Chapter 12 - The Black Dress

As Steve explains the aftercare instructions to Ben and hands him a small bag, I listen intently, my attention drawn to the mention of cleaning the piercings. It's a reminder that this new addition to my body requires proper care and attention.

Soon after, Steve requests permission to photograph me, showcasing the piercings and chastity belt. Ben agrees, understanding that the picture will be another unique addition to Steve's collection. Steve captures the image on his phone and shows it to both of us for approval. My nipples were adorned with shiny rings, and my stainless steel chastity belt matched their metallic hues.

As Ben begins to zip the dress, a surge of panic rushes through me, fearing the discomfort it might bring to my newly pierced nipples. Sensing my alarm, Ben reassures me that everything will be okay. With each downward pull of the zipper, I discovered that what I had mistaken for pockets on the front of the dress were peek-a-boo slots perfectly designed to accommodate my small breasts. The tight fabric keeps my legs together as the dress zips closed, creating a modest yet alluring look.

Gently lifting me from the seat, Ben turns me towards a full-length mirror that has gone unnoticed until now. Standing before it, I see the reflection of my body adorned in the long dress, with my breasts protruding through the strategically placed openings, their new jewelry glistening in the light. The black mask partially obscures my face, adding an element of mystery and anonymity. As I twist my body, I glimpse my tied arms behind me, an additional symbol of my submission.

As Steve expresses his hope to see us again soon, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions. The person I see reflected in the mirror is a far cry from the shy introvert who usually shies away from the world. It's as if this experience has brought out a different side of me, one that embraces vulnerability and explores new boundaries.

Always attentive, Ben places his jacket over my arms, ensuring the fabric doesn't rub against my tender nipples. In doing so, he also maintains the visual display of my exposed flesh, the only skin visible to the outside world aside from my eyes.

As Ben's arm envelops my shoulders, providing both support and reassurance, we begin to make our way toward the exit of the small room. The sounds of laughter and conversations permeate the air, echoing through the tattoo shop. However, as we step through the doorway, a sudden stillness descends. It's as if time slows down, and all eyes turn toward us, fixated on our presence.

The once lively atmosphere falls into a hushed silence, interrupted only by faint whispers. Every person in the room, including the tattoo artists, stopped what they were doing and directed their attention toward me. It feels like I have become the center of attention, a figure of intrigue amidst the sea of curious onlookers.

As we shuffle through the room, my limited mobility hindering my pace, a voice breaks through the silence, punctuating the air with a simple remark: "Nice." It is met with a chorus of agreement, and the room suddenly comes alive again. Laughter, conversations, and the buzzing of tattoo machines resume their symphony, as if my presence, while unconventional, is not entirely unfamiliar to them.

When we got back to the car, Ben helped me into the back seat, this time having me face the back so I could lay on my side. Buckling me in, he says, ", Now, let's finish that kidnapping."