Liz didn’t know how long it had been since she started her sentence for a murder she didn’t commit, but it felt like a long time, even when she considered she was trapped in bondage and isolation for the whole duration. Like the voices, they had first been random, but eventually, she started seeing things she recognized and made up stories about them to pass the time. She would also see shapes in all sorts of colors appear in front of her. The hallucinations hadn’t been completely auditory either. That she would never be free from the torturous touch of latex and never achieve her dreams of ultimate leather bondage. She learned to appreciate them as a distraction to the thought that this was her ultimate fate. A few times, Liz even thought that someone was actually visiting her, only to realize it was all in her head when she opened her eyes and saw the room was still pitch black. The voices had started making more sense too. Unfortunately, while those thoughts used to keep her sane, they now acted as a cruel mirage that teased her with a fantasy that would never come to pass. Everyday, Liz imagined Elena would come and free her from her personal prison, taking her out of this horrible latex catsuit and putting her in a leather straitjacket where she belonged. She wanted to be bound and abused by Elena more than anything.īut since then, her hope of being rescued had dwindled. How would her mistress treat her if she knew Liz had gone insane? Maybe after Elena rescued her, she would decide to throw her away for real after having broken her toy? Liz didn’t want that. She could tell they weren’t real and the idea that she was really going crazy scared her. Back then, they spoke in words and phrases that made no sense. Voices were talking to her in her head, loud sounds she could do nothing about overpowering her own thoughts. At first it had terrified her, even if she was used to long-term bondage and isolation as her mistress’s slave. With only the sounds keeping her company being her breathing and her heartbeat, she had long since started hallucinating. After all, with the latex catsuit that served as the first layer of her bondage handling her waste and keeping her clean, there was no reason to check up on her. And while there was nothing blocking her eyesight, she couldn’t make anything out in the pitch black of her cell, and nobody had opened the door and visited her since she was first placed down there. With how much the padding that lined the inside of the shell containing her was inflated, even breathing was difficult. Why did it have to be latex? That was a question Liz often asked herself in her isolation.īound in a straitjacket, mummified, sacked, and restrained in some wonderful hybrid of sarcophagus and chair, Liz could barely move a muscle. She was just miserable, stewing in her sweat from the multiple layers of heavy bondage, and constantly wishing for her imprisonment to end. But she couldn’t get herself even the slightest bit horny. She loved the isolation and the immobility and wanted nothing more but to melt away into the bliss of perfect bondage. Instead, she was immobilized, isolated, and forced to endure the feel of her least favorite material ever.īondage of this caliber was something she always dreamed of in her darkest fantasies. Soon after she had been locked away, she had started to hope that eventually, she would learn to enjoy it and could finally live her fantasy of being locked away and forgotten, but that moment never came. Or was it former mistress now? She hated its artificial touch and the way it stuck to her skin. She still hated it as much as she had the day her mistress Elena had taken her in. In all that time, Liz had never gotten used to the touch of latex. How much time had passed? Days? Months? Years? The answers to those questions lay outside the silence and darkness of her cell. At first, she tried counting the number of meals she had been fed, back when she had more hope about getting out, but she had lost count a long time ago. In complete isolation, the sense of time and space was the first things to go. Liz had no idea how long she had been trapped in the 17th basement of the JF Institute.
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