Just a bit more...

Bound, chained, gagged, tortured, with freedom so close yet so far

[covered-up-bondage]

ハイドランジア

[covered-up-bondage]

PdreaM

[covered-up-bondage]

At this stage, your doll is almost ready. To complete the transformation from she to it, attach the gas tanks in box VII to it's back with the harness provided. Do not worry if they are heavy: it will get used to the weight. Do NOT use the collar attachment point for the oxygen tanks. Connect the red-coloured pipe to the mask, and connect the yellow-coloured pipe to the chastity belt outlet. This will ensure a steady flow of it's waste into its own nutrition and air supply. Finally, turn on the motor: this will activate the cleansing systems in the suit and start up the drainage system, decreasing the risk of bacterial and fungal infections due to sweat buildup to almost zero, while ensuring a maximum of sticky, itchy discomfort.

For owners of Types 3a, 3b, 4a, 4b, see Section 8 on the use of the suit's microfibre bristle system. WARNING: Due to the impossibility of sleep while the microfibre bristle system is active, observe the guidelines for use AT ALL TIMES. DollThing shall not be responsible for any damage due to insufficient sleep. Motherfuckers think they can run a human on no sleep: if we could do that we'd just sell the secret to the US army and make our billions that way.

Finally, for that extra, cruel touch, enter your doll's measurements and your model number into our Tantaliser, and attach the keys to the cable mechanism. Our state-of-the-art AI will soon ensure that your doll is constantly within reach of its own release keys, only to jolt them away the exact moment it tries to grab them, always just a little too fast for their fingers. DollThing is proud to declare that, of the thousands of dolls fitted with the Tantaliser, to date, not a single one has managed to grab their keys, much less unlock themselves.

Happy Tormenting! Remember to upload pictures and videos of your dolls frustrated, sweaty struggles to DollSpace, where you can watch the most popular torture videos each day!

[covered-up-bondage]

Even with her limbs free to move, she cannot take off the hood, boots or mitts, may not eat, drink, urinate, without permission. The simplest of restraints frustrate her: a strip of tape across the nose holes will stay despite her frenzied pawing and gagged screams until her tormentor chooses to release her; in a tiny cage the metal knobs on the walls and floor drive her mad with pain, but her mitts prevent her from opening the simple latch which locks her in; stuck in a stifling room with only a bottle of water, she can neither unscrew the bottle-cap nor turn the doorknob, even as her thirst and sweat drive her to agony.

[covered-up-bondage]

Put on display, inviting the prods and tickles and gropes and giggles of anyone passing by. There is a little contest to see who can get her to scream into her gag in frustration or discomfort in the shortest amount of time, and the winner will get the footage of the contest.

[covered-up-bondage]

Sheeta, imprisoned on the Goliath, paws at her restraints in vain. The air outside is cool and thin, but here in this holding room, it seems heavy, muggy, stifling. If only she could unbuckle her collar, her cuffs, get the fresh air which the thick mask denies her, but her padded mitts ensure that the buckles stay firmly closed even as they goad her desperate efforts on. Her hair is matted with sweat, and her whole body itches. At night, tossing about on the cruelly hard floor, kept awake by the heat and her overfull bladder, she dreams of the old days in the farm, and screams into the gag in frustration.

[covered-up-bondage]

[covered-up-bondage]

CommanderRab

[covered-up-bondage]

[covered-up-bondage]

[covered-up-bondage]

[covered-up-bondage]

[rubbobject-doll]

I know it's #GasMaskMonday today, but how am I supposed to eat this? Someone, have to mix it in a blender. Mistress, please, I'm hungry. Mistress, please. Go find me on Instagram, X, Fetlife and other Click!

[covered-up-bondage]

Lap lap lap. Clink clink. The dog lapped at the water, slowly, tenderly, caressing its surface, taking small, quick gulps.

Hnnnnnnghhh...

She tried to ignore the noise, clamping her jaws around the plug which filled her mouth, focussing her gaze on the flashing light, wincing at the irregular piercing brightness. Yet in her peripheral vision, she could see its lazy bulk, see the light breeze which rippled its fur, hear the ice cubes clink anew as the wind ruffled the water surface. She bit down harder on the gag, and the gathering drool leaked out of the plug, slowly dripping down to her chest.

Mnnf!!

Clink clink. Lap lick lap. The wind rustled the leaves, swayed the branches above the flashing light. Lap, lap, lap.

Rrrrrr... mmmmmmnn!

She let out a low, furious growl, not enough to set off the detector. The cage stank. Even with the suit's waste recycling functions, the stink of it, the itch of it was ever-present. She rolled her shoulders, shrugged, twitched, shifted, slowly, careful not to take her eyes off of the light, careful not to clank the chain which hung between her mitts. Eyes forward. Keep the mitts still. The collar pressed against her throat, the mask wrapped tight about her face, filling her mouth, forcing it open, forcing her to drool into the plug. Eyes forward. No clanking the chain. Keep them still. Keep them silent. No clanking the chain, no touching the collar, no touching the mask.

Clinkclink, prprprrlpl. Clear, cool, tinkling ice, so clear and cold the condensation dripped onto the pavement and darkened it.

Hhhhh... Hrrrrhhh... Hrrrrmmmmffff...

She felt the heat worsen beneath her collar, shifted her head, just a little, trying to make it stop. She breathed in, felt it against her neck, breathed out, felt it still, clamping against her gullet and windpipe. Her mitts twitched, trembled, as she gripped her gloved fists around the sphere of padding which forced her fingers against the metal. Eyes forward. Eyes forward. Eyes forward, on the blinking light, watering as it flashed again. She knew the chain was swaying, but could not tell how close she was to making a sound. Keep them still. Keep them silent. No clanking the chain, no touching the collar, no touching the mask.

Clink-clink. Clinkleclink. Lap, lap, lap. Lap, lap, lap.

Hrmmmmmmmph... HRMMMMMMPPHHH!!!

She huffed, forcing her scream down into an low, furious growl. She twisted this way and that, even as the noise scraped at her brain, clawed at her senses. A drop of sweat tickled her nostril, another slowly, slowly crawled down her nape. Itching bloomed between her breasts. Eyes forward. Eyes forward. Eyes forward. No touching the collar, no clanking the chain.

H, hff, hnnngghh, GNNFFF!!

Clinkle-clinkle-tink. Lap, lap, lap-lap, lap. Grrrrfff. Woof. Clinkle-tinkle-clinkle-tink.

HNNNNNGGGHHH!!! HMMMMMMMMMPPPHHHH!!!!!

The noise was maddening, goading. She bit down hard on the plug, keeping her gagged scream to a low, infuriated growl. The dog let out a satisfied huff, and settled down, next to the coolness of the bowl. Her heavy mitts twitched again, the chain swung, lazily, and she had no idea how close she was to setting off the detector. She blinked the sweat out of her stinging eyes, shifted her weight just a little, in another vain attempt to lessen the prickling sticky feeling in her thighs. The collar seemed tighter now, tighter with every passing second. Eyes forward, eyes forward, eyes forward. The drops of sweat all over her shoulders crawled, slowly, slowly, joining to each other, dripping, crawling, each tickle a slow, slow tickling line she had no way to wipe or scratch. The dog rose, lifted a leg, and urinated, a rush of hissing liquid.

SSSSSSSSSSS.

The noise was magnified for her, taunting. Eyes forward, eyes forward. She shifted and shifted, trying to get at the itching, trying to get at the sweat which pooled and was cleaned by the suit, trying to get something to up against where it prickled. Eyes to the front. She wriggled her feet, her fingers, tilted her head just a little, but the prickling only seemed to worsen, the sweat only seemed to tickle worse. The dog, done with its business, settled down to frolic in the remaining water, still covered with a layer of half-melted ice. It drenched its snout in the water, splashed about with its paws.

Clclclclclink, plclcliclink, rwrrrf, snfflfffl splsplooosh, grrruff, clinkclankclink, plink

HMMMMFFFF!!!! MM-MMMM, MMMMMMMMPPPHHH!!!!!

She rocked this way and that, twisting her torso, tilting her neck just that bit more, trying to let just that bit more air into her suit, trying to smell something which was not her own rotting sweat and piss and shit. Eyes forward. No clanking the chain. No touching the collar. Her mitts pawed against the padding at her thighs, at her hips, at her privates, slow, desperate, tiny motions, trying to get at the deep and gnawing fire which gave her skin no rest, and only succeeding in pressing the sweat deeper. Eyes forward, unable to stare at anything which was not that horrid flashing light. The dog splashed, barked, soaked its fur through happily.

Hrrrrmmmmmm, hnnnngh, hmmmmph, mmmMMMMMMMM!!!!! MMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPHHHHH!!!!!!!

Raw, animal, desperate, she screamed into the gag, clanged her mitts against each other, trying to get at the tiny catch which would release them, raising them to try to paw at the tight collar.

BZZZZT

HRRRRNNNNGGGGGGHHHH!!!! The pain lanced through her throat, then sliced down her whole body to her soles, unavoidable, inescapable. She sucked in a breath, smelly, rotten, knowing more was on the way, the shocks which were her reward for daring to scream into the gag.

BZZZZT BZZT BZZZZZZZZZZT

She cried silent tears, indignant, watching as the digits now flashed below the light her eyes were trained on. 05:55, 05:54, cruel shocks which came in irregular intervals to keep her on her toes, and an extra minute each time her paws touched her collar or mask, an extra minute for each extra scream into the gag, an extra minute for each clank of the chains.

07:43, 07:42, 07:41 BZZZZZZZZT 07:40 BZZZZZZZZT

HRRRRMMMMM!!!!

08:39, 08:38, BZZZZZT BZZZZZT BZZZT

Hnggggggggggghhhhh...

08:37, BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT

...

...

The dog watched, amused, the twitching doll-thing in the box. Wasn't it hot? It's human knew to wind down the window when it was in the car, and this doll's human had forgotten. Silly them. Speaking of his human, where was he?

There he was, calling it to him, scratching its head for being such a good boy. Its human was looking over at the doll now. Strange noises were coming from the box, and the doll seemed to be in distress of some kind. Would he save it? No, it seemed, since he only went over and comforted the doll in a sing-song voice. It trotted happily behind its human. Life was good.

[covered-up-bondage]

Her places the keys on the floor, and leaves. MMMMMMPPPHH!!!!

[covered-up-bondage]

The keys clink, softly, each time she shifts in discomfort, and remind her of just how close by they are. The cage boils with heat, and the thick layers cling to her, sticky, itchy. She shifts, squelches, trying to lessen the discomfort, and the bunch of keys clinks, jingles as she does. Hnnnnnf. She lifts her heavy mitts, hrmmmphing softly with the effort, and paws, slowly, at the keys, pushing at them, prodding them this way and that, ever so slowly, and pushing down her annoyance as they slip away again and again. She hears a giggle from outside the cage, and glares at the legs of the offender, afraid of looking up, in case she met their eyes. Eye-contact with humans is a privilege, her collar had taught her as much on the first day. Other things her collar has taught her: not to touch the cage walls with her upper body, not to move too fast, not to mmmph too loud. She paws at the keys, gently, tries to slot them into the little holes at the back of her cuffs, slowly, gently, and the keys simply slip away, tinkling and clinking and clanking with each attempt. She tries again, and again, and again, and again, paws, pushes, presses, ever so slowly and gently, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmggghh. Exhausted, she lets her mitts slip back down into her lap with a controlled fall, trying to ignore the line of itching which flares up between her breasts. Mmmmmmmpphh. Shifting, twisting, listening to the jingling keys.

Her crouching tormentor giggles again, taps the glass insistently, but she refuses to take the bait, staring steadfastly at the shoes. Whoever she is, she is wearing shorts, a singlet. She succumbs to the temptation to watch as the other reaches for a hankerchief, and slowly wipes the sweat between her breasts, sighing in contentment. Hnnnnnnnnnnnnfffff! Yet she keeps her eyes down, does not look into her tormentor's mocking face. Her mitts twitch in frustration, unable to scratch a single itch or wipe a single trickling drop of sweat, and the keys jingle, teasingly, tauntingly, goading her to try again, and maybe this time she will get them off the key-ring, maybe this time she will slot them into the tiny holes, maybe, just maybe-

She makes to lift her mitts again, but the weight, the exhaustion, are too much for her, and she lets them fall again into her lap. She pants, growls, trying to ignore the itching, trying to ignore the prickling. Click, clink, jingle, jiggle. So, so close, so teasingly, tauntingly, close. She reaches to paw at them, reaches, to, to paw, hnnngh, hmmmf, hmmmmm, grmmmmmmppphh!!

[tightsweatyclothes]

A warm summer's day, perfect for a picnic for her housemates. She listens to the clink of cutlery and the sound of laughter, wishing she could take off the stinking suit for once. Her housemates enjoy the fresh air, and she enjoys the fresh air along with the rancid smell of the liquid in the bottle, which only seems to get worse with every breath. Countless drop of sweat trace slow and sticky lines along her back, and it infuriates her that she cannot do anything about a single one of them, for fear of the punishment for letting the plates or bottles fall. She breathes slowly, sucks in a bubbling rancid breath, trying not to let the rise and fall of her chest upset the crockery. She can hear them, feel the pressure of their forks and knifes on the plates on her back, can feel the cups lifted up and set down, can only stay perfectly still as the itchy tickling sweat and bubbling foetid air get worse every second.