The summer air hung thick and humid over the quiet suburban street as Emma stepped out onto her front porch, suitcase in hand. At eighteen, 5'5", with a soft 150-pound frame that filled out her clothes in all the right places—long blonde hair cascading down her back, full, heavy breasts straining against her tank top, and a round, firm ass that swayed with every step—she looked every bit the girl who had just graduated high school and was about to leave for college.

Her lifelong best friend, Madison, pulled up in a sleek black SUV, waving through the open window. “Come on, Em! Parents are already prepping the grill. We’re doing the whole Fourth of July thing before we both disappear to dorms.”

Emma tossed her bag in the back and climbed in. The drive took them past the city limits and into a high-end gated community where the houses grew larger, the lawns more perfect, the iron gates more imposing. Madison’s family had always had money, but the estate at the end of the cul-de-sac still managed to take Emma’s breath away every time.

Madison’s father, Mark, was waiting on the wide front steps when they pulled up. Over six feet of solid muscle, broad shoulders, thick arms, and a deep voice that seemed to vibrate in the chest. The kind of man every girl in the neighborhood had quietly fantasized about at some point. He pulled Madison into a quick hug, then turned to Emma.

The embrace lasted a beat longer than usual. His big hands pressed firmly against her back, just above the curve of her ass, and for a second she felt the hard plane of his chest against her breasts. Something heated flickered in his eyes before he released her with a warm smile.

“Good to see you, Emma. You’re looking all grown up.”

She brushed it off with a laugh, chalking it up to the heat.

Out back, the pool glittered under the afternoon sun. Both girls changed into bikinis—Emma’s was a tiny red string number that barely contained her breasts and rode high on her round ass. They stretched out on the lounge chairs, laughing about college orientation, which dorms were supposedly the wildest, and the boys they’d left behind.

Mark stood at the grill twenty feet away, tongs in hand, pretending to focus on the steaks. His eyes kept drifting. The way Emma’s tits shifted when she laughed. The soft jiggle of her ass when she rolled onto her stomach. Dirty thoughts flickered through his mind unbidden—I wonder what she sounds like when she cums—and he forced himself to look away, jaw tight.

Madison’s mother, Sarah, joined them a few minutes later. Five-eight, long legs, DDD breasts that strained against her own swimsuit, and a thick, bouncy ass that turned heads whether the owner was male or female. She was the other half of the dream couple—every boy wanted her, every girl wanted to be her or fuck her husband. She sat on the edge of Emma’s lounge chair, one manicured hand resting lightly on the younger girl’s thigh.

“I’m so proud of both of you,” Sarah said, voice warm. “College is going to be amazing. But I’m going to miss having you around, Emma. You’ve always been like a second daughter to us. You always will be.”

Her fingers traced slow circles on Emma’s skin, a little too intimate, a little too lingering. Mark watched from the grill, cock twitching in his shorts at the sight of his stunning wife touching his daughter’s smoking-hot best friend like that.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into swimming, sunscreen, cold drinks, and more of the same charged undercurrent. Mark and Sarah’s eyes found Emma constantly—when she climbed out of the pool with water streaming down her cleavage, when she bent over to grab a towel, when she laughed with her head thrown back.

Dinner was casual on the patio. Mark carved the meat and kept the conversation light, talking about how the girls would have to fight the college guys off. His gaze kept sliding to Emma as he said it, and Madison noticed, her smile tightening just a fraction.

After the neighborhood fireworks show, they all headed inside. In Madison’s room the two girls talked in the dark, but Madison was short, almost cold, refusing to say what was wrong. Eventually the silence stretched until both pretended to sleep.

Emma woke sometime after midnight to soft light and unfamiliar surroundings. She was on her back in the master bedroom, her head resting in Sarah’s lap. Startled, she tried to sit up.

Sarah’s hand settled gently but firmly around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. The other hand stroked Emma’s arm in slow, soothing passes.

“Shh. You had a bad dream, sweetheart,” Sarah whispered against her ear. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

Mark appeared in the doorway from the en-suite, wearing only tight black underwear that did nothing to hide the massive bulge between his thick, muscular thighs. He carried a glass of water and set it on the nightstand.

“You okay, Emma?” His deep voice was soft, concerned.

Emma’s heart hammered. She tried to speak, but Sarah hushed her again, fingers still tracing her skin, the hand at her throat a steady, possessive weight.

Mark leaned down and kissed his wife. The kiss turned hungry fast. Sarah’s free hand slid down the front of his underwear, openly stroking the thick ridge of his cock while Emma watched, inches away. The bulge grew under Sarah’s touch until the head of his dick strained against the waistband.

Sarah finally released Emma’s throat and helped her sit up against the pillows.

“We’re going to make some special memories with you before you go off to college,” she murmured. “We only want the best for you.”

Emma’s voice came out shaky. “What… what do you want to do?”

Mark cupped her face with one large hand, tilting it up so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. The look he gave her was pure dominance, the kind that made her stomach flip and her pussy clench at the same time.

“Lie back in my wife’s lap,” he said quietly.

Sarah guided her down again. “Is it okay if we take these off?” Her fingers brushed the waistband of Emma’s sleep shorts.

Emma nodded, pulse racing.

Mark hooked his fingers in the fabric and pulled the shorts and panties down her legs in one smooth motion, leaving her bare from the waist down. Sarah’s hands slid under Emma’s shirt, cupping and massaging her full breasts, thumbs brushing over hardening nipples.

“So beautiful,” Sarah whispered. “So grown up now.”

Mark settled between Emma’s thighs, broad shoulders forcing her legs wider. The first long lick of his tongue over her pussy made her jolt. Sarah held her firmly, one hand still on her breast, the other lacing fingers with Emma’s.

“Breathe, baby. Just feel it. You’re doing so good.”

He ate her like he had all night—slow, thorough, relentless. Thick fingers joined his tongue, stretching her open while he sucked on her clit. Emma’s hips bucked. Sarah kept talking her through it, praising her, pinching her nipples just hard enough to edge the pleasure with sharp sparks. The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping a broken cry from Emma’s throat as her thighs clamped around Mark’s head.

She was still trembling when he stood, shoved his underwear down, and let his cock spring free.

It was enormous—at least ten thick inches, heavy and veined, the head already glistening. Emma stared, equal parts terrified and dripping wet.

“Maybe we shouldn’t—” she started.

Mark climbed over her and fed the head past her lips, silencing her. Sarah’s hand fisted in Emma’s long blonde hair and began guiding her head in short, controlled bobs. Only a few inches fit before Emma’s mouth was stretched obscenely full.

While his wife used Emma’s mouth, Mark leaned over and kissed Sarah deeply, sucking one of her heavy breasts into his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Sarah’s free hand wandered—squeezing Emma’s tits, pinching and twisting the nipples until muffled whimpers vibrated around Mark’s cock.

He eventually pulled free with a wet pop. Sarah stroked Emma’s hair.

“You can stop if you want,” she said softly. “Or you can keep going. We trust you. Do you trust us?”

Emma looked at the massive cock inches from her face, then at the two of them. Fear and heat warred in her expression. Slowly she leaned forward, wrapped both small hands around the thick shaft, and took him back into her mouth of her own accord.

Mark and Sarah exchanged a heated smile.

Sarah moved behind Emma, pressing her own full breasts against the girl’s back. Her hands came around to cup and knead Emma’s tits while she kissed and bit at the sensitive skin of her neck and ear.

“That’s it. Good girl. Take as much as you can. You’re doing so well for us.”

After a few more minutes Sarah pulled Emma off with a gentle tug on her hair and guided her back down into her lap. Mark climbed between Emma’s thighs again, this time lining his cock up with her slick entrance.

He pushed in slowly. Emma’s eyes flew wide at the stretch. Sarah held her, kissed her temple, murmured constant encouragement while rubbing tight circles on her clit.

“You’re so tight, baby. Just breathe. Let him in. You’ve never had anything this big, have you?”

Emma shook her head, moaning as inch after thick inch forced her open. Mark fucked her with deep, measured strokes, watching her face the entire time like she was something precious and filthy all at once. Sarah tipped Emma’s chin up and kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, tongue sliding into her mouth in a slow, filthy make-out while her husband claimed her best friend’s pussy.

The dual assault pushed Emma over the edge again. She came with a broken sob into Sarah’s mouth, pussy clamping hard around Mark’s cock.

He pulled out, rolled onto his back, and Sarah helped the dazed girl straddle him. Emma’s exhausted hands fumbled; Sarah reached between them and guided the thick head back to her entrance.

Mark thrust up hard the moment he was inside. Emma bounced on his cock while Sarah alternated between kissing her husband and kissing Emma, letting Mark suck and bite at both pairs of heavy breasts, smacking Emma’s ass, reaching under to massage his own balls and then spreading Emma’s cheeks so she could lean down and lick the tight little hole while her husband fucked it.

Another orgasm ripped through Emma, leaving her shaking and dripping.

Sarah lay back. Mark’s powerful arms lifted Emma off him like she weighed nothing, flipped her, and dropped her on top of his wife. The two women immediately tangled together—kissing messily, sucking each other’s tongues, mouths latching onto stiff nipples.

Mark knelt behind Emma, gripped her hips, and drove back into her pussy in one hard thrust. This time there was nothing gentle about it. He fucked her like he hated her and loved her at the same time—spreading her ass open so he could watch her pink lips stretch around his thick shaft, spanking her hard enough to leave red handprints, fisting her long blonde hair and yanking her head back.

Emma’s cries of pain-pleasure filled the room. The wet, filthy sounds of skin on skin and the sight of her best friend’s mother underneath her, kissing her through every brutal thrust, pushed Mark over the edge.

He slammed deep one final time and came hard, flooding her young, fertile pussy with thick ropes of cum. He kept grinding through it, forcing every drop inside while Sarah held Emma’s face and whispered how perfect she was, how good she’d been.

When he finally pulled out, cum immediately began leaking down Emma’s thighs and onto Sarah’s skin. The three of them collapsed in a sweaty, tangled heap.

Emma lay there, dazed, the evidence of what they’d done still dripping out of her. Shame and dizzy, bone-deep satisfaction warred in her chest.

Sarah stroked her hair one last time.

“Something to remember us by,” she murmured. “When you’re away at college.”

Mark’s heavy hand settled possessively on Emma’s ass, fingers idly tracing through the mess he’d left.

Outside, the last of the night’s fireworks had long since faded. Inside the master bedroom of the big house in the gated community, the real fireworks had only just begun.

The key card was waiting under my door exactly as promised, along with a folded sheet of hotel stationery. I unfolded it in the dim hallway light. Suite 2417. 2:00 a.m. She’s ready. Blindfold stays on. Wrists and ankles as you find them. Use her hard. Mark her. Film everything. Leave the phone on the nightstand when you’re done. She knows the safe word. She won’t use it.

No signature. Just the room number and the rules. That was enough.

I didn’t bother changing. Jeans, dark shirt, boots. The same clothes I’d worn to dinner three floors down. At 1:57 I took the stairs so the elevator camera wouldn’t catch me. The hallway on the 24th floor was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. Carpet thick enough to swallow footsteps. I slid the key card past the sensor. The soft green light and the quiet click of the bolt felt louder than they should have. The suite was dark except for the city glow bleeding through the sheer curtains. King bed centered against the far wall. She was exactly where the note said she would be.

Facedown on the mattress, ass up, knees spread wide on the duvet. Black silk blindfold tied tight. Wrists cuffed behind her back with soft leather restraints that matched the ones on her ankles, keeping her thighs open. A short spreader bar locked between them so she couldn’t close her legs even if she tried. She was naked except for a thin gold chain around her waist…a gift from her husband, from the look of it. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. The air smelled faintly of her perfume and the sharper, wetter scent of arousal.

She flinched when the door closed. A small, sharp intake of breath. She didn’t speak.

I set my phone on the dresser, propped it against the lamp, and hit record. Wide angle. The whole bed in frame. Then I walked over slowly, letting her hear every step.
“You’re already dripping,” I said, voice low. “Your husband left you like this for me. Open and waiting. Good girl.”
She made a soft sound in her throat but didn’t answer. I ran one hand down the curve of her spine, over the swell of her ass, and between her thighs. She was soaked. Slick heat coated my fingers the second I parted her. I pushed two fingers inside without warning. Her cunt clenched hard around them and a muffled whimper escaped.
“Fuck. He’s been keeping this tight little hole all to himself, hasn’t he?” I worked my fingers deeper, curling them, feeling her walls flutter. “Not anymore.”
I pulled my fingers out, wiped them across her mouth over the blindfold, and slapped her ass hard enough to leave a sharp red print. She jerked against the restraints. Another slap, harder, on the other cheek. Then I unbuckled my belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops made her freeze.

I folded the belt in half and laid it across her lower back like a promise. “I’m going to use every hole you have,” I told her. “I’m going to leave bruises he’ll feel when he fucks you tomorrow. And you’re going to thank me for every one of them when I’m done. Nod if you understand.”
She nodded once, quick and sharp. I didn’t undress all the way. Just opened my jeans and freed my cock. Already hard, thick, the head shiny with pre-cum. I rubbed it against her wet slit, up and down, coating myself in her. Then I slammed in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

She cried out—raw, startled, the sound punched out of her. Her body tried to surge forward but the cuffs and spreader held her in place. I gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and started fucking her properly. Deep, heavy strokes that slapped skin on skin and made the headboard knock against the wall. Her cunt was hot and tight and ridiculously wet, the kind of wet that only comes from being left waiting and helpless for hours.
“Take it,” I growled, slamming in harder. “This is what you asked for. This is what he agreed to. Your married cunt stretched around another man’s cock at two in the morning while he sleeps down the hall.”

I reached under her, found her clit, and rubbed it in rough circles timed to my thrusts. She was already shaking. I didn’t ease up. When her orgasm hit it was violent…her whole body locking up, a broken moan tearing out of her as she soaked the sheets and clenched around me like she was trying to milk me dry. I fucked her straight through it, never slowing, until she was whimpering and twitching from overstimulation.

I pulled out, flipped her onto her back with the spreader still locking her open, and shoved my cock into her mouth. She gagged immediately. I held her head by the ponytail and used her throat the same way I’d used her cunt—deep, relentless, until spit ran down her chin and tears soaked the blindfold. When I finally pulled back she gasped for air, lips shiny and swollen.

“Open,” I ordered. She did. I slapped my wet cock against her tongue a few times, then pushed back in and fucked her face until my balls were tight and the urge to come was almost painful. I denied myself. Pulled out again.
I grabbed the belt, flipped her back onto her stomach, and started marking her in earnest. Hard, measured strokes across her ass and the backs of her thighs. Each one left a raised red welt. She counted them when I told her to, voice shaky and thick with spit and tears. By twenty she was sobbing into the mattress. By thirty her ass was a deep, glowing red and she was pushing back into the next strike like she needed it.

I dropped the belt, climbed onto the bed behind her, and drove back into her cunt. The heat of her welted skin against my hips was addictive. I fucked her hard enough that the whole bed shifted. One hand wrapped around her throat from behind, not cutting off air completely, just enough pressure to remind her who was in control. The other hand reached around to work her clit again.
“Come on my cock,” I snarled against her ear. “Come for the man who’s going to send your husband a video of his wife getting ruined.”

She came with a strangled scream, body thrashing against the restraints. I kept going, chasing my own edge now, slamming into her until the wet, filthy sound of it filled the room. When I finally buried myself to the root and started to come, I pulled out at the last second, stroked myself twice, and painted thick ropes of cum across her welted ass and lower back. Some of it dripped down between her cheeks. I rubbed it into her skin with my palm, marking her with it.

I wasn’t finished.

I unlocked the spreader bar, flipped her onto her back again, and pushed her knees to her chest. Her cunt was swollen, messy, still twitching. I lined up and sank back in slowly this time, watching every inch disappear. Then I started fucking her again—deeper, slower, grinding against her clit on every thrust until she was sobbing and coming a third time, quieter now, almost broken.
Only then did I let myself finish inside her. Deep. Holding her hips down so she had to take every pulse. When I finally pulled out, a thick trickle of cum followed, sliding down over her asshole.

I sat back on my heels for a moment, breathing hard, looking at what I’d done to her. Blindfold soaked. Lips puffy. Ass and thighs striped with welts. Cunt glistening and leaking. The gold chain around her waist still in place, catching the low light. I reached up and carefully untied the blindfold. She blinked against the dim light, eyes red and glassy. I brushed a strand of hair off her cheek with the back of my fingers.

“You did well,” I said, quieter now. “Really fucking well.”
She swallowed. Her voice came out rough. “Thank you.”
I unlocked the wrist cuffs first, then the ankles, rubbing the faint red marks left by the leather. She didn’t try to cover herself. Just lay there breathing, letting me look. I grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar, cracked it open, and helped her sit up enough to drink. Then I used a clean washcloth from the bathroom to gently wipe her face, her thighs, the worst of the mess between her legs. Not cleaning her completely…just enough so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. The cum on her ass and the welts I left alone. Those were for him to see.

I picked up my phone, stopped the recording, and set it on the nightstand as instructed. Then I leaned down and kissed the side of her throat, right over her pulse.
“Tell him I said thank you for the loan,” I murmured. “And that I’ll be expecting another key the next time you’re in town.” She nodded, a small, sated smile touching her swollen mouth.

I dressed quietly, checked the hallway, and left. The door clicked shut behind me at 2:41 a.m. Somewhere down the hall her husband was sleeping. In a few hours he would wake up, walk into the suite, and find his wife still marked and full of another man’s cum, the phone waiting on the nightstand with the entire night recorded in high definition.

Exactly as requested. 😇😈………

Mrs Lariat, the head maid, saw to my punishment in the scullery while Anita, Constance and Emilia stood watching.

I held my dress raised to my waist, my panties lowered to my knees. I leaned forwards then backwards as Mrs Lariat applied the wooden spoon to my bare posterior then to my front mound.

Given my failings at dinner this wasn't considered sufficient chastisement even though I received more than double the usual application of the spoon with particular attention given to the beating of my pleasure bud. Instead of dismissing me after using the spoon Mrs Lariat chose to use the sugar tongs to pluck hairs from my mound until I was unable to hold back tears. They were more of humiliation than pain but she seemed satisfied I had suffered sufficiently and I was dismissed to my rooms.

There I washed and tidied myself preparing for bed. Shamefully I had moistened under my punishment. I knew Mrs Lariat would have observed this. Undoubtedly I would be inspected in the morning for signs I had interfered with myself. No doubt they would have me spread in the stirrups before breakfast was served. Like the other maids I was expressly forbidden from touching myself unless instructed but I had little choice if I wanted to sleep tonight.

I shared quarters with Anita, Constance and Emilia but we had an unspoken pact that we would ignore any nocturnal fumblings. It was not uncommon for our hands to stray beneath the bedsheets and the thick wax candles that sat at our bedsides would at times find a new home between warm thighs.

In winter our rooms became chill and Mrs Lariat tended to overlook our self pleasuring knowing we did it for warmth as much as for lustful reasons but in summer she would apply the rules zealously. Candles would be checked for emissions and fingermarks, pillows would be sniffed and of course the stirrups and speculum would be put to good use examining any suspected of self relief.

That night I had intended to ride my pillow but I was interrupted by a summons from Lord Knox.

This was unusual and concerning. I dressed in a clean uniform and reported to the main dining room as instructed.

To my surprise the table was laid out with six full plate settings despite the late hour and supper having already been served.

Lord Knox bade me enter.

Mrs Lariat had informed him that I was the one who had made the mistakes with the placement of the cutlery at dinner.

I admitted that this was correct and that I had been disciplined for my errors. I was standing to attention in front of Lord Knox as I spoke. He moved behind me but told me to remain still.

I was quite rigid with nerves as he unfastened first my white pinafore then my black uniform dress. Both garments were allowed to slide to the floor. He then unclasped my brassiere and slid the straps from my shoulders.

I resisted the urge to cover my breasts with my hands as my brassiere slipped down my arms to the floor.

My suspender belt was next but only so that my panties could be tugged down.

I stepped from them as demurely as possible in the circumstances.

This left me in my shiney low heeled shoes, opaque black stockings, refastened suspender belt, the black silk choker at my pale throat and the white lace band in my curly red hair.

Although Lord Knox had stripped me almost bare he had not touched me any more than was necessary to remove my clothes. He then moved away from me to stand at the head of the table.

He instructed me to fold my clothes neatly and then I was again standing to attention in front of him as he spoke.

"You are an intelligent woman, I'm sure you realize that you are here for further punishment. I am going to ask you questions, how truthful you are will inform how severe I am with your body."

I nodded understanding. I felt cold nervous sweat running down the small of my back uninterrupted until it reached the band of my suspender belt.

"Mrs Lariat has informed me that she punished you by beating your buttocks and pubic mound with a wooden spoon."

"Yes Sir. And I was plucked Sir."

"Plucked?"

"With sugar tongs Sir, the hairs on my mound."

"And Mrs Lariat told me that you became wet during your chastisement. Is that true?"

I blushed and looked away.

"Maintain eye contact or you shall spend a week in chastity clamps."

I made myself meet his gaze.

"Yes Sir, I became wet Sir."

"At what stage?"

"When my cunny was beaten Sir and it worsened throughout."

"What do you mean worsened?"

"By the end Sir my wetness was obvious. On my lips Sir."

"I see. Did you peak?"

"No Sir."

"In your chambers afterwards, did you use your hand?"

"No Sir."

"You went to bed wet?"

"Sir I washed and I..."

I hesitated. Telling the truth was one thing but I didn't know if i should volunteer this.

"Go on." he ordered.

"I intended to relieve myself Sir but I didn't have time before I was summoned here."

My pale cheeks felt hot and red now. I trembled under his gaze but he seemed sternly pleased.

"So you are unrelieved. Do you still ache?"

"Yes Sir."

He nodded.

"I understand that your failing in setting the cutlery for lunch was due to a lack of understanding of it's proper order of placement. There are six setting of cutlery on the table. Each will be used to teach you."

"Yes Sir."

"Stand in front of the first setting, place your hands on your head and open your mouth wide."

I obeyed noting that the chairs had been set back allowing me to stand close to the table. I saw the gleaming polished knives, forks and spoons set out before me.

Lord Knox walked up to me and picked up the fishfork from the far right of the setting.

"Fish fork." he said and placed it in my open mouth. It clicked lightly on my teeth. I tasted metal polish.

"Salad fork."

It was also placed in my mouth.

"Oyster fork, soup spoon, fish knife, entree knife, salad knife, dessert fork, dessert spoon."

Each utensil was held up, named, then placed in my mouth. I could scarcely fit them all and I strained not to drop them.

I was drooling around the hard metallic mouthful. Warm saliva spilled down my chin dripping between my breasts. I breathed through my nose, my throat worked as I tried to swallow the excess of saliva but I drooled freely. My chin, throat and the valley of my breasts was soon glazed.

I was unable to speak. Lord Knox gave me a moment of contemplation then he instructed me to move to the next setting. I did so awkwardly with the cutlery stretching my mouth wide and my hands still on my head, fingers bunched in my curls.

Lord Knox pulled one of the dining room chairs up behind me and then he stood between me and the dining table.

"Place a napkin on the chair then sit."

I took one napkin and laid it on the seat but he stopped me before I could sit.

"Wait, do you juice heavily under stimulation?"

I flushed scarlet but I nodded. Fresh drool ran down my front at the motion.

"Use two napkins, we don't want your juices staining the seat."

I took a second white linen napkin from the table and placed it atop the first on the chair. Then I sat.

"Legs apart to either side of me, remove your shoes and place your feet up on the table."

I obeyed. My legs were spread and raised. Lord Knox stood between them gazing down on my opened cunny.

"Agitate yourself." he ordered. I hesitated.

He took an oyster fork from the second setting. The smallest item of cutlery. He held it up.

"I think you have surmised what will follow. I am giving you five minutes to prepare your opening."

I nodded and I reached down to my sticky lipped slit. I caressed myself awkwardly. My fingers were on my clitoris but not in the way I would usually pleasure myself. That seemed too intimate an act to perform in front of Lord Knox.

He seemed to realize this and gave me no choice.

"Do it as if you were alone but hold back from release."

Again I obeyed. I rubbed at myself until my inner muscles were clenching involuntarily and my fingers were slippery.

"Enough. The next lesson can begin."

He inserted the small oyster fork first then the much larger soup spoon, then the flat blunt fish knife.

Each item of cutlery was eased carefully into my slick vaginal tunnel, they felt cold and hard and wrong inside me. Each item went in. Easy at first but when he reached the dessert fork he was having to slid it between the other utensils.

I was slowly stretched wider and wider to accommodate the knives, forks and spoons of the place setting. They bulged out of my body like a bunch of silvery flowers. Only an inch or so of each of the larger utensils was exposed.

I felt them move inside me as each new item was inserted. My labia stretched around the unyielding metal. I moaned around the identical cutlery filling my mouth.

The last item was the salad fork. Lord Knox pushed it in between the others with a metallic scrape.

The napkins on my chair were damp from the juices that dribbled from my stuffed cunny. The straining pink lips of my intimate opening were close to unrecognizable.

Lord Knox stepped back admiring the new shape of my distended cunny.

I shuddered at the odd pressure. Not pain exactly but a tender overfull feel with points of discomfort jostling together inside me.

"Stand up. Hands on your head. Do not drop anything."

I rose awkwardly. My legs were stiff from having been spread and raised. The cutlery began to slide from me. I felt it moving and clenched down my inner muscles. My thighs trembled with strain.

I wasn't sure how long I could hold everything inside me. I couldn't speak to explain my predicament as my mouth was full too.

"Move to the next setting and bend over with your hands on the table."

It was obvious what would be done to me next but I wasn't sure how I would endure it.

Lord Knox pushed a condiment bowl across the table towards me. I saw it contained a thick oily tartare sauce left over from dinner. It was still half full.

"You will hand me each item of cutlery in order from the place setting, you may lubricated each item with the sauce and I shall then place them in you."

I nodded understanding. The knives, forks and spoons in my vagina felt as if they were pulling down and I was perspiring with the effort of holding them.

It was only when the greasy handle of the oyster fork touched my anus did I realize that Lord Knox did not necessarily have to insert the items handle first.

To my sobbing gratitude he did. I was careful to ensure each item was doused in oily sauce before I passed it back to him. He was gentle but firm. He pulled my rear cheeks aside and eased each metal utensil into my tightly furled hole.

I was soon widened considerably. Although the metal shafts of the forks and spoons were quite slender the handles of the knives were much thicker. The entree knife was the largest and I moaned like an animal when I finally felt it in my bloated rectum.

The weight and pressure in my two passages was making it hard for me to stay still. Drool ran from my stuffed mouth to the tabletop as I handed Lord Knox the salad fork.

I felt immense relief that this was the last object to fill my churning tormented rear passage. I felt a strong urge to empty my bowels and to force the cutlery from my cramping vagina.

Lord Knox fetched a mirror so I could see the obscene display emerging from between my parted buttocks.

With a groan I obeyed his command to stand up.

He fetched my panties from my neatly folded pile of clothes. I leant against the dining table and raised each leg in turn as he put my panties back on me.

They couldn't be pulled fully up but they sagged halfway at my mound tight against the protruding cutlery.

I was grateful for the skimpy fabric stretched between my legs as it held the place settings in my vagina and rectum allowing me to relax my internal muscles somewhat.

The next place setting required me to have a small muslin bag tied in place around my left breast. The bag hung below my breast like a feedbag.

Lord Knox placed each item of cutlery from the place setting into the bag in order after naming it.

The bag was secured to my naked breast with cords about the base. The weight of the cutlery strangled my breast from the root and caused my milky flesh to darken with construction. Despite that this setting was easier to endure than the previous three.

Lord Knox seemed to realize I had suffered less this last time so he refined the technique for the fifth setting.

A similar bag was used but was attached to my right nipple with clothes pins and cotton thread rather than being bound to the breast itself.

The result was my right breast dragged down my chest and my pink nipple stretched to triple it's usual length.

Lord Knox regarded me for a moment and I knew I must look a sight.

My saliva wet breasts were bulging and deformed by their burden, my panties were stretched around my stuffed openings and sodden with the juices that were running out of me.

My jaw ached and I could not stand still as I shifted in discomfort.

I was confident I now knew the correct placement of cutlery but there was one final setting left.

He had me stand facing it. Then once more my panties were removed forcing me to strain to hold the cutlery inside my body.

At his order I turned and leaned back against the table edge. I spread my thighs as much as I dared without dropping my load.

He stood in front of me and selected the oyster fork.

With one hand he parted my swollen folds to fully expose the angry pink head of my clitoris.

Lord Knox slowly dragged the smooth silver of the oyster fork across my clitoris from the tips of the tines to the end of the handle.

"Oyster fork." he said.

I nodded frantically.

"Soup spoon."

That too was dragged across the stiff aching nub above my leaking hole.

"Fish knife."

The flat of the blade pressed my clitoris to my pubic bone. I gurgled desperately around the cutlery filling my mouth.

"Entree knife."

Another long smooth caress of cool metal on my hot flesh.

I could not endure this and I saw that Lord Knox knew this.

When the curve of the dessert spoon glided over my clitoris I lost control utterly.

I jerked up away from the table. Lord Knox stepped quickly back from where he crouched.

My overwrought vaginal muscles spasmed violently and the cutlery clattered to the floor, my rectum ejected the utensils straining my anus.

The whole lot cascaded noisily to the ground along with a heavy shower of fluid from my convulsing vagina.

The force of the orgasm made me scream and the cutlery fell from my open mouth. As the tumbled to the floor they caught on the bags tethered to my breasts and pulled them free.

I cried out again scrabbling to untie the bag still half bound to my breast. The bag tied to my nipple was yanked free by the fall of knives, forks and spoons.

I staggered sideways and fell into a kneeling position then onto my side on the ground. I rubbed at myself masturbating mindlessly.

Lord Knox watched with amusement until my desperation subsided.

I felt stretched out, exhausted and soiled. I had reached climax more than once in those few desperate minutes but I still ached with need.

I knew I would never forget the correct place settings again.

"Daddy." I whined. Daddy had been way too busy lately and wasn't giving me enough attention. He only made time for me when I slipped into little space, and the rest of the time, he just told me to act like a sensible, obedient girl.

He gestured for me to be quiet as he continued his call seriously. Ever since his promotion, he'd gotten so much busier, and it seemed like he had a lot on his shoulders.

I crossed my arms sulkily. I was trying to be understanding, but I just wanted Daddy.

I crawled playfully between his legs. I knew the Alpha loved it when I acted like a little omega pup, so I rubbed my face against his firm thigh, begging for attention. I didn't miss the sharp look he threw my way, making me sigh, straighten up, and move away.

His call dragged on, and I felt like I needed to use the bathroom. Then I froze, remembering that I was under the Alpha's command for "bladder control" meaning I had to ask for his permission. Sometimes he liked to be merciful, and other times he loved watching me squirm and beg for permission.

"Daddy." I called out again, pouting. I really needed to pee, but he wouldn't look at me, looking all stern and angry.

I tried to sit quietly like a good girl, but every passing minute made me more desperate, and the pressure in my bladder grew tighter.

"Daddy." I whispered, scared of bothering the Alpha during his very important call. A tear slipped down my face as I felt myself leaking into my frilly panties. I couldn't handle it anymore.

I gasped as I felt my control slip completely, a warm stream wetting my entire undergarment all the way down to the floor beneath me. My crying grew louder, instantly grabbing Daddy's attention.

"We'll talk later. This conversation isn't over." He said sharply, hanging up on his subordinate, before his expression softened as he knelt down in front of me.

"It's okay, it's okay, baby girl. These little accidents happen sometimes."

He pulled me into his lap, not caring about the wetness that soaked into his clothes.

"I tried to tell Daddy I needed the potty, but Daddy was too busy and mad, and baby girl was scared to bother Daddy." I said between sobs, burying my face in his neck.

"Daddy's sorry, little one. Why didn't you use your safe word?"

"Baby girl wanted to be good and obedient for Daddy."

"You're perfect, sweetheart. Daddy is never mad at you. I love taking care of everything that belongs to my little one, even the messiest parts."

He said, carrying me to the bathroom, stripping off my wet clothes, and placing me in the tub. He cleaned me and took complete care of me, making sure I was calm and felt safe now. He put Teddy in my arms and nodded with satisfaction, going to take a quick shower to clean up himself.

I sighed, thinking about everything that had happened. The embarrassment from the accident faded away as time passed, replaced by how much I loved the Alpha taking care of me.

In the coming days, I intentionally didn't tell him when I needed to use the bathroom right away, and I didn't beg when the Alpha refused to let me go. Instead, I purposely let myself wet myself at least once a day, pretending to look sorry and embarrassed under Daddy's reassuring words. He would drop everything and take care of me right then and there, which made me even greedier and bolder.

"Daddy, baby girl wet herself." I said with a pout, looking down and pretending to feel guilty. It was the fourth time today; I was barely using the bathroom at all now.

"Again?" The Alpha sighed, looking into my eyes suspiciously. Maybe it was my fault for looking way too happy while he cleaned me and took care of me.

The Alpha wondered, "Did she actually lose bladder control?"

"Maybe we should see a doctor."

He suggested, and the color instantly drained from my face.

"W-Why?"

"Because you can't seem to control your bladder anymore."

"N-No, I... I'm fine, it's just... a temporary thing." I said, avoiding his eyes. He just gave me a sideways smirk at my reaction.

"Or are you doing this because you're starving for my attention? Do you want it that badly? Tell me the truth." He lifted my chin, looking deep into my eyes, stopping me from looking anywhere else.

"I... that's not true." I stammered, my face turning red as the Alpha's fingers tightened around my chin.

"Manipulative girls are bad and deserve to be punished, little one. Do you really think you can play games with me and get away with it?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"An apology won't stop the punishment." He said firmly, carrying me to the bed and opening the bedside drawer.

"I've been thinking about this since you started having all these accidents. I wanted these to help ease your fake embarrassment and guilt, but they're going to be your punishment instead." He said, waving a diaper with little bears printed on it in front of me, making me gasp.

"W-What? What is that?! I'm not wearing that, I'm a big girl."

"Oh, now you're a big girl? All I see is a little girl who wets herself, and that's how I'm going to treat you until you actually act like a big girl and I decide your punishment is over." He pinned me firmly beneath him despite my protests, sliding the diaper under my hips and fastening the tabs shut.

"Don't you dare take it off, or your punishment will be worse. Trust me, I won't be merciful." He threatened, standing up and looking at my uncomfortable state with satisfaction.

"I'm not going to wet it. I'm a big girl and I have a good control." I said, crossing my arms, and the Alpha smiled cynically.

"We'll see about that, little baby."

Hours passed, and I felt my bladder filling up once again, making me crawl back over to the Alpha.

"Can I use the bathroom? Please?" I said desperately, and he looked down at me coldly.

"The diaper is there for a reason."

"Please, I'm not a baby, Daddy please, let me take it off."

"Sit like a good baby, Aria, and stop whining. You are not allowed to take it off. If you keep complaining, I'll make you wear it even longer."

I shut up immediately, sitting obediently and squirming uncomfortably under the Alpha's amused gaze, waiting for the inevitable release. It didn't take long before I froze, my eyes going wide as the full diaper instantly demanded his attention. That was the second time I'd actually done it involuntarily, not just faking it for attention.

"There you go, what a good baby filling her diaper." He said, picking me up to change me while I was still in shock, I hadn't gotten over the fact that I actually just did it like a real baby.

Two days later, I stopped resisting and no longer protested despite the discomfort. I was too excited because the Alpha promised we would go shopping, and I figured he'd finally let me take it off.

"What do you mean it's not allowed?" I furrowed my brows in dissatisfaction.

"You're going out, and everyone is going to see the nice, bulky bump of your diaper under your clothes." He answered blankly.

"Then I'm not going out."

"You are going, it's an order. And I'll drag you if you don't walk in front of me. Now." He said sternly, leaving me no choice but to comply.

I felt so ashamed the moment we found ourselves in the middle of the mall, with a lot of people looking at me strangely. The Alpha pulled me close to his side.

"Everyone knows now what a little baby you are and how you need my constant care. Everyone knows you wet yourself." He whispered near my ear, and I shivered at the public humiliation, the impact of his words hitting me hard.

"D-Daddy, please, I want to go home."

"Shut up and keep walking. Feel every step. Every single one makes your diaper rustle louder. Everyone can hear it crinkling beneath your skirt." I gasped, feeling myself grow wet for a whole other reason. Daddy's eyes widened for a second as he caught my scent.

"You really are shameless, aren't you? So wet for me in public."

My eyes watered as I leaned against him weakly while my body reacted even more.

"Beg and I'll think about going home early." He said right next to my ear, and I let out a soft whimper.

"Please, please Daddy, little Aria wet her diaper and needs to go home, please, please." I said desperately, and he chuckled softly.

"Is that all it takes to break you? Where's big Aria now?"

"Aria is a baby, please, Daddy."

"We're going now." He said firmly, pulling me to put me in the passenger seat of his car while he got into the driver's seat.

"Daddy, daddy, please, Aria needs some relief, let me grind against my wet diaper." I whimpered, waiting for the Alpha's permission.

"Is my little girl that desperate? Wanting to do that out in public?" He teased, making me wait a few more minutes, listening to my begged pleas as he started driving.

"Come on, show me how desperate you really are. Daddy will let you show him." He glanced over at me, and I didn't waste any more time, starting to shift and grind. Feeling the soggy cotton against my sensitive parts made me moan, a slow torture taking over. I needed to cum, but this wasn't enough; I needed something more, something that could touch me directly right beneath my diaper.

"Daddy, please, please, baby needs more, it's not enough." I said with a flushed face, full of frustrated tears.

"Beg more. Show me what a pathetic little thing you are."

"Please, Daddy, Aria can't take it anymore, please."

"That's enough." He growled, pulling over in a secluded spot half-hidden by thick bushes out of sight. He pulled me onto his lap, yanked my skirt all the way up, exposed my crinkly diaper, tore open one side, and touched me directly.

"Come on, cum for me. Show me how desperate you really are." I moaned out loud. After all that buildup, it only took a few touches to push me over the edge.

"Ah-ah, Daddy." I let out a soft, whimpering whine, cumming right inside my diaper. The Alpha nodded with satisfaction, neatly closing it back up, fixing my clothes, and putting me back in my seat.

"Are you going to be a good baby for the rest of the ride?" I nodded, wiping away the traces of my tears, and calmed down a bit.

"Good, rest now." I leaned my head back against the headrest, feeling myself filling my diaper like a little baby after completely giving up resistance. I felt its heavy, wet warmth as I drifted off to sleep.

His POV:

"Such a troublemaker."

He whispered, tracing the dry tear tracks on her cheeks, and carried her inside the minute they reached the house, rushing to clean her up.

"Such a mess."

He shook his head with a smile, making sure to gently clean her up. He was definitely going to end her punishment now that he had taught her a lesson she wouldn't forget, but he went ahead and put a fresh diaper on her for the night anyway. He knew very well that the omega was now completely immersed in her little role and would probably wake up in the middle of the night and wet herself unconsciously.

"I'll admit... I probably love having you as my little baby way too much. Seeing you completely dependent on me like this for even the most basic things just lights a fire in my chest."

He whispered, kissing her forehead, placing Teddy in her arms, and tucking the blanket around her before pulling back, watching her for a brief moment before heading off to take a shower.

After a few days :

Aria sighed, finally free of the diaper, no longer feeling that warm, trapped sensation around her lower half.

"Actually... all of that started because you weren't giving me enough attention."

She said, taking another bite of the dish in front of her as they enjoyed a dinner date out.

"It was only a couple of busy days, Aria. Are you really trying to blame me? You know you're my priority, and if it wasn't something genuinely important, I wouldn't have spent all that time working."

"I know... I was just... being greedy." She said guiltily, knowing she'd made the Alpha suffer the past few days and acted out.

"Don't give me that look. It's over, and you got the punishment you deserved."

He put more meat on her plate. She stayed silent, and he sighed. Slipping his shoe off, his bare foot slid all the way up the omega's leg, ending up pressing right between her thighs.

"W-What are you doing!" Aria gasped, looking around frantically.

"Mmm, must feel pretty good to be out of the diaper and feel my foot right there directly." He teased, distracting her from her earlier thoughts. Her expression shifted from guilt to surprise and then confusion.

"D-Daddy please, we're in public."

"You didn't think about that when you got wet in your diaper while we were shopping last time." He taunted, making her face flush with deep embarrassment as she whimpered at another firm press.

"Shh, be a good girl while I make you cum with just my foot."

_______________

End.

English isn't my first language, so I wrote this story originally in my native tongue and used a translator to bring it into English. I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments! Please be kind 👉🏻👈🏻

“Mess, come.”
Mess crawled across the living room to kneel in front of Sir. He held a rubber ball up in front of her face while grinning at her.
“Does my messy puppy wanna play catch.”
Mess bounced excitedly even though her stomach sank.
“Arf! Arf!” She bobbed her head up and down and wagged her tail. “Ruff!”
Sir chuckled while he lobbed the ball over her head. “Go get it!”
Mess turned her head and watched the ball bounce repeatedly before slowing down to a roll at the hallway entranceway. She trotted after it ignoring the protest in her knees and the raucous laughter that trailed after her. She pounced on the ball, stretched her mouth wide open and latched onto it with her teeth and then turned to make her way back to Sir.

“Bring it here dog! Come on! Over here!” Hank patted his knees bent forward calling here. “Come on doggy bring me the ball.”
She glanced at Sir but changed direction and headed to the chair Hank was sitting on. She stopped in front of him.
“Drop it doggy.”
She bent and let it fall from her mouth at his feet. He hit the top of her head, roughly.
“Turn,” he made a spinning motion with a finger. She turned to face away from him. When she presented her ass his palm landed on her cheek with a sharp sting.
“Arg!” She cried out. Hank laughed and did it again.
“Face on the floor, doggy.”
Mess did as instructed, dropping her cheek down to the floor and lifting her ass in the air. Hank lifted her tail to give him a better view, letting it fall down along her back. Mess flinched when she felt his fingers probe her vagina.

He skimmed the entrance along the folds and then pushed it inside. He laughed and then announced “playing fetch turns her into a wet little bitch.” He pumped the finger in and then out and then went straight to shoving in three fingers. She moaned and her face heated when the men mocked her. Hank slid his fingers out and then pinched her labia and pulled them apart, stretching her open. He let go with one hand and bent to pick up the ball.
“Hold still bitch.” He ordered and Mess instinctually clenched when she felt the round ball press against her entrance.

She jerked and yelped when Hanks hand slapped her ass cheek again. Mess forced herself to relax. “Good dog.” He murmured and rubbed the ball up and down her slit coating it with her juices. She reminded herself to breathe when he started pushing it into her. Her pussy wasn’t nearly ready for it and the plug in her ass made her entrance even tighter, adding to the resistance. It didn’t matter. He pried at her entrance forcing it open. “The tight little cunt doesn’t want to take her ball.” He growled. He pushed more and Mess cried out her fingers scratching against the floor. She breathed as he worked the ball into her vagina. She grunted when she felt the thickest part of it pop past her final resistance and then her cunt sucked the rest of it inside.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard was it.” His condescending tone grated and the flat the his palm landed hard twice on her core, sending a jolt through the tail plug and the intrusive ball inside of her. She flinched.
“All right doggy, ready?”
Mess pushed herself up and turned to watch him wave another rubber ball in the air. He threw this one hard towards the kitchen and she watched it fly through the living room and into the kitchen and heard it bounce twice before she went after it. The ball moved around in her as she hurriedly went. It took Mess a second to find where the ball landed and she made her way to it. She dug her teeth into the ball and gripped it hard as saliva pooled around it as she carried it back.

Once she entered the living room again Freddy called her this time. “Over here Messy. Bring it here.”
She nearly groaned and made her way to where Freddy was seated.
“Drop it.” He pointed to a spot on the floor and she let it go. He held his finger up and made a spinning motion to her.
Mess turned and went back to the position she was in before. She felt him tug her tail up and drop it over her back. He patted her back side.
“Awww she’s not so dumb after all.” He cooed while patting her. “Now give me the ball Messy.” He urged.

Mess nearly choked out, from the command. She swallowed hard. What!! He tapped on her vagina. “Don’t be a bad dog now, give me the ball.”

How was she….whimpering Mess squeezed her pubis trying to push the ball out of her pussy. When she felt the tail start to push out she stopped, squeezing it back in. She had no idea how she was supposed to push the ball out but not the plug. It wasn’t possible. She focused, trying to keep her ass closed with pushing on the ball. Again, it didn’t work. She whimpered in frustration and then gasped when Freddy pushed the tail plug into her, holding it in place.
“Hurry up dog.” He barked at her giving the tail a shove but keeping a hold on it.

Mess accepted the assistance and pushed harder now. Focusing. She felt it starting to come out. The fattest part of it struggling.
“You better not piss on my floor!” Sir’s biting tone rang out across the room.
She lost focus and the ball slipped back in. Ugh. Once more she pushed, holding her breath. When the ball popped out she sighed a breath of relief. The ball bounced off the side of the couch with a soft thud before landing on the floor.

Freddy picked the second ball up, the one she retrieved from the kitchen and pressed it against her entrance. Mess cried out at the idea of having to do it all over again. The only good thing was that this ball slid in much easier than that first one. This one had barely any resistance at all. Once the ball dropped into her vaginal cavity Freddy patted her ass twice more.
He didn’t wait for her to rise “ok Messy, go get it.”
She jumped up just in time to hear the ball bounce against one of the doors down the hall. She quickened after it. It was still bouncing when she reached it and it was slick with her pussy juices when she bent to fetch it.

By their 7th round of fetch Mess’ knees were screaming and she was panting from exertion. Once both balls were dropped down on the floor in front of Sir he ordered her to get a drink and she nearly wept with relief. She sent out a silent prayer that their game of fetch was over.

“I think our doggy deserves a treat after that.” Andy drew her attention as he stroked his cock in his seat. He smirked at the look of anxiety on her face.
Mess hesitantly made her way over to him, mentally preparing for the same treatment as before.
“Come get it.” He urged her.
Slowly, cautiously Mess advanced on him, her eyes darting on his watching as she lowered her face, expecting him to pull the rug out from under her again. When he didn’t and her lips brushed the tip of his cock she couldn’t help the curve of her lips.
“Awwww, the puppy’s excited for her treat.” He patted the top of her head. She happily wagged her tail and took him into her mouth.

This wasn’t a blow job like the two before at the table. Instantly Andy took control holding onto her buns/ears and bounced her face up and down on his cock. He thrust his hips up with every downward shove of her face. She couldn’t even find balance with her hands. Mess choked, gagged and struggled but he didn’t relent. She fought for every breath she could find around his thick length. She fell forward even more when someone settled behind her and shoved roughly inside of her cunt, the fit tight with the plug in her ass. She couldn’t even tell who it was because her brain couldn’t focus on anything but grasping for bits of air around the cock in her mouth and not puking on it.

The man behind her drilled into her hard, pounding against the tail with each thrust. His fingers gripped her hips painfully and lifted her knees off the floor he was fucking her so hard. She was balanced on a cock in her mouth, one in her pussy and hands gripping her hips. When someone reached over and squeezed her tit hard, Mess cried out around the cock.

Andy held her face down on his crotch as he stilled. She struggled, not able to get any oxygen. Her body tensed.
“Fuck!” Hank groaned behind her “that’s it bitch. Squeeze my dick.”
Andy’s seed shot straight down her throat and she swallowed to keep from choking on it. He let her go and she lifted her head as she coughed and sputtered. Gasping for air as her face flopped around on his thigh while Hank continued using her from behind.

He tore out of her fast, dropping her and her legs hit the floor. Trembling she sat up and looked behind her as a stream of Hank’s cum trailed from the tip of his cock to the splatter of semen on the floor.
“Clean it off!” He growled and Mess shuffled around to take him in her mouth while avoiding the mess on the floor. When he was clean and flaccid he pulled away from her.
“Okay dog, get your treat.” He pointed to the load on the floor and she bent down, lapping every drop up.

The urge hit Mess moments later. She shook her legs and looked at sir “ruff, ruff.” She pleaded at him with her eyes.
He raised his brows at her and she bounced from side to side before crawling over to the hallway that lead to the bathroom. “Arf. Arf. Arf.”

“I think someone needs to pee.” Freddy offered amused.
“Does my puppy need to pee?” Sir asked mockingly.
“Ruff!” She gestured down the hall. “Ruff. Ruff.”
Sir shook his head. He pointed to a…pee pad that was on the other side of the room she hadn’t noticed was there. “Go pee then, puppy.”
Mess looked at the pad in horror while her legs shook. Dropping her head slightly she crawled across the room. She squatted over the pad, facing the men and made sure her tail wouldn’t be in the way. It took a few seconds. She had to pee plenty of times in front of all of them so she no longer had a shy bladder. She didn’t push for fear of pushing the tail out so she just relaxed and let the stream flow. The sound of it splashing onto the pad filled the room. She wanted to avert her eyes but knew better. Instead she forced herself to make eye contact with them until she was finished. She had no way of wiping so she tried to shake off which not surprisingly the men thought was hilarious.

“I think our puppy deserves a reward.” Sir suggested to his friends.
He looked at her “does my little bitch want a reward?”
She bobbed her head “ruff, ruff, ruff.”
“You’re nothing but a little bitch in heat aren’t you.” He mused.
“Arf, arf. Ruff.” She agreed.
He reached over the arm of the chair picked something up and then the next thing Mess knew he was tossing a large stuffed animal that was covered in rope, into the centre of the room.
“Okay my little bitch. Go get your reward.”

Mess sucked in a breath and gaped at the large dog shaped stuffy. She frowned and then made her way over to it. She again made eye contact with them as she slowly mounted the stuffed animal. Her hips started rocking as she ground her cunt against it. She hated how good it felt but the abrasion of the rope rubbed against her sensitive sex. She rocked faster. Riding it. Grinding her clit against it. Within minutes the pressure was building. The shame hit her and she started begging. Making whining sounds that dogs make.

“Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!” She begged.
Sir chuckled. “Cum bitch.”
She didn’t need to be told twice. Her pussy clenched and filled with her cum, coating the rope and stuffy beneath her. She slowed, panting. Stilling.
“Don’t stop, doggy.” Andy called over. “You deserve multiple rewards. We’ll let you know when you’re done.”
“Get that cunt good and sore before you come and sit on your Master’s cock.” Sir grinned and the four of them laughed.
With a whimper she moved against the slick rope, sliding her cunt up and down on it. The rope starting to irritate her throbbing pussy.

“Another day of rave reviews!”

Katy was happy to hear the men who looked after her for once. She hated the things they said about her, especially the more raunchy of the two, but it hopefully meant the day was ending.

“It’s crazy, usually people are always complaining about the urinals not working here, but you’ve completely fixed that.”

Katy couldn’t respond, but she listened closely and maintained her posture as she’d been trained. Despite everything she’d been through this weekend, she was now a urinal, and urinals sit up straight, swallow piss, and remain silent.

Despite the dirt and smells surrounding her, Katy had found some peace in knowing there was nothing she could do about it, but that didn’t stop her from wishing she was back home in Justin’s bathroom.

Suddenly, she heard a familiar chuckle. Katy listened closely as another set of footsteps approached her.

“I hear you’ve had quite a nice time here,” Justin said as he returned.

Katy was over the moon excited to hear Justin’s voice, but she knew she couldn’t do anything to show it, urinals are emotionless she had been trained. Her breathing picked up slightly, which Justin had come to listen for, and he could see the subtle flinch of her waist as she clenched on the anal dildo and tried desperately for any feeling against her pussy.

Justin approached her, unzipping his pants to relieve himself.

“Sorry everyone, it was a long car ride and didn’t have time to stop, but I’m sure she’s happy to recognize a familiar taste.”

Katy quickly swallowed Justin’s piss as it rushed into the funnel and down her throat. She didn’t have any other option but to enjoy his gift in hopes that he’d show her mercy down the road since she made it through this terrible experience.

As he zipped his pants up, Justin turned back towards the men.

“So, no issues I assume?”

“Not at all, she swallowed every drop and was a hit with everyone. Never seen anything like it. I mean, I’ve seen a bitch drink piss once or twice, but not like this. This one really is a urinal.”

“Yeah, the other joined in, she just slept on the floor in that filthy ass stall and then kneeled here all day swallowing. Quite a grim weekend if you ask me.”

Justin had a huge smile as he looked closer at the dirt and grime caked on Katy’s skin from laying on the bathroom floor each night. It was amazing to see how they had treated her when she was nothing but an object to them.

“By the way,” one of them spoke up, “we even found leaving that remote out helped fill the tip jar even quicker.”

Justin was caught off guard. “Tip jar?”

“Yeah, we figured people could throw a couple bucks in to go towards repairing the plumbing in here.”

They all paused, looking at each other before busting out laughing.

Justin caught himself from the laughter. “Huh…you know what. Why don’t you all just pocket that cash and I’ll loan you this one here more often.”

Katy wanted to scream the second she heard what Justin had just offered. She prayed that it was a joke as they all started laughing again, but she wasn’t able to see anything and certainly wasn’t in a position to negotiate.

“What did you have in mind,” one of the men asked.

“Well,” Justin said, “I’ve taken a new job that requires me to travel some, so perhaps she can spend the weekend here once a month?”

Katy tried to hold back her tears behind her blindfold hood as the men graciously thanked Justin. She hated laying on the nasty harsh floor here, the smell of an unclean men’s room, the anal electrocutions…the only part she had found solace in was the piss.

“Hey,” Justin smiled, “you guys want to see something wild?”

Both of the men quickly nodded and smiled, waiting in anticipation.

Just slowly leaned down and inserted a special key only he had into Katy’s chastity belt. Slowly he removed the large lock and released its grip from her crotch. Katy couldn’t see but she felt a subtle rush of air against her pussy, letting her know it was free, followed by the discomfort of her massive anal dildo slowly sliding out after 3 days.

“Holy fuck,” the men both stepped forward and leaned down to inspect, shocked at the girl kneeling before them.

Justin held up the dildo for the guys to see, laughing at their shock.

“That thing is huge,” one of them said, “and looks rigid as hell.”

The other nodded in agreement, “yeah I would imagine it’s pretty fucking uncomfortable even when it’s not shocking your insides.”

Justin laughed and smiled. “Yep, it’s 8.5 inches of solid metal. The weight and girth make it impossible for her to forget, as if the electricity wasn’t enough.”

They all laughed. Amazed that she was living life with the massive object inside her ass at all times while being completely unable to touch her pussy.

“But she liked it,” Justin assured them. “She had a blast here…didn’t you?” He loved knowing the question was rhetorical, and slowly gave a gentle tug on the padlock going through her right nipple, causing Katy to exhale shakily in pleasure at the pathetically simple and small pleasure.

She hated this vile experience, yet at the same time he was right, she had never been more turned on before.

The men leaned down to admire her pink swollen pussy, now having been completely denied any pleasure, stimulation, or even touch for the last 6 months. It was glistening with precum, giving a clear conclusion that she was in fact turned on by everything she’d just endured.

“Insane, I can’t believe she’s hot and bothered by all this,” one of the men said.

“Well, thanks again Justin,” the other spoke up. “Now let’s get out of here, we don’t exactly enjoy the smell like she does.”

They all laughed and the two men began to walk out. Justin slowly pressed the massive dildo back into Katy’s ass, smiling as she subtly squirmed from the discomfort, but knowing she had no way to resist.

Next, he secured her chastity belt, locking it up tight and smiling as her pussy remained completely ignored and denied.

Slowly, he pulled Katy to her feet and led the blindfolded urinal outside to the car waiting in the alley.

Katy sat down, feeling the pressure against her ass, but welcoming the first time she’d smelled something other than a dirty men’s room in days.

Just before he shut the door, Justin leaned in towards her…

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to Katy, “I’ve already arranged for your ex Tom to move into my spare bedroom, so you can have twice as much piss when I’m here, and so he can use you himself the rest of the time while I’m gone.”

Katy wanted to cry of embarrassment, disgust, and denial, but at the same time, she had never been hornier and more turned on, and she could feel herself leaking out from her chastity belt despite it all.

She wanted to cum, but deep down she loved her new life.

She was truly nothing more than a piss whore.

Mornings: I wake up early, freshen up, prep breakfast, bring coffee to bed, and wake you up. You'd be enjoying a hot cuppa while I drink my favourite, your cum.

I'd lay out your clothes on the bed, smelling fresh and all ironed neat, while you shower. I'd then hold out a warm bathrobe for you to step into and rush to set a proper breakfast spread on the table.

Once you're seated and ready to enjoy your first meal of the day, I'd get under the table to either suck your cock nice and slow for the whole time you eat or just kneel by your feet eagerly waiting to serve you however you wish.

Once you've had your fill, you empty the leftovers into my dogbowl. I'd then stroke your cock and finish you off into my dogbowl so I can get your cum over my food. I'd leave it on the floor by your chair and follow you around, crawling by your side, while you get ready for work.

I'd make sure you have your phone, cards, everything else you need, and a packed lunch and bottle of water if you want them.

Helping with your zipper or tie, putting your socks on. You might even swat my hands away and slap me if I'm interfering too much. Then I'd help you put your boots on and lick them clean until they're properly polished and shining. That's exactly how I'd send you off to work Master, with a smile on my face and my eyes already desperate to see you again.

Home Alone: I'd then crawl over to the dining table and lap up my breakfast with my hands behind my back, kneeling by Master's empty chair.

After my delicious meal, I'd clean up, do the dishes and then get to work on Master's whole house... mopping, dusting, doing Master's laundry, and whatever else needs taking care of.

Then I'd shower, clean myself up thoroughly, wash, shave and get myself presentable.

Lunch: I'd have a tall glass of juice or yoghurt

Then I'd work on whatever tasks Master had given me and get started on an elaborate, healthy, minimum three-course dinner, because my Master deserves to eat like a King.

Evenings: I'd drop everything and go kneel by the door at least half an hour before you'd be home, just eagerly and mindlessly waiting for my King to return.

The second you'd step through the door, I'd be excited, but I'd be good and hold my position... Knees spread wide, hands behind my neck, shoulders back, chest pushed out, head bowed and eyes downcast. Ready for my inspection or to welcome you home like a King deserves to be.

Once you allow me to move, I'd happily kiss your boots, grateful that you're finally home, and help you get comfortable while serving you whatever drink you wanted - tea, coffee, juice, water, or any drink of your choice.

After that, I'd get you settled on the bed and give you a proper massage my King... rubbing your aching muscles, your shoulders, back, calves, and soles. Every inch of you would get all my attention, my warm hands all over you working out your kinks and helping you relax my King.

I'd leave you resting there while I go finish making dinner. I'd serve everything at the table and get on my knees beside you with my dog bowls in front of me. I'd eagerly wait for you to eat and serve me my food however you wished - whether throwing little pieces into my bowl as you ate or feeding me by hand or with a spoon. I'd be there to entertain you even while you ate my King.

Once done with dinner you'd relax and do your own thing watching TV or gaming while I tidy everything away and finish up in the kitchen.

Later that evening, I'd be your free use Fucktoy. All my fuckholes available for use in any way you wish, getting fucked, played with, toyed with, even playing your favourite porn so you don't get bored just fucking me my King! Licking and cleaning your cock after every use would be something that comes naturally to me.

I'd then offer you something to drink, and kneel by your feet serving as your footrest while I spend quality time finding you better hotter sluts online, messaging them and setting up meetups after consulting you and checking if you find them hot enough.

When it's almost time for bed you'd go to shower and I'd follow crawling beside you.

I'd get in the shower and make sure the water was at the perfect temperature before you stepped in. I'd use your favourite body wash with a warm washcloth to gently wash you all over, but only use my mouth to lick your cock clean my King. Then I'd help you rinse off, fetch you a robe to dry off in, and quickly finish washing myself. Then we'd brush our teeth and head to bed.

I'd crawl over to my cage, and you'd make sure it was securely locked before leaving the key nearby, just slightly out of my reach, so I'd have to struggle a little before I could let myself out in the morning, before you wake.

Then you'd get into your comfortable bed and drift off to sleep, hopefully feeling content, relaxed, and well cared for.

A little note: I've been kept denied for 3+ months now, so I was mindlessly needy while writing this for my King. Please forgive any errors or the occasional repetition of the “Then I'ds”.

My King wanted me to share it with y'all, so here it is.

Feel free to hmu, I would love to hear if you would do or want anything different.

“What can you offer me?” He growls in my ear. His knee painfully pins my shoulders down and one of his hands is wrapped deep in my hair, cranking my head back and up. The floor feels cold and hard.

“I'll…I'll let you use all my holes!” I gasp, my back arching up as far as it can go. Everything hurts as his weight bears down on me.

“Those already belong to me to use as I please. What else?”

“I'll clean your car, or your apartment or whatever you want!”

“I can order you to do that at any time, stupid. What else,” he hisses. 

I pause and choke back a dry sob. I try to think but constant pain in my scalp makes critical thought damn near impossible. I wiggle a little to see if I can relieve the immense pressure I feel, physically and mentally. I wrack my brain.

“I’ll behave!” I promise “I'll be good! I swear, I promise, you won't have to punish me again, I'll never backtalk again! I'll -”

My face is slammed into the ground, silencing me. 

He laughs coldly “Lying to me now, are you? We both know that's unlikely. If I let you up, the next words out of your mouth will probably be fuck you,”

His hand wraps around my hip and squeezes painfully. I cry out as he regrips my hair even tighter and grinds my cheek into the floor. I can feel his breath on my neck. He pauses for a beat and my own breath catches

“There is nothing you have that I can't take whenever I want. I own you. Every part of you. Everything you do. There is nothing you can offer me that I'm not already entitled to,”

A tear forms at the corner of my eye. A final damn threatens to give way as the feeling of hopelessness washes over me. My words were useless. I give final shrug as a feeble attempt to free myself, as if to prove to myself what I do matters. I get nowhere other than a sharper dig of his nails. Even struggling is useless. 

He drops his knee off my back and flattens down on top of me. I'm truly beneath him, immobilized and completely at his mercy.

“You're nothing. Do you understand?” His tone and inflection drop to a menacing pitch. I whimper in response. My mind is blank and I'm mentally reeling. His words and my physical reality are blurring as badly as my vision of the tears begin to escape. He's right. I have nothing to offer. I can't escape. He can take anything. It doesn't matter if I fight. My body crumples further under him as if to accept my place. I stop trying to fight and accept the pain. 

“You're mine,” he whispers, rubbing his cheek against my to feel the wetness of my tears. I can feel the bulge in his pants growing and stiffening. Real tears and real suffering always turn him on. His body responds to mine in a twisted dance that can't be helped. And mine responds back with a rush of arousal. I hate it and love it.

With a groan, he finally releases my hair and hip. I can hear his belt clink and in an instant, his cock slams into me. I can't help but lay there crying and limp, feeling completely broken and defeated. His hands paw at me, gripping my hips and lifting me like a rag doll. I'm just a hole for him to use.

His breathing intensifies as he fucks me brutally “fuuuck yes…. This hole is mine. Cry harder bitch, I like it,”

He reaches around and pinches one of my nipples and cruelly twists and a strangled cry escapes my lips finally. I don't beg for it to stop. It won't. I know I deserve this. 

His other hand finds my shoulder and uses it as leverage to pull my weak and limp body back harder onto his cock. He's fucking me like he hates me and I hate how much my body loves it. I hate the growing pressure in my cunt as he hits all the right spots. 

“You're not allowed to cum- if you cum, I'll make you regret it,” he growls “You're just a worthless toy I'm using to get my rocks off right now. Take it, bitch,”

I bite my lip and will my body to stop, shutdown, abort. What the fuck is wrong with you - he beat you into submission and is literally raping you!

I can't though. The final loss of control crashes over me and everything goes blank. My mind and body are no longer under my control. Humiliating noises escape me as I come apart and lose my last bit of autonomy. He can feel it and it pushes him over the edge. His nails dig in hard again as he thrusts one last time with a grunt, hard, into me and I feel his cock throb and fill me up. 

For that moment, all that exists is our cumulative heavy breathing. He lets go of me and slides out of my battered cunt. Wordlessly he stands up and walks away. My tears keep flowing and I lay completely still. 

His heavy footsteps approach me and he grabs one of my wrists. I feel metal press harshly against it and a handcuff clicks down. He secures my other wrist before I feel pressure against my back entrance. A squeal escapes me as he forces one of the large plugs I have into my ass.

Satisfied, he pulls me and turns me around. The clover clamps are placed on both my nipples and tightened down. I choke and scream and start to beg but he forces a large penis gag into my mouth. I stare up at him with desperate eyes but his expression remains cold and indifferent. He pushes me forward onto my face again.

“I told you not to cum, you stupid slut,” he says quietly “I warned you that I'd make you regret it. You know I always keep my promises,”

There's a sharp whistle and a loud crack before my world explodes in pain. He takes a switch to my ass and thighs over and over again. I scream against the gag and take it the best I can. 

It finally ends and he pulls me back up to study my red puffy eyes. I look at him pleadingly. Just take off the clamps, I try to say around the gag. Nothing but pathetic muffled mewling comes out. 

“Normally, I'd expect you to thank me for this correction, but you've lost your speaking privileges for the foreseeable future. I doubt that's what you were trying to do anyways, knowing what an ungrateful brat you are. I'm done with you. I'll beat you more in the morning”

He produces and slides a large dildo into my dripping cunt.

“Keep that in there,” he warns “my cum is worth more than you entirely. I expect you to be grateful I'm leaving it plugged up in you,”

He drags me by my hair to the closet. I awkwardly try to shuffle on my knees to keep myself upright and clench against the dildo to keep it inside me. The clamps swing and throb at the motion. My mouth, cunt and ass feel uncomfortably full. He pushes me inside the closet and unceremoniously slams the door, putting me away for the night.

It will be a long night

The limousine’s engine hummed steadily beneath us. Outside the tinted glass the private road unrolled in long gray curves toward the estate gates. Inside, the only sounds were the wet, rhythmic choke of my throat around Voss’s cock and the soft, helpless noises I made every time he pushed deeper.

I was on my knees on the carpet in the simple dress I had worn home to Jake. The fabric was already wrinkled and riding up my thighs. My bra felt tight over the bruises. My panties were soaked through, the wet cotton clinging to my swollen cunt.

His fingers stayed twisted in my hair, controlling the exact angle of my head while he fucked my throat in slow, deliberate strokes. Every time the thick head forced past the resistance of my tonsils I gagged, eyes streaming, spit pouring in long strings from the corners of my lips and dripping onto the front of my dress.

One of my hands stayed on the floor for balance. The other had already slipped under the hem of my dress, under the elastic of my soaked panties, and found my clit. I rubbed in tight, desperate circles.

The guilt was there. Of course it was there. Five minutes ago I had been in Jake’s arms on our front porch. I had felt the desperate tightness of his hold, the way his breath hitched against my hair, the soft, broken sound he made when he kissed me goodbye. He was probably still standing there.

…Or maybe he had gone inside and sat on the couch where I had ridden him yesterday… the same couch where I had begged him to choke me and use me and he had refused. Maybe he was crying. The thought landed with a dull, familiar ache.

I recognized, with a clarity that my behavior should have sickened me, that this was the worst betrayal yet. I had left him only moments ago… still tasting his clean mouth, still carrying the memory of his careful hands… and already I was on my knees in another man’s car, throat stretched around a cock that did not belong to my husband.

My fingers working frantically between my own legs while I thanked that man for spitting on my face. The old Emily would have been destroyed by seeing what I was doing. The woman I was becoming only felt the guilt as a low, almost erotic undercurrent beneath the much stronger current of arousal. It was now pure pleasure.

I was so turned on I could barely think. My cunt throbbed with every thrust of his cock into my throat and with every frantic circle of my fingers. My folds were puffy and slick, the entrance soft and open from days of hard use, my clit was so swollen I felt its desperate pulse under my touch.

I already wanted to cum. God, I wanted to cum. The primal need made my hips twitch and roll against my hand. And I wanted to make him cum too… I wanted to feel that thick, beautiful cock swell and pulse and flood my mouth so I could swallow every drop and taste him the whole way to the estate.

I was in love with his cock. There was no other word. The heavy weight of him on my tongue, the way the flared head stretched my lips, the thick vein that ran along the underside, the way he filled my throat until I couldn’t breathe… none of it felt like something I was enduring. It felt like something I belonged to. Jake’s cock had always been familiar and loving and careful. This one was huge and demanding and perfect, and every time it forced its way deeper I felt a sick, grateful heat flood through me.

Maybe if Jake had fucked me hard yesterday. Maybe if he had pinned me down and treated me like the slut I already was instead of lifting me off him and holding me carefully while I cried. Maybe if he had left his own marks over the ones Voss and the others had given me… maybe then I never would have reached for my phone this morning and told Voss to pick me up. Maybe.

Jake was devastated. He had looked at me with so much love and pain when the car door closed. And now his wife had another man’s cock in the back of my throat… and the only thing that felt important was the stretch and the spit and the low, calm voice telling me who I truly belonged to.

Voss pulled back just enough for me to breathe. Spit connected my lips to the glistening head in long sticky strings. He looked down at me… at the wrinkled dress, the spit-soaked fabric, the hand still moving under my skirt… and his expression sharpened with quiet, absolute power. “Remove your clothes,” he said. “All of them. I want you naked.”

My fingers left my clit with a soft, wet sound. I sat back on my heels, breathing hard, and obeyed. I pulled the dress up and over my head, then unhooked the bra and let it fall. The panties came last… soaked, clinging, peeled down my thighs and discarded with the rest.

The cool air of the limo touched my skin. My bruised breasts felt heavy and exposed. My cunt, swollen and dripping, was completely open to him again. The sudden nakedness should have made me feel vulnerable. Instead a deep, familiar relief moved through me. I welcomed it. The fabric had been a thin reminder of the woman who had kissed her husband goodbye. Without it I felt like myself again… marked, used, and exactly what I was supposed to be.

I started gagging as the thick head of his cock pushed past my tonsils. My hand slid back between my legs almost immediately. I rubbed my clit in tight, frantic circles, chasing the orgasm that had been building since the moment I crawled to him. The wet sounds of my fingers mixed with the wetter sounds of my throat.

“Please,” I gasped when he pulled back for air “Please let me come… I’m so close… please, I need to cum…”

“No.”

The word was quiet and final. He slapped my face hard, then shoved his dick back into my throat. My fingers kept moving on pure desperate instinct. The orgasm was right there… tight, shimmering, almost breaking…

His hand shot down, grabbed my wrist, and yanked my fingers away from my clit. “I said no.” His voice stayed level, but the power in it had sharpened. He had known I would come back. He had counted on the weakness. And now that I had proven him right so quickly, so eagerly, he was done with any remaining restraint.

“You do not get to cum. Not until I decide you have earned the right to feel anything but need. Hands on the floor.” I obeyed. My wet fingers left my neglected clit. The sudden loss made me sob around his cock. My hips jerked uselessly in the air. The denied orgasm twisted into something vicious and aching.

He kept fucking my throat while he delivered another slap to my face, then another to my tits, alternating without rhythm so I never knew when the next one would land. Each impact made my empty cunt squeeze and leak. I kept my hands on the floor where he could see them. I took his abuse like a good girl.

“You came back because you want to be worse, - don’t you, Princess?” Voss said, still calm. “You’re a disgusting wife to the man you love. You fucking want the guilt. You want the betrayal. Say it.”

I worked my mouth on him through the verbal blows… my tongue sliding, my lips stretched tight, and forced the words out between wet, choking strokes and sharp cries of pain. “I want to be worse… a disgusting wife to Jake… I want the guilt… I want the betrayal… burn it all down… this is what I need now…”

“Good fucking girl” he said as he slapped my tits hard. The pain Jake had refused to give me was the same pain my body now welcomed like a gift. My cunt didn’t care that the hand delivering it belonged to the man who was systematically destroying the wife my husband still loved. It only cared that the stinging heat on my face and tits translated into a deeper, wetter ache between my legs. The more it hurt, the more I dripped. The more I dripped, the more desperately I needed to come… and the more deliberately he denied me.

He spat again. The warm wetness landed on my forehead and ran down between my eyes. At the same moment his hand cracked across my left breast hard enough to make the bruise beneath the skin throb in a deep, sick pulse. I kept sucking, kept thanking him in broken, muffled gasps, kept taking him deeper even as my jaw ached and my throat burned and my tits burned hotter with every slap.

When he pulled back again for a longer moment, spit connecting my lips to the head in glistening ropes, I risked it. My hand slid back between my legs while he looked down at my ruined face. My fingers found my clit again… swollen, slick, aching… and I rubbed in frantic little circles, chasing the edge he had stolen from me.
“Please,” I whispered, voice wrecked. “Please let me come… I’ll be so good… I’ll do anything… just let me come, please…”

He noticed immediately. His hand closed around my wrist again and tore my fingers away. This time he held my arm out to the side and delivered three sharp, deliberate slaps directly to my open, dripping cunt. The pain was bright and perfect and cruel. My whole body jerked. A broken cry tore out of me. Fresh wetness flooded onto the carpet.

“No,” he said again, quieter now, more absolute. “You will stay denied. You will stay desperate. That ache between your legs is mine now. I am going to keep you raw and empty and dripping until the only thing you can think about is how completely you belong to me.

He released my wrist. I left my hand on the floor, shaking. The denied need was so vicious I could barely breathe around it. My clit pulsed and burned. My entrance fluttered and leaked. I felt owned in a way that went deeper than the cock in my mouth or the slaps on my skin.

Voss pushed back into my throat and resumed the same steady rhythm, using me without urgency, as if he had all the time in the world to unmake me. He slapped my face. He slapped my tits. He spat on me and made me hold the spit on my tongue until he told me to swallow. He forced me to look up at him while I choked. And through all of it he kept the same calm, satisfied certainty… the look of a man who had finally been handed full permission to destroy and rebuild.

“You texted me while you were still in his bed,” he said while he held himself deep. “While his arms were around you. You lied so you could crawl back to me faster. That was the last free choice you get to make. From this moment on I decide what you feel, what you need, what you are allowed to want. Your life as his wife ends here. Your life as my property starts now. And I am going to keep you so desperate for the rest of it that you will never again remember what it felt like to be anything else.”

I moaned around him, the sound pure helpless agreement. My hips kept twitching, seeking friction that was no longer allowed. The emptiness between my legs had become a constant, vicious hunger that made every breath shaky. I lived in it now… wet, open, denied, thanking him for every new humiliation and every bright flash of pain while the man I loved was almost certainly breaking somewhere behind us.

The gates of the estate appeared through the glass. Voss slowed his strokes, holding me there with my throat full, my face a shining mess of spit and tears and the red marks of his hand, my tits burning, my cunt throbbing and empty and aching with a need so complete… it felt like another form of ownership. Then, without warning, he pulled his cock free of my throat.

I gasped, chin soaked, mouth open and empty. He wrapped one hand around his thick, glistening cock and began to stroke himself in long, deliberate pulls, the head aimed directly at my upturned face. I stayed on my knees, lips parted, eyes wet, waiting like the ruined thing I was.

“Open,” he ordered quietly. “Tongue out. Do not close your eyes.” I obeyed. He stroked faster, the wet sound of his fist loud in the quiet of the limo. A low groan left him. I was so happy to know he was cumming.

Thick, hot ropes of cum striped across my face, forehead, cheeks, nose, open mouth, and tongue. He kept stroking, painting me thoroughly, until the last pulses left sticky strands dripping from my chin onto my bruised breasts. The heat of it, the sheer filthy weight of being marked like this, made my empty cunt squeeze so hard I almost cried.

“Wear it,” he said, voice calm and absolute. “Do not wipe it off. You will crawl into the house with my cum on your face so everyone who sees you understands exactly what you are now.”

I stayed still, breathing through the mess, feeling it cool on my skin. The guilt flared once… Jake’s face, Jake’s careful hands, the clean life I had just abandoned… then melted into something darker and wetter. I wanted this. I wanted to be seen like this. I wanted the proof of what I had chosen written across my skin.

My hand moved without permission. I wiped two fingers through the thickest stripe of cum on my chest, gathered it, and brought it down between my legs. I rubbed his sperm over my swollen clit in slow, desperate circles, coating my aching bud with the same cum that covered my face. The slick warmth of it made my hips jerk. The need spiked so hard my thighs trembled. I was so close again…so close…

Voss’s hand closed around my wrist yet again and stopped me. “No.” The word was soft and final. He forced my hand away and held it. “You do not get to cum, Princess... Not until I decide your desperation has ruined you thoroughly enough. You will stay exactly this wet, exactly this empty, exactly this needy. Get used to this feeling, it is your new life now, Slut.”

I nodded, shaking, face dripping, clit throbbing under the thin layer of his hot cum that I had managed to smear my clit with. My denied cunt twisted into a deep, vicious ache that felt permanent. The nakedness, the cum on my face, the unanswered need between my legs… all of it felt so hot, yet so torturous.

“The old Emily is now dead… Jake’s loving wife… is dead,” he said quietly, delivering one final, deliberate slap across both breasts at once so the pain bloomed deep and perfect. “What’s left is mine. And I am going to make sure she never comes back.”

I moaned, in a sound of pure helpless agreement, and I stayed on my knees like it was the only thing I still knew how to do… my face stinging, tits throbbing, cunt dripping and denied and coated in the cum he had ordered me to wear. I knew I was a terrible person for putting myself back in this situation… but I accepted the ugly truth… that this was what I needed now.

The car slowed. The gates opened. Voss tucked himself away with calm precision, then looked at me… naked, marked, shaking with denied need, his cum drying on my face and smeared across my clit with complete ownership.

“On your knees when the door opens,” he said. “You will crawl into the house. You will not stand until I allow it. You will not touch that dripping cunt until I give you permission. And you will thank me for every meter of floor you cross while you stay exactly as desperate as you are right now.”

I stayed on the carpet, thighs slick, clit pulsing with vicious, unanswered need under the thin film of his seed, and waited. The guilt was still there, a dull stone in my chest. Somewhere behind us Jake was probably still trying to breathe around the hole I had left in his life. But the guilt no longer stopped me. It only made the heat sharper.

The car door opened. Cool evening air touched the drying cum on my face and the wet, swollen flesh between my legs. I stayed on my knees exactly as ordered and crawled forward onto the stone driveway.

Every shift of my weight made the thin film of his seed pull and jiggle across my cheeks. The stone was rough under my palms and knees. My tits hung heavy, still burning from the last slap, and my empty cunt kept leaking to the sweet degradation.

The driver stood holding the door. He didn’t look away. This was the same man who had driven me home to Jake only yesterday… who had watched me step out in my dress and walk toward my husband’s arms. Now he watched the thick stripes of Voss’s cum still glistening on my face, the red handprints across my bruised breasts, the way my thighs shone. A deep shame rose inside me, and it melted into a sinful heat… sending more of my slick wetness to run down the inside of one thigh as I crawled like an animal.

Voss walked behind me, unhurried. “Eyes forward. Tell him what he is looking at.” I kept crawling, voice weak and cracking. “I’m just a filthy fucking whore… crawling and covered in cum. Thank you for looking at me.” The driver said nothing back... He only smiled and watched as I crawled past him and up the wide stone steps into the entrance hall.

Sophia stood waiting inside, naked except for the thick black collar locked around her throat. Mr. Drummond stood slightly apart from her.
The sight of him sent a dark, immediate pulse straight between my legs. I was happy to see him. The realization that I wanted his and Voss’ cocks inside of me together would have sickened the old me… Instead, more fresh slickness slipped from my aching wet hole and fell onto the floor.

Drummond stepped into my path, looked down at the mess of cum and spit already covering my face, and spat on me. The warm glob landed across my cheek and the bridge of my nose. I tilted my face up, mouth open, and let it slide toward my lips. “Thank you, Mr. Drummond,” I said. “I’m very happy to see you.” I meant every word.

Voss’s voice came from above me, calm and absolute. “The swing.” The black leather sex swing hung from a heavy beam in the center of the next room. Sophia and Drummond hauled me up without gentleness. Leather straps cinched under my thighs and across my back. My legs were pulled wide apart and locked so my cunt and asshole hung completely exposed. My wrists were dragged above my head and buckled tightly.

When they stepped away I hung suspended, weightless, helpless. My thighs forced so wide the stretch burned. I could not close my legs. I could not hide anything. I was completely vulnerable and I’d have no way of stopping them from doing anything they wanted to me. I was at their mercy.

Voss stepped between my spread thighs holding a curved black vibrator already humming at a low, mean setting. He pressed it directly against my clit and strapped it in place with a thin locking band around my hips. The constant buzz sank into me at once… too low to push me over, too steady to ignore.

He then took out a sheet of paper… a single page that he attached to the chain that was just above my face and held a pen close to my lips. It was a contract.

“Emily,” he said softly. “I want you to know that I’m doing this because I care about you. I want to show you your purpose. I want you to accept it. Embrace it… so you can be happy. You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” I nodded.

He continued in the same calm, intimate voice.
“You came back to me on your own. You left your husband’s arms and crawled into my car because you could not stay away. But that choice has a price... “

His next words shook me to my core.

“You will agree there will be no money. Not for you. Not for Jake. Not for the mortgage. Not for Tyler. Nothing. If you want me to keep doing this to you, it will be permanent.” My eyes filled with tears as he continued. “Your brother’s treatments become Jake’s problem. I owe none of you anything. In exchange for voiding our original deal, I will allow you to live here with me. I will keep you, degrade you, and use you as my freeuse pet. You are my property.”

Horror slammed through me hard enough that for a second the vibrator felt distant. “No… no… please. Tyler’s my brother. He needs those treatments. You can’t….” Voss nodded to Drummond. The thick head of Drummond’s cock pressed against my asshole and pushed in without mercy.

The stretch was brutal. Inch by inch he forced himself deep into my ass until I was skewered completely, my empty cunt hanging open and already beginning to drool onto the floor in clear, shameful strings that stretched and broke with every slow rock of the swing. Tears streamed down my face as he began to fuck my ass in heavy, deliberate strokes while I hung there helplessly, wrists locked above my head, thighs forced so wide the stretch burned in my hips.

Sophia moved in front of me, lowered her head, and smiled as I cried. “It’s pointless to fight it, Emily. They’re destroying your life like they destroyed mine.” Then she took one of my bruised breasts into her mouth. She sucked hard on the tender flesh, teeth grazing the darkest marks, tongue working the nipple until pain and the vibrator’s constant low buzz collided in a sharp, sickening pulse that went straight between my legs. Every pull of her mouth made my empty cunt leak harder, fresh wetness slipping out and dripping onto the growing puddle beneath me.

I forced myself to picture Tyler’s thin face in the hospital bed, the machines, the treatments that kept him alive. I forced myself to remember Jake’s careful hands, the way he had held me on the porch only hours ago. I tried to say no again, to scream it, but the words kept breaking apart between Drummond’s deep thrusts and the sharp, wet pulls of Sophia’s mouth on my aching tits.

“Please… don’t take it from him… ah… fuck… Tyler needs…” I pleaded.

“You don’t want to think about that anymore,” Voss said softly, almost kindly. “You don’t want to deal with mortgages or hospital bills or being a good wife or a good sister. All of that is heavy and complicated and exhausting. Once you sign the fight ends. You wake up every day already wet and owned. Used whenever I want… you’ll just be property. And every time you remember Jake or your brother the guilt will only make you wetter because you’ll finally understand you were never meant to handle any of that. You were meant to be a dumb whore who doesn’t have to think.”

Sophia bit down on a particularly dark bruise hard enough to make me cry out. Drummond fucked my ass harder, the wet slap of his hips against me loud in the hall. He reached around and spread my cunt lips open with two fingers so the cool air touched the soaked, neglected flesh that kept fluttering and leaking with nothing inside it. “Look at that,” he muttered. “Fucking drooling. Pathetic.”

I shook my head hard, tears and spit flying, the swing creaking with every desperate movement. “I can’t… I can’t do this to them… please…”

Voss’s voice stayed almost tender, the same calm tone he used when he was most certain. “Yes you can. Your body already is. Stop pretending you still care about any of those problems. Stop carrying all that weight. The second the pen leaves the paper the old Emily dies and all that’s left is my good girl… a dumb little fucktoy who doesn’t have to think or decide or worry ever again. The relief of not having to be responsible will feel better than any orgasm Jake ever gave you. You already feel it, don’t you? Even while you’re horrified. Even while I’m taking everything away. Your cunt keeps answering for you. Just sign it and be done with it.”

The vibrator surged for several cruel seconds, the sudden stronger buzz slamming into my swollen clit. My back arched hard in the restraints. Even with knowing my life was being ripped to shreds, I was terrifyingly close to orgasm, the edge was rushing up so fast my thighs trembled. Voss noticed and turned it back down to the same low, mean hum. I sobbed in pure desperation as I hung helplessly in the swing, the denied climax twisting into a vicious ache. My empty cunt spasmed and released another long, thick string of wetness that stretched all the way to the floor before it broke.

They’re going to take everything from me. From Jake… from Tyler.

My ass is full and my cunt is just leaking like none of it matters.

I want him to call me good girl again.

I want to cum so badly I feel sick with it.

If I sign it’s forever and the old me dies.

The only one who can stop this is me.

But every deep thrust, every sharp bite, every low relentless buzz is making it harder and harder to care about anything except how empty and desperate I am.

Voss held the pen a little closer to my mouth, the tip almost brushing my lower lip. “You already know you’re going to sign,” he murmured. “There’s no stopping what you started when you came back to me. The only person who can end the suffering is you. Right now the only thing you can truly think about is how desperately you need to cum. That is the truth of you, Emily. Not the loyal wife. Not the sister. Just a dumb whore who wants to stop thinking and stop dealing with everything.”

Sophia moved to the other breast and sucked harder. Drummond fucked my gaping ass in long, relentless strokes that made the swing rock and creak, every thrust forcing another clear string of slick from my empty, neglected cunt onto the puddle below. I hung there completely open… ass stretched full, tits being bitten and sucked, clit under constant denied torment… and felt the old Emily listening in pure horror while the rest of me only got wetter and more desperate. I wanted her to die.

My voice came out broken, shoved from my throat by the next brutal thrust. “If I sign… will… will you let me cum?” I gasped. “Will you promise to take care of me? Forever?”

Drummond hammered my ass even harder, the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of me loud and obscene. My empty cunt drooled in long, clear strands onto the growing puddle beneath me, my whole body shaking with the need to cum.

Voss looked at me for a long moment, then held the contract directly in front of my face so I could see every word, the pen pressed gently against my lower lip. “Yes,” he said softly. “Sign it and I’ll take care of everything. The moment the pen leaves the paper the old you dies. No more problems. No more thinking. No more trying to be a wife or a sister. You get to be a dumb whore who gets to cum and be used and be exactly what she was made for.”

I hesitated. My teeth trembled around the pen. Tears kept falling in thick drops that mixed with the spit and cum already drying on my face. I could still feel the shape of the old Emily screaming somewhere deep inside… begging me not to do this, not to abandon Tyler, not to destroy Jake, not to throw away everything. For a few endless seconds I almost pulled back. My jaw shook. My eyes blurred. The swing creaked as my body trembled between the two of them.

Then Drummond drove in especially deep, and the vibrator pulsed just enough to make my vision blur and my empty cunt clench around nothing. The last of my resistance cracked with an almost physical sensation, like something inside my chest finally giving way.

I bit down harder on the pen, leaned forward as far as the restraints would allow, and scrawled my name across the bottom of the page in a shaking, desperate, uneven line.

The moment the signature was complete something inside me was murdered. The fight that had been holding the last pieces of the old Emily together was deliberately, consciously ended by me. There was no sudden peace. Only a vast, hollow, sick relief mixed with the clear knowledge that I had just finished destroying the people I claimed to love… and that some dark, wet part of me was already grateful the thinking was finally over. Now I could just cum.

Voss’s voice was warm with quiet, almost loving pride as he looked down at the fresh signature and then at my ruined, tear-streaked face.

“Good girl. I’m so proud of you, Emily. Proud of you for betraying your husband. Proud of you for abandoning your brother. Proud of you for destroying everything… just so you could stop thinking and become my freeuse whore. The old Emily is dead. You killed her yourself with that signature. What’s left is a dumb little fucktoy that doesn’t have to deal with anything ever again… no mortgage, no hospital bills, no guilt that isn’t useful, no decisions. Just a set of holes that exists to be degraded and abused.”

He stepped between my forced open thighs. I felt the thick head of his cock press against my empty, dripping cunt, sliding through the mess of slick that had been leaking onto the floor for so long. He pushed in my needy wet cunt with one slow, relentless stroke, filling the neglected hole completely while Drummond stayed buried deep in my ass. “Fuuuuuuuck yesss” my lips uttered as he finally slid inside of my available hole.

The double stretch was overwhelming… the two thick cocks dividing me, owning every part of me at once, the pressure so intense I could feel them almost touching and rubbing together through the thin wall inside me.

They began to fuck me together, heavy and synchronized, the swing rocking hard with every deep thrust. My body was nothing but sensation: the brutal fullness in both holes, the vibrator still buzzing against my clit, Sophia’s mouth still working my bruised tits. An evil rush of ecstasy crashed through my body as I felt the full weight of the complete betrayal and the full destruction of my own life.

“I’m your whore,” I sobbed, the words broken and desperate. “I betrayed them… I abandoned Tyler… I destroyed everything just to be fucked like this… I’m your filthy owned good-girl whore… I’m going to cum so fucking hard…”

The orgasm rose like a tidal wave, unstoppable. My whole body tightened around both cocks at once. I was right there… muscles locking, cunt clenching hard around Voss, my ass filled by Drummond, the edge of orgasm was so close it felt inevitable, my vision starting to white out from the pressure…
Voss calmly reached down between my open thighs and switched the vibrator off.

The sudden absence of the buzz was devastating, a cruel drop that left my clit throbbing and abandoned. Then both men pulled out at the exact same instant, leaving me completely empty.

My gaping holes squeezed around nothing, still spasming from the interrupted climb. The building climax had nowhere to go, no fullness, no vibration, nothing to push it higher.

Voss’s hand cracked across my face hard enough to snap my head to the side, the sting blooming hot across my cheek.

“No… what are you doing?” I cried, voice raw. “I was right there… I’m cumming… I’m…”

My orgasm hit. But it was ruined.

“Nooooo! Please use me more… hurt me!” I cried as my empty cunt clenched and spasmed in powerful, rhythmic pulses, fluttering and dripping thick strings of wetness onto the floor with nothing inside it and no vibration to carry it over the edge. My ass fluttered around the phantom stretch of Drummond’s cock, still trying to grip what was no longer there.

Wave after wave of pleasure tore through me incomplete… sharp, aching, unfinished… never cresting, never releasing, just endless helpless spasms that left me shaking and sobbing and even more desperate than before. I hung in the restraints twitching and dripping, the ruined climax ripping through me without mercy or satisfaction.

Voss stood between my spread legs and watched every spasm, every helpless clench of my abandoned cunt, every tear that slid down my slapped cheek. He watched the way my body kept trying to finish what he had stolen.

He smiled, small and absolute. “Suffer for me.” he said quietly. “Your orgasms belong to me. The old Emily is dead. You don’t have to think or deal with anything ever again. This is what you were made to be… a dumb whore who cums only when I allow it, and who suffers when I don’t.”

I hung there, still twitching, still dripping, the signed contract hanging above my face, and felt the last pieces of the woman I used to be finish dying while my body continued to pulse with the aftermath of a climax I had not been allowed to have properly.

Then Voss looked at me - right in my broken eyes as he said “Now we video Jake and tell him the news.”

My heart instantly shattered while my used cunt ached for more. My destruction was nearly complete. And I had signed for it.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Please upvote this story if you liked and are ready for the final chapter.

"You're wearing one, aren't you?"

I felt something close to panic rush through me, and turned in my seat to find a woman sitting at the stool next to mine. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and was wearing a sleeveless red dress that ran to just above her knees. In the somewhat shadowy lighting of the pub, I caught a glimpse of black stockinged legs. Her nails were painted a deep red that matched her dress. I met her eyes with an expression that must have betrayed all of my panic; because as I did, she put her hand to her mouth and laughed, apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Ha-ha! I don't know what I'm saying. I mean, I don't even know you!"

There were a lot of people sitting at the tables spread throughout the cavernous beer garden, but only a few of us up here at the bar. The bartender, a nice-looking blonde-haired girl of about 30, was all the way at the other end, and no one seemed to have noticed my interaction with this mysterious stranger. But once I recovered from my surprise, I relaxed a little. "That's okay", I told her. "Have you had a few?" It was hard to tell.

The woman was still giggling at (I think) her own brazenness, and shook her head while she raised a mostly full glass of draught beer. "Not at all. I just...noticed you over at that table, and, well..."

I followed the general direction of her gesture. It was starting to make a little sense now. She'd indicated a table in the back where about twenty people were sitting around. I'd never been to a BDSM meet-up before. I'd sat down, made some small talk, felt a little awkward, and then wandered away. I'd realized that I didn't quite feel up to socializing; and besides, the Mets were playing. Up on the TV, their leadoff hitter was getting himself set in the batter's box.

"Ah", I said, nodding. Still, how did she...? I glanced down at my black jeans to reassure myself that no one could possibly tell. But I was still confused. "I didn't see you there, though," I said, still avoiding the question with which she'd started our interaction. "I think I would have noticed."

She smiled at that. "I was hiding at that other table", she said, pointing. "Waiting and watching like a creeper. Lost my nerve. But it didn't seem like you really knew anyone in the group. You were brave to go over there!"

"Oh, it was nothing really."

"But then I saw you walk over here."

I nodded, taking a sip of my Blue Moon- mostly just to give myself a second to muster the genuine courage that I suddenly felt I needed. "I guess I was just feeling a little out-of-place", I shrugged. "You're right- just about everyone over there seemed to know each other." I met her eyes- large and brown with a hint of green (or so the atmosphere of the shadows in the bar made it seem)- and forged ahead with what I needed to ask. "Ah- you can't really tell, can you...?"

"Tell?" She looked at me blankly.

"Well, you know- you asked me if I was wearing one? You can't, like...see it, right? Through my...jeans?"

Her eyes opened wide, and she smiled with what seemed like a mixture of amusement and awe, cupping her hands over her mouth again as she laughed. She just shook her head for a few seconds. She looked like she'd found a very cute but very exotic animal out in the wild. "Oh my god. You really are?"

My leg started to tremble a little, though I couldn't really say why. I felt myself blush, and took another sip of Blue Moon to try to mask it. "I guess there's no point in trying to deny it now", I chuckled.

She laughed again, at first loudly enough that a few people down the bar glanced our way, but then she got herself under control. "Nope. No point", she said, meeting my eyes. "I really don't know what came over me. And no, don't worry, I can't see..."- she glanced downwards briefly, towards my legs- "...your, uh, little secret." Now she was looking somewhere past my glass of beer. Her voice sounded far away. "I just...I don't know, I saw you walking away from that table, I knew the meet-up was for BDSM, and I guess I put two-and-two together. Something told me...that guy's locked." This last word was delivered with more emphasis but also more quietly than the rest- she seemed to have moved past amusement, to some other emotion that I couldn't quite read. More like fascination.

"Well", I said, not making eye contact and staring at her beer perhaps in much the same way she was staring at mine, "it was a good guess. What brought you to the meet-up?"

"Hmm." She seemed to smile to herself. "That's for me to know."

"And for me to find out?"

She shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe."

"You're very mysterious. Can I at least know your name?"

She extended a hand. "Lily."

"Chris, nice to meet you."

After we shook hands, she put her feet on the floor and slid her stool a little closer to mine. Then she sat back down. "Don't worry", she said, "I'm not trying to hit on you. I just...well, I know I can't see it."

I looked around. The bar wasn't crowded, but there were still people around. "Yeah, I don't quite feel like getting arrested tonight."

"You would be getting handcuffed", she pointed out.

"That's true. But not in the context I'd prefer."

She laughed, and touched my shoulder briefly. "I know I can't see it, but could I maybe...feel it? Just for a sec?" She put her hand to her face again to stifle a peal of laughter. "God, I'm such a perv."

I looked around again. No one seemed to be paying attention to us, but I suddenly felt very conspicuous. Partly perhaps because ever since Lily had moved her stool closer to mine, I'd been pressing against the cage harder than I had been all night. I took a deep breath and, in hopes of collecting myself, I glanced up at something completely non-sexual- the baseball game- except that they were between innings, and a commercial was showing a joyful nuclear family piling into a new car. Luckily, that was sufficiently deflating, for the moment. I glanced back at Lily without quite making eye contact. I thought that if I did, I might lose it again. "Sure", I said.

A few seconds later, while I stared at my half-drunk Blue Moon, I felt a red-nailed finger tap me on the front of my jeans- once, twice- and it produced a sound that (I hoped) only she and I could hear. But the hardness of the plastic was enough to convince her, and she leaned forward over the bar, stifling a sudden fit of giggles. Meanwhile, I did my best to compose myself and not give in to the sudden insane arousal I was experiencing, which- if I had abandoned my senses- could have led to my trying to hump the bar. Finally, she met my eyes with the same mixture of amusement and wonderment that I'd noticed before. "Oh my God", she said, smiling. "I love that. That's so great. That's amazing."

Just then, the bartender wandered past, noticed our drinks were still mostly filled, and didn't intrude.

I laughed a little at her reaction, and allowed myself to move my own stool a little closer. "You act like you've just seen some rare animal."

"Well, I've never actually seen one of you boys out in the wild before. I mean...locked up and all."

"I'm glad you like it", I said. "I think."

"So..." She seemed to have gotten control of herself, and now she was quiet again, fixing me with an expression that was still amused, but also somewhat serious. "So where's the key?"

"At my apartment. Not too far away. Keys, that is."

"Oh. More than one?"

"Well yeah, I have a spare. For emergencies, that sort of thing."

She nodded. "That makes sense. It's a valuable thing you're keeping locked up." This last line was delivered with a smile, and I felt myself press helplessly against the cage again. Helpless in two senses, that is; in one sense that I wasn't getting out of there anytime soon without one of the keys, but in the other that I'd had no chance, in that moment, of not trying to get hard. Her words had been like a direct message straight to my penis. My four limbs felt loose, relaxed, and I was a little dizzy- none of which, I don't think, had anything to do with the beer.

"I suppose."

"So you just...if you don't mind my asking, do you have someone who, like, holds on to the keys, or...?"

"Ah, no, no...not at the moment", I said, keeping my voice low. "Sometimes I just put the cage on for a little while to, you know..."- I felt myself blushing again- "...to tease myself."

"How long is a little while?"

"Oh, not too long usually. I'd say the longest I've ever gone- with the cage, anyway- has been about a week."

Her eyes widened and the awe came back to her face. But at the same time, the information seemed to give her pleasure. "A week? I can't even go for...ahem." She fixed me with a mock-stern expression. "That's privileged information."

I laughed. "Wait, so you get to know how long I go, but I don't get to know how long you...?"

She stuck out her tongue. "That's right, mister. That's not the kind of thing a lady talks about."

"What a raw deal." I shook my head, still smiling, and tried not to stare at the movement of her black stockings as she crossed her legs. I'd gotten a glimpse, however, and suddenly I was once again trying very hard to break out of my tiny prison. Could she tell? I had the feeling that she could, and that she liked it (both that I was trying to escape and that I couldn't, that is), but maybe it was just wishful thinking.

We settled into what felt to me like a comfortable silence. After a few moments, I realized that she was looking up at the TV. The game was back. "So this is baseball", she said, sounding like someone who'd just arrived on Mars and discovered the detritus of an incomprehensible game.

I confirmed her statement. "This is baseball."

"Who's playing?"

"Well, it's the Mets against the Braves." My own voice sounded strange to me. There was an emotional and almost physical toll to bringing myself out of the reverie that I'd suddenly found myself in, to focusing on the real world again. "The Mets have had a pretty good season, but they have to win either tonight or tomorrow. Otherwise they miss the playoffs, and the Braves get in. I like the Mets."

She nodded. "So they're one game away from the playoffs?"

"Mm-hmm."

She moved a little closer to me, touching my shoulder again. It felt like my arm was fighting off a powerful electric current, and suddenly I could barely sit still.

"But if they don't win one of these last two games", she began, a little quieter than before, "It would be like...well, it would be like they'd gotten so close to what they wanted, and then at the last moment it was taken away from them? By the...Bears?"

"The Braves, Lily. The Bears play football. But yes, I think that would be a fair description of their...predicament."

"That sounds like it would be really frustrating", she suggested. "Not just for them, but for you."

"I think it would be. I hope it doesn't happen."

She repurposed her hand towards the task of picking up her drink, and smiled as she shrugged; as if it were a matter of total indifference to her. Which I suppose it was. "I guess we'll see."

On TV, the Mets' shortstop hit a single, and cruised into first base. "Do you remember bases?" she asked, again looking up at the TV.

"Bases...uh, what do you mean?"

"You know, when you were a teenager. Did you and your guy friends talk about bases? Like, sexual bases?"

"Ohhhhh, right. Yeah. I vaguely remember that whole concept."

"First base was..."

"I think first base was...kissing."

"Mmm." She smiled at the thought, and I casually (I hoped) pressed down hard on the edge of the bar, using all my strength. All this pent-up energy had to go somewhere. I'd managed briefly to relax inside the cage for a few moments, but I hadn't had enough time to recover. Talking about this was getting increasingly frustrating. A million thoughts were racing through my head.

"Second base was..."

I shifted in my seat, exhaled, and picked up my glass, noticing that my hand was trembling. I put the glass back down without drinking from it, not wanting to take the chance of spilling it. "Second base was...well, from a male perspective..."

She made a gesture. "Naturally."

"Second base was...well...touching a girl's breasts."

Her eyes sparkled and she touched my hand with hers. "How thrilling!" The cage suddenly felt very small.

"Indeed." I did my best to sound casual, though I wasn't sure it was working in the slightest. I'd have had to be a master thespian, which I wasn't. "Third was...again, from a male perspective, a...blowjob. I don't remember much talk of going down on a girl in the world of adolescent boys, but I guess that might have counted. I'm not sure. And home base..."

She interrupted me, fixing me with a genuinely curious look. "Do you think it should have counted?"

"What? Oh, you mean..."

She watched me, smiling.

"Well, uh...yeah, I do, actually. I mean, it's not exactly the same thing, but I think...I think there's a different kind of pleasure to be found in..." I paused a long time. "Serving."

She merely continued to watch me, the smile on her face growing. "What a sweet boy", she said, as if to herself.

I was worried I was about to break the cage from inside. I cleared my throat and tried to compose myself, but I couldn't stop my legs from shaking, and my voice came out more high-pitched than usual. I coughed, cleared my throat again. "And then home base is...well...home is home."

"Self-explanatory", she agreed. "So, just going by the male perspective on sexual bases, excluding for a moment your enlightened twenty-first century views on serving, you couldn't even reach third base or home right now, could you?"

A million conflicting emotions ran through me again in the course of a few seconds. "Well, I...I'm physically capable. I would just need...my keys."

"Back at your apartment", she said, meeting my eyes.

"Yes", I answered, trying to breathe. "Back at my apartment."

"Well", she said, smiling, "I was just speaking hypothetically, anyway. Don't worry. I don't want to test your resolve." She couldn't quite get through that with a straight face, however, and she must have seen the look of disappointment that suddenly came across mine, because she started to laugh again. She reached over and brushed my hair back from my head.

Grinning and leaning closer to me, she asked, "What about seeing a girl naked? Or maybe in some cute lingerie or something?"

"That I'm capable of even without the keys", I promised, unable to keep a note of hopefulness out of my voice.

She giggled harder. "No silly, what base is it?"

I considered. "I...don't think it was a base. But now that you mention it, maybe it should've been."

On TV, the Mets got another hit, and the player on first went into an all-out sprint, rounding second and within a few seconds diving into the dirt for third.

She shook her head. "Now see, look how fast these guys are rounding the bases. Don't you think they should be going a little more slowly?"

I shook my head, but in a way that indicated agreement. I was ready to agree with just about anything she said, actually. "They're not really savoring each base", I observed. "There's no way he enjoyed second, with how quickly he ran through it."

"That's what I mean", she said. "I think guys should go slow around bases, don't you? I mean, really slowly."

"Well sometimes they don't even finish", I pointed out.

She gasped in mock horror, putting her hand to her face. "What a terrible fate!"

"I mean, this guy"- I gestured to the player who'd just hit a single to make it first and third with two outs- "could get stranded on first, if the inning ends."

She shook her head back and forth. "That would be so sad." Unable to help herself, she smiled. "Stranded on first." She repeated the phrase once more, as if she actually quite liked the idea. She reached over and brushed my hair again, and I allowed myself a quick kiss on her wrist. "Stranded on first", she said one more time. "Something about that is kind of hot, you know? Not that I'd want to keep a guy there forever." She paused, considering. "But the thought of keeping him there for a while, without knowing when he's going to be rescued...mmmm. I like taking it slow."

I had started to notice within myself a strange desire to agree with her opinions on this issue. "First base is underrated."

Her hand touched my thigh, tapped the cage again, and suddenly I had to hold on to the bar to steady myself. My toes contracted, my cage shrunk, and I had to take a few deep breaths so the other people around us wouldn't think I needed medical attention.

"I'm glad you think so", Lily said. "How far away did you say your apartment was, again?"

Lacey and I were on a “break”.

Her stressful job, spending almost all of our nights together, the fact that she was mine (and was still adjusting to that fate) all combined to overwhelm her. Our relationship was still fairly new, and intense. I didn’t blame her. Her need for what I did with...to...her could be overwhelming I’m sure.

Big feelings are hard to process when you are used to being the one in control, the one making the important choices, the life or death decisions in some cases.

So when she told me she needed some time to be herself, I accepted it. We are all adults...sort of, here. So I stepped back for a few weeks. We had exchanged texts, she felt that was safe enough, but I hadn’t seen her since that day. They say that “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, they undersell it with that trite phrase. It just stoked the fires of need, worship and lust to new heights, but I gave her the space she wanted, until tonight.

Don’t blame me, I was at one of my normal restaurants, sampling the grilled octopus appetizer when she walked in with someone, who, to my eye, appeared to not be me. After a second look, it definitely wasn’t me, solidifying in my mind I wasn’t having some sort of out-of-body experience. Neither Lacey nor Not-Me looked my way when they walked in, and were eventually led to a table towards nearer the bathrooms, which immediately lowered my already rock bottom opinion on this other man.

Lacey looked amazing, though she’d have to try hard not to. A grey, almost silver long sleeve sweater dress hugged her body, falling to her knees with a small slit up the side. The neckline plunged low, but not tawdry, sexy without sacrificing class. Black boots and black hose covered her dancer’s legs, drawing the eye. I let my eyes creep up and eye fuck the hell out of that gorgeous ass as she walked out of sight.

“So this is what we are doing is it?”

She knows damn well this is my place. I introduced her to Mariscos De Sol, best seafood in town. Her dinner the night before our first night out was “a hard cider”, before that? A cold cut sandwich. My point is she was too busy and stressed to step back and enjoy the finer things in life, like this octopus, which not even Lacey showing up with someone could ruin, though it was a near thing. I still made sure to finish it quicker than normal, so she couldn’t taint it’s memory.

I called the waiter over and asked for another beer, something cheap and American, because I can. I needed to keep my wits about me. I wasn’t about to lose control when obviously games are afoot.

“Check that, bring me two.” I tell him.

I stood up as he walked away and headed to the restroom. I didn’t bother to sneak, this is my domain, as I made my way past where Lacey and her date were sitting, I didn’t even look beyond marking their location. Business completed, I washed my hands and stepped out into the dim hallway, almost immediately running into Lacey.

Her eyes got wide, but not in way that indicated she was surprised to see me, more the unexpected location. As if she knew I may be here, but not where she wanted to meet me. She stepped back against the wall.

Without a conscious thought, my hand reached to grab Lacey by the throat, claiming, the slightest pressure to remind her it was there, with minimal force, pushing her against the wall. I stepped forward into her space and stared into her eyes, listening to the hitch in her breath as I took physical control of her.

“You know this is my favorite place, kitten.” I said, moving my lips near her ear. “Did you really bring some fuck boy here?”

Lacey’s breathing quickened, “He’s a coworker, another DOCTOR. Not some...fuck boy.”

I laughed, my hand reaching down to her thigh and sliding up the outside of hose, nails scraping along the hemline of her dress. “He can’t give you what you need, little one. He’ll disappoint you, leave you wanting. Wishing.” With the last word my hand moved up, pulling the dress up with my hand, exposing now bare skin.

“Oh you good little slut, thigh highs? You know those are my favorite.” I tell her.

She sputters, “They aren’t for you!”

“Oh OK kitten, I believe you completely.” I give her in my most sarcastic voice. “I definitely would find my favorite pair of green panties under there would I?”

“N...no. No you wouldn’t,” she said, stuttering before finding the her groove.

I smiled at her, my free hand tugging the front of her dress lower, exposing the top of her delicious C cups. I leaned down and sunk my teeth into the top of one breast, biting and nibbling before sucking it, marking it, claiming it as mine.

Her groan and whimpers were instinctual, inadvertent and entirely out of her control. Bright red, fading to pink where my teeth had dug in, I pulled her dress up and covered it up.

“OK kitten, keep running.” I said, releasing her and heading back to my table, leaving her propped up by the dim hallway wall.

Erik set the last candle down and looked over the four of us still lying on the mats, covered in the beach scene made of hot wax.

“Clara and Lot, you may remove the wax. Peel it off carefully.”

Clara and I sat up and began working the coloured layers free with our fingers. The wax came away in satisfying sheets and flakes, pulling lightly at the red skin beneath. Soft tearing sounds filled the room as blue water, yellow sand and green palms were stripped from our bodies and dropped onto the mats.

Lena and Daniel were not given the same instruction.

Sofia pointed to a clear space on the floor.

“Aside. Inspection position.”

Lena rose and stood with her legs wide, hands behind her head, the remaining wax still clinging to her breasts, stomach and thighs. Elena grapped Daniel by his hair and pulled him up: "Stand up, don't be so slow". Then Sofia took one of the medium floggers, stepped in front of them, and began striking the wax away.

The first strokes landed across Lena’s upper breast and shoulders, knocking loose the thicker pieces. Then Elena also picked up a flogger and started with Daniels breast.

Then Sofia moved lower, flogging the wax from Lena's breasts in steady, measured swings. Each impact made a heavy leather sound and sent flakes of coloured wax flying. Lena’s face quickly crumpled. Tears gathered and spilled over.

Tim spoke in a low, almost clinical voice.

“She’s crying again already. From this.”

Sofia did not slow down. But the strokes still seemed light and controlled.

“She still treats every sensation like an emergency. That is exactly why we continue.”

The flogger moved lower, clearing Lena’s stomach and the fronts of her thighs. When only the wax on her pussy and the soft inner folds remained, Sofia adjusted her stance and delivered a single, precise stroke directly between Lena’s legs.

Lena’s voice broke.

“Yellow”

Sofia stopped at once. The room went quiet except for Lena’s ragged breathing.

I kept my eyes down while I peeled a long strip of blue wax from my own stomach, but my thoughts raced. The way Sofia handled her seemed genuinely harsh to me. I could not imagine living inside that kind of constant, deliberate pressure for weeks or months. When Tim took me to similar intensities it was for one evening or a single weekend, after which there was always aftercare and time to recover. Watching Lena cry so openly from what still looked like a controlled, almost light flogging, made something twist in my chest. I knew my own tolerance was higher; the same strokes would have burned and stung, but they would not have pulled tears from me so quickly. And Daniel was standing next to Lena, and also he was not in tears.

Sofia glanced at the other Dominants.

“She needs a longer pause, and she needs to see the difference.”

Erik nodded.

“Clara and Lot, stand in the line. Present your cunts.”

We stood shoulder to shoulder, feet wide, hands behind our heads. Lena was kept in her inspection position a few steps in front of us so she could watch.

One by one the Dominants took a light flogger and struck us directly between the legs, single, deliberate strokes meant to clear any last traces of wax and to demonstrate control. The leather snapped against my already sensitive pussy with a bright, stinging flash that made my hips jerk, yet I stayed silent and upright. Clara took hers with only a sharp inhale. Daniel received a carefully aimed stroke across the base of his cock and balls and merely clenched his jaw. It was not his first one as almost al wax was cleared of his body already. Each of us was hit in turn, the sounds clean and controlled, until every remaining flake of wax had been knocked from Lena’s body as well.

By the time the last stroke fell, Lena was still crying quietly, but the immediate pressure on her had eased. The rest of us stood in line, skin raw and throbbing between our legs, showing her without words how the same pain could be received differently.

Sofia finally lowered the flogger.

“Kneel. All of you.”

We sank down in silence. The beach scene was gone. Only red, marked skin was left.

We were ordered back to our places. I knelt beside Tim’s chair, wrists crossed behind my back, eyes down. Clara returned to Erik’s side, Lena to Sofia’s, and Daniel to Elena’s. The room felt quieter now, the sharp energy of the wax and flogging settling into something heavier and more formal.

Erik glanced at Clara.

“Another round of drinks. Use the tray.”

Clara rose, reattached the nipple clamps to the special serving tray, and moved carefully around the circle collecting orders. The weights of the glasses pulled visibly on her breasts as she walked. When she finally returned and distributed the coffee and wine, she knelt again without being told.

Erik set his glass down.

“We will close the evening properly. While each Dominant speaks, every submissive will bow fully, forehead to the floor, arms crossed behind the back. You will remain in that position until told otherwise.”

I folded forward at once, forehead pressing against the cool floorboards, arms tight across the small of my back. Around me I heard the soft sounds of the others doing the same.

Daniel, however, placed his hands flat on the floor instead of crossing his arms.

Elena’s voice was immediate and cold.

“Incorrect. Up.”

Daniel rose. Elena pointed to the cane. He fetched it, presented it across both palms, and bent forward. Three sharp strokes landed across his already bruised ass. He returned to the full bow without another mistake, forehead down, arms correctly crossed.

Only then did Elena begin.

“I found the evening instructive,” she said calmly. “The level of protocol was consistent, and the shared canvas exercise worked well and was vert fun. Watching the differences in pain tolerance and obedience between the four submissives was useful. Daniel received exactly what he needed: clear structure, visible consequences, and enough intensity to keep him from sliding into bratty resistance. I leave satisfied.”

She paused.

“Daniel. Sit up and evaluate the evening. What did you learn, what did you experience, and how do you feel.”

Daniel rose only to a kneeling position, eyes still lowered.

“I learned that I still need strong external pressure before I drop properly, Mistress. When the stimulus is high enough I stop fighting and simply obey. I experienced humiliation and physical pain, both of which I needed. Serving with my mouth while being flogged, and later being used as part of the wax canvas, put me in the headspace I struggle to reach on my own. I feel calm now, and grateful that I was not allowed to remain bratty.”

Elena gave a small nod.

“Acceptable. Forehead down again.”

Daniel folded back into the deep bow.

We remained folded forward, foreheads pressed to the floor, arms crossed tightly behind our backs. The position left my neck aching and the heavy plug shifting with every breath, but I did not move. Around me I could hear only the quiet breathing of the other three submissives and the soft clink of Erik setting his glass down.

Erik spoke in his usual calm, measured tone.

“This was a successful high-protocol evening for our guests, and a useful training night for my own slave. The structure we discussed prior to the evening worked well. Protocol was observed at a high level, corrections were applied immediately, and the shared exercises, particularly the wax canvas, created the right combination of endurance, humiliation, and group accountability. I was pleased with the overall discipline in the room.”

He paused, and I heard the leather of his chair shift as he turned slightly toward Clara.

“Clara continues to show her greatest strength and her greatest weakness in equal measure. Her obedience is instinctive and deep; she drops into service without resistance and accepts public correction without argument. That part of her training is solid. The difficulty remains her ass and her tendency to vocalise discomfort too readily. Tonight reinforced both the house rule and the consequence for noise. The additional clamps and the repeated exposure to larger plugs served their purpose. She leaves the evening with a clear reminder of where she still needs to improve.”

His voice stayed even, almost clinical.

“I leave satisfied. The presence of other trained submissives gave her useful mirrors for both behaviour and endurance. We will continue the same programme at home.”

He waited a moment longer, then addressed her directly.

“Clara. Sit up. Evaluate the evening: what you learned, what you experienced, and how you feel.”

I heard the soft sound of Clara rising from the deep bow to a kneeling position. Her voice was quiet and carefully controlled.

“I learned again that my Master’s standards do not change when guests are present, Master. The rule about silence and the rule about the plug were both enforced exactly as they are when we are alone. I experienced repeated humiliation when the larger plugs were shown to me and when I was corrected in front of the others. I also experienced the physical difficulty of the nipple tray and the clamps. Serving drinks while the weights pulled on my nipples kept me focused and ashamed in a way that helped me stay in the right headspace.”

She swallowed once.

“During the wax exercise I was afraid of making a sound and causing punishment for everyone. That fear made me concentrate harder than usual. When I did earn group punishments I felt responsible and small. Overall I feel used, corrected, and clear about what Master expects from me. I am grateful the training continued even with others watching.”

Erik gave a single nod that I could sense more than see.

“Acceptable. Forehead down.”

Clara folded forward again into the full bow. The room returned to silence except for the low hum of the air and the occasional soft shift of a Dominant’s glass. I stayed perfectly still beside Tim, cheek against the floorboards, waiting for the next voice.

Sofia’s voice was clear and composed.

“I found the evening productive. High protocol was maintained at a level that left little room for laziness, and the presence of other Dominants allowed me to observe and adjust in real time. The shared canvas exercise worked especially well for exposure and endurance. For my own slave the night was focused almost entirely on her weakest point, pain tolerance and the tendency to treat discomfort as something that should stop.”

She paused briefly.

“Lena received more intensity than she is used to: the prolonged stress position, the clamps, the layered flogging, the forced orgasm under impact, and finally the removal of wax by flogger rather than by hand. She used her safeword once, which was respected, and then continued. That is progress. Seeing the other submissives take similar or greater sensation with less visible distress gave her a clear mirror. I leave the evening satisfied with the work that was done and with the help that was offered.”

Sofia’s tone remained even as she addressed her slave.

“Lena. Sit up. Evaluate the evening. What you learned, what you experienced, and how you feel.”

I heard Lena rise from the deep bow to a kneeling position. Her voice was soft and still slightly rough from earlier crying.

“I learned that the level of pain I want to be able to accept is still higher than what I can take without breaking into tears, Mistress. Tonight showed me exactly where that gap is. I experienced more continuous intensity than I have before, the position, the clamps, the flogger, the vibrator, and the way the Dominants increased everything when I came. It was overwhelming and often not pleasurable in the moment. I cried more than I wanted to.”

She took a small breath.

“I also experienced the difference between myself and the others. Watching them take strokes and corrections with less reaction made me understand why Mistress keeps training me this way. I am thankful to the other Masters and to the other slaves for being part of it. Their presence and their example helped me see the level I have asked to reach, even when it was hard to stay in it. I feel sore, tired, and clearer about what still needs work. I remain grateful that Mistress continues to push me, and that the others were willing to help.”

Sofia was quiet for a moment.

“Acceptable. Forehead down.”

Lena folded forward again into the full bow. The four of us remained there in silence, waiting for the final pair to speak.

We remained in the deep bow, foreheads pressed to the floorboards, arms crossed behind our backs. While the silence stretched before Tim spoke, my thoughts turned to the words Lena had just offered.

I was quietly amazed by her. Only nineteen, already living inside a demanding dynamic, and still able to kneel there and thank the room for the very pain that had made her cry. She was setting the bar high, higher than I had expected from someone so new to regular training. She struggled openly, used her safeword when she needed it, and yet her final words had been full of gratitude rather than complaint. Something about that combination: the honest difficulty and the clear willingness, settled heavily in my chest. It made me both respectful and a little smaller in my own submission.

Tim’s voice pulled me back.

“I’m glad we were invited tonight,” he said calmly. “This was our first high-protocol group evening, and it gave us exactly what we came for. The structure was clear, the standards were consistent, and the other Dominants handled my submissive with the right balance of firmness and attention. Lot was tested in endurance, silence, pain, and public obedience. She made one vocal error early and was corrected for it. After that she held protocol well. Watching the different training approaches, especially the long-term pain work with Lena and the service focus with Clara, was useful for both of us. We leave the evening happy we joined and clearer about the direction we want to take our own dynamic.”

He rested his hand briefly on the back of my head.

“Lot. Sit up. Evaluate the evening: what you learned, what you experienced, and how you feel.”

I rose from the bow to a kneeling position, eyes still lowered, the plug shifting inside me as I straightened.

“I learned that high protocol in a group is heavier than I expected, Master. The constant awareness of every Dominant’s eyes and the knowledge that any mistake could affect the others made every order feel sharper. I experienced the marble task, the clothespins, the wax, the group punishments, and the corrections. Some of it was physically hard, some of it was more psychological. I struggled most with staying completely silent when the pain landed on the most sensitive places.”

I paused, choosing the next words carefully.

“I also watched the other submissives closely. Lena’s willingness to keep going even when she was overwhelmed stayed with me. She set a high standard tonight. I feel tired, marked, and very owned. And I feel grateful we were allowed to be here. The evening showed me both where I am strong and where I still have room to improve. I’m happy we came.”

Tim gave a single, quiet nod.

“Acceptable. Forehead down.”

I folded forward again into the full bow beside him. The four of us remained there in silence while the Dominants finished their drinks.

Erik set his empty glass down and looked around the circle.

“High protocol is over for the evening. Submissives may stand, look freely, and speak.”

The shift in the room was immediate. I rose slowly on stiff legs, blinking as I lifted my eyes for the first time in hours. The other three did the same. Soft, careful conversation began between each pair.

Tim turned me gently and began unbuckling the full-body harness. The straps peeled away from my marked skin with small tugging sensations. He folded the harness neatly and returned it to Erik with a quiet word of thanks. My wrist and ankle cuffs were unlocked next. The sudden lightness felt strange. Tim held out a short summer dress he had brought in the bag. I stepped into it; the soft fabric settled over my still-sensitive breasts and the fading red marks. Before I could adjust it, Tim leaned close.

“The plug stays in. Erik requested that every submissive leave the house still wearing one.”

“Yes, Master,” I answered quietly.

A few steps away, Sofia was handing Lena a set of stunning dark lingerie, a sheer bralette and matching panties. Lena put them on first, then stepped into a simple shirt and short pants. Her thin silver collar remained locked around her throat. Daniel had already pulled on ordinary jeans and a t-shirt. He was speaking softly with Elena when she suddenly fisted a hand in his hair, forced him back to his knees, opened his mouth with two fingers, and spat directly onto his tongue. He swallowed without being told. I only caught the motion from the corner of my eye and did not hear the words that had preceded it.

Clara, still completely naked except for her collar, moved between us.

“Would you all come with me for a few minutes? There’s a quieter room where we can talk.”

We followed her down a short hallway into a small, warmly lit sitting room with low couches and floor cushions. The door closed behind us with a soft click. For the first time all evening the four of us were alone together.

We settled onto the cushions. Clara spoke first, her tone calm and practical.

“Daniel, what was the spit for? I only saw the end of it.”

Daniel gave a small, self-conscious huff.

“I asked Elena if we could skip the usual bedtime protocol tonight because I’m tired. She said that question itself proved I still needed the reminder. So she gave me one.”

Clara nodded as if that made perfect sense.

Lena looked at me.

“You were very quiet most of the night. How was it, your first time in a high-protocol group?”

I smoothed the hem of my dress over my thighs, feeling the plug shift inside me.

“Intense. Heavier than I expected. The marble task frustrated me more than the pain did. When I finally spoke out of turn I knew immediately it would cost me. The clothespins and the wax were hard, but the constant awareness that any sound could punish everyone else was the part that stayed with me most. I learned a lot about my own limits and about how much protocol changes the feeling of every order.”

The conversation turned to Lena. Clara asked the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind all evening.

“Your pain training looks really demanding. How do you keep going with it?”

Lena’s hands rested quietly in her lap.

“It is demanding. Some days I hate it. Sofia builds it slowly but she doesn’t back off just because I cry. Tonight was one of the harder sessions I’ve had, especially in a group. I’m starting to understand that the crying is part of the process for me, not a reason to stop. I’m grateful the other Dominants and the rest of you were part of it. Seeing how the rest of you took sensation helped me more than I expected. I want to reach the level where pain doesn’t break my posture or my silence so easily. I’m not there yet, but I want to be.”

I studied her for a moment.

“You’re only nineteen. How did you end up in something this structured so young?”

Lena gave a small, almost shy smile.

“I already knew I was submissive when I met Sofia last year, I know that for some years now since I saw a movie with some sort of BDSM in it. Solfia and I talked for months before we started anything physical. I asked for the structure. I asked for the training. The intensity came later, when I told her I wanted to get better at accepting pain. She warned me it would be uncomfortable and often not fun. I still wanted it.”

Clara tilted her head.

“Can you tell us more about the actual training scheme? Where did you start, and what is the end goal?”

Lena nodded slowly, gathering her thoughts.

“We started very small. At the beginning it was only hand spanks over clothes, then bare, then a soft belt. Clamps started with just a few minutes on my nipples while I did homework. Wax was only a few drops on my arms. The rule was that I had to stay still and keep my breathing even. If I cried or moved too much, we simply repeated the same level the next day instead of progressing. After a couple of months we moved to longer sessions, heavier implements, and combining things, clamps while being flogged, stress positions while she used a strap on my thighs. Now we have structured evenings almost every day: sometimes pure endurance, sometimes mixing pain with forced pleasure so my body starts to get confused about what it hates. The end goal is that I can take a full heavy session: cane, longer flogging, strong clamps, temperature play, without collapsing into tears or losing my position. I want to be able to stay open and present even when it hurts a lot. Sofia says we’re maybe halfway there. Some weeks I feel progress. Other weeks I feel like I’m back at the beginning.”

Daniel leaned forward a little.

“How do you actually measure progress? What counts as improvement for her?”

Lena answered without hesitation.

“We keep it quite concrete. At the start of each month Sofia writes down what I should be able to take by the end of it, for example, ten minutes of medium clamps while holding a stress position, or a certain number of strokes with the belt without breaking posture. If I reach it three times in a row with controlled breathing and no safeword, we move the target up. If I fail repeatedly, we stay at the same level or even step back for a week. She also films some sessions so we can watch afterwards. That part is hard, because I have to see exactly where my face changes or my shoulders tense. But it makes the progress measurable instead of just a feeling.”

I asked the next question.

“What does a normal training evening look like for you now?”

“It depends on the day,” Lena said. “Three evenings a week are pure pain-endurance. I might be ordered into a squat or a standing present position, clamps go on, and then she works with a flogger, a strap, or the cane for a set time. No vibrator, no soft words, just the instruction to stay open and breathe. Two other evenings are mixed: she uses the wand or her hand while she flogs me, or she makes me edge while the clamps are on. Those are the sessions where I get most confused, because my body starts wanting the pain to continue so the pleasure doesn’t stop. One evening a week is lighter or focused on positions and service, so I don’t burn out. And almost every night, even on rest days, I wear at least light clamps for a while or hold a short stress position before bed. It never completely stops.”

Clara’s voice was quiet.

“How do you handle the days when you really don’t want to do it?”

Lena was silent for a few seconds.

“I still do it. That was one of the first agreements we made. I can use Yellow or Red if something is truly wrong, but ‘I don’t feel like it’ is not a reason to skip. On the hard days Sofia usually starts slower and reminds me why I asked for this. Sometimes she makes me say out loud what the goal is before we begin. It doesn’t always take the resistance away, but it reminds me that I chose the direction. Afterwards I usually feel clearer, even if I cried a lot during it. The gratitude comes later, when I notice I took something this week that I couldn’t have taken two months ago.”

Daniel frowned slightly.

“And the end goal, once you can take a full heavy session without breaking, what then? Does the training stop?”

Lena shook her head.

“No. The goal moves. Right now the target is to stay composed through a heavy session. After that she wants me to be able to take the same intensity while also serving, bringing her a drink, holding a position for her comfort, or focusing on her pleasure while I’m in pain. Later she wants the pain to become something I can accept as background during longer protocol periods, not just during dedicated training scenes. She says the real end point is when pain is just another tool she can use freely without it interrupting my submission. I don’t know how many months or years that will take. I only know I agreed to keep going until we’re both satisfied.”

I watched her while she spoke. The way she described the structure, concrete targets, filmed reviews, mixed sessions, the refusal to let short-term reluctance stop the work, made the whole programme feel much more deliberate than I had first understood. It was not simply “Sofia hurts her a lot.” It was a long, planned progression with clear milestones and an end state that went far beyond basic endurance.

Clara exhaled slowly.

“That’s a lot more systematic than most people would expect from a nineteen-year-old’s dynamic.”

Lena gave a small nod.

“I know. But I asked for systematic. I didn’t want vague intensity. I wanted to actually change what I can take.”

We sat with that for a while, the weight of her words settling between us.

I asked the next question almost carefully.

“And the student house? How did the other girls agree to what they see?”

Lena’s voice stayed calm and matter-of-fact.

“We told them the truth early, before we even moved in together on the top floor. We sat down with the whole house one evening and explained that I’m her submissive, that she gives me orders in the apartment, that I have clear safewords, and that nothing sexual or with implements happens where they can see it. We set the boundaries together: in the shared kitchen, living room and hallway she can tell me to kneel, to fetch things, to wait quietly, or to go to our rooms for a correction. No nudity outside our two rooms, no toys visible, no impact where anyone else can watch. They’ve seen me kneel beside her chair while we all watch a film. They’ve heard her say ‘We’ll deal with that upstairs’ when I make a mistake. Some of them still look a little surprised. Most of them treat it as normal now. And one of the girls even asked us if we could not do a bit more in the shared rooms of our home. She was intressted in the punishments for example, but that is a limit for me. As she is a good friend of my I did show her the damage after a few of my sessions. I would not be suprised if she once will join us on a munch or take a dominant boyfriend to our home.”

She glanced around at us.

“It helps that the house is already quite open about sex. Almost everyone is sexually active, people bring partners home, and no one is shocked by noise or by someone walking to the bathroom half-dressed. Our dynamic is just another version of that openness, only more structured. When a new housemate was considering moving in last semester, we had the same conversation again with her present. We explained everything the same way, answered her questions, and made it clear she could always speak up if something ever made her uncomfortable. She moved in. So far it’s been fine. They know they’re allowed to ask if something ever looks wrong. That seems to be enough for them.”

Clara nodded slowly.

“So the whole house basically knows you’re owned, even if they only see the lighter parts.”

“Yes,” Lena answered. “They know I belong to her. They just don’t see the heavier training. That stays behind our door. But the fact that they accept the visible part, the kneeling, the orders, the way I speak to her, makes the whole dynamic feel more real to me. It’s not only something that exists when we’re alone. It’s part of how I live in the house.”

We sat with that for a while. Lena’s description left a quiet weight in the room. The combination of her age, the deliberate long-term pain programme, the clear goals, and the way the student house had been brought into the edges of their dynamic made her submission feel both very young and unusually considered.

Finally the attention turned to Clara.

“What’s it like for you?” I asked. “Almost 24/7?”

Clara exhaled slowly.

“It’s ordinary to me now. I wake up owned. I go to sleep owned. Most of the day is simple service and protocol, how I walk, how I speak, when I am allowed furniture, the plug I wear whenever Master wants it. The difficult parts, like the anal training, never really stop; they just become part of the background. Some days I feel very small and very safe at the same time. Other days I feel frustrated and still do what is expected anyway. The consistency is what holds me. I don’t have to decide who I am in the dynamic. It’s already decided.”

We sat with that for a while, four submissives in different places along the same path, comparing the weight of the evening and the shapes of our own dynamics.

Eventually Clara glanced at the clock.

“They’ll be ready for you to leave soon.”

We returned to the living room. Tim was already standing with Erik near the door. I moved to Tim’s side. He rested a hand on the back of my neck, warm and familiar.

We thanked Erik and Clara properly. Erik shook Tim’s hand and gave me a brief, approving nod.

“You both did well for a first evening. You’re welcome again.”

Clara, still naked and quiet, opened the front door for us. The night air felt cool against my marked skin. Tim guided me to the car with the plug still seated deeply inside me, the short dress brushing over places that still throbbed.

As we drove away from the house I leaned my head against the seat and let the whole evening settle: the protocol, the pain, the other submissives’ voices, and the quiet knowledge that we had taken a new step together.

Kate sighed and ignored the first text from her husband. He knew the Friday glass of wine by the harbor was her sacred space, unwinding a week’s worth of bullshit and being the Wonder Woman her team desperately needed.

His second message made her gasp.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, pulling her phone out of her oversized purse to make sure she wasn’t imagining it.

There he was. Or at least, there were his abs, his forearm flexed as he held the waistline of his boxers, and a boner that looked ready to rip through the fabric. A shamelessly slutty pose, but he knew exactly the effect it would have on her.

She realized she was standing in the middle of a parking lot admiring her husband’s package, before she gulped and scrolled up to see what the hell he thought was an appropriate pretext to that photo.

“Come home. Right now.”

Kate’s temperature rose, her face flushed, she squeezed her thighs together under her loose floral skirt. She didn’t even bother responding to the message. She didn’t have to. They both knew she would drop whatever she was doing and she’d be in the driveway within fifteen minutes.

Jack, utterly satisfied with himself, lit a candle on the coffee table then set Kate’s favorite decorative pillow in the corner of the entryway, right behind the front door. She wouldn’t need to go far. He lounged on the white couch underneath the front window, still in only his boxers. He wasn’t worried about voyeurs, their street wasn’t busy on a Friday at 1:00 and the trees shaded the window from anyone on the sidewalk. As far as he was concerned, anyone who made it up to the window was welcome to enjoy the show.

His index and middle fingers teased the underside of his cock while he waited, but he hardly had begun to find a rhythm when he heard a car door slam shut. ‘That’s my girl,’ he thought with a grin as he got up to meet her in the foyer.

Kate’s face lit up when she found her husband standing just inside the front door. Getting on her tippy toes she wrapped her arms around his waist and melted into his arms, smearing lipstick on his chin and lower lip as they kissed for what felt like the first time. Jack’s heartbeat felt like a drum pounding on her chest, while her hands practically subconsciously moved from his back to begin stroking his cock and gently tracing his balls. He felt so heavy in her hands, it was in that moment that she realized how badly she missed this.

Jack slowly pulled away at just the right moment and placed a finger over her mouth. “Take everything off except for your underwear, then wait on that pillow.”

She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed a sense of disobedience. She didn’t want to wait. He knew it, too.

Practically reading her mind, Jack quipped, “You shouldn’t have ignored my first text.”

He playfully swatted her butt and he stepped back, Kate left reaching out to keep a grasp on his manhood.

Standing inches out of reach, his eyes locked onto hers, he held up his hand, and startled her with a loud snap.

“Now.”

Kate was taken aback. ‘Did he really just fucking snap at me? Like I’m a dog?’ was her first thought, but that wasn’t what the feeling that grasped her. What stood out most was that she felt her panties literally soak as she watched hi raise his hand and snap his fingers, practically in slow motion.

Her hands crossed at her waist so she could pull off her tank top, slowly lifting it so that her boobs slid out on display for him with her arms up. After dropping it at her side, she reached back to unzip her skirt and let it fall to her feet. Stepping out of her flip flops and messily kicking everything into a pile by the front door, and wearing only her cheeky lace underwear, she positioned herself on the large pillow that he’d set down for her.

Kate noticed how his breathing sped up after her shirt and skirt came off, and was pleased at how his boner began flexing and straining while she knelt down. If he was calling the shots, she understood that the pleasure was going to be all hers.

She wiggled down and rested her butt on her feet, eagerly clasping her hands behind her back and sitting up with perfect posture.

“Is this okay?” she purred.

Jack strode forward, somehow still in his boxers with a visible spot of precum marking the tip of his penis. He put his legs up to her body and let his bulge slowly settle on her lips.

“If you have to ask, you must know the answer, baby. Turn around and face the corner for me.”

Kate was able to quickly shuffle around so that her back was facing Jack and her nose was in the corner. She didn’t even have time to take a breath before she felt his hand firmly spank her right ass cheek.

“Not a sound,” he ordered, before another spank on precisely the same spot.

Kate gulped in air and closed her eyes. Three more spanks on her right side forced her to bite her lip and exhale through her nose as slowly as possible. She’d always practiced distracting herself with happy thoughts through the more cruel moments of BDSM sessions, but the irony was that she had never felt more at peace than she did in this exact moment.

“Pull your underwear up. Higher, good. Now place your hands through the waistband. No, here’s what I mean,” Jack guided Kate’s hands through the panties and practically had her giving herself a wedgie, her fingers intertwined with the lace fabric halfway up her lower back.

He planted a kiss on the top of her head, noticing that her eyes glanced up to meet his while still obediently keeping her face in the corner.

“That’s a good girl. Now stay quiet.”

Five spanks landed in quick succession on the left side of Kate’s ass. Harder and much more rapid than those on her right, she felt her knees buckle momentarily, but the punishment was over as soon as it had begun.

Another kiss on the top of her head, this time with Kate’s eyes closed while she sunk into the confluence of physical stress and submissive ecstasy.

“You’re doing great, baby. Now keep your eyes closed and turn around. You can release your hands and use them.”

Despite the lack of vision, and searing pain on her backside, she moved much more elegantly than before when first had to rotate atop the pillow.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Jack warned, as he slipped his boxers off and laid them on his wife’s head. The degradation of being used as a clothes rack, for his boxers no less, was lost on Kate. She wanted to obey, but more than anything, she wanted his cock, and this meant she was finally getting closer to earning it.

While those thoughts danced through her head, Jack laid the tip of his penis on her lips and his wife reflexively parted her lips and slid towards it. Slowly her head crept forward until he was filling her mouth, and after a brief pause to unhinge her jaw, she kept going until there was not more room and Jack could feel the familiar gurgle of his penis touching the back of her throat.

His palm settled on the back of her head and he gently held her there, not forcing her any further, but also not allowing her to move. Ever so slightly pushing his hips forward, he had completely closed her airway, causing stronger gurgles to tickle his penis and the drool began to leak out the sides of her mouth.

Kate was allowed one second’s reprieve to catch her breath, and then it was back in. She was thankful for air while also disappointed that she couldn’t last longer for him.

Jack took two steps back, his hand gently pulling her hair up to hold her in place.

“Come with me.”

He turned, tightening his grip and twisting a handful of dark hair between his fingers. Kate unclenched her hands from behind her back and leaned forward fingertips touching the hardwood, spread out to keep her long nails from scraping the ground as she expertly crawled in lockstep with her husband. He walked slowly, savoring the moment, knowing that his wife’s eyes were alternating from his feet to his penis, proudly bouncing with each step.

Her knees burned, as did the tops of her feet from the crawl across the house to their living room. Every inch of this house was immaculately decorated, but Kate’s vision was a blur apart from floor beneath her and her love next to her. Finally they reached the living room and he sat down, rather ungracefully, on the thick cushions of their white couch. Precum flicked onto the floor, the couch, and onto her chest. The anticipation had gotten to Jack as strongly as it had Kate.

With her hair released, Kate snapped back into her proper posture, despite the stinging in her knees. Jack’s hand abruptly gripped her chin and pulled her in for a kiss. With her kneeling and him on the couch, she felt surrounded by him, closing her eyes to enjoy both the submission and the safety of this moment.

A yelp escaped her lips when she felt his hand slide into her underwear and a finger pressed into her clit. She couldn’t resist any further, and melted down into his firm grip. Her hips’ tiniest shifts led to an avalanche that began in her stomach then flowed through her clit down to the tips of her toes and back up to her hair. Her entire being felt electric, like a surge of power had been unleashed by Jack’s commands and control of her body.

Kate’s eyes looked up, finding the eye contact she needed for unspoken permission to cum. A deep breath escaped that under any other circumstance it would have sounded exasperated, but this meant release and relief. Her feet scrunched, thighs flexed, and she let her body quake. Despite her uncontrollable motion, Kate’s only point of contact with Jack remained the pad of his middle finger on the most delicate and sensitive part of her body.

The seconds felt like hours, and she would have collapsed had his other hand not caressed her shoulder at the perfect moment. Jack looked down at her heaving chest and had found his mark. Standing up, his cock already straining from watching Kate in ecstasy, he used her wetness to stroke himself up to the edge.

“Head back.”

Kate only heard his voice as an echo through a long tunnel, but she obliged, automatically cupping her breasts in her hands and pressing them up towards him. Subspace had put the two of them onto the same plane, she knew exactly what he was going to do.

“What do you want?”

“Please, oh my god I need you to cum on me right now, baby. Oh my god I…”

Jack erupted, the first of his release landing between her neck and collarbone while the rest of his cum coated Kate’s chest and the perfectly manicured nails that held her boobs on display for him. The thickness stuck to her and she felt her heart rate increase as he continued to cum, what felt like at least twice as much as their usual lovemaking sessions.

The two remained in this position, first breathing rapidly and slowing down in unison, for an unknown amount of time. Kate held her hands still even as she felt drips slide down in between her fingers. Finally Jack sat down on the couch again and tapped his leg with his palm. Smiling, Kate let go of herself and leaned forward, resting her head on his thigh and letting herself be his for these next few moments.

“Thank you for that, honey,” she whispered.

“You were perfect. I love you so much.”

Mess’ tail plug swished behind her as she walked around the kitchen setting things out for dinner. She set the table, four plates, forks, knives, salt, pepper.

Sir had told her he expected her to be puppy when he got home and that his friends would be coming for dinner. She did her hair in high space buns this morning and put her ears in place. Her ears weren’t a headband they were individual floppy ears that went around her buns and got pinned tightly into her hair. And she put her puppy makeup on instead of her everyday makeup. Using waterproof face paint and liners she coloured the tip of her nose black traced a black line down to her lips and coloured them black. She then painted on freckles and whiskers on each cheek. She followed that by painting random brown patches around her face, one of which went fully around her left eye. She finished it with non water proof mascara which she reapplied moments ago as sir preferred it because it resulted in the most mess.

Almost as if it was timed perfectly she just finished putting the platter of pork chops on the table and the bowl of potatoes when she heard Sir and his friends on the back porch. Before the door opened Mess ran to the entry way and dropped down on her haunches and started to bark at the door.

“Arf. Arf. Arf!” She barked and they came out louder and more excited as Sir opened the door and the four men made their way inside.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!” She shifted forward wagging her tail. She crawled closer to Sir and mimicked jumping up on him. Her front paws landing on his waist as her tail continued to wag. She switched between barking and panting until Sir patted her head and nudged her ordering her to get down. She dropped back down and her front paws moved to his boots.

Sir shook his head “not yet Mess. Our dinner is getting cold you can do that while we eat. Go to the table, Mess.”
She hurriedly crawled back into the kitchen in front of the men and sat back on her haunches next to Sir’s chair. As each man walked by heading to their chairs they patted her head on their way but paid her no other attention.

Mess panted as she gazed up at Sir, awaiting orders. He took his seat and adjusted his chair closer to the table.
“Boots, Mess.” He ordered.
“Arf.” Mess confirmed and then crawled under the table. She started with Sir’s boots making sure to kiss each before untying them. Once she slid them off she bent to kiss his socked feet ignoring the smell of them from sweating in his boots all day. She moved on to Andy on the left. He had on a pair fancier shoes. No ties. She repeated the process.

The sound of dishes, cutlery, and conversation came from above her as she made her way around the table. Once her task was complete she waited.
Sir snapped his fingers and Mess stuck her head out next to him.
“Bowl.” He barked.
Mess hurriedly made her way across the kitchen and used her front paws to lift her bowl out from the raised feeder. She set it down on the floor and used her head to push it towards the table as she crawled behind it. Once she reached the table she picked it up with her paws and held it up for him. Sir proceeded to scoop a helping of the assorted food into it and then mixed it all together.

Once full she looked up at him in question. While she hoped he would tell her to take it and go eat she knew it was unlikely. When he told her to go back under the table she wasn’t surprised.

Mess sat under the centre of the table next to her bowl and waited. She didn’t pay attention to their conversation. It didn’t take long for Hank who sat across from Sir, to snap his fingers. Mess rushed over to him and undid his pants freeing his semi hard cock. Mess took it into her mouth and began working it. She knew not to drag it out or take too long. If she didn’t finish by the time they were done eating she didn’t get dinner until Sir went to bed. Her dinner and their ‘contributions’ sitting for hours was worse than not eating at all.

Determined, Mess got to work. She sucked, rubbing her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She tugged, swallowing until she felt him start to lengthen in her mouth. Once erect she bobbed her head up and down on him ignoring the few times the back of her head hit the bottom of the table. She forced him all the way down her throat knowing how he liked it. She kept him there working her throat around him. She swallowed around the head of his cock and was rewarded when his thighs twitched beside her. She then started to take long pulls from him and when he tensed she tried to prepare. When a hot jet shot in her throat she pulled back and brought her hand up to jerk him to completion into her mouth. Once no more came Mess pulled away. She kept the cum in her mouth as some tried to seep out from the corners. She dropped back down and let the warm liquid fall into her bowl. Once there was no more to come out she went back, took Hank into her mouth one more, sucked him clean and then tucked him back into his underwear and pants.

Mess returned to her haunches to wait. She didn’t need to wait long as Freddy snapped his fingers next and she rushed over to him to repeat the process. Once done Mess waited. But neither Andy nor Sir called her over. When Sir knocked twice on the table top to tell her to come out, Mess once again pushed the bowl along the floor and once it and her were sitting beside Sir she lifted the bowl to show him. Sir barely glanced down at it as he reached for a spoon. He mixed the two loads into the food and then held the spoon out to her. Mess closed her lips around it, sucking she swallowing the mixed flavours on the spoon. She was sure her dinner was good but the bitter saltiness from the men’s contributions overshadowed any of it. Once the spoon was licked clean sir set it back on the table.
“Put your bowl away, Mess. Then come back.”

Once she did as instructed and made her way back to the table Sir held his plate out to her. Mess eagerly lapped at it. The sauces, seasoning, bits of potato, garlic bread crumbs and salad dressing hit her taste buds. She was right. Her dinner was good. Once she licked Sir’s plate completely clean, Freddy held his out and she rushed over to do the same. Freddy held his fork out for her and she drew it into her mouth, tracing her tongue around it. There was something disturbing but hot about sucking on the fork he just had in his mouth. Once Mess made her way around the table Sir ordered her to go eat.

Hesitantly Mess crawled her way over to her bowl and dipped her face down to scoop the mixture up into her mouth. She could feel 4 sets of eyes on her while she gingerly chewed and gulped it down. By her fourth bite their conversation continued, one of them pointing out something on his phone to the others.

Mess moved to her water dish and slurped the water up to wash down her meal. She moved back to her food dish. She was over half done when the scrapes of chairs against the floor behind her signaled that they were done at the table.
“Make sure to wash down your food and drink your water, Mess.” Sir ordered as he walked by.
The men moved to the living room and she heard the drone of the tv being turned on as she focused back on her food. She didn’t know how long it took for her to force every bite down but once her bowl was completed licked clean she drank most of the water from her bowl, barked and moved to the entry way between the kitchen and living room where she sat back down and waited until she was acknowledged.

It felt like at least a half hour passed. Two of them had gotten up and used the washroom and returned, it had been so long until Andy whistled.
Mess’ head snapped in his direction as he was pulling his pants and underwear over his hips and down his thighs and off. He rested back down on the couch and took his hard cock in his hand.
“Come and get your dessert, dog.” Andy ordered and Mess barked once before crawling over and in between his legs.

He held a finger up to stop her when she moved to take it all into her mouth. She stilled and looked at his grinning face.
“Dogs lick their treats first.”
Mess’ eyes went back down to his member that he was holding up to attention. She moved forward, lifting her plugged ass slightly off the floor as she put her face between his legs. She lapped at his balls first. The hair on them dragging along her tongue as she lapped completely on one and then the other. Tracing her tongue around each one, dragging it up and over and around until each was sopping wet with her saliva. The wet sounds and her sucking filled the room.

Once Andy’s balls were completely coated she started to move to his cock. She startled when Andy pushed hard on her head forcing her away from him. He adjusted his ass down on the couch so it nearly hung off the edge and his back now laid down on the seat. He brought both his legs up, folding himself in half. He looked across his body and between his legs at her.
He smiled cruelly at her and shook his fully exposed ass at her.
“Come get your dessert, Dog.” His eyes creased at the corners with laughter. His hands slid to his sides where he cupped his ass and pulled the cheeks apart for her.

Mess gulped and her face flamed when the other three men joined in with their own laughter. Mess frowned at him, realizing he was playing her. Letting her believe she would be giving him just a regular blowjob. His face changed from humour to annoyance and he lifted a brow at her.

That was the only encouragement she needed. Mess moved back towards him, bending down, bringing her ass up. She set her tongue near his tail bone, the very back of his crack that was pressed against the couch. She dragged the flat of her tongue up the line of his crack. Skimmed over his puckered hole and fought the gag that told her he didn’t bother wiping very well. Her forehead dragged over his drool soaked balls and she now knew why he had her pay so much attention to them first. She moved back down and then up again and again ignoring the way his balls painted her face with her own saliva each time. After almost a dozen passes she focused on his hole. When she pressed her tongue against it and worked the sensitive hole Andy groaned. He pressed his ass harder against her face and she pushed her tongue into his tight exit. In. Out. She trust while sucking and swallowing. Moving her face up and down on him. The three men around them seemed to settle in and shift their attention to whatever was on the tv now.

Laughter and the occasional comment was tossed out. At one point Andy’s hands took hold of the buns at the top of her head and smashed her face against him. Holding her there. She struggled to breath, her mouth continuing to work on him, saliva coating him and her.

Mess tried to ignore the disgusting noises that were coming from the act she was performing. Her gargles and gags. The wet suctioning sound. The squelching and skin on skin sounds. At one point it was nearly too wet to breathe and was only able to suck in wet breaths whenever she was able to pull her nose back enough to inhale. Andy’s body started rocking up and down on the couch as he worked his ass on her face no longer satisfied with just using her face on him. Mess didn’t know how long he kept her there. Long enough for tears to make her mascara run. Long enough for her jaw to get tired. Long enough for multiple commercials to come and go on the TV. Long enough for each of the men to get up, fetch new drinks and even one for Andy.

Finally, using his hold on her hair Andy shoved her away from him. He forced her head down and yanked her back. He dragged the top of her head and forehead up and down the surface of his ass before rubbing it side to side. Using her to wipe up the mess that was made. He let her go then and used one hand on her head to shove her away. Sucking in much needed air Mess sat up.
“Open.” He gestured to her mouth and she opened wide sticking her tongue out.
Andy made a sound in his throat, sat forward and spit a wad of saliva straight into Mess’ mouth.
Smiling he sat back. “Thank me for your dessert, dog.” He repositioned himself on the couch to sit up.

“Arf, Arf, Arf.” She barked wagging her tail. “Arf. Arf.”
Andy laughed and then took a drink from his glass. He ignored her after that. Clearly not ready to do anything about his erection.
“Go get a drink, Mess.” Sir ordered and she crawled her way back to kitchen both surprised and grateful that Sir is letting her wash the taste from her mouth.

Yesterday had been hard. Andrea still felt the branding on her butt cheek every time she moved, a throbbing reminder of what she had done. What irritated her the most was that she could swear she could still smell burned flesh.

She lay in her straw partly over Melissa’s naked body, her leg over hers, so she didn’t lie on her brand. Her hands were bound behind her back to her harness, her bridle on her head, and her bit in her mouth. Her tail was still in her, and that felt good. She had never slept with her tail before, but today, it felt good. Melissa was still sleeping soundly, and she enjoyed the warmth of her naked body next to her. Melissa's arms were around her, holding her in place, making her feel safe and loved.

The branding had not been the only emotional impact yesterday. It had only been the physical confirmation of her change. Andrea had, by willingly receiving Melissa’s brand, accepted to be a pony for now and forever. It was a permanent mark that could never be erased. A mark that showed she had stopped being the woman she had been. She was now a true pony, a mare, and she was proud of that.

The other thing that had happened and that had impacted her the most was her mother.

Directly after her branding, even before Melissa could lead her off to the pool and the promised ice cream, her mother and father intercepted them.

Andrea froze in her step, making Melissa stop and look. Her mother walked towards her, dressed as a rider in trousers, boots, and a short jacket, holding the lead of a stallion. Her eyes widened even more as she recognised the stallion. Her father as a pony! He was in a harness, a black leather bridle on his head, the bit in his mouth, a long black tail behind him, his balls and dick pushed through the harness ring and prominent on display. His hands were tied to the side of his harness, and he was wearing hoof gloves.

Andrea had seen enough ponies in their natural form, but still, this was her father, and she tried not to look at his genitals.

It wasn’t only that her father was a stallion and therefore naked. It was everything. Her parents standing here at the Farm, seeing what she had become, while she saw them for the first time as what they had always been: rider and stallion. It was too weird.

She hadn’t thought of her parents for a while and had forgotten that they would probably show up for her branding. Melissa sensed that her pony was in distress and instinctively placed herself between her, this rider, and her stallion. Andrea was able to breathe again when she felt her rider's hand on her flank, giving her strength and hold.

Her mother smiled, and even her father smiled as much as his bridle allowed it. “I’m so very proud of you, my Darling. You became such a very beautiful and strong Mare. Grandma sent best wishes, too. She couldn’t come, but you should go and see her.”

Andrea didn’t know what to do, so she hid behind Melissa and just stared back at her parents over her shoulder.

“You must be her rider,” her mother said to Melissa, holding out her hand as if it were the most natural thing to say in this situation.

Melissa replied, not shaking her hand but holding Andrea’s bridle. “Yes. I am. I’m Melissa.” She kept eye contact with Andrea’s mother but asked over her shoulder, “Gorgeous, do you want to see them?”

Her mother smirked, somehow pleased. “I understand it’s awkward, but it wasn’t much different when I branded your father. Your grandfather and grandmother came and congratulated us. We’re simply keeping the tradition alive.”

Melissa didn’t care. She still could sense Andrea’s skittishness. “That may be so. But if she doesn’t want to see you, she won’t. You have an issue. You deal with me.”

Melissa stated in a clear and almost threatening tone. They were not the only ones to get unexpected visitors.

Behind her, a massive and loud argument developed between Henry and George’s parents. Looking around, it looked like all their post-branding plans were hijacked by the ponies' respective parents.

Nobody had warned them, neither the ponies nor the riders. Maybe it was a Farm tradition, a final step in accepting their lives as ponies: standing in front of the people who had raised them, no longer as their offspring, but as proud, freshly branded ponies.

Julia’s and Maria’s parents were here too, and that was very different. Both Julia’s parents were ponies, so they couldn’t talk, but Julia had put her head against her mother’s breasts while her father touched flanks with her. In the meantime, their riders talked to Charles.

Maria was hugged by her father and her little sister. They seemed not in the slightest bothered by her nakedness or that she was a pony. Her father had tears in his eyes as he was hugging Penelope. Her sister was playing with Maria’s lead, and they both smiled. Her sister was as proud as her father.

If they could do it, she could do that. She was a mare. A lead mare. Her brand was still radiating pain, reminding her that she wanted to be here. Be a pony. Be Melissa’s pony. Her mother had said she would be all right, and she had been right. But that didn’t make it any easier for her to finally accept it. She took a deep breath and came out from behind Melissa. Her father smiled proudly at her and her mom was nodding approvingly. "I knew this was right for you. I know how hard training is, but are you happier now?"

Andrea nodded. She was much happier. Her father came and touched flanks, and it felt good to be acknowledged by him as a pony. She put her head against his bare chest, and it felt good, too. Her mother came forward too and took her in her arms properly. She couldn’t remember her mother ever being that ...motherly...it confused her a bit, but right now she just let herself sink into her embrace.

Her mother talked over her head while she held her.

So… are you going to marry my filly?” she said, challenging.

“Yes, I will. She is mine, and she is a mare...a lead mare. She wants to belong to me… and I belong to her.”

“Is that true?” she asked Andrea. Andrea pushed herself out of her arms and stood beside her rider and wife-to-be. She nodded, stomped and neighed.

Her father smiled as much as his bit allowed and hip-pushed her mother.

Her mother nodded, satisfied. “I’m happy for you both. I very much approve. I would like to invite you two over to our place soon so we can have a proper talk. I would like to get to know my daughter's future wife.”

Melissa was still defensive but nodded. “We will talk about that during our partner time, and then she will decide. It’s her decision.”

Andrea’s mother smiled proudly. “I like you. You are very good for her. Yes, it’s up to my filly.” She paused. Then, focused on Andrea, “Please talk to Grandma. She is sad she was not able to come, but she is so proud of you for becoming a mare. She would really like to see you…and your rider. She does not have many people she can talk to about this.”

Andrea nodded and looked at Melissa.

“Yes, we will, Gorgeous,” Melissa promised, and that was good.

Andrea would love to see her Granny. She hadn’t gone and visited her for a long time. She felt ashamed when her grades at university went south and stopped visiting. If Granny was proud of her for being a mare, Andrea would feel a bit better.

“Ok. We will leave you to yourselves. We will see you here from time to time, I guess.” Her mother waved them goodbye and pulled at her father's lead.

Well, that would be awkward. Andrea looked after them, unsure how to deal with her naked stallion father, who was being led around by her rider mother.

Then she smiled as she watched them walk away, her dad's tail swishing around as he walked. Her father looked happier as a pony. She had never seen him like that. Never seen him this content and relaxed. She only knew him coming home from his extremely stressful job, exhausted. He had always tried to make time for his family, but they all knew how tired he had been. A plastered-on smile on his face. This smile was genuine. Her mother guided him, and all decisions were taken from him; he was there to obey and let go. It must be a holiday for him. She remembered the weekends when her parents returned after a day out, and he truly was at ease.

He was a stallion, a pony just like she was, and that was that. She could do that.

“You're ok?” asked Melissa. Andrea nodded, put her head against her, and was patted. “That must have been hard. Come, let’s go for a drive. Take your mind off all this. Would that work for you?”

Andrea would like that. Just walking everything off, letting her brain reset and be just a pony. Ice cream didn’t feel right anymore… not right now…

Melissa drove them to the lake, letting her out of the sulky harness and into the lake.

Her brand hurt every time she moved her butt, but it started to subside as she got used to it, and the cold waters of the lake helped as well.

Melissa patted her affectionately, and Andrea put her head against her breasts. “I love you. I’m so proud you took my brand. I was a bit scared you would not turn up.”

Andrea touched cheeks with Melissa, and they stood silently together for a while until Andrea started to shiver in the cold water, and Melissa guided her out of the water.

While Melissa towelled her dry, Andrea hip pushed her several times. “What do you want?” she asked, irritated, but Andrea didn’t say a word. She was a pony, not a person. It was her rider's duty to figure her out.

Melissa wanted to put her back into the sulky harness, but Andrea didn’t cooperate.

Finally, Melissa dropped her tack and stood, arms akimbo. “Fine. What is it? You are stubborn, and I don’t think you like to feel the crop on your other arse cheek or your beautiful tits.”

No, she would not like that at all, especially not on her tits. She had gotten used to the crop on her arse, even the driving whip on her back, but not her tits.

“Thought so. So, let’s get back to your stable…. Ah, fuck a duck. Now I know.” Melissa slapped her forehead hard and then shook her head, giggling with mirth.

“I fell in love with an ice cream-obsessed pony. And I had promised. Fine. You're right. A rider’s word is binding. Hmm… you know what? We go back, and then we go out. I want to sit down with you properly and watch my beloved partner eat a big proper one while I drink a cappuccino. Let’s go.”

Andrea liked the idea of a big, nice one, and images of towering scoops of different flavours, surrounded by fruit, sprang into her mind. Andrea stopped being difficult, and they were on the drive back in no time. Melissa didn’t need to use the whip even once to make her go faster.

Melissa brushed her down before taking her up to her room and removing her bridle. “Hi, Gorgeous,” she said, as she always did when they entered Partner time.

“Hi, Melissa,” Andrea replied, took her hand and pulled her to the shower.

“Hey, wait, you are still in tack. You will get your tail wet,” Melissa protested.

“So what? It is a part of me, and I like it. I earned it.”

She provocatively swished her tail, a habit she had picked up from Julia, and it did a lot for Melissa. Especially if Andrea tossed her head with it and neighed. Andrea knew that, and she just did that.

They made out under the shower, her tail where it was supposed to be. Melissa kept her fresh brand out of the hot water and carefully dabbed it clean.

Andrea had become used to making love to Melissa as her pony and her partner. That was still strange if she thought about it too much. She had never been interested in women, but she liked making Melissa cum, liked when Melissa made her cum. Especially if Melissa kissed her or sucked on her nipples. She hadn’t been kissed by a man for Gods knows how long, and she didn’t remember it well, only that it was different. She liked Melissa kissing her; she was soft and demanding at the same time.

Andrea wasn’t sure what she was- a lesbian, bi, or....she was Melissa’s pony and wife-to-be. Just that. That was enough.

Melissa had, as always, laid out clothes for her, and Andrea slipped into them wordlessly. To finish off, she tied Melissa’s scarf into her hair to secure her ponytail.

Melissa gave her a small butt plug made from shiny metal. “Here, this should help you feel less naked. I know you miss your tail.”

Andrea smiled and turned around so Melissa could put it inside of her. But Melissa applied the burn cream first before inserting the plug into her asshole. Yes, it did feel better, but still, she missed the feeling of her tail brushing against her legs. But in public, that wasn’t possible.

The public had always made her tense. The need to show off, to project something she didn’t know really how. She had never liked that. Especially when she had to be the party girl, perform so she would fit in.

“I know you are only coming out with me because of the promise of ice cream, but it’s important that we get out together and join society. So, following today’s developments, I asked my parents to meet us at the ice parlour.”

Andrea stopped moving. Meet her parents? Her heart went faster.

“Relax. Don’t be so skittish. I met yours as rider and pony. Meeting mine in a normal setting should be much easier for you.”

“Have you ever seen your parents at the Farm?” Andrea asked curiously.

Melissa answered casually, “Of course. Kids are allowed at the Farm, under supervision and in the non-adult areas. I practically grew up around ponies. Dad used to take me driving with Mom, and sometimes he even let me handle her lead. Obviously, we weren’t around the adult training, but normal pony stuff? Sure.” She shrugged her shoulder while she got into her panties.

“I saw my grandparents at the Farm too, when they still came. They did a lot of dressage together. Grandma looked amazing even as old as she was; she loved showing off her leg work.”

That left Andrea staring at her. She had not seen any kids at the Farm and… well, except Maria’s little sister. She wondered if she would have grown up within the pony world, or at least known about it; would it have maybe been easier for her? Would she have wanted to become a pony?

Melissa looked sheepishly at her.

“Ah ...hmm, Andrea...it might have slipped my mind ...but...Eventually, we’re going to inherit my parents’ estate.”

A what? But Andrea was distracted as Melissa took her hand and pulled her along, excited.

They walked down to the garage and to a nice red open sports car.

The drive was hard and painful. Even with the burn cream's anaesthetic properties, it wasn’t pleasant for Andrea to sit on her brand.

Melissa looked over at her as tears fell down her cheeks. “Oh, I’m such a dumb arse. Sorry, Gorgeous. I didn’t think. That was stupid of me. You could have said something. Just be my strong pony now. We are almost there.”

Andrea whinnied softly under her tears. It was easier to be a pony right now. She was right. Melissa’s hand found hers, holding it, and that helped even more.

They arrived, and Andrea breathed a sigh of relief. Melissa came around the car and hugged her, using her hand to wipe away her tears. “You're such a brave pony. I’m so proud of you, and I’m sorry. But I need you to speak up. This is important. I need to be able to depend on you.”

Andrea could see that point. As a pony, she depended on her rider to give her the right instructions, and her rider depended on her pony to give her feedback on her confidence level. The same should apply to their partner time.

She wasn’t stupid; she knew she had been conditioned to submit, obey, and follow. But the truth was, she found it easier to submit, to obey and to follow... much easier. Not only easier, but she wanted to be dominated, commanded and led by Melissa.

Melissa stroked her arm. “It’s ok, Gorgeous. I know it’s not easy for you, but at least I want an ‘ouch’ or something. Please. You know I like to hurt you from time to time, but that should be intentional. You asked me to tell you when I want to hurt you, and I do. Now I ask you to tell me when you are hurting. Please, it’s important... for us.”

Andrea blew out. “Well…OK… Ouch. Now buy me my ice cream.” And she smirked at Melissa from under her fringe.

Melissa burst out laughing and led her to the ice parlour. Melissa’s parents had a genuine smile on their faces. Melissa became excited and began to pull Andrea along.

“Mum, Dad. I would like to introduce you to the woman I intend to marry. Andrea Ashford.”

“Intend?” Andrea asked, confused.

“Yes. I haven’t asked you properly, and I have not given you a ring yet.”

“Yes, you have, and I said yes, and I have something better than a ring.” She touched her scarf in her hair. “So, you better marry me. You promised. And a rider’s word…”

Melissa’s parents laughed genuinely. Her mother hugged Melissa. “She is very good for you, Darling. She will keep you on your toes.”

Her mother leaned closer to Andrea so the other people around them wouldn’t overhear her. “You are such a beautiful mare. I’m pleased you stole her heart. I have never seen her that excited. I hope she makes you happy and is a good rider. I tried my best.” She winked.

Her father smiled winningly at her, too. “Andrea, it is a pleasure to welcome you to our family. I heard of your amazing score during your evaluation. 9.5, that’s a lot.”

Melissa’s eyes lit up. “Yes, she was magnificent, walking proud and tall, fearless, especially at the last obstacle. If I hadn’t been head over heels already, I would have fallen hard then and there.”

They sat down, and Melissa ordered the biggest ice creation on the menu for her. The smile on Andrea’s face was all she cared about when it arrived.

They kept the conversation light. Her parents seemed to genuinely care for their daughter. It was something Andrea had never felt from her own mother growing up.

Melissa took a spoon and fished for a ball that looked like strawberry in Andrea’s much-diminished mountain of ice cream, but an angry snort from Andrea stopped her.

“Seriously?” She asked, astounded.

“Yes! Your brand, my ice cream!” Andrea’s eyes flashed.

“Please?” Melissa asked very nicely. Andrea let her wait a moment before taking her spoon and feeding Melissa the strawberry ball.

“Thanks, Gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome, lovely.” Andrea was experimenting with pet names for Melissa, but so far, she had found nothing she liked. Maybe because she wasn’t really in love with her, she knew that. She was her rider and would marry her, and she liked that. She liked her. She knew she had formed a strong emotional attachment to her, and that was enough for her.

In the end, she got a stomachache from all the ice cream, but she would never admit it to Melissa. Ever!

When they arrived back at the Farm, Andrea felt like she could breathe again. Melissa’s parents had been nice, but she felt stared at by all the other people as if she had two heads. “You wanted me to speak up,” she said as they walked back to Melissa’s room.

“Yes…” Melissa said carefully.

“Please bring me back to my stall and stay with me in my straw. I want to be just your pony.”

“Yes, Gorgeous, I will. Come, let me fix your bridle.”

It was nice being back where she belonged. It made her feel much safer. They could hear Charles and Julia fucking hard and wild in the stall next to them, and it made her smile.

Melissa was cuddled against Andrea. Melissa’s naked body against hers, Andrea in the harness, her bridle, her bit and even her tail. She liked that. It felt good.

Melissa whispered into her ear. “Should I ask Charles if he can take you?”

Andrea shook her head. She didn’t want to be asked in general, but today, she wanted just to cuddle with Melissa, and as Julia neighed her third orgasm, they both started to fall asleep.

Mess looked around the now cleaner room. She never let any of the rooms get truly dirty. And not because it was one of her rules. Her rule was to keep the house clean. The choice to scrub every surface of the house daily was solely hers. And she did it solely for her benefit. It didn’t take her long to realize that one of Sir’s favourite things to do was to use her to clean up messes. Whether it was with her mouth, her tongue, her face, hair, body. And it didn’t matter what surface. Floors, tables, counters, the garbage can lid, toilet, wall, window, mirror. If he could put spit, cum, piss, food, liquid, anything on it, he did.

Mess absentmindedly wiped her hand over her side, her fingers gracing the lace that was there. It may have been strange that she was wearing clothes, but that like everything she was forced to earn those first few months. Using the bathroom inside. Shower inside with warm water and feminine products and not just being sprayed with the hose in the backyard when Sir deemed she was finally too disgusting. Being allowed to eat and drink inside. Sleeping inside on a bed and not a kennel in the back porch. Being able to wear clothes even though the only ones she had were skimpy lingerie or the trashiest outfits Sir could find. However she was only allowed one outfit a day and no matter how dirty or gross the outfit got she had to put it back on or continue to wear it. Sometimes it was easier to just stay naked.

She glanced around the room making sure nothing was out of place. Her eyes landed on Bud, sitting propped up in the corner of the room. She glared at him. She couldn’t help it. She hated that stupid doll. She also hated the fact that she didn’t know what she hated more. The doll. The men who brought her the doll or the fact that every time she looked at it her pussy would clench and a fresh wave of arousal would wash over her. Mess thought about her last experience with Bud. Sir brought Hank over after work for a few beers and they set Bud up on a chair in the living room.

Their entertainment for the evening was to watch Mess give Bud lap dances, sit on his lap for long ‘steamy’ make out sessions. Ride him reverse cowgirl, facing them while they sent pictures and videos of it to, she had no idea who. When they were drunk enough and done watching they took turns tag teaming, or triple teaming her with Bud. At the end of the night after Hank left Sir had merely turned off all the lights leaving Mess alone in the dark, save for the soft glow of the moon coming in through the window. She then spent a painstaking amount of time lapping up every inch of Bud and the surrounding areas clean.

And now even as she glared at the stupid doll a flush spread over her body and she suppressed a groan. Instantly she regretted her reaction when her gaze shot up the one of the cameras in the room. A fresh onslaught of embarrassment filled her at the very real possibility the one or more of them were watching her reaction and laughing at it. She really had become the sex obsessed whore Sir promised her she would become.

The cameras were one more aspect of Mess’ life that she hated while contributing to her constant state of arousal. She had no idea how many there actually were or where everyone was. Only that they were in every room of house, watched every aspect of her life and that Sir had given his friends complete access to them. Sir had a device linked to the tv that they enjoyed sending her messages to. Many of which consisted of videos or screenshots of humiliating acts she was forced to perform during the day, or tasks she was forced to do.

There was also the times Sir’s friends used it to blackmail her. When one of them would catch her doing something that Sir would punish her for they would send it to her with instructions to follow so they “wouldn’t tell Sir” on her.

Mess walked out into the living room intending to go into the kitchen to prepare supper. The alert on the tv had her stomach instantly sinking with dread. Anxiety coursed through her as she turned towards the tv. The message was from Andy.
-Are you forgetting something Whore?
Her mind raced frantically as she replayed her day in her head. She completed all her regular tasks as well as the daily ones Sir had given to her. She clenched, she was still wearing the anal plug sir put in this morning. She didn’t forget to do her hair and make up. As she waited anxiety had her chest tightening.

-Forget to kiss your boyfriend before you left the room

No. No. No. No. Mess’ panicked eyes shot to one of the cameras. Having to go and kiss Bud after she entered the room he was in and before she left it was a new rule. One that she wasn’t used to yet!

-tsk tsk. A simple rule and your dumb little brain can’t even follow it.

She waited for what she knew was coming.
Instructions… Mess read them and this time she couldn’t suppress the sound of despair that came out of her.

Once everything was set up in the living room and prepared. Mess got into position. Right In front of the camera on the tv stand that had the best view of her spread open. She attached each of her ankles to cuffs that held her legs taught and wide apart. She pulled out her plug, put it in her mouth to clean it off before setting it to the side. She positioned the fuck machine in line with her thankfully already prepared ass. Sinking down on the dildo attached to it.

She turned The machine on to a mind numbing setting. Not one meant to bring her any kind of pleasure that would possibly distract her. One that forced her to feel the drag of every inch of the dildo as it scraped against her inner walls. Innnn. All the way. Pause for two breaths. Ouuuttt. She gritted her teeth.

Mess laid back. Attached her left wrist to the cuff and then reached over and picked up the wooden spoon. She steeled herself for what was next. Holding her breath she raised the spoon and brought the fat head down on her pussy. She grunted and sucked in a breath. She brought it back up, reminded herself to breathe and brought it back down with a smack.

It wasn’t as hard as it could be or would be. But she would try and build herself up as much as she would be allowed. After all, ten minutes was a long time. Slap. Slap. Slap. Mess ground her teeth, whimpered, whined as they started getting harder. Her ass painfully clenched around the insufferable dildo monotonously moving in and out of her very dry ass, not doing anything to help make it any slicker. In fact it seemed to be the opposite. Dryer even tackier. It seemed to pull with each inward thrust and outward pull.
“I’m just Bud’s brainless dumb cunt.”
Smack.
“I love being Bud’s useless whore.”
Slap.
“Nothing but Bud’s cheap whore!”
Smack.
Mess struggled against the cuffs around her ankles and wrist. She wanted so badly to close her legs, protect her aching pussy and tears slid out of the corner of her eyes but she kept going. Repeating her mantra while slapping her pussy with the spoon. Again and again and again.

When the timer went off her legs shook. Her body shook. Chest heaving as she sucked in desperate lungfuls of air. She dropped the spoon to her side and slid her hand around the next thing. Already her pussy was pulsing with anticipation.

Mess brought the head of the wand to her clit and clicked it on. Instantly the vibrations assaulted her red, throbbing, sensitive clit. Her body jolted trying to jerk off the floor but she was pinned down completely. She cried out. The urge to cum was nearly instantaneous and she gritted her teeth as she fought the need. She was only allowed to edge with the wand. Not cum. For ten minutes. This was worse than the spoon. Her head thrashed back and forth on the floor and she pleaded to an empty room to cum. She clenched her pelvis so tight it hurt as her ass closed even tighter around the dildo making it drag against her even more.

Mess panted, a sheen of sweat broke out over her brow and she could feel her drenched back stick to the floor under her. She squeezed her eyes as tight as they could go as the vibrations worked her. The pressure building and building. The need to cum a demand as her pussy greedily sucked at nothing but air. She didn’t honestly know which was worse the sting of the spoon, the torment of the toys or that she was being forced to do this to herself. Mess was an incoherent sobbing mess by the end of the 10 minutes and was actually relieved when it was time to switch.

Flipping off the wand she set it down picked up the spoon, tried to prepare herself and brought the rounded back of the spoon down on her cunt.

Mess screamed. Her relief was short lived. Her pussy was so much more sensitive now. Her clit a swollen throbbing bundle of nerves that sent twitches shooting down her legs with every strike. The only way Mess was allowed to cum was like this and after only a minute she was fighting the feeling. It was a cruel task. She wasn’t allowed to cum from the instrument of pleasure only the one delivering pain but if she came the next round would be worse. And she didn’t want worse.

A garbled cry tore from her throat when the spoon landed painfully again. She couldn’t. Oh god she couldn’t. Please. She didn’t want to come. She held the spoon still for a second knowing she shouldn’t be doing it. Just do it. Do it! You can do it. She had to talk herself into bringing the spoon up and slamming it back down.
“No!” She pleaded breathlessly with herself as she just barely stopped herself from cumming from the next slap.

“Please…. Please I’m sorry. I’ll be a good slut for Bud! I swear!” She cried into the empty room as she kept smacking her cunt.
“Please.” Her head thrashed back and forth on the floor beneath her as a sob rent the air when the spoon landed and she detonated. In a squelching, saturated mess she squirted. And kept squirting as the spoon connected again and again.

And it wasn’t over. She was barely half way through this round. With tears and pointless begging Mess continued. Forcing two more orgasms out of herself.

When it was time to switch back to the wand she had to force herself to put it on her clit and it took everything she had to keep it there. She felt almost out of her body as she stared blankly up at the ceiling. Her clit almost feeling numb from the constant vibrations. The only good thing was that her juices and cum had slid down coating her ass, easing the dildo’s violation. Mess couldn’t cum. She couldn’t. She didn’t think she had ever worked so hard to not give into the all consuming need that she was currently feeling. The only thing she could be thankful for was that Andy didn’t make her stuff her pussy or use the dual fucking machine because there would be no way she could fight this then. But even as Mess was grateful for it she wanted so desperately for her pussy to be filled.

The alarm went off and she sagged onto the floor. Turning off the wand and dropping it. Already her head was shaking back and forth.
“Please don’t make me.” She whispered to the empty room. Mess turned her head and shook with horror as she picked up the bottle of hot sauce. She tipped it over letting 1, 2, 3 drops land on the spoon. One for each orgasm. She told herself it could be worse. If she came with the wand, during the wand session she would have had to put the drops on the spoon and fuck her cunt with it and as much as she wanted something inside of her, she didn’t want that.

Mess tried to focus on the bright side as she brought the spoon down with a hard smack to her clit. It wasn’t instant. It hurt but the burning didn’t occur until the third strike. She screamed. Shaking, tears streaming. It could be worse. Could be worse. Could be worse. She chanted with each slap.

“I’ll be a better slur for Bud!” She screamed then choked on a sob.
Then she felt it. Her head shook. “No. No, no, no.” But she couldn’t stop it. The orgasm blindsided her and she still had 8 more minutes. The hot sauce mixed with her cum sliding down her cunt and reaching her anus. It was worse.

Mess didn’t know what round she was on. She was a blubbering, burning, soaking, sobbing mess on the floor. She didn’t hear the back door open as she openly cried through the orgasm the wand was forcing out of her.

“Interesting.” Sir drawled and Mess startled, jerking her head to the side to see Sir standing in the entranceway looking down at her.

Instant relief flooding her as she pulled the wand from her pussy, flipping it off. Andy said she couldn’t stop until Sir came home and released her. She started crying now with joy that Sir was finally home and this hell could end. Her chest rose and fell hard with each breath she took.

“Don’t stop on my account, apparently doing this is more important to you than greeting me at the door or making dinner.”

Mess’ eyes went wide with horror. She shook her head. Tried to speak but her throat was so hoarse she had to clear it and try again.
“No Sir,” she coughed. “I’m sorry. I was going to I swear. I didn’t want to do this. I…”
He raised his hand to cut her off. She snapped her mouth closed.

Her heart sped up as he stepped further into the room and he came to stand over her. Hope fluttered as she waited, believing he would release her.

Instead Sir lifted his booted foot and set it down on her face.
“I said…” he pushed down just enough to make it uncomfortable “keep going.”
Mess swallowed and flipped the wand back on groaning when it made contact with her swollen abused pussy.

Sir tapped on Mess’ mouth twice with his boot and she looked up at him meeting his eyes. Sir insisted on eye contact whenever possible so he could enjoy the look of her emotions in her eyes. She opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out as far and flat as she could as he rubbed the sole of his boot over it multiple times before switching to the other one.

When Sir determined it was enough he switched to her breasts. He dug the edge of the toe of his boot onto her nipple. Digging and grinding it in until the pleasure of it initially was turned into pain.
“Agh!” Mess cried out and Sir grinned down at her twisting his foot into her flesh.
He switched to the other one, repeating the process only this time it along with the vibrator sent her over the edge. She shook her head crying out and his smile widened.

When the timer went off she clicked the wand off. Sir watched as she set it down. She gazed up at him with pleading eyes hoping he would end this. He raised his eyebrow and then watched intrigued as she picked up the bottle of hot sauce and put 4 drops on it. She whimpered and Sir looked behind him and down as she brought the spoon down on her inflamed pussy. She cried out and brought it down again.

Sir laughed. His head flung back and his shoulders shook as he laughed. Mess couldn’t help it she cried uncontrollably now her hand and the spoon moving up and down almost mechanically now. Sir shook his head and moved to stand between her legs next to the fucking machine. He chuckled more while watching for another minute or so.

“My Whore was so eager to have her dirty cunt punished that she couldn’t wait for me to come home to do it. You really are just a brain dead bimbo now are you.” He gestured down to the spoon and gave his chin a jerk to indicate for her to stop.
“Here, let your Master help you.”
And then Mess’ entire body rocked when his boot connected with her cunt. He kicked it. She cried out when it connected again and then again. He didn’t hold back. Sir kicked repeatedly, quickly and it didn’t take long for a scream to rip from Mess’ throat as she orgasmed, splashing cum all over Sir’s boot as he kept going and going until she came three more times and she was boneless by the time the timer went off.

He stopped the kicking and Mess gasped with relief but then he ground his boot into her pussy. Hard. Working the top sole of his boot against her. Manipulating her lips with his boot until he had her spread open under his boot to grind into her more. Using the leather to rub against her swollen clit. He brought the toe down to her entrance and shoved forcefully into the crest of it giving it quick continual taps on it. Mess bit down on her lip so hard she nearly tasted blood. Mess’ brain couldn’t comprehend all the pleas and cries that came out of her mouth or the number of times Sir forced her to cum.

When the timer went off he stepped back and brought his boot down over her face and wiped the sole from toe to heel across it. From the top of her head down to her chin. He then set it on her sweat, cum soaked stomach.
“Take it off.” He ordered. With her free hand, Mess fumbled with the tie on the boot and then slid it from his foot. He presented his other foot to her for her to do the same. Once both boots were off and sitting atop her torso Sir bent down. He flipped the fucking machine off and pulled it back, roughly tugging the dildo from her ass. She gasped. Then he reached over her and undid the cuff around her wrist.

Mess didn’t move. She remained as she was. Sir looked down at her “clean your mess up. Start with my boots Whore. And I expect to be eating by 7.” He ordered and then went to the bathroom to shower.

The port was small, just three or four vessels along the entire pier.

The Doctor walked along the edge of the concrete almost lazily, and from the outside it looked as though he were simply out for a stroll. Only the cries of birds somewhere beyond the mangroves and the idle slap of water against the piles were audible.

His lean muscles had already calculated the trajectory while his eyes unhurriedly scanned the horizon.

The Anadyomene was casting off from the wharf when a shadow appeared at the edge of the concrete. One swing and a nimble silhouette in black pushed off and soared into the air. The Doctor landed on the deck with the agility of an Indian. The landing was soft and scarcely audible against the noise of the waves.

The shore receded, leaving behind emerald slopes of hills and villa roofs lurking in the greenery. He allowed himself a look around.

The Anadyomene was a first-class yacht: the oily teak of the deck, the mirror gleam of the hull, and dark panoramic glass concealing the interior of the cabins.

He turned his gaze to the lounge area. Low marine-vinyl sofas curved around a table of polished wood. A little farther off, on a lounger under a white awning, a crumpled cushion still held the imprint of a body. She had been lying there not long ago. The Doctor drew in the air: cutting through the smell of sea salt, her familiar scent of lavender trailed faintly. And that scent was more intoxicating than any whiskey.

The Doctor was dressed in a black cotton suit, perfectly hugging his sinewy frame and sharply contrasting with the whiteness of the deck.

His stiff black hair gleamed with a deep gloss in the sun.

The curve of the saloon superstructure completely blocked the central deck from his view, where Leya sat on the edge of a lounger, her face turned to the sun. Today she had allowed herself to relax a little: her shoulders had dropped, her breathing had grown slightly steadier, and her inner tension had eased somewhat.

Dominic sat opposite, outwardly completely relaxed. He was dressed in cream linen trousers, his loose shirt open. His eyes watched her intently.

He remembered how just yesterday she had been pacing the cabin, unable to find peace, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Her gaze had been absent, turned inward, into those labyrinths where he had no access.

A few moments later, the sunlight on Leya’s face was crossed by the Doctor’s shadow.

Dominic rose from his chair. There was a coiled spring of readiness in him.

— Healer, — Dominic’s voice was calm, but in the address itself there was a slight, contemptuous emphasis, as if he were deliberately using someone else’s title. — Unexpected. I assumed you had finished dissecting other people’s neuroses in these parts.

On the Doctor’s chiseled face, as if carved from stone, a smirk played that was more like a baring of teeth. His narrow dark eyes, in which the wisdom of another tribe could be read, slid lazily over Dominic, then fixed past him — on Leya.

In her gaze, a shadow of panic flickered, which she instantly tried to hide. He saw the barely perceptible tension in her cheekbones, the slight tremor at the corners of her mouth. But she held on. Clever girl.

Leya rose slowly to her feet. A light silk sarong over her swimsuit wrapped around her hips, baring her tremulous lower back with its dimples, which he knew so well.

— My visit is dictated by necessity, — the Doctor said. — Leya had a session. She missed it.

He looked straight at her.

Her stomach made a nauseating lurch. The thin skin on her neck, tinged with a faint blue undertone, pulsed in feverish excitement. The wind tousled her mane of unruly chestnut-ash hair, strands sticking to her temples and the corners of her mouth, but Leya did not brush them away; her hands were busy gripping the edges of the sarong.

— Leya is unavailable for sessions from now on, — Dominic stepped forward, shielding her with his body. At six feet three inches, he was a head taller than the Doctor.

The Doctor smiled thinly, openly scrutinising her long legs and raising his eyes higher.

— She cannot be ‘unavailable.’ That contradicts the very essence of the session. Moreover… — his eyes narrowed, analysing the tremor in her thin wrists, — when her condition looks… unstable. The tension in her cervical spine is obvious. Spasm of the piriformis muscle… I can sense it from here.

Leya involuntarily raised her hand to her neck. Her heart was beating in her throat. The shore was drifting farther away, dissolving into the emerald haze of the hills.

— Her ‘tension’ is my concern now, — Dominic cut in, gripping a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid gleamed in the sunlight; he took a sip, and the ice clinked in the glass.

Leya stood, holding her breath. She felt as if she were about to suffocate — the air was too humid. Heat spread through her entire body. She could feel the sarong clinging to her buttocks.

— Your concern? — The Doctor gave a soft laugh. — You have no idea how her nervous system is wired.

He looked straight at Leya again:

— Leya. We’re going. The session will be a long one. You need correction. You know it yourself: if I don’t intervene right now, by nightfall it’ll come over you.

His voice was enveloping, like morning mist over a lake.

Leya wanted to say something, but the words stuck somewhere in her throat like dry grass. She could feel salty drops running down her spine, leaving trails; the curve of her lower back was already completely wet with sweat.

— When it overwhelms her — then she’ll wait out the storm. She’s not leaving this deck, — Dominic answered for Leya. His light-blond hair, with a touch of grey at the temples, played with silver in the sun’s rays.

— Dominic, I decide for myself whether I need sessions or not, — Leya got out uncertainly. Her voice came out thinner than she wanted.

— Leya, don’t interfere, — Dominic cut in, with a barely perceptible shrug. He didn’t even look at her, keeping the Doctor in his field of vision.

The Doctor’s face wore an indulgent expression.

He had always seen into Leya, felt her pain with frightening precision, as if her nerves were stretched directly into his consciousness. He saw her biting her lip, her dilated pupils, her uneven breathing, the faint flush that had risen on her cheekbones.

— Oh, come on, Dominic, you’re not her daddy, — the Doctor smirked, taking a step to the right, catching Leya again in his sights.

— Look at her fingers, Dominic. They’re trembling. Look at her breathing. She needs help.

The panic in her chest grew, turning into a heavy lump. Leya squeezed her eyes shut.

— You’re sniffing her fear like an old, hungry mongrel, — Dominic said.

He stood with the impeccable posture of a yachtsman, his open shirt revealing an athletic chest with a bronze tan. But against the Doctor’s resinous, natural swarthiness, his tan looked like nothing more than artificial gilding.

The Doctor did not deign to answer him. His sticky gaze slid over Leya’s silhouette again. He stepped closer to her, completely ignoring Dominic.

— Leya, — he said.

His hand rose and his fingers touched the air a centimetre from her lower back. He moved them gently, as if probing an invisible aura around her. She could feel the heat radiating from him through the trembling air.

Dominic saw her back curve in a barely perceptible motion from that phantom touch. She didn’t even realise it.

— Hands off, — Dominic said calmly. — One more step towards her and you’ll be swimming to shore. — The veins stood out on his broad hands, covered with golden hair.

— I haven’t even touched her, — the Doctor parried, without lowering his palm. His fingers continued to move through the air, tracing invisible patterns. — You’re building a crystal palace around her, Dominic, and she’s shaking so badly the walls are about to collapse.

Dominic narrowed his eyes slightly, studying the Doctor with cold, calculating excitement.

He walked over to the bar, poured more whiskey, and looked intently at Leya. In her green, slightly slanted eyes, he saw an abyss. She radiated such fragile, such ready-to-shatter beauty that something in his chest clenched with anger.

He took a sip of whiskey and turned his gaze to the Doctor.

— Enough chatter, charlatan. You mentioned her piriformis spasm? — His voice was steeped in boredom, but the fingers gripping the glass had gone white at the knuckles.

The Doctor caught the shift. A shadow of an intrigued smirk froze on his lips.

— Obviously, — he said curtly.

— Then correct it immediately, — Dominic made a light, almost casual gesture with his hand, as if he were discussing not his woman but a faulty mechanism.

Leya froze, suspended between them, unable to move. She heard Dominic’s voice but didn’t recognise it. There was no warmth in it, no protection — only the cold, calculating tone of a man weighing his stakes. She looked at his grey eyes in confusion and saw no trace of his former softness there.

— This is not a matter of ‘to correct,’ — the Doctor parried. — This is a matter of allowing the body to release what it holds. You can’t simply relax a muscle by command, Dominic. — His voice was patient, like a teacher’s.

Dominic gave a slight nod.

— Fine, — he said. — Show me your class.

Leya stood, paralysed. Her mind refused to comprehend, and her gaze darted from one to the other, trying to understand what was happening. She looked at Dominic, trying to find in his eyes even a hint that he was joking. The yacht was sailing farther out into the open sea.

Dominic leaned his hip against the bar counter, slowly turning the glass in his fingers. The wind tugged at her hair, tossing a strand across her face. She brushed it away with a trembling hand and pulled herself together with the last of her strength.

— Dominic, I’m hot. I’m going to the cabin. I need to finish the catalogue for the diamond collection, Leon is waiting for the appraisal. The deadlines are pressing. — She spoke almost breathlessly, the words tumbling over one another, as if she were afraid of being interrupted.

Dominic took another sip of whiskey, and only then spoke.

— The catalogue can wait, Leya. Leon fully understands that you’re on vacation right now and there’s no rush. Besides, we have a guest.

Leya felt nausea rising in her throat. Her gaze darted between Dominic’s stone face and the Doctor, who was watching them in silence, as if they were an absurd theatrical performance.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to quell the nausea, and in the darkness crimson flashes flickered — an echo of the migraine that promised to return by nightfall. A moment later, a faint smile appeared on her lips; an unexpected realisation came to her. If they wanted to play at being masters of life — she would play along with them.

— Well then… to hell with work. But we haven’t even had lunch today, and it’s almost evening. — Leya said. She said it with a light, almost playful intonation, and her voice sounded surprisingly steady. Her swan-like neck stretched.

Dominic paused for a second, an admiring smile touching his lips. He appreciated that desperate bluff.

— Excellent idea, darling. Doctor, I hope you’re hungry? On board we have everything one could want: fresh oysters, white fish, vegetables from the local market, — he said, and his voice sounded as if he were inviting an old friend to a dinner party, not a man he had been ready to throw overboard a moment ago.

— I won’t decline, — the Doctor replied condescendingly, not taking his eyes off Leya.

— Leya, set the table, please. Everything is already prepared. If you need help — just say so.

The Doctor remained silent, watching as Leya disappeared into the doorway of the saloon.

She was gone, but the air remained soaked through with that maddening lavender and light notes of tobacco — she had started smoking again.

Dominic watched her go, seeing the smooth curve of her lower back, the scattering of chestnut curls over her shoulder blades, and how the sarong clung tightly to her buttocks with each step. The thought of allowing that bastard to touch Leya again was repulsive to him.

But he felt an almost painful pleasure at the thought that after tonight, Leya would never want to see her Doctor again.

Her heart was pounding so hard that it seemed to her the sound was carrying across the entire yacht. Each beat was like a stroke of a bell that she could not stop.

When the saloon door closed behind her, she pressed herself against it for a second. The climate control was pushing in cool air, and after the hell of the open sun it was pleasant here, but Leya was seized with a chill. Her resolve instantly crumbled, like dry plaster. For a second she felt as if her legs would simply give way and she would fall right there, by the door, and be unable to get up.

She tried to calm herself: at least she had wrested herself some time.

Pressing her palms to her burning cheeks, she frantically thought.

The main thing was to get off the deck — that kept circling in her head. Without me, they have no one to put on this show for. In a few minutes Dominic will cool down, he’ll have another drink, come to his senses, and simply throw the Doctor out… For a second her thoughts stumbled; she remembered that they were already too far from shore.

An icy wave ran down her spine. The Doctor had nowhere to go. Dominic couldn’t just show him the door. But she immediately brushed the thought aside. Dominic had told her that he wanted to spend the evening at the villa. So perhaps he would simply turn the vessel back toward shore. She clung to that hope like a life preserver.

Right now, the main thing was fifteen minutes of silence to catch her breath.

‘I’ll set the table, serve the oysters — and leave,’ she repeated to herself like a mantra. ‘I’ll plead a migraine, fatigue, anything. Dominic won’t break down the door to my cabin.’

In the refrigeration units rested containers: the freshest ceviche of wild snapper with drops of lime and pink peppercorns, a deep silver platter with oysters on ice, and a bottle of Montrachet Burgundy.

Leya set out the plates, straightened the napkins, laid out the cutlery. She did it all mechanically, letting her hands work instead of her head, which was no longer capable of thinking.

She didn’t have to call them; she heard their footsteps a few seconds before they appeared. The teak decking creaked under their weight, and Leya heard Dominic say something to the Doctor — quietly, almost indistinctly — and in response came a short, dry chuckle that sent an electric jolt through her body.

Light flowed along the walls, reflecting off the polished wood and leaving glints on the silver. The linen tablecloth was perfectly starched; on it stood three place settings: silver forks with long tines, knives with ebony handles, wine goblets, water glasses. In the centre of the table, in a crystal vase, stood a white orchid with a dark-purple heart.

Dominic looked relaxed and confident — he sat at the head of the table, gesturing for the Doctor to take the seat opposite him. Leya stood slightly to the side, watching tensely.

— Sit down, darling, — Dominic said, indicating the place between them.

— I’m not hungry, Dominic, — she said quickly, taking a step toward the exit. — My head is splitting. I’m going to my cabin…

The Doctor smiled faintly, as if reading her thoughts. His swarthy face with its sharp cheekbones was fixed in a mask of polite interest.

Dominic didn’t let her finish. He rose from the table and stood behind her. His heavy palms gently came to rest on her shoulders.

— Your head will ease once you’ve eaten, — his impenetrable voice sounded right next to her ear.

She shuddered all over, unable to control the reaction that gave her away completely. Leya could feel his chest almost touching her back; he smelled of Cuban cigars with whiskey and vetiver.

She had no strength to argue with him. She simply lowered her head, feeling his hands still resting on her shoulders, and allowed him to guide her to the table. The wooden back of the chair pressed into her spine, and she straightened up, desperately trying to maintain a posture that would look dignified.

— Try the ceviche, — Dominic said, sliding the plate toward her. His fingers lightly touched the edge of the porcelain, and she noticed how the gold rim on the plate gleamed in the lamplight.

White pieces of fish, with barely noticeable pink veins, lay on a bed of thinly sliced onion, drizzled with a sauce in which droplets of olive oil glistened. Scattered on top were a few peppercorns of pink pepper.

— Of course, — Leya replied quietly, picking up her fork.

She took a tiny piece of fish and put it in her mouth. The sour-salty taste on her tongue, with a slight bitterness, burned her palate.

Leya felt her stomach clench, refusing to accept the food, but she forced herself to swallow.

— When was the last time you ate properly, Leya? — the Doctor asked.

She felt the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

— I eat enough, — she said evenly, cutting off another piece of fish. She cut it as if it were the most important task in her life — slowly, carefully, trying to focus on each movement. The fork in her fingers trembled slightly, and she gripped it tighter.

Dominic's jaw tightened. The chewing muscles beneath his cheekbones tensed, and a hard line appeared on his face, the one she saw when he was truly angry. He poured himself more wine and took a sip, watching them over the rim of his glass.

— Leave your concerns about patients for the clinic, Doctor. Right now you're a guest. So just eat and enjoy the moment, — Dominic said. He enunciated the words through a lazy smirk.

The Doctor smirked but said nothing. He slowly raised his wine glass to his lips, taking a sip, and his eyes continued to watch her. She could feel that gaze on her skin, and it made it even harder for her to eat.

— Of course, this climate… Humidity at ninety percent, the heat. An organism unaccustomed to the pressure here automatically blocks digestion. Spasmodic functions slow down, — the Doctor continued.

— I've grown accustomed to the heat, — Leya replied, not raising her eyes. Her chestnut curls fell in heavy rings across her face, blocking her peripheral vision.

— Accustomed to the humidity, to the constant sun, to air that's like jelly? — The Doctor narrowed his eyes slightly.

— That's impossible. For that you'd have to be born here. Or spend years here. — He paused.

— You overestimate the importance of climate, Doctor. — Dominic smirked.

Leya took a sip of wine, trying to keep the glass from clinking against her teeth. The wine was cold, and it burned her throat with a tart bitterness. She could feel the alcohol spreading through her chest in a warm wave.

— Eat some oysters, Leya, — Dominic said solicitously. — You need your strength.

— The oysters are excellent, — the Doctor remarked. He took one of the shells, brought it to his face, and she saw his nostrils flare almost imperceptibly as he drew in the smell of the sea, salt, and iodine that came from the open shell.

— Dominic, you have impeccable taste, I must admit.

— It's important to me that my guests feel comfortable, — Dominic replied, and there was a biting irony in his voice.

— Your 'guests,' Dominic, — the Doctor smirked, baring a row of even teeth that gleamed in the soft light, — always get what they come for. I've heard you're famous for that. — The Doctor smiled. His smile was sticky as honey.

He licked his lips, leaving a wet trace on them, and in that gesture there was so much obscene pleasure that Leya looked away, feeling heat flood her face. She moved her fork around her plate, creating the appearance of eating.

— Rest assured, you'll get what you came for. The session will take place on deck, after dinner. No taking her into the cabins, — Dominic said calmly.

Leya froze. Her hope that Dominic would cool down at the table and realise how badly he had overplayed his hand on deck crumbled. He wasn't going to quell the conflict. The alcohol and the Doctor's presence only fuelled his excitement. She could see it in his eyes — they gleamed like a man who was enjoying a game where the stakes were too high to back down.

— Excellent. Open space is the best environment for working with tension, — the Doctor nodded, and his voice was approving, like a professor who had finally received the right answer from a student. He leaned back in his chair. His skin gleamed with dark gold, with a barely noticeable olive undertone.

She tried to take another sip of wine — just to keep her hands busy. But the glass trembled in her hand, and wine splashed over the rim, leaving a stain on the tablecloth. The world around her was beginning to sway slightly.

Her breathing quickened. She could feel her chest rising and falling beneath the fabric of her swimsuit, felt how her nipples had hardened. The porcelain skin on her collarbones was covered in goosebumps, and she knew they both could see it.

She tried to focus on the orchid in the centre of the table, on its white petals with a dark-purple heart. But the flower began to blur slightly before her eyes, its petals merging into one large white spot. She blinked, trying to bring it back into focus.

"Twenty-three. One hour, eleven minutes."

Claire's teeth were gritted. A stray lock of hair, wet and matted by the sheen of sweat that covered almost every inch of her body, clung to her forehead. She couldn't reach to brush it away. She couldn't reach anything.

Around her, her lab assistants were clustered, clipboards at the ready as they recorded their observations. One or two met her eyes, sympathetic, concerned even, silently asking once more whether she was still serious, if the test should carry on. Claire couldn't have mustered much energy even if she'd had more of her mobility available, but with what little fortitude she still had left she managed a little nod. They weren't finished yet.

Her lead assistant on the project turned to their minute-taker. "Beginning again..."

"I'm not sure we can put out an ad for tests for this one," Claire had said at the beginning of that week. "Too ethically questionable even if people readily volunteer. For obvious reasons the testing on this one is going to have to be... well, rigorous*, and we can't subject our testers to anything that's going to call into question whether everyone has given ongoing, informed consent."*

"Well then how do we go on with this one?" her lead assistant had asked uncertainly.

Claire had managed a furtive half-smile. Nervous, sure, but the thrill of the words were why she'd decided to turn her qualifications to this industry in the first place. "I guess I'm just going to have to test it on myself."

She had just a moment longer of respite. Claire could feel the anticipation in her belly, the jangling of nerves that instinctively almost made her squirm, fruitlessly, against the array of taut straps that pinned her body to the medical table in the centre of the room. The wait agonisingly long. The relief it provided unbearably short.

And then it started again.

The humming of the smooth, round head of the vibrator that the firmest of the straps held in place against her clit, swelling from a gentle buzz to an onslaught that drove her mind all but blank. At the same time, the turning of the mechanism of the fucking machine; the dildo, exquisitely proportioned, building easily to firm, relentless strokes inside her. Wringing the pleasure once again from her immobile, helpless body.

By her own regulations, she couldn't have one during the testing, but Claire wouldn't have minded a gag between her lips. As it was, as the machine worked her over once again, all she could do was scream.

"So the idea is this," Claire had explained proudly as she'd unveiled the little box containing the pills her many months of research had refined. "A drug to prevent the user from reaching orgasm for the duration of its effects, but without dulling or numbing the experience of physical pleasure. Perfect for longer sessions for service tops, indulging an orgasm control kink, or just for anyone who can only experience one orgasm at a time wary of finishing too quickly..."

Amused glances around the room. "Now, to see just what kind of potency we're working with or dosage to recommend," Claire had gone on, "is where things get a little trickier. Because the best way I can think to test it - the only way to get an exact measurement, really - would be to subject the tester after taking the drug to continual stimulation that would otherwise be enough to bring them to orgasm, and see how long it takes before they finally get there..."

She'd felt a little thrill even saying the words aloud.

It was there again. It took no time at all with how worked up she already was at this point. The buzzing of the vibrator had reached its peak. The machine was fucking her to its unerring, unwavering rhythm, long, deep strokes adding another layer of ecstasy to the pressure on her clit. Claire's back was arched, her fingers and toes flexing involuntarily; her legs struggled instinctively to close as the straps kept them pinned in place, incapable of doing anything but laying there and enduring the pleasure that was bombarding her.

And then she felt it. The invisible wall that her mind and body seemed to hit, when under normal circumstances the tension would have been broken by a climax. Every nerve screamed, as it had the many times before now, to be allowed release, to give in to the pressure being exerted on it. Some part of her refused. She couldn't cum. No matter how badly she wanted to. How badly she needed to.

And then the stimulation paused. Just where she would have otherwise simply broken, and Claire bit back a sob as the vibrations once again slowed, the strokes slackened to a halt; leaving her, quivering, to gather herself for a moment again to prepare to go on.

"Twenty-four," her lead assistant said softly. Twenty-four orgasms denied. Twenty-four times her whole self had begged internally for release. Twenty-four times the drug had refused. "One hour, fourteen minutes."

She reached out and stroked Claire's forehead gently, reassuringly. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes, but again, Claire quietly nodded. Go on.

It was, after all, for science.

Her assistant turned, once again, to their minute-taker. "Beginning again..."

We’re laying down on my bed next to each other as we giggle tipsily over tonight’s events when she starts talking about it.

“God, sometimes I have the weirdest ideas.” She smiles to herself before turning towards me and putting her hands under her cheek against the pillow. “Okay can I tell you one of them?”

I smile and turn to mirror her position.

“Weird ideas huh?” I laugh. “Yea of course Livie, you can tell me anything.” She bites her lip and pauses for a moment before she tells me.

“Sometimes I think it would be fun to watch someone struggle. To cum. Like maybe making them beg me to let them cum or only letting them cum by making them hump something. The control and watch them submit to me and have to ask…. It does things to me.”

I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. My eyes widen and I swallow loudly before taking in a deep inhale. The weirdest part about all that is I don’t think it’s that weird at all. I can already imagine myself doing it. Working hard to give her what she wants, rubbing myself on whatever she asks, and then having to beg for her permission to cum. She wasn’t talking about me though, obviously, so I have to stop thinking like that.

“Yea you think I’m weird.” She laughs nervously. “It’s okay sorry it just a fantasy. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No. No, I don’t think you’re weird.” I’m quick to reassure her, but it’s hard to tell your best friend that you want to get off in front of them and beg them to cum. I decide to try to be truthful. She’s made the choice to be vulnerable about her fantasies. I can try to tell her some of mine.

“I actually really like that. I think I would want something like that. But more from the other side of it.” I try not to let my voice shake as I say it. This is the closest we’ve been to the real truth, which is that I want her specifically to be the one to do those things to me. The only problem is we’re both girls and I really doubt Livie would want me.

“Yea?” She smirks. “Little Ellie begging and moaning while rubbing herself on a pillow. Hmm yea that would be pretty cute to watch you try.”

My heart starts beating like crazy and I try not to let it show how excited she’s making me. Does she actually want me to do that? Or is she just messing with me?

“Of course I could do it. I would be so good at it too.” I say back a little defensively. I don’t like it if she’s messing with me like this. It’s already so hard for me not to tell her how I feel. There’s nothing that could have prepared me for what she would say next.

“Show me.” It takes me a second to process her words and I search her eyes for signs that she’s joking. She isn’t.

“You… you want to watch me rub myself on a pillow?” I ask. There’s no way that’s what she actually wants so I’m not going to sit up and start going at it until I’m sure.

“Yes.” She nods confidently. “Take off your panties.”
Holy fuck what is happening. I quickly do as she asks and reach under my dress to pull off my pink frilly panties. They’re soaked with the evidence of my arousal and I go to throw them to the side before she catches my wrist. She slowly pulls them out of my hand and inspects them for a moment before flicking her eyes back to me.

“Wow, you really don’t think this is weird. Good. Now get on your knees. I’ll pick the pillow you’re going to rub on.”

What the fuck is happening. I do as she says and sit up on my knees as I watch her look around the room for the right pillow to make me cum with. She stops when she sees the big fluffy silk throw pillow that I keep on my loveseat.

“Perfect. This way I can see the mess you’re making as you try to cum.” She’s smiling as she turns back to me and my stomach tightens a little with anxiety.

She’s actually going to see me cum. She’s going to see me turned on and messy and into it. I don’t think I really processed that until right now. It’s basically like handing over a big fat sign that says ‘hey, I’m gay, please fuck me’. I take a deep breath to try to settle my nerves. She wants this. She wants to see me like this. It’s okay to let go, for at least in this moment, I can be me and no one’s going to judge me.

“Okay.” My voice is quieter than I expect. “Make sure the door is locked please. We can’t tell anyone about this if I do this, okay?” I know she never would, but I need to hear it.

“Yes. No one will ever know.” She confirms seriously before handing me the pillow and going to double check the door. When she comes back she sits on my loveseat that’s facing my bed.

“Okay little Ellie. Get to work.”

I place the pillow between my legs and try to relax before I begin to grind my pussy into the pillow. It’s a little awkward at first and I’m embarrassed I look silly rubbing myself into the cushions. I close my eyes and try to just focus on doing what feels good and slowly build up a rhythm that works for me. My breathing picks up and I start to feel hot all over, the fabric of my dress clinging to my skin uncomfortably.

I gasp when I feel her hand on my thigh and whimper as I grind a little harder into the pillow.

“I want to take this off you. Is that okay?” I hear her ask me softly. I nod my head and feel her lift my dress off of me. The cool air feels good on my warm skin and I moan. I try not to think about my boobs bouncing with every thrust or the way I can feel the pillow getting wetter with each of my movements. For a second I don’t even remember that I’m not supposed to be doing any of this and it’s okay to let Livie watch me pleasure myself.

My brows furrow and my panting and moaning increases and I know I’m close.

“You’re right there aren’t you? You need to cum?” She asks me in a breathy voice and I groan at knowing this is effecting her too. I nod vigorously before letting my head fall back in a moan. That is, until I feel her gripping my hair. God that feels good.

“Ask properly. Ask for permission to cum.” That should not effect me as much as it should, even with how obsessed I am of her. It’s the humiliation of it. Needing her to tell me if I can orgasm or not.

“Please.” I gasp. “Please let me cum, Livie, please.” I moan when she grips my hair harder and try to hold off while wait for her response. The suspense is making it worse and a whine loudly.

“Yes you may cum. Let me see it baby.”

“Oh fuck.” I moan out as I release onto the pillow. She holds my hair through it and I shake hard knowing she’s watching my face as I fall apart for her.

I’m breathing heavily as I slow my movements to a stop and then lean my head into her hand as she cradles my face in her palm. We don’t say anything for a moment. She just lets me catch my breath and strokes my cheek and hair softly. I turn my face to kiss her palm before I realize I’m doing it and then I freeze in panic. For some reason it’s one thing to cum in front of your best friend, but it’s another thing to kiss them. She giggles and then I feel her soft lips press lightly to my cheek.

“You look so beautiful.” Her praise is exactly what I needed and I melt into her hand again. “You did really well. Thank you for letting me watch. I want to do that again, if you want to?”

Her question sends a rush of happiness through me and I open my eyes to stare into hers as I smile and nod.

“Yea. I would like that.” I say happily and she smiles back at me. I’m pretty sure I would do anything she asked of me if looked at me adoringly as she is now.

***author’s note: I thought this couple deserved more context for their first time together. Thank you for reading! Part 1 is already posted. You can find on my page or on r/bdsmerotica *