Influencers: Closed System

I hold her tightly and lower her to the grass as she continues to squirm and writhe, struggling now with oxygen depravation as well as the thrill of the only sense left to her in her quiet, dark world: feeling the intrusions filling every orifice. I lay her down on the grass, watching the way her groin muscles pulse, milking the inserts to extract the last gasp of pleasure from their presence, even as her chest begins to heave as she runs out of air.

I step away, no longer touching her, letting her helplessness sink in, the complete loss of control and agency. I raise my phone to my lips and unmute it.

"This is now what you are. A closed system."

Ashley begins to squirm and kick on the grass, utterly ineffective, unable to save herself.

I leave her there.

---

After a while, I bend down to the trembling body and unscrew the hose from her collar. Ashley's breath whistles rapidly through the open hole. I'm careful not to touch her, letting the sensory deprivation and the comedown from her unexpected orgasm do their work, pushing her deep into that secret submissive space in her mind. After a while, her breathing calms and she lies on her back on the grass in her back garden, her face sealed into a faceless latex hood from which the tubes emerge that are keeping her alive.

Her hands are still cuffed behind her; she's helpless in her predicament to save herself as I place my thumb over her breathing hole and watch her begin to squirm. I bring my phone up to my mouth and unmute it.

"Welcome back, Ashley. You were somewhere else for a few moments there, weren't you?"

Her body squirms as she runs out of air. Inside the hood, she has been deprived of all her senses, it's silent and utterly black, until my voice appears in the earbuds embedded deep in her ears.

"I didn't expect you to orgasm just from being handcuffed. You must have worked yourself up pretty good."

I removed my thumb and her chest expands, sucking in air, her naked breasts trembling.

"However," I continue, placing my thumb over her air hole again, "Your orgasm belongs to me. That's going to cost you dearly."

Her back arches and her legs start to wriggle, protesting against the inescapable crawling feeling of oxygen depravation in her muscles.

"Orgasms are a privilege," I tell her, "Even a simple thing such as breathing is a privilege."

I hold my thumb over the hole as I wrap my hand around her posture collar, holding her head firmly in place. I can see her arms pulling to break free, but the handcuffs don't yield. She's at my mercy. I release my grip on her neck and get up. There's work to be done.

I leave her on the grass, her chest rising and falling rapidly, waiting for me to inflict further ordeals on her. On the patio, I've put a plastic sheet down and cleared a space. I go out through her front door to the car, bringing in a large tub and a little foam roller. This part is going to be a surprise for the naked woman on the grass.

I set the tub down on the plastic sheet on the patio and open it. The air fills with the cloying, rubbery smell of latex. Ashley's body is quiet now, laying in the dappled sun. I help her to her feet but she sways unsteadily for a moment while I hold her by the shoulders. The featureless hood faces me, her feelings a mystery beneath the shiny black surface.

Taking more of the surgical tape, I run a length down her spine to secure her bladder tube. I take my time, making sure there are no folds or wrinkles, making her splay her legs to give me access over her sealed rear entrance to the patch of tape already closing off her vagina. I cup her taped-up crotch and unmute my phone again.

"Your body is a sealed unit," I said, "From bladder to collar to stomach, round and round until I break the cycle to refresh the liquid. I'll keep you sustained, don't worry. The good thing about giving me direct access to your stomach is you don't have to taste the nutrient liquid when I pour it in."

I cup her breast in my hand, tracing a slow circle around her nipple and am rewarded by a whistle of air through her breathing hole.

"Does that feel nice?"

The featureless, slick, black head nods slowly.

"Is it nice that you still have the sense of touch?"

She nods again and I run my fingers down her chest and over her stomach, watching her body shudder.

"Not for much longer. Don't move."

I leave her and dip the little roller into the liquid latex tub, coating it in the strongly-smelling black liquid. I mute my phone and slip it into my pocket, cutting off her sense of hearing. The roller touches the skin of her chest and she quivers. I smile to myself.

It takes a while to cover her body in the layer of latex, lifting her breasts to coat the skin beneath them, spreading her buttocks to seal her cleft. I wrap an exercise watch around her wrist so I can monitor her and then I remove the handcuffs. I make her stick her arms out horizontally so I can roll the latex into her armpits and down her arms until all her exposed skin is sealed under a layer of the black rubber.

She remains in the pose while I get myself a drink, aware that the liquid in my glass is fresh while the liquid filling up the little pouch set in the back of her collar is recycled. I'll need to keep a close eye on the colouration to make sure it doesn't become too concentrated. My shoulders droop, feeling the unexpected weight of my commitment: turning a living, breathing woman into a featureless latex doll for the weekend is going to require long hours and hard work to maintain her in her little sealed world.

Out on the patio, a featureless black form is standing where I left it. I frown to myself, and then nod. It, not her. I have a lifeless doll in my keeping for the weekend, not a friend who I have know for years, who I've helped as she's struggled through the breakup of her relationship, the relentless pressures of her job as a paramedic, working all hours until she was drained, both mentally and physically, until the phobia about being clean, being isolated from disease, had firmly taken root in her psyche.

The figure in front of me had been released from these worries, safe and enclosed in her latex world, isolated from the pressures of the outside. I touch her breast, feeling the latex sealing her skin. She reacts, shifting position slightly. I test the rest of her surface and then tap her shoulders. Gratefully, she lets her arms drop to her sides. The first layer of latex is dry, and she has reacted to my touch. I retrieve the roller and begin on the second layer.

---

I have work to do, so I set the laptop up in the kitchen. Beside me, the figure has been made to stand in its display pose: legs spread and hands behind its head. My phone sits on the table, showing a set of graphs that tell me how Ashley is feeling in her sealed universe. Her heart rate is elevated, but her oxygen levels are good; the lower graph showing the intensity level of the vibrator embedded inside her pussy, pressed against her g-spot.

I set her to simmer and then simply leave the doll standing, posed for me for an hour. To the mind inside the latex, in complete sensory deprivation, she would only be able to focus on the one feeling I had still allowed her. The mind would be losing track of time, the hour stretching out endlessly, robbing her of her will and her volition until she was as featureless inside as she was outside.

I close the laptop and get up, unable to concentrate on work, not with the doll standing next to me, its body tempting me. I run a finger along its arm, but it doesn't react, the latex too thick now for the skin within to feel anything. I position a fingertip on the hard nub of its nipple, captured at its swollen peak by the latex and now held in the black rubber's implacable grip. The body doesn't move. I brush my palm lightly over the smooth, black curve of the doll's buttock. It shifts its body this time but then freezes in position again.

Inside the slick, black skin, the woman I had entrapped would be trying to work out if the slight pressure of my hand was real, or just her overactive imagination filling in the gaps in her silent void. I pick up my phone and unmute it. It was time to fill that emptiness with purpose.

"Turn left."

The doll's body jolts, shocked by my words invading the sensory isolation. Quickly, it shuffles to comply.

"More. When I say turn, you turn ninety degrees."

It corrects itself, turning to face the kitchen.

"Arms down. Forward three steps."

I watched as the doll complies with its commands, moving towards the kitchen.

"Left."

It turns at my bidding.

"Two steps. Right. Three steps."

I manoeuvre its body until it's standing in front of the kitchen sink.

"Kneel."

The doll sinks immediately to its knees. I pick up a couple of lengths of tubing and a bulldog clip. Tom had explained the draining process to me, unclipping the tubes from the collar's pouch, letting one drain the accumulated urine into the sink, then the other is attached to the funnel. I hold the funnel under the running tap until the water has flushed through the reservoir pouch in the rugged posture collar, then I reconnect the drinking tube and mix a sachet of the sustenance formula, pouring it into the funnel and filling up the little sac. When it's full, I reconnect the tubes into her body and slowly, the reservoir bulging with the clear orange-coloured formula begins to drain into her stomach. Ashley is completely oblivious to the fact that I have just given her dinner, kneeling with her head bowed on her kitchen floor in her own little universe.

I kneel down in front of the silent doll and pull its featureless latex head into the crook of my neck, wrapping my arms around the black latex form, holding it as the nutrient fluid drains out of the little reservoir. The glossy body allows itself to be held, mutely, though unable to feel the contact of my touch, the sound of my breath or the smell of my skin.

Ashley's utter submission triggers my arousal, but she is completely filled and sealed in all her orifices because she wanted to be made like that. We agreed that I can use her however I wanted beyond that. I get up and unmute the phone again, opening up a recording app.

"Stand. Turn left, turn left, three steps."

The shiny black figure gets up off its knees and turns around, navigating back out of the kitchen.

"Turn right, six steps, turn left."

I follow behind the featureless body as it walks down her hallway into the living area. I move furniture out of the way, grunting at the weight of the sofa, but the doll can't hear. After I clear a wide space, I position the silent figure carefully.

"Three steps."

It complies and then stands motionless, waiting for its next command.

"Now, I expect precision in your movements. Each step the same length, each turn exactly ninety degrees. I have not forgotten your unsanctioned orgasm from earlier, so it's best you don't add to the punishment by failing here."

I start the recording app.

"Two steps. Left. Hands on breasts. Two steps. Left. Hands on bottom."

I stop recording and watch as the doll obeys then I fiddle with the app again and hit play, diverting the audio into the earbuds embedded in the figure's ears. Though the room is completely silent now, I look up to see the doll following its instructions, until it has completed the square and is standing in front of me. I let the recording loop, settling into an armchair to watch, the only sound being the friction of its latex-enveloped thighs brushing together and it walks, and the latex-covered fingers squeezing the pert, featureless orbs of its breasts or the tight curves of its buttocks.

The silent figure in front of me continues to make circuits of the room, grabbing its breasts and then its buttocks. I start to film the doll's movement with my phone, to show Ashley later what she'd looked like, marching in a square in her living room completely sealed in her tight latex skin. I begin to narrate, to give her something to listen to when she plays it back to herself in private after the weekend is over and I'm gone.

"This is what I've done to you, so you can see it. I've turned you into a mindless wind-up toy, walking in a loop. Look at how your body moves, how tight your black latex skin is. You're a featureless clockwork puppet, doing exactly as you're told. But let's throw some sand in your gears."

I bring up the vibe app and begin to increase intensity gradually. The figure continues to march in a square in front of me. I let it spike momentarily and the black latex doll shudders, almost missing a step.

"You felt that, didn't you? I can tell. Just my commands in your ears and my vibrator on your g-spot, that's all you know. What a good, obedient toy you've become. Let's play with you some more."

I begin to turn the vibrator up and down, varying the cadence to keep the woman inside the suit guessing, throwing in sudden spikes of intense pleasure and then dialling it back again. I make comments as I film the doll's actions, especially when it shudders at the sudden onslaught, but as the minutes tick by, I can see its movements becoming less precise as its concentration begins to slip. Ashley is completely focused on the sensation inside her now, the one bright point in her dark, lonely world. My instructions are buzzing in her ears, a low background monotony that she's now responding to instinctively, her body on autopilot as she concentrates on the glow in her groin.

Nearly half an hour has passed since I fed Ashley and it's dark outside now. I draw the curtains and turn on the light, careful to avoid the doll's body as it turns. The bursts of maximum feeling are closer now, and as I slide my finger up and down the screen the doll's coordination is off. The way it's moving, how it looks, is stirring me and I can feel my own need.

"I can only imagine how that must feel. How hard it is to concentrate on your commands, or to even think at all. But you don't need to think, because you're just a plastic doll. You just need to obey your owner."

I bring the camera lens up to the doll's featureless face, the ceiling light reflecting off the shiny black latex, walking in front of the figure as its hands struggle to find its breasts and then its buttocks, beginning to flail as the vibrator edges the helpless woman trapped inside towards climax. I pause the instructions going into Ashley's earpods and she freezes, the doll's hands clutching its latex-bound breasts, gasping. The vibrator is on full now, and as I track down the shiny black body I can see the way the muscles in its abdomen and thighs are quivering, trying to hold back its orgasm, desperate for the command to be allowed to cum.

I kill the vibe. The black form bucks and writhes in exquisite frustration, shaking its head, but still clutching its breasts because it hasn't been allowed to move. I unmute the phone again, speaking for the video but also for the woman in front of me.

"Did you think you were going to cum?" I tell her, "Did you think you deserved it? Direct question?"

Slowly, the featureless black head begins to shake from side to side.

"No. That's right, you don't deserve it. Women cum but dolls don't, ever, as you're now learning. It's going to be such a long weekend."

I let the video roll for a few more seconds, capturing the anguish in the figure's body language, then I stop and save the video.

"Hands off your breasts. Still horny?"

A nod.

"Maybe I'm being too hard on you. Am I?"

Another nod, vigorous.

"Okay. You have two minutes to get yourself off. Starting now."

The hands move quickly, one hand pinching the thick latex knob of a nipple, the fingers of the other hand rubbing over the featureless space between its legs. I watch in fascination as the figure in front of me tweaks and wriggles, squirms and rubs. It alternates hands, as if that's going to somehow counter the fact that I layered extra coats of latex over those nipples, or that the doll's throbbing clit is sealed by layers of surgical tape and then coated with a thick skin of black latex.

The doll stamps its feet in frustration.

"One minute left."

The doll is shaking its head now, writhing, but everything it does just makes it worse. Ashley can't apply any friction to her pussy, can't apply enough pressure to her erogenous zones. I watch as she becomes trapped in a cycle of desperately edging herself and not getting anywhere.

"Do you want me to help?"

Violent nodding. I turn the vibe back up and the doll begins to gasp, the susurration of its rapid breaths whistling through the breathing hole in its collar.

"Thirty seconds. Now or never."

I bump up the vibrator a little more, watching the doll squeeze and twist its thick latex nipples brutally, its palm thrusting between its legs over the smooth, featureless expanse where a woman's pussy lips would be.

"Ten."

The doll shakes its head, its entire upper body twisting as it does so, begging for its release. I can imagine what's going through Ashley's head, feeling the irresistible urge to orgasm, teetering on the brink after hours of the slow burn filling the dark, blank void I had trapped her in. Everything was magnified, time was drawn out. As I counted down the last few seconds for her, it would feel like an eternity.

"Three. Two. One."

I shut off the vibrator and mute the phone, leaving the doll standing in the middle of the lounge struggling for breath. I leave it there, going back into the kitchen to find the tube of lubricant. When I return, the doll is still frozen in place where I left it, one hand over its groin, the other on its breast. I reach out to its free breast and stroke it, watching the figure shudder in response to the sudden incursion of outside stimulus into its little world.

I strip off, feeling myself stiffening, retrieving the tube of lubricant from my shorts pocket. I don't need to speak to Ashley anymore; I just need to use her. Pushing down gently on the doll's shoulder, I drop it to its knees on the carpet. I push it back and it understands, lying down flat on its back. I take its hands, making it cup its breasts together, forming a valley of black latex cleavage. Flipping the tube open, I begin to drizzle lube between its breasts.

If Ashley is aware of what I'm doing through the haze of her aching need, she doesn't show it. The woman inside the slick skin is no longer in residence, deep in a submissive space, her body simply complying with my instructions. I straddle the doll's torso, kneeling over its chest and letting the tip of my cock brush against its rubber cleavage. I'm rigid now, ready to take pleasure in the toy that I have created.

The doll remains frozen in place as I push between its slick orbs, rocking back and forth, feeling the pressure of its cleavage around my shaft. After playing with it all day, I'm building up quickly, taking my pleasure at last. I'm aware of the unfairness the doll will be feeling, its clit throbbing underneath those insulating layers as it feels me fucking its cleavage, but the doll will be turning those feelings in on itself, diving further into its submissive headspace. Behind the featureless latex expanse where her face should be, the woman inside would be exploring new realms, far away from the grind and the angst of her real life.

I pump faster and feel the doll squeeze its breasts together in response, making the valley between its breasts as tight as possible. Its fingers are on a thick latex nipple now, squeezing as it senses each thrust of my manhood. The frictionless surface feels wonderful, the smoothness of the black rubber slicked by the lube, and I pump harder, until I can feel the tension in my balls. The figure is motionless, breathing in little gasps through the hole in its collar, the only sign that the figure beneath me contains a living, breathing woman rather than being a hollow latex fuckdoll.