The phone rang, sharp and sudden. Gus answered, his voice low. He turned to look at me, his eyes cold. "Yeah, I think she understands." A pause. "Chicago? Hold on." He raised his voice, barking at me. "Kid, is the old man in Chicago?"
I stood there, completely nude, Cooper's cum still drying on my breasts, my pubic hair matted and tangled from dried arousal. In the mirror, I saw my reflection—bruised tits, red marks around my nipples, my thighs still trembling from earlier. And all Gus cared about was where my dad was.
I nodded slowly, absently, confirming whatever the voice on the other end had said.
"Seriously, the gel?" Gus asked, his tone almost pitying. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir," he muttered into the phone before hanging up.
I just stared. Oh god, what now? I wanted to go home. To sleep. To forget this nightmare.
"Go have a seat, kid. Lay down on the couch." Gus motioned to Cooper. "Get her another drink."
I moved slowly, my body heavy with dread. As I walked, I caught a glimpse of my bruised ass in the mirror—dark splotches crossed my buttocks where the belt landed. I didn't even care that my puffy lips were on full display as I sat; no longer hiding my shame.
Gus pulled a shoebox-sized container from the cabinet. Inside were gels, adhesive pads with wires, a strange exoskeleton-like contraption, and a thick silver plug.
"With Daddy gone, you'll sleep here," Gus said, squeezing cold gel onto a pad. "Tomorrow, we'll take you to Donna's and get you ready for the big night."
I didn't want to stay. I opened my mouth to protest—
"Don't," Gus cut in. "It'll really hurt if Cooper pinches your nipple right now."
I looked down at my bruised breast, the nipple still red and swollen. I had no choice. I nodded.
"The boss wants you ready for the investor," Gus continued, pressing the gel pad to my nipple. I gasped at the cold. "So aroused you're practically begging him to fuck you."
I stared blankly, my body still humming from the mix of pain and pleasure.
"And you're not to touch yourself."
I laughed—a hollow, broken sound.
Wait till I go to bed, I thought bitterly. Then I'll—
Gus grabbed items from the box and pushed me back so I was lying down. "Please," I whispered. "No more pain. Not tonight."
He sighed. "This won't hurt. Right now."
He attached more gel pads to my thighs—five on each side, from my perineum down. The cold made me shiver.
Gus squeezed some gel onto his finger tip and I jumped as he began to rub it on my clit. I tried to pull away but he held my legs open and dam, if it didn't feel good. But it felt different, like I wanted more but could not get it. Gus said this will prevent you from cumming until tomorrow night. You can be aroused, but you won't be able to cum. You'll want to, need to cum, but you won't be able. My heart sank.
Next came the exoskeleton—a frame wrapping my waist fitting like underwear. I heard a slight click as he locked this into place. Then the worst part: the gel on my clit, thick and numbing, followed by a small hinged door placed over it. A tiny vibrating "finger" clicked into place above.
What the hell is this?
Gus didn't answer. Instead, he parted my cheeks, rubbing cold gel around my asshole. I tensed. "No—please don't—"
His thumb pressed inside, slow and relentless. I gasped, my body fighting the intrusion even as heat pooled low in my belly.
Why does this feel good?
He worked his finger in and out before replacing it with the silver plug. The plug was cold as he began pushing it in. The plug was relentlessly stretching my tender butt hole.
"Breathe," Gus murmured.
I did, and the plug seated fully, leaving me feeling filled in a way I'd never experienced.
Wires connected everything—the thigh pads, nipple pads, plug, clit stimulator—all feeding into a smartwatch strapped to my wrist.
"Bedtime," Gus said, handing me a nightgown.
I pulled it on, grateful for even the thin coverage.
"You won't cum tonight," he explained. "The gel numbs you. But tomorrow? By the time the investor gets here, you'll be begging."
The watch beeped. A gentle pulse started at my clit, then my thighs, then my nipples—each touch electric, teasing. I moaned, hips lifting.
Then my heart rate spiked.
A sharp shock stabbed into my ass. I screamed, back bowing off the couch.
"Good, everything is working," Gus said, unfazed.
The cycle started again: pleasure, building, then pain when I got too close. Over and over, until I was panting, sweat-slicked, desperate.
Finally, Gus helped me stand. "Sleep well."
It took me forever to fall asleep but alas I finally did. I awoke the next morning gasping, the device already humming to life. Gus was already in the room sipping what smelled like coffee.
After breakfast, Gus drove me to Donna's salon. The entire ride, the device teased me—soft pulses, then shocks when my breathing hitched.
The salon was too elegant—cream walls, soft lighting, the scent of lavender and vanilla thick in the air. It felt wrong to be stripped bare here, like I was staining something pristine.
Donna was petite, pretty, with a knowing smile. "Undress," she said.
I hesitated, but Gus's hand hovered over the remote.
I stripped, revealing the bruises, the dried slick between my thighs.
Donna circled me, her fingers trailing over my hips before plucking at my tangled curls. "Look at this mess," she tutted, lifting the matted hair between her fingers. "And smell that." She leaned in near my exposed slit, inhaling deeply before wrinkling her nose. "Someone's been a very naughty girl."
My face burned. The scent of my own arousal—musk and salt and shame—hung heavy between us.
"Up on the table," she ordered, patting the leather surface.
I climbed up, the material cool against my thighs. Before I could even think to cover myself, Donna buckled my ankles into the thick leather stirrups, yanking them wide apart. Then my wrists—locked into cuffs above my head, arms stretched taut.
The first pour of wax was hot, thick, spreading over my mound in slow, deliberate strokes. Donna's fingers pressed in, working it into every crease, her thumb brushing dangerously close to my clit.
I tensed, my hips jerking instinctively.
"Tsk. Don't squirm," she chided, pinching my inner thigh. "Unless you want this to spill right onto your little button."
Her nail scraped my clit as she smoothed the strip, making me gasp. The touch was too much—the numbing gel dulled the pleasure, but not the shock of contact. My pulse spiked, and the plug inside me gave a warning buzz.
Rrrip.
The first strip tore free, fire lancing through my nerves. My back arched, but the restraints held me down.
Donna chuckled, pressing two fingers to my slit and gathering wetness. "Still dripping," she mused, showing me the proof. "Even with all these toys inside you."
She worked lower, waxing my inner lips, spreading me obscenely wide. The wax here burned hotter, the skin more sensitive.
"Such a pretty little pussy," Donna murmured, her fingers lingering as she pressed the strip. "So pink. So tight." Her thumb rubbed circles over my clit as she ripped it away.
I grunted, my thighs trembling.
"Aw, does that hurt?" she cooed, her fingers still teasing. "Or does it feel good?"
I shook my head, but my body betrayed me—hips lifting, cunt pulsing around nothing.
Donna laughed. "Pathetic."
The worst was when she moved to the fine hairs around my clit. She poured the wax in a slow, deliberate line along the crease, her fingers pressing down just above my throbbing nub to stretch the skin.
"Now for the fun part," she whispered, her thumb rolling my clit hood back, exposing the glistening flesh beneath.
I whimpered.
The strip went on agonizingly slow, her fingers brushing my clit with every adjustment. The numbing gel couldn't stop the electric jolts of sensation—each touch sent conflicting signals, pleasure and pain tangled together.
Rrrip.
I jolted, a strangled sound escaping me as the strip tore free. The pain was bright, white-hot, my clit left bare and oversensitive.
Donna's fingers were immediately there, pressing, rubbing, testing. "There now," she murmured, smearing my wetness over the freshly waxed skin. "All clean. Just like a good girl should be."
"Almost done," she said, turning me onto my side.
My asshole clenched before she even touched it.
"Shh," she soothed, pouring wax in a slow circle around my tight rim. Her finger pressed inside, stretching me as she smoothed the strip. "Such a tiny little hole," she mused. "Bet that plug hurt going in, didn't it?"
Rrrip.
I cried out, my body bowing off the table. The pain was searing, my cunt throbbing in response.
Donna's fingers rubbed my clit again, hard. "You like that, don't you?"
The razor came next—cold steel scraping up my inner thighs, my armpits, my arms. Donna plucked every stray hair with tweezers, even the fine ones around my tender nipples.
"Can't have any fuzz distracting from these," she pinched a bruised peak, "when the investor sees them."
Donna reached for a bottle of warm oil, pouring a generous amount into her palms. "Let's make you shine," she murmured, her hands gliding over my freshly waxed skin.
The oil was slick, her touch too deliberate—kneading my thighs, stroking my stomach, rubbing slow circles over my bruised breasts. Her thumbs flicked my nipples, making them peak under the glossy sheen.
"Perfect," she purred, her fingers trailing lower, dripping oil over my bare mound. She spread it with her palm, the heel of her hand pressing against my clit in slow, taunting strokes. "Look at you. Glistening."
Then Gus stepped forward, the exoskeleton in his hands. "Time to get you locked up again," he said, fitting the rigid frame around my waist. The cold metal clicked into place, securing the vibrator firmly against my clit—no squirming away now.
He tapped the smartwatch, and the vibration jumped in intensity.
Oh god.
My back arched, a gasp escaping me as the pleasure spiked. The electrodes on my thighs tingled in response, the pads warming with every racing heartbeat.
Then—ZAP.
The plug shocked me, sharp and sudden, my body jerking against the restraints.
"Ah!"
Gus chuckled, adjusting the settings. "That's just level two."
The vibrator pulsed harder, the pattern changing—long, slow strokes that mimicked a tongue. My hips rocked instinctively, chasing the sensation, but the exoskeleton held me still, forcing me to take it without relief.
ZAP.
Another shock, this one stronger. My thighs trembled, my cunt aching with need.
Donna leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours," she whispered. "Try not to cum."
Then she and Gus walked out, the door clicking shut behind them.
Alone, the vibrator's relentless cycles and the plug's cruel shocks kept me teetering on the edge—pleasure building, pain punishing, no escape in sight.
Hours stretched ahead of me.
And the worst part?
My body liked it.
Here's the corrected version with Samantha's reveal happening naturally when she undresses, and with Amber's observations adjusted accordingly:
**The Transition & Bathroom Scene**
Hours had passed since Donna finished the waxing. The vibrator still hummed against my clit, the electrodes still tingled on my thighs, and the plug still punished me with shocks whenever my arousal spiked too high. My body was strung tight, every nerve alight with need that couldn't be satisfied.
The door opened.
Gus and Donna entered, followed by a girl—Samantha—who looked barely older than me. My face burned as her eyes swept over my restrained form, taking in the vibrator, the wires, the way my body glistened with oil and sweat.
She was pretty in an unexpected way—soft brown hair framing delicate features, full lips that looked like they might actually smile under different circumstances. There was something about her that made my stomach flutter despite everything. What was about to happen between us?
"Time to get cleaned up," Donna said, unbuckling the restraints. She peeled off the electrode pads one by one, then removed the vibrator with a slow, deliberate pull that made me whimper. Finally, she gripped the plug and twisted it free, leaving me feeling hollow.
Gus tossed Samantha a washcloth. "Edge her when you wash her. Right to the brink. Then stop."
Samantha nodded, her cheeks flushing pink as she helped me sit up. My legs trembled when I stood, my muscles weak from hours of tension.
The bathroom was spacious, with a large glass-enclosed shower. Gus settled into a chair near the door while Samantha turned to face me. Without ceremony, she pulled her dress over her head, revealing small, perfect breasts with dark bruises circling the nipples—the same marks that decorated my own chest. Her body was completely hairless below the neck, smooth as a doll's, making her look both innocent and strangely erotic. Fading yellow bruises mottled her hips and thighs.
*They've done to her what they're doing to me.* The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. This pretty girl with her soft brown hair and delicate eyebrows had been through the same torment. Yet there was a quiet grace to her movements, a resigned acceptance that made her all the more alluring as she reached for the shower controls,testing the temperature with her hand before guiding me under the spray.
Samantha reached for the shampoo, massaging it into my hair with surprisingly gentle fingers. She rinsed it carefully, her hands moving down to my shoulders, then my back, working the soap in slow circles.
Here's the cleaned-up version of that section with smoother flow while maintaining all the key elements:
Her touch was methodical at first—shoulders, arms, chest—but when she washed my breasts, her thumbs brushed my nipples just enough to make my breath hitch.
"Sorry," she murmured, though she didn't stop.
Gus's voice barked from the doorway: "You know what to do, Samantha!"
She gave me an apologetic look before leaning forward and taking my nipple into her warm mouth. I gasped as her tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, my hands instinctively gripping her shoulders for balance. The sensation was overwhelming—her lips suctioning gently while her teeth grazed me with tender little nips. My mind reeled with confusion even as my body responded.
While her mouth worked one nipple, her soapy hands slid lower, gliding over my stomach before slipping between my legs. I tensed, but she didn't hesitate, her fingers finding my waxed pussy with slick precision.
"Just relax," she whispered against my breast before switching to the other nipple, her mouth hot and insistent as her fingers began their work below.
But I couldn't. Not when her fingers circled my clit with just the right pressure, not when she pressed a single finger against my tight entrance, barely breaching me before I instinctively clenched.
"Shh," she soothed, working just the tip inside with slow, patient strokes.
I bit my lip, my hips rocking slightly. The pleasure built too fast, my body tightening—
Then she pulled away.
"Turn around," she said.
I obeyed, my pulse pounding as I faced the wall. Her hands trailed lower, over the curve of my ass, then—
A finger pressed against my hole, circling before pushing in.
I gasped, my back arching.
"Almost done," she murmured, working the soap in and out in slow strokes.
By the time she rinsed me off, I was shaking, my body coiled tight with denied release.
She helped me out of the shower, drying me with a plush towel before applying oil everywhere—my arms, my legs, my breasts, even between my thighs, her fingers skimming my clit just enough to make me twitch.
Then came the clothes—white lace panties, a matching bra, and a soft white dress that clung to my body before flaring just above my knees.
Samantha styled my hair in loose waves, applied light makeup, then stepped back.
"Perfect," Gus said, standing. "Now the investor gets his purchase."
*Samantha wouldn’t meet my eyes as he led me away, her fingers clutching the towel she’d used to dry me. For a heartbeat, I wondered if I’d ever see her again—and what worse things might be waiting for her when I did.*
The car ride was agony. Every bump in the road sent a fresh jolt of need through me, my thighs pressed together, my fingers gripping the seat beneath me. The white dress felt too thin, too delicate, like it might tear if I moved too fast.
I just want to be fucked. I don't care who does it. I just need release.
The mansion loomed ahead, its towering gates swinging open as we approached. The driveway was lined with perfectly manicured hedges, the house itself a sprawling monument to wealth—ivy crawling up stone walls, windows glowing gold in the evening light.
Gus led me inside without a word, guiding me upstairs to the master bedroom. The bed was an ornate four-poster, draped in silk, piled with pillows. A bottle of wine and a tray of chocolates sat on the nightstand, untouched.
Is this supposed to be romantic?
Gus guided me to the center of the room, his grip firm on my elbow. "He'll be here soon," he said, his voice low. "I'll be watching. But for now, you wait."
I swallowed hard. "Watching?"
He smirked, nodding toward a small mirror on the wall—two-way glass. Of course.
"Remember," Gus said as he turned to leave, "be a good girl to pay off daddy’s debt.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Alone, I finally caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror near the wardrobe. The white dress hugged my curves perfectly, the delicate lace bodice contrasting with the fiery red of my hair. My lips were slightly parted, my cheeks flushed with arousal.
I look stunning.
For a moment, I just admired myself—the way the fabric skimmed my body, how the soft lighting made my skin glow. Despite everything, I couldn't deny how beautiful I looked.
But the ache between my legs quickly pulled me back to reality.
I eyed the bed, the wine, the chocolates. None of it mattered.
All I could think about was the need burning inside me, the way my pulse pounded in my clit, the way my body begged for something—anything—to take the edge off.
But I couldn't touch myself..
I could only wait.
And wonder.
To be continued.