to the mix to maximize the factory's output."

Natasha panted. Her augmented lungs gave her enough oxygen - but only barely, and she felt her rate of breathing increase. She fought through blurred senses to spot another figure, suddenly highlighted by dozens of spotlights. She was not alone.

Phantom squirmed and bucked. Clearly, the Hive's inhabitants had sensed her accentuated strength and increased physical prowess. They had taken no chances. Phantom was enclosed just the same as Natasha, if not more. The wax completely covered her face, leaving only her hair visible; the dimmest outline of her nose, indentions where her eyes were... and a pair of lips visible through supremely tight wax made her identity quite certain. Thick, ceramic restraints further kept the villainess in place; a massive brace around her neck, for example.

The cylinders retracted. The two harnesses moved towards one another. The process was laboriously slow, with Phantom and Natasha both bucking all the while. Nearly a minute of anticipation later, the saddles 'docked.'

Phantom and Natasha were close; perhaps closer than they ever had been physically before. Stringently bound in quickly-hardening waxy encasement, Phantom's blind form knew it was Natasha the second they made contact. Tremendous breasts were snug against hers. The buxom, moaning form could only be Natasha.

Phantom felt her stomach and chest against her companion's body; they shared every moan and vibratory squirm. Energy coursed between them as they both grunted airless yelps. Natasha's cruelly compacted chest, stimulated all the worse by Phantom's contact, bounced.

"Observe again. So many factors, but they all blend together; air supply, physical contact, and other stimulants. Program thrusting and vibrating into probes, and these "scientists" expose their inferiority in a cacaphony of mewls and amorous grunts."

Phantom ignored such tirades as a matter of course. She engaged with Natasha; every moment was another closer to escape. Each rub charged electrostatic condensers in Phantom's form. All it would take would be a simultaneous expenditure of energy. They could melt the wax all at once and be free of these fools, fight their way to a loading bay... perhaps even to the bridge. Phantom already mentally purred with the possibilities.

All it would take would be Natasha to make the right move at the right time; all she'd need would be to mentally transfer the buildup to her augments, and all would be well.

Phantom awaited sweet freedom. Seconds away, she clenched her jaw and pursed her lips in anticipation.

Sweet release.

Of a sort.

Natasha's latex-covered lips made contact with her companion's. Energy surged; the soft sensation of a gagged kiss, intimate and genuine, was combined with a massive discharge. Natasha did not reciprocate with Phantom. She rode the waves of energy, coursing through her form, sending her warm extremities into a squirming overdrive. Her hips bucked and she gorged herself on the two fat protrusions busily thumping against her, riding orgasmic waves until she retreated to a slow boil, continually pleasured by her friend and circumstances.

Phantom was aghast. 

Their only chance for escape, and it had been squandered; no wax dissipated. Natasha had decided not to comply with the plan, expending generated power on sexual gratification instead. When would they escape? Ever? The rig now consisting of both women - snugly bound and trapped in an enforced kiss -was slowly lowered into a custom, massive hexagonal cell. The lid began to close, and dozens of Hive drones stared on through observational glass windows at the gyrating, moaning mass.

Despite the disappointment, Phantom managed a certain objectivity. I might have done the same in her place, Phantom reasoned. Maybe it was unintentional. Maybe she just needed a night in. Natasha's behavior is, in a way, forgivable.

After all, she was only human. 

Pollination
Starring:

Phantom: Domination-Obsessed CEO
Natasha Zhukov: Scientist, Captive, Employee

Featuring:
Bondage, latex, technobabble, technology, encasement, and an appearance of The Hive, a eusocial network of transhumans. phantomdotexe.deviantart.com/a…

Dedicated to and inspired by: :iconbullittblank:

Added comission from :deviantGREAT-DUDE:
Loading...
  • Mood: Joy
  • Listening to: "The Moth Radio Hour"
  • Reading: "The Secrets of Cats"
  • Watching: Sherlock
I sometimes feel an earnest guilt about submitting others' work on my account. When it's a gift, I submit it so that it gets more coverage; when it's a commission, it's an idea I want to show off. 

First of all, I'm making a declaration; if I submit some visual art, I'll alternate it with something original I've written.

Second, and I'd like to re-iterate this; I don't draw anything. I write a lot. 

There are many artists who draw images to accompany vignettes or chapters; I like to imagine myself as being a competent enough writer to let her work stand without visual accompaniment. 

deviantID

phantomdotexe
Phantom
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Time-Traveler, Educator, Hobbyist Writer, Gamer
Interests

AdCast - Ads from the Community

×

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconsangowarriorslayer:
sangowarriorslayer Featured By Owner 10 hours ago  Hobbyist Artist
Hello, I got a Halloween surprise on my deviantart and it involves one of the dinarangers.
Reply
:iconhiveminder:
Hiveminder Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Aaand thanks a lot of the watch. ^^ *bows*
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconsinnerdom:
SinnerDom Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
npr...slide by...the usual jew mafia on npr...woody allen...coping riffs..."oh..I  have to hit them between the porn and the pizza"...
And...*that* is the total lack of substance that will be "eh whateva" of all these guys...
Reply
:iconshennanigma:
Shennanigma Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for adding me to your DeviantWatch! I hope you'll love what I have in store!
Reply
:iconsandertulk:
sandertulk Featured By Owner Sep 4, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks alot for the watch :)
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconwhyita:
Whyita Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
OMG why have I never seen you before?! I mean just your tagline alone combines my favorite things: games, anime, and bondage! And in the case of my avatar...bare stomachs ^///^
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconlolice-scarlet:
Lolice-Scarlet Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Wow.  Your persona is cute.  >w<  And I do lurves me some bondage from time to time.  >w<
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconsangowarriorslayer:
sangowarriorslayer Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
Miki Fujiwara from Dinaranger is in my Deviantart.
Reply
:iconsangowarriorslayer:
sangowarriorslayer Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
I got a new zofa soldier pic. please check it out.
Reply
:iconsrasomeone:
SraSomeone Featured By Owner Aug 19, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for watch :D
Reply
(1 Reply)
Add a Comment: