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I find myself in extremely tight chair bondage, drooling through a panel gag, with my boobs exposed. I begin testing the binds and find that chains have me nearly immovable. In front of me, I can see myself in the mirror, the image taunting me and exciting me. Why do I enjoy seeing myself this way? Even if I could get out, ballet boots are locked on, and I doubt I’d be able to get myself out with my cuffed ankles connected to my cuffed wrists. I writhe in my nylons and the struggle is exhausting. I see that I am being watched by a masked man from the local cult, and as I get more exhausted, I try to plead to let me out. But I feel my body slipping into acceptance and that is when the vibrator comes out. There’s no hope for me. I feel my body’s desire mixed with the need to escape the overly sensitive sensations that are outside of my control. Yet, the bondage is so tight, all I can do is plead through a gag and try to accept my situation, barely able to wiggle enough to find a reprieve. After I am made to cum, I am taunted with my keys, exhausted and unable to get out. My mind has been made into mush, and I feel that I have been broken and made anew into something of the cult's liking.