Pistol's Mistake

Pistol forgot her place fast. She turned away from work to flirt and laugh with the guests, and we saw every second of it. The correction came hard. We dragged her down, stripped her, and used rope until she couldn’t move a single muscle on her own. Every knot pulled tighter when she tried to twist free. The gag stopped the apologies. When the others saw what one mistake bought, they dropped back into position without a word. The night still had a birthday to mark. Siouxsi Q knelt in front of us, hands bound behind her, while every guest took a turn striking her ass with palms and leather until the skin glowed dark red. She counted each one. Her voice cracked on the last ten. We left the marks raw and made her thank every hand that touched her. Then the real test started. We lined Pistol and Kaos side by side, wrists locked to ankles, asses raised. Toys slid in deep—plugs first, then thicker and meaner until both holes clenched and fought. We worked them slow, then brutal, until their thighs shook and they begged through the gags. Neither girl was allowed to come until we decided. When we finally pushed them over, they squirted hard, soaking the floor in messy, uncontrollable bursts, one right after the other while the crowd watched and cheered for Siouxsi Q’s birthday.