Alison & Her Co-Worker Dominatrix

Alison can't quit thinking about it. Tina, the same woman who sits two cubicles down, spends her weekends cracking a whip. Alison pictures the corset first—black, tight, pushing everything up. Then the collar. Then what happens after. By Friday she can't take it anymore. She drives straight to Tina's place and knocks, pulse hammering in her throat. Tina opens the door in full gear, heels clicking on the floor like gunshots. She looks Alison over once, then steps aside. Inside it's dim. Leather and metal everywhere. Tina doesn't ask why Alison came. She just buckles a collar around her neck and clips a leash to it. Alison's breath catches. Tina leads her to the middle of the room and ties her wrists behind her back with soft rope that still bites when she tests it. A ball gag follows—rubber pressing her tongue flat, straps pulled snug at the nape. Drool starts almost immediately. Tina tightens the corset next, laces digging in until Alison's waist shrinks and her tits spill over the top. Every tug makes the leather creak. Tina walks a slow circle, heels echoing, then pushes Alison down onto her knees. The floor is cold. Tina's hand stays on the leash, keeping her close, keeping her still. Alison stares up through wet lashes, chest heaving against the corset stays. Tina just watches. Lets the silence stretch until Alison's thighs start to shake.