tagLesbian SexThe Sacrifice of Victoria

The Sacrifice of Victoria


(C) 2006 Rachel Gumm. You may freely distribute this story digitally, but only in full, crediting me as the author. I welcome feedback. You can e-mail me at the address in my profile.


"It's time, Vicky," informed Michelle enthusiastically as she dangled two short chains in her hand. She knew I hated being called that. She must have been in a playful mood again.

I stifled a groan. I hadn't realised it was noon already, and had only just finished breakfast. Sunday was the only day I could actually lie in. Trying not to show how tired I was, I followed Michelle into our bedroom.

After rummaging around in my underwear drawer, Michelle pulled out a bright pink bikini top and threw it at me. "Here, try this on," she said, as if I had a choice. I wasn't really in the mood to dress up for her today, but I knew from experience not to ever question the clothes she picked out for me to wear. "You might as well leave your jeans on," she told me. "They'll be easier to clean than the chair after the puddle of precum you always make." I felt my cheeks change colour, almost matching the bikini top.

When she said I could leave my jeans on, what she meant was that I could take them off while she lubed up a vibrating egg. She turned it onto a very low setting, just enough to keep me aroused but nowhere near enough for me to even entertain the idea of having an orgasm.

After I slid off my briefs, the same pink as strawberry milkshake, she slipped the egg inside me. It was purring like a pussycat. She kept it in place by getting me to wear the black latex briefs she got me a few weeks ago. Already I could feel the egg's soft vibrations starting to work on me, making me start to lose my concentration. Meanwhile, Michelle had started rummaging around in our blanket box, pulling out a head harness and some padlocks. I put my jeans, ankle socks and trainers back on, pretending not to notice her choice of gag this time.

Finally, she led me into the room we'd converted into a makeshift office. A large, sturdy wooden desk took up almost half of the small room, with a tiny silver and white computer and matching display, keyboard and mouse neatly laid out on top of it. The only feature of the desk that looked out of place was the D-ring secured to the middle of its surface, just in front of the keyboard.

I sat down on the swivel chair in front of the desk, my trainers flat against the varnished wooden floor. Another D-ring had been fixed in place on the floor, in front of the chair, and it took Michelle less than a minute to fasten comfortable yet strong ankle cuffs above my socks, threading one of the small chains through the hook and padlocking both ends of it to the cuffs.

Less than another minute, and she had done the same to my wrists in front of the keyboard. It was her way of ensuring I wouldn't be tempted to start rubbing my crotch once I got going. Even if I got carried away with myself, I couldn't do any more than feebly attempt to play with my nipples. Believe me, I'd tried.

"I've got some feedback from your last story," said Michelle with all the professionalism of a secretary as she picked up the head harness. I obediently opened my mouth as she placed its ball gag between my lips and strapped the harness in place around my head.

"Several readers thought that you didn't go into enough detail about the slave's innermost thoughts last time. You know, what turns her on so much about being tied up and made to do things for her master." I managed not to wince as she tightened the straps as far as they would go around my chin and the back of my head. "Some people also thought you should show rather then tell all the sexual stuff. Stop insinuating things. When the slave is about to fellate her master, don't just stop there. Show her doing it. Show her loving it. And show _why_ she loves it. OK?"

I nodded and hummed "OK."

"As usual, your quota's a thousand words of final draft. You're going to have to meet it in the three hours you've got if you want to have any orgasms tonight, otherwise you won't be allowed to have any until next week. Are you ready?"

I nodded again. The egg had only been buzzing inside of me for a few minutes, and already I couldn't stand the thought of not being able to climax for a whole week. Even a few hours seemed an eternity away.

Looking down at my face, Michelle must have realised how worn out I was. "You know, I'm doing you a favour, motivating you like this," she said. "Centuries from now, long after we're both gone, your stories will live on. They'll be copied and read forever. Really, I'm making you immortal. You should be thanking me."

I tried my best to say "thank you, mistress," but it came out too muffled to make any sense. Michelle only worked out what I'd said because of the context.

"Hey, cheer up," she insisted, her tone of voice softer. "Show me a smile."

I smiled as best I could behind the harness. The next thing I knew, a camera had come out of nowhere and she'd taken a photo of me. I dreaded to think where these pictures she was so fond of taking might end up. She wasn't the only person who appreciated the sight of a bound woman in her mid twenties.

Satisfied, Michelle gently kissed me on the forehead, kissing one of the harness's straps as much as me, before leaving the room. For a while, I wondered if she was actually right about making me immortal, or my pen name, at least. At any rate, she really would have been doing me a favour every Sunday if she didn't enjoy dominating me as much as I enjoyed submitting to her.

I made an effort to stop letting my thoughts wander and focus on my task. I'd have to work hard to hit that quota.

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