Chapter 6: Chloé's Submission
Things had escalated quickly in the last couple of weeks. She needed to calm down and refocus. In two weeks, she would be reunited with Mark on their trip. Things will be easier there, and not. But for now, he wanted to receive more. And she wanted to give him. Chloe was on her way.
She set the phone facing the now familiar sofa. She tested the camera’s recording. She left the blinds drawn. The only illumination came from a single, harsh track light she angled to spotlight the couch.
Her phone buzzed.
I’m outside.
Julie typed back: Come. It’s open. No need to knock.
She stood in the center of the room, waiting. The air hummed with the faint electricity of the appliances. When the door handle turned, it was almost silent.
Chloé stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She looked smaller every time. Proof of Julie's growing grandeur to her eyes. She was wearing the same jeans, a different shirt. Her eyes were wide, darting from the phone to the restraints in Julie’s hand.
“You wore it?” Julie asked, her voice flat.
Chloé gave a tight, nervous nod. “Good. Strip. Everything. Leave it by the door.”
There was a hesitation, a flicker of rebellion that died before it reached Chloé’s eyes. She obeyed, peeling off her shirt, unbuttoning her jeans, stepping out of her underwear. She stood naked, shivering slightly though the room was warm.
Julie saw it. Mark. His name. She had kept and redrawn the letter of his name freshly on her body. The vulnerability was absolute. The submission total. Julie felt a cold thrill.
“Good. You're starting to understand us. On your knees. Here.” Julie pointed to a spot in front of the sofa.
Chloé knelt. The leather cuffs were cool in Julie’s hands. She fastened one to Chloé’s left wrist, then the other, clicking the buckles with definitive snaps. She attached them to the sofa frame. Chloé’s arms were pulled slightly forward, anchoring her.
“You want Mark?” Julie said, picking up the blindfold.
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
She tied the blindfold. The world vanished for Chloé. Her breathing quickened.
Julie walked pressed record. She then picked up the strap-on harness from where she’d laid it over a chair. It was black leather, severe. The attached dildo was silicone, a deep, flesh-toned purple, thick and veined. She stepped into the harness, tightening the straps around her hips with practiced efficiency. The weight of it was a familiar foreignness.
She approached the kneeling, blindfolded girl. She let the silicone tip brush against Chloé’s parted lips.
“Open.”
Chloé’s mouth opened. Julie pushed the head inside. It wasn’t gentle.
“Suck it,” Julie commanded, her voice dropping to a whisper near the microphone of the camera. “Like it’s his. Show him how hungry you are for it. How hungry you are for us.”
Chloé moaned, the sound vibrating around the silicone. She leaned forward, taking more of it into her mouth, her throat working. Saliva gathered at the corners of her lips, slicking the shaft. Julie watched dispassionately, one hand on her own hip, the other guiding Chloé’s head by her hair, setting a slow, deep rhythm.
“That’s it. Take it all. He’ll want to see you gag on it. He’ll want to see you struggle.”
Chloé did gag, her body jerking as the head nudged the back of her throat. Tears wet the silk of the blindfold. But she didn’t pull away. She forced herself deeper, a wet, choking sound echoing in the quiet room. Julie held her there for a long moment, feeling the convulsive swallow, before pulling her back. “Enough. On your feet.”
Julie unlocked the cuffs from the sofa, but left them on Chloé’s wrists. She maneuvered the blindfolded girl, turning her, bending her over the back of the low sofa. Her ass was exposed, the base of the plug still nestled between her cheeks. Julie ran a hand over the curve, then grasped the flared base. She pulled slowly. Chloé whimpered as it slid out, a low, aching sound.
Julie tossed the plug onto the glass coffee table where it landed with a soft, wet thud.
She positioned herself behind Chloé, aligning the silicone cock with her slick, open entrance. She pushed forward in one relentless, smooth motion.
Chloé screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound of stretch and filling. Her back arched, her restrained hands clutching at the sofa cushions.
Julie didn’t pause. She set a brutal, mechanical pace, fucking into her with deep, full strokes. The slap of leather and skin, the wet, rhythmic sound of penetration, filled the sterile space. Julie leaned over Chloé’s back, her mouth close to the girl’s ear, her voice a harsh whisper meant for the camera’s microphone.
“This is what he’ll do to you,” she hissed, driving deeper. “Except harder. And deeper. He’ll ruin this tight little cunt for anyone else. He’ll fuck you until you forget your own name. You’ll just be a hole for him.For us. Say it.”
“I’m a hole,” Chloé gasped, the words punched out of her with each thrust.
“Louder.”
“I’M A HOLE!” she cried out, her voice breaking.
Julie’s own breath was coming faster now. The physical act was one thing, but the performance, the curation of this degradation, was what ignited something cold and bright in her chest. She watched their reflection, distorted and shadowed, in the dark television screen across the room. A pale woman, fully dressed, harnessed, dominating a naked, bound, sobbing girl. It was a perfect, awful portrait.
“You’ll come for him,” Julie grunted, her rhythm becoming erratic, punishing. “You’ll come on his cock just like this, knowing I’m watching. Knowing I let him have you. This is ours. You’re ours. Now fucking come.”
She snaked a hand around Chloé’s hip, her fingers finding the swollen clit. She rubbed hard, in tight, filthy circles. Chloé’s entire body locked. A second, silent scream contorted her face before a wave of violent tremors seized her. Her cunt clenched and spasmed around the invading silicone, a pulsing, rhythmic grip. Julie fucked her through it, prolonging the contractions until Chloé was sobbing, limp over the sofa.
Julie pulled out. She stepped back, unclipped the camera, and zoomed in on the mess she’d made: the glistening, used folds, the trembling thighs. She panned up to Chloé’s blindfolded, tear-streaked face, then down to the discarded plug on the table. She stopped recording.
The silence rushed back in, broken only by Chloé’s ragged cries subsiding into hiccupping breaths. Julie unfastened the harness, let it drop to the floor. She walked to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and drank it slowly, looking out the window at the indifferent city lights.
When she returned, she untied the blindfold. Chloé blinked up at her, eyes red and shattered.
“Get dressed,” Julie said, her voice returned to its normal, detached register. “You know where the bathroom is if you need it.”
Later, after Chloé had left, moving like a ghost through the door, Julie sat at her computer. She transferred the video file.It was large. She composed an email to Mark.
JulieMar: She is fully compliant, and demonstrates significant appetite. She is ready for you. Awaiting your instructions.
She attached the file. She did not watch it again. She simply hit send.
The screen glowed in the dark room. For a long time, she just sat there, feeling the profound silence of the apartment settle back into her bones, now haunted by the echo of choked screams and the specter of a shared, watching eye across the ocean.
MarkD: I ll be in France after our trip. I have extented my sabbatical leave. I created a fake tinder profile. Tell your husband you want him.