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A shapely figure, encased in glistening latex, emerges from the shadows. The hood obscures all features, save for the zipper where breath is heard, shallow and rapid. This is the gimp, the drone, reduced to primal urges. It strokes itself through the latex, the fabric stretching and clinging to every contour. The hand moves faster, more desperate, until it spasms, releasing a thick, creamy load into the confines of the hood.