Sisterhood Of Nyx (Part 2)

The moment the restraints snapped open, my whole body gave out.

I didn’t fall—I collapsed. My legs had no strength, and my arms hung uselessly at my sides. The floor came up fast, and for a moment, everything was just blurred streaks of light and shadow.

Hands slid under my shoulders and lifted me, holding me up just long enough to get me standing. My legs buckled again, and the grip tightened, guiding me forward instead of holding me up.

“Stay with us,” a voice said near my ear. I couldn’t tell whose. The words came through as if spoken underwater.

My vision pulsed: light, dark, light, dark. Each flash drifted farther apart.

I was moving. No, I was being moved.

My feet dragged, barely able to remember how to step as the hands pushed them forward.

I tried to say something defiant, something angry, but all that came out was a groan.

The corridor blurred around me, the walls seemed to stretch and shrink, almost like they were breathing with me. A light flickered overhead. I couldn’t tell if it was real or just my mind slipping.

I drifted out, came back, then drifted away again.

Someone slapped lightly at my cheek, just enough to jolt my eyes open.

“No sleeping,” the voice insisted. Male, younger, and nervous. “Not yet.”

The hands changed their grip, steering me through a doorway. The air was cooler and drier, with a faint smell of antiseptic or old dust.

My knees buckled one last time, and the world tilted.

As darkness closed in again, I felt one last thing, something soft and familiar against my cheek as they lowered me onto a surface.

It was cool and soft, but firm underneath. The smell of rubber filled the air.

Voices faded, the world narrowed to a pinpoint, and then disappeared.

Warmth touched my forehead, a damp cloth, moved with deliberate care.
For a moment, in the haze, it almost felt comforting.

Then I tried to move. When I realized I couldn’t, and remembered the beating, panic shot through me.

My arms were positioned straight down at my sides, fixed in place.
My legs were strapped down, spread apart. It wasn’t painful, but I couldn’t move at all.
The surface under me was soft, but the restraints were anything but.

A pillow supported my head. When I tried to lift it, a hand pressed gently but firmly on my scalp, pushing it back down.

“Easy,” a voice murmured above me.

The voice was calm—too calm. It belonged to a woman I didn’t recognize.

A thumb brushed lightly over the back of my head, where my hair used to be.
The bare skin tingled under her touch.

“You’ve been through quite a shock,” the voice continued. “Your body needs stillness if it’s going to recover properly.”

Recover.

I forced my eyes open. I tried to lift my chin to see the figure beside me, but the restraint at my neck allowed only a few centimeters of movement.

The hand remained resting on my head.

“You’re safe,” the voice said, though it sounded more like an instruction than reassurance. “But you must stay calm. Struggling will only make things more difficult.”

My breath caught, and a tremor ran through me. I didn’t feel safe at all. Her hand stayed gentle, steady, and controlled on my head.

A cold touch landed across my back without warning. It was smooth, almost oily, and shockingly cool on skin that still throbbed with dull, lingering pain.

I flinched hard, my instincts kicking in even though the restraints kept me pinned.

“Easy,” the voice murmured beside me.
Her hand pressed more firmly on my shaved head, steadying me instead of comforting me.
“Steady. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

She lifted the cloth from my forehead, wrung it out, and put it back.
Fresh warmth spread across my skin.

The cool substance on my back was spread in slow, careful strokes. It felt practiced, like someone applying antiseptic or a salve.

“This will ease the inflammation,” the voice said. “And help the muscles release.”

Muscles release. The way she said it made my stomach twist.

I swallowed, the pillow muffling it.

“Where…” My throat cracked. “…where am I?”

The strokes paused for a moment, just long enough to show my question mattered. But she didn’t answer.

She applied the cool substance again, tracing the lines of old pain, almost mapping them out.
A faint tingling followed, soothing but strange—a feeling that didn’t seem natural.

“I know you think you were being brave,” the voice said quietly.

“But you really would be better off if you did as you were told.”

I felt fingers check the area where the ointment had been rubbed in, pressing lightly and feeling for tension.
Every touch was precise and detached, as if they were checking a machine for damage, not a person.

“You’ll be grateful for the restraints,” the voice added. “They will  keep you from straining yourself.”

My breath caught again.

“I know you’re frightened.”
Her hand brushed my head again, a gesture that only pretended to be comforting.

“Let the medicine work. Let your body rest.” She gave one last, slow stroke with the balm.
“Soon, you’ll feel well enough for the next conversation”.

And somehow, that scared me more than anything else.

Time crawled by. The room was quiet—too quiet. Only the faint hum of the vents and the occasional creak of the building reminded me the outside world still existed.

They’d left a bottle on a stand, just close enough for me to reach with my mouth. The straw was angled so I could sip with just a slight turn of my head.

Very fucking generous, I thought bitterly.

It was a courtesy that only made me feel more helpless.

My wrists were still strapped down, my legs stretched out, my body pinned in a way that wasn’t painful, but definitely wasn’t comfortable.

The warmth of the cloth on my forehead had faded.
The ointment on my back had cooled, leaving a faint, lingering tingle.

I shifted as much as I could, testing the restraints, hoping for some weakness. Every strap held. Every buckle was just out of reach.

My mind raced, but my body was still trapped.

I stared at the drink stand again. The bottle sat there like a sick joke: “Here’s a little autonomy, just enough to remind you that you don’t really have any.”

I wanted to knock it over, but of course, I couldn’t. I took a sip, then another. It was so refreshing I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was. I kept drinking until the bottle was empty.

If If I was going to survive this, I needed to start thinking like them.d then I need to think around them.

Somewhere down the hall, I heard a door open. Footsteps came closer. I turned my head as far as I could and braced myself. Someone was coming back.

A door behind me opened“Chair.”r.”

The command snapped through the room, and the sound of that familiar voice made me freeze.

Gerald came in and set a chair in front of me. He stepped back, head down, hands behind his back. He never looked at me, not even once, as he knelt beside the chair.

A moment later, Ms. Sandra walked in. I barely recognized her.

She looked different. Her uniform was crisp and severe—not a perfect copy of any historical period, but clearly meant to send a message. Sharp lines, polished leather, and a peaked cap cast half her face in shadow. The meaning was obvious and chilling.

Authority. Control. She dominated the room, and she sat down with slow, deliberate poise, crossing one leg over the other. Her gloved hands rested on her knee, fingers tapping once. A cigarette smoldered between the fingers of her other hand. When she finally looked at me, her voice was quiet, almost gentle.ost gentle.

“I see Ms Cindy patched you up a little,” she said.

I guessed Ms. Cindy was the woman who had taken care of me earlier.

Ms. Sandra leaned forward a little, the shadow from her cap falling over me as she studied me like a specimen.

“Tell me,” she continued. “Do you understand things a little better now?”

She took a slow drag on her cigarette, the ember glowing brighter as she inhaled. When she exhaled, the smoke slipped out in a thin, controlled stream, curling upward in lazy spirals that didn’t match the tension in the room.

She never took her eyes off me.

Ms. Sandra tilted her head, studying me through the haze, as if trying to see how much of me was still awake, still fighting.

“Good,” she murmured, as though my silence had confirmed something for her. “You’re awake enough to pay attention.”

She tapped the ash from her cigarette into Gerald’s open mouth.

Her gloved fingers drummed once on her knee.

“You see?” she said softly, as if explaining to a child. “Everyone here knows their place. Their purpose.”

She brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaled, then spoke through the last curl of smoke.

“The only question,” she continued, “is whether you intend to learn as quickly.”

“I want you to understand something,” she said calmly, almost conversationally. “What happens next depends entirely on how… cooperative you choose to be.”

Her voice stayed soft, but the threat behind it was clear.

She leaned back a little, cigarette between her fingers, waiting and watching, letting the question hang in the air.

“Are you ready to answer me now?”

She looked at the tip of her cigarette, then at me, smiling. She moved closer, and I felt the heat of the glowing end near my shoulder. I closed my eyes, bracing for pain.

I opened my eyes.

She pressed the cigarette’s glowing tip into the wooden leg just inches from my arm. A thin ribbon of smoke curled up from the small, blackened spot she left behind.

Ms. Sandra watched the ember die, her smile growing—not kindly, but with the satisfaction of someone teaching a lesson.

“Look at that,” she murmured, brushing a few flecks of charred wood from her glove. “Even the furniture understands what happens when it disappoints me.”

She dropped the cigarette butt into Gerald’s open mouth. He closed his mouth and struggled to swallow.

She leaned forward, putting both gloved hands on the edge of the bench, close enough that I could feel the cool leather against my ribs.

“You imagined the pain, didn’t you?” she whispered. “Your mind did all the work for me.”

Her voice dropped even lower, almost gentle:

“That’s the beginning of obedience. Fear of doing the work for me.”

She strShe straightened, her heels clicking loudly on the floor as she stepped back.loved palms framed my face, holding it still with an unsettling tenderness. She pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to my shaved scalp, then my forehead, then the tip of my nose, each one measured, as if she were marking territory rather than offering comfort.

But when she paused, her expression shifted.

A faint crease of concern appeared between her brows.

“What is that?” she murmured, studying the tension in my jaw.

The truth must have been clear on my face.
A sharp, clenching pain radiated through my cock, deep, urgent, and wrong.
The metal cage locked around my cock wasn’t just restrictive; it was reacting to something happening inside my body, something I didn’t understand.

With each heartbeat, a pressure built—not desire, but something more primal, more mechanical, like my body was trying to follow a command it never agreed to.

My breath caught, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Sandra’s voice softened further, almost soothing. Her hand lifted my chin, and she looked into my eyes.

“Ah. There it is.”

Her thumb traced a slow arc across my cheek.

“We put a little something in your drink.”

She tilted her head and kissed me gently on the lips, as an involuntary tremor rippled through me.

Her gloved fingers traced the line of my jaw.

“Now, we should have our chat.”

She sat back down in the chair with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who knew she was in charge.

A gloved finger tapped twice on Gerald’s bowed head.

“Wine.”

Her command was flat and undramatic, but it cut through the room.

Gerald moved right away, without hesitation or even looking up. He stood, turned, and crossed the room with a mechanical precision that made it seem like his obedience was built in, not learned.

Ms.Sandra watched him go, then shifted her gaze back to me.

She wasn’t rushed or anxious. She acted like she had all the time in the world, and she wanted me to know it.

“We maintain rituals here,” she said, smoothing the front of her severe uniform. “Structure. Order. It keeps everyone aligned.”

I heard a faint clink of glass behind me as Gerald opened a cabinet. Ms. Sandra didn’t look; she seemed to know every sound and every move her people made. Instead, she watched my face like reading expressions was second nature.

“You’re adjusting,” she said calmly. “Slower than most.”

Gerald returned and poured a dark red stream into a crystal glass before handing it to her with both hands. He then stepped back, silent, eyes lowered.

Sandra swirled the wine, letting the light catch it. She didn’t drink right away. She just lifted it to her lips and inhaled, savoring something I’d never get to have.

“Comforts,” she said, “are earned.”

She finally took a small sip, her eyes fixed on me over the rim of the glass.

“And so,” she murmured, setting the glass on her knee, “is identity.”

“Soon we shall see,” she said softly, “How much of you will remain?”

Ms. Sandra set the wineglass on the small table beside her chair. The tiny click of glass on wood sounded loud in the quiet room. She leaned forward, focused and predatory.

“I need to know,” she said, her voice calm and cool.
“how much you have learned about our organization.”

She waited just long enough for the tension to settle in before continuing.

“You had notes,” she said. “Files, letters, and emails. You spoke to people you shouldn’t have. You asked questions that you  shouldn’t even know to ask.”

Ms. Sandra kept her eyes on me.

“I need you to realize that the person you were has gone. Your lifestyle made this particularly easy for us.”

She leaned forward and stroked my face.

“What happens next, and how we move forward, is up to you. You see, information has weight. It changes a person. It changes what they become.”

She tilted her head a little.

“After examining your findings, we found that some of what you discovered was inaccurate, but some was dangerously close. Some…”

Her lips curved in a faint smile.

“…was not meant to be found at all.”

She leaned back in her chair and tapped a gloved finger on the armrest.

“So,” she said softly,
“tell me what you think you know.”

She paused.

“And do choose your words carefully. The consequences differ… considerably… depending on your answers.”

Lying there, trapped and bound, the restraints digging into my skin, I felt like I’d fallen into someone else’s fever dream—a madman’s nightmare.

Whatever they’d slipped into that drink was everywhere now, racing through my bloodstream, setting off sparks under my skin. It wasn’t pleasure. It wasn’t desire. It was something far more terrifying: a loss of control so deep it felt like my own body was betraying me.

Ms. Sandra’s gloved hand brushed my cheek again, and the sensation jolted me. Her perfume and the faint smell of wine on her breath mixed together, overwhelming my senses and tying my nerves in knots.

Every nerve felt alive—not with want, but with a chemical intensity. My breath sped up. My fingers twitched uselessly against the restraints.

Sandra smiled at my obvious discomfort, almost pleased by how I reacted to her touch.

Her gloved fingertips traced my jaw, and another surge of involuntary heat shot through me—my nerves firing in ways they never should have.

“Come, my love,” she whispered in my ear, soft and sensual, “You will feel so much better if you get things off your chest”.

She almost had me.

Her presence, the drug in my veins, and the softness in her voice pressed down on me like a warm blanket hiding a trap. Words rose in my throat, unbidden. I could feel them, ready to spill out.
Yes. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.

For a terrifying moment, I believed she wanted what was best for me.

That she could help me, save me.

My mouth opened, but before I could speak, something deep inside me—a spark, a sudden surge of clarity—rose up. No! It wasn’t just a thought; it was an order from somewhere deep inside. The thought turned into a shout.

“NO!”

Ms. Sandra’s expression changed. For a moment, I saw a crack in her mask—maybe annoyance, maybe amusement.

“Fascinating,” she murmured, stepping closer.“You’re still resisting. Even now.”

She leaned down, her voice just above my ear.

“That means we haven’t quite broken you yet.”

Her gloved hand slid under my chin, lifting my face just enough that I had to meet her eyes.

“But don’t worry,” she whispered. “We will.”

She gave me one final pat on the head before turning to Gerald.

Her voice changed—cold, efficient, with a tone that promised consequences.

“Prepare him,” she said. “It looks like you are going to get lucky

Gerald straightened right away. A hint of a smile crossed his face—the first I’d seen.

Ms Sandra didn’t look back at me. She didn’t need to.
She moved toward the door, retrieving her wineglass with the same calm grace as before.

Sandra paused in the doorway,

“Let this be a lesson,” she said softly. “The last ember is always the hardest to extinguish.”

Once she had left, the door shutting with a soft click, Gerald stepped closer.
His movements lost the rigid, mechanical edge he had around her. His posture softened, his shoulders easing, almost like he’d been waiting for her to leave.

His hand moved to my head, and he stroked the freshly shaved skin with a disturbingly affectionate touch. A touch that had no place in this nightmare.

I jerked my head as much as the restraints allowed, just an inch or two. He followed the motion, his palm drifting with me like he was calming a scared animal.

“Gerald, please,” I whispered, desperation cracking my voice. “You can get me out of here. Man to man—listen to me. I can help you. We can expose this place. We can stop them. You don’t have to do this.”

For a moment—just a heartbeat—I thought I saw something human in his eyes. Then he leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the side of my head. He pulled back slowly, eyes wide and unblinking, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” he murmured. “ There is no going back for any of us.”

He moved behind me, and I heard the scrape of metal on metal, objects shifting, something being unwrapped. I couldn’t see him .

Suddenly, without any warning, a cold clamp clicked shut onto my nose.

My breath caught. I held the air in my lungs, refusing to inhale, refusing to let whatever came next inside me. For a moment, I thought I might pass out. But instinct took over. My chest burned, and I gasped.

Something hard was shoved between my teeth. There was no pause. No warning.

A mechanical ratchet sound filled my ears as my jaw was forced open. My muscles screamed in protest.
I was sure it would break my jaw as a bolt of pain shot up into my temples—then the widening stopped.

Gerald’s hands pressed something circular, rigid, and metallic against my teeth. With a practiced shove, he fitted it into place. Then the pressure changed. The ratchet unwound, but my mouth stayed open.

I was trapped in a silent, open-mouthed scream by the ring wedged in my mouth. Saliva pooled at the corners of my lips. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. A line of drool slipped from my chin. Gerald stepped into view, his face blank, his voice quiet, like he didn’t want to startle me.

“Don’t fight the gag,” he murmured. “It only makes the strain worse.”

He stepped out of view, and I jumped when something cold pressed between my legs. I yelled into the gag as greasy fingers probed me, like I was being examined for a medical procedure. More noises came from behind me, then a click as a cabinet closed.

Time lost all meaning. My jaw throbbed from the device holding it open, and my dry throat made every breath feel like sandpaper. I tried to keep my mind from spiraling, but dread crept in anyway. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gerald kneeling, head down, hands behind his back.

The door finally opened behind me.
Ms. Sandra came in first, her face unreadable. Another woman followed, someone I didn’t know, dressed in a doctor’s coat—white and, of course, rubber. What was it with these people and rubber? Then came Ms. Susan, holding a leash attached to the collar around her brother’s neck.

Ms. Sandra stepped in front of me, blocking the harsh overhead light. I tried to lift my chin as far as the restraints would allow, the muscles in my neck trembling with the effort.

“I gave you every opportunity to talk to me,” she said, her voice controlled. “But you decided to stand fast. To what, exactly? Your ideals?”

She punctuated the question with a sharp poke to my forehead.

I flinched but couldn’t move away.

“I“In our investigation,” she went on, pacing slowly like she was lecturing a student, “we found a few articles you wrote. Different topics, but still… illuminating.”She stopped in front of me again, leaned down, and tapped my forehead a second time.

“Small-minded,” she said. “That’s the impression they gave. And frankly? Some of them came across as slightly homophobic.”

She smiled and took my chin in her gloved hands. The leather pressed into my skin, firm and unyielding, holding my head still as she studied me. A thin line of spit slid down my cheek from the ring holding my mouth open.

She didn’t wipe it away.

Instead, she let it drip onto her glove, looked at the smear with quiet fascination, then flicked it back at my face with a casual disdain that hurt more than the gesture itself.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “Still pretending you have some kind of dignity left.”

A hand slid down to my thigh—not groping or tender, just claiming space that wasn’t hers. Her fingers pressed lightly, almost rhythmically, like she was checking the tension in a trapped animal before deciding what to do.

Pain shot through me as I pressed harder against the cage. The whole device seemed to tighten when I flinched. A sharp grunt escaped me, muffled by the ring gag.

“Ah,” Ms. Susan said, circling me like a shark that smelled blood. “Look how reactive he is. Maybe he enjoys this. Maybe that’s why he won’t talk.”

All three women laughed.

Ms. Sandra turned to Gerald, eyebrows raised.
“How long has it been, my love?”

“Two months,” Gerald answered immediately, eyes lowered, posture rigid.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said with mock sympathy. “Would you like… some relief? A little easing of that tension you’ve been carrying?”

Gerald’s breath hitched.
“Oh, Mistress… that would be wonderful. If you think I’ve earned it.”

She didn’t respond right away. She let him stew in the uncertainty.

Then she turned her gaze to Colin.
“And you,” she said smoothly. “When was the last time Ms. Susan allowed you any comfort at all?”

“Three months, Mistress Sandra,” Colin said, voice small, like a reprimanded child.

“My goodness,” she muttered. “You must have been a very naughty boy.”

“Yes, Mistress Sandra.”

“Would you like some relief today?”

“Yes, please, Mistress Sandra,” he said, quickly glancing at his sister. “If Ms. Susan permits it.”

Sandra smiled.
“Well then. You’d better ask Ms. Susan properly, hadn’t you?

I lay there, unable to move or speak, forced to watch this bizarre family drama play out in front of me like a twisted performance meant to break me.

I had no idea what they meant by “relief,” but from the seriousness in their voices, the tension in the air, and the pleading in Colin’s voice, I knew one thing for sure:

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good for me.

Colin shifted slightly on his knees, the leash at his throat pulling taut as he turned toward his sister.

“Please, Ms. Susan,” he said quietly. “I’ve tried to be good for you. I’ve done everything you asked. I just want to serve you well.”

“Mmmm,” Susan said, tilting her head and tapping her thigh like she was weighing a small decision. “I don’t know. What’s to stop you from slipping back into your old habits as soon as you get a little… indulgence?”
She turned, eyes narrowing. “What do you think, Ms. Cindy? Has it been good enough?”

“Susan!” Ms. Sandra snapped. The room froze. Even Gerald inhaled sharply.
“We’ve spoken about this. Haven’t we? Your brother has a name.”

Susan groaned under her breath, like a teenager being scolded for not doing her homework.
“Fine,” she muttered. Then, louder and with sarcasm, she said, “Do you think ‘Colin’ has been good enough?”

The other woman, Cindy, laughed lightly, almost playfully.
“Well, Colin has been a very good boy for me,” she said, giving him a small nod. “So, yes. I’d vote yes.”

“Thank you, Ms. Cindy,” Colin whispered, visibly relieved.

Susan rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.
“Ok. Fine. I guess.” She leaned down a little, her voice turning cold. “But if you disappoint me again, it won’t be three months—it’ll be six. Do you understand me, ‘Colin’?”

“Yes, Ms Susan. Thank you. I won’t let you down again.”

Ms. Sandra clapped. “Okay then, boys. Come stand behind me, hands behind your backs, heads down.”

I wondered what the hell was happening now. It felt like I’d been forgotten in this strange drama playing out in front of me.

“Would you do the honors, Ms Cindy?”  Asked Ms Sandra.

“It will be a pleasure,” answered Ms Cindy

I got a quick look at Ms. Cindy—short, ginger hair, a pretty face with freckles across her nose, and a bit plump.

She held two sets of handcuffs, which she used to lock Gerald’s and Colin’s hands behind them. Someone handed her what looked like sleep masks, but they were actually leather blindfolds.

Once she was satisfied, she held out her hand and someone gave her a small key. She hummed to herself as she did something between Gerald’s legs, then Colin’s. I couldn’t see what it was from where I was.

Cindy stood up, brushed her hands on her hips, and stepped aside like she was arranging them for a photo. The two men stood there, blindfolded, cuffed, heads down, silent and tense.

Ms. Sandra took one step forward, her boots clicking sharply on the floorboards.
She wasn’t even looking at them.

She was looking at me.

“Do you see?” she asked softly, her voice edged like a blade. “This is what obedience looks like. What loyalty looks like. What clarity looks like.”

I tried to pull against my restraints—instinct, panic—but they held fast.

She nodded toward the two blindfolded men.

“They have given everything to this organization. Their dignity. Their names. Their futures. And you?” She crouched slightly so her eyes aligned with mine. “You still think you have a choice.”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest.

“You made this more complicated than it needed to be,” she said. “So now, your lesson comes the hard way.”

Sandra smiled without warmth.

“These boys should be thanking you, really," she continued, sidestepping so I could see them both. “This is a very rare opportunity for them both.

I looked on in horror. The reason for the position of my body and the ring in my mouth suddenly became very evident.

The boys Cocks had been released from their cages and were being brought to full by the hands of Ms Cindy and Ms. Susan.

A nod from Ms Sandra and Gerald was guided toward me while Colin was led to my feet…….