Chapter 24: Silicone Submission
Brandy gasped under the light, the cold air biting the wet trail Jessie had painted. "Taste your surrender," Jessie commanded, her voice devoid of its earlier playfulness. Brandy’s corporate mind recoiled, but her body obeyed, neck craning forward until her tongue met her own slickness and the stark, bitter tang of antiseptic from her fresh tattoo.
Jessie watched, unblinking, as Brandy licked her own thigh clean. "Good," she stated, a simple verdict. She stepped back, her boots echoing on the lacquered floor as she moved to the glass-topped table scattered with implements.
She picked up a velvet bag, its contents clinking softly. "The forfeit’s set, but the schedule is flexible." She poured out a pair of ornate dice, one black, one bone-white. "We decide the timeline with a roll." Her eyes locked onto Brandy’s. "Or we choose a game." Brandy stared at the dice, her mind scrambling for purchase. "What are the games?" she asked, her voice scraped raw. Jessie’s smile returned. "Dice means chance. A game means skill, and if you lose, the surgeon comes next week." She let the implication hang, thick as the scent of leather. "Do they choose a game, Brand?" The question was a trap door opening beneath her feet.
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt.
Brandy gasped under the light, the cold air a shock against her wetness. “You lost the trial,” Jessie said, her voice conversational as she smeared the lube deeper. “So now you choose your punishment.”
She held up her other hand, presenting two items. In her left, a slender, cruel-looking silver wand vibrated with a silent, high-pitch whine. In her right, she dangled a heavy, black leather paddle, its surface scarred from use. “The wand on that pretty, swollen clit until you scream, or the paddle on that fresh ink until you cry.” Jessie’s eyes locked onto Brandy’s. “You have five seconds. Choose.”
“The paddle,” Brandy rasped, the words torn from her.
A flicker of surprise, then approval, crossed Jessie’s face. “Interesting.” She discarded the wand; it clattered on the chrome table. “Turn over. Present my property.” Brandy moved, her body stiff, the leather sticky beneath her stomach. The first strike landed not on the tattoo, but high on the curve of her ass, a crack that echoed.
Brandy jolted, a grunt punched from her lungs.
The second landed lower, a line of fire. “Count,” Jessie commanded. “Three,” Brandy choked out. The third strike overlapped the second, igniting a deeper, reverberating ache. “Four!” The fourth was a direct, perfect slap onto the inflamed Gothic script. White-hot agony lanced through her, clean and blinding. A raw, guttural sound ripped from Brandy’s throat, part sob, part release. Jessie’s hand replaced the paddle, rubbing the burning skin. “Good girl,” she murmured, her fingers then slipping through Brandy’s slick folds from behind. “You chose the real pain.” Her fingers pushed inside, fucking her with the same ruthless rhythm as the blows. “Now you get the real reward.”
Brandy gasped under the light, the cool air hitting her wet skin. “The implant discussion bores me,” Jessie said, her voice flat. She reached for a small velvet pouch on the glass table, loosening its drawstring with a practiced tug.
Five bone-white dice, carved with obscure symbols, spilled onto the chrome surface with a series of sharp clicks. “You want negotiation? We negotiate with chance.” Her eyes, reflecting the dice, held no warmth. “Roll high, you keep your waist line
Brandy’s throat tightened. “And if I roll low?”
A slow smile spread on Jessie’s face. “Then we schedule the surgery liposuction for next Thursday, and I pick a size that’ll ruin your blouses.” She pushed the dice toward Brandy’s trembling hand. “But first, you beg for the privilege of rolling them.”
“Please,” Brandy whispered, the word ash in her mouth. Jessie’s fingers tangled in her hair, yanking her head back. “Louder.”
“Please, let me roll the dice,” Brandy choked out, her pride dissolving into the scent of her own arousal. Jessie released her. “Do it.”
The bones felt cold and heavy. She shook them in her cupped palm, the rattle loud in the quiet room. She threw them onto the black lacquer table.
They bounced, clattering to a stop. A triple skull, a single bar, a weeping eye.
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt, a wet, obscene claim. “Christ, you’re a messy bitch,” she whispered, her voice rough with approval.
From the curtained archway, a sharp clatter of dice on glass cut the thick air. A collective groan rippled through the shadowed salon beyond their room. “Fuck me,” muttered a low voice they both recognized as Margo’s. “Veronica shoots the dice and loses.” The sound was a punctuation, a stark reminder of the other gambles being lost tonight.
Jessie didn’t look away from Brandy’s face. “Hear that?” She pressed two fingers into Brandy, slow and deep, curling them against that spongy inner wall. “Someone else just paid a price.” Brandy’s hips stuttered, a fresh flood of wetness coating Jessie’s hand. “Your price is still due.” She withdrew her glistening fingers and shoved them into Brandy’s mouth. “Suck.” Brandy tasted herself, salty and slick, as Jessie used her other hand to unbutton her own jeans. The denim slid down her hips, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her stomach and the fiery red hair beneath. “You wanted to know what real feels like?” Jessie guided Brandy’s head down, her grip firm in the short fuzz of her undercut. “Earn it.” Brandy’s mouth found Jessie’s cunt, hot and already swollen, the aroma of her own come mixing with Jessie’s sharp, clean scent. She licked, tentatively at first, then with a desperate, hungry focus when Jessie growled, “Harder.” The world dissolved into rhythm and taste and the pressing weight of Jessie’s hand on the back of her skull. Jessie fucked her face with steady, grinding thrusts, her breath coming in short, sharp hits. “That’s it,” she panted. “Take it all, you greedy fucking cunt.” Brandy’s own need was a forgotten throb beneath the exquisite pressure of obedience, the vibration of Veronica’s lost dice roll still echoing in her bones.
xxxxxxxxxdice rigged
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt. “You’re mine everywhere now, Brand.” She shoved three fingers inside, the stretch a delicious burn that made Brandy’s toes curl. “Fuck,” Brandy panted, her head rolling back against the cold leather. Jessie’s other hand found the remote, dialing the vanished plug’s phantom memory into a vicious thrum deep in Brandy’s gut. “Think about the surgeon’s hands here,” Jessie whispered, fucking her with a steady, claiming rhythm. “While he’s cutting, I want you remembering this stretch.” Brandy’s moan broke into a sob as Jessie’s thumb found her clit, rubbing rough, fast circles. “Come for me, property.” The orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave of blinding white surrender, leaving her limp and dripping. Jessie pulled her fingers out, slick and gleaming, and pressed them against Brandy’s lips. “Taste your forfeit.”
She sucked her own juices clean, the salt and iron of herself a final covenant.
Jessie watched, satisfied, then reached into her pocket. She produced a single, heavy casino die, its red spots like fresh wounds. “You wondered about the trial,” Jessie said, her voice casual. She placed the die on Brandy’s heaving stomach. “About the odds of you lasting longer on that fake cock.” Jessie’s finger flicked the die. It tumbled, a crimson blur against pale skin, landing with the single pip facing up. “Snake eyes.” A cold smile. “The house always wins, baby.” She leaned close, her lips brushing Brandy’s ear. “The dice were rigged.” The truth landed, a deeper violation than any touch. Brandy stared at the die, her surrender curdling into something darker, something electric.
punishment beginsxxxxxxxxx
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt.
Brandy gasped under the light, the slickness a cold shock. “Punishment begins,” Jessie whispered, the words final as a cell door closing.
She backhanded Brandy across the mouth, a sharp crack that split her lip. The copper tang of blood bloomed, familiar now, mixing with the sterile smell of the room.
“Open.” Jessie’s command was flat. When Brandy’s teeth unclenched, Jessie shoved two fingers inside, scraping them against Brandy’s raw inner cheek. “Taste your failure.” Brandy gagged, but sucked, her tongue working over the knuckles as she was told.
Jessie withdrew, then gripped Brandy’s jaw, forcing her to look down at her own splayed body. “See what you are?” She ran a fingernail over the fresh tattoo, making Brandy jolt. “Mine to mark, mine to fill, mine to break.”
She pushed Brandy forward, chest slamming against the cold chrome table. The leather restraints bit into her wrists. Jessie’s palm came down on her ass, once, twice, a stinging heat that built into a deep, throbbing burn. “Count.”
“One,” Brandy choked out.The next slap was harder. “Two.”
Her skin flushed, alive and singing with pain. Jessie leaned over her, a solid weight of muscle and intent, and spat directly onto Brandy’s exposed hole. The plug’s removal had left her open, aching. Jessie’s thumb, blunt and unforgiving, pushed inside without ceremony. “This greedy little fuckhole lost the game,” Jessie growled, working her thumb in deeper, twisting. Brandy screamed into the table, the sound muffled against metal.
Brandy gasped under the light, the cold air hitting her wetness as Jessie examined her work. "Clean slate," Jessie murmured, her thumb circling Brandy’s clit with possessive pressure. "For the new canvas."
She reached for the glass table where a simple black case lay open. Inside, nestled in foam, was a gleaming steel wand with a prominent, ridged bulb at its tip. "Veronica hates hesitation," Jessie said, clicking the device on.
A low, invasive buzz filled the space. Jessie didn’t guide it; she pressed the buzzing bulb directly against Brandy’s exposed clit. Brandy jolted, a sharp cry ripped from her throat as the vibration tore through her oversensitive nerves, a sensation so intense it bordered on pain. "Fuck! Red—"
"Hold still." Jessie’s voice was flat, instructional. She kept the wand pressed hard, watching Brandy’s thighs tremble with the effort to not pull away. "Veronica teaches compliance." The pleasure was a live wire, frayed and sparking, merging with the deep burn of the new ink on her thigh.
Jessie then drove the wand inside her in one brutal push, the ridged surface stretching her brutally. "Christ, you’re tight," Jessie grunted, twisting the device. She fucked her with it, the mechanical buzz mutating into a deep, internal roar. Brandy’s hands clenched the arms of the chair, her knuckles white, every nerve screaming in overwhelmed protest.
"Does my cunt like that?" Jessie asked, her rhythm relentless. Brandy could only choke out affirmatives, her orgasm building like a crash she couldn’t avoid. "I said, does it?" Jessie demanded, smacking her inner thigh right on the fresh tattoo.
"Yes! Fuck, yes, it does!" Brandy screamed, the pain a bright supernova that detonated the pleasure. Her climax was a violent seizure, muscles clamping down on the steel as her vision whited out. Jessie held the wand deep, milking the contractions until Brandy slumped, utterly spent.
Jessie withdrew Veronica with a slick, final sound and turned it off. The sudden silence rang louder than the buzz. "Good," she said, patting Brandy’s trembling stomach. "We’ll schedule the consultation tomorrow." She leaned down, her lips brushing Brandy’s ear. "You’ll look perfect stuffed and marked."
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt.
Brandy gasped under the light, the cold air biting the wet trail. “Stuffed,” Jessie said, her voice casual as she wiped her hand on Brandy’s hip. “That’s the plug, the sapphire egg, the silicone I’ll have poured into your tits.” She leaned in, her breath a hot promise. “Marked is this,” she pressed down on the screaming tattoo, “and the scars from the incisions, and the way your skin will shine, stretched tight over my choices.” She traced a fingernail up Brandy’s belly. “Your body becomes a collection of my decisions.” She pushed two fingers back inside Brandy, who cried out, her flesh still convulsing from the brutal climax. “You’ll be a well-maintained thing, filled with my specifications, wearing my labels.” Jessie’s fingers curled, searching, and Brandy’s hips stuttered. “Every part of you answers a question I asked.” She began a ruthless rhythm, her knuckles pounding a claim deep into Brandy’s core. “So, do you understand now?” Brandy could only nod, a broken series of jerks, as the sensation built again, terrifying and inevitable. “Good.” Jessie fucked her harder, a final punctuation. “Then scream for the next one.”
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt.
Brandy gasped under the light. “LifeSign,” Jessie repeated, the word a warm threat against her neck. “My old COO, Veronica Sharpe, runs their compliance division now.” She let that hang in the thick air before standing, her silhouette blocking the glare. “And since you lost, she gets a turn.” The door opened without a sound.
A new shadow fell across Brandy’s splayed form. “Christ, Jess, you didn’t say she’d be this pretty.” Veronica’s voice was smoked glass and whiskey, deeper than Jessie’s. She moved into the light, all sharp angles and a sleeveless black turtleneck, her grey-flecked hair cropped close. Her eyes, a cool arctic blue, scanned Brandy’s exposed body, pausing on the weeping tattoo. “Red’s Cunt,” she read aloud, a smirk touching her lips. “Presumptuous.” She placed a sleek metal case on the side table, clicking it open. “You negotiated for a C-cup, I heard.” Veronica selected a long, obsidian-black sound from a line of them, holding it up to the light. “But I’ve seen the imaging from your consultation.” She turned, her gaze boring into Brandy’s. “Your pectoral muscle can’t handle that. A large B, maybe.” The clinical detachment was a new kind of violation. “So we renegotiate.” She uncapped a bottle of clear gel. “You take this, all of it, without making her touch you.” Veronica’s finger traced the sound’s tapered tip. “Then we talk about what really fits that hollow chest of yours.” She leaned down, her breath cool. “Open your mouth, Brand.” Brandy obeyed, a tremor running through her. The smooth, cool glass pressed against her lips. “Wider.” It slid over her tongue, a foreign invasion. Veronica pushed slowly, relentlessly, until Brandy gagged, tears springing to her eyes. “There,” Veronica whispered, watching the shape of it distort Brandy’s throat. “Now we understand each other.”
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt. Brandy gasped under the light. “Clean,” Jessie said, her voice flat and instructional. She grabbed a handful of Brandy’s short, newly lasered hair and pulled her forward. “Taste your forfeit. Taste what losing means.” Brandy’s tongue, hesitant and hot, swiped through the mess on her own skin. The taste was salty, bitter, utterly foreign. “Swallow,” Jessie commanded, applying pressure to the back of her skull.
Brandy obeyed, the act a deeper violation than the needle. “Good,” Jessie murmured, her other hand circling Brandy’s throat. She guided her back onto the chair and without a word, unzipped her own leather pants. She knelt over Brandy’s face, lowering herself until Brandy could feel the heat and coarse hair against her lips. “You’ll open me up with that clever tongue of yours.” Brandy’s mouth opened, compliant. Jessie ground down against her, a slow, suffocating rhythm. “Make me come,” Jessie sighed, her hips rolling. “Then we’ll discuss the surgeon’s portfolio.”
Brandy’s world narrowed to the musky darkness, the sharp tang of sweat and leather, the crushing weight of submission. She worked her tongue in desperate, devoted circles. Jessie’s breathing hitched, her thighs tightening around Brandy’s ears. “Right there, you fucking owned cunt,” she grunted, her hand fisting in Brandy’s hair, holding her mercilessly in place. A shudder ran through Jessie, a low groan escaping her as she ground out her climax against Brandy’s mouth. She stayed there for a long moment, pulsing, before finally lifting herself away.
Jessie spread it with her thumb across her cunt.
Brandy gasped under the light, the sensation obscene and electric. “That’s my signature,” Jessie whispered, her voice rough.
The door to the back room clicked open, unnoticed by either of them until a new voice cut through the haze. “Christ, Red. Couldn’t wait five minutes?” Veronica stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the velvet gloom, the scent of night air and clove cigarettes clinging to her leather jacket.
Jessie didn’t turn, her hand still splayed possessively on Brandy’s thigh. “You’re early.”
“And you’re indecent,” Veronica said, stepping into the light, her eyes scanning the scene—the tattoo, the tools, Brandy’s ravaged state. “Is this the executive?”
Brandy flinched, attempting to cover herself, a pointless gesture with her wrists still loosely cuffed. Veronica’s gaze was analytical, cold, stripping her bare all over again.
Jessie finally stood, wiping her hand on a black cloth. “Brandy, meet Veronica. My accountant.”
“And your conscience, apparently,” Veronica said, her eyes lingering on the fresh ink. “’Red’s Cunt’. Subtle.” She lit a cigarette, the flare illuminating a sharp, amused smile. “She agree to the tits yet?”
“We were negotiating.”
Veronica exhaled a plume of smoke, drifting over Brandy. “Negotiating.” She laughed, a short, dry sound. “Look at her, Jess. She’s past negotiation. She’s inventory.” She knelt, bringing her face level with Brandy’s. “You like being her inventory, sweetheart?”
Brandy gasped under the light, the cooling mess a shocking contrast to the fire in her thigh. “Taste your failure,” Jessie whispered, pressing two slick fingers against Brandy’s mouth. Brandy’s tongue darted out, obedient and shamed, the salty-bitter flavor flooding her senses as she sucked them clean. “Good.” Jessie stood, her shadow swallowing Brandy whole. “Margo! She’s ready for Veronica.” The velvet curtain rustled, and a new presence entered the chrome space—a woman with quiet eyes and surgical calm. Veronica’s gaze was appraising, detached, as it traveled from the fresh tattoo to Brandy’s small, exposed breasts. “The canvas is prepped,” Jessie said, lighting a cigarette. Veronica nodded, opening a sleek case that glinted with measuring tapes and calipers. Her cold, precise fingers closed around Brandy’s right breast, lifting and weighing it with impersonal interest. “The pectoral muscle is underdeveloped,” she stated, her voice flat. “Submuscular placement will provide a more natural slope.” Brandy flinched at the clinical words, at the way her body was being discussed like a project. “I want them obvious,” Jessie interrupted, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I want everyone who sees her in a boardroom to know she’s been claimed.” Veronica’s thumb traced a potential incision line beneath Brandy’s breast. “Then we go over the muscle. High profile. The scar will hide here.” The promise of the knife felt more permanent than the needle. Brandy’s breath came in short, sharp pants. Veronica produced a purple surgical marker and began drawing directly on her skin, the cool tip tracing her fate. Jessie watched, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Perfect.”