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Hey guys! So this is just gonna be a little story based loosely on a social experiment i saw. Also, don’t worry, I’m still writing Welcome To The Mansion! Just a little slowly... or very slowly. Anyway, enjoy!

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A chair, a dark room, ropes, and a table. I seat myself, and quickly a taller man in a mask walks in to tie me down. My feet are tied apart, one on each leg of the chair. The man took my arms roughly and tied them, crossed, behind me. 

I hear his footsteps tap tap away, and the door shut. Another person came in, a woman this time. She was petite, and dressed in normal clothes. She had on a fancy burlesque mask, covering her eyes with feathers and jewels. I wonder how much she is getting paid. She’s carrying a big blue tub with a lid on it. She’s struggling a little. It must be heavy. She drops it with a thud next to the table, and pulls a black silk fabric out of her back pocket. She covers my eyes with it, tying it tightly behind my head. It’s still warm. 

With my eyesight gone, my other senses come to life. I hear her open the lid to the tub, and start to pull stuff out.  First, there’s a sound of glass clanking together. She sets them on the table, then pulls out something heavy. It lands with a bang on the table. Then, a metallic noise, like coins clinking together in someone’s pocket. The rest is quiet. I can only imagine what else she puts on the table. Leather whips, wooden paddles, chocolate sauce, whip cream. 

I hear her lift the now empty tub and walk towards the door. Before she opens it, though, she whispers, 

“Good luck.”

The door shuts.

After about ten minutes of anxious silence, the door opens again. The footsteps are light, like a woman’s. I hear her circle around me, taking in the sight. She walks back to the table and picks up something. She opens and shuts them, emanating a metallic noise as they rub together. Scissors. 

She steps closer. She grabs the bottom of my shirt and starts to cut upwards. She stops at my neck, pushing the sharp end into my chin. I lift my head and shiver. She starts to cut down my sleeves and eventually pulls my shirt off, leaving it on the ground. She turns around and grabs something off the table, setting down the scissors. 

I shiver as a cold liquid drips down my chest. I arch my back. I wonder what it is. Tabasco? Water? 

When her tongue hits my stomach, she lets out a small mmm... I assume it’s caramel, or chocolate sauce. I hope so. 

She licks up my chest, pausing at my nipples, licking them gently. She then stops at my collarbones, and then my neck. She bites down and I flinch. She starts suckling and biting, and I moan. I can’t imagine what I’ll look like at the end. She pulls off after a minute, and kisses me sharply, desperately. Our tongues fight inside each other’s mouths. 

It was caramel sauce.

DING

She groans and pulls away, biting my lip as she goes. She walks away, and I hear the door shut. I lick my lips.

Nine to go.

 

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A few minutes later, the door opens and shuts again. The footsteps are louder this time. I feel a masculine hand rest onto my shoulder, and I flinch, before melting into his touch. God, I wish my hands weren’t tied. I guess I asked for it, quite literally.

His breathing is heavy. His hand lifts, and falls into my hair-taking it into his hands and pulling it with some force. 

“Ah! Haha, aah...” My neck arches backward and I take a big breath, and when he lets go I hang my head down. 

I hear him walk towards the table, and a loud pop and liquid glugging out of a bottle. He pours two glasses and sets down the bottle. He holds the glass to my lips and tips it, and I sip gratefully. Wine. Red, cheap, but smooth. 

He tips it far and it floods my mouth, dripping off my chin and onto my chest. It isn’t too cold, thankfully. I hear him drink the last glass, and set a hand on my thigh. It slides up and rests on the botton of my jeans, unbuttoning them in one swift movement of the fingers. He unzips them and runs his fingers along the band of my underwear, teasing me. He pulls his hand away and smashes a wine glass, and takes a moment. 

The glass is cold, sharp against my skin. He doesn’t press hard enough to make me bleed, just to leave scratches along my hipbones, my waist. 

He brings it to my neck and I pull my head back, exposing it. He slides it gently across the thin skin, but not too deep. I moan gently. This teasing, this lack of control, is all I’ve ever wanted. 

I hear the glass clank against the hard floor as he throws it to the ground. He grabs my face, kissing me aggressively. He tastes like wine, and rosemary, and mint. I lean into it, soft moans escaping my lips. 

ding 

8 to go.

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  • 2 weeks later...

(a quick question, in this version the main character is female-would you guys like to see a male alternative? let me know)

The footsteps are loud and clicky, like stilettos. The woman’s perfume is insanely sweet, it makes me lightheaded. I can almost taste it-citrus lemon and bergamot, with sugary scents afterwords. 

“This,” the woman begins, “has always been my dream.” She circles me, tracing her long nails over my shoulders. I shudder. She pushes me forward and unhooks my bra, removing the straps and leaving it on the floor behind me. The cold air erects my nipples, and I can feel her staring.

I’m in my peak of vulnerability, and I’m not coming down any time soon. She leans in front of me, hands supporting her on my thighs. I suddenly feel her warm, wet mouth on my nipples and I moan loudly. She suckles and bites, sometimes too hard. I bite my lip. 

She licks up my pale skin, leaving goosebumps in her wake. She lands on my neck, then bites my ear. 

“What do you want?” She whispers, her hot breath making me shiver. 

“To...” I take a breath. “Be used. Bit and sucked and licked and fucked. Covered in wax, food, anything. Hurt and cradled all at once.” 

She tsks. “You have a man at home, girl?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

She stands and I hear a too-familiar buzzing. I wince and hiss as the needle hits my skin. She writes her phone number crudely onto my ribs, and a heart. 

I hear the tattoo gun turn off and I let out my breath. 

Ding 

“Call me. I’ll take good care of you.” 

I nod, and her footsteps get further away. 

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