Shut Up and Watch

Charlee Chaste walks straight into your grip like she came here for nothing else. You know why she showed up, and so does she. She wants it to hurt. She wants you to decide how much. You tape her wrists behind the chair, cinch rope around her chest until her breath gets shallow, then shove the fat black ball between her teeth and buckle it tight. The first clothespin bites down on her left nipple. She jumps. The second one follows on the right, then a neat line down her stomach, each wooden jaw snapping shut on soft skin. You take your time. You circle her, let her feel the air move before every new pinch. When her thighs are trembling, you pick up the cane. The first stroke lands across her ass and the sound cracks the room. She makes a sound behind the gag that isn’t quite a word. You hit her again, harder, watching red lines bloom. She tries to twist, but the rope holds. Every time she edges too close you stop, grip the base of the vibrator, yank it away, leave her gasping and empty. Sweat runs down her chest, pulling at the clothespins, making them tug and twist. You wait until her hips stop bucking before you touch her again. Then you start the cane on her thighs. She shakes so hard the chair creaks. You keep her right there, right on the edge, until every muscle is locked and every breath is a plea she can’t speak. Only then do you decide if she gets to come.