Mistress Ava Von Medisin stands over her restrained sl*ve. The sl*ve is encased in a tight leather b*ndage bag, arms and legs bound snugly against their body, the thick leather pressing into their skin, restricting every movement. They can barely breathe, the leather creaks with every slight twitch, a reminder of how thoroughly trapped they are.

She circles around them slowly, her heels clicking against the floor, savoring the sight of their helpless form. “Look at you," she murmurs, her voice dripping with mockery. "So utterly trapped, so utterly mine.” She runs her fingers along the seams of the leather, feeling the tension in their body, the way they shudder at her touch, even through the thick material.

With a swift movement, she presses her hand down firmly on their chest, pushing them deeper into the restraints. The sl*ve struggles for breath, the pressure and the tightness making every inhalation a battle. She smiles, knowing exactly how l*ttle space there is for them to move, to breathe, to think of anything other than their own entrapment and her presence looming over them.

She bends down close, her lips near their ear. “How does it feel to be c*mpletely at my mercy?” she whispers, her breath hot against their skin. Her fingers trace slowly down the length of the bag, teasing, t*rmenting, occasionally digging in with just enough to make them gasp. She knows they are desperate, their mind filled with a mixture of panic and strange exhilaration, every sensation heightened by the claustrophobic restraint.

She gives the bag a slight tug, making it even tighter, her laugh low and satisfied as she hears their muffled whimper. "I could keep you like this for hours," she muses, "or maybe forever." The sl*ve's breathing grows ragged, every muscle straining against the unyielding leather, knowing that every second is hers to control, every breath dependent on her whim. And as she moves back to watch, a pleased smile plays across her lips, knowing they are fully, utterly at her mercy, lost in the inescapable reality of their submission.

Slug Suit T*rment