Rose: Shackled Sexy Submissive

Rose called out of the blue. Local girl. She showed up at the door already wet with the idea. My latest shackles sat on the workbench—rough strip metal and cold pipe, nothing soft about them. I buckled her wrists first, metal biting skin, then her ankles, spreading her just enough. She tested the fit, tugged, felt the give that wasn't there. One lock clicked, then another. Her breathing changed. I pushed the red ball between her teeth and cinched the strap tight at the back of her skull. Drool started almost immediately. She looked up at me through strands of dark hair, eyes glassy, mouth stretched wide and useless. I left her standing in the center of the room, metal glinting under the bare bulb, every twitch making the pipes knock softly against each other. She tried to speak; nothing came out but a wet sound. I circled her once, then brought the cane down across the backs of her thighs. The crack echoed off the concrete. Her knees buckled, but the shackles held. Another stripe, higher, then lower, painting heat across pale skin. She rocked forward, chains singing, spit sliding down her chin in a steady line. Every flinch pulled the metal tighter against bone. She stayed upright because I told her to. That was the only choice left.