Chapter 27: The Bonding Night
The chat was a river of hearts and emojis, a steady current of adoration that Sasha had learned to swim in without thinking. She smiled, waved, blew a kiss to the camera, and the river surged. Two hours of stream had passed like water through her fingers, and she felt the familiar ache of the spreader bar in her ankles, the faint burn of the cuffs around her wrists. It was a good ache. A wanted ache. Margot had promised she would feel this way, warm and owned, like a present wrapped for an audience that couldn't wait to open her.
Mia sat to her left, still masked, still gagged, the deer-fox face frozen in that eternal, inscrutable smile. The collar sat heavy on her throat, and the chain ran from it down to the nipple clamp beneath her shirt, a taut, constant reminder. Margot had made sure the chain was just long enough for her to shift, never long enough to forget.
Sasha glanced at her and felt a rush of fondness. Her co-host. Her partner in the fort that was coming. She had never had a co-host before, and the thought made her giddy.
"Okay, chat," Sasha said, leaning toward the microphone, her voice the soft, practiced purr that Margot had taught her. "I think we're almost done for tonight. But before we go, I have something special to announce."
The chat erupted in question marks and excited screams. Sasha giggled, covering her mouth with both hands, the cuffs clicking softly.
"So, since Mia is officially my co-host now, I was thinking we should celebrate. Properly. Like, a real sleepover, you know? A pillow fort, on camera, just the two of us. Cozy games, snacks, maybe some truth or dare, if you're good." She winked at the lens. "A co-host bonding night. What do you think?"
The chaos was immediate. Hundreds of messages a second, hearts, fire emojis, pleas for a date and a time. Sasha turned to Mia, beaming, and reached for her hand. Mia's fingers were cold, stiff, but Sasha squeezed them anyway.
"Say yes," Sasha whispered, not for the mic. "Please say yes."
Behind the gag, Mia made a sound that could have been anything. Sasha took it for agreement.
Margot's voice came through the earpiece, smooth as honey. "Perfect, darling. Tell them Sunday night. Eight PM. I'll handle the details."
Sasha repeated it to the chat, and the river became a flood. She felt the vibration of her phone in her pocket, the celebration continuing offline, and she let herself bask in it. She was loved. She was watched. She was exactly where she belonged.
She did not notice Margot's hand slipping beneath the moderation desk, fingers finding the small remote that Margot had palmed earlier. She did not see the way Margot's sharp eyes flicked to Mia, or the way Mia's shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly.
The stream faded with Sasha's soft goodnight, her blown kisses to the camera, her promise to see them all Sunday. The light on the camera blinked from red to dark, and the room settled into the dim glow of the vanity lights, the silence suddenly loud.
Sasha let out a long breath, slumping against the desk, the spreader bar making the motion clumsy. "That was so good," she said, her voice still tinged with that dreamy warmth. "That was the best stream yet, Margot, did you see the numbers? The chat kept saying—"
"I saw." Margot rose from the moderation desk, crossing to Sasha with that sleek, liquid grace she had perfected since the salon. Her platinum hair caught the light, and her glossed lips curved in a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "You were wonderful, sweetheart. A natural."
Sasha preened. She always preened when Margot praised her.
Margot knelt beside her, unhooking the cuffs from the desk, freeing her wrists with practiced ease. Then she unbuckled the spreader bar, and Sasha's legs snapped together, the sudden freedom almost dizzying. She wobbled, and Margot caught her elbow, steadying her.
"Careful, love."
"I'm fine," Sasha breathed. "I'm more than fine. I have a co-host now." She turned to look at Mia, who had not moved from her chair. "We're going to have so much fun on Sunday. I already have ideas. We'll build the fort with all my blankets, and I'll make hot chocolate, and we can watch the cozy games I've been saving, and—"
"Mia can't wait to hear all about it, I'm sure." Margot's voice was light, but her hand on Sasha's elbow was firm, steering her toward the door. "Why don't you go start on the fort now? Get everything ready. I'll help Mia out of her gear and meet you in a few minutes."
Sasha hesitated, glancing back at Mia. Mia sat perfectly still, the mask hiding whatever lay beneath.
"Okay," Sasha said, and the word came out small. "Don't be long."
She left, and the door clicked shut behind her.
Margot stood in the silence for a moment, listening to Sasha's footsteps recede down the hall. Then she turned to Mia, and her smile sharpened.
"Sunday night," Margot said, walking toward her, the remote in her palm, turning it over and over. "A pillow fort. On camera. How domestic. How sweet." She stopped in front of Mia, looking down at her. "You'll be the perfect co-host, Mia. Sweet and silent. Exactly what the chat wants."
Mia made a muffled sound behind the gag. Margot reached up, and with a soft click, unbuckled it. The gag came away, and the plug inside it slid free, slick with spit, a thin, polished oval of silicone. Mia gasped, working her jaw, her lips red and wet.
"You planned this," Mia said, her voice hoarse. "The fort, the co-host reveal. You planned all of it."
"Of course I did." Margot held up the plug, examining it in the light. "And this little thing is the centerpiece. You'll wear it on Sunday. A plug gag, with vibration. I'll control the remote from anywhere in the room." She pressed the button once, experimentally, and the plug buzzed in her hand, a low, humming thrum. "The chat won't see a thing. They'll just see you smiling and nodding along while Sasha babbles about blankets and hot chocolate. But you'll be feeling every little wave I send through you."
Mia's jaw tightened. But she said nothing.
"Good girl," Margot purred. "No protests. No schemes. That's how this works now, Mia. I hold the collar, I hold the clamp, I hold the remote. And you hold nothing but your silence."
She pressed the plug to Mia's lips, a command. Mia stared at her for a long moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Then she parted her lips and let Margot slide the plug back in, the silicone settling against her tongue, the base fitting snugly between her teeth. Margot fastened the gag straps, a final, decisive sound.
"There." Margot smoothed a strand of Mia's auburn hair behind her ear, a gesture almost tender. "Now, shall we go join Sasha in the fort? She's waiting for her two favorite people."
She took the remote in her hand, thumb resting on the dial, and walked toward the door without looking back. She knew Mia would follow. The chain saw to that.
The bedroom was a sea of pastel chaos. Sasha had dragged every blanket and pillow she owned into the center of the room, draping them over chair backs and desk edges, building a lopsided, cozy dome. String lights lay tangled in the heap, their soft glow pulsing gently. She was on her knees in the middle of it, fluffing a pillow, when Margot and Mia entered.
"Look!" Sasha gestured, delighted. "It's almost done. I just need the lights to stay on and—" She stopped, blinking at Mia. "Oh. You're still wearing the mask."
Margot smiled. "She wants to surprise you on Sunday. A little mystery for the big night." She steered Mia to a corner of the fort, settling her onto a mound of pillows. Mia went without resistance, her movements stiff beneath the spreader bar still locked around her ankles.
Sasha's brow furrowed. "But won't it be hard for her to talk? Or drink hot chocolate?"
"Use a straw," Margot said lightly. "And she'll talk just fine. Won't you, Mia?" Her thumb brushed the remote, a hair's breadth from the dial.
Mia's head dipped once, a shallow nod.
Sasha's confusion melted into a smile. "Okay, if you're sure." She crawled across the blanket pile to sit beside Mia, close, her shoulder pressing against Mia's. "I'm so excited. This is going to be the best night ever. I already have a list of games, and I found this super cozy farming sim we can play together, and I thought maybe we could do a midnight snack segment for the chat, and—"
She talked on, a stream of bright, eager plans. Margot settled into the shadows at the edge of the fort, out of the light, and watched. Her thumb found the dial and pressed it down, just a notch. Not enough to make Mia flinch. Just enough to make her breathe a little faster.
Mia shifted on the pillows, her thighs pressing together. The mask hid her face, but her fingers curled into the blanket, knuckles white.
Sasha, oblivious, reached over and took Mia's hand, squeezing it. "I'm so glad you're my co-host," she said, her voice soft and sincere. "I don't think I could do this without you."
Margot's smile widened in the dark. She turned the dial up, a single, gentle notch. Mia's breath hitched.
"Are you okay?" Sasha asked, peering at her. "You're breathing funny."
Mia shook her head, then nodded, then made a small, muffled sound. The plug hummed against her tongue, a low, steady pressure. Margot watched the slight tremor run through Mia's shoulders, the way her legs pressed tighter together.
"She's just tired," Margot said, her voice warm, reaching out to smooth a hand over Mia's hair. "Aren't you, sweetheart? All that excitement."
Mia's head dipped again, another nod.
Sasha's face softened with sympathy. "You should rest, then. Here, lie down." She guided Mia down onto the pillows, arranging a blanket over her. The spreader bar made it awkward, but Sasha managed, tucking the edges around Mia's body. "Sunday, we'll do it properly. I'll make you a little nest, and we'll stay up way too late, and it'll be perfect."
Mia lay still, the mask turned toward the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in shallow, measured breaths.
Margot stood, brushing off her knees. "I'll get us some water. You stay with her, Sasha. Keep her company."
She left the room, and the door swung shut. In the hallway, she paused, thumb hovering over the dial. The low hum had been enough to unravel Mia's composure, to make her fist clench and her breath catch. But Margot wanted more. She wanted Sunday to be a symphony.
She pressed the dial up, a little further, holding it there for five seconds before letting it fall back to low.
Behind the door, she heard a muffled whimper.
She smiled, pocketed the remote, and walked to the kitchen, whistling softly.
Inside the fort, Sasha stroked Mia's hair, humming a soft, tuneless song. She did not notice the way Mia's whole body was trembling beneath the blanket, or the way her fingers had curled into claws against the pillows. She did not notice the faint, mechanical hum coming from between Mia's teeth.
All she noticed was that her co-host was resting, calm and peaceful, ready for their big night. And that made her happier than anything in the world.
"Sunday," she whispered to the silent, masked figure beside her. "It's going to be the best night ever."
Sasha's breathing evened out into the soft, slow rhythm of sleep, her hand still resting on Mia's arm, her cheek pressed against a mound of pillows. She had talked herself into exhaustion, and the dim glow of the string lights painted her face in a dreamy, peaceful light.
Mia lay rigid beneath the blanket, staring at the ceiling of the fort through the mask's eyeholes. The plug hummed low against her tongue, a constant, irritating pressure. She had stopped counting how long it had been. Minutes, maybe. An eternity, possibly. Her thighs were pressed tight together, and the hum had settled into a dull, aching throb between them.
The door clicked open. Soft footsteps. Margot returned, a glass of water in her hand. She set it down on the floor with barely a sound, then stood over the fort, looking down at the two figures tangled in blankets.
"Sasha," she murmured, her voice a whisper. "Sweetheart. Are you asleep?"
Sasha made a small, contented sound, not quite waking.
Margot waited a moment longer, then crouched. Her hand found Sasha's shoulder, stroking gently. "There's my good girl. Rest now."
She straightened and turned to Mia, and her eyes changed. The softness drained away, replaced by something sharp and hungry.
She reached down, taking hold of Mia's ankle, lifting the spreader bar just enough to slide it free. The sudden release made Mia's legs fall apart with an almost audible relief, and she drew a shaking breath.
Margot did it slowly. First the spreader bar, then the collar. The chain clinked as it came away, and the nipple clamp released with a small, sharp pinch that made Mia hiss through the gag. Margot set the gear aside in a neat pile, then crouched beside Mia, her face close to the mask.
"Don't make a sound," she breathed. "Sasha is right there."
She unbuckled the gag, and the plug slid free from Mia's mouth, slick and humming. Mia choked in a breath, her jaw aching, her lips red.
"Please," she whispered, barely audible. "Margot. Please. I need to be unlocked. The belt. I can't—"
"Can't what?" Margot held the plug up, watching it hum. "Can't think straight? Can't keep your plan together? Poor little Mia. You had so many schemes, didn't you? And now look at you. Spread on the floor in a pillow fort, begging."
She pressed the plug to Mia's lips. Mia stared at her, hating her, wanting her, and after a long moment, parted her lips. Margot slid it back in, settling it against her tongue, and Mia's eyes fluttered.
"Good," Margot murmured. "Keep it in. It's going to be on the whole time."
She ran a hand down Mia's body, over the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh. Mia's legs parted on their own, a movement so instinctive she barely registered it. Margot smiled, slow and pleased.
"Look at that. She's already opening up for me. And she's been locked in that belt all night, hasn't she?" Margot's fingers found the edge of the belt at Mia's hip. "Poor thing. All that arousal and nowhere for it to go."
She unbuckled the belt, the metal falling away with a soft clink. Mia's breath stopped entirely, and then she let it out in a long, shaking sigh of relief. Her legs fell open wider, an unspoken plea.
Margot made her wait. She settled onto the pilllow mound beside Mia, sprawled comfortably, and looked at her the way one looked at a prize won easily. She traced a fingernail up Mia's inner thigh, slow enough to make Mia shiver.
"Tell me what you are," Margot said, her voice low and warm. "Tell me what you are, and maybe I'll consider touching you properly."
Mia's throat worked around the gag. The mask hid her eyes, but her jaw trembled.
"Say it," Margot prompted, her finger inching higher. "You know what I want to hear."
The silence stretched. Margot's finger reached the apex of Mia's thigh and stopped, hovering. Mia's hips twitched, chasing the touch that wasn't there.
"I'm your co-host," Mia finally said, muffled through the plug.
Margot laughed, soft and low. "Lying through your teeth. That's not what I want." Her hand moved lower, cupping, squeezing. Mia whimpered. "I want the truth. What are you?"
Mia's breath came fast and shallow. Her body was trembling now, a fine vibration that ran from her shoulders to her knees. The plug hummed against her tongue, and she bit down on it, hard.
"I'm your toy," she whispered. "Your doll. Your—" her voice cracked. "Your bitch."
"Closer," Margot murmured, and her fingers slid lower, finding Mia wet and slick. Mia gasped, arching into the touch. "That's better. Say it again."
"I'm your bitch," Mia said, the words muffled but clear. "Your little bitch on a leash."
Margot's smile was slow and satisfied. She moved her fingers in a slow, teasing circle, and Mia made a sound that she swallowed desperately, remembering Sasha sleeping a few feet away.
"Quiet," Margot reminded her. "Take it quietly."
Mia nodded, lips pressed together over the plug. Her hips moved against Margot's hand in small, desperate circles. Margot watched her with a detached fascination, the way she watched a stream's chat go wild, the way she watched a plan come together.
"You thought you could outplay me," Margot said, her fingers steady, relentless. "Sneaking around at night with Sasha. Loosening her cuffs. Whispering your little schemes. All that hidden work, and where did it get you? On your back. Plugged. Begging."
Mia shook her head, a denial that was already half a plea.
"Oh, don't argue." Margot's fingers pressed deeper, and Mia bucked, teeth sinking into the gag's base. "You're exactly where you should be. Under me. Quiet and pretty. That's all you ever needed to be."
She withdrew her hand, and Mia made a noise of raw protest. Margot shushed her, pressing a finger to her lips over the gag.
"Not yet," she said. "I want you to crawl first."
The order hung in the air. Mia stared up at her, and Margot saw the storm behind the mask, the fury and the want tangled together. But she also saw the surrender, the way Mia's body was already moving, rolling onto her hands and knees, the chain of her loyalties dragged behind her.
Margot shifted, propping herself against a mountain of pastel pillows, and pushed her sleep shorts aside. She was already wet, and she made no move to hide it, watching Mia's masked face as she crawled toward her.
"Tongue out," Margot commanded. "Through the slot of the mask. Show me what you're good at."
Mia hesitated for one breath, two. Then she lowered her head between Margot's legs, and her tongue found her, sliding through the mask's vertical opening, warm and eager and hateful all at once.
Margot sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillows. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the plug in Mia's mouth and the wet sounds that were muffled against her thighs. Sasha slept on, dreaming of cozy games and hot chocolate, one hand still reaching for the space where Mia had been.
Margot's hand found Mia's hair, gripping it, guiding the rhythm. She didn't bother to be gentle. She pulled Mia's head down, pressing her face deeper, and Mia went, her tongue working with stubborn, desperate intensity.
"That's it," Margot breathed, her voice a low, throaty murmur. "Use that clever mouth you're always scheming with. Put it to work."
Mia made a sound, a muffled, furious hum. Her hands gripped Margot's thighs, nails digging in, and Margot let her, savoring the small rebellion that would go nowhere.
"Your problem," Margot continued, "is that you think you need to be in control. You don't. You never did. You're better like this. Quiet. Pliant. A pretty thing that holds my chain." She tugged Mia's hair, sharp. "Say thank you."
Mia's tongue stuttered. Then, muffled, "Thank you."
"Thank you, what?"
"Thank you, mistress."
The words came out thick and reluctant, but they came. Margot's eyes closed, and a slow smile curved her lips.
"Good girl," she murmured. "Now don't stop."
She pressed Mia's face deeper, rolling her hips in a slow, grinding rhythm. The room was warm, heavy with the scent of sweat and arousal. Somewhere in the fort, Sasha turned over in her sleep, murmuring a soft, incoherent word. Margot's eyes snapped open, and her hand tightened in Mia's hair.
Slow down, she thought, but Mia had already heard it too, her tongue easing into a slower, gentler stroke.
They held their breath, listening. Sasha settled again, her breathing evening out into sleep.
Margot exhaled, and the tension in her body released into a different kind of pressure. She pressed her thighs together around Mia's head, a silent command, and Mia moaned against her, a low, desperate sound that went straight to Margot's core.
"Close," Margot breathed. "Keep going. Don't you dare stop."
Mia's tongue worked faster, harder, driven by a need that had nothing to do with obedience and everything to do with the way her own body was burning, untouched, aching. Margot felt the familiar coil winding tight, and she let herself unravel, hips rolling, breath catching, a low, shuddering gasp that she swallowed into silence.
For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the plug and Mia's ragged breathing. Margot lay still, chest heaving, hand still tangled in Mia's hair. Then she loosened her grip, and Mia pulled back, her face flushed beneath the mask, her lips slick.
Margot sat up slowly, smoothing her hair back into place. She looked down at Mia with a satisfied, proprietary gaze.
"Good," she said, her voice slightly hoarse. "That's the first lesson. You remember it on Sunday, and you might get more."
Mia stared at her. The mask hid everything, but her shoulders trembled, and her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.
Margot reached for the belt, still on the floor, and held it up. "Back on. And the collar. And the clamp. We're not done with you yet."
She didn't wait for Mia to comply. She knelt, guiding the belt back into place, buckling it with a decisive click. The metal settled against Mia's damp thighs, a cold, constricting reminder. Margot ran her hand over it, almost soothing, then buckled the collar around Mia's throat, then clipped the nipple clamp back on.
Mia flinched, a small, sharp intake of breath.
"Good," Margot said again. "Now the gag."
She held up the plug, still humming. Mia's lips parted without resistance this time, and Margot slid it in, watching Mia's throat work as she swallowed it into place. She buckled the straps behind her head, and the new silence settled around them.
Margot leaned forward, her lips brushing the mask's cheek. "Sunday night," she whispered. "You'll sit there in the fort with Sasha, and you'll smile, and you'll nod, and you'll feel every little wave I send through you. And when the stream ends, and Sasha is asleep, you and I will have another lesson. Understood?"
Mia's head dipped, a tiny, obedient nod.
Margot smiled, then pressed a soft, almost gentle kiss to the mask's forehead. "Good girl. Now let's get you back to your spot."
She helped Mia lie down on the pillows, arranging the blanket over her, tucking it around her body. The spreader bar went back on, a swift, practiced motion. Margot settled the mask's frame, making sure it sat perfectly.
Then she lay down on the other side of the fort, a few feet of pastel chaos between her and Mia. She closed her eyes, and the room fell silent, save for the hum of the plug and the soft, even breathing of the two women sleeping around her.
In the dark, Mia lay awake, trembling with fury and want and something else, something she refused to name. The plug buzzed against her tongue, and she bit down on it, hard, and began to plan a Sunday of her own.