He got up noiselessly, without haste and went to the bedside table... He took his helmet which, strangely, was on as if he had been waiting for this moment. He approached her with the same delicacy with which she, months ago, before, he had put it on for the first time. He lifted her head, stroked her forehead, and whispered in her ear, his still, loving voice

"It's your turn, love," and he lowered her helmet and it slid over her head with a liquid sigh when the magnetic clasp clicked into a barely audible click.

She moved, she didn't wake up suddenly but her breathing changed, it became faster, shorter and her eyelids trembled before opening. She saw him standing next to the bed, black, shiny, perfect and with the remote control in his hand. Her eyes widened and tinged with fear as she realized what was happening.

"No..." he whispered, his voice still sleepy, but already broken,

"Not you... not like this..." He smiled lovingly,

"Yes," she answered, "that's right," stroking his cheek through the latex of his helmet.

"You have made me your masterpiece," he told her

"Now... let me do the same to you."She shook her head, weakly,

"you don't know what you're doing..." she murmured, but her body already betrayed the terror with a tremor that started from the belly and she looked at him with eyes full of panic.

"Please..." she whispered, "Don't do it..." Her voice was a thin thread, ready to break,

But he didn't stop and with a slow, thoughtful, almost tender gesture, he pressed the button on the remote control. The helmet activated, a blue light pulsed inside and the spiral began to turn, slowly, like a heart beating for the first time. She tried to speak, to scream, to bite her tongue not to give in, but the helmet sucked in every thought, every resistance, every cry before it could even form. He lay down next to her and whispered in her ear,

"Welcome home, mistress."

Then, with the calm of a craftsman, with the devotion of a priest and with the precision of someone who has observed his every breath, his every gesture, his every command for months, he repeats them backwards to reconstruct it. First the jumpsuit, not black but red with passion, with white stripes to accentuate the curves, which he had kept hidden in the closet to give it to him on his birthday, before she enslaved him. Polished, seamless, with a single entrance from the neck.

He lifted her helpless body and slid her legs into the hot latex, reshaped on her curves. Every movement was slow, intimate, almost ritualistic as she weakly tried to oppose herself, her muscles still numb with sleep and terror, but her arms were unresponsive. The helmet was already emptying her will, turning fear into a warm, hazy fog full of unknown pulsations. Then the reinforced latex belt, flexible but immovable, with two perfectly calibrated protuberances: one, short and thin, inserted itself between her buttocks with a slight lubricated hiss, sinking with one constant, relentless pressure and the other, longer and wider, moved forward, finding its entrance with surgical precision, sliding inside her with a moan that she did not want to let out... but that came out anyway.

"No... no... please..." she gasped, her voice choked, her eyes shining, but he didn't answer.

Only she fixed two mini vibrators to her chest, round, smooth, attached to her nipples with magnetic rings that immediately lit up with a low, insistent buzz, which made her arch her back and her legs tremble. Finally, the collar, high, rigid, which imposed a certain posture on her, also made of latex that closed with a beep through a mechanism controlled by the remote control. She hooked it around her neck with a gentle, almost tender gesture and with another pressure of the remote control she made it tighten enough to make her feel the pressure on her trachea, enough to remind her that every breath, from now on, would be a permission.

She struggled, with more strength this time she tried to get up, to push him away, to tear off that latex that melted on her like a second skin, but the helmet reacted. The spiral turned faster and a voice whispered inside her skull:

"Pleasure is obedience, obedience is rewarded, pleasure is his."

And at that moment, the clitoral stimulator hidden in the belt activated, slow, circular, inexorable. Her knees gave way, she fell forward and he held her in his arms, like a consoling lover.

"Shh..." he whispered in her ear, stroking her still free hair.

"You don't have to resist, you don't have to think, you're going to be a beautiful creature."

She sobbed, she still fidgeted but her body no longer obeyed her. She trembled, twitched, moaned, adapted to the new condition and he saw it, saw it in the way his eyes were still green, still his and began to veil themselves with that sweet surrender. This time... there would be no "thank you" but only the silence of the latex, the dull hum of the vibrators and his new name, which he had not yet pronounced but which he already knew.

The morning light came in obliquely, cold and golden, as if the sun itself was observing the scene with devout curiosity. The kitchen was silent, no noise of cups, coffee maker, hurried footsteps. Only the slight hum of the devices hidden in her suit: the vibrators on her nipples, the internal plugs, the clitoral stimulator, all synchronized to a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm that gave no respite, but did not even bring her to orgasm. Just... waiting.

She was kneeling in the center of the room wrapped in a full-length red latex jumpsuit, shiny as oil, without openings, without venting. Her mouth sealed in a perfect white and taut O, like a porcelain bud while the collar tightened her neck with constant pressure, regulated by the remote control he kept in his pocket. The high, black, stiletto heeled boots forced her to keep her back arched, her hips pushed forward, her body exposed, vulnerable, offered.

He sat at the table with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and admired her, admired how the latex enhanced all her curves, how the sun drew wonderful reflections from its shine and savored the slight moans that escaped him. Then with an almost disturbing sweetness and calm he asked her:

"Did you sleep well, love?"

She couldn't answer, but her body did it for her with a tremble, a slight arching of the pelvis and a stifled moan that escaped through her sealed mouth equal to a wet, desperate sound, too similar to pleasure. He smiled, put down the cup and with a slow gesture took her chin between his fingers and caressed her cheek

"You're beautiful like that," he whispered. "So... complete."

Then he went to the counter and prepared breakfast with slices of toast and jam, while she remained there on her knees watching him eat, hearing the sound of his fork, feeling the steam of the coffee and her body vibrating, begging, merging with the suit that gave her no respite. After a few minutes he got up, returned to her and gently, activated the mechanism of the mask that opened that white O just enough to allow him to speak.

"Breakfast is ready, my love." She moved her head in denial but he squeezed her neck with one hand and said:

"Breakfast is the most important lunch of the day and if you are good I will take off your helmet".

She hate, obedient, humiliated, excited. He watched her eat, his eyes half-closed, full of a tenderness that was also dominant.

"Well done," he said, after running his thumb over her lips to wipe a drop of juice.

 "You're a good creature."

She closed her eyes but not out of shame, because she understood that she was no longer in charge and that she would never be in charge again. That the pleasure, that all-encompassing, uncontrollable pleasure that was burning inside her was not a punishment but a gift, which he was only giving back after what she had taught him. When she finished breakfast, he took off her helmet, and her eyes adjusted to the new light and the surroundings, finally free from that transparent spiral that clouded her brain. Then he closed her mouth again, stroked her hair and whispered, softly:

"Now wait here, I still have so much to make you feel, my love"

and he left the kitchen leaving her there on her knees. After he left the kitchen, the silence became intolerable, the buzzing of the vibrators, the pulsing of the plug, the breath choked by the collar... everything pushed her towards an abyss that was no longer just physical. And then in a flash of pure desperation, of animal instinct that the helmet had not yet been able to completely erase, she moved. She tried to stand up but the stilettos betrayed her immediately and she staggered falling forward. She got up with difficulty and with a strangled moan, she began to jump towards the door