Trust Games (F/F)

[Richman65]

Trust Games
The story continues in detailed, immersive style, with Danae introducing Lucy to bondage, dominance, and submission—slowly unraveling her inhibitions while exploring themes of trust, surrender, and hidden desires.

The amber hues of sunset bathed the luxurious apartment of Danae’s parents, who were away on a trip to Europe. Warm light filtered through the silk curtains, illuminating the coffee table where two half-empty glasses of red wine glimmered like liquid rubies.

Lucy, 19, twisted her hands in the lap of her short white cotton skirt—so short it revealed her smooth thighs every time she shifted. Petite but delicately curved, she had a narrow waist, soft shoulders, and legs that seemed endless beneath the fabric. Her pale pink blouse, loose with thin straps, barely concealed a strap of her pink bra, which contrasted with her sun-kissed skin. Her honey-blonde hair, naturally wavy, tumbled messily over her shoulders, and her hazel eyes—lightly lined with mascara—shone with a mix of anguish and shame.

Across from her, reclining with studied indifference on the black leather sofa, Danae—20, only a year older but with the confidence of a mature woman—twirled her wine glass. Her black leggings clung like a second skin, accentuating every curve of her narrow hips and gym-toned thighs. The sheer black gauze blouse hinted at the outline of her lace bra and the occasional glint of her pierced navel. Her jet-black hair, cut in an asymmetrical bob, framed a face of perfect features: full lips painted dark red, high cheekbones, and green eyes that watched Lucy with a mix of curiosity and amused sarcasm.

Lucy took a long sip of wine, letting the liquid give her courage. The alcohol burned her throat, but not as much as the confession she’d been carrying for days.

Lucy (trembling voice):
"Stephan... Stephan talked about tying me up... said it would be 'special.'"

Danae arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow but said nothing. She only swirled her glass between her long fingers, making the wine spin in hypnotic whirls.

Lucy (swallowing hard):
"He said... it would be special. That he wanted to experiment." Her voice cracked. "But he’s a pervert! What kind of person wants to do that?"

Her small hands, nails painted pale pink, clutched her skirt as if afraid she might fly apart. Grotesque images flashed through her mind—Stephan binding her like an animal, filming her with his phone, laughing at her vulnerability...

Lucy (almost whispering):
"If he keeps insisting... I’ll break up with him."

Danae, who had remained silent until now, let out a low, melodious laugh. It wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t the comfort Lucy had hoped for either.

Danae (slow smile):
"Poor thing. So innocent..."

Lucy felt heat rush up her neck to her cheeks. Why did Danae always make her feel like a child?
Danae leaned forward, her black leggings faintly creaking. With deliberate motion, she brushed a stray curl from Lucy’s face, letting her red nails—sharp as claws—graze her cheek.

Danae (smooth voice):
"Lucy... do you trust me?"

The question hung in the air like the scent of wine. Lucy blinked, surprised by the turn in conversation.

Lucy (nodding):
"Y-yes... of course."

Danae (smiling, revealing perfect teeth):
"Really? With everything?"

Lucy (firmer, intrigued):
"Yes..."

Then Danae picked up the white linen napkin lying forgotten on the table—slightly stained with wine—and folded it with surgical precision.

Danae (whispering):
"Shhh... this is so you understand..."

With slow but sure movements, she tied the center of the napkin into a thick, firm knot. Lucy watched, mesmerized, as Danae brought it to her slightly parted lips.

Danae (playful smirk):
"Open up..."

Lucy obeyed without thinking, and the knot pressed between her teeth, filling her mouth with the taste of wine and linen. Danae tied the ends behind her head, pulling firmly until Lucy let out a soft "Mmmhhh."

Danae (stroking her cheek):
"Don’t take it off... promise me."

Lucy nodded, her eyes shining with surprise and something else... excitement?

Danae (taking her hand):
"Come... I’ll show you something really good."

With that, she guided her down the hallway to her bedroom, where candles were already burning—since when? —casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Danae’s bedroom smelled of sandalwood candles and that exclusive perfume she always wore—something dark, with notes of vanilla and patchouli. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the pearl-gray walls as the dying light of dusk seeped through the half-open blinds.

Lucy remained motionless at the edge of the bed, her hazel eyes so dilated they seemed to devour what little makeup remained. The white cloth still gagged her, turning every attempted protest into a muffled "Mmmhhh" that vibrated in the charged air.
Danae wasted no time. In one fluid motion, she pushed Lucy backward, sending her bouncing softly onto the down-filled mattress.

"Sit up," she ordered, her voice—usually laced with sarcasm—now carrying a tone that brooked no argument.

Lucy obeyed, instinctively adjusting her white skirt where it had ridden up her thighs. She watched, torn between terror and fascination, as Danae knelt beside the bed and pulled out an antique carved wooden box—the kind meant to hold family secrets. Inside, coiled with military precision, lay several red silk ropes, thick as sleeping serpents and gleaming in the candlelight. Danae took one, letting the material slide through her fingers like liquid before climbing onto the bed and positioning herself behind Lucy.

"Hands behind your back," she whispered into Lucy’s ear, her warm breath brushing the sensitive skin of her neck. "Don’t overthink it."

Lucy held her breath. For a second, she seemed poised to resist—but something in Danae’s voice, that absolute certainty, made her relent. Slowly, she brought her hands behind her, where Danae seized them firmly.

Danae worked with an artist’s precision. She wound the red silk around Lucy’s wrists, crossing the material again and again in intricate patterns that looked more like decoration than restraint. Each loop was firm but not painful; the silk whispered against her skin, leaving no marks but offering no escape.

Lucy tested the knots, trying to separate her hands, but only succeeded in tightening the ropes slightly. A stifled sound escaped her throat—"Mmmphhh!"—more surprise than protest this time.

Danae finished with an elegant, almost ornamental knot and leaned in to murmur:
"How does it feel?" Her voice was a thread of silk. "Not so bad, is it?"

Lucy couldn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. The blush creeping from her collarbone to her cheeks—a furious pink—said it all. Her eyes, once wide with fear, now shimmered with a mix of shame, surprise, and something else… something that made her avoid Danae’s gaze.

Danae slid around to face her, studying every microexpression. With one finger, she tilted Lucy’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Now you understand, don’t you?" she said, toying with the loose end of the rope. "It’s not about pain. It’s about… trust."

Lucy swallowed, the gag absorbing the motion. Something inside her trembled—something nameless that made her breath hitch.

Then Lucy’s phone, forgotten in her purse in the living room, began to vibrate insistently.
Both heard it.
Both knew who it was.
Stephan.

The metallic buzzing sliced through the thick silence of the room. Lucy’s shoulders jerked instinctively, making the silk ropes creak. Her eyes, glazed with concentration moments ago, snapped back to alarmed awareness—an expression Danae knew too well.

Danae (smiling, though her green eyes stayed cold):
"Our dear Stephan. How… timely."

She slid off the bed with feline grace, her black leggings glinting as she passed through a sliver of light from the blinds. She rummaged through Lucy’s purse, extracted the buzzing phone, and studied the screen with mocking detachment before tucking it under the black velvet sofa cushion.

Danae (returning to the bed):
"Later."

As she settled behind Lucy again, her fingers found the knot at those delicate wrists. She tugged the loose end of the rope, just enough to make Lucy arch her back unconsciously. The scent of Danae’s perfume—black tobacco and orange blossom—wrapped around Lucy as she leaned in to whisper:

Danae (voice melting between syllables):
"Let’s make this interesting, princess. If you can free yourself before this song ends…" She gestured to the smart speaker, which began playing Chris Isaak’s "Wicked Game." "...I’ll let you go."

Danae (darker now):
"If not… well, you’ll owe me a wish."

Lucy let out a choked sound behind the gag, her nostrils flaring. She began twisting with sudden energy, making her white skirt ruffle over her thighs. The red silk groaned, tightening just enough to remind her of her helplessness without crossing into pain.

Danae (counting like a watchmaker):
"Four minutes…"

Beads of sweat dotted Lucy’s neck, tracing shiny paths down her golden skin. She struggled with a determination that surprised even Danae—but the knots, tied with the precision of an expert, didn’t yield an inch.
When the song’s final chords faded, Danae clapped slowly, each applause like a whip crack in the still air.

Danae (mock sympathy):
"Oh, sweetheart… Looks like fate’s on my side today."

She leaned in until her lips grazed the edge of the white gag, now smudged with Lucy’s lipstick. Her red nails—sharp as velvet claws—drifted to the knot and undid it with practiced ease, letting the fabric fall onto Lucy’s lap.

Lucy (hoarse, coughing slightly):
"Fine, you made your point…" She rubbed her still-bound wrists. "But this is different."

Danae (eyebrow arched):
"Different how…?"

Lucy (blushing fiercely):
"Because you and I… we’re friends."

The silence that followed was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Danae studied Lucy—that vulnerable-yet-defiant expression, her lips still red from the gag’s pressure—then burst into warm laughter, like bells in an empty church.

Danae (pulling her into a sudden embrace):
"Aah, you’re too sweet!" Her voice dripped like honey. "I think you’re finally starting to understand."

Lucy barely had time to react before her face was buried between Danae’s breasts, soft yet firm under the black gauze blouse. The vanilla-and-blossom perfume engulfed her, sharper now, mingling with the scent of her own flustered skin.

Danae (rocking her like a child, though her tone was anything but childish):
"It’s all about trust, Lucy. Only when it’s with someone who truly cares for you…" A calculated pause. "...do you realize it’s actually liberating."

Her hands traced slow circles on Lucy’s back, feeling the initial tension morph into something pliant.

Danae (softly now):
"Do you agree?"

Lucy (small but steady):
"I… I think I get it." A swallow. "But this is real, right? Not some… trick?"

Danae pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, still holding her close.

Danae (smirking):
"Would I lie to you now?" She ran a finger along the red rope. "The proof is here. I could’ve forced you into anything… yet all I did was show you."

Lucy’s breath caught. Something in those words—the way Danae said them, like a shared secret—made the last of her resistance dissolve.

Danae (stroking her cheek):
"Want me to prove it again?"

Her fingers found the wrist knots.

Danae (undoing them as she whispered):
"Trust level two…" The red silk slithered away like a tired snake. "No clothes."

Lucy (flinching):
"Wait, I never said—"

Danae (finger on Lucy’s lips):
"The bet was obedience, remember?" Her smile was sweet as honey, but her green eyes offered no negotiation. "Unless… you don’t trust me?"

Before Lucy could reply, Danae grabbed the hem of her pink blouse and lifted it in one smooth motion. The silk slid over her head, revealing:
A lace bra, pale pink and slightly too small, its thin straps digging into her sun-kissed skin.
The modest but perfect curve of her breasts, rising and falling with quickened breaths.
A small mole near her navel—a forgotten fingerprint on her flat stomach.

Lucy (crossing her arms instinctively):
"Danae, this is… too much."

But Danae was already kneeling before her, undoing the button of her white skirt with her teeth. The zipper gave an audible click, and the fabric pooled on the floor like a fallen curtain.
Now Danae studied the final barrier—the matching lace panties:
The translucent fabric, where the silk triangle barely hinted at the shadow beneath.
The lace edges biting gently into Lucy’s narrow hips, leaving fleeting marks.
The tiny bow at the center—a childish touch at odds with the dampness already darkening the fabric.

Lucy (squirming):
"Stop staring there!"

Danae (tracing the elastic with a nail):
"Why? It’s exquisite…" Her red nails followed the seam to the bow, tugging it like a curtain cord. "Like those cakes you decorate—small, sweet… and meant to be devoured."

Lucy (trying to cover herself with useless hands):
"I feel… strange!"

Danae (holding the red rope like a painter’s brush):
"Strange isn’t bad, darling…" She guided Lucy’s wrists behind her back again. "Strange just means new."

The rope tightened, firmer this time, as if compensating for the lack of clothing. Lucy tested the knots—too tight—and let out a moan she couldn’t classify.

Danae (admiring her like a finished canvas):
"Look at you…" She adjusted a bra strap lazily. "Really prefer that schoolgirl skirt to this?"

She slid open her dresser drawer with a sly grin. Inside lay a sanctuary of black lace and satin:
Crisscross bralettes like bat wings.
Panties folded with military precision.
Garters that chimed when moved.
Her fingers plucked a triangular scrap of black silk—so small it vanished in her clenched fist. The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, the lace border rendering explanations unnecessary.

Lucy (recoiling):
"Danae, I can’t—"

But Danae was already upon her, pressing the fabric into her mouth while gripping her nape.

Danae (playful English):
"I’ll do the talking… you stay quiet."

Lucy’s protest became a choked "Hmmmm!" as the silk tightened. Danae completed the gag with a second scarf—folded diagonally into a wide band—placed over her parted lips to keep the black lace in place. The ends knotted behind her neck with surgical precision, pulled just enough to make Lucy’s lips bulge under the layers.

The result:
Lace edges biting the corners of Lucy’s mouth.
The knot casting a shadow at her nape.
A glint of saliva already soaking the dark silk.

Danae (stroking her cheek):
"Shhh… good girls listen."

Lucy tried to speak, but the gag only dug deeper. Her eyes—once indignant—now held a curiosity she didn’t understand.
Lucy stood petrified, like a fawn caught in headlights. Danae, with the patience of a gardener pruning her favorite rosebush, guided her back to the edge of the bed. Lucy's knees buckled without resistance, sinking into the down comforter as the black silk gag continued silencing her questions, flooding her tongue with that briny vanilla taste unique to Danae's skin.

"Danae's lingerie is in my mouth," she thought, her ears burning. "So soft... smells like her when she comes home from parties... tastes like—" A shiver raced down her spine. "This is strange—so strange it's thrilling. My heart pounds like it wants to escape, but... from what? It's just Danae. It's always been her... hasn't it?"

The red ropes coiled around her torso like living roots. Danae worked with surgical precision. Lucy closed her eyes—not from fear of pain (Danae would never hurt her)—but from the shrill voice in her head: "What have you gotten yourself into? This is perverse." Yet beneath that reproach, a younger voice, buried under years of purity sermons, whispered: "What if the real perversion is denying what you feel?"

The first knot tightened. A moan escaped her lips.

"Shhh..." Danae stroked her forearm. "Pain isn't what awaits you."

Lucy swallowed. The problem had never been pain. It was the craving she felt seeing the ropes mark her skin—as if those scarlet lines were a secret language only her body understood.

"Why are you trembling?" Danae breathed against her ear. "Not from cold... I know."

Above her breasts, the red silk wrapped like a ruby necklace, accentuating curves her pink bra barely hinted at. Below, another loop synced with her quickening breath, cinching the waist she always hid under loose skirts. Along her back, the ties wove through earlier patterns, pressing her arms against her torso in a forced embrace that made escape impossible.

Danae nibbled the rope's end as she knotted:
"Shhh... Almost done. Just... here." Her fingers pulled the final knot, arching Lucy's back involuntarily. "See? Not bad at all... Just different."

Lucy tried to protest, but the black silk gag only permitted muffled whimpers. Her thoughts collided:
"This is madness... but her hands are so warm. Why do I shudder at her touch? Why... why don't I want her to stop?"

Danae left no loose ends. With the expertise of someone who'd practiced each knot a thousand times, she took Lucy's ankles—so delicate they could be encircled by one fist—crossing them into lotus position. The red silk slithered:
First loop: Snug over protruding bones, marking skin without hurting.
Second loop: Diagonal, forming an X that highlighted her bare feet's arch.
Final knot: Hidden beneath her ankle's curve, like their shared secret.

Lucy gazed at her body transformed into living sculpture—breasts lifted by ropes, legs folded like petals—her face flushing crimson.

"I feel safe with Danae," she thought, her heart hammering against the restraints. "She's always so strong, so sure... like I want to be. But—" A shiver. "Her testing me like this... it feels...Like my body knows what my mind still denies."

Her thoughts crashed like waves against cliffs:
"Wait, what the hell am I thinking? We're just friends. Just friends. This isn't... She's just teaching me. Trust. Yes. Trust. Nothing more. Right?"

Her face burned as if she'd swallowed the sun. "We're friends," she mentally repeated, the mantra weakening with each iteration. "Friends. Friends. Fri—"

Danae leaned until her breath tickled Lucy's ear:
"You, okay?"

The question—laced with teasing and genuine curiosity—jolted her. Lucy nodded too quickly, a blonde curl sticking to her sweaty forehead.

Danae traced the rope between her breasts:
"What do you think, Lucy?" Her red nails followed the lace trim, pausing above her racing heartbeat. "You're shaking."

Lucy shut her eyes. "Then what are we doing? What do I do now? What does she want from me?"

The room smelled of melted wax and heated skin. Lucy—a crucible of contradictions—felt every certainty crumble under the red ropes' weight. "We're friends," she repeated, but the mantra no longer calmed the storm in her chest.

Do friends do this? she wondered as Danae's red nail drew hypnotic circles on her collarbone. Do friends look at you like they know exactly how to break you? Do friends steal your breath when their fingers brush places even you don't touch?

Danae—as if reading her mind (who said she couldn't?)—slid a hand down her side, stopping where the pink bra bit into flesh.

"Tick-tock," she whispered, mimicking the wall clock. "Good friends don't tremble like this, Lucy..."

Lucy's pulse skyrocketed. How does she always know?

Danae pressed closer, her hot breath mingling with sweat on Lucy's neck:
"Want me to stop?" Her hands kept working—tightening here, loosening there. "Say you don't want this, and we'll quit."

The trap was set:
Denial would be a lie (Danae hated lies).
Acceptance would be confession (then what were they?).

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. "We're friends. Just friends. Fri—"

Her traitorous body arched when Danae blew on her neck. An involuntary "Mmmphh!" escaped the gag.

Danae laughed, low and sensual.
"Aha..."

A reflection caught Lucy's attention: the closet mirror showed what Danae saw—
Her own dilated pupils, black with desire.
Her mouth stretched around black silk.
Her skin tattooed by ropes like a map of conquered territory.

Was that her? That woman who seemed to relish every restraint?

Danae followed her gaze and smiled.
"See now?" She tightened the last knot. "Friends don't look at each other like this..."

Danae let out a low laugh, like the creak of silk under tension. Her fingers—always so warm, always so sure—paused on Lucy’s cheek, forcing her to lift her gaze.

"Damn, Lucy..." Her green eyes glittered with amusement and something darker. "This is getting a little crazy, don’t you think?"

Lucy’s heart pounded against the ropes crisscrossing her chest. A little? She was bound, nearly naked, with Danae’s lingerie in her mouth and thoughts swarming like wasps in a jar.

"I’ve been dragging you along this whole time..." Danae continued, toying with the loose end of the gag. "Should we stop?"

Lucy emitted an "Mmmh" that could’ve meant anything. Yes. No. I don’t know. Don’t ask me.

Danae arched an eyebrow, studying her like an abstract painting.

"What, Lucy? Do you want to keep going?"

Lucy looked down at her own trembling thighs, at the pink marks the ropes had left on her skin. Did she want to? The answer burned in her throat, but the gag swallowed it whole.

"I don’t understand you at all..." Danae murmured, drawing out the words. "But something tells me yes..."

Another "Mmmh", weaker this time. More complicit.
Danae smiled, slow and dangerous.

"You’re sure? Good..." Her hands vanished momentarily, returning with a second silk scarf—this one deep red, like dried blood. "You asked for this, okay?"

Before Lucy could react, the scarf closed over her face, covering her from nose to chin like those old movies where damsels were kidnapped by sharp-eyed villains. The silk tightened with a firm knot behind her head, muffling any sound beyond stifled moans.

"Shhh..." Danae stroked the fabric as if soothing a frightened animal. "Now you’re really quiet..."

Lucy held her breath. The silk choked the air. The first gag—black, saliva-soaked—still filled her mouth, while the second now smothered her nose, letting through only faint wisps of air. Each inhale carried Danae’s scent: vanilla and tobacco, cheap perfume, and that animal musk she only noticed when they were too close.

Danae reclined opposite her, admiring her handiwork.
"You know what happens to girls in movies?" she whispered, tracing a finger over the red silk masking Lucy’s face. "They always enjoy it more than they admit..."

She leaned back; lips parted in the smile of a painter mesmerized by her creation. Her green eyes roamed every inch of Lucy: the double gag turning whimpers into muffled whispers, the red ropes etching geometric patterns into her golden skin, her thighs still trembling in lotus position.

"Wow..." she exhaled, stretching the word like a sigh. "You look sooo sweet right now..."

Her fingers caressed the red scarf, feeling the heat of Lucy’s rapid breaths dampening the silk.

"Come on, baby..." she teased, leaning close until her lips brushed Lucy’s ear. "Try to say something. How about... ‘help’? Or ‘save me’?"

Lucy let out a sharp "Hmmmnnphh?"—more question than protest. Her hazel eyes—now bright with arousal and flush—searched Danae’s, but the other girl only laughed, low and melodic.

"Oh, but you’re perfect!" Danae clapped slowly, each smack cracking like a whip in the charged air. "So natural... like you were born for this."

She slid off the bed, walking to her closet with the cadence of someone who knew her audience was captive. Every click of her heels on the hardwood made Lucy shiver.

"Now, stay put..." she called over her shoulder, yanking a drawer open with a clatter. "Just fetching something special... Comfortable, at least?"

Lucy answered with a "Gfmmph?" closer to disbelief than refusal. Comfortable? She was bound, doubly gagged, her heart hammering like a caged bird... and yet every neuron screamed at her not to move.

As Danae rummaged through drawers with metallic clinks, Lucy drowned in her own thoughts, dissecting each sensation to distract from the panic (or was it excitement?) boiling in her veins.

"When I tried to scream... I barely heard myself," she realized, dismayed. "Real gags aren’t like in movies."

Fragmented images flashed through her mind:
Bandanas clumsily tied over hostages’ mouths in Westerns, or silver duct tape ripped away in spy thrillers.

"Who knew a real gag would be... this?"

The black silk in her mouth (soaked with saliva and that indefinable Danae taste), the red scarf masking her nose and chin like a thief’s disguise, the constant pressure making even breathing feel intimate.

"It’s not just the fabric... it’s that she did it," she suddenly understood.

The knots: Tight enough to restrain, impossible to loosen.
The scent: Cheap perfume and party sweat—Danae’s scent.
The intent: Every tug calculated, every fold placed to humiliate and arouse in equal measure.

Danae (from the closet, metal clinking):
"Baby, did you know real gags are never like in films?" She laughed as if reading Lucy’s mind. "In real life... people moan. They don’t scream."

Lucy blushed down to her toes. Was that what she was doing? Moaning?

The drawer’s slam echoed like thunder in the shadowed room. Danae emerged holding something that gleamed wickedly in the candlelight: a black leather collar, two fingers wide, its silver ring dangling with the weight of a broken promise.
Lucy’s breath fled as Danae’s fingertips grazed her throat, measuring before claiming. The cold leather snapped shut with a definitive click, the ring settling in the hollow of her collarbones where sweat pearled like dew.

"Aha..." Danae murmured, tugging the metal ring just enough to make Lucy arch like a cat in heat. "Now this transforms you."

The contrast was deliberate obscenity: the near-childish purity of her pale pink lingerie against the weathered leather; the ring glinting like a cyclops’ eye, watchful and hungry. Lucy tried to swallow and found even that felt different now—the leather grazing her throat with every breath, reminding her of her new state: bound, branded, owned.

Danae bent until her wine-red lips brushed the metal.

"Pretty, right?" Her breath fogged the ring for a heartbeat. "Though it’s missing... something."

In the closet mirror, Lucy saw the reflection that would undo her: a woman who was no longer herself, wrists painted red by ropes, mouth sealed under layered silks, and now this collar—not an accessory, but a manifesto.
Danae kept chattering as she rifled through another drawer, but the words blurred. Only the tap-tap-tap of her nails on wood and the buzz in Lucy’s ears chanting: "This isn’t a costume. This is what you’ve always been."

The leather smelled of history, of someone else’s nights, of secrets Danae would never share. And in that moment, as the ring bit into her skin with every pulse, Lucy understood the most terrible truth of all:
She would never belong to herself again.

Danae’s drawer spilled its secrets onto the floor:
Black lace tangled like drunken spiders, silk stockings trapping candlelight in their transparent webs, leather straps coiled in lazy spirals. Each garment was a fragment of that other world Lucy had only grazed in wet dreams and daytime thoughts she quickly smothered.
And amid the chaos, the collar remained, tightening around her neck not as punishment but as a reminder: this had already ended, and it was only beginning.

"What am I now?" Lucy wondered, though she knew the answer.
Not a pet—dogs at least bite when provoked. Not a toy—dolls don’t feel this fire between their thighs. Something worse: an accomplice.

The leather smelled of all the nights Danae had gone out without her, of kisses never confessed, of hands that might have touched this very collar before. And yet, when the metal ring grazed her collarbone as she inhaled, Lucy realized she didn’t care. That nothing had ever mattered as much as this moment.

Danae watched from across the room, arms crossed beneath her bust, the black gauze blouse clinging to her skin from the heat.

Danae (softly):
"Shhh..." —though Lucy hadn’t made a sound—. "Almost there."

The silence grew so thick Lucy could hear:
The tick-tock of the clock on the dresser.
The creak of leather as she swallowed.
The buzz in her ears chanting "Yes, yes, yes" on loop.
Danae approached, lips parted, green eyes glinting like shattered glass under moonlight.

Danae (not quite a question):
"Do you feel it? That emptiness that fills when you stop fighting."

Lucy closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see to know Danae was smiling.
With feline steps, Danae closed the distance, hands hidden behind her back, her smirk painted in that red Lucy now recognized as a danger flag.

Danae (whispering against her ear):
"Guess what? I finally found it. Hidden deep in my things... just like you hide what you truly want."

Lucy’s "Mph?!" crashed against the gag, her eyes flashing between curiosity and fear.

Danae laughed, the sound sweet as poisoned candy.

Danae (tugging the collar’s ring):
"Good girl. Before the surprise... close those pretty eyes. Promise not to peek. Do you agree?"

A pause. The clock ticked once—an eternity.

Danae (fingers already on Lucy’s trembling lashes):
"Don’t fear. It’s a gift... just for you."

Lucy obeyed. Darkness came instantly, absolute, voluptuous.
The black silk blindfold—cold at first, then warm against her skin—made her shiver. Danae wrapped it with surgeon’s precision:
First pass: Smothering every last glimmer of light.
Second pass: Tight enough to leave temporary marks.
Final knot: Buried under her hair, a secret between them.

"Mmmnnfphh!"

Lucy arched, the sound trapped in her throat.
Danae clapped once—a gunshot in the charged air.

Danae (toying with the collar’s ring):
"What’s that? A yes?"

Her red nails traced the gag’s outline, hunting for lips beneath layered fabric.

Danae (commanding):
"Say: 'Yes, Mistress Danae.' Say it and I’ll let you fall."

Danae emerged holding a Magic Wand—that white plastic cylinder with its cushioned head, looking more like a physical therapy tool than an instrument of pleasure. But Lucia knew its reputation... and the low hum vibrating through the air left no doubt this was no massage game.

"Surprised?" Danae ran her thumb over the control button, increasing the speed just slightly. The device came alive in her hands, its head throbbing with an energy that made the air between them tremble. "They say it could make even a marble statue moan..."

Lucia felt every muscle in her body tighten at once. The black silk gag muffled her first instinctive cry as Danae pressed the vibrator’s head against her knee, letting the vibrations ripple through her bound body.

God, it’s bigger than I imagined, Lucia thought, the buzz seeping into her bones.

Danae smiled at the sight of her toes curling.

"Relax, sweetheart..." she murmured, sliding the device slowly up the inside of her thigh. "This isn’t the end..."

The warm plastic met the edge of her lace panties. Lucia screamed into the gag, but the sound vanished under the electric drone now dominating the room.

"It’s only the beginning," Danae finished, and pressed the button to its highest setting.

The click of the vibrator turning off sounded like a gunshot in the void. Danae rose with panther-like grace, her red nails tracing a lazy path down Lucia’s throat before stepping away.

"Ugh, so hot..." She feigned exasperation as her fingers found the hem of her black gauze blouse. The fabric fell like a theater curtain, revealing a lace bra so sheer her dark nipples cast shadows through its geometric cutouts.
Her leggings followed, sliding down her hips in slow motion to expose the matching panties—mere slivers of fabric digging into her flesh like guilty smiles.

"Naughty girl..." Danae whispered into Lucia’s ear, now blindfolded. "Since you can’t see me, let me paint it with words:

I’m wearing something very provocative.
The lace isn’t black—it’s midnight in an alleyway, the kind that only glows under the wrong kind of light.
The straps crisscross my back like escape routes you’ll never take.
The elastic leaves phantom teeth marks on my hips... care to guess whose?

Lucia whimpered against the gag as the mattress dipped under Danae’s weight, her knees settling behind her.

"Shhh..." A light slap landed on her left buttock—more sound than sting. "Misbehavior has consequences."

Danae’s hands—once claws and threats—turned suddenly tender as she arranged Lucia into position:

Right cheek pressed to the cold pillow.
Back arched like a cat in heat.
Ass raised, offered to the air like ripe fruit.

"Look how pretty you are..." Danae lied, knowing Lucia couldn’t see the tableau they made. "Perfect for your punishment."

The vibrator’s hum returned abruptly—but this time, no touch followed. Only the electric buzz hovering centimeters from her skin, like a drunken wasp.

"Feel that?" Danae’s voice drifted from somewhere above her spine. "It’s the waiting that hurts... not the strike."

Lucy tried to shake her head, but the ropes, the collar, and now the deliberate absence of contact held her exactly where Danae wanted: in the limbo between fear and ecstasy.

The sudden zzzzummm of the reactivated vibrator made Lucia bow like a drawn arrow. Danae positioned herself between her thighs with clockmaker precision, the warm plastic barely—cruelly barely—brushing where the lace dug into her skin.

"For misbehaving..." Another slap, this time on her right buttock—the wet, bright sound of a lightning strike. A red handprint bloomed under the candlelight.

Lucia saw stars behind the blindfold.
Danae moved her like a ragdoll: Legs folded back into lotus position, ankles tied tighter now.
The vibrator left buzzing on her inner thigh like a metallic insect as the blindfold loosened, falling like a final curtain.

Lucia’s eyes—glassy, pupils blown wide enough to swallow their hazel—first found the ceiling, then Danae’s smirk: a cat who’d played too long with her mouse.

Danae coiled around her from behind like venomous ivy: Legs locking around her waist, black bra grazing the ropes marking her back, her mouth at Lucia’s ear, teeth on her lobe before whispering:

"Look at yourself..."

And there it was—the closet mirror before them, reflecting:
The leather collar gleaming with sweat.
The vibrator dancing dangerously close to soaked lace.
Danae pressed against her, smiling like she’d just won a bet.

"Still think this is just about trust?"

Danae adjusted the vibrator against Lucia’s inner thigh, its drone now low and constant, like the purr of a sated beast.

"See, sweetheart?" She dragged her lips along Lucia’s damp ear. "Nothing to fear when you’re mine."

"Mmmphhh!"

The sound was sharper now, almost a whine. Tears gathered at the corners of Lucia’s clenched eyes—not from pain, but from that glorious tension twisting her belly like a wet rag.

Danae laughed, hot breath on her neck.

"So noisy..." A hand clamped over the gag, smothering the next moan before it could form. "But no—don’t stay quiet. Scream. Scream so you remember who’s giving this to you."

The vibrator surged higher.
Lucia felt the world dissolve.
The ropes weren’t restraints anymore—they were embraces.
The collar didn’t weigh her down—it anchored her.
Danae’s hand on her mouth wasn’t silencing her—it was shaping every sound into something more intimate.

"Mmmnnnphhh! MMMPPHHH!"

Her fingers clawed the sheets, knuckles white. Something was building inside her—something nameless but familiar in every cell, every nerve teetering on collapse.

Danae sensed it before she did.

"Say it," she ordered, biting Lucia’s shoulder. "‘I love being bound by you, Mistress Danae.’ Say it, and I’ll let you fall."

But Lucy couldn’t speak, not even in her mind. She only felt:
The vibrator’s firebrand circles.
The pressure of Danae’s thighs around her waist.

That wave rising from her toes, higher, higher—
"MMMPPPHHHH!!!"

A sound torn raw, muffled by cloth and skin, as her body bent like a shattered bow, legs trembling in their lotus-tied altar.
Danae held the vibrator firm until whimpers fractured into gasps. Only then did she pull away, letting tears wet her hand.

Danae (kissing her spine):
"Shhh... That wasn’t permission. It was a reminder."

(Of who you are.)

She yanked the collar. "Now do you understand?" Triumph laced her voice. "You weren’t afraid of the ropes... You were afraid of this."

A while later, Danae began untying Lucy with deliberate movements, like someone unwrapping a precious gift. First, she freed her wrists, her fingers brushing—with feigned casualness—the pink marks the ropes had left on her skin. Then, with the patience of a gardener pruning roses, she undid the knots around her torso, letting the pink lace bra return to its original shape.

When she reached the cloth covering Lucy’s face, Danae slid it off carefully, letting the red fabric fall over her shoulders like a defeated cape. Next came the black silk gag, which she slowly extracted from between Lucy’s parted lips, catching a drop of saliva with her thumb before bringing it to her own mouth with a knowing glance.

But her ankles remained bound in their lotus position, the ropes now loose yet still present—like an unspoken promise.
Danae stood and stretched her arms toward the ceiling, revealing her new attire: an oversized shirt that covered her torso but left her legs exposed—legs Lucy could no longer look at without feeling heat rise up her neck. The garment, too short, revealed the lower curve of her backside, barely contained by black panties so minimal they seemed more like a thought than actual clothing.

"A hot bath," she announced as she walked toward the bathroom, each step making the hem of the shirt sway, "comforting dinner, and you’re staying the night. It’s late."

Lucy, still seated on the bed with her legs crossed, nodded. "Yes, please," she murmured, her fingers unconsciously tracing the collar she still wore.

A charged silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of water filling the tub.

"Danae..." Lucy toyed with the edge of the sheet. "Just one more thing..."

Danae paused in the doorway, steam from the bath forming a halo around her. "Yes, darling?"

Lucy hid her face in her hands for a moment before lifting it, a shy but determined smile on her lips. "Could you... tie me up again later?"

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Danae didn’t answer immediately, but the gleam in her green eyes and the way her fingers tightened around the doorframe said everything.

Epilogue:
In the bath, the hot water would wash away the last of her resistance—but not the faint marks on her wrists and ankles. Dinner would be simple—maybe soup or toast—but it would taste like victory. And when the lights went out and Lucy settled into the borrowed sheets, the collar would remain in place, glinting faintly in the dark, while the lingerie drawer stayed slightly ajar—like a silent invitation to what would come next.

THE END.

[LunaDog]

Enjoyed this, very much so, but i can understand anyone who states that it was too long to take in all in one go. Perhaps it might have been better, if posted in several, shorter parts. But overall, it WAS good.

[Richman65]

Im glad it liked to You. Please visit My other stories and Tell me which one liked You more

[El_llama]

Love it. The way you've written Lucy and Danae works so well together. I have no idea if my internal monologue was saying Danae right though (Day-nuh?)

[Bandit666]

This was brilliantly written with such care taken over the details. A real pleasure to read. Thanks for taking the time to post

[Richman65]

Thank you for reading. Please try my other stories and tell me which one dou you liked the most.