"Let me guess," Katie said. "This isn't what it looks like?"
Her joyful smile gone, Sarah's eyes were wide with panic. But she had to say
something...
"I... I thought..." she stammered.
"You thought
what?"
Katie demanded. "You thought I wouldn't find out, or you thought I wouldn't mind? If it's the first one, you're a sneaky little cunt. If it's the
second
, you're delusional. So which is it?"
From my spot on the bed, I couldn't help but admire Katie all over again. In contrast to Sarah's lithe dancer's body, Katie had the classic "bombshell" figure that I've always pined for: wide hips, long legs, powerful thighs, ample breasts, a round face, and an irresistibly plump bottom. In tender moments, sometimes I called her
"My pinup girl".
Her long, coal-black hair—brushed straight back until it shined—was the perfect antithesis to Sarah's quirky tangle of cinnamon-red ringlets. Today, like most days at the campaign office, she was wearing a sensible white blouse paired with a navy blue pencil skirt, a tiny golden Star of David pendant discretely hanging around her neck.
Sarah's courage evaporated. For one moment, her eyes darted down to me, where I still lay on the bed—naked as the day I was born, with a ring around my rigid penis, a ball gag in my mouth, and metal clamps on my nipples, shackled and chained to the bedposts by my wrists and ankles.
First, I hoped that I had a night of fun with Katie ahead of me. Then, when Sarah took me against my will, I hoped that Katie would never find out. Now, it looked like both of those hopes were dashed in the same hour. The best I could hope for now was freedom, and a respite from Sarah's torture. Would I be delusional to hope for Katie's forgiveness on top of that?
"I asked you a question, you scrawny little Kiwi tart!" Katie snapped. "
Which is it?"
In the year that we'd dated, I had never heard Katie's voice laced with that kind of unfiltered anger. In spite of everything that had happened to me in that room, I thanked God that it wasn't directed at me. At least not yet...
"I... I thought you were working late..." Sarah said timidly. "Really, I did..."
"Really? Well, I'm sorry to spoil your little romantic night. Now get off of him!"
Sarah didn't need to be told twice. She slid off of my bound body and moved to stand next to the bed. I briefly shuddered as her bare foot brushed my dangerously engorged cock, now dark with blood.
"Stand up straight!" Katie barked. "No, don't look at your feet—look at
me
when I talk to you!"
I expected anger, but her word choice caught me off-guard. She sounded like someone used to being obeyed, like a drill sergeant, or a particularly strict schoolmistress, or... A
Dominatrix?
No. Bullshit. It can't be...
Maybe Sarah's fake note was only
half
a lie. Maybe Katie really
did
have a taste for Domination. But
why
did Sarah seem so quick to obey her? Unless...
"Get on your knees!" Katie ordered.
In one quick movement, Sarah obeyed; she dropped down to her knees, her eyes obediently forward. She didn't even bother to pull up her red leather corset to cover her half-exposed breasts.
That settled it. Sarah seemed
far
too accustomed to taking orders like that. There was no doubt in my mind that Katie and Sarah had been though these motions before—presumably under more pleasant circumstances. Katie was a Domme, and Sarah was her sub.
If not for my
own
unfortunate situation, I might have found it arousing.
Suddenly, something on the floor caught Katie's attention. I wondered what she could possibly be looking at, until I remembered that I had set Sarah's note on the ground before tying myself to the bed.
"That note..." Katie said, her voice a bit softer. "Any reason it says
'David'
on it?"
I saw Sarah's chest heaving as her breath sped up. She chanced fate, and didn't answer.
"Nothing to say, Tiny Dancer? That's fine. Hand me the note, then. I'll find out myself," Katie said.
This time, Sarah didn't dare disobey. Still on her knees, she grabbed up the note and handed it up to Katie like a peace offering.
Katie snatched up the note. As her eyes darted over it, ping-ponging back and forth, her brow slowly furrowed with renewed anger—until finally she raised an eyebrow in a gesture of cruel amusement.
"That's cheeky, Sarah," she said, a note of mocking admiration in her voice. "A little thing like you? I didn't know you had it in you. But unluckily for you,
I
actually know what your handwriting looks like."
She ripped the note in half and dropped the pieces to the ground.
"I suppose there's a reason he was in my room in the first place?" Katie asked.
Sarah tried to stay silent again, but Katie would have none of it. Her eyes narrowed.
"Don't you dare try to blame my David for that one, girl. I know you had something to do with it.
Talk!"
Sarah gulped. She mumbled something, too quietly to hear.
"Louder!" Katie ordered. "I can't hear you."
"Facebook," Sarah repeated. "I, uh... You left your laptop here. I said I... Uh... I said
you
needed to borrow a textbook..."
Katie gave a sniff of disapproval.
"Typical Sarah. Can't get a man into bed without the
internet
on her side."
Her anger fading into faint amusement, Katie looked Sarah over as she knelt at her feet, savoring her fear and humiliation.
"And just what the hell are you
wearing
? Since when do you own a corset like that?"