Miranda Latex WIP non-expiring version

The Lazarus project had afforded Miranda precious little free time. As its head, she had made sure to set an impeccable example to the staff under her. To them she never stopped working. She was never late. And if she did take time off, she did so out of view of the others. No-one could recall seeing her in the recreation room, and only she had the key to her quarters.

Seventy-eight weeks had passed since the beginning of the project, and things were progressing adequately. Thus she had decided that some time to herself was not only warranted, but well-deserved. It was important to take breaks, after all. For efficiency’s sake.

She emerged from her shower and took a seat on the small, grey sofa that looked out through her window, pondering how she should spend her time. A thought crossed her mind – something she hadn’t done in far, far too long – and with a smile she closed the view panel over the window and dimmed the lights.

One of the security mechs had been privately requisitioned a few months earlier and sat dormant in a closet, along with a locked crate encrypted tighter than half of the systems on the station. Miranda opened it with the thirty-eight character passcode she had committed to memory and pulled it out, before activating the VI she had installed on the mech. It was a prototype from Cerberus, given to her to test-run by the Illusive Man. It had only taken a few modifications to tailor it to her own needs.

“How may I assist, ma’am?” it asked in a polite female voice.

“I want a four hour session. Maximum level,” she replied as she sank her hands into the box. Folded nearly in the main compartment was a shiny black suit, the texture comfortingly familiar to her. Smooth, cold and slick. She felt herself shudder a little at the touch.

“Of course, ma’am. Please notify me when you are ready to begin.”

“Now. Step in when I can no longer continue.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

She lifted the suit out and stood up, before unzipping the rear section and fishing around for one of the legs. Putting it on was no easy task; although Miranda was well practised with this style of dress, her shaky hands and weak knees did little to help her.

She began by sliding her legs through the trouser sections of the suit, pulling it along like a pair of stockings and making sure it fit properly across her skin. The foot section enveloped her toes like a sock, but she gave them a little wiggle to check it was in the right place before pulling the suit up and over her hips. Her bum proved to be a slight obstacle, but soon it was clear and zipped nicely up to her breasts.

Next came the sleeves of the suit: full length, tight-fitting gloves. She slid her arms through and pushed her fingers into their respective positions on the glove, making sure it fit nice and snugly. The feeling of latex gloves against her skin was wonderful – she was no longer to able to touch anything with her own skin. Everything would be covered by a second layer, a second skin, keeping her trapped away from the world. Everything would-

“Miss Lawson, you are forbidden from touching yourself,” the VI explained.

It took Miranda a moment to realize what she was doing. Her hand had crept down to her crotch and was fishing around through the little opening, pressing against her folds.

“I’m sorry,” she gushed as her hands dropped to her sides.

“As per your instructions, the session will now contain punitive measures. Duration has been increased to twelve hours. Safety protocols are disabled.”

“Y-yes, I understand.” She took a deep breath, then zipped up the collar area of the suit with a trembling hand. It reached up to her neckline and sat tightly, leaving only her face visible.

“Talking is forbidden, Miss Lawson,” the VI informed her. “Affix size three gag as punishment.”

Miranda nodded again, and fetched the device in question: a purpose-made gag and rebreather consisting of a large rubber bit attached to a smaller, round panel. She slid it between her lips to savour the taste, before pushing it in fully. It filled her whole mouth, pinning her tongue down and giving her something solid to bite on. The panel sat against her lips, obscuring them. She tightened the straps behind her head, clicked the lock shut, then stood at rest.

“The rebreather will randomly cease function for periods of between 45 and 210 seconds, as per punitive measures. Rate of interruptions is: frequent.”

Miranda felt her heart rate quicken as she realized she would be spending half a day doing this.

“Put on your boots.”

She snapped back from her thoughts and nodded, before sitting down and fetching a pair of shiny black heels from within the box. There were far taller than her normal shoes, with long, thin points and a multitude of laces along the front. The wearer would be forced to stand en pointe, like a ballet dancer, causing extreme discomfort to the calves and ankles.

Ardently, Miranda slipped them on and laced them tight, before clicking the little locks around her ankles shut and standing up.

“You will remain standing until given permission to sit, kneel or lay down. Now, don your mask.”

Standing for twelve hours? That was bound to hurt, but nevertheless Miranda nodded once more and fetched the next piece of attire: a full-face latex hood. She held it in her hands for a moment to examine it: the material was thick, and completely airtight. She pulled it over her head and down to the top of the bodysuit, making sure it overlapped and sat snugly over her face. The world around her vanished in darkness; slowly, the sounds inside her mask and the feeling of the suit against her skin became more acute. The latex was slowly warming to her body temperature, clinging tightly to her flesh.

“Affix your collar.”

“Mmph….” came her reply, dull and muted by the gag and hood. She could just barely hear the VI; the noises of her own breathing hissed against the fabric and her own little moans of excitement sounded much louder. The world outside her suit seemed distant, but she needed to pay attention.

The collar in question was tall, thick and moulded in the shape of an upright neck. Were it not black latex, it would not have looked out of place in a medical facility as support for a patient with a neck injury. Its purpose was still to correct posture, but for less wholesome reasons. Miranda fished it out of the box and pressed it to her neck. It covered the overlap between the hood and the rest of the suit, and when she pulled it tight, it cut off one of the last openings to the outside world. She clicked the little lock on it in place, sealing herself in.

“As per your instructions, the collar has been modified to deliver electric shocks. Failure to comply with any command will warrant one blast in addition to usual punishment.”

Another whine escaped Miranda’s mouth as her mind raced with fear and excitement. She had modified the device using a C-Sec taser attachment for an omni-tool. It was enough to stun an average-sized humanoid and cause severe pain.

“I shall assume control from here, Miss Lawson,” the VI continued. “Hold your arms out, with clenched fists. Stand up straight and spread your legs.”

Miranda moaned in response as she complied. The exact purpose of each movement was well-known to her – she had designed the program, after all – but the feeling of being ordered into it caused her to shudder. It was perfect.

The VI controlling the mech whirred over to her and fetched several more devices from within the box. It began by taking hold of each of Miranda’s wrists, before sliding thick, tight-fitting latex mittens over each of them and tightening them around her wrists. These new gloves were spherical in shape; each of Miranda’s hands was completely enveloped by them, her fingers rendered useless.

She felt her arms being tugged upwards by the mech, followed by something tight being wrapped around her torso and hips. Genetic enhancement had given Miranda a perfect figure, yet she still felt there was room for adjustment via a corset. Each lace was pulled and knotted with expert precision, and slowly Miranda’s torso was squeezed into shape by the fabric.

Once the VI had deemed it sufficiently tight, it guided Miranda’s arms around behind her back and held them together. A moment later she felt her hands being forced into a thick, latex sheath, which was then pulled up well past her elbows. Several straps were wound around her chest and shoulders, before the mech began lacing the sheath shut around Miranda’s arms. With each pull of the cord her arms were forced closer and closer together, with no regard for her comfort, until her elbows were grinding painfully against oneanother and her shoulder blades had rolled back accommodate. As a consequence she felt herself jutting her breasts out past the top of the corset, making them appear even larger than usual.

The mech stopped its lacing well beyond the point of reasonable restraint, and Miranda could already feel her muscles screaming in pain as the straps around the arm-binder were buckled and locked. She was completely helpless now: bound, gagged and blind.

And goodness, was she wet. Her juices were spilling down her thighs as the mech fetched a device to plug the final two holes in the suit. Miranda could picture it in her mind: a T-shaped metal belt that went around the waist and between the legs, with two large ‘stimulation devices’ affixed to the middle column. The first was a large, pink, ribbed dildo, complete with a rabbit head point she had so delicately adjusted (thought much practice) so that it pressed against her clit. The second was a wide blue anal plug – it had taken many sessions worth of training for her to ‘accommodate’ it. Both glistened with lubricants in the low light of the room, but with the slick around Miranda’s crotch it may not have been necessary.

A scream escaped her hood as the mech pressed the plugs into her, showing no regard for pace or Miranda’s comfort as it simply buried them to the hilt. The belt pressed against her skin and was immediately locked in place, holding the devices deep inside her. More than a few minutes passed as she tried to regain her focus before it dawned on her that she was completely sealed inside the suit.

“You are forbidden from reaching orgasm,” the VI explained as the plugs inside of Miranda began to vibrate fiercely. “Unauthorized climaxes warrant a ten second electric shock and sixty seconds oxygen deprivation. Sentence duration will be extended by one hour per climax.”

One hour? Miranda had only coded it for ten minutes. Something was off, here. She looked in the vague direction of the mech and let out an alarmed moan, followed by the humming of an SOS.

“Safety protocols are disengaged. Further attempts to end the session will result in punitive measures,” the VI replied, before continuing on its way. Miranda felt something tap against each of her ankles, followed by two loud clicks. Her subsequent attempts to move each leg proved impossible, and she quickly concluded that there was a solid, spreader bar between them. That would mean…

Immediately she felt her arms yanked upwards, and instinctively leaned forward to compensate for balance. Falling over now would not be wise. The pull continued until she was leaning forward at a ninety degree angle, arms held painfully upright in a strappado.

Wait, she hadn’t finalized the strappado runtimes. How the hell had the VI accessed them? The whimpering little moans turned into alarmed screams as Miranda realized she was dealing with something unknown.

The shock and excitement of the situation had, however, manifested in other ways. Although Miranda’s mind was reeling with horror, her body was responding far better to the massaging invaders and tight embrace of the suit. Even her bound, constricted limbs belied a numb pleasure in a cocktail of adrenaline and painkilling endorphins.

And that was before the mech spanked her.