She stood in the center of the room, listening to the sound of the light rain pattering on the sunroof, taking measured breaths in and out in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves. The tubes superglued in her nostrils fogged and cleared in the same steady rhythm. Her entire body was lovingly compressed and tightly sealed in stretchy plastic, every strand of well-groomed fur carefully held in place. Her Mistress worked patiently but efficiently, taking her time but not wasting a moment either as she set about her task of turning six full rolls of duct-tape into a half dozen spent cardboard cylinders. Given how remarkably comfortable and perfectly-fitting the final result was, one was tempted to imagine Mistress had spent the last 500 years honing her art in some secluded mountain monastery, but the truth was far more prosaic: she loved what she did and she did it often enough for vixens like her that she knew exactly how to do it best. As a retired nurse, she was even able to install the IV line and catheter with a minimum of discomfort.
When Mistress was finished, she glanced over to the full-length mirror on the wall. The overworked and underappreciated account manager was gone, replaced by a small, slender silver statue of a vixen. Mistress' hands stroked her shoulders soothingly, cupping her small breasts and smoothing down the few remaining errant edges of tape. Her muzzle tickled her taped ear as she whispered into it a firm command of four simple words:
"Don't think. Just be."
With that, a pair of spongy pads covered her eyes and were welded in place by another strip of tape.
Mistress's hands guided her backward and onto a metal plate that she jacked upward with a foot pedal. Her back soon rested against a hardwood plank attached to a block and tackle arrangement bolted to the ceiling. More rolls of tape were employed, first binding her legs together, then to bind her to the board itself. Her arms were placed at her sides, mittened hands resting against her hips. A red vinyl pillow found its way behind her head, sinking into it as another strap of tape looped over her forehead and anchored it rigidly in place.
The pedestal beneath her fell from her feet, causing her to hang from her bindings alone. She squirmed what little she could, proving to herself that she was safely secured and ready to be stowed away in blissful silence. In a few moments, she felt everything shake as the pulleys were engaged and she was lifted up, plank and all, some inches into the air. The sound of metal bolts being released and wood scraping against wood told her the room's carpeting had been rolled aside and the hatch to the cellar was being removed.
Hands halted her slow, aimless rotation and positioned her above the hatch before lowering her down slowly into the darkness. She drifted there for some time before Mistress descended on a ladder and effortlessly swiveled a heavy-looking shelving unit stacked with boxes away from the West wall. With the pulling of a metal latch, the wall creaked and rolled aside on a track of casters revealing a dark, claustrophobic chamber lit by two silent, powerful LED lamps. Originally built as a bomb shelter during the war, it now served as a retreat from the armed assault of the senses, the psychological barrage of the everyday world.
Mistress walked back and grabbed the bottom of her dangling plank, carrying it into the chamber while paying out the rope to the pulleys holding the other end in a delicate balance. The foot of the plank soon settled into a slot carved into the cement wall. With a little shifting, the head of the plank also slotted into place with a sudden thud and was clamped down. Mistress unhooked the rope from the pulley and tossed it out of the chamber to be retracted later.
Now docked in her resting place, Mistress' gentle hands returned to her body, stroking and fondling, petting and caressing.
"There we are, little one. You're home now, so just relax and fade away."
Another sound barely escaped being totally dampened by the foam padding the walls: a fervent, pitiful, mmmphing plea for attention.
"Oh dear, looks like all this excitement has caused your neighbor to stir. Give me a moment to check in with her and then we'll begin your treatment."
Mistress stepped away to empty a urine bag and hang another bag of Dextrose 5 and Lactated Ringer's fluid. Her companion soon settled back down, soothed by more whispered affirmations and assurances (a least one of which was that she still had another week of isolation ahead of her).
"All right, my duct-tape princesses, I leave you to your meditations, hallucinations, and dreams. I'll be back some time tomorrow to check in on you. Until then, don't think. Just be."
I felt, more than heard, the wall slide back in place, but I knew the light was motion-activated and would snuff it soon, leaving both myself and the sister companion (who I would never know) sealed in our dark, peaceful womb.
For some the treatment was heaven, for some it was hell, for some it was a heaven that became hell, for others it was a hell that became heaven. For us, it was Saturday, and the rest would see to itself.
- - -
I am not sure how many hours in total it took to complete this one, but I did the initial sketch in December of last year and had been working on it off and on ever since. The collaboration came about because I am a member of
\n\t\t\t\t\tRadasus's Patreon and I had quickly fallen in love with their style of rendering latex. When I approached him about applying his technique to the Mistress' latex he took to it immediately and did a stunning job of it. So much so, in fact, that my work coloring the duct-tape looked very much lacking in comparison. Radasus generously agreed to help there too and that is why this piece looks as good as it does.