Author's Note: This follows on from my previous story featuring Felicity Rivers. To read or not to read, that is the question. It's up to you.


Deep in the bowels of a sprawling metropolis, eSensual Studios made their millions. On the surface their facilities resembled an unassuming apartment block, but below the busy city streets was another story. Their business was entirely legitimate, of course, but nonetheless it was prudent to conceal their activities from the public eye. Some called it the sex industry; others the porn industry, or the adult industry. None of these titles were entirely true for them, however: not the first, since their operation was frequently about more than simple sex; not the second, because filming models was only part of what they did; and not the last, because their patrons weren't always adults - at least, not in age, though of course always in physical maturity. No, it was unlikely that a single label could do the company justice.

In addition to their regular shoots, eSensual Studios ran training workshops for both dominants and submissives, designed and manufactured new machines and devices for use in their work, produced professionally-written films, and occasionally participated in the rope art scene. They even offered web hosting services, though under a different name so as to remain dissociated from their more taboo activities. The substantial ad revenue from their clients' websites fed straight back into their primary business, however, and sometimes eSensual Studios' own teasers would "accidentally" surface on such sites and attract new visitors to their main websites.

But despite whatever other outlets they maintained, eSensual Studios was a company primarily concerned with the subjection of acceptably-lascivious young women. And exclusively women - the fairer sex attracted an overwhelmingly larger viewership, as statistics had repeatedly shown. Not to mention that the female body was practically designed for pleasure. They say women have a much higher pain threshold than men - perhaps this was true, but they certainly had a much higher pleasure threshold. And arguably everything the company did was in the interest of pushing these two thresholds. Like constructing an underground facility chock-full with exotic studios in which to bring any girl's erotic fantasy to life. And populating those studios with equally-imaginative devices to keep those girls on their toes - in some cases, quite literally. And keeping the strict policy that once a shoot begins, it only finishes at the discretion of the dominant or after the agreed-upon time. And ensuring that the girls were well-aware of this policy, and that no safe-word or plea for mercy, however desperate, would save her from whatever fate awaited her in that time. And employing professional cinematographers who not only knew that anything is extraordinary in the right light, but also knew exactly how to achieve such results, transforming even the most plain girl into a smoking-hot porn star. And who could forget, hiring experienced riggers like myself to happily enforce that no-escape policy with unforgiving bondage.

It was a plight for only the most hardcore of female submissives, yet I was consistently amazed by just how many girls were willing to submit themselves to such an ordeal. We didn't want to scare anyone off, of course, so the shoots always aimed to assail the girl with at least as much pleasure as her nubile body could take. There was even an informal mantra circulating the pool of prospective models: "You come. You cum." But it still had to be a terrifying prospect to be utterly at the mercy of an individual whose very expertise was dominating women, not to mention having all your humiliating reactions filmed for the masses to drool over.

I was extremely fortunate to work for such a company. Formerly a huntsman, I'd learnt my craft in the woods bordering the city before new urban developments had driven all the game away. My talents for constructing elaborate traps to ensnare my prey had been noticed by an agent, and before long that talent had been re-purposed for a rather different sort of prey. One that didn't squirm half as desperately yet squealed twice as loudly. After seeing what I could do, my colleagues had taken to calling me The Bondsman, and in truth probably only the top brass remembered my real name.

I'd been in this line of work for over a decade now, and I was starting to feel the need for a holiday. The girls were always different, the positions and predicaments were always different, but there are only so many times you can bind a girl's breasts before your fingers are just going through the motions. It said a lot, then, that I was genuinely excited for the session I was about to witness. Mistress Zoey was one of the most respected dommes in the company's employ, which naturally meant that she was also the most desired woman in the company's employ. Anyone she'd worked with would give a month's salary to see her dethroned and despoiled, and ten times that to be the one to do it. She'd only submitted to another dominant on one occasion, and that had been for the compulsory training process all dommes underwent when joining the company. Regrettably, another rigger had shown her the ropes that day.

Tonight, however, I got my chance. I'd seen the delightful chemistry between Mistress Zoey and the lovely Felicity, and knew it was a dynamic worth exploring further. Zoey had had every right to refuse my suggested role reversal, but something about the bronzed girl had made her accept it. Perhaps it was an act of appeasement - Zoey had been noticeably more gentle with the girl, almost as if she feared her usual treatment would be too much. Most submissives tended to regard the pale Mistress as the most fearsome domme they knew. I suspected it was only her glowing smile that kept many of them coming back - Zoey didn't smile much, but when she did it was a smile which lit up the whole room as her soft amber eyes left even the most resentful victim with a warm affection for their Mistress. Too often it had been her get-out-of-jail-free card after a model complained about overly sadistic treatment.

So Felicity Rivers had to be someone really special to deserve a session dominating the proud and ruthless Mistress Zoey. It was to take place in the cowshed set, one of my personal favourite studios for its spooky ambience and soft blue lighting that bathed the scene in perpetual twilight. From the straw-strewn floor to the rustic gambrel ceiling, it was outfitted exactly as one would expect, with one key difference: the cattle compartments that normally housed bovine were noticeably smaller and more constrictive in order to compensate for the more dexterous capabilities of the feminine form. It was really just a cattle shed for a different kind of cattle. The perfect environment for detaining a woman in need of a thorough ravaging.

When I entered the room with a duffel bag of toys for the new Mistress, Felicity was already hard at work, locking Zoey into one of the cattle compartments. The raven-haired domme was clad in a glistening black latex catsuit with a matching leather corset laced tightly on the outside - probably the most conservative outfit our wardrobe afforded. Her feet were encased in glossy black heels and her hair pulled back into a loose updo, giving her a fresh-faced look that left no hint of her prior submission. After her last session, I wasn't surprised she wanted to conceal as much as possible from Zoey and the untold multitudes who'd watch this footage. Of course, after that last session, she could dress as modestly as she liked - it wouldn't prevent anyone lusting after her from simply hitting up that stimulating performance and seeing her naked and drooling like a slut. But if she felt more comfortable in a catsuit, the girl could wear a catsuit.

Zoey, on the other hand, had no problem dressing to tease. She'd been strutting around in skimpy attires for over a year in our studios, and any residual timidity had long since evaporated. It remained to be seen how her confidence would hold up from the other side of the ropes, however. Tonight she'd chosen to don the appropriate attire of a farmgirl, albeit a flawlessly-skinned farmgirl who looked as though she'd never seen the sun let alone a farm in her life. A red-and-white chequered blouse was tied together across her chest, leaving her midriff enticingly bare. A blue denim miniskirt sat on her hips, and her crimson hair was plaited into two girlish pigtails hanging on either side of her demure countenance.

I nodded to James, my cameraman, as he focused his lens on the despairing expression that was framed by the girl's crimson locks. As he grinned back, I was reminded of the description he'd once given his job: professional pervert. Indeed, he had an eye for quirks in the female form that in any other job would have gotten him fired long ago, and he rarely hesitated to chat up the girl about her sexy peculiarities. But for all his joking around, I knew there was no job he'd rather have.

Now, as Zoey had undoubtedly found out, the models' wardrobe, while stocked with an imaginative range of revealing outfits, was curiously lacking in one department: undergarments. There was intentionally not a single piece of lingerie for submissives to wear. This was partly for logistic reasons - a blouse could be reused several times, whereas models tended to notice if their panties were already moist - but largely because somebody had decided it would be a laugh to make the girls walk around uncomfortably underdressed. Well, there was also the fact that underwear left unattractive markings for a few hours after removed, but I liked to think that underdressed models were the real reason.

Consequently, when Felicity had pushed Zoey down on to her knees and locked her neck and wrists in the metal gate of the cell, she was also treated to a prime view of Zoey's coveted womanhood. And it was probably the first other pussy she'd ever seen, too - I hoped she didn't develop unrealistic expectations. The domme was taking this all in her stride: after a brief moment of hesitation, she slapped the immobilised girl's crotch a few times and continued applying restraints.

The final touch was to place her ankles inside a pair of shackles that were bolted to the floor. Obviously a conventional cowshed wouldn't have any such shackles, but here we'd allowed some small deviations to cater for the needs of the countless girls who'd been stuck in the space that Zoey currently occupied. It must the girl feel so worthless, knowing that she was only the latest in a long line of sluts who'd been restrained in that very position before her. But I expect the models were usually too absorbed in their own predicament to dwell on anyone else's.

This certainly seemed to be the case for Zoey. She was straining her neck in the stocks, trying vainly to see what Felicity was doing behind her. Meanwhile, Felicity was moving a sleek dildo into place behind the oblivious farmgirl. A dildo attached to a motorised shaft - a devilish device held in fearful reverence by Felicity, if I recalled correctly. She was obviously going to pull no punches in exploiting Zoey's helplessness. She untied the chequered blouse and let it hang loose as she attached a pair of butterfly clamps to the girl's nipples. To these went a few small weights each, every tug drawing a sharp gasp from their new host. Then Felicity brought the fucking machine rumbling to life at a moderate speed and sat down cross-legged in front of her plaything, a huge smile on her face. She smoothed a crease in her lustrous catsuit with latex-clad fingers, delighting in her power over the fairer girl.

Now, there are two types of submissives in the bondage business. The first are the natural sluts. The girls whose bodies simply cry out to be touched, abused, and penetrated. The girls who frequently have no tan lines because they spend more time naked than clothed. Girls who shamelessly flaunt their sexuality at every opportunity. In other words, girls who are built for porn. The second type is everything the first is not: shy, awkward, skittish. These are the girls that seem too cute and innocent to be involved in such kinky activities. The girls whose nubile bodies you almost feel guilty about exploiting as you push their personal limits to new extremes. Girls who naively feel entitled to fair treatment, expecting the pleasure to stop the moment it becomes uncomfortable.

Who would have thought that such a proud, ruthless domme would turn out to be the latter type of submissive? For all the respect Zoey commanded as a domme, as a sub she was as naive as a fresh starlet. Her skin tone was a smooth vanilla, seemingly never acquainted with the sharp rap of a cane or the brisk swish of a flogger. That was about to change. Anyone else might have shied away from marring that virginal flesh, but here it was considered an honour, even a duty, to educate such girls in the ways of the submissive.

Zoey eyed the camera reproachfully, attempting to move her elbows in front of her dangling breasts. But Felicity reached forward and held those elbows apart, throwing in a few tickles for free. Zoey convulsed violently, though whether from the underarm tickling or her first orgasm it was hard to tell. As the girl's constrained form began to shudder from the inescapable sensations the machine delivered, Felicity took up arms and went to work. Her weapon of choice: a vinyl flogger.

Ten minutes later, little had changed. Felicity had experimented with a few toys - the flogger, a bamboo cane, and a riding crop, to be precise - and each was met with appropriately satisfying gasps and yelps. They may have been toys for us, but for her they were instruments of pure torture. Zoey's formerly-flawless ivory skin was looking less milky and more braised, though only enough that it would be a humiliating reminder for a few days. Especially if she took any clients during those days. Eventually Felicity relented and pulled the machine away from the girl's sopping-wet pussy. A shame, really - I'd have been curious to see how much more she could take.

But then the budding domme came over and whispered her plan for the next scene into my ear. I smiled and nodded, retrieving some rope from the bag. Zoey had just had ample orgasms handed to her on a silver platter, so now Felicity's plan was to make her work for them.

I climbed into the narrow compartment where the girl was shackled and freed her ankles from their restraints. But before she'd had so much as a second to stretch, I'd slipped her miniskirt off and tied her ankles to her thighs with several tight loops of rope. Then I freed her wrists and similarly relieved her of the blouse before tying her wrists to her upper arms. Finally I unlocked the gate and pushed the cattle out of its pen. She stumbled out into the open room on all fours, swaying from side to side as she struggled to keep upright. Before she got too far I grabbed the girl's hips and set her down on her bare ass, spinning her to face me.

My sexy colleague sat pouting before me, naked save for my ropes and a pair of nipple clamps adorning her modest bust. It was the first time I'd had the pleasure of seeing what lay beneath those skimpy outfits she was so fond of, and I liked what I saw. She wasn't particularly well-endowed, but still shapely enough to enable some light breast bondage. Her navel and belly were curved attractively and the ramp down to her engorged mound had not the slightest hint of stubble. There was just one thing missing to complete the picture: a nice big ball gag. I decided to use a bright green one to complement her crimson hair and give a mildly festive aesthetic. So a second later, those pouting lips were wrapped around hunk of hard rubber and my puppy was ready for a walk.

I leaned forward and whispered to her, "How does that feel, Mistress," as I slipped a few fingers into that soft pink pussy and felt her arousal. She moaned and squirmed in my arms. "Pretty good then," I affirmed, pulling out my fingers and flicking her juices at her.

After manhandling her into a 'standing' position again - standing on all fours, that is, as puppies should - I realised there was still a crucial item missing.

"The puppy is missing her tail," I rumbled, fetching an appropriate tail from the duffel bag. It was attached to a rather intimidating butt plug, but the plug had to be severe in order to withstand sharp tugs on the tail. "You know where this goes, don't you, pet?" I asked her, waving the tail around in front of her face. Immediately she squirmed away from me, mumbling in protest. But she didn't get very far before I flipped her onto her back, limbs flailing uselessly like a turtle in the same position. I armed the plug with a large dollop of lubricant and eased it into the girl's tight hole. It took a bit of encouragement and some well-timed tickling to loosen her up, but soon the plug was snug inside its new home and the cowgirl was a much more convincing puppy. "It's a good thing that little ass of yours is so tight," I taunted, whispering into her ear as I flipped her back upright. "I suppose no one's ever had the pleasure of using that hole before - the plug must feel so lucky." She was being a stubborn pup, however, rolling onto her side in protest at the intrusion.

"You know what to do," I nodded at Felicity, who'd selected a long cattle prod and was eyeing Zoey's exposed form as she caressed it.

With great enthusiasm, Felicity rammed the two-pronged electric stick into Zoey's bare ass. The response was immediate. The stubborn puppy yelped and jumped onto all fours, sidestepping away like a deer running on ice, her limbs flying out in all directions. "Run, girl, run!" urged Felicity. "I want to see that tail flapping in the wind!"

Zoey didn't even moan before scuttling down the length of the room, Felicity hot on her heels and laughing with each crackle of the cattle prod. Every time the skittish cowgirl slowed or stumbled, those two prongs zapped her back to speed. By the time she'd run a few times around the room, Zoey was actually starting to develop a knack for the quadrupedal canter. But even the most flexible and athletic of submissives - and Zoey possessed both qualities in spades - were not built to run on all fours for any extended length of time. She began slowing more and more, and the sharp electric shocks snapping at her rear grew more frequent until she finally collapsed in a sweaty heap, chest heaving. Her nipple clamps had slipped off a few laps ago, but angry red marks remained in their place. Felicity crouched beside her and rubbed these welts as the exhausted cattle stared up at her with wide frightened eyes, unsure whether to thank her or scramble away.

"Alright, tether your puppy to the gate - it's time for a coffee," I announced. Felicity looked at me in bemusement, but complied all the same. James left the camera rolling on a tripod and the door slammed behind us as we left the room. The protesting girl was left to scamper around on a short leash with only the company of her own ragged breathing echoing throughout the large empty room.

Not twenty metres down the hall, we turned into the floor's rec room. As I tapped some buttons on a nearby coffee machine, Felicity looked over my shoulder in awe. On the wall above me was an array of monitors, all showing live feeds from various studios on this floor. They were there so that dominants could keep an eye on their subs while they took a break in the middle of a long shoot. It was also fun to play with the girls' heads, leaving them to stew at the height of their humiliation.

Zoey was familiar with these shenanigans, but it was her first time on the receiving end. She scowled into the camera, knowing full well we were watching but feeling abandoned all the same. She started trying to dislodge the plug in her rear, but the tail wasn't quite long enough to pin down with her elbows and she couldn't move her feet close enough together to pull it out. Chuckling, I turned to face my colleagues, offering them each a mug of steaming java.

"This is James, by the way," I informed Felicity. James grinned and shook her proffered hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said stiffly.

James chuckled. "Yeah, sure. You couldn't care less about me, am I right? I'm just a faceless guy behind the camera that you never see," he said in a mock-moan. "Well, don't worry love, I'm perfectly content with being the one to see you every moment you're with the talented Bondsman here. And if you don't mind my asking, did you steal those feet from a baby? They're adorable."

Felicity glanced down at her feet, currently strapped into strict heels, and blushed as she realised he was referencing her past performances.

"Alright James, you're scaring the lady," I smiled. Turning to her, I asked, "So, what's next, Mistress?"

Felicity frowned at the title, but replied, "Definitely a suspension of some kind. Whatever's the most embarrassing for her."

"That would depend on what she's comfortable with - or rather, not comfortable with," I smirked.

"I don't know about her preferences, but I can tell you what she's never done before," replied the domme, starting to count on her fingers. "She's never been suspended, never been hogtied, never been teased while blindfolded, never been fucked while tied up, never done breath-play..."

"Woah girl, slow down there. I'm only one man! Now, breath-play - with water, I presume - takes a little while to set up, so perhaps another day. I don't know if she could manage a hogtie - not everyone's as talented as you, dear - so that leaves suspension while blindfolded, teased, and fucked. Sound good?"

Felicity thought for a moment. "I'm sure she could handle a hogtie, but maybe she'd take it better if you issued it as a challenge instead. But yup, sounds good."

"I'm getting the impression you two know each other from somewhere," I observed, smiling.

"Just school. I don't want to bore you with tales of our teenage soap opera, though."

"Some of us love hearing teenage soap operas," James piped up, grinning.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied with a playful smile.

"Now, do we have a volunteer for the dutiful task of fucking our dear Zoey into oblivion?" I asked. I'm always ready to ask the hard questions.

"Oh. I- guess that should be you," she frowned.

"It's okay, we all express our sexuality differently," I encouraged her, while inwardly rejoicing at my good fortune. I should work with heterosexual dommes more often.

"So... Will I get a copy of the footage after it's all over?" asked Felicity, looking amusingly hopeful.

"Of course. Edited to emphasise the goddess you are, and to best portray the shameful slut that Zoey is. As you've likely noticed, James here uses a variety of techniques to immortalise every scene he shoots in the annals of bondage history," I smirked. "A low-angle shot to make you appear appropriately intimidating; an establishing shot to show the intricacies of each devilish predicament; a facial close-up for those nuanced reactions to each inescapable sensation Zoey experiences - it's as professionally produced as any feature film, I assure you. Whatever you look for in a memento of your friend's day of humiliation - her helpless moans, sexy curves, frightened eyes - it'll have it."

"A bit more detail than I needed, but good to hear," she responded, amused. "I wouldn't want her forgetting it any time soon, after all."

We finished our coffee and returned to the frustrated Zoey after what was, I'm sure, a very long ten minutes for her. The final position I tied her in was one of the simplest ties in my repertoire, yet also one of the most devilishly effective. I first secured her wrists snugly together and hung them from one of the wooden crossbeams above. This alone was enough was enough to render the girl helpless, with her feet dangling slightly above the ground and the knots just out of reach of her fingers. Unless she happened to be a secret agent well-trained in escapology, Zoey was going nowhere. But of course, I wasn't happy until I knew that even Zoey the secret agent would have no hope of freeing herself. So I added two more ropes to her hanging form: one for each ankle, pulling them wide apart until the girl's silky inner thighs were taut and her furry tail was swaying freely below. Now her body was tightly pulled in three directions, every inch of her fair skin bared to the world. It was a position perfect for a glamorous coating of oil - if the slut wasn't already shining with sweat as our dear Zoey was. It was also the perfect position for some sensation play - a razor pinwheel rolled lightly down her sides, for instance - with her muscles pulled tightly in every direction, the slightest sensation on her exposed body would be amplified tenfold.

So I retrieved such a pinwheel and offered it to Felicity, who gladly accepted the opportunity to tease and torment her helpless friend. The sharp metal pressed threateningly against the girl's firm flesh, drawing forth goosebumps all across her trembling figure. She remained deathly still however, acutely aware that the wrong move could cause the toy to pierce her skin. It must be such an interesting learning experience for Zoey, feeling how each of her favourite toys felt when applied to her own bound form.

Her ass and pussy were now dangling at the perfect height for a thorough fucking, and the strung-up girl knew it. Feeling how tightly her legs were stretched open, Zoey would be perfectly aware of how exposed her orifices were to such a violation. There's nothing like doing the splits whilst suspended naked in a cattle shed to bring on the helplessness. But mere helplessness wasn't enough for me. It wasn't until a helpless model had been utterly debased into a worthless slut that I called it a day. Zoey had led her share of naive girls through this humiliating transformation in her time as a domme - it was my turn to return the favour.

So without further ado, I put my fingers to work on her soft pussy, warming her up for the main event.

"Look at you, sweating like a pig," I taunted her. "Squirm for the camera, slut."

And squirm she did. She thrashed around in the ropes so violently that I was afraid she might hurt herself. So to discourage such movement, I tied each of her two long plaits to her toes on either side. Now it was in her best interest to remain still and take my fingers like a good slut, otherwise her precious flaming head of hair would suffer the consequences.

Internally at the company, we riggers categorised restraints into two categories: soft and hard. Soft restraints were things like rope, belts, leather, and latex. Hard restraints were things like stocks, shackles, pipes, and furniture fittings - pretty much anything made of wood or metal. Hard restraints were used when zero manoeuvrability was desired, completely immobilising all or part of the model's body. In contrast, soft restraints allowed a varying amount of wriggle room, depending on their application. Rope typically rendered a model just as helpless as any other type of restraint, but with the cruel illusion of flexibility. And as enticing as the thought of Zoey's sexy body tightly trapped in a compromising framework of metal pipes was, the illusion of flexibility that rope restraints gave offered a much more satisfying lesson for the novice submissive. As long as some movement was possible, the girl would squirm and tug at every restraint until the cows came home. And this was one cattle shed where the cows were never coming home. Even Zoey, who'd seen many times with her own eyes how inescapable my ropes were, was struggling and twisting in every direction. It was instinct, raw and primitive. The ingrained desire for freedom. And when that freedom failed to come, the ensnared girl sank to deeper levels of helplessness. Yet the hope of escape never faded - so long as there was room to struggle, she would struggle, and struggle, until not despair but exhaustion won out. Hope was a cruel master. Then when the girl was at the end of her rope, yet still ensnared by it, I stepped in to take what was left. Her pride. Her dignity. Her virtue.

Zoey held out admirably for a girl new to submission, but after a few minutes writhing under my probing digits - a period that probably felt like an eternity to her - she had no fight left to give, and started giving up what remained of her sobriety instead. If her first round of orgasms had left Zoey a wreck, these ones left her devastated. Already exhausted from struggling, she moved with quick, sudden jerks, desperate to dislodge my experienced fingers from her sweet spots.

Not entirely without mercy, I decided to grant her that respite. I dropped my bulging pants and filled her with the shaft that sprung free. As I thrust in and out of her suspended pussy I supported her outstretched thighs in my hands, moving them to the rhythm. Felicity took up a stance behind the helpless girl, complementing the waves of pleasure with the stinging swish of a flogger. Zoey seemed oblivious to the black tendrils wrapping around her sides, so I knew I was doing something right. Occasionally Felicity mixed things up and attacked her defenceless armpits with writhing fingers instead. This she did notice, though she could do nothing but shake her head in frustration, clenching her jaw on the glossy green ball gag as her pigtails were tugged painfully. I looked up and pressed my forehead to hers, staring into her wide amber eyes as I shoved myself inside her. Drool bubbled from her gag and ran down her chest, adding unnecessary lubricant to my thrusting shaft. Her rosy cheeks framed an expression of utter desperation, the mark of a girl clinging to her last shred of dignity.

Feeling my climax bursting forth, I pulled out of her and aimed at her navel, my load splashing over her abdomen and dripping down through her crotch. It was all over in seconds for me - how lucky she was that she could sustain such pleasure indefinitely. At least I'd left my load in a place where all could see and know exactly how much of a slut their Mistress Zoey was. She was now an utter mess of sweat, tears, and cum - a far cry from the domme that had put Felicity in her place earlier today. I took a step back from the swaying slut, content with what Felicity and I had accomplished together. A domme walked in; a slut walks out.

Half an hour later we were sitting across from Zoey, ready to commence the closing interview. She was still nude save for a pale blue bathrobe draped across her shoulders. Even after a long steamy shower to remove all traces of sweat and cum, her fair skin was bright red in all the places she'd been caned or flogged.

"eSensual Studios, where husky middle-aged men get to tie up and fuck their sexy co-workers," I rumbled in a mock sales pitch. The two girls laughed, albeit Felicity more freely than Zoey.

"So how did you enjoy your time as a cowgirl? Rural life's all it's cut out to be?" Felicity asked with a grin.

"It was... more challenging than I expected, I suppose," replied Zoey slowly, running her fingers down her long pigtails. "Still, I have to say I'm a little disappointed."

I raised my eyebrows a fraction while Felicity prompted, "Really?"

Zoey looked at me with a disdainful expression as she continued. "I've seen you do things with the female form which are nothing short of incredible. The positions I was in were rather tame by comparison."

Chuckling, I replied, "Aye, you got off easy. No predicament bondage, inverted suspension, or sensory deprivation... We didn't even get you in a hogtie!" I looked over her slender form with its numerous red marks and added, "I think it would've been too much for you, though. But maybe you'll prove me wrong another day," a challenge evident in my tone. She narrowed her eyes slightly and sat up straighter. I smiled amiably, content that this wasn't the last time I'd have the minx in my ropes.

"I can take anything she can," retorted Zoey, a tad too defensively. Felicity just smiled placatingly.

"Alright, I'll be ruthless next time. Is that what you want to hear?" I asked with a bemused smile. She remained silent. "So, you used to be a gymnast, huh?" I prompted, changing the subject.

Now is was her turn to look surprised. "How did you know that?"

"Dear, I tie up girls for a living. There aren't many lifestyle choices I can't determine from handling their naked bodies. For instance, few girls can do the splits while suspended in the air. I'm impressed."

Her face flushed briefly with pride. "And how did it feel to climax so far off the ground? Did it feel like flying, perhaps?" Felicity reprised.

Zoey's expression softened again as she turned to answer her domme's questions.

"Flying? Ha. Some caged bird I was, if that was supposed to feel like flying. No, it felt more like drowning. I was kicking and pulling in every direction to no avail, and having trouble catching my breath with that infernal rubber gag in the way. As for the orgasms themselves... They were the only thing that made it bearable. For a fleeting moment the ropes and pain and everything else just disappeared, and there was only bliss... Until the moment passed, and the ropes were tighter than ever and my predicament more frustrating than ever."

"Sounds like you had fun, then," grinned Felicity. She hesitated for a moment, then added, "I find that the best thing about any suspended position is the utter lack of solid objects to push off - no floor, no walls, no furniture - you're stuck in this hapless, wobbling prison, utterly at the mercy of your master."

"Well, a hogtie would definitely do that for you," nodded Zoey, also grinning. A hogtie was the only position Felicity had previously been suspended in, to my knowledge, and Zoey had obviously seen the footage on our website. She was effectively revealing that she'd watched Felicity's most humiliating moments for her own enjoyment - a confronting notion for any amateur porn star, especially coming from someone you've known for years. I looked across to see how Felicity was taking it. She grimaced at the mention of the hogtie - clearly some painful memories there - but was otherwise unfazed by the connection. The cheeky grin was still in place, and it was becoming infectious.

"Can I see the marks?" Felicity asked, standing up. Zoey nodded, shrugging off the bathrobe. The domme walked over and sat on the bench beside her sub, running her gloved hand down the criss-cross patterns on the girl's back. Zoey grimaced, goosebumps springing up across her body. "Awesome..." murmured Felicity, a childish grin on her face. Then she held one of the redhead's pigtails in her hand and rolled her eyes. "Always the cheerleader, Zoe."

Their eyes met and the next second they were both laughing and embracing each other, Zoey's naked form a stark contrast against Felicity's glossy black one. I stared at them, perplexed. Beside me, James had the same bewildered expression. Girls: a species no man can hope to understand. But as long as they were enjoying themselves, it was a great moment to capture on film. Our work was always under scrutiny for its dubiously-consensual nature, so it was important to show all participants with a cheery disposition at the end of a shoot. After all, with the way some models struggled and screamed and begged for release, it would be a fair conclusion to say they'd been coerced or even abducted into the scene. We had to prove our legitimacy somehow, not to mention preserve our reputation for providing a safe - if brutal - environment.

The girls broke apart and turned back to face me. For the first time today, Zoey's famous smile filled her features, her eyes bright and playful. I'd make a submissive out of her yet, especially if Felicity stuck around.

"So," breathed the former domme, her marred body forgotten in her euphoria. "What's next?"