He could not walk because his legs were blocked by the suit and his hips were forced into one position unnatural, but it jumped, awkward, desperate, like a broken doll looking for the window. His eyes were fixed on the exit, on freedom and on the outside world. But there was no world outside, there was only him and her.

He felt it, even before he saw it. Because he knew that sound, the tick-tick of the latex soles on the parquet, the rapid breathing and the jingle of the collar ring that vibrated to the rhythm of his panic. He appeared in the doorway, looked at her and smiled with the same sweetness with which she had once looked at him as he tried to tear off his suit.

"No, my love," he said, in a calm voice, "don't run away."

She gasped, tried to get through the door but he was faster and grabbed her leash, yes, there was still the leash, attached to the collar, and she hadn't even noticed it in her desperate escape. He pulled gently but firmly and she fell to her knees, again. He bent down, lifted her chin and she looked at him with eyes full of tears, anger, fear... and something else. Because she saw herself, she saw the mistress she had been and she understood, she understood that she would never run away, because pleasure has no doors, it has only golden chains.

"Do you remember?" he whispered to her, in an almost motherly voice,

"How many times did you do this to me? How many times did you drag me back while I was trying to escape... but did my body already know that I didn't want to go anywhere?"

She lowered her eyes, didn't answer, couldn't, but her body moaned and he took it as a yes. With a slow gesture, he pulled on the leash, forcing her to step back, step by limp, into the room. Then he turned her around, made her lean her hands against the wall and activated the remote control. The collar tightened until it was difficult for him to breathe, the clitoral stimulator went from a constant buzzing to a pulsating beat, rhythmic like a fleeing heart and the vibrators on her breasts began to rotate.

She screamed or tried to do so but from her sealed mouth came out only a wet, broken sound of pleasure that shone through and perhaps that hint of rebellion that remained to her. He made her stand there, against the wall, trembling, wet, until the pleasure became too great, until her knees gave way and until she slipped to the ground, panting and helpless. It was at that moment that he interrupted her pleasure in a totally abrupt way, causing her to emit a desperate and disapproving moan.

Then he whispered in her ear, "You don't have to run away, love, because there's no safer place... than in my hands. But for your safety, I think I'll have to put the helmet you say back on? We don't want you to hurt yourself by tripping over your new boots, do we? »

She moaned a sense of disapproval and then he took her into the living room and made her lie down on a latex mat telling him

"I think you need to rest a little, my lovely latex creature."

She pulled a veil of latex over her that covered her entirely and lit a suction mouth near the edge of the tarp, as the plastic began to take shape around her body, slowly tightening as the air was drawn out she found herself trapped in that rigid form, with her body being completely enveloped by the latex that tightened around her, while the pressure increased as the air continued to be sucked in. Between a feeling of claustrophobia and restlessness she completely lost contact with the outside world and was enveloped in silence and darkness.

An hour passed, or was it just a few minutes? She had lost the concept of time sealed in there, and any movement was precluded by the pressure of the latex. The silence was interrupted only by the sound of the machine removing the air, while the atmosphere became more and more charged with emotional tension, a mixture of desire and vulnerability. And there it was, her fingers first brushing the surface of the latex on her face, tracing the outline of her parted lips, then down her neck, slow and deliberate. Beneath the translucent veil, her skin quivered imperceptibly, trapped in a limbo of total immobility.

His hands explored her with cruel mastery: caressing the sides of her breasts without ever touching the turgid nipples, brushing her flat abdomen making it contract uselessly and sliding down the inside of her thighs pressing just enough to make her pant through the membrane, but denying her the direct contact and pleasure she craved. Every touch is an interrupted promise, a pleasure denied and as she tries to arch, the void holds her still, transforming desire into a wave of Delicious frustration.

Then everything stopped in silence as it had begun and she lost the concept of time again for a time that she could not quantify. Then she felt that someone placed something on her ears and a hypnotic voice began to resonate inside her like a mantra.

"Obey, Submit, Slave."

"Obey, Submit, Slave."

"Obey, Submit, Slave."

"Obedience is pleasure"

"Pleasure is rewarded"

"You want to obey."

"Obeying feels so good."

"You are helpless without him"

"You exist to serve and look pretty"

"Obey, Submit, Slave."

After a period that seemed interminable, the buzzing stopped, the voice stopped resonating in his head like a mantra and there was no more fear, there was no more anger... There was only... peace. And a silent question, which needed no words:

"Why haven't you ever done it to me before?" He knelt next to her, stroked her hair and in a sweet, almost moved voice, whispered to her:

"Now you know the real gift I have given you; it is not pleasure, it is the end of the struggle." And for the first time she smiled into her sealed white O.

EPILOGUE

For a time he could not measure, perhaps weeks, perhaps months, he took care of her with the same devotion with which he had been his slave. He transformed her, adored her, made her perfect. One day she was a maid, another a succubus, and yet another any fantasy he could think of.

She, wrapped in latex, obeyed every look, every sigh, every unspoken command because there was no more resistance, it was a belonging so deep that it brought peace. And he believed, he believed he had won, he believed he had broken the cycle, he believed he was free, but freedom, in that game, was just another form of illusion and one evening like many others, while they were in the living room, with her snuggled up on him with a new collar, thinner, more intimate, which he had made her wear as a symbol of his love.

He stroked her hair while watching TV and thought that, finally, they were alone, that the world had disappeared and that he would not want anything else from life. It was then that the door of the house opened, without noise, without alarm, without the need for a key. The seller entered, the same man from the first meeting with the dark coat.

"Model 12," he said, in a calm voice. "You exceeded expectations." He stood up abruptly. "You... what... how did you get in?"

The seller did not answer immediately, approached them and then pronounced a word, just one.

"Obsequium."

And it was as if a switch had turned on in the skull of both of them. Her body stiffened, her eyes opened wide in absolute emptiness, her lips closed in a perfect line and her hands joined behind her back, automatic, as if they had always done so. He too felt the command descend into his spine, stronger than any desire, deeper than any thought, and he tried to resist.

"No! I am the master now!"

But his body did not obey him, it obeyed the voice and the hidden commands in the first session, when he and she had believed they were playing, when, in fact, they had signed their contract with a simple "yes" whispered in ecstasy. The salesman smiled.

"Phase One complete," he murmured into the microphone hidden in his collar.

«Models 07 and 12 are stable. Ready for integration.»

He turned to them. "Get up." They obeyed without hesitation and followed him out of the house, on a cold night, with no neighbors, no witnesses. In front of the gate, a black van with no logo or license plate was waiting for them. Only a small inscription engraved on the rear frame: EXOCORP – Human Experience Division

Inside, other figures were waiting. Men and women all wrapped in latex suits, some with helmets, others with a latex hood that made them look like statues and others with empty eyes and bodies ready to obey. The seller made a gesture and they got into the van

"Welcome to the collection," he said, in an almost tender voice.

"Soon, someone will love you so much... that they will never want to leave you again."

The van drove off, the house remained empty, and somewhere, in a digital catalog protected by military encryption, two new items appeared in the "Premium – Dynamic Bond Pair" section:

Model EX-07 – "The Obedient Goddess"

Model EX-12 – "The Perfect Servant"

Available on request - Guaranteed experience - Returns not accepted.

"Perfection cannot be bought, it is activated."

ExoCorp: where desire becomes product. Where pleasure has no voice and obedience... has a price.

Model EX-07 / EX-12 - Available on request.

"EXOCORP DOESN'T SELL THINGS, IT SELLS THE ULTIMATE FORM OF LOVE."