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The pub’s air clung heavy to Maggie’s skin, sour with stale beer and thick with cigarette smoke from the doorway. Her thighs were still trembling, her dress damp at the hem from her own slick, when Emma slid smoothly from the booth.

“Up,” Emma ordered, and Maggie obeyed without hesitation, legs quaking as she rose. Mark followed, silent, his gaze locked hungrily on her.

They pushed through the door into the night air. The town was louder now, clubs spilling music into cobbled streets, groups of tourists shrieking drunken songs as they stumbled from bar to bar. Emma’s hand was tight on Maggie’s wrist, dragging her along as though she were a pet. Mark trailed behind, his expression unreadable but his stride purposeful.

Once they’d stepped into the glow of a streetlamp, Emma stopped abruptly. She pivoted to face Maggie, eyes gleaming.

“Lift your dress,” Emma said.

Maggie’s breath caught. “Here?”

“Yes. Now.”

The command cracked against her like a whip. Maggie glanced nervously at Mark, at the open street, then slowly gathered the thin material in her fists. Inch by inch, she raised it until her thighs, bare and quivering, were visible, then higher still, her cunt glistening under the orange glow of the lamp.

Emma studied her like art. “Good girl. But not enough.” She stepped closer, tugging the neckline of Maggie’s dress down until her breasts sprang free, heavy, her nipples tight in the night air. Emma pinched one sharply, watching Maggie gasp and tremble. “From now on, I want your tits showing. Adjust the dress. Keep them out where I can see them. If they slip back in, you’ll be punished.”

Maggie whimpered, her blush burning hotter than the liquor in her veins. She tugged at the straps until the fabric barely covered her at all, her nipples peeking over the top, exposed with each shallow breath.

Emma smiled, cruel and satisfied. “Perfect. Now we drink.”

They crossed into the thrum of the next bar, a louder, more crowded place where lights pulsed neon and bodies pressed close on the dance floor. Emma slid them into another booth, this one tighter, the leather cracked and sticky. Drinks arrived — vodka, more rum, shots lined like soldiers.

Maggie drank eagerly, **** to drown the ache between her thighs. But Emma’s hand never stopped moving. First stroking the inside of her thigh, then tugging the dress lower until Maggie’s breast slipped free, then cupping her cunt through the fabric and giving it the faintest squeeze.

By the third drink, Maggie was shuddering. Sweat rolled down her spine. She shifted constantly, **** for friction, **** for release.

“Please,” she whispered, lips close to Emma’s ear. “Please let me—”

Emma silenced her with a kiss, hard and claiming. When she pulled away, her smile was merciless. “Not yet. Not until I say.”

Mark watched, rigid with desire, every muscle in his body coiled tight as Maggie writhed. He sipped his drink slowly, his eyes devouring every second of her torment.

It was in the fourth bar, smaller, darker, the music pounding low through the floor, that Emma escalated. She pressed Maggie down into the corner of a booth, her lips grazing her ear.

“Spread your legs.”

Maggie obeyed instantly, the hem of her dress riding high, her cunt bare to the shadows. Emma raised her voice just enough to catch the attention of two men lingering by the bar, young, cocky, eyes bright with the haze of ****.

“Do you like what you see?” she asked them.

They grinned, approached, emboldened. Maggie’s face burned crimson, but she didn’t close her legs. Emma nodded once, permission granted, and one of them reached out, his hand sliding boldly up her thigh until his fingers brushed the slick heat of her folds.

Maggie moaned, shuddering, her head thrown back.

“Careful,” Emma warned the stranger, her tone sharp. “She doesn’t cum. Not until I say.”

The man smirked, circling her clit with his thumb while his friend leaned in to pinch her nipple, rolling it between calloused fingers. Maggie’s body jerked violently, her thighs clamping around his wrist as her cunt leaked down onto the leather seat.

Her release trembled just out of reach, cruelly denied. When she was seconds away, Emma snapped her fingers, and the men withdrew instantly, leaving her shaking, gasping, ruined once again.

Mark’s cock strained visibly against his trousers. He sat rigid, silent, his eyes burning with hunger as he watched Maggie beg wordlessly, her body begging more loudly still.

And so it went, bar after bar, Emma dragging her through the night like a doll to be displayed. Maggie’s nipples rubbed raw against the fabric of her dress, constantly tugged down so that every person they passed could see them. Her cunt ached from the constant attention of strangers’ hands, men, women, anyone Emma encouraged, each of them stroking, teasing, tasting her briefly before being commanded away.

Each time she begged for release, Emma silenced her with a slap, a kiss, or a whispered, “Not yet.”

By midnight, Maggie was a wreck. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, her cunt wept down her legs, and her voice cracked with every plea. Her eyes were glassy, her body fevered, every nerve raw with denial.

Emma, untouched, immaculate in her silk, smiled like a devil.

It was in the last club, the music deafening and the floor slick with spilled drinks, that Emma made her decision. She spotted him immediately, an older man, grey hair swept back, face lined, dressed not for the club but like a creep. He sat alone, a whisky in hand, his eyes quietly devouring the younger women dancing nearby.

Emma’s smile sharpened. She leaned into Maggie’s ear, biting the lobe before she spoke.

“Do you see him? The old one. Sitting by himself.”

Maggie followed her gaze, cheeks flaming. “Yes.”

“You want to cum tonight?”

“Yes,” Maggie gasped, ****.

“Then you’ll do it for him. Not for me. Not for Mark. For him.”

Maggie’s body shivered violently, horror and desire clashing so hard she thought she might faint. “Emma, I—”

“No refusals. You agreed.” Emma’s voice was velvet steel. “You’re mine tonight. And I’m giving you to him.”

Maggie’s cunt throbbed, her shame so sharp it almost tipped into bliss. She nodded, tears threatening her eyes. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

Emma didn’t waste time. She crossed the floor with Maggie in tow, Mark stalking behind. The old man’s eyes widened as Emma leaned down, lips curling wicked.

“My friend,” she purred, “is ****. She needs release. Will you give it to her?”

The man’s mouth parted, shock and hunger wrestling across his face. He looked at Maggie trembling, flushed, her breasts bare over the top of her dress, her thighs glistening, then back at Emma.

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Emma smiled, victorious. “Good. Take her. Men’s toilets. She’s yours.”

Maggie’s legs nearly buckled, but Emma’s grip was firm, forcing her forward. The old man led them through the crowded club, down the corridor to the men’s toilets. Inside, the stench of piss and bleach mingled, the walls graffiti smeared.

Two men at the urinals turned, startled, as Maggie was pushed into a cubicle. Emma’s voice carried, deliberate.

The cubicle door refused to shut. The other men could see Maggie’s legs spread, her heels slipping on the tiles as the old man pushed her against the wall.

His hands were rough, greedy, sliding up her thighs, forcing them wider. Maggie gasped, her cunt so wet the sound of his fingers sliding inside her was obscene.

“Oh God,” she sobbed, clutching at the wall, her body convulsing with relief at finally being filled.

The old man fucked her with his fingers first, curling them cruelly, making her scream. Then his trousers dropped, his cock thick, veined, pressing against her entrance.

Maggie wailed as he slammed into her, her body stretched, her cunt gripping him like a fist. The cubicle shook with each thrust. Outside, the other men groaned their approval, one even stroking himself openly as he watched.

Maggie’s shame was total, but so was her bliss. She was being used, exactly as she’d confessed she wanted, no morals, no restraint, no care except Emma’s will.

She screamed, her cunt convulsing, her orgasm tearing through her body so violently her knees gave out. The old man held her up, pounding into her still, his own climax building until he erupted inside her with a guttural groan.

Maggie’s vision blurred, her body quivering, her cunt dripping with cum that smeared down her thighs.

When it was over, the old man tucked himself away, breathless, stunned at his fortune. Maggie collapsed against the cubicle wall, wrecked, ruined, radiant.

Emma waked into the toilets, eyes glittering, Mark’s cock straining visibly against his trousers.

“Good girl,” Emma said, her voice dark with satisfaction. “Now you belong to me completely.”

Maggie smiled through her tears, trembling, broken open, and utterly owned.