Chapter 11: The Deprivation Control
Mia’s eyes snapped open, the post-void bliss burning away into something sharp and predatory. She lifted her head from Sammy’s chest, her voice a low, rough scratch. “Poe. The monitor. Sensory deprivation setting for her mask. Now.” Sammy’s breath hitched, a sharp intake of anticipation that made her already-damp cunt pulse. Poe, tangled against Mia’s back, moved with a wired efficiency, scrambling for the console as the subwoofer’s thrum seemed to deepen in pitch. Sammy merely nodded, a slow, accepting surrender, as Poe returned with the modified hood, its lenses already opaque, the interior humming with a sound-canceling void.
Sammy merely nodded, a slow, accepting surrender, as Poe returned with the modified hood, its lenses already opaque, the interior humming with a sound-canceling void. The world dissolved into nothing, a total and utter absence of light and sound that was more profound than any blindfold or earplug. Her own heartbeat became a distant, abstract thud somewhere in the meat of her, and her frantic breaths were swallowed by the mask’s technology, leaving only the hollow rasp of air moving in and out of her lungs. She was a floating consciousness, tethered solely to the sensations of her own skin.
Then came the touch.
Fingers, cold and unfamiliar—Poe’s—gripped her jaw, tilting her head back against the rubberized bed. The material squeaked faintly against her sweat-slick skin, a vibration she felt more than heard. Something wet and hot, Mia’s cunt, pressed against her lips, grinding down with a possessive urgency. The taste of latex and Mia’s slickness flooded her mouth, a familiar, beloved flavor that now carried the sharp tang of command. “Lick, baby,” Mia’s voice was a ghost in the void, perhaps real, perhaps imagined, but the order was law. Sammy’s tongue lashed out, seeking folds she could not see, mapping Mia’s pussy by memory and taste alone.
She worked desperately, her whole world narrowing to the muscle in her mouth and the wet heat against her face. She heard nothing, but she felt Mia’s thighs begin to tremble, felt the clench of Mia’s hands in her hair, a painful, anchoring pull. Sammy’s own arousal was a brutal, building pressure, a live wire tied in knots deep in her belly. Her hips twitched upward into empty air, seeking friction, finding none. The denial was a physical weight on her chest, heavy and cruel.
Mia came with a series of sharp, rhythmic grinds, soaking Sammy’s chin and neck. The wetness was hot, a brand. As Mia lifted away, a different set of hands—rougher, bigger—rolled Sammy onto her stomach. The cold rubber shocked her bare skin. Poe’s knee pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her down. She was spread open, vulnerable, her ass in the air. A slick, cool glob of lube dripped onto her tailbone, tracing a path down the cleft of her ass.
“Think she’s ready?” Poe’s voice was a distant rumble, felt through the mattress.
“She’s always ready,” Mia said, and her hand came down hard on Sammy’s right ass cheek. The slap cracked through the sensory void, a brilliant, white burst of pain that made Sammy jerk and moan into the mask. “Aren’t you, my love? Your pretty, denied cunt is so wet for us, even now. It’s dripping.” A finger, slender and unyielding—Mia’s—pushed into her from behind, not into her aching cunt, but into her ass. Sammy cried out, the sound trapped inside her own skull. It was a brutal, claiming invasion, and her body arched, trying to accommodate it. “Twenty-nine more days till you can cum, Sammy,” Mia whispered, her lips now against the shell of the hood, the words vibrating into Sammy’s skull. “So. This will be fun. For me and Poe.”
For me and Poe.”
The words hung in the thick air, a promise and a sentence. Mia’s finger withdrew from Sammy’s ass, leaving a cold, empty ache in its wake. Sammy shuddered, her face pressed into the rubber, every nerve ending screaming for more contact, any contact, while her cunt wept its frustration onto her inner thighs.
“Hold her still,” Mia said, her voice all business now.
Poe’s weight settled more firmly on Sammy’s back, a knee digging between her shoulder blades. Sammy felt herself being manipulated, her limbs moved like a doll’s. Her right leg was bent, knee drawn up to the side. The position was vulnerable, exposing the slick mess between her legs and the tight, teased ring of muscle behind it.
Then a new pressure, hot and distinctly different, ground against the side of her elevated knee. It was wet. It was Poe. Sammy’s mind, adrift in the black silence, finally pieced it together. Poe was naked now, and she was rocking her swollen, dripping cunt against the bony prominence of Sammy’s kneecap, seeking her own friction while Sammy was denied everything. The casual use of her body as a tool, not for Sammy’s pleasure but for another’s, sent a fresh wave of desperate humiliation through her. It was brilliantly cruel.
“Fuck, she’s so tense,” Poe grunted, her movements becoming more urgent, her slickness smearing a hot, sticky trail on Sammy’s skin. “Like a fucking statue.”
“She’s listening,” Mia said, her voice moving away, followed by the rustle of heavy equipment being dragged from a shelf. “She’s listening to nothing, and she’s imagining everything. That’s the point.”
A heavy, plastic-sounding click, then the hiss of a valve. Sammy flinched. Something large and cumbersome was fitted over the front of her hood. The world of silent blackness suddenly had weight and texture pressing against her face. Cold plastic rimmed her mouth and nose. Then came the sound, not through her deadened ears but through vibration in her skull: Mia’s voice, close and metallic, echoing slightly.
“Testing. Can you breathe, my love?” Mia was speaking directly into a microphone built into the apparatus. The rebreather bag. Sammy knew what it was. A large, rubberized bag was now sealed to the front of her mask, its volume of air limited, recycled. Her breaths immediately felt warmer, closer, the carbon dioxide building faster. Her own panic became a tangible element in the air she was forced to re-inhale.
Sammy nodded jerkily, her chest already tightening. The psychological grip was instantaneous, far worse than any physical bondage. Her air was now controlled, measured, a counted resource.
“Good girl.”
Mia’s hand returned, not with a finger, but with the cold, rounded tip of a thick silicone plug. It pressed against Sammy’s ass, lubed and insistent. There was no gentle preparation this time. As Poe continued to ride her knee with low, grunting thrusts, Mia leaned her weight into it. The plug, substantial and stretching, began to breach her.
Sammy’s back arched, a silent scream trapped in the bag. She pushed back against it, her body’s confused response both a rejection and a plea for more. It was a brutal, full feeling, a stretching burn that melted into a deep, invasive pressure. Mia worked it slowly, relentlessly, until the widest part popped past the resistance and seated itself with a final, soft push. Sammy collapsed onto the bed, impaled, the foreign object inside her a constant, mocking reminder of her own emptiness.
“Look at her take it,” Poe breathed, her rhythm on Sammy’s knee stuttering. “Jesus, Mia.”
“I know,” Mia said, and there was a dark pride in her transmitted voice. “She’s so beautiful like this. Used. Full of something that isn’t her own pleasure.” Her hands, slick with lube, now traveled down the backs of Sammy’s trembling thighs. They parted her, exposing her utterly. The cool air of the dungeon kissed her soaked, swollen lips. A single finger, Mia’s, traced her outer folds, a feather-light torment. “Her pussy is absolutely throbbing. It’s clenching around nothing. It’s so fucking pathetic and perfect.”
The touch retreated. Sammy whined, a raw sound muffled by the bag. Her hips bucked, searching for that fleeting contact.
“Ah-ah,” Mia chided. “You don’t get to chase it. You get to lie there and be our toy. Poe, switch.”
The weight on her back lifted. The wet heat on her knee vanished. For a second, there was nothing, just the terrifying isolation of the void and the plug in her ass and the frantic, needful pulse between her legs. Then new hands gripped her hips, rougher, pulling her back. It was Poe. Sammy felt the woman’s thick thighs bracket her own, felt the coarse hair of Poe’s mound against her ass.