Encased

All characters are over the age of 18. None of the characters are real, none of the scenarios are real, none of the devices are real. This is a work of complete and utter fiction, fantasies of my twisted little mind, of what I would love to do and what I would love to have done to me.

As opposed to my previous story, this is a much longer slow burn, with a heavy focus on world building, descriptions of

severe

bondage, and orgasm control. There are elements of science fiction, noncon, lesbian femdom, pain-play, medical play, 80's style body-horror, and more. If this is not to your tastes, then please, read some of the other incredible stories on this site instead.

If you're still here, thank you for indulging in my fantasies. Enjoy. This one gets dark.

-------------------------

Verdict

A rotund little man, dressed in a uniform that didn't quite fit him, stood in a corner of a great hall. The shoulders were just a fraction too wide, and the sleeves seemed to be permanently creased at the elbows. A utility belt hung below his protruding gut, and he had a thumb hooked between two of the pouches, the leather in that little nook worn to a light brown from years of friction and the touch of a greasy, unwashed finger. It was unsightly, to say the least. Unprofessional. Revolting, even. The girl couldn't look away from that fat fucking thumb, as a wave of anxiety made her stomach churn.

"Will the foreman of the honorable jury please rise?" a voice bellowed out from some other distant part of this, almost comically large, hall. The voice had a slight echo to it.

The place could really use some decor

the girl mused to herself.

Maybe some purple tapestry. The acoustics are truly abysmal.

"Have you reached a majority verdict on which at least ten of you are in agreement?"

Another fat fuck, with beady little bored eyes, stood up with considerable effort. "We have, your honor."

"And on the charge of involuntary manslaughter of the second degree, do you find the accused guilty, or not guilty?"

"We, the jury, by majority decision, find the accused..." Silence hung in the air for a moment that seemed to stretch out for much too long. Those beady little bored eyes turned to greet the girl's. "Guilty, as charged."

"Will the accused please rise." At the judges' command, she rose to her stiletto clad feet, pushing her wooden chair out behind her with a discordant scrape. She'd opted for a classic black suit jacket over a modest royal purple blouse, tucked into a high waisted black pencil skirt that stopped right above her knees, and her signature tight laced ponytail. She'd been pleased when she put the outfit together, but it seemed so incredibly shallow to her now. Nobody in this hall cared about her attire, least of all herself. "The court will now deliver its sentence upon the accused, Miss Alexandra Roberta Williams."

The judge droned on for another few minutes of legalese, but Alex' mind was somewhere else. Her eyes were transfixed on the intricately carved details of the judges gavel. All around the head of the wooden mallet, a scenery was depicted. A scene of butchered carcasses at the edge of a little town, of men on their knees with hooded heads and tied hands, lined up in front of a hangman's raised platform. An island in a sea of blood, where whoever held the noose was King. It seemed terribly out of place, depicted on a hallowed instrument of justice. It was unsightly, to say the least. Unprofessional. Revolting, even. Alex couldn't look away from the grizzly hammer as it rose, peaked, and was brought down with a resounding

gong

which reverberated through the naked hall, before settling deep in the pit of her stomach.

--

"Twenty years, Steph..." Alex' words were tinted by despair. "Twenty fucking years. For what?! A fucking break-in? I didn't even get anything out of it!"

"You literally

scared a man to death

Alex!" Stephanie's words, in turn, tinted by frustration. "You broke into someone's home, in a fucking

leather catsuit

, with a fucking

gun

, and gave a kindly old man a heart attack! Who does that?! Where'd you even get that thing?!" Alex was well aware of what had brought her here, now dressed in a screaming neon jumpsuit and her closest friend-slash-moral support system pacing around the visitor's room. Stephanie's frustration was aimed at the fact that Alex still, after trial, seemed completely unable to comprehend that other people were affected by her actions.

"The gun?" Alex' arms were crossed on the table, hands dangling off the end, her forehead resting in the soft crook of her bent elbow, voice slightly muffled.

"The catsuit."

"Perry's old shop, the one over at sixty third and third."

"Ah. Yeah that checks out. The gun?"

"Perry."

"Ah."

"Anyway, it's not my fault that old fuck's ticker gave out!" She sat back up and stretched her aching spine across the backrest. "I didn't even touch him!"

"Yeah, well, tell that to the court. Oh right, you did, and now you're staring down the barrel of

twenty fucking years

!" Shit. She always got sarcastic when anger got a hold of her.

"Fuck. Sorry, Alex, it's all just..."

"Yeah, I know. It really is."

"Fucked!"

"Indeed."

"You're fucked!"

"I am."

"With no chance of parole!"

"None."

Stephanie sat down across from her childhood sweetheart, and burrowed her face in her palms. For minutes, they just sat there, breathing in a silence so thick it clung to the walls, leaving an oily sheen. Or maybe the room just wasn't cleaned very often.

"Listen, there's still the... other option."

"No! For the last fucking time, no, Steph."

"You'll finish school, get your degree, and be out in two..."

"Oh sure, yeah, a quick two years. A cruel and unusual two years."

"Yeah, but what's your other option? You're twenty three, Alex. When you're out again you'd be past forty, with a massive record, and jack to show for it."

"Shit... Either way, I'm-"

"You're fucked!"

"I am."

"Shit..."

Stephanie reached for her friend's hands, and they just sat there, together, in the cloying silence.

--

Decision

The entire world had gone down the drain over the last five or six decades. Overpopulation was rampant, education was at an all time low, crime was through both the proverbial, and literal, roof (break-ins had become a

very

popular pastime), and absolute inequality was just a fact of life. If you're born in the gutter, you'll most likely die in the same. As prison populations spun out of control, laws had been hastily rewritten, and those age old lines about cruel and unusual punishment had been tip-exed over without anyone really batting an eye. Shorter but more intense sentencing had been all the rage for years now, but lately some clever thinkers in congress had thought out ways to combine these with ways to do some actual good, both for the country and for the people. Well, in a sense, at least.

"Last chance Miss Williams, transport's waiting for you right outside. Either sign the damn things, or rip them up. Either way, time's up!" The man in the fancy suit was tapping his foot impatiently. Literally, tapping his foot, like some fucking cartoon villain. Who does that? It was unsi- "ALEX!"

"Man, just, shut up for one minute will you?!" she snapped at her lawyer. "Damn it.. I'm sorry, Mister Delgado, but this is stressing me out to the next-fucking-level, you know?"

"I'm well aware, but you've had the papers for weeks now. It's time. It's past time, really, but yeah. It is time. Sign them, or don't, but make up your mind."

"Fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck....." She stared down at the stack of papers in front of her, nervously twirling a black ink pen around her fingers, a tic from her original schooldays. She'd read every single line over and over, front to back, back to front, again and again and again. She still didn't know what to do.

CONSENT FORM, ALTERNATIVE SENTENCING, VERSION #17 2117:02, PAGE 1 OF 131.

Big bold letters across the letterhead, and in a smaller font right underneath; Encasement and Re-education. In very, very short terms, the contract would express her consent to having her sentence reduced by ninety percent, during which time she'd be schooled and get her diploma, but also be placed under strict confinement with a severe, physical, carrot-or-stick type enforcement system. She'd become a Productive Member of Society™, and at the same time place a heavily reduced strain on her state's annual incarceration budget.

Clever congressmen. Clever, dirty old congressmen.

"....fuckity fucking double-fuck. FUCK! FINE!" A few quick strokes of the pen, and her full name was on the dotted line at the bottom of page number one hundred and thirty one, in sloppy but legible cursive. It was done. A calm washed over her as her choice had been made, nothing to do now but go with the flow. She pushed the stack of papers over to her lawyer.

"Thank you, Miss Williams. I apologize for my outburst earlier." The man, in a noticeably finer hand than the girl, swirled down a quick

Benjamin Delgado

on the line next to the already filled one.

"Well then... I... wish you best of luck. Hang in there, Alex." He gave her a forced half-smile, knowing exactly what weight the signatures carried.

"Uh-huh... Thanks, Del. For everything." There was really nothing else left to be said.

He knocked twice on the reinforced glass paneled door and was buzzed out. They wouldn't see each other again for the next two years, but once they did, they'd have a

lot

to talk about.

Due to Alex's last minute change of heart, the aging transport driver was informed late of their new destination. With a heavy sigh, he swapped the address in the GPS from SQ, or San Quentin's Rehabilitation Facility, which was their original route, to the EIRF, or, the Encased Incarceration and Re-education Facility. It was several hours drive further out of the city, in the middle of the arid wasteland which had once been known as Kings Canyon National Park. He wouldn't be home for dinner. Again. The missus was going to give him an earful. Again. Might be better just to sleep at a motel on the way back.

Alex had been cuffed to a bench in the back of the vehicle, but had an alright view through the back window, through the criss-cross of metal wire encased in plexiglass. She stared at that taut wire in its tight bondage, and felt an odd pang of sympathy stab her chest.

Poor little wire

, she thought to herself,

poor little wire, you know the difference between you and me? You won't ever be allowed outside again.

Her focus shifted, through the glass and through the dusk and on towards the shrinking skyline to the north west. Mega-buildings and neon, blimps and glass domes, modified search-lights projecting tacky slogans on the clouds above. Ad-space, like everything else, was running out. She'd never left San Francisco before, and her anxiety began bubbling back up.

--

Facility

Alex had been at the facility for a few days now, having spent a dizzying amount of time being shuffled between different testing areas; they'd taken blood samples, urine samples, stool samples, sweat, saliva and tear samples, they'd tested her vaginal discharge and her spinal fluid and her stomach acidity.

Her eyesight, her hearing, her sensitivity to touch, and to both heat and cold had been tested. Strength and endurance were tested at a sub-level gym, and she'd had her lung capacity measured by blowing up an enormous latex balloon over and over until she thought she'd pass out. She'd had her entire body digitized by a 3D scanner, and a mold of her teeth had been made.

She'd taken several cognitive quizzes in a surprisingly comfy recliner while fitted with net of minute EKG pads around her skull, and she'd had two lengthy visits with a clinical psychologist whose professional assessment could best be summed up as

eh, she's well enough

, though an unusually strong inclination towards daydreaming and harsh language had been noted.

The schedule had been machined to perfection, and, while expensive, was still a massive amount cheaper than an extended stay in a regular state prison. While scurrying through the winding corridors, she'd seen several other women and men, in the same orange jumpsuit, on their way to both entry and exit exams. They all seemed healthy, though some were more discombobulated than others, and none were of a particularly chatty mood. Nor was Alex.

Given that all her other physicals came back within acceptable parameters, it was time to get her outfitted in her long term containment suit and life support attachments.

"Hello Miss Williams, I am doctor Noor and I'll be guiding and assisting you through your final stages today." A stout, middle aged woman, probably of south asian descent, with big round glasses and graying hair, held out her hand to Alex. She grasped it back. Common decency costs nothing. "I believe all of your tests came back alright, so today is your final day before your sentence begins. How do you feel?"

"Hey doc. Dizzy. Not, like, literally, but in my mind, y'know? In my, uh, psyche? It's overwhelming. I've not really had time to think about it, with all the needles and test tubes, but it's catching up now." Alex noted two female officers flanking the entrance to the room. The officers were ever present for all of her examinations, but about as lively as the doors they were guarding.

"Perfectly understandable. I'll try to make this procedure as quick as possible. If you wouldn't mind, please get undressed and we'll begin." It wasn't a request.

Doc waddled over to a steel cabinet and fetched a large box labeled

#113817 A.R.Williams

, opened it and handed a vacuum sealed bag to Alex.

"In there you'll find your body suit, and here" she handed Alex a bottle "is a bottle of lubrication to help you put it on."

"That tight, huh?"

"Very."

Alex unsealed the vacuum lock of the bag, and, while waiting for it to inflate, finished undressing and started lubing herself up from head to toe.

"Would you like some assistance with your back?"

"Please."

She was now completely smothered in an odorless, slightly sticky, water based lube, so she withdrew the latex suit from its bag, unrolled it, and looked at it for a second. Completely translucent, extremely light, and perfectly contoured to her body. There were areas symmetrically dispersed around the entire suit, both front and back, which seemed thicker, and had little cables sticking out of them. She'd read about those in the consent form, they would provide electrical muscle stimulation to prevent atrophy during her confinement.

The suit also had a zipper along the spine which would have been too small to notice, if it wasn't for the oversized pull tab. She undid the zipper and started pushing a leg in.

"Wow, you weren't fucking around Doc."

"I'm sorry?"

"Tight."

"Oh, yes.

Very.

"

She pushed her leg through and out, and her foot slipped into its reinforced area at the bottom. Her toes slid into separate tubes, but to her surprise came out naked on the other side.

Like fingerless gloves for my feet!

and Alex let out a tiny giggle as she wiggled her toes. The sound surprised even herself, she couldn't remember the last time something had been truly amusing.

The other leg went in without effort, and she started pulling the torso up, noting that the suit was, of course, crotchless, and the open seam had been reinforced by vulcanized rubber which protruded a bit from the surrounding latex.

Clever, dirty old congressmen

.

"Now bend forward a bit, put both your arms into the sleeves, and now straighten out with your arms pointing upwards. This should slide the rest of the suit snug against your torso and push your arms into place." Doc guided her along.

Alex noted another two rubber reinforcements, like black irises, which protruded about half an inch from the chest area of the suit. The outside edges had spiraled threads etched into them, and some small holes that looked like connectors.

"If you're having issues with your breast placements, I could give you another hand. They can be a bit tricky for well endowed women." There was absolutely zero inflection to the Doc's voice. She did this hundreds of times and was completely unperturbed by Alex's nakedness.

"Uh... Please, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

Alex slid her arms home and her hands came to rest within their gloves. Fingerless, again. The doc grabbed hold of one of the irises on her chest and pulled it out from her body, the suit had a little bit of give to it, and pushed her fingers through it. After some fidgeting she managed to lift Alex's breast, and guided it until her nipple was centered in the iris, repeated the process for the other breast, and zipped Alex up. A narrow flap along the zipper folded over it and hid the zipper from view. The pressure from the suit held her breasts firmly in place now, but the irises looked way too small for their job.

"All done, for now. How's the fit?"

Alex felt like she'd been poured into the suit, or as if she'd been laminated.

"Honestly, like a second skin doc. Not sure about the situation with my tits though? Think you might have gotten some measurements wrong?"

"Don't worry about that, we'll sort them out in a little bit. The measurements are correct. Now let's head off to the containment area. Put one of those robes on as we walk."

The entire ordeal with the never ending tests and the latex suit was so completely novel and alien to Alex that she'd forgotten where she was for a hot minute, but as they were walking to what felt like her final resting place, her nerves kicked into high gear and fear clawed its way back into her throat. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? It was supposed to have been an easy job, Perry had told her the old man kept his valuables in a safe upstairs in his villa, and that he'd be at a fundraiser for the night. She was a great safe cracker, and had brought her entire kit along. Then everything had turned into an absolute shit fiesta, as the old man kicked the bucket, his wearable health monitor tripped the alarm, the house locked down, and police were at the scene in minutes. Fast forward a couple of months, and Alex was being ushered along towards a room where she'd be essentially buried alive. Days of pent up adrenaline hit her at once and she started hyperventilating, but the officers grabbed her by the arms and essentially dragged her along. There was no going back.

They stepped through a final, double doored entryway, and exited onto a platform hanging above what seemed like a bottomless drilled out pit. It was brightly lit, and she saw that the walls were adorned with endless rows of square steel hatches buried into the ground around them. A tower in the middle of the pit, with an embedded control room, controlled the platform they were standing on. One of the officers pressed a button on her radio.

"#113817 A.R.Williams, ready for containment."

"Roger that. Stand by."

Railings were raised further around the platform, and a hydraulic arm underneath it, connected to the central pillar, guided them down towards a row of hatches further down, like an omnidirectional elevator. As the platform started turning, something snapped inside Alex, and she collapsed on the spot. Fainted.

"Well, that'll make the initial fitting process a bit smoother." Doc muttered.

Alex awoke a few minutes later, laid down flat on her back in the mechanized chair that would be her home for the next two years. It had been slid out from its assigned slot in the wall, hatch #113817, and was currently positioned sort of like a gynecologist table, with her knees spread wide and slightly bent and her back horizontal, butt lifted slightly off the table. Alex was resting in thick, soft yet rigid pads that were contouring to her body like memory foam, and as she started groggily coming back to consciousness, the panic came back as well.