Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

An Out-Of-Body Bondage Experience

by Phantom

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© Copyright 2018 - Phantom - Used by permission

Storycodes: FFM/f; latex; catsuits; guards; gasmasks; testing; facility; strip; naked; harness; straps; steel; chastitybelt; mittens; susp; springs; tubes; vacuum; sen-dep; vr-googles; electro; shock; tease; torment; denial; cons; X

"An Out-Of-Body Bondage Experience" is about masks, shiny rubber, and some curious gear! :)

Ashley had never been to space. She'd never given it much thought. Why would she have ever needed to dedicate her valuable brainpower to such a thing? Sure, she'd seen movies and television in which characters went to space. Scenes outside of Earth's atmosphere. Cheesy kids shows seemed to always send their protagonists to space. She understood that it was not just plausible, but that it had happened and there was a slim but non-zero chance that she would leave Earth at one point or another. But really, what was the point? It was so remote, so removed that she'd never given it more than the occasional passing thought. A joke with a friend while watching Gravity was a far cry from astronaut training. It wasn't even in the back of her mind. The thought simply wasn't there.

Except now it was there. Now it was taking up a tiny portion of her mind, and it was starting to snake throughout her brain. Slowly but surely, thoughts that melded the truly fantastical science fiction with the realities of what it would be like were snaking through her mind, taking over more and more brain processing power. I'm in sub-space, she thought. A meta-thought about the nature of her situation made her smile.

She was still allowed to smile, of course. There were cameras everywhere. Smiling was encouraged. That it was about a totally and completely unrelated topic, only barely germaine to the current situation didn't matter. It wasn't like any of the viewers were going to know the difference. They couldn't read her mind.

Then again, she couldn't read theirs, either. There were three people in the room with her. There was the Executive, who took notes on her phone. Or, maybe, she was checking e-mails. Or maybe she was texting a friend. Or playing a game. Either way, she was doing it and she said she'd been taking notes. Her dark skin was chestnut brown, and contrasted with the soft cream color of her business suit. She fingered her glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose and accompanying a raise of her head. She locked eyes with Ashley, then resumed taking notes. Or gaming. Or bidding on auctions. Or checking e-mails. The dark skin and off-white suit really did go well together. So did the glasses, with reddish rims so thin they were nearly invisible. It made Ashley think of a commercial for skin care. All the colors of the rainbow of human skintones were always nicely presented in those commercials. Always hairless, always silky-smooth thanks to the magic of Dove or Testor's or whatever the body wash company was.

She was getting distracted again. The two others were big and bulky; one male, and one female. Both of them dressed in the same security gear. It stood out, even compared to that of other prisons or organizations she'd worked with. Their suits were black and yellow. Two shades of black, technically. There was a matte black that made Ashley think of gun-metal, or an old tank, or the interior of a high-security wing like this one. They seemed to be some sort of synthetic fabric. Maybe it was like the gear that divers wore. That grayish-black contrasted vividly with the shining black rubber. The gray-matte leggings and sleeves were all nicely tucked into heavy-looking boots. They had been polished until she could practically see her reflection. In fact, Ashley was fairly sure that the shiny, skintight rubber would definitely have shone her face back at her. But that would've meant staring directly at this guard's breasts. Or, alternatively, forcing the man onto his back and staring at this rubber-clad chest. It felt like a slight violation. It felt sexy, too, so she pretended she hadn't had the thought at all.

The yellow trim of their leotards and boots and gloves and mask was the sort of golden sunset yellow one might see on a sign inviting reminding you not to slip. It wasn't so bright as to be annoying, just to get your attention. It made her stare at the collars they wore and the corsets that mated with plastic plates around their groin. She couldn't tell, but it seemed to be a bit more than 'tactical' gear. It was probably a bit more mobile and flexible than a full-body haz-mat suit. The gold had the habit of drawing the eye all around their bodies, though. Just like a hazard sign, it made you look. And so, she looked at where the female's womanhood would be or where the male's package was kept. Both of them were smooth with only slight bulges, and probably padded. A curious choice. She wondered if they were intentionally being kept in high-tech and high-security chastity devices, or if that was just an effect of the harness.

The rest of the guards' gear consisted of a tank on their back and a small panel at their waist. Tubes ran from their gas masks to their air supplies, and a few wires and regulators tied in with their waistline. Ashley didn't want to interrupt, but she was fairly sure that some of the wires ran from that waist-panel into their chastity belts. She stopped thinking when she realized the woman had her eyes squarely on the redhead. It was just her eyes, at that; a thick hood left only her brilliant eyes and manila skin visible. The barest of a sharp and carefully-manicured eyebrow was visible.

Tracing her own mental thread backwards, she now understood how she'd got there. She was thinking of skin because she couldn't see any, and because of the outfit on the Executive. She was thinking of space and astronauts because of all the fancy gear. She'd gotten to the 'traveling to space' bit because of all the equipment in which she was being given, measured to fit, and locked inside. It was quite a bit like what she imagined astronauts did before going on a spacewalk. Checking, re-checking, and not a single joke. Just lots of "are you good?" or "how does that fit?" or wordless segments where the assistants assumed Ashley knew what the hell she was dong.

The gear tester Ashley had been stripped nude for her work plenty of times. More often, she was given clothing to replace it.
This time, she was allowed to keep items of clothing on until they needed to come off. She still wore sweatpants and things beneath them, but they'd needed her topless. She didn't have long to be embarrassed. The man stepped back, giving the woman leeway. He was breathing heavier, perhaps a bit faster at seeing her nude form. The woman was all business, though. She gave her a wide black harness that was soft against her skin. It smelt of oil and polish. D-rings at the shoulderpads helped to hide the locking metal buckles, and the plastic clips that kept it in place. The harness covered her breasts and back and also included a leather neck-brace - not quite a posture collar but so tall that it had somewhat similar effects.

The harness also covered her breasts, though not in the usual way. No, they were empty over her breasts, but had wide plastic cups over them. They were somewhat pointed. Ashley chuckled, thinking that it made her look like Madonna in the 90s. Of course, Madonna's getup hadn't included a pair of intense devices to torture and torment her poor teats. Her nips were already growing hard at the arousing sensation and the implied threat. She couldn't help but listen to every single metallic clink and clank and jingle as they fastened the harness lower and lower. Another belt, another strap, and it kept going. They had her remove her pants, and soon she was wearing a gigantic, visible, and stainless steel chastity belt. A wide knob allowed a standard metal padlock to clip it shut.

Being a professional meant dealing with anything that they could throw at you. The fact that she could feel soft buds and bulbs teasing against her soft labia just meant that she needed to be strong, and all the more discrete. She probably blushed. She pretended she wasn't. She pretended that the internal stimulation, totally locked and sealed away from the outside world, was no big deal. Yeah. Pretended. It was fine.

The harness of straps continued to grow. They buckled against her belt like suspenders, keeping it up and keeping those nubs and beads and teasing devices prodding very, very gently against her. More straps. More D-ring connection points. A pair of heavy boots just like the man's. Well, just the the woman's , technically. The same theme -  heavy ,restrictive, functional, and covered in connection points - but made for her slender feet and legs. They closed up and strapped the boots on. She hadn't even realized the pair of spandex stockings that made their way up to her thighs. She wondered if those had any purpose at all. Maybe makeshift socks.

If anything got to her, it was the mittens. They were big. She'd worn plenty of different types before. These had small grips for her to hold onto while they were pumped and inflated. She'd fantasized about that plenty of times before. Looking at her hands, now balled up and mittened; it was almost silly. Nearly comical in the way they looked, like a cartoon character drawn too fast or a stick-man on notebook paper. Except these symbolized something more than boredom in class. They meant that the growing harness - one which now basically went to her legs - was not coming off of her own volition. They meant that she wasn't going to take off the chastity belt. Which, she started to think , was probably not standard gear for any prisoner, even one in this particular getup.

When they locked the mittens shut, she thought that was the worst of it. Or the best of it. When they harnessed her to the ceiling, she started thinking about space again.

The springs were long and made twanging sounds. The sweet music of their stretching metal mixed with the groans and grunts she instantly began to emit. The springs connected at her shoulders, her waist, and her thighs. Two more went to the inflated mitts. They spread her legs out a bit; she could pull them together with effort, but that was effort. And moving them made her think about her slit, which was starting to flush with arousal. That same arousal went up her spine as she was lifted off the ground. Ashley began to swing in the air. It wasn't like a puppet. It was more like... well it wasn't like anything, really. She bungeed up and down, hanging in place. She yelped with surprise. It was sort of fun, in a weird way. It was somewhat weightless while still being weighty. Her own weight tugged on one tiny portion of the gear, which in turn made it all go tighter. It was heavenly.

She hadn't noticed the wide spreader bar around her ankles or its lock that chained it to the ground. She got distracted momentarily as sub-space started to grow on her. If she was a balloon, that was the only thing keeping her from flying into space. Of course, the room was small, concrete, and designed for play or use. She wasn't going to fly into the sky. But she was starting to feel light-headed. She tugged her hips together, trying to grind them. No dice. No dice at all.

More long tubes. They were attaching to her chest. Ashley was groaning before they got there. She felt the suction and the sound of the air compressor accompanied it. It wasn't painful. Well, it was, but the pleasure was outweighing the pain. It wasn't as sensual as being licked or kissed on her nipples, but it was far more sexy. It wasn't erotic; it was arousing. It was like they were being pinched and pulled, but without the roughness of human hands. Ashley started to groan and moan. She tried to reach for her chest, to relieve pressure or ... something. To touch and pinch. The suction was doing it for her, though, and she wasn't moving her hands anyway. The mittens and springs saw to that. She pulled and managed to get her right hand fairly close to the bulb and suction, but couldn't quite make it. Her left started to go to her waist, but she just managed to grind the rubber against the plate without any noticeable effect.

There were effects, though. Maybe not related. Or maybe they were, and her testers and the executive were doing them in response. She felt the electrical jolt of low-level stimulation pump into her from multiple sources. They alternated. First, her poor, already-suctioned breasts. The pain was quickly absorbed and parts of her brain not already in use converted those signals into a warbling, stinging, thrumming pleasure. She could swear that her hair was on end for a moment, even though she knew it wasn't. When the next wave came, this time from tiny pads and buds in her belt, she felt her fingers twitch. It wasn't like the kind from a dangerous shock; it was the kind that came when you were doing push-ups and starting to waver. Or trying not to come and running out of excuses. She heaved her chest and wiggled.

The Executive said something that seemed so far away that it might have been another language. The two workers nodded and grabbed Ashley's head. She felt sweat on her brow as they slipped the mask over her face. It left space for the eyes - a wide gap - but covered her nose and mouth with a respirator. More tubes snaked away to places unknown.

Ashley couldn't help but think that she looked pathetic. Just her eyes were visible now; she was the woman in the leather mask. Air that smelt of flowers, then shifted to tangerines started to fill her nostrils. She saw the woman tapping something on her phone. Maybe controlling what she smelt. Her very air was under assault and under control. She tapped something else, and the smell of human musk filled her lungs. It was still air; pure and breathable. But there was something about it that made parts of her brain evolved to hunt for deer on the plains of Africa crave sex. The smell of other people mid-colitis made her want to join. Her body bucked, springing up and down in her harness. Ashley moaned and groaned. She mouthed words with difficulty, but the hood translated them all into pleasured yelps. Every word became "ghunnnngh" or hnnnnuuuuuuuuuugh or more, give me more . At least, that's what they meant. She was pretty sure she hadn't managed those specific syllables.

The two raised her up into the air. First, they re-checked all the connections and cables. The astronaut thing again. The man and woman had big, strong, gloved hands across her body. She liked it a bit more than she should have. Manhandling wasn't exactly high on the list of things she enjoyed for work. But this had its own rules. This scene had its own variables that made such things okay. When they were done, they pulled a few chains and tapped some keys on a loud, clicky keyboard. She felt herself being raised up; the springs stretched, but up she went. Now she was hanging, angling slightly forward, with her feet off the ground. She wiggled her arms and legs. Her whole body moved clumsily, as if she were underwater. Every time, she came back to that resting position. It felt natural. It felt good. It kept pressure off the parts that would hurt. It was so evenly distributed she could almost pretend like it didn't help grind those nubs and pads against her slit and lips.

There was a sense of vertigo growing. It came from not being able to really look up or down. She could try. It didn't do any good, because the movement and what she imagined didn't match. She wasn't straitjacketed and buckled to a chair. She was hanging and jumping and bouncing. This only grew when they grabbed her head, steadied her, and locked a large headset over her eyes. Two lenses soon began to warm up, accompanied by earphones. The virtual reality screens soon became her visual reality. Her brain quickly adjusted to what they showed her, and they became her outside world. A functional, if slightly lower resolution alternative to sight.

 She was bucking up and down. She was being shocked. Her body was experiencing new heights of pleasure as each new piece was taken away. First it had been her clothes. Then, her ability to escape. Then her ability to please herself. Losing smell, sight, and sound were almost afterthoughts.

Displayed in her field of view - in three dimensions, no less - was an image of her. The camera moved and panned slightly, and she realized it was a rig being held by the two workers. In three stunning, disorienting dimensions, she saw herself from the outside. She was a wreck. Sweat dripped down. The tubes that were feeding her oxygen also took it away, filtering it or storing it or whatever. It meant there was constant flow around her mouth, like her screams were being saved away for later. She could see moisture in different parts of her body. The visible cravings and results of stimulation. It was sex without sex. It was life with all the other senses taken care of.

She was shaking now. They'd shock her and she'd see her body shake. It was only as she saw it moving, craving, groaning, moaning, urging, pleading - that she realized that she was doing it. It was as if her pleasure-addled brain had a higher latency than the VR goggles.

They changed something. The vision of her was gone. The view was first-person. She saw the guards. Their eyes sparkled. She saw the Executive in the back in her cream-colored outfit that reminded her of the body lotion commercials. She saw a tiny smile start to grow in the Executive's right cheek as she fingered her phone. First, she turned something up. Ashley recognized the thumb gesture as she swiped and felt pads and nodes hidden away start to vibrate and tease. She felt the jolts go greater, and micro-motors make those nubs tease her all the further. She was now desperate for something inside her. If that wouldn't do, she wanted to suck on something.

Then, the other half of the Executive's face went up. She grinned and tapped three times on the screen in different locations. The world fell away. They disappeared; the concrete room disappeared. The springs disappeared, as did their twanging sound. She felt and saw space. Looking down and up gave her vertigo of a sort she couldn't describe. It wasn't that she was nauseated. It was that she felt small, and weightless. She was floating in space, with infinite points of light everywhere. She was, at the same time, in a tiny cell getting her will broken by two guards clad in thick, fetish-level rubber and a woman with a phone. She was looking out across the infinite at the exact same time that she was going rotten with teasing. Her body bucked. Her encased hands and fingers twitched. The arousal was so strong it bordered on painful. The physical overwhelmed her other senses - sight and sound and smell were all subordinate to it. Luckily, they were all being controlled.

Losing her clothes had been the first step. Her freedom the next. All the touches as she sprung up and down on coils of cable were the obvious next step. She moved up and down; to her, it was in space. Outside, the woman was rocking with pleading sounds so beautiful that it was like a song. All those senses bled together in her blissful existence. Losing one had been the obvious choice. In this way, this virtual reality torment , this sense of being in different places was natural. She was in space. Then she was in the dungeon. Then she was in another cell. Then she was strapped down as nuns clambered over her. She was in a brothel, or another cell in the facility. It didn't matter. Controlled as it was, even losing sight - that sense that humans most relied on - seemed like a logical sight.

When the belt came off, it was the most logical thing that had ever happened to her. What came next was as obvious as it was desired, and Ashley let out an infinite stream of long, lusty moans that she was sure echoed into space.



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