Demoness Eva De Ville

"Here, the keys, and your phone, if you want to call someone to let you out. You have eight hours. Every hour you fail to escape, that's another pump to the collar, and a bag of isotonic liquid feed. No toilet breaks! I'll leave the doors unlocked, so it should be quite easy, no?" He turns the heater and humidity to the maximum, and leaves with a smile.

Nearly six hours later, and she is panting, pawing in vain at the too-tight collar, at the keys which refuse to even leave the table surface, and the phone she cannot unlock, at the doorknob which slips back closed every time she tries to turn it. Her efforts have left her stinking with sweat in the muggy room, and the suit is a mass of itching sweat she cannot scratch.

Her phone vibrates with worried messages, panicked calls, and it is maddening to be unable to reply to any of them. She tries the window, but it is two-layered and frosted, so that no-one sees her trying to press the catch to open it. She tries not to stink up the room with her waste, but several drops have already leaked. The hateful collar refuses to let go of her throat for even an instant, and several times she presses the bulb by accident, squealing in frustration as the pressure worsens.

Your damsel’s resistance faded as soon as the tape got slapped over her lips.