Only the sheer force of surface tension keeps the view clear, glistening rubber framing the Commandant’s latex clad form as she stands there with leash in hand. There’s an awful lot of slack on that lead now, the question is, can you convince her to take it up before the viscous quicklatex rolls in over your face, or will it be a tortuously drawn out taste of rubber before she finally hauls you free from the creaking depths?