I sat in my dorm room, staring at my phone. My fingers hovered over the screen, composing and deleting the same message over and over. Finally, I typed: "Dinner tomorrow night?"
The memory of leaving my math test mid-way flashed through my mind. I hadn't even hesitated when Chloe's message came. Just grabbed my stuff and walked out. And for what? Just so she could test me?
The strange part was, I didn't regret it. Not one bit.
I checked my phone again. No response yet from Chloe. My heart raced every time the screen lit up, hoping it was her. Was this normal? I thought about those psychological thrillers Sarah loved watching—the ones with obsessed stalkers following their victims everywhere.
Was I becoming like them?
No. This was different. Those stalkers forced themselves on unwilling victims. Chloe wanted me around. She called for me. She tested me. She controlled me.
I touched the collar around my neck, feeling the smooth leather under my fingers. The chastity cage reminded me of its presence with every movement. These weren't just accessories—they were proof that Chloe wanted me in her life.
The phone buzzed. Chloe had replied: "8pm. Pick me up at the sorority."
My heart leaped. I knew this wasn't love, not in the traditional sense. She'd made that clear. But I couldn't stay away. Didn't *want *to stay away. The thought of not seeing her, not serving her, not being under her control—it felt wrong.
Now I had another problem to deal with. That math test I'd walked out of wasn't just going to disappear. I needed a doctor's note to retake it, and I couldn't exactly tell the truth. "Sorry, my dominatrix called me away for a test of devotion" probably wouldn't fly with Professor Williams.
I found myself at Sweet Dreams Bakery, staring at their display case. The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow as I ordered my fourth slice of chocolate cake.
"Rough day?" she asked.
"You have no idea," I mumbled through a mouthful of frosting.
By the sixth slice, my stomach was protesting. The cashier kept giving me concerned looks as I methodically worked my way through what felt like half their inventory. When I ordered the eighth slice, she actually tried to talk me out of it.
"Maybe you should slow down there, honey."
But I had a mission. I needed to be sick enough for that doctor's note. The things I did for Chloe... At least this was better than quacking like a duck in Professor Callaghan's class.
My plan worked better than expected. I managed to projectile vomit all over the waiting room at the campus clinic. The doctor didn't even question my story about food poisoning after that spectacular display. He just handed me the note, probably eager to get me out of there before I redecorated his office too.
The butt plug shifted uncomfortably as I doubled over another wave of nausea. Maybe eight slices of cake hadn't been necessary after all. Six would have done the job just fine.
I walked up the path to the Black Rose Sorority house, my stomach finally settled after yesterday's cake incident. I adjusted my collar, making sure it sat perfectly straight. Tonight was my dinner date with Chloe, and I wanted everything to be perfect.
Then I saw him. Tom. From my Literature class. The same Tom who'd attended my study group, now walking down the sorority's front steps.
What was he doing here? My mind raced through possibilities. Was he like me? No, I didn't see a collar around his neck. Just his usual button-down shirt and khakis. Maybe he was here for tutoring? But why would he need that when I ran the study group?
Our eyes met as we passed each other on the path.
"Hey," Tom said, his voice barely audible.
"Hi," I replied, equally quiet.
The moment stretched uncomfortably. I noticed Tom's face flush red, matching how my own cheeks felt. He quickened his pace, and I hurried toward the door, neither of us looking back.
My mind wouldn't let it go. Why was Tom here? Did he know about what happened in the dungeon below his feet? Did he hear the sounds when walking past certain walls? Was he involved with one of the sisters? Olivia maybe? Or Sophia?
I reached for the doorbell, my hand trembling slightly. The questions wouldn't stop. Did Tom see my collar? Of course he did. Did he understand what it meant? Would he tell others in our Literature class?
The evening started like any other dinner with Chloe. We sat in our usual booth and ordered our usual dishes—spaghetti carbonara for her, lasagna for me.
"How are your classes?" Chloe asked, sipping her water.
"Good. The study group is really helping others. Rachel's grade improved significantly. All she needed were some simple instructions."
"Speaking of instructions," Chloe leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Are you wearing your butt plug?"
I shifted in my seat, the butt plug's presence suddenly very noticeable. "Yes. Every time I leave my room, just like you said."
"And how does that feel?"
"It's... different. At first, it was uncomfortable, but now it's become almost normal. Sometimes I forget it's there until I move a certain way. During classes, it reminds me of you."
"That's sweet," Chloe smiled. "You're always thinking of me, aren't you?"
"Actually, about that..." I took a deep breath. "Can I ask how you feel about our arrangement?"
"What do you mean?" Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Sometimes I feel like a stalker. Like a psychopath. My mind is always on you, always wondering what you're doing, eagerly waiting for our next meeting. It feels... obsessive."
Chloe laughed, the sound light and musical. "Oh Martin, that's perfectly normal. But if it worries you so much..." Her eyes lit up suddenly. "Actually, I have a great idea! Come to the sorority on Friday, right after classes. I'll have a surprise for you."
The rest of dinner passed with casual conversation. Chloe deflected my questions about her life as usual, and my mind wandered to Friday's surprise. What could she have planned? My curiosity grew with each bite of my lasagna, but Chloe's expression gave nothing away.
I stared at the last equation on my math test, double-checking my work. Everything looked okay—derivatives, integrals, all of it made complete sense. I circled my final answer with confidence and handed in my paper, catching Professor Wilson's approving nod.
Walking out of the classroom, I felt a sense of accomplishment. Not only had I aced this test, but my grades in all subjects were higher than ever. English Literature? Top marks. Physics? Crushing it. Film Studies? Professor Callaghan actually used my essay as an example.
Back in my dorm room, I looked at my organized desk—color-coded notes, highlighted textbooks, and a precise study schedule. Before Chloe, I would have wasted hours watching porn or mindlessly scrolling through social media. Now? Every minute had purpose.
The chastity cage has helped me so much. No more masturbation breaks. Just pure, concentrated effort on what mattered.
And it wasn't just about grades. Helping Jessica and Rachel with their literature assignments, organizing study groups, even doing chores at the sorority—it all felt meaningful. Each task, no matter how small, contributed to something bigger than myself.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't just drifting through college hoping to figure things out eventually. I had direction, purpose, and most importantly, results to show for it.
I stood in front of my closet, staring at my limited wardrobe. Chloe's surprise at the sorority was approaching, and I had no idea what to wear. My hand brushed against my formal blazer—would this be some kind of fancy event? Or would I end up naked like so many other times?
The weather had turned bitter cold this week. Even walking between classes required a heavy coat now. If I had to strip, the temperature would be brutal. But what if this was a formal dinner? I'd look ridiculous showing up in casual clothes.
My fingers traced over my sweaters, then my dress shirts, unable to decide. Through the window, I watched leaves skittering across the quad, driven by an icy wind.
I had no idea about tonight's dress code.
In the Black Rose Sorority house, the common area felt warmer than usual, or maybe it was just my nerves. Chloe sat in her favorite armchair, looking as stunning as ever in a simple black dress.
"Martin," she said, gesturing for me to sit across from her. "This weekend might get a little crazy."
I settled into the chair.
"You mentioned that you're always thinking about me," Chloe continued, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Well, now you'll have the chance to think about someone else for a change."
My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"
"You'll have to serve another sorority girl." She leaned forward. "That's nothing new, but this time it will be a little different."
Different how? The question must have shown on my face because Chloe's smile widened.
"Are you willing to do this for me?" she asked.
"For you, anything," I replied without hesitation.
I stood in the center of the room as Chloe ordered me to strip. My fingers trembled as I removed each piece of clothing, aware of the growing number of girls entering the room.
"And now for the blindfold," Chloe said.
Soft fabric covered my eyes, plunging me into darkness. My other senses heightened immediately.
"Here's what's going to happen," Chloe announced. "You'll choose which girl you'll serve this weekend based on their scent alone. No touching, just smell."
My penis strained against the chastity cage, drawing laughter from the gathered girls.
"Oh, and I won't be among the choices," Chloe added. "Line up, girls."
I heard shuffling as they arranged themselves. The first girl stepped forward, and I leaned in, breathing deeply. Each girl had a distinct scent—some wore perfume, others smelled of soap or shampoo. I tried to match the scents to girls I knew, but many were unfamiliar.
It didn't matter though. I had no particular preference for who I served, as long as it pleased Chloe. I focused on finding the most appealing scent instead.
After sniffing each girl, I pointed to the one whose scent I found most intoxicating. The blindfold came off, and my heart sank. There stood Mia, wearing an evil smile that made me regret my choice instantly.
"Oh," she purred, "you'll soon wish you hadn't chosen me."
Mia led me to the kitchen, and I braced myself for another mountain of dirty dishes. To my surprise, the sinks were empty. She gestured for me to sit at the kitchen table.
"Stay," she commanded.
I watched as she placed two empty bowls in front of me. My confusion grew when she retrieved a bag of rice from the pantry and poured its contents into one of the bowls.
"Count them," she said.
"What?"
"The grains. Count every single one. No questions. Start now."
I stared at the mountain of rice before me, then at Mia's stern face. This was absurd, but I had promised to do anything she asked. For Chloe.
I picked up the first grain, moved it to the empty bowl. "One."
Another grain. "Two."
The task stretched endlessly. "Fifty-seven... fifty-eight..."
Hours passed. My fingers grew numb. "Two thousand, four hundred and thirteen... or was it fourteen?"
I paused, trying to remember. Had I counted that last grain? I decided it was fourteen and continued.
The sun set outside the kitchen window. My back ached from hunching over the bowls. Still, I counted. "Four thousand, nine hundred and twenty-seven..."
The kitchen lights buzzed overhead as darkness fell. My eyes strained to distinguish individual grains. But I kept counting.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I finished. "Twenty-three thousand, four hundred and sixteen grains."
Mia returned to the kitchen. "How many?"
I repeated the number, my voice hoarse from hours of counting.
"Wrong." She smirked. "Start over."
"What? How do you know I'm wrong?"
Mia just walked away, leaving me with the bowls of rice.
I slumped in my chair, frustrated. Then it hit me—of course she knew the correct number. This was the Black Rose Sorority. Every girl here was a dominant. I wasn't the first submissive forced to count these grains. Some poor soul before me had probably counted this exact same bag of rice.
With a deep sigh, I started again. This time, I grouped the grains in tens, then hundreds, keeping careful track. My chastity cage pressed uncomfortably against me as I shifted in my seat, but I pushed through. I had to prove to Mia I could do this.
Hours later, Mia returned. "I'm sorry about getting it wrong before," I said. "The correct count is twenty-three thousand, five hundred and twelve grains."
Mia smiled. "Good boy."
I was happy to hear her praise, but it was short-lived. She walked to the cupboard and pulled out another package. To my horror, she poured brown rice into my bowl of white rice, mixing it thoroughly with her fingers.
"Separate them," she commanded. "White rice in one bowl, brown in the other."
I stared at the mixed grains of rice, my vision blurring from exhaustion. The slight difference in color between white and brown rice taunted me. After hours of counting, my fingers trembled as I picked up each grain.
"White... brown... white..." I muttered, sorting them into separate bowls.
My neck ached from bending over the table. The kitchen lights buzzed overhead, creating a maddening hum that matched my growing frustration. I grabbed a handful of grains, then realized my mistake. Now I had to sort them one by one again.
"Focus," I whispered to myself. "Do it for Chloe."
I picked up another grain, squinting at its color. Was it really white, or just a lighter shade of brown? I second-guessed myself and moved it between bowls three times before deciding.
My fingers fumbled, dropping several grains onto the floor. I crawled under the table to retrieve them, my chastity cage pressing uncomfortably against me.
The minutes stretched into hours. My eyes strained to distinguish the subtle color variations under the harsh kitchen lighting. Every few grains, I had to pause and blink, my vision swimming from the intense focus.
This was pointless busy work, and I knew it. Yet somehow, that made it worse. I had to prove I could handle even the most mindless tasks. For Chloe. For Mia. Even if it meant sorting rice grains until sunrise.
I sorted the last grain of rice into its respective bowl, my fingers trembling from exhaustion. Mia returned to inspect my work, stirring through both bowls. The sound of rice grains shifting against each other filled the kitchen.
A small smile played across her lips. Had I finally pleased her?
The hope died when she picked up the bowl of white rice. Without warning, she upended it over the stone kitchen floor. Rice scattered everywhere, the grains bouncing and rolling across the cold surface.
"What..." I started to ask, dreading that I'd have to pick up each grain individually.
"Kneel," Mia commanded, pointing at the scattered rice. "Right there, in the middle."
My knees buckled as they made contact with the hard grains. Sharp points of pain shot through my legs as my full weight pressed down on the rice. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
"One hour," Mia said, checking her watch. "The time starts now."
I shifted slightly, trying to find a less painful position. Each movement only drove the rice deeper into my flesh. The stone floor offered no cushioning, and the rice felt like dozens of tiny knives pressing into my knees.
This was going to be a very long hour.
My thighs quickly tired from maintaining the kneeling position. Sweat trickled down my back as I fought to stay still.
"Please," I whispered, though Mia had left the room long ago.
The kitchen clock ticked away, each second stretching into eternity. My shoulders slumped forward, exhaustion from hours of counting rice now combining with the physical torture of kneeling on the scattered grains.
I couldn't disappoint Mia. I wouldn't. The thought of failing her, of failing Chloe, kept me in position despite the growing agony.
The rice shifted under my weight, individual grains finding fresh patches of skin to torment. My muscles screamed for relief. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything else—my studies, Sarah, Chloe—but the sharp pressure demanded all my attention.
My arms shook as I struggled to maintain my balance. Each minute felt longer than the last. The pain had evolved from sharp stabs to a deep, throbbing ache that radiated up through my entire body. Still, I endured. I had to.
The door creaked open. I lifted my head, seeing Mia's stilettos click across the floor.
"Time's up," she announced. "Now put all the rice back in the bowl."
My heart sank. "Do I... do I have to do it one grain at a time?" I asked, dreading the answer.
Mia laughed. "No, you can just scoop it up. I want you to finish quickly."
My shoulders relaxed as I reached for the nearest pile of rice, grateful for this small mercy. The sharp grains had left deep impressions in my knees, but at least I wouldn't have to count them again.
"You must be tired," Mia said, but her grin suggested I wasn't going to have a good night. Another night in the dog crate?
She led me through the dungeon, past the crate. No dog crate then. She took me to a section I'd never seen before.
Mia grabbed my hands. She pressed my back against the cold stone wall and cuffed them above my head, just like on the cross, but left my legs free.
"Good night," she said and left me there.
Okay, well this was quite uncomfortable. A session was one thing, but a full night? How was I going to sleep?
The torches flickered on the dungeon walls. Their constant light made it impossible to rest. My naked body shivered against the cold stone, yet I felt myself growing hard in my chastity cage.
Mia was so different from Chloe. Where Chloe carefully tested my limits, slowly pushing me further each time, Mia just threw me into the deep end. No gradual build-up, no careful consideration—just straight into whatever cruel idea crossed her mind.
The hours crawled by. My shoulders ached from the position. Every time I started to drift off, my legs would buckle, jerking me awake as the cuffs caught my weight. The stone wall scraped against my back with each movement.
I lost track of time in that eternal torchlight. My wrists chafed in the cuffs. My arms had long since gone numb. Still, sleep wouldn't come. I could only stand there, shifting uncomfortably, waiting for morning.
"Good morning, Sunshine!" Her cheerful voice woke me up—I must have dozed off sometime. I had no idea if it was actually morning—the torches made it impossible to tell time down here.
"Did you sleep well?" she asked.
I remembered her reaction when I'd complained about the dog crate. "Yes, fine," I lied.
An evil grin spread across her face. "Oh, then maybe you want to stay a little longer?"
She laughed, then uncuffed my hands, and my arms dropped heavily to my sides. Blood rushed back into my fingers with sharp tingles. Mia set two metal bowls on the floor. One contained water. In the other was something that looked disturbingly similar to dog food, but wasn't quite.
"Eat," she commanded.
I dropped to all fours, knowing what she expected. Without using my hands, I lowered my face to the bowl and ate whatever that stuff was. The texture was odd, but I forced it down, then lapped up the water.
"Good boy, kiss!"
Her shoes appeared in front of my face. I pressed my lips to them, just like I would with Chloe's beautiful feet. As I kissed the leather, I noticed Mia's feet were actually quite nice too. My cock strained against the chastity cage.
Mia clipped a leash to my collar and led me up the stairs toward the common area.
"Time for your reward!" Mia announced with a gleam in her eye.
A reward from Mia? After everything she'd put me through, what could that mean? I'd learned to be wary of her "gifts."
She tugged on my leash, leading me through the sorority house toward the entrance. Surely she wasn't going to put me outside naked? The morning air would be freezing.
But Mia stopped just inside the grand entrance. She gestured to an enormous collection of shoes lined up against the wall. There were dozens of pairs.
"Why are all these here?" I wondered aloud. "Shouldn't they be in the girls' rooms?"
Mia's smile widened. "Your reward is to clean them all!" She dropped a bucket of water, a sponge, and some towels at my feet. "Get them spotless."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the mountain of footwear. I stared at the endless rows of boots, sneakers, and heels, my heart sinking as I realized the magnitude of the task ahead. Dropping to my knees, I picked up the sponge and got to work.
I picked up the first sneaker, examining its dirty surface. The white canvas was stained with mud and grass marks. As I dipped the sponge in water and began cleaning, my mind wandered to whose shoe this might be. Could it be Chloe's? The thought made me strain against my chastity cage.
I worked methodically, scrubbing each part with care. The top fabric, the rubber sides, even digging into the treads of the sole with careful attention. If these were Chloe's shoes, I'd want them perfect. But they could be Mia's too—that thought made me more aroused.
Giggles erupted from the common room. Several girls watched me through the doorway, whispering and pointing. My face burned red, but my chastity cage grew impossibly tighter. Their amusement only made me want to please them more.
Moving to a pair of leather boots, I applied polish with smooth, careful strokes. Each pair held such possibility—they could belong to any of the wonderful girls here. Even the ones I hadn't met yet must be amazing. They were all dominants after all.
"Look how focused he is," one girl whispered to another. "He's really into it."
She was right. I was into it. Not just the shoes, but all of it—serving these incredible women, earning their approval. It wasn't just Chloe anymore. Mia's cruel streak thrilled me. The other girls' dominance called to something deep inside me.
I moved to another pair, my hands trembling slightly as I worked.
More laughter from the doorway only fueled my dedication. I wanted to impress them all, to show them what a good servant I could be. Each shoe I cleaned was an offering, a gesture of submission to these goddesses who had welcomed me into their world.
After hours of cleaning, Mia returned to inspect my work. She circled the rows of shoes, nodding with approval.
"Well done. These look spotless," she said. "Now for the real challenge—put them all back in their correct rooms."
I froze. The shoes were clean but completely mixed up. How could I possibly know which pair belonged to whom?
"But... I don't know whose shoes these are," I stammered.
Mia's lips curled into a wicked smile. "That's the game, isn't it? For every wrong pairing, you'll get a punishment from the shoe's actual owner." She laughed at my panicked expression. "Better start guessing!"
I stared at the rows of footwear before me. There must have been at least thirty pairs. The odds of getting them right were astronomical. My hands shook as I picked up the first pair—white canvas sneakers. Who did these belong to? The wrong guess would mean punishment.
These had to be Violet's. I remembered her wearing them before. I carried them up to her room, placing them carefully by her desk.
Next, I found black stilettos that screamed Mia's style. The memory of her making me kiss these exact shoes last week was still fresh. I placed them in her room, noticing how they matched her sleek, modern decor.
Olivia's running shoes were easy to spot—I'd seen her wearing them in the garden multiple times. The grass stains had been a pain to clean off. Those went straight to her room.
A pair of expensive-looking red pumps caught my eye. Sophia had worn these during dinner at Le Petit Jardin. I was sure of it—I'd spent enough time under that table to recognize them.
Nora's combat boots were distinctive. I remembered the sound they made. Those definitely belonged in her room.
But then I faced dozens of other pairs. Ballet flats, sandals, boots—who did they belong to? Some rooms had space for multiple pairs, but which ones? I tried matching formal shoes with the more elegant rooms, athletic shoes with the sporty-looking spaces. But it felt like pure guesswork.
I placed designer boots in a room with fashion magazines scattered about, hoping they belonged there. A pair of well-worn sneakers went into a room with yoga mats and workout gear.
The task seemed impossible. Even the pairs I thought I knew for certain could be wrong—what if Violet had multiple pairs of similar sneakers? What if those stilettos weren't actually Mia's? Each placement felt like a gamble, and each wrong guess would mean punishment.
After distributing the last pair of shoes, I returned to the common area. My heart raced as Mia gathered all the sorority sisters.
"Kneel," Mia commanded.
I dropped to my knees in the center of the room, naked except for my collar, chastity cage, and butt plug. The girls formed a circle around me.
"Time to see how well you did," Mia announced. "Each sister will check if you got their shoes right. If you did, we move on. If not..." She grinned. "You get slapped."
That didn't sound too terrible. Despite my exhaustion from the sleepless night counting rice, I felt a surge of excitement. Even the thought of being slapped made my chastity cage strain.
The first girl stepped forward. "Wrong shoes." Her hand cracked across my cheek.
The second sister found her shoes misplaced too. This time, two sharp slaps stung my face.
Another wrong guess earned me four slaps. Then eight from the next girl. My face burned, but I held my position.
Some girls found their shoes in the right place, giving me brief moments of relief. But more wrong guesses came.
Sixteen slaps from one sister left me reeling. Then thirty-two from another. The pain was intense now.
When sixty-four slaps came, my body gave out. I collapsed to the floor as the girls laughed.
"He took that really well," one remarked.
"Better than most of the others," another agreed, laughing.
I dragged myself back to my dorm room, every muscle aching. Jacob's bed was empty—probably at the art studio again.
My face still burned from the countless slaps, and my knees were raw from kneeling on rice for hours. Even breathing hurt.
I collapsed onto my bed without bothering to undress. The soft mattress felt like heaven after the hard dungeon wall. My eyes closed instantly.
Hours passed in a blur of deep sleep. Occasionally, I'd drift into semi-consciousness, aware of changing light through my eyelids or distant voices in the hallway. But exhaustion pulled me back under each time.
At one point, I thought I heard Jacob come in, but I couldn't muster the energy to even turn my head. The sound of his easel being set up was oddly soothing as I drifted off again.
The entire Sunday passed this way—sleeping, barely waking, then sleeping more. My body needed this complete shutdown to recover. Even my usual arousal from the chastity cage couldn't penetrate my exhaustion.
For once, I was grateful that my roommate was the artistic type who understood the need for uninterrupted rest.
When I arrived at the sorority house the next day, Chloe greeted me with a knowing smirk.
"How was your weekend?" She giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Surprisingly fun, actually. Even though I got beaten until I passed out." I rubbed my still-tender shoulders.
Chloe laughed. "I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself." She paused, studying me. "I heard about your interest in arts."
"Oh?" I shifted uncomfortably.
"That's what we're doing today."
"I'm really not good at it," I admitted with a laugh.
"Don't worry." She winked. "You won't be the artist this time. You'll be the art itself."
Before I could process what she meant, Chloe led me to a strange structure in the dungeon—a cube-like frame made of metal poles with dozens of ropes hanging from the top.
"This," she gestured proudly, "is where you'll learn about the art of bondage. Each rope has a purpose." Her fingers traced along the different cords. "Some will support your weight, others will bind your limbs. We can create beautiful positions—your body suspended in mid-air, twisted into shapes that defy gravity."
She demonstrated by pulling on various ropes. "We can have you horizontal, vertical, or anywhere in between. Your legs spread wide, your arms behind your back, or stretched out like wings. The possibilities are endless."
My heart raced. This must be what Jacob was doing in his art-BDSM group. The thought thrilled me.
I watched as Chloe began wrapping rope around my chest. The rough hemp felt strange. She worked methodically, crossing ropes under my arms and around my torso.
"Arms behind your back," she commanded.
I complied, feeling the ropes tighten as she secured my wrists.
Click
The sound of a camera made me jump.
"Perfect," Chloe murmured. "Now for something more challenging."
She manipulated the ropes hanging from the frame, and suddenly I felt my feet leaving the ground. My body rotated until I was horizontal, floating in mid-air. The pressure points from the ropes distributed my weight evenly, though the position made the butt plug feel more intense than ever.
Click
"This reminds me of Jacob's art parties," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as she adjusted my position.
"Oh?" Chloe pulled another rope, lifting my legs higher than my head. "Tell me about those."
"He... ah..." I gasped as she tightened a knot. "He combines BDSM with art. But I've never been to one."
Click
For the next hour, Chloe arranged me in various positions—suspended upside down, twisted sideways, spread-eagled in mid-air. Each pose brought new sensations, new pressures, new ways for the chastity cage and butt plug to torture me. The ropes held me securely, creating a strange sense of freedom in my bondage.
After lowering me back to the ground, Chloe showed me her phone. I stared at the images in amazement. The rope work transformed my body into living art, each position more striking than the last.
"Would you like copies?" Chloe asked.
"Yes!" I exclaimed, thinking of showing them to Jacob. "Please!"
Back in my dorm room, I pulled out my phone and messaged Jacob.
"Want to grab a beer?"
"Sure, give me 15," Jacob replied.
At our usual bar on campus, I nursed my beer, trying to find the right moment. Jacob was sketching on a napkin, focused on whatever scene had caught his eye.
"So... remember how you mentioned those art parties?" I pulled out my phone.
Jacob looked up, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. "Yeah?"
"Well, look at these." I handed him my phone, showing Chloe's rope work photos.
Jacob's eyes widened. He swiped through the images slowly, studying each one with an artist's eye. "This is... actually really good. The tension in the ropes, the way they frame your body..." He zoomed in on one photo. "See how the shadows create depth here? And the geometric patterns against organic forms? That's exactly what we explore at our events."
"Really?" I leaned forward, excited that he understood.
"Yeah, man. This is art. Pure and simple." He handed back my phone. "You seem really into it."
"I am." I couldn't hide my enthusiasm. "It's like... when I'm tied up like that, everything else just fades away. It's peaceful, you know?"
Jacob nodded, his earlier concerns visibly softening. "I get it. Just... keep your eyes open, okay? Don't let Chloe take complete control. Remember you're still you, not just her canvas."
"I know," I said, though my chastity cage reminded me how much control I'd already given her.
"As long as you're aware." Jacob raised his glass. "To artistic expression?"
I clinked my glass against his. "To artistic expression."
Another day found me back at the Black Rose Sorority, following Chloe into the small hypnosis room.
"I love this," I said as Chloe closed the door. "Never knowing what's going to happen, or when. And when it does happen... I can't do anything to stop it."
"Oh?" Chloe settled into her chair, watching me with those piercing eyes.
"Yeah, Sarah even had some ideas about things you could plant in my mind." I laughed, meaning it as a joke.
Chloe's eyebrow arched. She pulled out her phone. "What's Sarah's number?"
"What?"
"Her number. Tell me."
Confused, I recited Sarah's number, watching as Chloe's fingers danced across her screen.
"What are you doing?"
"Asking for a nice little task." Chloe giggled.
Her phone buzzed with Sarah's response. Chloe's grin widened as she read the message.
"Sarah's a nice match for you," she said, looking up at me. "You're going to love this."