Influencer delivery suitcase

Aly’s just stepped into her new place, lights low, phone out, ready to film the tour. She doesn’t notice the door sliding open behind her. Isis is already inside, leather pants creaking, boots silent on the floor. A gloved palm clamps over Aly’s mouth. A soaked cloth presses down. The smell hits, then the darkness. Tape rips fast. Wrists yanked behind her back, chest and ribs swallowed in sticky layers until her elbows kiss her sides and her breathing turns shallow. More tape pins her mouth shut, winding tight, sealing every sound she tries to make. Legs next—ankles, calves, thighs—all locked together in the same hot, shiny cocoon. Aly hits the floor, twisting, rolling, grunting into the gag. Isis phones the client. “It’s done.” On the line, Aly hears money changing hands. Isis drags the writhing girl into the dining room, shoves her into a chair and lashes her down with fresh straps until the wood creaks. She trails gloved fingers over taped skin, laughs low, and tilts Aly’s chin up with one boot heel. “Smile for your followers now.” Headlights flash outside. Isis cuts the straps, slips a blindfold over Aly’s eyes, and folds the bound influencer into an oversized suitcase. Zipper stops short—just enough air. Jacket back on, suitcase wheeled out the door, destination already set: the ferry and the man who paid for every inch of tape.