Marcus Makes A Mistake.

At the same time as Anne and Alan were savoring their meal, Amber was brutally hauling her latest acquisition, Sarah, out of the trunk of her car. She forced Sarah to stand in the cold, stark garage, then took a pair of scissors and methodically cut away her clothes, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Sarah shivered, her body racking with fear and cold, as Amber casually lit a cigarette, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. Sarah was nothing more than a trophy, a sickening gift for her nephew, who was due to return home in a week after his stint in Borstal.

In her role as a QC, Sarah had relentlessly advocated for Amber’s nephew's incarceration, pushing for the harshest sentencing possible for what Amber deemed as trivial offenses. So when Anne first approached her about the plan for Jenifer and her pet, Sarah, three months ago, Amber eagerly volunteered to "accidentally" bump into Jenifer and embed herself in her life, all to gain access to Sarah. Amber, with the help of her long-time friend and occasional sub, Sophie, had played her part flawlessly, weaving a web of deception and manipulation to infiltrate Jenifer's world.

Through Jenifer, they cleverly became acquainted with the cop, Harris, and his pretentious bitch of a wife, Sally, skillfully gaining their trust and infiltrating their lives. The plan had worked, and every piece was in place flawlessly. Amber looked at Sarah, took one more drag of her cigarette, and stubbed it out on her upper arm. Sarah screamed into the gag that filled her mouth, a muffled cry of agony. Amber smiled sadistically and tossed the dead butt into a trash can, her eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.

Amber brutally yanked the weeping Sarah into the house, the leash biting into her neck as they entered the kitchen. There, a woman cowered on her knees. Balvinder, a thirty-three-year-old ultrasound specialist, had been ensnared by Amber’s dark allure at a party thrown by a "neutral" friend.

"Welcome home, Ms. Amber," Balvinder murmured in a cultured voice, her lips pressing reverently to Amber’s shoe, a display of her conditioning.

"Bring me a brandy to the back room," Amber snapped, not bothering to wait for acknowledgment. The back room was her playroom, a chamber stocked with an array of torture and bondage implements. Amber marched off without a glance back, dragging Sarah to the rear of the house. The residence was a sprawling, isolated bungalow perched on the Ridgeway in Chatham, a place where her depraved desires could run unrestrained. 

Sarah trembled with fear, knowing that Amber was a far cry from Jenifer, who had at least shown glimpses of kindness. Amber had made no secret of her hatred for Sarah and the cruel plans she had in store. 

Amber released the leash as they entered the playroom, her eyes roving over Sarah with sheer disdain. "On your knees," she commanded coldly. Sarah obeyed, her body shaking with dread. Amber circled behind her, roughly removing the gag and blindfold. She placed her foot on Sarah’s shoulder and pushed hard, forcing her head down to the ground. "Stay like that," Amber ordered, her voice laced with malice.

Balvinder appeared with Amber’s brandy on a small silver tray, waiting silently by the entrance with her head bowed. Amber ignored her for a few minutes while she prepared her tools, her movements precise and calculated. Eventually, she signaled for Balvinder to enter. Amber took the brandy from the tray, savoring a sip, a cruel smile playing on her lips as the liquid burned its way down her throat. She stroked Balvinder’s face, pulling her chin gently toward her, and kissed her on the lips. "Finish your chores, then go wait for me, naked in my room," Amber instructed. Balvinder’s face lit up with a mix of fear and excitement. "Yes, Ms. Amber," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

Amber gazed down at Sarah, torn between her loathing and a perverse attraction. Sarah would make a stunning arm piece, a trophy slut to flaunt. The thought sent a dark thrill through her, but Balvinder was waiting upstairs. Amber made her decision: the coffin tonight, torture and sex tomorrow.

She kicked Sarah’s ass with brutal force. "Get over there in the corner, bitch," she snarled. Sarah crawled awkwardly to the designated spot, where a black trunk awaited, its presence ominous and foreboding. Amber lifted the lid and released the clips, the side falling down with a heavy, final thud. "In, head that way," Amber commanded, her voice laced with malice. Sarah climbed into the chest, her movements clumsy and restricted, with her hands still bound behind her. She had to kneel, her forehead and toes pressing uncomfortably against the ends of the trunk.

Amber reached in and replaced the leash with a short chain that forced Sarah’s head nearly to the floor of the trunk. "That tube there, suck on it for water," Amber instructed, her tone cold and merciless. She strode to a nearby rack, selected a crop, and flexed it in her hand before returning to the trunk. She brought the crop down on Sarah’s bent back with savage force, eliciting a scream of agony. Five more strikes followed, each more vicious than the last, leaving Sarah gasping and trembling. Amber delivered the punishment in silence, her breath steady and unyielding. She then lifted the side of the trunk, secured it in place, pulled down the lid, and clipped the claps closed. , entombing Sarah in a world of utter darkness and despair.

Amber woke the next day to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm bagels, the tray neatly arranged on her bedside table. Beside it lay a note.

"Thank you for last night, Ms. Amber. I’ll wear the scratches and bites with pride. Had to leave for work; I have a meeting in Bournemouth later today. I will be out of town until Wednesday. I will let you know my schedule for the rest of the week. Your loyal slut, Balvinder, xxx."

Amber stretched languidly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she recalled the pleasures of the previous night. Her fingers traced a path down her body, squeezing her nipples and then sliding lower to her pussy, where she gently stroked, lost in the memory of their first encounter...

It was a neutral, friends, vanilla party. Amber had slipped outside for a cigarette, bored by the mundane conversations and the social necessity of maintaining vanilla contacts. Leaning against the wall, she gazed up at the stars when the door opened, and Balvinder stepped out.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Balvinder asked, opening a sleek black case and removing a cigarette. With a fluid motion, she lit it using an expensive-looking Colibri lighter.

"Balvinder," she said, extending a hand.

Amber looked down at her, noting that the slim Indian woman stood a good foot shorter than she did. She was impressed by the elegant and expensive sari that she wore

"Amber," she replied, shaking Balvinder's hand.

They began to chat about nothing in particular, and Amber expected another dull, vanilla exchange. But Balvinder was different—well-read, intelligent, and with insightful opinions on a wide range of topics. Amber found herself wondering what this petite woman would look like on her knees, collared and gagged. Her mind wandered, and she almost missed Balvinder's question.

"Eh, ehm? Are you still with me? I know I can go on a bit," Balvinder asked with a laugh.

"I'm sorry," Amber replied, "My mind was wandering."

"Where did it wander to?" Balvinder inquired, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Amber smiled, enjoying the banter. "Oh, you really don’t want to know," she teased.

"Now I really do," Balvinder countered.

Amber looked her up and down, then turned and leaned against the wall, her arm outstretched above Balvinder’s shoulder for support. She leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I was wondering what you would look like tied up and at my mercy."

Balvinder gulped, her eyes widening. "Look, I'm not into women, Amber."

"How about being tied up?" Amber replied, her voice low and inviting.

Balvinder looked up into Amber’s eyes and shuddered as Amber stroked her face. It wasn’t a shudder of horror; something else was at play. Balvinder could have easily stepped out from under Amber’s arm, but an unseen force held her there.

Amber slid her finger gently around Balvinder's ear and into her hair. "You don’t appear to be in a rush to get away from me, Balvinder."

The Indian woman gulped again, her breath hitching as something unspoken passed between them. She sighed and closed her eyes as a hand gently stroked her breast, the thumb flicking over her hardening nipple.

"Open your mouth," Amber commanded softly, her voice carrying an unmistakable authority. Balvinder obeyed, her lips parting slightly.

Amber placed her card in Balvinder's mouth. "That has my number on it. Call tomorrow night at eight p.m. or lose the card."

Amber stepped away and went back inside. Balvinder waited ten minutes, trying to comprehend what had just transpired. By the time she returned to the party, Amber had already left, her presence a lingering, intoxicating memory.

Balvinder called promptly at eight, her voice tentative yet eager.

"Oh, hi, Amber, this is Balvinder from last—"

"Miss Amber," Amber corrected firmly.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t quite—"

"You will refer to me as Miss Amber."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Amber," Balvinder replied, her nervousness evident. Amber relished the sound of her unease.

"Are you free tonight?" Amber asked, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

"Yes, Ms. Amber."

"One hour. I do not tolerate tardiness." Amber provided the address and ended the call, a smirk playing on her lips as she anticipated the night ahead.

Amber's mind drifted to the first time Balvinder had her face between Amber’s legs; she was a picture of uncertainty and hesitation. Tentative licks, unsure of the taste, Balvinder had to scale the wall of her inhibitions and leap over it. She tried to pull away a couple of times, but Amber held her firmly in place, ensuring she couldn't escape. For two glorious orgasms, when Amber finally released her, Balvinder instinctively reached to wipe her face. But Amber wouldn’t let her, insisting that she keep the scent on her all day. Now, while Balvinder might not truly love the act, she has come to relish the power she wields in making Amber come, a perverse pleasure that keeps her returning for more.

Amber realized Balvinder's true nature when she noticed the subtle signs: the way Balvinder's breath hitched with anticipation during their sessions, the faint flush that spread across her cheeks when Amber administered punishment, and the almost imperceptible shiver that ran through her body when Amber's touch became more intense. It was during one of their more brutal encounters that Amber saw the truth—Balvinder's eyes, usually so composed and intelligent, were glazed over with a mix of pain and ecstasy. Amber understood then that Balvinder was not just a submissive; she was a pain slut, finding her deepest pleasure in the very acts that others might flee from. This revelation only deepened Amber's fascination and her desire to explore the limits of Balvinder's endurance and submission.

What Amber found even more intriguing was Balvinder's love for being objectified, for being thought of as a thing rather than a person. Balvinder thrived under Amber's dehumanizing gaze, finding a perverse satisfaction in being reduced to her most primal, animalistic self. She would often beg to be used, to be a mere vessel for Amber's pleasure, and would grow restless if not subjected to Amber's cruel whims. This aspect of her submission added a layer of complexity to their dynamic, one that Amber reveled in, pushing the boundaries of Balvinder's psyche and body into uncharted territory.

Amber felt the waves of her climax building, her body tensing with anticipation. But she stopped, her breath ragged and her mind racing with a dark, perverse thought. She had a slut in a box in the playroom, a desperate, willing plaything that would be more than eager to finish the job, to bring her to the heights of pleasure with her mouth or her body, whatever Amber commanded. The thought sent a fresh surge of excitement through her, and she smiled, knowing that her week was just beginning.