EXTRACT FOR
Nightwhisper's Nightmare
(Melissa DuVant)
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Nightwhisper's Nightmare Melissia DuVant Copyright © Melissa DuVant The right of Melissa DuVant to be identified as the
author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of
the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic
mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author. All characters in this book have no existence
outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any
individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure
invention. Table of Contents Chapter
Three: Whispers of Fantasy Chapter Four: Mishaps and Missing Persons Chapter Five: Further Investigations Chapter Seven: Virtual Training Chapter Eight: An Unexpected Awakening Chapter Nine: Care in the Community Chapter Ten: Further Investigations Chapter Eleven: Deep Cover, Deep Throat Chapter Twelve: Enforced Self Care Chapter Thirteen: Forced Therapy Chapter Fifteen: Bonding Exercise Chapter
Sixteen: Forced Treatment Chapter Seventeen: Successful Treatment Studying Submission Preview Chapter Corporate Slave Preview Chapter Shout-out to all the readers that have left comments and reviews! If you're enjoying this, or there's more of something you'd like to see, let me know! The club was dark, the air tainted with the scents of sweat and semen. Samara winced, her mind conjuring up attackers in the darkness, ready to grab her. What had been done here? She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, the spotlights illuminating stained surfaces, the area divided into tiny rooms, almost like cells, manacles and cuffs hanging from the walls. She stepped over a discarded whip, discarded into a messy coil, feeling herself break into a cold sweat, the latex of her suit tight against her body. Samara twisted her fingers, the fingers of her elbow-length gloves resisting slightly, a tight and shiny second skin, before she started to peel it off. It kissed itself off her skin, a little at a time, her pale skin appearing from beneath it as she was released from its tight embrace, until her arm was free. A voice came from the shadows, a faint golden glow appearing. 'Nightwhisper? You in here somewhere?' The glow intensified, a warm and sunny light banishing back some of the darkness, although it did make the restraints and painful-looking implements more obvious. A cage hung from the ceiling, the steel floor and bars smeared with bodily fluids, the inside just about large enough for a person, the thought of being restrained like that make Samara shudder. 'I'm over here, Glory!' The light approached, stepping around a corner to reveal a young woman, wearing a short, white dress, trimmed with gold, thick blonde hair streaming outwards, a faint halo of light above her head. She looked around and shivered, stepping carefully over a discarded latex bodysuit, keeping her arms close to her body. 'Looks like they've cleared out already? Doesn't look like anyone's here.' Samara nodded. 'Not long ago though, everything seems fresh.' Glory wrinkled her nose, before crossing her arms, the action pushing her breasts up against her dress. 'I don't really want to think about what "fresh" means here! Can you do your thing? And quickly - this place is dark, and I've not got much power left.' Her halo was already dimming, the shadows getting thicker. Samara tucked her glove into her waist-sash before bending down, slowly stretching her hand out towards the whip, closing her eyes and extending her senses. As soon as she touched the rough leather of the handle, sensation-memories overwhelmed her... The music was loud, throbbing through her
body, heart pounding in time. The air
was warmed by people, kissing against bare flesh - tight shorts and a crop-top,
flesh out and on display. And metal,
tight and hard around her neck, weighing down against her shoulders, making her
skin crawl. The cage was there still, but now it was
occupied - a young woman stripped virtually naked, wearing the tattered remains
of a red-and-black bodysuit, her arms bound behind her back in a leather tube, a
red domino mask on her face. Her mouth
was forced open, blocked by a fat black ballgag, spit staining her chin and dribbling
outwards, splashing onto the cage floor.
Her breasts shook, a man fucking her from behind, grabbing the cage bars
to keep her close. The woman's eyelids
fluttered behind the mask, as she made a low groaning noise. Samara felt her crotch stir, her suit seeming far too tight, pressing against her. A hand - the hand of whoever's eyes she
was seeing through - reached out, wrapped in a latex glove, shiny and
powerful. It stroked against the woman's
cheeks, their eyes opening, blank and unseeing before managing to focus. Was that recognition? Who were they seeing? Then their eyes opened wide, their lips
tightening around the gag-ball, more spit dribbling out as they tried to form
words, even as they were still being fucked from behind. The hand stroked their cheek, while they
tried to flinch away, even though there was no room in the cage. Shiny black fingers stroked a soft, smooth
cheek, their eyes wide and vague. As
their head came up, a metal band was visible - a tough and sturdy metal collar
ringed the woman's neck, a metal ring dangling down. They were trying to say something, but it was
impossible to make out the words over the throbbing back-beat, but they looked dazed,
despite their cheeks being flush with arousal.
She tensed up, the remnants of her bodysuit
straining to stay together, letting out a low groan, more spit streaming from
her mouth. The warm pressure between Samara's legs was getting more intense and overt now, her body feeling warm, the suit tight and firm against her breasts and belly. She clamped her lips together, not wanting to make any strange noises. The perspective moved in closer, terror
mingling with lust in the woman's eyes as she stared at whoever's view Samara was
using. This close, the impact-strikes on
their body were obvious - her body-suit looked like it had been whipped off, red
welt-marks on their skin. They squirmed and
twisted, breasts dangling free, their leather-wrapped arms twisting around and knocking
against the top of the cage. The hand tensed, slapping them across
the face, hard enough to knock them to the side, making them grunt in
pain. The impact ran through Samara's arm, her shadow-memory of the touch flashing through her. She could feel her own arousal staining her thighs, glad that her suit was tight enough to keep it contained, but the stickiness made her feel weak and ashamed. And far too damn horny! Another slap, and then the point of view
turned away, turning fast enough to make Samara feel dizzy for a moment. They walked through the club, the patrons
dark-wrapped blurs, their presence not enough to impinge into the memory, just vague
shapes, fucking and grinding away. The movement stopped in an open area, dominated
by an wooden X-shaped cross, another woman tied to it, struggling against the
cuffs, tied facing away. They were wearing
a short white dress and knee-high boots - the image of Glory, at least from
behind, except for their head, sealed into a black latex hood, with a high ponytail
of gold-blonde hair poking out the top, flicking about as they twisted and
wriggled. When their face turned towards her, it
was possible to see that there were no eye- or mouth-holes in the hood, just
two nostril-holes. From the sounds they were
making, they must be gagged, unable to speak, just make mush-mouthed
complaints. A whip flicked, striking against their
buttocks, tearing away at the skirt, revealing toned, bare buttocks
beneath. It was too fast to see,
although the aftermath was increasingly obvious as more and more of the white
material was torn away, whip-welts appearing on the skin beneath. Hands and feet shifted around, straining at
the limits of the manacle-chains, the X-cross holding firm though. She was drenched now, squirming her thighs, her breath hot and heavy - she hadn't been this horny for a long time! But there was no way that she could come now, despite how much she wanted to. Her hand was still tight on the whip-handle, and she heard a concerned murmur from Glory before dropping back into the memory. The whip struck, again and again,
tearing away the white dress until the figure was almost entirely naked except
for the hood and the cuffs. The buttocks
started to turn red from repeated impacts, each hit making the target yelp and
dance around, trying to avoid further hits, without success. A figure-blur approached, whispered a
message, and the sense of savage satisfaction fled, replaced with need. The whip was discarded, and then... The vision ended, Samara blinking her eyes as it faded away. A strong and powerful blush rose up over her face as she felt the hot, wet warmth between her legs, her arousal potent. Hopefully her suit was watertight from the inside, otherwise Glory would probably be able to tell! But even without that vision, this place was permeated with the aura of sexuality, a heavy shadow of domination and submission, where people came to be used or to use others. 'You OK, Nightwhisper? You're looking a little, uh, flushed.' Samara found herself wishing that she wore a full-face cowl, hiding her bright red blush, rather than just a domino mask around her eyes. At least her suit was thick enough that it wouldn't show off any other signs of arousal. Every movement made her acutely aware of the sticky mess between her legs there, even as the approaching orgasm quickly faded. 'It's nothing.' Her breathing was faster than normal, her heart racing, body hot. 'But it looks like the last place. They had someone dressed up like you, tied up over there.' She pointed, Glory turning to look, the halo-light focusing into a beam. It shone off the now-empty X-cross, picking out the metal chains and manacles. Samara could see tattered fragments of white fabric, whipped off the woman's body. 'Well, that just shows they've got good taste!' Glory posed, twisting and cocking her hips, her halo shining even more brightly for a moment. 'Although I don't really want to be tied up. Anything else? Any idea who might be behind it?' 'I was looking through someone's eyes, they were whipping the person dressed like you. Same dress, but with a hood on.' 'Brrr, don't like the sound of that! I need the sun on my skin to power up, don't want to be sealed away. But no idea who that was?' The throbbing warmth between Samara's legs was still there - whoever it had been, they had been turned on by their actions, and a woman as well. 'No, they didn't look in a mirror. And everyone else here they just saw as interchangeable, rather than people. Except for a woman in that cage - wearing red and black? I didn't recognize them, but it might have been Crimson Vigil?' 'She did go dark a while back. Although that means these guys have escalated from super look-a-likes to actual superheroes? That's an escalation.' Samara glanced at the cage again - she could see that the steel was splashed with dribble and cum, the thing currently open. Should she touch that? But the person inside looked like they had been fucked hard - she was so damn horny already, that any other stimulation might drive her into a full orgasm, making her collapse into a puddle. And be utterly defenseless if they were attacked - Glory's halo was still dimming, showing that her powers were fading as well. It wasn't worth the risk, no matter what information she might find out from it. 'Did you find anything?' Glory shook her head, hair blazing gold under the light from her halo, and making Samara think of the tied and spread woman, head bound under latex. 'No. Looks like they cleared out anything useful, and just left their toys behind.' She kicked the whip, making it flap and twist away, like a snake, Samara shuddering. The dark space, with the sex-addled air, suddenly made her feel claustrophobic and bound in, her bodysuit far too tight. She crossed her arms over her chest, the movement making it shift and cling to her body. 'You OK? You seem a little out of it.' 'Just... distracted.' 'You should go see that psychiatrist. She's got good reviews - Silksong and the White Specter both say she helped a lot. And it's anonymous and everything, so you don't need to worry about being revealed.' 'Hmm, maybe. It's just been stressful recently.' 'Well, yeah - finding out that creepy underground sex clubs are dressing people like you for pervy kinky sex stuff is probably a bit weird. Have you seen the pictures? Some of them are kinda hot - I look good in chains! Although I look good in most things. Your fanboys seem to have a thing for you in latex and ropes, although you've got half of that already. Some of the photoshops are pretty good - I'm slightly ahead of you, but the Rose is still miles ahead of both of us.' Samara started pulling her glove back on, carefully tweaking it over each finger, glad to be sealing herself up a little more, her flesh now behind the latex, pulling it up over her arm, making it shiny and black. 'I don't really look at that stuff.' Whenever she saw her fans, the general psychic babble made it hard to think - the ones that were horny for her were even worse, constant images of herself getting fucked and used being forced into her mind, making her edgy and horny. 'Some of it's sexy. There's even a few that think we're a couple, although normally you're the one in charge. Guess it's all the black you wear? But if you are having any problems, try seeing her. You've been really tense and twitchy lately.' Her juices were cooling, starting to seep down her thighs and legs as she sighed. 'I think I might.' 'I'll send you her details.' Although the couch was comfortable, Samara was tense, feeling herself unable to relax. Being laid on her back made her feel exposed and vulnerable, although the only person in the room was the psychiatrist, perched primly on her own chair, staring at Samara through thin-framed glasses. She was dressed neatly and stylishly, in a sleek leather skirt and a silk blouse, her legs wrapped in pantyhose. Samara was more wrapped up - stockings sheathing her legs, a long-sleeved top, thin gloves on her hands, her hood up to cover her face. Did she have to lay on the couch? It felt very old-fashioned, although the rest of the walls were covered with shiny metal shelves, holding up shiny... abstract art sculptures? Metal shaped and twisted into sharp, spiky shapes, some of them looking hinged or sprung. Maybe they were executive toys or something, to help with boredom? 'So, Nightwhisper, then? Although this is completely confidential, you don't have to tell me your real name. 'I am Anna Petrova - you have been referred to me due to having reported some concerns about your powers. Although this is part of your superhero duties, anything you say to me won't go outside of this room.' She steepled her fingers, looking at Samara with a faint smile, cool and commanding. Unease, shame and discomfort, thick and spiky, seethed out of the couch, a psychic aura potent enough that Samara could feel it, even through her clothing. She should have worn something thicker, or her bodysuit, but it was a warm day, and she wanted to feel vaguely normal for once. She shifted around, trying to move herself out of contact with the couch as much as possible. 'Yes, thank you. Nightwhisper is fine.' She lowered her hood, watching as the woman's eyes briefly flicked up to the red dot in the center of her forehead. 'So, uh, how does all of this work?' 'I try and help you with whatever... issues... you may have. It's generally preferred that those like you with superhuman powers and abilities resolve their problems in as tranquil a way as possible, rather than having a potentially destructive breakdown. Especially given the scale of some previous incidents. Although I think your powers are less problematic and overtly destructive than some others?' Her nails were neatly trimmed, without any colored varnish, her makeup simple and naturalistic, her black hair tied into a whip-like strand, still and motionless as she stared at Samara, her gaze pinning Samara in place. 'You are empathetic, able to pick up psychic readings from places, people and objects. Your powers were gained as the result of an alien abduction - you are one of several hundred Ma'kali abductees, returned to earth due to the actions of the Celestial Defenders. And since then, you have been a hero, using your abilities to work as a detective, most often working with Golden Glory. Is that correct?' 'Y... Yes, Miss.' Something about the woman made her want to defer to her, to be polite and courteous. She smiled, crossing and uncrossing her legs with a faint slithering sound. 'You don't need to be so polite. "Miss Petrova" will do, or "Anna" if you prefer. Now, I specialize in hypnotherapy and treating certain personal issues, mostly dealing with personal inhibitions. From what you said in your initial statement, it sounds as though you have been having problems relaxing, and find yourself being very tense and stressed all the time?' Samara fought down, not very successfully, a blush, looking away, unable to meet the woman's cool eyes, stammering back an answer. She didn't like opening up to others, feeling vulnerable and exposed, 'That's... that's right.' 'There is no need to be ashamed. The nature of your lives, as well as the extra powers and abilities those like you have, can make it hard to maintain peace and calm. Although you seem very tense already?' Her eyes dropped down, looking at the couch. 'Oh, of course. Yes, with your powers, then you are likely sensing a certain aura of discomfort? It isn't unusual for my patients to be somewhat nervous.' Samara nodded, shifting around to try and reduce how much she was touching the couch. 'My apologies. Perhaps another chair? One that has been less used? That one may be better suited for you.' She pointed behind Samara, who twisted around to see - a deep niche in the wall held a solid metal chair, with a high back and sturdy arms, looking as much like a display piece as something functional. 'It's new - I find some patients prefer somewhere to sit with fewer distractions, where there is nothing to focus on except me, or my voice. Perhaps try that?' Samara rose, glad to be aware from the couch, the thing oozing doubt and discomfort, and she moved towards the chair. It looked a little unsettling, a little like an electric chair, the arm-rests curved to guide where the arms of the occupant would go, a curve for the neck as well. But when she sat down, it "felt" cool and blank, without any psychic imprint, letting her relax a little more. As the woman had said, it did limit her view, the chair set far enough back that all she could see was the woman sat in front of her, and the slice of wall behind them, light coming in through the blinds behind her. 'Is that better? You seem more relaxed already.' Samara could feel the chill of the metal through her clothing, the shape of the chair guiding where she sat, but it was more comfortable than she had thought it would be, supporting her limbs. 'Yes, thanks.' 'Good. Now, would you like to begin? I find it's often useful to talk this over, but also to lightly hypnotize my patients to begin with. Don't worry, it won't hurt, or make you do anything you don't want to, but will make it easier to discuss these matters. I will be here to help you with whatever issues you have, and overcome them, and this may make it quicker to get to the heart of the matter. Do you consent?' 'Yes!' If this could help her with her stress, the constant numbing dullness in her head, then it she'd happily accept any help. 'Good girl. Then just relax, and listen to my voice. Let your thoughts drift, nice and slow and gentle. If it helps, close your eyes, but not tightly. Keep yourself as relaxed as you can.' As she spoke, the woman picked up her chair, bringing it closer towards Samara's seat. The metal was starting to warm up now, the curves of the chair guiding her body and limbs. It was a little confining, without any way to comfortably sit outside of the curved channels, but she half-closed her eyes, focusing on the woman's voice, placing herself into a soft and gentle twilight. The room itself darkened, blinds swishing shut, lights turning dark, making it easier to let her mind drift away. 'Describe yourself. What do you see when you think of yourself?' Samara pictured herself - slender, average height, her clothing showing off her curves, catching the light. Her skin, her actual skin, was sealed away, made glossy and perfect by the shiny black suit, or tight trousers - she'd tried looser clothing, but it just annoyed her, making her feeling like she was drowning in thick, heavy material. She liked the tightness, how it moved with her, made her feel like she was being held, close and tight. It just made it harder to drown out the constant psychic backwash from everything, especially anyone with strong emotions. Having to focus when everyone was thinking about her was a struggle, their thoughts drumming against hers. And those that thought she was attractive - it was flattering, but too much of it would turn her on, whether she wanted to or not, getting her aroused against her will. Between her eyes, in the center of her forehead was a red gem, shiny and hard. That made her think of being abducted, at least the parts she could remember - the shining light in the sky, and then the red/black wetness of the tank she had been kept in, her body being probed, her mind subjected to endless test. Mercifully, most of that had been forgotten, her captors wiping her memories as they had "upgraded" her nervous system. The next thing she had been aware of had been light, bright and blinding, and hot air against her skin, her experimental tank getting breached. The alien abductors had been tracked, the team known as the Celestial Defenders freeing them. She had been one of the lucky ones, her body still functional - technically, better, now able to read the auras from objects and people, to see how they had been used, especially if they had been involved in anything emotional. With her family gone, then she had drifted into becoming a super-hero - nothing major, at least at first, doing some investigation work, before Golden Glory had approached her, working with her and helping to tutor her. Not that much happened here - a few muggings and bank jobs, some gangsters, but nothing huge. It felt good to do something, but she still felt somehow... empty, unfulfilled. The chair was warm and comfy now, her body heavy
and drowsy, words pouring from her lips, her eyes still shut. Anna's questions filtered into her consciousness,
nudging her thoughts and words. Had
she learned to fight? Yes - her reflexes were faster than a normal human's, even if she didn't have any super-strength, and she could handle herself. Not as much as Golden Glory, but enough to be useful. What did she think about Golden Glory? About the same height but normally in low heels, she was a pro, trained for years. She could absorb sunlight to make herself stronger, tougher and faster, as well as project beams of light, but couldn't hold a charge for long, weakening rapidly when out of direct sunlight. Her outfits tended to show a lot of skin - to keep her powers charged, she said, but Samara suspected she liked to show herself off. Although she hadn't partnered up with any other supers, or if she had, there were no rumors of it. She must do something to get herself off, but, although they were friends, they had never talked about that sort of thing. Had she ever thought about having sex with
Golden Glory? Samara flushed again, hearing a slight chuckle, her eyes flickering, almost opening. She didn't like to mix business and pleasure like that, and... And...? Her thighs quivered, her body shaking against the metal chair, unable to move, her body paralyzed. She tried opening her eyes but couldn't, the chair holding her as tightly as if she was bound in place. The thought of contact with someone else, of that exposure and vulnerability, worried her. It had been years since she had touched someone without gloves, and even going out for shopping required her to cover her almost completely. The idea of having hands on her body, a face against hers, fingers stroking, their thought-presence close and overlaid with her own... Could she deal with that? And so she touched herself instead, with countless toys in her apartment. The words came faster now, spilling out of her. She would arouse herself, get herself wet and loose, use dildos and vibrators. As she confessed, her heart started to race, her body heating up in shame as she spoke. Her crotch was warming up again, but she was paralyzed and unable to move, body wrapped up in drowsy numbness. She tried to open her eyes, but they were shut, her body not responding. Not even a finger would move, her limbs frozen and dead. All she could do was speak, that soft voice barely heard, just felt, soft little nudges against her mind and soul. She tried to fight it, clawing herself back out of the comforting numbness, not wanting to loose herself. Her hands suddenly moved, returned to her control, twitching up out of the curved armrests, her eyes slamming open. Anna's face was close up against hers, eyes dark and commanding. Samara tried to push herself backwards to put some distance between them, the chair not letting her. Anna didn't retreat, so close that Samara could feel her breath, tickling her face. A hand slowly reached out, am extended finger reaching out towards her. It tapped against her the implant in her forehead - there were no nerves there, but she felt them through it - cool, intrigued, a light pressure against her mind, analytical and lightly amused. In contrast, she felt hot and embarrassed, suddenly realizing what she had said. She wanted to curl up and due! Or at least not be here - why couldn't she have teleportation powers or something useful? Anna's eyes were pinning her in place though - she couldn't even think of what to say! 'You seem quite receptive to my techniques. That's good, it will make things easier. If, of course, you wish to continue treatment? It sounds as though you are certainly quite stressed, and seeking a release. That is not that unusual, given your position, and certainly healthier than seeking refuge in alcohol or violence. There's a few exercises that might be helpful. And a lotion that some other Ma'Kali abductees have used.' She pressed her finger harder against the red gem, keeping Samara's head pinned in place. Being touched there made her quiver - any other time that had happened, it had resulted in a paralyzing overload of sensations and emotions, leaving her wrecked and almost comatose. But Anna seemed to have such self-control that there was none of that, just the faint, slightly amused, interest. Chapter Three: Whispers of Fantasy Samara crossed her legs, having to pull one ankle over the opposite knee to get herself into the lotus position, placing her palms together and trying to take deep, calming breaths. But she couldn't get thoughts of the soft, paralytic numbness out of her mind, of falling into the darkness as Anna talked to her, words reaching out into her, felt rather than heard. And even here, she still couldn't relax properly, the psychic susurration from all around too much - vague grumbles and dissatisfaction from below and above, childish babble from the baby next door, thin needles of stress from one of the parents. Trying to meditate just made it worse - whenever she closed her eyes, it made it even harder to drown out the background noise! After several more abortive attempts to rest herself, she gave up, uncrossing her legs and opening her eyes, seeing her apartment - small, a little cramped, the walls mostly plain and bare. She should get some paintings or something, but it never seemed worth the effort, or the hassle of going to get some. Through an open doorway she could see her bed, large and soft. With a sigh, she stood up, stretching out, feeling her yoga pants tighten around her legs. Thoughts of what Golden Glory had said came back, of what her "fans" thought of her. What sort of things were they thinking? She didn't do many publicity events, not like some of the bigger heroes that did signings and all sorts of other work where they were face-to-face with fans all the time, and didn't have a public address for fan-mail. Other than a few newspaper clippings, she didn't really know what people thought of her. She picked up her laptop, laying herself out in bed as it booted up, before starting to search for herself. The first few links were pretty much what she expected - some of her cases, a few pictures, although Glory was generally in the front, looking more posed and poised, while she lurked at the back, her mask helping to hide her face. In several of them, she was out-of-focus, Glory commanding the photographer's full attention! Although given how Glory was posing for the camera, that wasn't really a surprise - her outfit was eye-catching, both because of the white and gold, but also the body beneath it. By contrast, Samara tended to blur into the shadows, or the shininess of her suit did odd things to the flash of the camera, bright flecks of light over her body. Although there were a few pictures that looked quite good, where she was turning away, hair falling over her face. The official pictures all seemed quite boring - although Glory probably had them all saved somewhere, with her favorites printed out and framed. But Glory had said that people dressed up as her? She'd heard of super-fans, but it had always seemed a bit cringy. And porn of them? Given how prickly some supers were, that seemed like it could end badly. She went back to the search engine and hesitated, then typed it in, fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard before she could persuade herself not to: "Nightwhisper porn". The first page that came up was all.. fanfiction? She opened one up, quickly skimming through it, wincing at the grammar, spelling and, well... everything. Whoever wrote it really liked her butt, which was sort of flattering, but she'd never done anal, and the writing was terrible. Maybe there would be some images that were better? Or at least didn't involve painful run-on sentences? She clicked over to the "images" tab, thumbnails loading. Her heart started to beat faster - the first images were of someone else dressed as her, chains wrapped around her wrists, arms held up over her head, tape over her mouth. There was a whole set of them, all the same person, Samara rapidly clicking through them. The latex suit hugged tight to their form, the camera zooming in close to their shiny butt and breasts. Her own body was starting to heat up, a gentle warmth. The set of pictures was a bit disappointing though - the chain around their wrists was clearly held there, not tight enough to actually do anything, and there was no nudity or actual sex, just lots of shiny latex. She knew what that looked like, she had to wear her own damn suit every day! Although her own was thicker, reinforced and helping to keep her out of contact with things. On a whim, she opened up another window and searched for "Golden Glory porn". That returned a lot more hits - a lot of fairly generic big-breasted (a lot bigger than the original!) blondes, simpering and posing, skirts even shorter than Glory's own. All a bit boring and "girl next door". Most of them looked nothing like her! She stopped scrolling through the nigh-endless amount of pink and white and gold pictures, flicking back up. There had been a flash of darkness there - what had that been? It was a picture of the two of them, but photoshopped. Glory had a rubber ball strapped over her mouth, with chains connecting her wrists, linked to handcuffs. A black leather collar was around her neck, catching the light in a weird way, some relic of wherever the image had originally come from. And as for herself... There was a fat cock strapped around her waist, and a riding crop in her hand. A leash ran from her other hand to the collar around Glory's neck. Was this what Glory had meant? The photoshop was clearly fake, their expressions not suited to the scene, but it was hard not to look. She clicked the image through to a gallery. There were loads of them! Most of them showing her, all 'shopped to be sexy. Had they added gleam to her outfits? She tended to wear tight clothing, but most weren't quite that shiny! And it looked like she'd been given a butt-job as well, her ass showing as two taut curves. And heels as well - pointed stilettos that would be utterly impractical to wear, but did look good, making her legs look even longer. A lot of work had been put into them, especially the ones with other people! A load she'd never even met, tied up and at her mercy. And some of the ropework was impressive - hemp harnesses bound over latex or lycra bodysuits, emphasizing breasts, waist and hips, cords wedged into pussy-slits. There was an image of her and Glory, both on stage, a pole behind them. Glory was gagged, the rubber ball not quite aligning with her own mouth, her already short skirt made even shorter, showing off a bare slit beneath. And her own outfit was even tighter, latex gleaming under spotlights. Around Glory's neck was a collar, a wide and black leather band, and Samara was holding the leash. Her hand moved down between her legs, gently stroking and rubbing herself. Not that Glory was submissive at all, but Samara could imagine having that gorgeous, toned body at her command! Although whipping or spanking her probably wouldn't do much, at least if she had any access to sunlight, boosting her strength and toughness. And she shouldn't be fantasizing about Glory! The thoughts were intoxicating though, as she slid a finger into herself, gently sliding it back and forth, her cunt wet and willing. It felt so good! But she shouldn't... Although surely just once wouldn't be too bad? With her spare hand she clicked onto the next picture. It showed someone dressed as Glory, fully roped up, the focus on her bare feet, her toes tied together. Samara tried to follow the winding knots of the rope, the hexagonal panels pulling taut against each other, drawing even more attention to the lines of their body, their arms bound behind them. Tied up like that, would there be any way to escape, without physically breaking the rope? Even with increased strength, then it would still take a lot of force to snap it! She could imagine the cords around her own body, the rough cords scraping her skin, keeping her trapped and constrained. The next picture had the same cosplayer, but now there was someone dressed as her, although they were Japanese, and looked rather more petite than she was, their boot stamping down onto "Glory's" backside, the soft flesh distending under a spiked heel. The outfit her imitator was wearing was similar to what she wore, but far sleeker, sexier and tighter than her actual one. The crotch-band was more like a thong, between taut buttocks, with thigh-high black boots, the lace bands of stockings visible at the top, arms sheathed in elbow-length gloves. As though she would ever actually dress like that! Although it did look good, the crop in her hand giving her a menacing look, the heel molesting the bound and captured Glory. She could feel the warmth between her legs, a wetness over her finger, easily sliding in and out. Glory probably wouldn't be into this sort of thing, and didn't seem to be into women at all, but that didn't make the images any less arousing. An image of Anna appeared in her mind, the woman's face stern and disapproving. It suppressed the pleasure flushing through her somewhat, although not enough to make her stop touching herself. If she wanted to do so, then why shouldn't she? Samara still had enough focus to go onto the next image, staring fixedly at it. Now she was the one tied up - hogtied, three sets of handcuffs used, one between her wrists, another between her ankles, and a third joining each pair. A metal bar was strapped between "her" teeth, her body bound and wrapped into hogtie. Samara stared at it, then tried to match the position, bending her knees backwards and grabbing her ankles. In this position, she could still grind herself against the bed, rubbing herself close towards pleasure, her breasts squashing down against the firm mattress as well. It felt good, although the position would probably get uncomfortable after a while. She was flexible and knew how to pick locks, but, bent around into a ball, it would be hard to get a lockpick out, never mind moving it into position to pick one of the sets of handcuffs. Maybe she could get Glory to practice with her at some point? They could take turns - when Glory was restrained, then it would be nice to see her wriggling around. Maybe stamp on her a few times, leave boot-marks on her perfect buttocks... Her body was still hot, the pleasure welling up, as she wriggled around, rubbing herself against the mattress, glad it was nice and firm, pressing against her belly, her t-shirt riding up so it pressed against her bare skin. She was close now, the orgasm almost there. But Anna's face appeared, firm and disapproving. Samara was so close now, right on the edge, staying in the hogtie position, staring at the picture of her imitator in the hogtie, imagining the feeling of the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, metal biting into skin, how it would clink and chink whenever she moved, leaving her unable to break free. What would Glory do to her if she was tied up like this? It was hard to imagine the bright and sunny young woman being mean to her, although she did seem to mention quite a lot of past lovers, even if they were all men. Having them touch and stroke her, while she was bound and helpless... If they were horny as well, then... Her thoughts stretched out, suddenly receiving input from elsewhere, two people caught up together, bodies and minds mingling as they fucked. She couldn't let go of herself or break the contact, just rubbing herself against the mattress, feeling it get wetter. But there wasn't quite enough stimulation to get her over the edge, as the image seared itself into her mind, until she could feel the cuffs on her body, the mental impression of a cock slamming into her, of hands on her breasts, making her even hotter. But Anna's forbidding presence intervened, blocking off the pleasure. Samara grunted in frustration, hot and sweaty now, her body loose and wet, gripping her ankles more tightly. No matter how much she rubbed, the releasing rush of pleasure wasn't there! |