Chapter 12: Conversations
The cold steel of the table still held the ghost of Rio’s sweat as Agatha guided her, unsteady on her feet, to the center of the room. The space had been reconfigured while Rio was lost in sensation. The bench was pushed aside. In its place sat a low, padded platform, and upon it, a machine.
It was a Sybian, but to call it that felt too clinical. It was a throne of dark, polished leather, built over a powerful, humming motor. The prominent, silicone-covered prow was unmistakable, a rigid, curving shape designed for penetration. A second, smaller nub sat just above it for clitoral stimulation. Wires snaked from it to a remote control lying on a velvet cushion.
“Sit,” Agatha said, her voice leaving no room for questions.
Rio’s sore muscles protested as she lowered herself onto the cold leather. The central protrusion pressed insistently against her, a blunt, unyielding promise. Agatha didn’t help her. She watched as Rio fumbled, finally positioning herself so the nub kissed her clit and the larger curve nudged at her entrance, still swollen and sensitive from earlier.
“All the way down,” Agatha instructed. “Take it. Now.”
Rio took a sharp breath and sank onto it. The silicone pushed into her, a deep, filling stretch that made her gasp. It wasn’t like Agatha’s fingers; it was impersonal, constant, and ruthlessly shaped. Before she could adjust, Agatha picked up the remote.
“You will stay quiet,” Agatha said, her thumb hovering over a dial. “You will ride this until I am satisfied with your composure. And I am going to have a conversation.”
The low hum escalated into a deep, visceral vibration. It wasn’t a single sensation. The big motor thrummed inside her, a profound internal massage, while the smaller nub buzzed against her clit with a frantic, focused energy. Rio’s back arched instantly, a cry bursting from her lips before she could cage it.
Slap.
Agatha’s hand connected with her clit, a sharp, shocking sting that cut through the pleasure. Rio shrieked, her body seizing.
“I said quiet,” Agatha reminded her, her voice calm. She picked up her phone from a side table, tapped the screen, and put it on speaker. The dial tone pulsed in time with the vibrations thundering through Rio’s core.
A woman’s voice answered, rich and amused. “Aggie. I was just reviewing the Kensington files. Tell me you’re calling with better gossip.”
“Elise,” Agatha said, turning slightly away from Rio as if discussing the weather. She adjusted the remote, and the vibration intensified by a degree. Rio bit down on her own fist, her thighs trembling violently. “The files are a mess because their CFO is a sentimental idiot. But no, this is a social call. I’m conducting a discipline session.”
A low, knowing laugh came through the speaker. “Of course you are. I’m between meetings. Living vicariously. What’s the infraction?”
“Unsolicited textual filth. A brat pushing for a reaction after being told to wait.” Agatha’s eyes slid back to Rio, who was straining, her knuckles white where she gripped the edges of the platform. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her stomach.
“The worst kind,” Elise sighed, the sound of a keyboard clicking in the background. “They think they’re being creative, don’t they? It’s just noise. What’s your method?”
“Repetitive conditioning. On the Sybian. She’s on it now.”
“Oh, excellent. The great humbler. Is she quiet?”
Agatha looked directly at Rio. “She’s learning.” As if to demonstrate, she turned the dial up another notch. The vibration became a roaring, all-consuming thing. Rio’s hips jerked uncontrollably. A high, thin whine escaped her clenched teeth. Her cunt was clutching the silicone dick in frantic, fluttering pulses, her body demanding an orgasm it was not permitted to have.
“I can hear the motor,” Elise said, a smile in her voice. “And the strain. Good. You know my Clara went through a similar phase last month. Three hours on the machine while I renegotiated the Brighton contract. She sobbed through the final terms. She hasn’t sent an unsanctioned text since.”
Rio’s mind, fogged with desperate sensation, latched onto the words. My Clara. Three hours. This wasn’t unique. This was… standard procedure. A common language between people like Agatha and Elise. The realization was a bolt of lightning. Her abject humiliation was a classic punishment in a shared playbook. It didn’t diminish it; it ritualized it. It made her part of something. The heat in her gut twisted, growing hotter, deeper. She was a case study. A successful application of protocol.
“How’s the new sub?” Agatha asked conversationally, even as her finger teased the remote.
“Promising. A natural pain slut, but her endurance for stillness is pathetic. We’re working on it with suspension drills. Speaking of, have you used the new Florentine flogger I sent you?”
“Not yet. Soon. The leather is exquisite.”
Rio was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, silent sobs. The pleasure was a tortured crest that never broke, a relentless seismic event building inside her pelvis. She was drowning in it.
“Aggie, I need to go. The idiots are early for the video call. Make her come. Then make her do it again. It’s the only way the lesson sticks.”
“My thoughts exactly. Talk soon.”
The call ended. The silence that followed was broken only by the obscene, industrial buzz of the machine and Rio’s choked breathing.
Agatha placed the phone down. She came closer, her eyes dark pits of possession. “You heard her. It’s the only way the lesson sticks.”
She didn’t touch the remote. Instead, she kicked off her heels, unzipped her tailored trousers, and stepped out of them. She wasn’t naked beneath; she wore a simple black lace thong. In one fluid movement, she mounted the platform behind Rio, straddling the machine, her thighs framing Rio’s trembling hips. Rio could feel the heat of her through the lace.
“You see,” Agatha murmured, her chest pressed to Rio’s sweat-slicked back, her mouth at her ear. “I want to feel it. I want to feel that desperate, obedient cunt clamp down when I finally give it permission.”
She reached around Rio’s body, her hand sliding down her stomach, through the coarse hair, and found her swollen, buzzing clit. With her other hand, she finally turned the remote to its highest setting.
The world dissolved into pure, violent vibration. Rio screamed, the sound ripped from her.
Agatha’s fingers pinched her clit, rolling the hyper-sensitive nub hard, her touch a brutal counterpoint to the machine’ relentless thrum. “Now, you filthy, texting brat. Come for me. Come all over this machine and let me feel it.”
The command shattered her. Rio’s orgasm exploded with a force that felt like violence. Her vision whited out. Her back arched against Agatha as her cunt convulsed in a rapid, milking frenzy around the invading silicone, a gush of wetness slicking the leather saddle. A raw, continuous scream tore from her throat.
And Agatha rode it out, her own body pressed tight, feeling every ripple and clench through the machine’s casing, a low groan of satisfaction in Rio’s ear. She kept the vibrations at peak, forcing Rio through the first, shattering wave and directly into a second, tighter, more agonizing crest. Rio sobbed, her body no longer her own, a puppet wrung out by electricity.
Only when Rio’s screams subsided into broken, hiccuping cries did Agatha turn the dial down to a low, insistent hum. She stayed mounted behind her, her hand still possessively cupping Rio’s spent sex. She was quiet for a long moment, listening to Rio struggle to breathe.
“Elise was right,” Agatha said finally, her voice soft with a terrible intimacy. “It is the only way.”
She dismounted, pulled her trousers back on with elegant efficiency, and picked up the remote. She looked down at Rio, a broken thing still impaled on the humming machine.
“The lesson, however, requires repetition,” Agatha said, and her thumb moved on the dial.
The vibration surged back to a medium, relentless grind. Rio’s head fell back, a fresh tear tracing a path through the sweat on her temple. Her body, oversensitive and raw, jolted. Another orgasm was already, unthinkably, coiling in the depths of her wrecked cunt.
Agatha took her seat in a velvet armchair, crossed her legs, and watched. She picked up her tablet again, the blue light washing over her impassive face. “Begin again,” she said, not looking up. “And this time, try to be quieter. I have emails to answer.”