The Vault

Sonia snaps selfies by a crumbling mausoleum when the stranger steps from the shadows. Her collar glints. Hands clamp wrists. Rope bites deep. Sonia hits the vault floor—legs spread, arms yanked overhead. The woman stuffs the ball gag past her teeth and pulls it tight. Sonia’s tongue fights the red sphere, drool already sliding down her chin. The woman tugs the leash attached to the collar until Sonia arches, back bowed, tits pushed forward. Another coil of rope circles her waist, then lower, pulling tight between her lips. Sonia jerks. The rope rubs. The woman watches, silent, until every twitch makes Sonia wetter. She leans in, breath hot on Sonia’s ear, and gives one short tug on the leash. Sonia moans through the gag, body twitching, thighs trembling in the dark.