All tied up

Miss Isabella's hand cracked against my ass, again, the sharp sting blooming across my skin and yanking a muffled yelp from my taped mouth.

The sound barely escaped, swallowed by the adhesive sealing my lips, and she chuckled—a low, wicked sound that slithered through the air.

She stepped around me, her silhouette slicing through the crimson glow of the room like a predator stalking its prey, her presence magnetic and inescapable.

The red light bathed her dominatrix ensemble, catching every curve and gleam: a glossy latex bodysuit, black as midnight, clung to her like a second skin, molding to the swell of her full breasts and the flare of her hips.

The deep V-neck plunged low, a deliberate tease that drew my gaze despite the panic clawing at my chest.

Fishnet stockings climbed her long legs, their jagged patterns stark against her pale skin, stopping just shy of her thighs where the latex resumed its glossy reign.

Thigh-high boots gleamed under the light, their stiletto heels clicking ominously with each measured step.

She reached up, gathering her dark hair into a tight ponytail with a flick of her wrist, the motion sharpening the angles of her masked face—those hazel eyes glinting through the slits, piercing and unreadable, as if she could see every frantic thought tumbling through my mind.

"There's my naughty girl," she purred, her voice a silken thread laced with steel, wrapping around me and pulling tight.

She leaned in close, her breath hot and spiced with something faintly floral against my cheek, and her fingers grazed my side—a fleeting, teasing touch that made me jerk against the leather straps binding my wrists to the ceiling.

The restraints bit into my skin, unyielding, holding me upright as my body trembled under her control.

"All tied up and nowhere to go."

I wanted to scream, to thrash, to break free, but the tape smothered my voice, and the straps anchored me in place, leaving me helpless to her whims.

My pulse hammered in my ears, a frantic drumbeat underscoring the heat of her nearness.

She stepped back with a sway of her hips, the latex creaking faintly.

And then turned to the desk beside us.

My stomach lurched as she rummaged through the drawer, her movements, theatrical.

She didn't pull out one toy, but three—each distinct, each humming with a low, menacing promise as she activated them one by one.

The first was sleek and curved, its smooth surface glinting like polished steel; the second was short and bulbous, with a small strap dangling from its base; the third was long and ridged, its textured length catching the light in a way that made my throat tighten.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?" she teased, holding them up like trophies, her smirk widening as my eyes widened in response, a silent plea she ignored.

She moved closer, boots clicking against the floor, and started with the sleek one.

She pressed it against my inner thigh, the sudden vibration a shock that jolted through me, sending a tingling wave creeping up my leg.

"Shh, relax," she cooed, but her grin betrayed her—she knew I couldn't, knew the tension coiling in my muscles.

She slid it higher, brushing it against my pussy, and the first touch was electric—warm, insistent, buzzing right at my entrance.

My breath caught, a muffled whimper slipping past the tape as she coated it with something cold and slick from a bottle on the desk, then eased it in, slow and deliberate.

The stretch was foreign, intrusive, a dull ache that morphed into something else as it settled deep inside me—vibrating against my core, sending ripples of pleasure I couldn't fight.

My insides clenched around it involuntarily, and I hated how good it felt, how my body betrayed me even as my mind screamed no.

Fear twisted in my gut, sharp and cold, but the heat pooling lower was stronger, shameful and relentless, drowning out everything else.

"Such a sensitive little thing," she murmured, her free hand tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet her gaze.

Her thumb brushed my taped lips, the pressure firm but fleeting, and I flinched again, caught between the toy's pulsing rhythm and the weight of her stare.

She wasn't done.

She grabbed the bulbous one next, its strap dangling as she knelt briefly, securing it around my thigh just above the knee-high sock.

She adjusted it with precision, angling the buzzing head so it pressed directly against my clit—a sudden, sharp sensation that hit me like a punch.