The strap looped its way up and over Angelyn's head, reeling her backwards by her throat -- and into the open container behind her.
She knew she only had moments to react. The vertical steel "coffin" would rapidly adapt to its occupant. It was a particularly insidious design. She should know -- she helped make it.
Angelyn's hands reflexively lurched to her throat.
Stupid,
she told herself.
You aren't strong enough to disengage the choke-strap -- you have to go for the escape latch.
A small failsafe switch she had installed in secret herself; located directly behind... well, her behind.
As the device pulled that strap tight, the young and lovely former agent fought to move one hand from her throat and wedge it behind her wide, pear-shaped hips. There wasn't much room between her buttock and the padded walls of the box's interior, but she managed to wedge her fingers in.
The strap tightened, lifting her legs off the ground. She felt her toes curl as she started to kick.
Fucking hell.
She fought the swell of dizziness. Her whole body was pulled taut; the sharpened outline of her nipples prodded against her licorice-black bra. Meanwhile, the box hummed while she struggled to squeeze her fingers into the tiny crevice between her ass and the padding -- managing to wedge aside a thong-strap in the process.
Angelyn -- formerly Agent Angelyn -- had taken great pains to make her 'retirement' as quick and quiet as possible. But someone must have had other ideas. The "coffin" (officially known as the "Automated Containment Unit") was used to dispose of difficult targets -- people who got in the way of the agency's agenda. Angelyn had seen it in action enough times to know that once it got its grip on you, getting out was all but impossible. But none of the prior targets knew as much about it as she did.
The collar pulled tighter. Angelyn's vision blurred; the lack of oxygen was hitting her hard, now. Her fingers squeezed past her shapely flank, nudging up between her backside and the interior panel. Just a little bit farther...
"...fnnhh..." She made a sound. Breathless and soft. Someone was probably watching this via a hidden camera, eyes glued to the sight of the agent as she slowly choked inside an automated coffin hidden in her closet.
Enjoy it while you can, you sick fuck. When I get out of here...
"...nngh!" The collar slackened up, letting her feet scrape the ground. It happened just in time for the next strap to loop around her waist. Her wide hips were drawn in, pinning her fingers a mere inch from the latch. She gurgled, kicking furiously -- but each kick was successively weaker. Like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum.
Fuck fuck fuck--
"...nngh! F-fuck," she whispered, just as the jolts started. A smooth, elongated knob had extended out between her thick thighs -- little electric prods located at its top were now positioned to deliver tiny zaps directly through her thong and against her nethers. Her reaction to each jolt was automatically monitored; its position and power adjusted to reflect what made her squirm the most. Soon, it was vibrating -- purring against the swollen outline of her labia.
Angelyn twisted her hips around to shove her left flank out and give her hand more room. The vibrator buzzed. Another jolt made her spasm with heat.
"--nngh--" She could barely breathe. What little air she had left was spent trying to control the surging warmth of her growing arousal.
