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Helena pauses her rigorous struggle against her restraints when she hears the basement door opening. The figure at the top of the stairs is backlit, a warm halo surrounding her person as she descends the staircase. The click of her heels punctuate each measured step in time with Helena’s pounding heartbeat.
Thump-click. Thump-click. Thump-click.
When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she flicks on the switch to reveal her visage. She looks haggard—dark circles under her eyes, hair unkempt, shoulders slumped. Helena almost feels sympathy for the tired woman. Almost.
“Hello, Gemma,” Helena calls out, measured, from her seat in the middle of the room.
“Helena,” Gemma responds curtly.
“How long are you planning on keeping me here?”
Gemma offers an unnervingly warm smile. She crosses the room and crouches, her face mere inches from Helena’s. A power play. A dare for Helena to use her only unrestrained body part to strike Gemma. Out of sheer curiosity, or something else entirely, Helena doesn’t take the bait.
“As long as it takes for you to learn your lesson.”
Helena can feel her skin prickling underneath her restraints. She wraps her fingers around the arms of the chair, digging her manicured nails into the wood, attempting to keep her voice level. “And what lesson might that be?”
Gemma straightens, a playful glint in her eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Helena clenches her jaw. She doesn’t attempt any further conversation. Instead, she observes Gemma as she rounds Helena’s chair until she's out of eyesight. Helena feels two hands gently grasp her shoulders then cross her upper chest. The hands continue until Gemma’s arms are fully embracing Helena’s body from behind. It’s almost…comforting.
Gemma’s lips brush against Helena’s ear, making Helena’s whole body tremble involuntarily. Embarrassment warms her face as Gemma chuckles, the gentle gusts causing her body to shiver once more.
“We’re going to play a game, okay? Let's see how long you can hold out before you beg for mercy,” Gemma whispers, tightening her hold.
Helena swallows, attempting to lubricate her acutely dry mouth. “I have quite a high pain tolerance.”
Gemma chuckles again, releasing her hold on Helena. Helena takes in a deep breath, unaware that she was holding it. Gemma comes around to face Helena. She lifts up a hand, and Helena steels herself, ready to be hit. Instead, Gemma gently caresses Helena’s cheek, swooping down to lift her jaw up with her index finger, forcing Helena to look at her again.
“That’s not the kind of punishment you’re looking at today.”
Helena’s eyebrows furrow as Gemma takes her hand away. She stands there, looking Helena up and down, calculating. Helena feels like a petri dish under a microscope, unable to escape her scrutiny.
Gemma finally turns away to root around in the box placed several feet away. When she pulls out a large massage wand, Helena’s eyes widen and a flush creeps up her neck. Her mind is obstructed by a flurry of thoughts, convinced that there’s no chance that Gemma would use that for the purposes that she was imagining.
Gemma plugs the wand into a nearby surge protector. She grabs a belt from the box and a pillow from the couch, setting all three objects on the ground in front of Helena’s feet. Gemma kneels on the pillow, situating herself between Helena’s knees. Helena feels unbearably vulnerable as her legs are forcibly splayed open, the restraints on her calves making them impossible to close.
Gemma starts on her shins, letting the back of her hand brush up against them as she bores her eyes into Helena’s, daring her to tap out. Helena braces herself, digging her nails into the crescent-shaped craters that she created earlier.
Gemma’s hand travels upwards, achingly slow. Helena can feel every single cell in her body responding to Gemma, the tingling that persists millimeter by millimeter as Gemma’s hand continues on its journey. Helena’s eyelids grow heavy, her body fills with endorphins.
When Gemma reaches her knee, she pauses to fiddle with the bottom hem of Helena’s pencil skirt. Her lips twist in contemplation, and then she uses both hands on either side of Helena’s knees to slowly push the fabric upward, bunching it up just below Helena’s underwear. Helena’s face heats instantly at her exposure.
Gemma stares at the flimsy piece of fabric, her hands still resting on either side of Helena’s thighs, a small smirk starting to form. When she looks up to meet Helena’s eyes, there’s a dark, playful glint dancing across her irises. “You’re wet.”
Helena’s face burns. “W-what?”
“I said,” Gemma brings one hand from Helena’s outer thigh to her inner thigh, letting her fingers skate across the surface along the way, creating an undeniable tingling underneath the flimsy fabric, “you’re wet.”
Helena swallows as Gemma’s fingers get closer to her damp underwear. “Gemma, what are you doing?”
Gemma’s fingers pause. She tilts her head innocently. “I told you. We’re playing a game.”
“Gemma, I don’t—” Helena feels the air escape her lungs when Gemma’s fingers brush between her thighs. It’s brief and painfully light, but just enough contact to leave Helena’s body craving more, despite what her mind is screaming.
Gemma is teasing Helena’s other thigh, fingers drawing abstract shapes across the canvas of Helena’s porcelain skin before they find their place on Helena’s mound once more. This time, she runs one finger gently up and down Helena’s slit. Helena’s mouth falls open as a soft sigh escapes her lips.
The corner of Gemma’s lips turn upwards as she makes eye contact with Helena. “You like that?”
Helena bites her lip and shakes her head firmly. Gemma’s face morphs into an exaggerated frown, and she uses her thumb to firmly press down on Helena’s clit through the fabric. Helena lets out a muffled moan through her shut lips as Gemma makes slow circles.
“There’s just one word I’m looking for, Helena. Are you ready to beg for it?” Gemma asks, increasing the pressure in her thumb ever so slightly.
Helena’s pride gathers in her throat as she hardens, determined not to back down. “I would never stoop so low as to beg,” Helena ekes out, pushing against the rising difficulty to maintain her level tone.
Gemma lets out a dark chuckle. “We’ll see about that.”
She uses her free hand to reach down and grab the massage wand that has been lying in wait at Helena’s feet. Helena’s eyes widen, having momentarily forgotten about the tool at her disposal. Gemma turns it on and it pulses loudly; the buzzing reverberates off of the cement walls. Helena swallows as she imagines the sensation on her most sensitive body part.
Gemma lets the wand graze the top of Helena’s thigh, eliciting a gasp. Gemma watches Helena carefully as she brings the wand back down, studying her as she attempts to control her reactions.
The vibrations arc across Helena’s thigh until they finally reach Helena’s undeniably wet center. Helena almost shrieks from the sensation. It’s far too much stimulation at once, and Helena feels every cell in her body quake mercilessly. She momentarily considers conceding, but when she looks down to see Gemma’s waiting stare, she bites her tongue.
After a couple minutes of testing Helena’s limits, rotating the wand in circles, varying the pressure, Gemma seems to be satisfied with her findings. Helena, on the other hand, can feel herself sweating through the shirt she dressed herself in that morning. Gemma uses her free hand to grab the belt that she procured earlier.
Helena observes through her confused haze until she feels Gemma lining the length of the wand against her thigh. Her heart rate picks up as Gemma carefully threads the belt under her thigh and around the toy, the sensation barely registering in Helena’s brain as the wand continues its powerful rumbling against Helena’s clit.
After Gemma fastens the toy, she stands up to admire her work. She stretches her legs and wrists before crossing her arms in front of her, then her lips contort into a satisfied smirk. “You look so pretty when you’re not in control.”
The comment pricks Helena in a place that she can’t name. She bares her teeth as she pulls at her restraints, growling threateningly. “Let me the fuck out of here!” Helena exclaims, desperate and raw.
Gemma approaches and runs her fingers along the edge of one of Helena’s wrist restraints. She repeats her conditions once more, “Mercy. Beg.”
Helena looks up at Gemma, her eyebrows furrowing from her ire and her mounting pleasure. “Never,” she responds through gritted teeth.
Gemma raises one eyebrow, searching Helena’s face. She shrugs, then saunters behind Helena's chair once again, filling Helena with a sense of dread, of want. But when she feels a pair of hands rapidly journeying from her shoulders to her breasts, her body is overcome with need.
Gemma’s hands are nimble, gently groping the expanse of Helena’s small breasts. Helena’s eyes close as she finally lets herself be consumed by the pleasure that has been begging to be felt. Gemma tugs Helena’s shirt free from her skirt, allowing her to reach her hands underneath. The feeling of Gemma’s fingers against Helena’s bare torso sets her body aflame, and when Gemma works her way underneath Helena’s bra, pleasure ripples out from one epicenter to another.
The wand continues its whirring against Helena’s sensitive bundle of nerves as Gemma twists and pinches the nerves up top. Helena can feel herself starting to unravel at the seams. The pressure continues to build and build until Helena can feel herself on the precipice. “Fuck, Gemma,” Helena whispers.
Gemma leans down to whisper in her ear, cooing sweetly, more sweetly than the situation warranted, “It’s okay, baby. You can come.”
Helena feels something unlock inside her as she lets her body release its pent up tension. Her back arches as she moans, wishing she could close her legs to protect her from the overstimulation. Instead the wand continues its vibrations, pushing her through her agonizingly pleasurable orgasm. Helena can barely catch her breath by the time she feels herself leveling out.
“Okay…get this thing off me,” Helena insists from her slumped position.
Gemma removes her hands from Helena’s body, leaving a cold whisper in their wake. She rounds the chair, crouching in front of Helena’s knees. She delicately places a finger on the belt buckle and pauses. “You know the rules.”
Helena throws her head back in exasperation. “Oh, fuck you.”
Gemma removes her hand and stands up, holding her hands behind her back as she paces slowly in front of Helena. She watches her, analyzing. Helena writhes under her examination and the painful pulsing of the vibrator.
Gemma stops in her tracks. “I think you have another one in you.”
Helena sputters. “What? No. I’ve never—not twice in a row—”
Gemma leans over and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, then brings her hand down to hold Helena’s jaw. She rubs her thumb across Helena’s lips, and Helena closes her eyes reflexively.
“You’re going to come for me. Again,” Gemma states, clear and measured. Helena’s eyes open, and she meets the determination that pools in Gemma’s blown pupils. Helena gulps and feels herself nodding before she can register it.
Gemma smiles sweetly, and she straightens to resume her pacing in front of Helena. Helena feels like an animal on display, waiting for a scrap of food to be thrown at her through the bars of her cage. Gemma has worn her down enough that she’s ready and willing to perform. She’s going to earn her scrap.
The painful sensitivity in her clit has grown into a dull pleasure again. Helena watches Gemma as Gemma watches her, leaning into the vulnerability of being observed during one of her weakest moments. She can feel her pleasure climbing the more she thinks about how far this situation has spun out of control. How far she let herself spin out of control. She hasn’t felt this alive in ages.
Gemma pauses her pacing to reach a hand out to Helena’s face. Just when Helena thinks that Gemma will caress her lips again, parting them to prepare for her gentle touch, she feels Gemma shove two of her fingers inside her mouth instead. Helena almost chokes on the sudden intrusion.
Gemma doesn’t flinch at the sensation of Helena attempting to cough up her fingers. Instead, she raises an eyebrow. “Suck on them,” she instructs.
Helena looks up at her, her face flushed at the suggestion, as though this was the most degrading act that she’d be performing today. Gemma holds firm, her eyes daring Helena to break. Helena’s stare hardens as she tightens her lips around Gemma’s digits. She laps at Gemma’s fingers as she works up and down their length. She can feel her temperature rising again as the massage wand continues to work at her aching clit.
Just as Helena starts to lose herself in her oral fixation, Gemma removes her fingers from Helena’s mouth, leaving an emptiness where they used to be. Helena lets out a whine of disappointment until she witnesses Gemma start to lift her own shirt.
Helena watches with rapt attention as Gemma makes slow circles around her tan areola, her mouth parting slightly. When Gemma starts pinching, Helena can feel the phantom sensations of Gemma’s fingers doing the same to her. She and Gemma moan synchronously.
As Gemma’s self-stimulation gets rougher, and her huffs get louder, Helena can feel her own pleasure multiplying with every display of gratification. Helena ruts against the massage wand shamelessly as her eyelids get heavy. She feels herself getting dangerously close as she maintains eye contact, letting Gemma peer into her soul as she takes it for a reaping.
Helena's mouth drops open, obscene cries tumbling from her lips, as she rides wave after wave of ecstasy, this climax more painfully delicious than her last. Her limbs strain against their restraints as she expels her pleasure, the friction adding an extra layer of bliss to her full-body release.
As she pants out the remnants of her satisfaction, she feels her bangs sticking to her forehead from the exertion. Her clit feels both disconcertingly numb and painfully sensitive as the wand continues to buzz against her.
“Please…mercy…” Helena finally concedes, her head hanging low from exhaustion. She no longer has the energy to hold onto the crumbs of pride she has left.
Gemma giggles, and bends over to undo the belt around her leg. The wand finally moves from its place, and Gemma turns it off, creating an uneasy silence. Gemma continues removing the belt, but pauses before removing the rest of Helena’s restraints. She straightens her back, looking down at Helena seriously.
"I played your sick little game." Helena laughs incredulously. “What else could you possibly—”
Helena is interrupted by the sharp sting of an open-handed strike across her face. Her cheek runs hot as she turns to face Gemma, whose eyes are glistening under the dim basement light.
“That was for Mark,” Gemma clarifies.
Helena gapes, unable to refute the warranted blow. They stay still, just staring at each other as time passes them by. And then Gemma is cupping her jaw, connecting Helena’s lips with her own. Helena’s eyes stay open in shock until she softens, letting herself melt into Gemma’s touch. But as soon as Gemma started it, she ends it, leaving Helena dumbfounded.
Gemma starts undoing the restraints on Helena’s arms, and then legs. As soon as Helena’s hands are free, she uses them to rub the raw portion of her wrists from where she was pulling on the restraints.
“Was all of this for Mark?” Helena asks, testing Gemma’s limits.
As soon as Helena’s last limb is freed, Gemma looks up at her. She looks spent, the heaviness that she carried as she descended the stairs still present. She answers succinctly. “No.”
As Gemma backs away, Helena looks at her curiously. She starts to stand up, but underestimates the strength of her legs. She comes tumbling down, grateful for the pillow at her feet that protected her knees from the concrete floor; her hands and the resulting impact on her wrists weren't so lucky. She hears Gemma scoff, and out of the corner of her eye, Helena sees her starting to turn on her heel.
Helena reaches out to grasp one of Gemma’s ankles. She looks up at Gemma from her place on her hands and knees, squinting at the halo that illuminates her silhouette. She swallows, shocked by her own impulsivity, letting it wash over her as she imparts one last request.
“Could you…do that again?”