Chapter 2: The Play Room Test
The door clicked shut behind her, and Xenia felt the shift in the air—pressure changing, temperature dropping just slightly, like the room itself had been waiting for her.
Priscilla moved past her, bare feet silent on the padded floor, and stopped in the center of the space. The amber light caught the silk of her robe, turning it the color of dried blood. She reached for the sash at her waist and pulled.
The robe fell open.
Beneath it, Priscilla wore black leather that gleamed under the dim lights. A corset cinched her waist tight, pushing her breasts up and out, the tops of them bare above the boned edge. Two thin straps crossed over her chest, the metal rings at the center catching the light. Below, black lace panties cut high on her hips, but they'd been modified—a slit down the center exposed her, everything on display for anyone who cared to look.
The gloves came up to her elbows. Fingerless, studded. She flexed her hands, and the leather creaked.
"You dressed up," Xenia said, keeping her voice steady even as her pulse hammered.
"I always dress for the occasion." Priscilla walked a slow circle around her. Xenia felt those green eyes on every inch of her body, cataloguing, measuring. "Strip."
"Just like that?"
"You came into my house. You stepped into my room." Priscilla stopped in front of her, close enough that Xenia could smell the leather and the jasmine, could see the pulse beating in her throat. "You play by my rules until we establish otherwise. Now strip."
Xenia's jaw tightened. She wasn't used to taking orders. But there was something in Priscilla's voice—not arrogance, not cruelty. Just absolute certainty. The woman wasn't testing her. She was simply stating facts.
And Xenia wanted to see where those facts led.
She reached for the hem of her henley and pulled it over her head. The air hit her skin, cool against the heat that had been building since she walked through the door. She toed off her boots, unbuckled her belt.
Priscilla watched every movement. Her expression didn't change, but her breathing did—just a fraction faster, just enough to notice.
When Xenia pushed her jeans down and stepped out of them, she stood in nothing but her boxer briefs. The fabric strained, a dark patch already forming where her cock pressed against the cotton.
"Those too," Priscilla said.
Xenia pushed them down, and the sudden freedom made her exhale. Her cock hung heavy between her thighs, long and thick, already starting to fill. The cooler air of the room raised goosebumps on her skin.
Priscilla's eyes dropped. Her tongue touched her bottom lip. A tiny tell, barely visible, but Xenia caught it.
"Well," Priscilla said softly. "Aren't you something."
She gestured to the chair in the corner—a heavy leather contraption with a padded seat that had a hole cut through the center, built low to the ground, with straps bolted to the frame.
"Sit."
Xenia crossed the room and lowered herself into the chair. The leather was cool against her bare skin. The hole in the seat framed her cock and balls perfectly, letting them hang through and out of the way. She understood the design now.
Priscilla followed her, heels clicking soft on the padding. She crouched—unhurried, controlled—and reached for the straps. First around Xenia's wrists, pulled through metal buckles and cinched tight. The leather bit into her skin, not painful, but present. A reminder.
Then her ankles. Then a wider strap across her chest, pinning her back against the chair.
"Too tight?"
"I've had tighter."
Priscilla laughed, low and warm. "We'll see about that." She checked each strap with methodical precision, tugging, adjusting. When she was satisfied, she stepped back and looked down at Xenia with something that might have been admiration.
"Safe word," she said. "You mentioned it earlier. I want to hear you say it."
"Pineapple."
"Pineapple." Priscilla tested the word like she was tasting it. "Good. That means stop. Everything stops. No questions, no hesitation. Understood?"
"Understood."
Priscilla's smile widened. "Then we can begin."
She moved to a cabinet at the far end of the room, and Xenia craned her neck to watch. The cabinet doors opened to reveal shelves of equipment—bottles, tubes, things that hummed and things that didn't. Priscilla selected a glass bottle with a pump top and a smaller vial, then returned.
She set them on a small side table and picked up the glass bottle. The pump gave a soft wheeze, and she dispensed a generous amount of clear liquid into her palm.
"Lube," she said, holding up her gloved hand so Xenia could see the viscous sheen. "Silicone-based. Lasts longer, doesn't get tacky. The good stuff."
She knelt between Xenia's spread legs, and her hand closed around Xenia's cock.
Xenia hissed through her teeth. The leather of Priscilla's gloves was cool against her heated skin, smooth and slick with the lube. Priscilla moved her hand up in a slow stroke, twisting at the top, and Xenia's hips bucked involuntarily against the straps.
"Easy," Priscilla murmured. "We haven't even started."
She worked the lube up and down Xenia's length, coating every inch. Her grip was firm but not rough, professional in its methodical attention. Xenia's cock thickened, hardened, rising up through the hole in the chair until it stood almost vertical.
"Beautiful," Priscilla said, half to herself. She released Xenia's cock and reached for the machine in the corner—the one that hummed and gleamed and looked like something from another planet.
It was a milking station. Xenia had seen them before, in adult stores and on websites dedicated to things her landlords would definitely disapprove of. A cylindrical body with hoses and tubes, a transparent collection cup at the end, and a suction attachment that Priscilla was now fitting over Xenia's cock with practiced ease.
The cup was cold at first, making Xenia flinch. But then Priscilla touched a button, and the machine kicked into gear, and warmth flooded through.
"Fuck," Xenia groaned.
The suction was steady, rhythmic, a gentle pull that built incrementally with each cycle. It felt like a hand that never tired, never changed pressure, just kept working the exact same way over and over and over.
Priscilla watched her face, smug satisfaction flickering across her features. "Good?"
"Good."
"Just good?" She pressed another button, and the suction intensified. Xenia's back arched against the straps.
"Christ—"
Priscilla laughed and dialed it back down. "We have time. I want to enjoy this." She stood, stripped off one glove, and picked up the smaller vial from the side table. "Now. Let's get you ready for the second part."
She poured a thin stream of oil into her bare palm and knelt behind the chair. Xenia couldn't see her, but she felt Priscilla's hands on her ass, spreading her cheeks, the oil-slick fingers finding her hole.
"Relax," Priscilla said, and Xenia forced herself to breathe.
One finger pressed in, slow and steady. Priscilla worked it in circles, coating Xenia inside and out, adding a second finger when Xenia's body gave way.
"You're tight," she observed. "Tighter than I expected. You don't do this often?"
"Not usually on this end."
"Mmm. Then we'll go slow." A third finger. Xenia grunted but didn't pull away. The stretch burned, but it was a good burn, the kind that made her breath come faster and her balls draw up against the milking cup.
Priscilla twisted her wrist, curling her fingers, finding the spot that made Xenia jerk against the straps. "There it is. Figured you'd have a prostate worth playing with."
"Is this—" Xenia swallowed hard. "Is this where you tell me I'm your bitch now?"
Priscilla withdrew her fingers. The sudden emptiness made Xenia ache. "No. This is where I find out if you're worth keeping." She stood and walked to the machine in the corner. "The milker's got a cycle—twenty minutes, then it stops. I'm going to use that time to get you opened up. By the time it's done, you'll either want my pussy on your face or you'll be begging me to let you go."
She crouched and hauled something out from beneath the milking station. It was a polished steel rod, about a foot long and thick, with a flat base and a rounded top. Priscilla attached it to a mount on the floor directly beneath the chair, positioning it so it pointed straight up at the hole where Xenia's ass was suspended.
Then she adjusted the height. The rod rose inch by inch until its tip pressed against Xenia's oiled hole.
"Comfortable?"
"No."
"Good." Priscilla moved back to the front of the chair. She stood over Xenia with her hands on her hips, looking down with that same measuring expression. "Here's how this works. The rod doesn't move. You do. Every time you squirm, every time you shift, you take more of it. The milker's going to make you squirm. And that's before I even touch you."
Xenia tested the straps. They held tight.
"Now," Priscilla said, and her voice dropped, low and intimate. "I'm going to ask you something. And I want an honest answer. Do you want my pussy?"
Xenia stared up at her. The milker hummed, pulsing on her cock. The rod pressed against her ass. The leather bit into her wrists.
"I barely know you," she said.
"Don't be cute. You know exactly what I'm asking." Priscilla straddled Xenia's lap, her leather-clad thighs pressing against the outside of Xenia's own. She was close enough that Xenia could smell her, musk under the jasmine, heat and want. "You came into my house. You let me strap you down. You didn't ask a single question about what I was going to do. That tells me everything I need to know."
"Does it?"
Priscilla rocked her hips. The slit in her panties slid over Xenia's abs, leaving a slick trail. The movement shifted Xenia's weight, and the rod beneath her pressed up another fraction of an inch.
"Ah—"
"There it is." Priscilla smiled. "Every time I move, you sink deeper. And every time you sink deeper, I get to see that look on your face. The one that says you're not sure if you want to fight or surrender." She rocked again. Another inch. Xenia gasped. "So I'll ask one more time. Do you want my pussy?"
Xenia's jaw worked. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The milker pulled and released, pulled and released. The rod filled her, steady and unrelenting. Priscilla's cunt was two inches from her face, glistening in the amber light.
"Yes," Xenia said.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I want it." The admission scraped out of her throat. "I want your pussy."
Priscilla held perfectly still for a beat, letting the words hang between them. Then she reached down and cupped Xenia's jaw, tilting her face up.
"Cute," she said. "But I'm not convinced yet. Lucky for you, we have all night." She settled her weight more firmly on Xenia's lap. The rod pressed deeper, and the milker kicked into a higher gear, and Xenia groaned through her teeth. "Let's see how you feel in twenty minutes."
She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Xenia's ear.
"Safe word's pineapple," she whispered. "Just in case you forget."
Then she settled back, crossed her arms, and watched.
The machine hummed. The rod pressed. And Xenia began to squirm.
The first minute was a lie.
The rod felt stationary. Just pressure.
Then Priscilla lifted a small remote from the side table. She pressed one button. The rod moved.
Not much. A half inch. A slow retreat and return.
But it was enough. Xenia's whole body locked. Her heels dug into the padded footrest. Leather creaked.
Priscilla smiled. "There it is."
The milker cycled faster. Suction pulled at Xenia's cock in wet, rhythmic pulses. The rod fucked upward in tiny strokes, matching the milker's tempo, then surpassing it.
Xenia's breath came in ragged bursts. Sweat slid down her spine. The straps held her exactly where Priscilla wanted her.
"You can say pineapple," Priscilla said. She stood close, arms crossed under her bare breasts. "Any time."
Xenia shook her head. Her braid dragged across her shoulder. She wasn't going to give her that.
The rod punched deeper. Xenia grunted. Her hips tried to rise, but the chest strap pinned her down. All she could do was take it.
Priscilla circled the chair. Her leather gloves creaked as she flexed her fingers. She watched Xenia's face like she was reading a map.
"You're not breaking," she murmured. "Most people break by now."
Xenia bared her teeth. "Most people aren't me."
"No. They aren't."
The machine sped up again. The rod drove into Xenia's ass with mechanical precision. The milker sucked harder, pulling at her cock until her balls drew tight and her thighs started to shake.
She was going to come. She knew it. She hated that she knew it.
Priscilla saw it too. She crouched beside the chair and watched Xenia's cock jerk inside the collection cup. Her green eyes were bright.
"Go ahead," she said. "Give it to me."
Xenia came with a choked roar. Her whole body strained against the straps. The rod kept moving. The milker kept pulling. She emptied herself into the cup in thick, pulsing waves.
The collection jar filled. Then it kept filling. Priscilla's eyebrows lifted.
She detached the first jar and screwed on a second. The milker never stopped. Xenia's cock stayed hard, twitching and slick.
"Jesus Christ," Priscilla said softly. She held the first jar up to the amber light. "You're a breeder."
Xenia's chest heaved. She wanted to argue. She couldn't.
Four years. Six suburbs. A string of women who'd called her a week later with shaky voices and positive tests. She'd never denied it. She'd just moved before the baby showers started.
Priscilla set the full jar down with a heavy clink. She stepped out of her panties and straddled Xenia's face.
Her cunt hovered an inch above Xenia's mouth. Pink, wet, smelling like musk and jasmine. Xenia could see everything. The slit. The clit. The slick shine of her.
"How bad do you want your mistress's pussy?" Priscilla asked. Her voice was low, almost gentle. "How bad do you want to breed me?"
Xenia's throat worked. The rod fucked into her ass. The milker sucked her cock. She was still coming down from the first orgasm and already climbing toward another.
"I want to fuck you until you forget your own name," Xenia said. Her voice came out raw. "I want to bend you over that bench and put my cock so deep inside you that every time you sit down tomorrow, you'll feel me."
Priscilla's breath caught. Her thighs trembled.
"I want to fill you up until it drips down your legs," Xenia went on. "I want you to walk into your next HOA meeting with my cum still inside you, pretending you're still in charge."
Priscilla lowered herself another inch. Her cunt was so close Xenia could feel the heat. "What in this room would you use if I gave you the chance?"
The second orgasm hit Xenia like a truck. Her back arched. The rod slammed deep. The milker pulled hard. She came into the second jar with a guttural groan.
"I'd use the bench," she gasped. "I'd strap you down. I'd use the milker on your tits. I'd use the rod on your ass. Then I'd use my cock until you couldn't stand."
Priscilla's eyes went wide. She looked down at the second jar, filling fast. Then at Xenia's cock, still hard, still leaking, still ready.
She pulled back and stood. Her legs were unsteady. She picked up the second jar and set it beside the first. Two full. The third sat empty on the side table.
Priscilla stared at Xenia. The machine whirred. The rod kept moving. Xenia kept taking it.
"You're going to be a problem," Priscilla said. She reached for the third jar and set it beside the other two, already empty, already waiting.
Priscilla picked up the third jar and held it to the light. Clean glass. Empty. Waiting.
"Two down," she said. "One to go."
Xenia's chest heaved. Sweat rolled down her temples, pooled in the hollow of her throat. The milker kept working, steady and indifferent, pulling at her cock with mechanical patience.
"You're still hard," Priscilla observed. She set the jar on the table and turned back to Xenia. "Most men would be done by now. Most women too."
"I'm not most."
"No. You're not." Priscilla tilted her head, studying the flush that spread across Xenia's chest, the way her thighs trembled against the straps. "So here's what I'm thinking. You fill that third jar. Every last drop. And if you're still hard when it's done, still ready, still wanting—" She paused, letting the words hang. "Then your mistress will give you a reward."
Xenia's breath hitched. "What kind of reward?"
"The kind you've been asking for." Priscilla traced a finger down Xenia's sternum, feather-light, watching the muscles jump under her touch. "My pussy. My ass. Whatever you want. But only if you earn it."
"And if I can't fill it?"
Priscilla smiled. Not cruel. Just certain. "Then we stop. You go home. We pretend this never happened."
Xenia's jaw tightened. The milker pulled. The rod pressed. She was already hard again, already aching, even after two orgasms that had left her shaking.
"Deal," she said.
Priscilla's smile widened. She crossed to the machine and crouched, fingers working at the mount beneath the chair. The rod disengaged with a metallic click. Xenia gasped at the sudden emptiness, the ache of being stretched and abandoned.
"One second," Priscilla murmured. "I have something better."
She opened a drawer in the cabinet and withdrew a new attachment. It was longer than the rod, thicker, with a bulbous head and a heavy knot near the base. The silicone was a deep, dark red, almost black in the amber light. Xenia's eyes widened.
"What is that?"
"A dog dildo." Priscilla fitted it to the mount, adjusting the angle with practiced precision. "The knot swells. You'll feel it lock into place. It's designed to stay put, to keep you filled and stretched and completely at my mercy."
Xenia's mouth went dry.
"Too much?"
"No." The word came out rough. "Not enough."
Priscilla laughed, low and warm. "We'll see." She lubed the dildo with careful strokes, coating every inch, working the lube into the ridges and the knot. Then she positioned it beneath Xenia, the tip pressing against her still-slick hole.
"Ready?"
"Just do it."
Priscilla pressed the button.
The dildo rose, slow and steady, driving into Xenia with relentless precision. She felt every inch, every ridge, the stretch of it filling her deeper than the rod ever had. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. Her fingers curled into fists against the straps.
"That's it," Priscilla murmured. "Take it. Take all of it."
The knot pressed against her entrance. Xenia braced herself, waiting for the pain, but Priscilla reached down and worked it in with her fingers, stretching her, easing the way. The knot popped inside with a wet, obscene sound, and Xenia cried out—not pain, not quite pleasure, something caught between the two.
"There." Priscilla stood back, admiring her work. "Now the machine can't pull out. You're stuck with it until I decide otherwise."
The milker kicked into a higher gear. The dildo began to move, short strokes at first, then longer, the knot dragging against Xenia's rim with every pass. The suction on her cock intensified, pulling harder, faster, matching the rhythm of the machine inside her.
Xenia's vision blurred. The room narrowed to the amber light and the hum of the machines and Priscilla's voice, low and steady, telling her to take it, to be good, to earn her reward.
She came again.
Not the gentle crest of the first two. This was a breaking, a flood. Her whole body convulsed against the straps. Her cock jerked and pulsed, emptying into the third jar in thick, heavy waves. She heard herself making sounds she didn't recognize—groans, gasps, something close to a sob.
The jar filled. Slowly, then all at once. The milker kept pulling, wringing every last drop from her, and Xenia kept coming, kept giving, until there was nothing left.
She sagged against the chair. Her chest heaved. Her limbs felt like water. The dildo was still inside her, the knot still locked in place, but the machine had slowed to a gentle pulse.
Priscilla picked up the third jar. Full to the brim. She held it up, examining it with the same clinical appreciation she'd shown the first two.
"Still hard," she observed. She touched Xenia's cock, still slick with lube and cum, still twitching under her fingers. "I'll be damned."
Xenia couldn't speak. Her throat was raw. Her body was somewhere else.
Priscilla set the jar down with the others. Three full. Three earned. She unhooked the milker, and Xenia's cock bobbed free, heavy and red and still stubbornly erect.
"You want your reward?"
Xenia managed a nod.
"Words."
"Yes." The word scraped out of her. "Please."
Priscilla smiled. She stepped out of her corset with practiced efficiency, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts hung free, full and heavy, nipples dark against her pale skin. She was flushed, Xenia noticed—actually flushed, her chest pink and her breathing uneven.
She'd enjoyed this.
Priscilla climbed onto the chair, facing away from Xenia, her back to Xenia's chest. Her legs straddled Xenia's hips. Her ass hovered over Xenia's cock, close enough that Xenia could feel the heat radiating from her.
"Last chance to back out," Priscilla said.
No.
No, that wasn't what Xenia wanted.
Xenia wanted.
She wanted to be inside her. She wanted to bury herself so deep that neither of them could remember where one ended and the other began. She wanted to fuck this woman until the smug satisfaction melted off her face and left nothing but raw, honest need.
"Do it," Xenia said.
Priscilla reached back and guided Xenia's cock to her entrance. Not her pussy—her ass. Slick with lube, stretched and ready. She pressed down, slow and deliberate, and Xenia felt herself sinking into tight, impossible heat.
"Fuck," Priscilla breathed. Her head fell back against Xenia's shoulder. "You're bigger than I thought."
Xenia laughed, breathless. "You knew exactly how big I was."
"I hoped." Priscilla shifted her hips, taking another inch. "There's a difference."
She took her time. Sinking down, pulling up, adjusting to the stretch. Xenia felt every inch of her—the grip, the heat, the way Priscilla's body clenched around her like it didn't want to let go.
Finally, Priscilla was seated. Her ass pressed flush against Xenia's hips. Xenia could feel the dildo still buried in her own ass, the knot still locked in place, creating a maddening pressure that made every movement feel amplified.
"Ready?" Priscilla asked.
Xenia's hands were still strapped. She couldn't grab. Couldn't guide. Couldn't do anything but take what Priscilla gave her.
"Please."
Priscilla moved.
She rode Xenia with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. Her ass gripped and released. Her back arched. She reached back and braced her hands on Xenia's thighs, using the leverage to pull herself up and drop back down.
Xenia couldn't touch her. Couldn't kiss her. Couldn't do anything except feel.
Priscilla's ass was tight. Hot. Wet with lube. She took Xenia deeper with every stroke, her breathing growing ragged, her pace quickening. The chair creaked under them. The dildo shifted inside Xenia with every movement, the knot dragging against her rim, sending sparks up her spine.
"You like that?" Priscilla's voice was breathless. She reached back and grabbed Xenia's breast, fingers finding the nipple, twisting. "You like being inside your mistress's ass?"
"Yes—"
"Tell me." She twisted harder. "Tell me how it feels."
"Good." Xenia's hips bucked, driving deeper. "So good. So fucking tight."
Priscilla moaned. She rode harder, faster, her thighs slapping against Xenia's. Her other hand found Xenia's free breast, kneading, pulling, playing with the nipple until it was hard and aching.
"You're built like something out of a myth," she panted. "Greek Amazon. Sculpted. Perfect." She clenched around Xenia, drawing a groan from both of them. "And this cock—God, this cock. I've never had anything like it."
Xenia's vision swam. The dildo in her ass, the knot locked inside her, the tight grip of Priscilla's body around her cock, the hands on her breasts—it was all too much. Too good. Too everything.
"I've never done this before," Priscilla admitted. Her voice had gone soft, almost vulnerable. "Never been with someone like you. Never had a futanari." She rode harder, chasing something. "You're my first."
"Priscilla—"
"Say it again."
"Priscilla."
"Again."
"Priscilla, I'm close—"
"I know." She leaned back, her spine arching, her ass grinding down. "I can feel you. So hard. So thick. So ready." She turned her head, and her eyes met Xenia's for the first time since she'd climbed on. "Come for me. Dump it deep. Fill me up."
Xenia broke.
The orgasm ripped through her like lightning. Her whole body seized. The straps bit into her wrists, her ankles, her chest. She screamed—actually screamed—as she came, emptying herself into Priscilla's ass in violent, pulsing waves.
Priscilla rode her through it. Took every drop. Milked her with slow, steady clenches until Xenia was shaking, spent, completely undone.
And then, finally, she stilled.
Both of them sat there, breathing hard, slick with sweat and lube. The dildo was still in Xenia's ass. Her cock was still in Priscilla's. Neither of them moved.
"Holy shit," Xenia whispered.
Priscilla laughed, breathless and raw. "Yeah." She leaned forward, letting Xenia's cock slip free. The sudden emptiness made Xenia gasp. "Yeah. That about covers it."
She turned and looked at Xenia—really looked. Her green eyes were soft now, the sharp edges worn down by pleasure. She reached up and touched Xenia's face, her palm warm against Xenia's cheek.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." Xenia swallowed. "I'm—yeah."
"Good." Priscilla smiled, small and genuine. "Because I think we might need to do that again."
Xenia laughed. It hurt. Her whole body ached. But it was a good hurt. A satisfied hurt.
"I don't do this," Xenia said. "Not like this. Not... this way."
"Neither do I."
They sat in the afterglow, tangled together in the chair, the machines humming softly in the background. Xenia didn't know what this was. Didn't know if it was a one-time thing or the start of something or just a very weird Tuesday.
But she knew she wanted more.
Priscilla finally moved, climbing off the chair with a wince and a laugh. She worked the straps loose, freeing Xenia's wrists and ankles and chest. Xenia's arms dropped to her sides, numb and heavy.
"So," Priscilla said, reaching down to help her up. "You filled all three jars. And you're still—" She glanced down. Xenia was still hard. Still ready. "Still incredible."
"I told you."
"You did." Priscilla pressed a kiss to Xenia's shoulder, soft and unexpected. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. Then we'll talk."
"About what?"
Priscilla smiled. That same blade of a smile from earlier, but softer now. Warmer.
"About rules," she said. "About secrets. About what happens next."
Xenia followed her out of the play room, down the hallway, into the warm light of the kitchen. Her body was wrecked. Her mind was spinning. But her legs carried her forward.
She didn't know what she'd just gotten into.
She couldn't wait to find out.