Off Topic
Hey everyone! Hope you're all doing well and staying safe.
So, I have a few small announcements. First: this next chapter is exceptionally long, so I'm releasing it in two parts. The next half should be up sometime later this week.
Second: I've corrected an error in the character bios that flew over my head for literally months
Velvette is supposed to be from San José, and Mistress Citrine is supposed to be from Vancouver. Not the other way around.
And the third one, you may have already noticed. I've changed the banner for this story. There's no real reason other than the fact that I found a couple of the images to be unsatisfactory.
With all that out of the way, let's continue with the story that you all came here for!
“She’s mad! She has everyone
else fooled, but that girl is a
monster! Sadism incarnate!”
- from the video log of Ms Hawtrey
“So… is this the Bulgarian approach to domination?”
That had come out more awkwardly than Ms Hawtrey had intended, but frankly, there was no way it wouldn’t have been awkward. It was obvious to anyone watching that the posh sub was trying to engage in small talk with her domme, and in the middle of a session, no less.
Hawtrey honestly felt obliged to speak up, lest the dark-haired rigger bore her to death. Vasilka had been carefully – and tediously – roping her up for what seemed like ages, and she largely kept to herself throughout that process. It was no wonder that girl had resorted to making a deal with Ms Hawtrey. Never in a million years would she be able to work like that with an unwilling partner.
After Hawtrey had finished dominating Vasilka, the pretty little sub swiftly switched roles, and commanded her former domme to visit her room in two hours. Said room was an awful mess. Vasilka had removed a silky white sheet from her bed, and hung it from the ceiling. This confused Ms Hawtrey at first, but then she saw the various LED lights her host had rigged up and realized that the room had been converted into a makeshift studio. And at the centre of this studio, there hung a steel ring from the ceiling.
The schoolmistress’ former student had been noticeably eager to get out of her schoolgirl costume, so it came as no surprise when Hawtrey arrived and found Vasilka in a new outfit. What caught her off guard was how ravishing the new look was. Queen Vasilka now sported a short keyhole halter dress along with long gloves and high heeled boots that reached her thighs. And every single article of clothing was tailored out of shiny, black, form-fitting latex. Quite a thing to behold.
Queen Vasilka had ordered Ms Hawtrey to disrobe entirely, which certainly didn’t tickle the posh woman’s fancy, but with some stern coaxing, Vasilka had gotten the nude model that she so desired. She then began her rigging by binding Hawtrey’s arms in a boxtie. That should have been fairly standard stuff, but Queen Vasilka just kept on adding more and more rope. The boxtie turned into an ornate chest harness, which then turned into an ornate body harness, which then turned into and ornate hip harness. It was almost like a chemise of hemp rope, enveloping her from the thighs to her shoulders. Sadly, of all the areas covered up by the vast lengths of rope, Hawtrey’s bosom and womanhood were both left exposed for the cameras.
With a complacent partner under her heel, Vasilka proved to be quite the rope expert. The rope was always wrapped evenly with equal pressure, no twists, and just the right level of strictness. Queen Vasilka’s focus had paid off splendidly, and she had been
terribly focused. Honestly, Ms Hawtrey only ever saw Vasilka blink twice as she tied her up, and the young lady never distracted herself with taunts or teases. She only ever stopped here and there to ask if anything felt too tight, so it came as quite a surprise to Hawtrey when her domme actually responded to her question.
“You know that I was only
born in Plovdiv, right? Sure, Bulgarian is my first language, but I have been traveling all my life.”
Vasilka ran two fingers beneath some rope bound below Hawtrey’s breasts. Apparently satisfied, she moved on to examine her other wrappings. She must have been confident in her work, because she actually kept on chatting.
“Name a Schengen country, and I have probably stayed there for a time. France and Italy are my two favourites though. I tell you, free travel across all those borders is so wonderful!”
“Oh, hardy har,” Hawtrey sneered.
She was ready to hit back at that comment some more, but Vasilka interjected. “Give me your feet.”
“Wh-What?!” Hawtrey squawked. Her heart skipped a beat, and she just about swallowed her tongue. All over again, she could taste it. She could taste the filthy sole and those ghastly appendages as she struggled helplessly in the clutches of Mi--
“Hey, relax,” Vasilka said with a concerned gaze. “I’m just going to tie a basic rope cuff.”
“R-right,” Hawtrey said, suddenly feeling quite daft.
How embarrassing! Where had such an emotional reaction like that come from?! That disastrous encounter with Mistress Miki was over. The best thing Ms Hawtrey could do now was move on and forget that it ever happened… or maybe seek vengeance, but not until later. One way or another, it was silly to let such a thing distract her. Miki wasn’t in charge here, Vasilka was.
And speaking of which, that little rope artist had shifted gears! She had tied off a separate rope cuff on each of Hawtrey’s ankles, and was now adding even more rope to her torso. It wasn’t like before, though. Now she was connecting Ms Hawtrey to the steel ring, which dangled above her head. Her concentrated face now bore an excited smile as she attached rope after rope, lashing Hawtrey by the hips, chest harness, and shoulders.
The schoolmistress had tried to look apathetic and unimpressed from start to finish. It was a good way to keep up her dominant persona in a situation like this. But as her fate became more and more clear, Ms Hawtrey found it impossible not to voice her concerns.
“Are you sure that’ll hold me?”
Vasilka made a devilish grin as she pulled the last knot tight. She stood on her toes behind Hawtrey, and whispered in her ear. “Why don’t we find out…”
“Wait, don’t you think-- Ah!”
Hawtrey let out a terse scream as Vasilka grabbed the ropes on her ankles and yanked them out from under her. Though her legs no longer supported her, the roped up model didn’t fall one centimeter. Her hips immediately took on her weight, which was distributed nicely across her rope harness. She did fall forward by several centmetres before all the slack was pulled from her boxtie, and her chest began to bear some weight as well.
Hawtrey spun her head around to see Vasilka lashing her ankles separately to the ring. “A warning would have been greatly appreciated!”
“Oh, shush,” was all Vasilka had to say.
She left little enough rope that Hawtrey’s feet were left bent up behind her. Though her body remained mostly vertical, she now hung in a crescent shape above the floor.
“All done,” Vasilka chirped gleefully. “How does it feel?”
Hawtrey could think of a dozen unflattering descriptions, but they would all make her look weak and uncomfortable, so she simply said, “It feels like I’m suspended.”
“Good,” Vasilka said. “That’s what I was going for!”
She walked away momentarily, and came back holding some cloth. Specifically, a silk scarf and what appeared to be some wadded up… oh gosh, was that a pair of knickers?!
Hawtrey winced and said, “I do hope those are clean, dearie.”
Vasilka made a playful expression, and spoke with a gentle but teasing tone. “Hope all you want, my helpless little subbie. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. One way or another, they’re going in your mouth.”
Something had changed in her, and Ms Hawtrey knew what it was. After all that talk of civility, the submissive diplomacy, and the meticulous ropework, Vasilka finally had a helpless captive under her control. She was truly in charge now, and thrilled to be there. A shiver of fear came over Ms Hawtrey, which she was able to hide as she stared into her captor’s devious eyes.
The Bulgarian beauty said no more, but those eyes sent a clear message: ‘
You wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way?'
This was it. She was all strung up and alone with a dominatrix. She could try to resist, but that wouldn’t get her anywhere, would it? No, Queen Vasilka had the reins now.
Slow and steadily, Ms Hawtrey’s mouth opened up.
“Good girl,” Vasilka cooed.
Ms Hawtrey was relieved by the taste of those undergarments. They were clean after all. Once they were nestled in place, Vasilka wasted no time trapping them there. She pulled her silk scarf between Hawtrey’s teeth, and ran it around her head. It was long enough that the European Queen was able to wrap it around a second time before tying it off. This made for a cleave gag thick enough to keep its wearer’s teeth well apart.
The schoolmistress didn’t want to give her domme the satisfaction of hearing her muffled voice, and so she kept silent. Still, Ms Hawtrey didn’t need to test her gag to know that it would get the job done.
Without another word, Vasilka reached up and started running her fingers through her sub’s hair. She pulled it over the cleave gag and started combing it here and there with her fingers. Such behavior wasn’t just impolite, but creepy, and Hawtrey would have been quick to voice her objection were it not for her gag.
“There. All fixed up,” Vasilka beamed. “You are going to make a beautiful model…”
At some point in the process of being bound and gagged, Ms Hawtrey had forgotten about the ramshackle photo studio her domme had rigged up. The posh domina wasn’t keen on having her picture taken in such a compromising position, but it certainly wasn’t the worst thing that her captor could be doing right now.
Queen Vasilka fixated her eyes on Hawtrey as she went around the room, tweaking and readjusting the portable lights she had positioned all around. Once she was satisfied with the lighting, she moved over to the dresser and picked up a camera. Ms Hawtrey didn’t know much about photography, but it looked like an expensive piece of work. Vasilka certainly acted like it too. She handled that device as though it were a newborn prince.
What happened next was as casual and benign as Ms Hawtrey had hoped. Vasilka spent the next few minutes snapping photos of her suspended model. Her direction was minimal, not that Hawtrey could reposition herself anyway. She would turn Hawtrey around herself for a different angle, and only occasionally say something like “look at the camera.”
At one point, Vasilka put her camera down and began applying a heavy layer of bright red lipstick in front of the mirror. Hawtrey wondered if that signaled the end of their little photoshoot, and she watched intently as Queen Vasilka strutted back over to her. The young dominatrix took Hawtrey’s head in her hands, leaned in, and planted a deep kiss on her left cheek.
She pulled away and smiled at the red lip print she had undoubtedly left behind. Then, she returned to her camera and snapped some more photographs. That went on for a little bit before Vasilka gently packed her camera away, and waltzed over to a nearby desk. It had been covered up by a lumpy pile of clothes, including that schoolgirl costume Hawtrey had made her wear earlier.
“I’m all done taking photos, but I’m not done with you…”
She placed a hand down on the pile of clothes, and grabbed a fistful. There was no giddy look in her eye anymore, nor any energy in her tone. Now, she just seemed cold, and that gave Hawtrey chills.
“After what you put me through, did you really think I was going to let you off with nothing but some shibari and a few poses? No…”
Vasilka yanked hard on the clothes, ripping them off the desk like a magician pulling out a tablecloth. And what was left behind made Ms Hawtrey gasp through her gag. The desk was set with a small collection of torture devices, with varying shapes and sizes to dish out different levels of punishment. Crops, paddles, floggers, canes, and nipple clamps were all present, and there was even a Wartenburg wheel! It didn’t appear to be electrified like Mistress Miki’s, but that didn’t stop Hawtrey’s heart from jumping into her throat.
“It’s time you were taught a lesson of your own!”
Ms Hawtrey could do nothing but watch helplessly as Queen Vasilka grabbed hold of a paddle, and approached her. With a gloved hand, the dominatrix plucked the glasses off of her sub’s face and said: “A lesson in pain!”
Much like Ms Hawtrey’s character, those glasses weren’t all fake. The fair lady’s vision was still passable, but she had some trouble seeing fine details up close. With or without her glasses, however, Hawtrey could still see over her captor’s shoulder. She could see the door handle start to rotate…
“Mn! Nmmnm mmph!”
“Awe,” Vasilka taunted. “are you having second thoughts about this deal?”
“NMMMMPH!”
“Well, you should have thought of that before y--AHH!”
Queen Vasilka never even got a glimpse of the intruder, but Hawtrey saw the whole thing. Seeing was just about all she could do as their uninvited guest silently crept up on Vasilka, threw a black bag over her head, and grappled her down to the floor, all in a matter of seconds.
This attacker was short and petite, but clearly a force to be reckoned with. She wore a dark leather catsuit that covered everything but her hands, feet, and head. Not that those weren’t all covered up by other things. She hid her face behind a kinky leather hood with no mouth, along with black gloves and black toe socks.
In every kidnapping scene on the television, the actors would behave as though a bag over the head makes for a decent gag. It really doesn’t. Vasilka’s loud protests could be heard loud and clear, although they mostly amounted to “who are you,” or “let me go.” At least she seemed to have no problem breathing.
The bag may not have muted her voice, but that probably wasn’t the point. It was more likely there to keep the assailant from being identified while she went about her business. But if this mysterious interloper wished to remain anonymous, why hadn’t she bothered to blind Ms Hawtrey? A unsettling thought to say the least.
The masked assailant was armed with rope, and she moved fast with it. Once she had Vasilka’s hands pinned behind her back, she was able to bind a lark’s head hitch around them faster than most dommes could slap on handcuffs. She wrapped the rope around her victim’s wrists four times before cinching them tight together. This kidnapper may have moved many times faster than Queen Vasilka, but her ropework wasn’t nearly as refined. The ropes that bound Vasilka’s wrists didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, and her ankles soon got the same treatment.
Vasilka’s little stunt with the pile of clothes had left a dreadful mess on the floor, and this stranger utilized that. She reached over and picked up two discarded socks. She balled them up together before grabbing Vasilka’s bagged head and lifting it off the floor.
“Let me go right now or I-- What the hell are yo-- GRMMPH!”
The socks were shoved into Queen Vasilka’s mouth. The bag was never lifted, but it was large and stretchy enough to follow the socks inside while staying draped over her head. With the latex-clad damsel silenced, her captor tied the socks in place with more rope. She wrapped it around Vasilka’s head multiple times like a cleave gag, pulling it tight with each circuit. Not only were the socks securely tied in Vasilka’s mouth, but that bag wasn’t going anywhere either.
As the room’s newest damsel grunted in her gag and thrashed around, the intruder stood up and looked to the ceiling. Ms Hawtrey followed her gaze, and saw that there was more than one anchor point in the room.
“
HLLLP MMMN,” Hawrtey bellowed. “
FHHMBDM HLLLLPH!”
But no one heard her. No one came to their rescue. The suspended Brit struggled frantically, and quickly found out just how well Queen Vasilka had tied her up. There was no slack in the ropes whatsoever. Ms Hawtrey could do nothing but watch as the masked ruffian bolted the door shut, retrieved more rope, and dragged Vasilka below the ceiling’s other hook.
She took the bight of the rope and ran it between Vasilka’s arms, then between her legs. From there, she tied another lark’s head, connecting the queen’s wrists and ankles. This simple hitch had no knot, and tightened as the intruder pulled on its loose ends. With the help of a stepping stool, she then ran those loose ends through the anchor point above Queen Vasilka, and pulled.
As the rope’s length was pulled short, the hitch tightened, and Vasilka was pulled into a compact hogtie. It got so tight that the bagged beauty had her heels in the palms of her hands. But the sadistic captor didn’t stop there. She pulled until Queen Vasilka’s limbs were raised above her in a strict teardrop hogtie, and then she pulled some more. By the time that fiend had tied off the rope, only a fraction of Vasilka’s belly remained on the floor.
Ms Hawtrey cringed at the sight of that position. Such beastly treatment would have left her in excruciating pain, and yet, Vasilka was only making irritated grunts as she squirmed about on the floor.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s the most flexible of us all. She’ll be just fine so long as she doesn’t strain herself.”
Hawtrey snapped her eyes to the masked woman. She had been silent throughout the entire attack, and the strung-up schoolmistress hadn’t expected her to break her silence now; but this stranger was full of surprises. Her voice was one that Hawtrey didn’t recognize at all. It was dark and mature, with an American accent that might have been from Colorado, or maybe California.
The black-clad kidnapper turned to face Ms Hawtrey “You, on the other hand…”
The schoolmistress hung almost head and shoulders above her new captor, and yet the masked woman still felt imposing. In fact, Ms Hawtrey had never felt so threatened. This mysterious domina practically radiated intimidation. She stood centimetres from Hawtrey’s face and whispered, “You’re in big trouble.”