There's silence in the studio space. Isaac regards me. I hold his gaze, while Jessica stands nearby, camera resting at her side, eyes flicking between us both. Nobody speaks. The Sir echoes around my brain, going to war with every logical thought I've ever had.

So far, physical submission has been surprisingly easy, but mental submission is a whirlwind of conflicting emotion. Every stand I've taken in the board room, all the ground I've ever advanced and held in meetings and debates tells me this is crazy. I still don't know how I feel about giving myself to a relative stranger. A colleague, too. What does it mean for me as an individual? And more, what does it mean for me as half of a couple, with him very much not the other half. It's madness.

And yet... I sigh. And yet...

On some level it annoys me that someone I barely know can breeze in and know me so intimately when I'm clearly still figuring it out. But equally, it's uncovered something I didn't know was in me. Or, rather, probably knew, but wasn't prepared to admit, or even begin to know what to do about it.

My arse is sore from the spanking. The recent orgasms at Isaac’s skilful hands still swirl on the fringes of my perception, juices collecting in the black panties. My sizable chest heaves beneath the matching T-shirt as I wait for an answer to: what do you do to girls who fail you, who cum without permission?

He takes a step forward into my space again. The faint scent of his aftershave drifts above his natural musk. I can't explain why I want him. I'm fulfilled at home in all ways. Emotionally nurtured. Loved, and I love my husband back equally. And yet part of me craves the approval of this man before me. What he represents. The unknown. The danger. The thrill. There's a raw intensity behind his gaze that I crave more of. It's both fascinating and frightening to want something so forbidden.

When he finally speaks, his tone is even. “To answer that question, we need to dive a little deeper into that pretty head of yours.” He reaches up and brushes my cheek with a thumb. “You need to accept yourself fully to expose what's been lying dormant deep inside. What I saw in you the first time we met by the coffee machine.”

My lip trembles. “What did you see?”

His smile is guarded. “Let's call it repressed need. You have a dirty smile that hints at more behind the mask you wear. Much more.”

“Mask?”

“Your everyday veneer. The proper woman, with appropriate behaviour. The one your parents and society expect you to be. She's gorgeous. She's angelic. But I'm interested in the animalistic slut that rages for release beneath.”

My breath huffs. “I'm not a slut!”

He chuckles. “Not in the promiscuous sense, no. But you are a sensual, sexy, filthy creature beneath the sweet exterior. And you've proven you'll do practically anything for me.” He strokes my hair and leans in to whisper, “Anything.”

If the clack of his belt buckle is the hammer of a revolver being primed, the slither of it leaving his jeans is the trigger. I stiffen, his breath hot in my ear. “Lift your hair up.”

I do as he asks, hands trembling. Cool air rushes to the nape of my neck but the leather being looped around my throat and threaded onto the buckle is colder.

Satisfied, he tugs on the makeshift leash. Turns to Jessica, “Is the dungeon scene still set up?”

“It is.”

“Excellent.”

He addresses me. Takes a step away and gently tugs the leash. But when I follow, he stops. Regards me. Points to the floor. “Crawl.”

I'm incredulous. “What?”

“Crawl. Hands and knees.”

“I… now?”

He nods. Tips his head a fraction to one side. “You did ask.”

Well, fuck. I did.

The act of sinking to all fours is as demeaning as it is exciting, and it's only the fact that my body is clearly responding again that keeps me on the ground. The floorboards are unforgiving and he walks ahead of me, letting me grow accustomed to crawling as my heart rate picks up. “Good girl. That’s it. Show the camera how you sway those voluptuous hips.”

My cheeks burn as I hear the camera click, capturing my shame. Determined to retain what control I can, I exaggerate each shuffle, buttocks rolling inside the underwear. The occasional whimper escapes as we pass the next, slightly larger set; an office with desk, chairs and conference table at its centre. I can see how Jessica caters to all manner of scenarios and kinks in her business model, which explains her success. That, and her uncanny ability to fade into the background whilst documenting people's most intimate secrets.

We cross the partition to the next set and this, I presume, is Jessica’s dungeon area. My eyes widen as I crawl at Isaac’s heel. There’s a plush cream rug in the centre of the space, onto which he guides me. The wall partitions are lined with pleated, thick red curtains. Dominating the back wall is a wooden ‘X’ structure with cuffs at each of its corners. To one side are a couple of what look like padded benches or tables of varying heights and dimensions, with restraints on each leg. And at the other side, a glass-fronted cabinet houses an array of implements, some of which I wouldn’t have a name for, besides the paddle, crop, whip and cane.

“Bum up, head down,” he commands.

I adopt the given position, fibres of the rug tickling my nose, and hold it for the camera to document until he hoists the leash upwards and I stand alongside him, our bodies brushing. “Because I’m feeling generous and this is your first time, you can explore the room. Then choose a piece of apparatus for your punishment.” Handing me the belt end, he nudges me away and I meander through the space.

The cross is menacing. Bigger than me and made of heavy stained wood, it must have cost a fair bit. I run my hands over it. Outstretch them diagonally to size it up and try to imagine what it would be like strapped to it. At his mercy. I shudder.

Crossing to the array of benches, I stroke the tops. They’re cold black leather, padded for comfort. Some reach my shins, others brush my waist. The fur-lined cuffs are adjustable via a series of holes drilled into the legs. Again, I try to picture myself draped over one. The thinner benches would keep my legs closer together. The lower ones would give me greater freedom to arch my body. I doubt my feet would touch the floor strapped to the table-height bench.

Padding across the super soft sheepskin rug, I stand in front of the cabinet of toys, arranged and hung on pegs in the backboard. The cane is thin and looks like it would cause some damage. The crop and whip are standard riding varieties with a small leather flap and loop respectively at the business end. Some of the paddles have ornate designs; holes cut out in various shapes, such as a love heart or playing card symbols. One is silver studded. A couple of leather floggers complete the set, along with an eye-wateringly sharp, spiky wheel the size of coin, attached to a short handle.

Lower down in the display are more conventional toys and accessories. Masks of various denominations. A variety of different sized butt plugs, some with tails. Nipple clamps. Dildos, vibrators—ridged and smooth—and a couple of strap-on harnesses with menacing phalluses attached complete the range.

Reaching out, I trace a few of the items. Gauge their weight, their texture, letting my imagination run wild. So many scenarios. So many ways I could be teased, tormented… hurt. My belly flutters.

From across the room, Isaac interrupts. “Decision time.”

I turn to face him. Point at the waist-high table. My thinking is that it’s less scary than the cross and looks as if it would keep me in the most comfortable position.

He nods. Addresses Jessica. “Will you help prep her?”

I'm still gawping as she turns to set the camera on one of the benches. “Wait, prep?”

Isaac seems to think it’s an obvious step. “You didn’t think you’d be punished in clothes, did you?”

A chill races my spine. “I suppose not.”

Jessica approaches and reaches for the leash. Tightening it around her hand, she guides me across to the cabinet, then waggles her fingers over the selection, deciding. My heart practically stops when she picks up the mid-size chrome butt plug with the glinting jewelled end, some lube and a long pink, smooth vibrator. She tugs me to the bench I chose and lays the items on it.

“Take off your top.”

She relinquishes the belt long enough for me to shimmy the top up to reveal the muffin I’ve spent the last eighteen months trying to hide, and to gradually peel up, up. The tight material catches under my breasts and I ease it up further, lifting them with it. The fabric squishes the flesh and rolls over my nipples until my chest drops free. I raise the T-shirt over my head and fling it away. My nipples are already hard. I’d like to say it’s the chill in the air, but I’d be lying.

Jessica crouches, her face level with my pussy, grips the waistband of my panties and rolls the garment down my legs. I watch Isaac over her head, standing impassively, arms folded, evaluating us. I know why he's delegated this task. I would enjoy it too much if it was him. Having Jess do it is business-like. All part of the punishment.

Christ I’m wet. Strings of juice don’t want to let go of either my bush or the gusset, stretching until they reluctantly snap. She taps my ankle and I step free.

Standing, she bunches them and hands them to Isaac. For a fleeting moment I think he's going to bury his face in them, but he says nothing as he slips them into his pocket.

My attention is pulled back to Jess as she picks up the lube, pops the cap, then holds the plug out for inspection. She sees the panic in my face and grins reassuringly as she dribbles some lube over the smooth metal. "Bend over, grip your ankles and try to relax."

With only the mildest hesitation, I obey. Well, the first two commands anyway. Relaxing is a little out of my abilities at the moment. Almost immediately, a dollop of cold gel lands in my crack and drizzles south under gravity. The cool of the metal smears it over my tight entrance, lighting untapped excitement. More when she gradually works it in, a millimetre at a time, then starts to gently tease my naughtiest hole. Thomas and I have never gone there. Never even talked about it. And here I am with a stranger worming a plug into my bum and I’m starting to moan for more.

She pulls out. Drizzles more gel and presses the cold tip of the butt plug back against me. Such a thrill. I hold my breath as it creeps in, widening me, and exhale as it crests. Or, at least where I think it crests. Turns out I’m wrong. Way wrong. I stretch further. Further and gasp as, surely, the widest point approaches. There’s a brief moment of discomfort as the taper towards the flange is drawn inside my body, and then a curious sense of calm as I’m stuffed where I’ve never been before.

I wiggle my bum and it’s incredible how it sets off micro thrills rocketing deep between my hips. Just when I'm finally beginning to relax, she tells me to stand. I gingerly rock from one foot to the other, testing the sensations until she pats the bench.

“Lie down, Chloe.”

I nod, face the bench and start to ease onto the padding but she stops me. “Face up.”

Butterflies party in my abdomen. I turn, stare at her, then gingerly perch on the bench, wriggle back a little and lie. A double whammy of heat races through me, from the interplay between my spanking and the butt plug, and it takes a little while to settle, arms and legs dangling over the edges.

Jessica grabs a wrist and secures it to one of the table legs. The soft cuff fur tickles like her touch as she works from post to post until I’m trussed naked, exposed, and dripping.

I squirm as she brushes fingertips from the ankle she secures last, up my calf and taps my kneecap. "Don't move," she quips, chuckling as she fetches her camera again and loops it around her neck.

“I meant what I said earlier. You have beautiful tits. They're so round. So full." She cups one and squeezes.

I arch into her touch as she completes the squeeze by pinching my nipple and tweaking it, pulling it skyward. I groan and she lets go, lines up her shot and the camera clicks.

She squints at the viewfinder.

“Beautiful. But I know what this needs.”

She leaves my side and returns holding two items, circles of metal with thumbscrews on opposing edges and threads facing inward. Placing one on my belly, she holds the other up, letting me watch her unscrew it. I jerk when she places it over my erect nipple, settling it within the jaws. Nothing prepares me for the gradual, sustained pressure of the screw tips biting into my tender cap as she tightens them.

I thrash my head. Snarl as the pain intensifies and moan as the heat spreads.

“You're doing so well, Chloe. Want the other one?”

I huff and wriggle, which only serves to connect the pleasure of the toy in my butt with the clamped nipple. I find her gaze. Lock. Nod.

She smiles. Picks up the other clamp and secures it, meticulously tightening the screws while gauging my reaction and pushing me a shade further. 

It's like sustained lightning strikes on both captured tips that zap inward and connect with the plug. My pussy drools appreciatively and I loll my head and flap uselessly at the restraints as the pleasure ramps.

Grabbing the end of the belt and cinching it tight across my throat, she steps away and fires off another round of shots. Lost in sensation, I don't even register at first that she's faded into the background again and it's Isaac who stands over me, metal glinting in his hands.

Pinpricks interrupt my tumbling thoughts and I’m instantly grounded as he wheels the spiky metal toy across my messy mons. Stops in the centre of my bush, turns a right angle and trundles it down between my legs. Fire rages from each needle point that pierces my tender labia and I emit a shrill scream. He pauses halfway down one lip. Presses fractionally harder. I grit my teeth and suck in air and he rolls the torture device up again, narrowly missing my clit, and proceeds to aerate the entire length of the opposing lip.

He wheels it up and down my slit. I’m sure the camera is capturing everything but I’m beyond caring how it makes me look. I’m a coiled spring of lust where a handful more pinpricks from the device or a single breath across my clit will catapult me into an orgasm. My panting increases, body arching from the leather padding.

The pinpricks cease. I’m left hanging, balancing, teetering on the cusp of nirvana and my anguished, “Noooo,” is barely adequate to convey the simultaneous hatred and thrill for this man. I twist and fight to keep my body from betraying me for a second time in his presence. Tense every muscle I have control over and slowly, gradually, the internal pressure fades.

I slump. Wriggle. He brushes my shoulder and grasps the belt, yanking it tight. Bends to kiss my mouth that opens in shock and our tongues clash.

He’s everything in that moment. Light. Dark. Need. Restraint. Sensitivity. Power. It’s intoxicating.

Letting go of the noose, he regards me. Strokes my cheek.

“Are you ready to find out what happens to girls who disobey orders?”

I gulp. Nod.

“Are you sure? Last chance.”

I pause. Nod again.

“Good girl. Promise me one thing. When I let you cum, don’t you dare hold back. I want everything.”

My breath is a shaky whisper. “Okay. I promise.”

His free hand wanders down my body, and I shiver as it lovingly cups my tummy, jiggles it playfully then continues to my pussy. He tests my wetness, dipping his fingers teasingly inside for a brief moment before removing my panties from my pocket, wiping his fingers on them, and stuffing them into my mouth.

When I’m silenced, he smiles. “Excellent. You’ll need something to bite down on. It’s more comfortable than a ball gag but do let me know if you’d prefer one.”

He caresses my cheek. Undoes the belt around my neck and slithers it free. Doubles it up and swishes the loop by his side. It cracks the air by his leg. “This is going to sting.”

Fear.

Excitement.

Two sides of the same coin.

Both exist at once and I tremble with anticipation as he steps away from my side and rounds the table to face my legs, staring at my exposed snatch.

I tense. Relax. Tense again. There’s no point denying I’m turned on: telltale droplets of juice form and drizzle to add to the messy, matted bush that has captured his gaze. He drapes the belt over my knees and runs his hands from there to my hips, bends and kisses my pussy. I groan as his mouth connects. Gasp when his nose rolls across my sensitive clit and his tongue disappears inside me. Whimper with need at how much he simply doesn’t care at what I consider such a terrible state.

The always-threatening orgasm rockets to the forefront again and I flap my legs as close together as I can in the bonds, trapping his tongue inside me and whimpering. He tugs free of the French kiss and laps my clit with the tip of his tongue. Stands. Stares at me struggling. Licks his lips and inhales. “My God, Chloe. You have such a delicious cunt.”

I colour. Glow.

“Perhaps a tiny bit of seasoning.” He picks up the belt and doubles it up again. “Just a smidgeon more… need.” His arm rises and slices down through the air to crack against my slit. I howl and then groan as he bobs forward to bury his face in me again. Drives his tongue deep and pulls away.

“Mmm yes. That’s a little better. So close.”

His hand lifts and I squeeze my eyes shut as he lashes twice. The panty gag can barely absorb my scream and I simper into it, tears rolling away as he lovingly kisses my inflamed pussy.

When he lifts clear, I twist and rock in the bonds, limbs aching, expecting more.

He delivers. Harder this time. I thrash and quake with every strike. Nearly lose control when his mouth lands, crying into my panties, “Hleashhh.”

Stopping, he lifts his head, lips and cheeks shiny. “What was that?”

I plead with only my eyes.

“Ah of course.”

He slides one hand all the way up my body, brushing every inch of skin between pussy and mouth, plucking the panties free.

My eyes find his. “Please… Sir.”

He kisses my snatch and I groan. “God, pleeease.”

His head lifts again. “Please what?”

I blurt out. “Please can I cum?” My voice hollows when he fastens his mouth to my clit and sucks. “Oh God I can’t hold on… plea… pleeeease can I cum, Sir?”

With a final lick, he lifts his head. “No.”

The crack of the belt stings more and I scream, loud in the studio space, unhindered by material. It takes a moment of fighting my bubbling orgasm to realise it’s because he’s unlooped the belt so just the single end struck me. My pussy is aflame, pink and raw, and I beg, “Pleeasse, Sir.”

“No.”

Another strike and fuck this one catches my clit. I arch up off the table, howling, and he lashes my exposed snatch three more times before I crash down to the leather, rocking and writhing and sobbing, “Please fu… can’t hold it. Can’t hold… pleaase let me cum Sir. Fuuuck. PLEASE!”

The clank of the buckle hitting the floor echoes. He steps to my side, strokes the hair from my forehead. Runs his hand down my cheek. Over my throat. Grips and slides his other hand over my tummy, cups my pussy and digs two fingers into my sopping cunt.

“Cum for me now.”

He tenses, squeezes my throat—more symbolic than with any force—and rhythmically tugs his long fingers up against the front wall of my pussy.

My entire world caves in, groans ringing out; throaty rasps in time with the beat of my contracting walls around his fingers. Wetness tumbles, the most despicably lewd squelches chasing every uncontrollable huff of air. I always thought squirting was a myth but the amount of cum that sprinkles and coats his forearm indicates otherwise. I curse and convulse and choke against his grip as he coaxes more from my battered body. This one somehow eclipses the relentless waves of the first two climaxes and I can barely focus on remembering how to breathe until I realise it’s his choke hold. He relinquishes and I haul in air to fuel the orgasm.

The connectedness is simply incredible. Him, the camera, the cuffs, the denial, the nipple clamps, the plug, the gushing cum around his fingers, the bruises and marks… everything collides and reinforces the rest, amplifying the soaring high, sparks short-circuiting me.

I stiffen and relax in a seemingly endless cycle, shaking and moaning. And when the contractions start to wane, he nods to Jessica who steps in, puts the camera aside and unscrews the nipple clamps. That starts off a second barrage of deep groans as blood races to fill my starved breast caps. The tingle, like super concentrated pins and needles, spreads and I gasp again. Isaac rocks his palm against my clit and tugs more sticky, squelching juices from me. If I weren’t already flushed, I’d have gone red from the obscene sounds alone.

There’s no way for me to gauge how long we remain like that, him coaxing ever decreasing but still powerful ripples from me as I lie exhausted and trussed to the table. I’m elated. Truly elated. Enough that I start to laugh; maybe at the absurdity of it all, maybe because of the endorphins racing through me. Maybe both.

My giggles catch on and Isaac finds himself joining in as he slithers his fingers from me and sucks them clean. Even Jessica cracks a few smiles and captures the moments digitally. They both set about uncuffing me and helping me sit up. I’m light-headed so I just sit, reliving memories of what happened with every tiny movement of my body. Jessica asks if I’d like the plug removing but it’s comfortable so I leave it in for now.

I cup my boobs and gently squeeze. Aftershocks radiate.

Isaac steps in and cradles my face. Kisses me, long, slow and sensually as I cross my wrists behind his head and return the smooch. As our lips drift apart, I glance down between us. Giggle again. Trail a fingertip from his shoulder down to trace the outline of his prominent bulge. It swells beneath the fabric.

I lean in, lips alongside his ear, and whisper, “Mmmm, what have we here?”

Placing palms on his chest, I push him back a step, hop off the table and sink to my knees. I gaze up at him and tug his zipper down. “Let me show you appreciation, Chloe style.”