The great thing about straitjackets is how they don't let you forget just how fucked you are.
Like, they're comfy, you can wear them for a long time, and you can drift away to subspace as much as you want. But the instant you try to assert any agency at all, it reminds you of your place. Not forcefully, not painfully; it simply insists the answer is 'no' and hugs you tighter. It imposes a reality on you, one where you are squished and helpless and dependent on Her. It is a bondage of the mind and soul as much as the body.
Case in point: any attempt to disagree humiliates you. Think you can do that thing with your feet? You can certainly try. You probably won't succeed, but even if you do, is it a victory you can be proud of? Was it worth it, my pathetic, squirming darling?
Far easier to just let go. Your body knows this already. Struggle all you like until the rest of you catches up. She has all the time in the world.
