Arms are jerked forward roughly, outsides of her wrists held together, mashing her breasts against each other, her upper body curved forward as her rear pokes out, tenuously bent to keep her balance in the poltergeist's grip. She growls as she feels her boots betraying her, peeling her legs apart, sticking her in the lewd pose like her feet are stuck in glue. Her breath rasps furiously through her nose, jeans and sweater clinging to sweat-sticky skin, jeans a skin-tight mold to her body. Slick hair dangles in her face and she flicks her head back only to have bangs fall back over her eyes. Her attention darts through the hallway, looking for her assailant, grooming the small range of sight she has, bound like this.

"You gonna show yourself, asshole??"

She turns her head to the side as the boa moves to play with her hair. "Jesus..." she grumbles, as she tries to squirm her way out of the cloth holding her wrists together, balance hold delicately on the balls of her feet as the poltergeist holds her in place. She can feel the thick sweater rolling up her body, revealing toned, flat stomach, the stud in her navel glistening like a jewel. Head turns slowly again as the mask rises out of the desk, every muscle poised, sculpted into the tight jeans. A pink tongue flicks carefully over her lips, and as the mask wobbles in front of her vision, she settles it into a baleful and uncompromising stare, locking eyes with its not-eyes, and with a satisfying hock, she spits squarely into the face of the mask.

Slick-wet with sweat, she's bound up in the sweater, breasts bounced free, raised arms stretching lean muscle, her face masked in the thick, suffocating fabric of the sweater. She says something, but it's muffled entirely in the sweater, pulled upward onto her toes. Breath comes in quick, raging breaths, blind to the room, squirming between the arms and legs locked in place.

((Eep! I'm so sorry. For some reason I thought I had responded))

She wriggles fiercely as the feather dances over her tender flesh, naturally ticklish, body squirming, muscle dancing away, breasts a-jiggle. She bites lip under the sweater-gag as the pathetic fallacy explores her mammaries. Then it stops, and the sweater slings free, and she's left gasping for breath, suffocated in the thick, muggy sweater, in claustrophobic panic, the heat of the room sweltering. Eyes are bolt-wide as she gasps harshly for breaths, a fire running down her throat. It takes her a moment to recuperate, her heaves sinking to hoarse breaths, eyes finally focusing, settling back over the room as she slowly regains her faculties. Eyes settle eventually into a prowl, assessing the potential threats, looking for where the next one's going to come.