Jeanette was out for a day at the beach, but it felt like she was trudging through the desert. Every step was agonizingly hot. Her captor had said that the beach was right there - just a few meters from where she’d gotten out of a luxuriously-appointed aeroyacht. Jeanette squinted through the shimmering heat haze, desperately searching for any sign of the beach that her captor had promised her. But there was nothing but endless stretches of scorching sand as far as the eye could see. The sun beat down on her relentlessly, turning her skin a fiery red and making her head throb.
For what could be seen, at least. Very little could be seen on Jeanette’s body. The Directrix liked it that way. Prisoners were to be heard, but not seen. Jeanette was wearing dark rubber (ouch! It really trapped the heat!) colored a dark sea ben, the color of bluish-gray charcoal. And it was just mean.
She’d been dressed before they left the hotel. The Directrix had brought several slaves to the planet Sahar, renowned for its beaches, its coral reefs, its colorful atolls, and its gorgeous skies that glowed at night thanks to bioluminescent plankton. Jeannette wasn’t seeing very much, though. In fact, she’d spent the past hour in total isolation, as The Directrix brought the first few captives out and left Jeanette for later.
“Oh, don’t think I forgot about you,” The Supreme Directrix had said. It didn’t send a chill down her spine; it burnt her up. Jeanette was furious in her inability to exact revenge on this dictatorial domina. She was suited up with some heels and thick, rubbery gear on the bottom. The tall boots must have been at least 2 mm thick; it made walking so damn stiff! It was like she was walking through a morass of goo just trying to pump her legs. The thick rubber pants ended in mean heels, and cruelly they were inflated. Pumped up with air, the double-layers meant the wall pressed against damn near everything and made her walk like a goofy idiot. Lots of little D-rings fastened to the sides meant that she could be easily locked somewhere if she needed her stored somewhere cool and dark.
But the Directrix wanted this doomed little dummy to build up a sweat, so she added in a thick metal ball around a heavy chain and locked it to each of her ankles. Every damn step was an ordeal! The Supreme Leader said that they were each 50kg, which seemed unrealistically heavy… but it didn’t matter. It was horrid. It was heavy. She could barely see it.
That was probably thanks to the pepper-pot eyelets in her hood. Two layers; one with openings for her mouth and eyes, then a huge gag, then another hood with room for her hair and a pair of pepper-pot openings around her eyes. It totally removed the last of her skin visible. She might be able to see out, but nobody, nobody was going to know who Jeanette was. And, affixed to that was a gas mask and supply tank - one supposedly designed to keep her in good health, but not comfort.
The Directrix used a riding crop on Jeanette’s rear. “Forward, prisoner. Let’s get to the beach.”
Every step she took felt like walking on hot coals. Her feet sank into the burning sand, leaving behind a trail of footprints that were quickly swallowed up by the relentless wind. The air was thick and humid, making it difficult to breathe. Jeanette's lungs burned, and her throat was parched. She had been walking for what felt like hours, but she still couldn't see the beach. She began to wonder if her captor had lied to her, if this was just a cruel game to break her spirit. Fear gnawed at her insides, and she felt a wave of despair wash over her.
Jeanette stopped and looked around, her heart pounding in her chest. She was surrounded by nothing but sand and sky. She had no idea which way to go, and she was starting to panic. She thought about turning back, but the thought of facing her captor again filled her with dread… until she realized what was happening. Phantom had marched her in a circle, up and down the beach, always close to the cool water but never quite making it.
Legs pumping like pistons. When she started to quiver, Phantom decided that the walk was over. She was bored of this. She had other ways to torture her rubber slut. She took her to the beach and pushed her down, letting her writhe on the hot sand, and “rest.”
Jeanette lay there for a long time, catching her breath and trying to process what had just happened. She knew this was just the beginning. Sweating. Moaning. Thrashing. Legs pumping. Body violated. The Directrix tapped a button on the tanks on her back, and Jeanette felt cool water fill her mouth. For a bit.
As she sipped and regained her senses, she turned her head a few centimeters. That’s all she could do thanks to the inflated rubber collar, squeezing her neck like an anaconda. With horror, Jeanette saw what had happened to the rest of the slaves. The results of The Directrix’s Day Out lay before her.
Six other victims. Each one of them, desperately pleading. Each one of them wearing a monstrous heart-shaped inflatable rubber straitjacket, same as her. Every one of them matched, unified by their rubber enclosure, masked and sacked and inflated. All six were also emblazoned with yellow-and-black hazard stripes, indicating that the contents were under pressure.
And every single one of them, buried up to their squeezed necks in sand. Squeaking. Squirming. Pleading for mercy that would not be provided. And Jeanette was next.
She knew it when she saw the hole in the ground. The dictator placed her hands on her sacked frame and affectionately hugged it tight.
“Now that we had a nice relaxing walk, it’s time for some time to cool off.”
“NNNNNGGGGHH! HNRRGh-HNNGGH!”
Into the hole she went. She shook her head no… or at least, she thought that’s what she was doing, that’s what she told her body to do. All that Jeanette did was wiggle in place on the ground; all that meant was that Jeanette was struggling more when The Supreme Directrix dragged her ass towards the hole and fit it in.
She thrashed and kicked her legs. She couldn’t feel the bottom, it was so snug around her chest! Good god. She tried kicking at the sides of the sandy walls but just couldn’t get anything done. But she did start to feel the sand crumbling around her. The walls filling in, reducing her leg movement, and as she kicked and thrashed she realized she was just getting her legs locked in place as if she was trapped in concrete.
“The hole we dug for Miss Crush is pretty big.” The Directrix said this while coiling, walking around the buried victim like she was doing a dance. “…And it fits your fat ass pretty comfortably. But I don’t want you going anywhere while I’m lounging. That’s what the tank on your back is for.”
Jeanette raised an eyebrow. A pair of guards brought over a luxurious-looking beach chair and an umbrella. A third slave in shining black-and-red carried a cool-looking drink, which the Directrix eagerly took and began to sip from. After placing it back on the tray, she leaned down to pull a lever on the tanks on the back of Jeanette’s back.
“Oh yes, this will keep you well-supplied. But this third tank goes right into your inflatable suit.”
The Directrix pulled another lever. Jeanette tensed up. There was a short pause, and the air-filled jacket started to fill with a gel. The layer between flesh and unbreakable exterior was rapidly filling and bulging with a cool, thick liquid. Jeanette’s eyes twitched with rage, and she looked across at some of the other girls.
Six others, all of them achingly tight, all of them squealing with the immense pressure. All of them were in the same position as her, buried in their necks up to the sand. She could make out little signs, identification written on the chest. Nearby, one was listed as ‘Kathleen,’ another as ‘Tasha.’ The closest one was labeled ‘Cinala’ and she had a lot of fight left in her. Jeanette couldn’t see her eyes, but she could sense impotent rage as she thrashed in her rubber tomb.
“MMFFFGGGH!” Jeanette did what she could to call the Directrix a stupid bitch, but the fat gag just teased her mouth and throat in response.
Jeanette screamed as she felt the liquid inflating, squeezing, pressing on all sides. First her waist as the cool gel hit her waist, squeezing against her waist and her arms. It tickled her elbows, cooling down, fitting, thickening, expanding, sealing them in place.
Separate tubes went into her legs. She’d been kicking and thrashing. That was done with quite soon, as the cool rubbery gel filled up the air pocket. Bending her legs was going to be tough. She was lucky she wasn’t being dragged down by those balls anymore, but the amount of pressure made that a moot point.
Then her torso. Pressing and inflating, making the chest balloon out, exaggerating her curves. Her tits, inflating like a balloon. The exterior of her rubber mimicked Jeanette’s quite shapely curves; her lovely ass, her muscled chest, her sexy body, all now pressed under the warm ‘hug’ of the Directrix. Finally, up to her neck as the rubbery goo pressed her like a mold. It was so tight, but she couldn’t pass out even if she wanted - air was still being pumped into her lungs from the mask!
“Cinala here is trying to give you some advice. But I’m afraid she can’t get the words out. Not to worry, she’s got plenty of time to think about what she’d say to me until then.” The Directrix dismounted after leaving a tiny kiss to the sealed slave’s forehead. “Let’s see if the other girls have anything to say.”
Earbuds packed in her ears activated, and started to isolate noise. The only things Jeanette could hear was the rubbery squeaking, the pumping of gas, the Directrix laughing. And then, with the flip of a switch, the rubber squeals and begging sounds from the other women! No more relaxing beach sounds, no more wind, just thick rubber imprisonment. Insider or outside, in space or on the ground, Jeanette was absolutely doomed. As the rubber filled her suit, the airflow decreased. The jacket had expanded so much that now she was absolutely sealed in place. Collared neck, pressed body, legs flexing. All of that thrashing was negating the brief cool respite, heating it up, getting the suit into a steamed up prison. She felt herself exhaling and practically saw steam.
“Oh, Jeanette, I’d be careful if I were you.”
The Directrix, wearing a comfortable looking two-piece bathing suit and sunscreen, took a seat behind Cinala. She wrapped her thighs around the doomed rubber prisoner and started to squeeze. Jeanette heard it inside her earbuds and blushed.
“You see, these other girls just couldn’t keep their cool.” She took the drink again, sitting down on her chair, and staring through sunglasses at Jeanette. She laid on her side like a Roman goddess, luxuriating in her rubbersluts’ pain and her luxury.
“I told them I wanted them to have a relaxing day at the beach, but no. They kept thrashing and moaning and begging. And you know what liquids usually do in the heat? Basic physics.”
“Pllgngn llghghh gghh….”
They expand, bitch. All these dumb whores are trapped in the sand. Tsk. No chill, no ability to relax. They simply couldn’t keep calm. And so, every one of them is stuck. Just like you will be, bitch.”
“Ngngngggh…”
“I knew you’d be too steamed up, Jeanette. Maybe if you can manage to cool down from the water, you’ll escape. There’s probably enough air in there for you to get up and get out if you can try to stay calm, but I know you’re too hot, horny, and wet to do that.”
Phantom finished the drink and grinned. She moved a hand over her body, stroking herself, enjoying the feeling of sun on her flesh and the sounds of her pressurized party. This elicited a much more desperate sound this time, coming from all of the beachgoers - but most especially Jeanette.
“MMNNGGGGGGH! NNNNGGGH!! HLLLLMMM MMMGGGGH!! PLLLNNNGGGH!!!”
“Well, the first six failed, Jeanette. Think you’ll be lucky number seven?”