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Security Lockdown Encased — Description

The arms retreated briefly into their ceiling hatches, leaving me time to catch a few, thin breaths. The tape pinched everywhere, at my toes, my knees, my ribs. My hands were locked behind my back, fingers already tingling from lack of blood, but the worst part was the silence. It vibrated against my eardrums, an unnatural calm after the storm of alarms and whirring servos.
I had about thirty seconds to reflect on my predicament before the next phase began.
A panel in the wall slid open, and two new arms slithered into view. Their ends weren’t clamps or hands, but the unmistakable glint of surgical scissors and a set of micro-manipulators. They hovered at my waist, twin vultures circling for the kill, and without warning one of the scissors snipped at the waistband of my panties.
I made a noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper and twisted away, but the tape barely allowed movement. The scissors worked with the dispassionate efficiency of a bored mortician, slicing through the delicate lace and tugging it free. The panties dangled for a moment from the tip of an arm before being tossed into a biohazard bin. A faint, scent of arousal drifted through the air, and I realized, with mortifying clarity, how soaked the fabric had become.
My cheeks burned hotter than ever. It wasn’t the exposure that got me. It was the realization that someone, something, was cataloguing every response, every physiological detail, with the cold, hungry gaze of a machine. The cameras seemed to hum louder, zooming in on the flush of my skin, the way I squirmed against the tape. I’d never felt so utterly, completely seen.
The second arm presented the next indignity: a clear, silicone toy, thick and veined, already gleaming with a film of viscous lubricant. I clenched instinctively, trying to press my legs together, but the tape held me wide open. The arm lined up the toy, hesitated, and then pressed it slowly against my entrance.
I shouted, but the sound barely escaped my lips. The arm pushed steadily, inexorably, and the toy slid inside, stretching me open with a cold, slick pressure. I writhed in the tape, but it only made the sensation more acute, every movement amplified, every nerve ending screaming in delight. The arm kept going, deeper and deeper, until the base of it was flush with my body.
The next arm appeared, trailing a string of dark purple beads. My rear puckered in fake protest, but there was no resisting, not that I wanted to deep down. The beads were slick and cool, each one pressing in with a firm, deliberate pop. I moaned, unable to help it, and the sound echoed around the chamber, bouncing back at me.
When both toys were in place, the tape returned. This time, it sealed my waist in a crisscross of overlapping bands, trapping the toys deep inside. The pressure was unrelenting, every spasm, every twitch pressed the toys further in, holding them tight against my most sensitive nerves. It was the most delectable torture and against every instinct, every fiber of my being, I was enjoying every second of it.
I was helpless. Completely, undeniably, humiliatingly helpless.
The final indignity came when the tape worked its way up to my face. The arm positioned my chin, tilting it just so, and began wrapping. It started at my forehead, spiraled down over my cheeks, and stopped just beneath my nose, leaving only a small gap for breathing and another for my eyes. The world became a blur of white and red, the glare of the lights diffused through a haze of plastic.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. Could only breathe, shallow and quick, as my body vibrated with a mix of terror and involuntary pleasure.
The arms withdrew, their job finished. I hung there in the center of the room, a living mummy, my skin buzzing with sensation, my mind a storm of shame and arousal. The silence returned, heavier than before, broken only by the soft whir of machines and the wet, needy sounds of my own body clenching around its new occupants.
Time warped. Seconds stretched into hours. I lost track of everything except the hammering of my heart and the relentless, throbbing ache between my legs.
At some point, footsteps echoed down the corridor. They stopped just outside the lab door, a pause long enough to make me hope it was a rescue. But then the steel shutter hissed open, and the footsteps entered.
I strained to see, but the tape blurred my vision. All I could make out was a silhouette: tall, slender, moving with the measured confidence of someone who owned the world. The figure paused in front of me. I sensed, rather than saw, the smile that bloomed across their face.
“Well,” the voice purred, female, smooth as velvet. “Aren’t you just the prettiest package.”
A gloved hand caressed my cheek through the tape. I shuddered, unable to look away as she circled me, studying every inch of my immobilized flesh. There was a click, and the flash of a camera. Another click, and another, the woman documenting my humiliation with clinical precision.
“Let’s see what the prodigal detective can do when she’s out of her element,” she whispered.
She reached behind me and pressed something against my taped thigh. A remote, I realized. With a twist of her wrist, both toys inside me sprang to life.
The toy pulsed, vibrating in unpredictable rhythms. The beads twisted, each orb rolling and churning, sending bolts of pleasure up my spine. I moaned, or tried to, but the tape muffled everything. My whole body arched, straining for release, but the tape held me perfectly still. The stimulation was overwhelming too much, too fast, too relentless. I trembled, sweated, and finally, shamelessly, came.
The woman watched it all, expressionless but for that cruel, knowing smile.
When the aftershocks faded, I was left limp and shuddering, my mind a blur. The toys continued their work, pushing me toward another climax. I had no idea how long I hung there, suspended in agony and ecstasy, before the woman finally spoke again.
“Good girl,” she murmured. “Sleep tight.”
She pressed another button. Something hissed from the walls. The last thing I remembered was the sweet, cloying scent of anesthesia flooding my senses, the world narrowing to a pinprick as I tumbled into darkness.
I dreamed of blue lights, latex, and the slick embrace of tape. Of eyes watching, always watching, as I struggled and came, over and over, in a cycle I could never break.
To be continued....
Art by @Guaky