Chapter 4: The Glass and the Gag
The scent of them was everywhere. Salt, sex, the dark perfume of the velvet sofa beneath Margot’s bound body. Allison knelt between her spread thighs, her gaze a physical weight on Margot’s flushed, vulnerable sex.
“Look at you,” Allison murmured, her voice husky. “So open. So used. My come is still leaking out of you.” She dipped a single finger into the slick mess, collecting it, and brought it to her own mouth. She sucked it clean, her green eyes locked on Margot’s. The obscenity was so deliberate, so calmly performed, that Margot’s breath hitched. A fresh trickle of warmth escaped her.
Allison smiled. It was a predator’s smile. She lowered her head.
The first touch of her tongue was not what Margot expected. It was not tentative, not exploratory. It was a slow, broad, claiming stroke from the tight furl of her ass all the way up through her soaked folds to the throbbing bud of her clit. A master’s stroke. Margot cried out, her back arching off the sofa, the leather restraints biting into her wrists.
“You taste like me,” Allison said against her skin, her breath hot. “You taste like us. That’s what you are now. A mixture.”
Then her mouth was on Margot in earnest. This was not lovemaking. This was consumption. Allison ate her with a focused, brutal relish. Her tongue speared inside, fucking her with shallow, relentless thrusts, then flattened to lap at her, to gather every drop of their mingled fluids. She sucked Margot’s clit into her mouth, worrying it with her lips, with the edge of her teeth, and Margot thrashed against her bonds, sounds she didn’t recognize tearing from her throat.
“Allison—please—I can’t—”
“You can,” Allison growled, not lifting her mouth. “You will. Come in my mouth. Now.”
The command, issued against her most sensitive flesh, was the final trigger. The orgasm crashed into her with no grace, a raw, seizing convulsion that clamped down on nothing, on everything. She screamed, a short, sharp sound that was cut off as her body locked, shuddering, her heels digging into the sofa as Allison drank her down, lapping at the pulsing waves until Margot was sobbing, oversensitive and shattered.
Allison rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her cock, still semi-hard, was a dark, heavy curve against her thigh. She looked utterly in command, her hair mussed, her eyes blazing. “Good,” she said, the word a simple, devastating reward.
She reached up and untied the leather from the ornamental ring. Margot’s arms fell, boneless, to her sides, the blood rushing back in painful, prickling waves. Before she could even flex her fingers, Allison had taken her wrists again.
“Turn over,” Allison said, her voice leaving no room for hesitation. “On your knees. At the edge of the sofa.”
Margot moved, her body obeying through a haze of exhaustion and shocking, renewed need. She got to her knees, facing the back of the sofa, her ass presented in the air. The one-way mirror was before her again, her own wrecked reflection a blur.
She felt the cool, supple leather of the belt wrap around both her wrists. Allison pulled them together behind her back, crossing them, cinching the belt with a series of efficient, tight loops. The buckle clicked, final. The restraint was secure, inescapable, forcing her chest forward, her back to arch.
“You’re too loud for what comes next,” Allison said, almost conversationally. From the pocket of her discarded trousers, she produced a square of silk, deep crimson. She folded it into a thick band. “Open.”
Margot parted her lips. The silk was pushed into her mouth, a soft, suffocating presence. Allison tied the ends tightly at the back of her head, knotting it in her hair. The gag muted all sound, turning her cries into damp, muffled hums. It also drooled a line of saliva almost instantly, a humiliating, constant drip.
Allison’s hands gripped her hips, repositioning her. “Over the table.”
Margot shuffled forward on her knees until her torso was bent over the low mahogany table. The polished wood was cool against her cheek. The wine glasses, forgotten, trembled with her movement. From this angle, she had a perfect, dizzying view of the club floor below, a silent ballet of submission and control. She was now part of the display, a bound and gagged offering on the altar of the VIP lounge.
She heard the slick sound of Allison spitting into her palm. Then she felt the blunt, fat head of Allison’s cock, now fully hard again, nudge against her sore, well-used entrance.
“You’re still loose from my come,” Allison said, her voice a low thrum of anticipation. “But you’re still so fucking tight for me. Always will be.”
She pushed in. It was easier this time, the muscle memory of being stretched so wide already etched into Margot’s body. But it was no less overwhelming. The fullness was a brutal, grounding reality. Allison sheathed herself to the hilt in one smooth, devastating thrust that knocked the air from Margot’s lungs behind the gag.
A low, satisfied groan escaped Allison. Her hands clamped on Margot’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. “God, look at that. Look at you taking it.”
Margot could see a faint reflection in the dark glass—the pale curve of her own ass, the powerful shape of Allison behind her, buried deep.
Then Allison began to move.
This was different from before. This was not the frantic claiming against the mirror. This was a disciplined, punishing rhythm. Deep, measured, withdrawal to the tip, then a driving, hip-snapping thrust that jolted Margot forward on the table. Each impact made the wine glasses shiver. Each impact sent a shock through Margot’s bound, prone body. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet lounge: the wet slap of skin, Allison’s ragged breaths, the muffled, choked sounds Margot couldn’t contain.
“You feel that?” Allison grunted, her voice strained with the effort of her control. “You feel how deep I am? I’m in your guts, Margot. I own this cunt.” She punctuated the statement with three sharp, brutal drives that made Margot see stars.
One of Allison’s hands left her hip. It slid around, over Margot’s trembling belly, down through the soaked curls. Her fingers found Margot’s clit, already hard and aching again. The touch was direct, rough, a relentless clockwise grind that matched the pounding rhythm of her cock.
The dual sensation was too much. It was agony and ecstasy fused into a single, white-hot wire. The overstimulation from her previous orgasm was gone, burned away by this new, more profound violation. Her body was no longer hers. It was a tool for Allison’s use, a receptacle for her pleasure, wired to respond to her command.
Tears leaked from Margot’s eyes, mingling with the saliva soaking the silk gag. She was screaming into the fabric, a continuous, silent vibration of helpless rapture. The world narrowed to the slam of Allison’s body into hers, the cruel, perfect circles on her clit, the sight of those anonymous figures moving below, unaware of the raw, brutal claiming happening above them.
Allison’s rhythm began to fray. The deep, measured strokes fractured into harder, faster, more erratic pistoning. Her breathing became harsh grunts. The hand on Margot’s clit pressed harder, moved faster.
“Gonna come,” Allison snarled, her voice breaking. “Gonna fill this greedy little hole again. And you’re gonna come with me. You fucking hear me? Come with me now!”
It was the shattering of Allison’s control that pushed Margot over the edge. The raw, unfiltered need in her voice was the final permission. The coil snapped. Her second orgasm was a silent, seismic event, a convulsion that locked every muscle, that made her cunt clamp down in a vicious, rhythmic strangulation around the huge cock impaling her. Her vision whited out. The muffled scream died into a choked, shuddering whimper.
Allison shouted, a raw, guttural sound of triumph as Margot’s body milked her. She slammed home and held, grinding deep as her own release erupted in hot, pulsing jets. Margot felt every spurt, a deep, internal claiming that seemed to go on forever. Allison collapsed over her, a sweat-slicked weight, her forehead pressed between Margot’s shoulder blades, her body shuddering through the last waves.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their breathing, the slow drip from Margot’s gag, the faint jazz drifting from hidden speakers.
Allison finally softened and slipped out. A hot rush of fluids followed, dripping down Margot’s inner thighs onto the table. The mess was profound, undeniable.
With tender, deliberate movements now, Allison untied the silk gag. It fell away, soaked. She carefully undid the leather belt from Margot’s wrists, rubbing the marked skin. She didn’t speak. She helped Margot, who was trembling and boneless, to turn and sit on the edge of the sofa. Margot winced as she sat, feeling the aching, well-used stretch between her legs, the sticky evidence of Allison’s possession cooling on her skin.
Allison fetched a clean cloth from a discreet compartment in the table, dampened it with water from a carafe, and knelt before her. She began to clean her, wiping her thighs, her stomach, with a clinical gentleness that contrasted violently with the previous hour. The care in the action was its own kind of intimacy, more shocking than the fuck itself.
When she was done, Allison looked up, meeting Margot’s dazed, tear-tracked eyes. The dominance was still there, in the set of her jaw, but it was quieter now. Underneath it was a vulnerability so stark it made Margot’s chest ache.
“Well?” Allison asked, her voice barely a whisper. The question hung in the musk-heavy air. It wasn’t about the sex. It was about everything. The truth. The violence of the need. The future.
Margot looked at her best friend, the stranger, the lover, the owner of her body. She looked at the impossible person she had just accepted in the most primal way possible. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse, ragged from disuse and screaming.
“Don’t stop.”