Blackmailing Brother-in-Law, Ch. 03

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any events or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All players are over the age of eighteen unless otherwise stated. If you have a problem with bondage or non-consensual sex, go no further! This story is purely for adult fantasy and entertainment. The author in no way condones violence towards women. Constructive criticism and comments welcome at the end. Since the readers enjoyed the first two parts, I decided to do a third installment. Enjoy!

-BBD

They say that Paris is the city of love and lights. Well, for me, it is the place where I ventured further into the world of being a sex slave as I accompanied my sister-in-law Brenda there for one of her many modeling jobs. I hope that you all will enjoy this part of my story.

The gold-trimmed doors of the Hôtel des Roses click shut behind us with a hushed finality. The chandeliered lobby glitters with decadent promise, but Brenda's smile hints at darker delights. She walks a step ahead, her heels clicking on the marble like a countdown to something inevitable. I follow with my head lowered, a practiced demureness that had been trained into me long before we boarded the flight to Paris.

Our suite on the top floor is extravagantly appointed with velvet drapes, a marble fireplace, and a private terrace overlooking the Seine. However, I know it's not the view Brenda is interested in.

Brenda's fingers slid beneath my chin the moment the door clicks behind us.

"Strip," she says, her voice as smooth and sharp as satin over a blade.

I obey without hesitation, folding my clothes with quiet precision, laying them across the velvet bench near the foot of the bed. My skin flushes with the cool air and the weight of Brenda's gaze.

Brenda unzips her suitcase, not the one with her dresses and event shoes, but the smaller leather trunk with brass corners. Inside are coils of silk rope, polished cuffs, a variety of gags from elegant to cruel, and a collar that shimmers black with a single ruby in the center.

She holds the collar out. "I am going to show you how we welcome a new city, baby."

I step forward on bare feet, chest rising with each breath. Brenda clips the collar closed with a slow, deliberate snap, then tugs once on the front ring, watching my lashes flutter.

"Good girl," she purrs.

Brenda guides me to the bed and has me lie down, back against the cool silk of the sheets. She ties my wrists above my head, secure to the ornate headboard, then binds my ankles to the corners of the bed frame. Spread wide and completely at her mercy, just the way Brenda likes me.

Then comes the gag. What will it be this time? Another ball gag? Scarves? A penis gag? I get my answer when she stuffs my mouth with a hot pink scarf and wraps something white and sticky around my head.

"Vet wrap," she explains. "Self adhering, and such a good sealant."

She sits beside me for a moment, fingers drifting lazily over my stomach, circling my navel, dragging down to the inner thigh without ever quite touching where I need her. Brenda enjoys the slow build. The exquisite tension. The knowledge that I would be squirming, silent and helpless, when she steps into the bathroom to begin her own preparations for the evening's gala.

"Tonight," she whispers leaning close, lips brushing my ear, "you'll kneel beside me at the afterparty. But first, I'll take my fill."

She kisses me once on the forehead.

It's so deceptively tender, because

I can just about guess what's coming next.

Then again, maybe I cannot!

Brenda doesn't rush.

She never does.

Power isn't in speed. It's in control, in the long silences between strokes, the spaces where anticipation builds and begs for release.

She trails the leather crop down my thigh, the cool tip teasing its way between my legs. I whimper behind the gag, my hips arching instinctively, eyes already glassy.

"Don't wriggle," Brenda warns, tapping the crop gently against the soft flesh just above my knee. "If I see you squirm again, I'll tighten the ropes and leave you here while I do my makeup."

I freeze as if my body itself understood that being ignored by Brenda, being denied, is the harshest punishment.

"Good." Brenda smiles, then strikes.

The first slap of leather lands lightly across my inner thigh. It's more of a kiss more than a bite, but it makes me shudder. The next comes harder, across the other side. Then again, higher this time, until I am trembling, my eyes fluttering closed with every measured hit. Brenda knows every inch of me, where I flinch, where I moan, and where I break.

She works slowly, methodically. Letting red marks bloom in symmetrical pairs. Then she climbs onto the bed, straddling my torso just below my ribs, bending low until our eyes meet. Brenda's lipstick is a dangerous red, and her breath smells faintly of peppermint and cruelty.

"You look perfect like this," she whispers, brushing my hair away from my damp forehead. "My pretty little thing. My property."

I make a soft, choked sound behind the gag, half whimper, half plea. Brenda leans down and licks the tear from the corner of my eye.

Then, without warning, she slides her fingers between my legs.

The gasp that comes through the gag is raw and sudden. Brenda didn't pause. She strokes me deliberately, expertly, her fingers knowing and unrelenting. Her other hand pinches my nipple, twisting hard, just as she pressed deeper.

"That's it. Give it to me. Let go for me," she murmured, voice like a chant, coaxing me higher and higher, until my body goes taut beneath the ropes, one long arch of tension, and then shatters with a muffled cry.

Brenda didn't stop until I have sobbed myself silent.

Only then did she slowly withdraw her fingers and holds them under my nose. I can smell my arousal, earthy, visceral... powerful!

She smiles again, this time softer, warmer. "My good girl."

She picks up another rope and wraps it around my waist, pulling it tightly, stealing my breath and threading it between my legs twice before knotting it off at my navel. Then she attaches two black clamps to my hardened nipples.

"Enjoy yourself while I get ready," she says.

She climbs off the bed and saunters into the bathroom. The door closes. I hear water running. It drowns out the sound of my muffled moans as the rope continues to capture my pussy and clit. Liquid drips from between my legs and pools underneath me.

Another slow burn begins to build. The fibers of the rope brushing deliciously against my most sensitive area, the part of me that is burning and throbbing with each beat of my heart, each pulse a desperate cry for another round of explosion.

"Mmmmmmm," I moan softly. I will take my lesson from Brenda and let the tensions build slowly. Above me my fingers open and close and slowly wiggle. I pull on the ropes and feel the tension on my wrists and ankles. I'm not going anywhere.

"Mmmmph! Mmmmm, hmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmmmmm!" I bite down on the silk between my teeth. It silences any chance I have of normal speech. The vet wrap feels tight, but not uncomfortably so. It honestly hugs my face like a second skin, as if it belongs there.

Yes, Aniyah, this is where you belong, with her, helpless, muffled, gagged, and aroused.

"Hmmmmmph! Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmmf!"

My belly begins rolling, in, down, out, in, down, out, the muscles pushing past the restrictive rope, pushing, pulling, restrained, so hot, so... so... good!

I begin rolling my hips in circles like I'm tracing a circle on the ceiling with them.

"Fhmmmph! Ormmmmmph! Mmmmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmmmph!"

Thrust, thrust, thrust, rolling, rolling, thrust, thrust!

"Ormmmmmph! Fhmmmph! Hmmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmmmmph! Mmmmmmmmmmph!"

My humming and muffled voice drives me over the edge where another orgasm is waiting. I fall willingly, knowing that it will catch me.

My neck and back arch. I'm falling, falling, falling...

After the peak of climax, relaxation surges and wraps me in its arms.

My eyelids flutter.

Sleep has its turn with me.

Sometime later, I stand in front of Brenda as she gives me a final inspection. My face has been painted with brand name cosmetics whose name I cannot pronounce, yet give my face the appearance of a priceless porcelain doll. My hair has been elegantly coiffed in a beautiful updo with soft curls dangling around my cheeks. My gown, long sleeved, black, dripping with sequins, with a high neck but an open back that stops just above my tailbone clings to my body in a way that is sensual yet tasteful. The skirt falls to my ankles in black waves. Brenda, in a gown with spaghetti straps, a dangerously low bust, made of similar bronze material, comes up to me with a large red ball gag.

"Open my slave."

I know not to disobey. I open my mouth. She pushes the ball between my glittering lips and buckles the strap behind my head.

"Grab the doorknob," she points to the bathroom door. I grab the knobs on both sides. She straps a leather corset on me and takes pride in making the laces tight. Finally, she secures my wrists with handcuffs behind my back.

"Here in Paris," she says, "there is no need to hide. The people at this party know who I am and the lifestyle I lead."

She finishes by fastening a collar around my neck. Attached to it is a black chain.

"Now, come. We have an event to attend."

She walks me down the hall to the elevator. When we get on, I cast my eyes down. I have been in public before while bound, but it was always hidden from view! Now this?

The elevator dings. Some more people get on. My mouth is dry. My heart pounds madly. The people do seem to glance at me, but they continue chattering amongst themselves. I do hear a few snickers and giggles. Are they laughing at me? My cheeks burn red. Should I have agreed to come?

Hah! Looks I have a choice any more! I belong to all of them, my husband Jack, and his siblings, Brenda and Alex. They take turns using me. Usually it's fun, but then again, my bondage is usually hidden under niqab. Here it's just so, so.... open!

The elevator dings again. The people exit.

"Come my pet. This is our stop." Brenda gives the leash a gentle tug. I obediently follow her towards the banquet hall.

The room is huge. I'd say it could hold at least a couple thousand easily. Our heels click on the marble floors. Above us intricate paintings look down on us between beautiful crystal chandeliers. One whole wall is devoted to huge windows that go from the floor to the ceiling. Brenda leads me to a table meant for two people.

"Kneel," she says. I kneel beside one of the chairs. She sweeps her gown under her and sits down. The corset forces me to hold my torso retract. I cannot slouch at all. As a result my breasts are pushed forward.

"That's my good pet," Brenda pats my head. "If you are good then I will let you eat with us."

I nod obediently.

"Brenda, you made it," says a thick male accented voice.

"Marcus! It is wonderful to see you again!"

Brenda kisses the man on each of his cheeks. I'm trying not to look at him, but it's hard. He is tall with dark hair, a neat mustache and closely trimmed beard. His shoulders look perfectly framed in his expensive three piece suit. He has almost no body fat.

"Who is this lovely creature you have brought with you?"

"This is my sister-in-law and slave, Aniyah."

"Ah, keeping it in the family, my dear?"

"Originally she was my brother's, then he let me in on the deal. Now we share her, along with my younger brother, her husband."

"Sounds like a lovely arrangement. You will come to Celeste's for the midnight party, won't you?"

"I didn't know she was having a party? Seems that my invite got lost."

I can hear the scorn in her voice.

"Come as my guest then," Marcus says, "you and your beautiful toy."

"We will."

"Then it's settled. I will meet you in the lobby at eleven-thirty."

As he walks away, Brenda leaned down and whispers in my ear,

"They will love you. Get ready to be used."

I nod.

At eleven-thirty sharp, I stand in the lobby of the Hotel de Crois with Brenda. She shows me the remote that she keeps in her clutch. I nod, knowing what it's for, the egg in my pussy and the plug in my butt, held in place by the latex panties.

"Brenda," Marcus comes up from behind her, "on time as usual. Shall we depart?"

"Yes. We shall." She gives my leash a tug. I follow obediently.

We go outside and into the cool night air. The driver opens the door. Brenda steps inside. I follow and kneel beside her. Marcus climbs in last. The door slams. The car pulls out.

"So, what treats do you have for us tonight, darling?" Marcus asks Brenda.

"I'm going to showcase just how much discipline that Aniyah can show."

"How? I'm curious."

Brenda pulls the remote from her clutch and presses it. The toys vibrate to life.

"Ormmmmph! Mmmmmmm! Hmmmmmmmmm!"

I toss my head back and close my eyes. Muffled moans rip from my throat. Fireworks are erupting from my most intimate holes. My breath comes in ragged pants. Just as I am getting close, Brenda turns them off.

"Mmmmmmm! Hmmmm, mmmmmmm, mmmmmmm,"

I pant.

"By edging her," she says. "I'm sure that Celeste will appreciate Aniyah being the entertainment tonight. Normally I would have her belly dance, but we must get her in the door first, showcase that she is worthy of performing for the countess."

"Good idea," Marcus nods.

The two of them talk during the ride. Brenda takes pleasure in continuing to edge me until the limo stops. By then I am aching and throbbing for release. Brenda drops a black bag over my head and pulls the strings tight.

My world descended into darkness, I must follow blindly. I can hear the introductions, smell the expensive perfume of Countess Celeste, and hear the chattering around me. I can hear every clink of the glass, the heel clicks, even the subtle giggle and kisses.

"Up here," Brenda says. "Step up."

My heels click against something. She backs me up to what feels like a giant pillar. My hands are removed from the cuffs, and then cuffed again behind this... thing.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen," Brenda says, "my slave Aniyah will stand here for thirty minutes, being edged by the help of some remote toys. You may speak to her, engage her, but you may not free her. She will demonstrate how disciplined she is and how obedient she is. The clock starts now."

"Mmmmmmph! Mmmmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmmmmph!" My body shakes with pleasure. The corset forces me to stand perfectly straight. I shift my hips a bit. Oh I want to cum! I want to cum so badly!

"You cum without permission, and the edging will last all night," Brenda whispers.

I nod. The toys stop vibrating. She leaves me there panting and snatching breaths.

"You look so beautiful all tied up," a woman says. Is your mouth full of something?"

"Mmmmmm, hmmmmmm," I nod.

"You sound delicious. I hope that maybe one day I can play with you."

She isn't the only one who stops. I am pinched and groped, all while fighting those toys and the growing sensations inside of me. My heart is racing and my mouth is dry from the gag. Fireworks continue to shoot from my pussy and ass. Just when I think I might lose control and cum, Brenda says,

"Time is up! She managed to hang on! She did not cum without her mistress' permission!"

The room explodes in applause.

"We will return momentarily after I reward my pet.

Someone takes me down from the pillar and the platform. Head still covered, I follow Brenda into a room where the sounds of the party are muffled.

"You did excellent," she says. "I think you are ready to receive your reward now. Sit."

She removes the corset and my gorgeous gown. Now clad in just my garter, stockings, rubber panties and bra, she lays me back on what feels like a bed. She binds my wrists in front of me and then pulls them over my head. She fastens the rope to something so that I cannot lower my arms.

"Now my dear, let me give you what you have been aching for all evening."

She removes the rubber panties and coaxes the egg out of my pussy.

"I think we will leave your butt plugged up for now. In the meantime, let me have some dessert."

"Mmmmmmmmmmmph! Mmmmmmmmm, hmmmmmmm!" I scream when I feel her mouth on my thigh. She doesn't eat my pussy right away. She licks my inner thighs and blows across my pubic hair.

"Phmmmm," I groan. It's the best version of 'please' I can muster with my mouth full.

"If you are sure, because you are going to cum and cum," Brenda says wickedly.

"Mmmmmmmm!" I nod.

She dives into my pussy, with open mouth and exploring tongue. My pelvis involuntarily thrusts into her mouth, again, and again. The orgasms begin like earthquakes, powerful, jolting, and amazingly good. They come one after another, each one gripping me tighter than the other until finally, Brenda sits back.

"I counted at least four. Is that accurate?"

I can barely move, but I better answer.

"Mmmmmm, hmmmm!"

She undoes the drawstring of the bag. She lifts it enough to expose my mouth and pull the gag down. A straw. Cold water, then her lips.

"I'm sure that my friend Marcus wants to put this mouth to good use. After all, he did get us in."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good girl."

She pulls the ball gag back into place and pulls the bag back down over my face. I hear the door open and close. I can smell Marcus' cologne as he approaches. It's a mixture of wood and pine mixed with masculinity. The smell alone might make me cum!

"Aniyah," he whispers my name, "such a pretty little slave, eager and waiting to serve." He pulls up the bag. His fingers stroke my cheek before he pulls down the ball gag.

"Suck," he all he says. He pushes the mushroom head of his cock into my mouth.

"Mmmmm, mmmmmm," I moan. I wet his shaft with my tongue. I am bobbing and moving my head. I take him in deeply, his head tickling the back of my throat. He begins to moan, deep, primal, dangerously.

"Fuck! Ohhhhh, Aniyah! Uhhhhhhh!" He rips his cock from my mouth. Immediately the ball is placed back on my mouth and the bag retied.

Marcus rubs my pussy with the head of his cock. He sinks into me with a breath. Then he retracts and pushes forward.

"Mmmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm!" I cry.

Marcus doesn't speak. He lets his body do it. He pins me down on the bed with his lips finding the hollow of my neck. His thumb finds my clit. I push against him as he pushes into me. It doesn't take long for us to both fall apart.

Slowly, he pulls out of me.

"Absolutely delicious," he whispers in my ear. "I will see you again before you return to the states."

Brenda comes back.

"The Countess wants to see you. We must clean you up and get you dressed again."

She cleans up all the fluids that I've accumulated and helps me get dressed. She puts the egg back in my pussy before placing the rubber panties back into place. She leads me somewhere, a room that smells different, lavender, sage maybe?

"Kneel," Brenda says.

She helps me down onto a cushion. The next voice is firm, accented, but sexy.

"Aniyah, it is Contessa Celeste. I have a proposition for you. I was so impressed by your control while on display that I want you to be one a part of my collection for a week. You heard me right, collection. You will join my harem of pets to serve me and my business partners. However, there is one stipulation. I will not take you without your consent. Brenda has already agreed, but you must also say yes. I will have her remove the gag so that you may answer."

Brenda exposes my mouth and pulls down the ball.

"Yes, Contessa. I will happily serve you for a week."

"Thank you. You may gag her now."

The ball and the bag are put back into place. Celeste snaps her fingers.

"We have a new guest," she says. "Prepare the girl for initiation."

Initiation?

Two strong hands lock into mine and lead me away.

To where, I have no idea.

Without my eyes I have to rely on my other senses, hearing and smell, mainly. I am taken down a series of hallways, rooms? The flooring changes frequently.

Finally, we stop. The air in this room is cool and sterile. My clothes are removed, and so are the toys. They remove the ball gag. It is replaced with two cloths that make my cheeks bulge. Something is wrapped over it. I cannot tell what it is before the bag is tied back in place.

Then there is more rope, around my waist, between my legs, looped around my breasts and arms. I am made to sit in a chair with cool metal legs. My wrists are tied behind my back. My legs are spread so that my thighs and ankles are tied apart to the legs of the chair.

The people who tie me are quick. Efficient. Silent.

"How many times can you cum before daylight?" a voice asks. "The only limits are how much you can take."

Clamps are placed on my nipples.

Silence surrounds me. No voices, no water dripping, no car horns or traffic.

Silence.

I hear everything.

I hear nothing.

Submit. Struggle. Move your hips.

"Mmmmmmmmph!" I grunt the first time I roll my hips in a circle.

The gag is tight.

The ropes are tighter.

I cannot speak.

Cannot scream.

They took my voice.

"Mmmmmmmmmmph! Mmmmmm, hmmmmm, mmmmmmm, mmmmmmmph!"

My fingers curl beneath my bound wrists. My ankles roll in circles. My toes curl and uncurl with every thrust of my pelvis.

They said no limits.

I can cum and cum and cum.

Can I?

"Mhm, fhmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmmph! Ormmmph fhmmm, ghmmmmph! Fhmmm!"

Thrusting.

Grunting.

Moaning.

Dripping.

My pussy is so hungry. Please let the friction make me cum!

Hips shifting. Breasts flopping. Little jolts of pain in my breasts.

"Mmmmmmmph! Hmmmmmmph!"

The first one comes in a strong thunder like sensation. My pelvis freezes midair. Then more thrusting.

The ropes pull.

The gag muffles.

More, my pussy demands.

Give me more.

"Mmmmmmmmm!"

I submit fully to all of it, the sensations, the urges...

And the need.

Not just the need to cum, but to feel possessed, taken, kept...

Owned.

"Mmmmmmmmph! Hmmmmmmph! Mmmmmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmmmmmph!"

Another orgasm sweeps over me like a tidal wave.

I rest for a while. My body goes limp. I sit with my chin on my chest.

"Struggle," someone whispers. "You aren't done."

Then another voice,

"We see you, Aniyah. Perform for us. Show us what the ropes do to you."

Then comes a chorus of voices,

"Struggle! Thrust! Moan!"

I obey them. I put on a show for the people.

Suddenly, there is a light shining in my face.

"Five," says the mysterious voice from earlier. "Untie the girl. Take her upstairs to rest. She has her first assignment tonight."

The two men from earlier free me from the chair. They walk me to a room and lay me on a bed.

Sleep comes easily.

****

That first day she has me brought to her office. My wrists are cuffed behind my back. A large black ball gag is strapped into my mouth, and the black canvas bag is tied over my head. I am also wearing nothing but a lacy black thong.

"Stand with your back straight," she says.

I adjust my posture. I can smell her perfume as she gets closer to me.

"Nice breasts," she says. She lifts one in her hand. "No implants. Very good. You are all natural."

I nod.

She slaps my ass.

"Mmmmmmmmph!"

"That was not a question! Let me see your belly move. Brenda says that you are a talented dancer."

I pull in my abdominal muscles from the top and push them down and out.

"Silly girl," she says in a disapproving tone. "Do you think I can see your talent with one movement? Come on! Move your belly like you do when you dance for your male dommes!"

A soft moan escapes my around the ball gag, barely audible. My mouth is stretched wide, saliva collecting at the corners. My breathing slows into a deep, trained rhythm, measured, calm, even as my heart pounds.

"You dance with your body," the Countess whispers, "but tonight, you will dance with your stillness."

A gloved hand slides down my sternum, resting lightly above my navel.

"Breathe for me," the Countess says. Her voice is unmistakable, sharp as wine, smooth as silk.

I obey, pulling in air, letting it push through my belly.

Again, the hand traces the rise and fall of my breath. "There it is," the Countess murmurs. "Your belly is the truth of you. Not your eyes. Not your voice. This."

She presses her palm against my core. "Do you know why we gag you, pet?"

I whimper softly behind the ball, not in protest, never in protest, but in need. The kind of need that makes my whole body hum.

"To remind you," Celeste answers herself, "that your words aren't what we want. We want your body. Your breath. Your obedience."

The hand disappears. A moment later, I feel the faintest tickle of silk trailing down my back. Then the sting--swift, light, a crop or a switch. My breath catches.

"Good girl. Warm. Steady. "You take it so beautifully."

My world is limited to touch, sound, and the heat building inside of me.

The Countess's voice returns, low and commanding. "Now, show me what your belly can do. I want to feel it ripple beneath my fingers. Just like when you perform for them."

I breathe in, and though I can't see, my body knows what to do. I draw my abdominal muscles in from the top, and release them downward in a slow, controlled wave.

I hears the soft sound of silk shifting as someone kneels in front of me. A warm hand presses to my stomach, then trails downward, feeling each tremor, each contraction.

"Again."

I move again. Again. Again. My body dancing without sight, without words, only sensation and obedience.

It is not performance.

It is devotion.

And in the unseen darkness of the hood, where I cannot look for approval or fear rejection, I find something close to ecstasy.

A hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my saliva-wet chin.

"You are art," the Countess whispers. "Blind. Gagged. Bound. And yet still you give. There is no greater power than surrender."

A pause.

"Tonight, he will come for you. Not to hurt you, but to watch what true submission looks like."

I shiver. Not in fear. In readiness.

I bow my head lower, offering more of myself to the unknown. I am not alone. I am surrounded.

Owned. Adored. Seen, even with the sack tied over my head.

A low hum escapes Countess Celeste's throat as her fingers drift lower, pressing lightly just above the hem of my lace thong.

"You think I can't tell?" she murmurs, amused. "You think the scent of your arousal doesn't give you away?"

My body tightens instinctively. I can't see the Countess, but I can feel her presence, leaning in, her breath against the fabric of the hood.

Celeste's fingers brush the waistband of the black lace, the only scrap of clothing that I still wear. A whisper of luxury against bare skin. Ornamental now. Futile.

"So pretty," the Countess muses. "All this lace and wet heat, hidden beneath that perfect, obedient stillness."

She slips a finger beneath the waistband, letting it snap gently against my hip. "Tell me, pet... are you proud of this ache between your thighs? Or ashamed?"

A strangled whimper escapes my gagged mouth. I bow my head further, as if hoping the floor might swallow me whole.

"Neither?" Celeste presses. "Both?"

She chuckles softly, and the sound makes me throb. The Countess is enjoying herself, watching me squirm, reveling in my helpless need.

Celeste leans in closer, her voice suddenly sharp and low.

"This is what I wanted. Not just obedience. Not just posture. I wanted hunger. Wet lace. A body that can't lie even when the mouth is gagged."

Her fingers brush the damp fabric between my thighs, and I jerk, muffled cry caught in my throat. The touch is fleeting, but devastating.

"Yes," the Countess whispers, dragging her fingers slowly along the seam. "You ache so sweetly. Like a little song hidden under your skin."

A pause, then the lightest press of her fingers into the growing dampness.

"Your body sings for me," she purrs. "And I haven't even begun."

"May I remove the thong, Countess?" The voice comes from my handler. I'm not sure what else to call him.

A beat of silence. My breath catches.

"No," Celeste says coolly. "Not yet. Let her marinate in her own wanting."

"She'll dance for us again first. And this time..." Her voice darkens, deepens. "She'll feel every ripple pressing into that damp little lace prison she loves so much."

"Fetch the stool," she commands. "Let her dance upright. Still cuffed. Still gagged. But standing. Let her body do the begging."

My heart hammers in my chest. I don't know what's coming next, but I do know one thing:

The Countess wants me to burn.

For them.

"Up," Celeste commands gently.

I don't hesitate. Blind beneath the sack, bound and gagged, I rise with careful grace. My handler, steadying her as I step onto the stool. My ankles tremble--not from fear, but from anticipation. From exposure.

Countess Celeste speaks again. "You may not see us. But we see everything."

I stands there, wrists still cuffed behind my back, gag between my lips, lace clinging damp and hot between my thighs. The sack robs me of vision, but the loss sharpens my awareness of every breath, every sound, every flicker of attention.

"Now," Celeste says, her voice cool and regal, "show us how your belly begs."

I exhale, grounding myself once again. I roll my abdominal muscles from top to bottom, slow, liquid waves rippling under my skin. I isolate the movement, hips locked, legs taut, chest still.

Even without my arms, I dance. It is no performance for an audience. It is prayer. A confession of need.

I move again. This time more intensely. My breath tightens, my thighs press subtly together. Each ripple of my belly presses my damp thong more tightly against my slick heat. I can feel the lace rub, tease, torment.

"Beautiful," Celeste breathes. "She's fucking herself with nothing but her own movements. You are so wet. I can see it soaking through."

That makes me gasp, a broken sound behind the gag. Humiliation and desire flood me at once.

Celeste steps closer, circling the pedestal. Her gloved hand traces along my hip, down the trembling curve of my thigh. "You don't even need touch, do you?" she says. "Just permission."

"Mmmmmmm, mmmmmmm."

The Countess drags a single finger across the lace, over the soaked fabric, slow and deliberate. I whimper again, the sound helpless and raw.

"Keep dancing," Celeste says.

I obey.

Each roll of my stomach grows more desperate. Each breath is shallower, hips twitching against the restraint I am not allowed to break. My thong clings tighter. The dampness grows unbearable. And still, I cannot speak, cannot plead.

Only offer.

"You are radiant," Celeste whispers, stepping back at last. "Dripping. Shackled. Lost in your own ache."

"Shall I remove the gag, Countess?" the handler asks.

A pause. Then: "No."

The Countess steps close again, her breath brushing the fabric over my ear.

"Let her stay gagged. Let her moan through her teeth. Let her writhe in her silence."

"Aniyah," she says. "You've been such a good girl. So obedient. So honest with your body. I will reward you now."

I gasp.

"I'm going to untie the sack," the Countess murmurs, "and I want you to keep your eyes down. Even free, you will not meet my gaze until I say."

The knot is undone. The sack is pulled away.

Warm light floods my vision. It's blurry at first, and then clears to reveal the Countess's elegant form kneeling below me, face calm, hands at my thighs.

My eyes remain downcast, as instructed.

The Countess places a hand between my legs again, and this time, she presses. Slow, firm, possessive.

I start shaking because of the pressure nearly too much after so long denied. My body is on fire. My belly dances on its own now, small, involuntary spasms of need.

"You are everything I hoped for," Celeste whispers. "And we're only just beginning."

I fall apart in her hands. The orgasm is deep, relentless, pulsating, jarring! When it is over, the Countess rises to her feet.

"It is time to change her gag now," the countess says.

The handler comes over to me, a tall man dressed in black, a hooded mask hiding his face. He unbuckles the strap of the ball gag. It gives a little pop as the rubber is freed from my lips. He cuts my thong off and balls it up in his hand.

"Open," is all that he says to me. I open my mouth. The thong, soaked with my need, is shoved inside. Next he wraps vet wrap around my head, black this time, so that it is encasing the lower half of my head. He slips a mask blindfold over my eyes and buckles it.

"She is ready now," the Countess says. "Take her to him."

TO BE CONTINUED...