Like she has a choice

Nova stared at the softly glowing screen for about a minute. Her head was still spinning from the free drinks, and everything in them. Buck naked, dripping wet from her first ever vibrator induced orgasm, and seemingly without any way to pay the buy in for another round. Maybe the game was being nice. Maybe she could skip the buy in and just try to get her clothes back. Or maybe the machine would make her masturbate again. It was admittedly a mortifying experience, but it'd be a hell of a lot better than wandering around this kooky mansion naked as a baby faun. Did she really have another choice? Surely her luck had to get better soon... right?

With a shaky, uncertain finger, the blonde tapped the "Yes" button on the screen, confirming her choice. The donation box appeared again. This time however, it wasn't empty upon its arrival. Instead, a little leather collar, affixed with a little sliver bell presented itself to her. "Please wear the provided gear before playing." The instructions seemed innocent enough. What harm would there be in putting on a silly little collar. If nothing else, it was something to wear. Yeah... maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She'd worn Halloween costumes before. Maybe the machine was going to give her something a little risqué as an apology for taking all her normal clothes. She might look a little silly, but anything would be better than leaving the table stark steam'n naked. It's not like tings could get much worse...

Nova obediently pulled the collar to her neck. She was a little nervous that in her **** state, she'd be unable to secure the buckle behind her neck. Drunk as she was, she took it as a blessing that the ends of the collar seemed to automatically clasp together and cinch the collar into an uncomfortably tight, but not suffocating embrace. In a more clear-headed state, she'd almost certainly have walked away then and there. (Well, she probably would've walked away around the time the machine started asking for more than her socks, but that's rather irrelevant to the moment.) With the collar fixed in place, a new hand was dealt. King of Spades, Queen of Clubs, Ten of Clubs, Nine of Hearts, Five of Spades. She could pull a Jack for an inside straight, or ditch everything and hope for great pull on the mulligan. "What the hell, might as well go for broke" the cowgirl thought to herself as she tossed away the five. Receiving another Nine, this time in Diamonds, was not exactly the stellar hand she was looking for.

The computer played a familiar, terrible jingle. Three Eights. Nova lost again. The donation box appeared once more. Was this a mistake, had she accidentally glitched the system? Maybe her luck really was turning around. The blonde excitedly opened the box. Inside, she found a very strange mental contraption. It took her a minute or two to register the "gift" as a set of metal panties. She'd never seen anything quite like them, and was none too thrilled by the silicone-rubber inserts that would have to become quite intimate with her lady bits and back door if she managed to slip them on. A collar was one thing, tight as it was. This thing... with those... protrusions. How would she ever look her mother in the eyes if she caught her in such a thing? Then again, metal panties sure seemed a hell of a lot better than no panties at the moment. Nova took her "prize" and after some helpful coaching from another instructional video on the screen, she secured the chastity belt and its "motivational aides" snuggly about her own hips, and betwixt her thighs. In a clearer state of mind, she might have asked why there were so many little loops about the waistband, or why she couldn't see any discernable way to remove the damned thing once it ratcheted its way to a snug fit.

Maybe it was the embarrassment, maybe it was the booze, maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, but she'd swear the little bastards filling her up started vibrating. It wasn't enough to be noticeable if she stopped and focused specifically on them, but they seemed to fire up any time her mind wandered to silly things like, whether or not to try again, or question just what the hell she was going to do if she lost again.

So far, the deal didn't seem too bad. She was getting more clothing. Maybe she'd get better stuff if she kept playing. A metal shirt or maybe some steel for hands didn't sound like the worst things in the world at the moment. Once again, she pressed the "Yes" button. Once again, the donation box appeared, with more goodies in tow. A shiny black pair of thigh-high boots. She couldn't quite tell what kind of fancy material the boots were made of. It felt a little like leather, but the shine was simply unnatural. And that wasn't the only thing unnatural about them. The material seemed to vacuum her legs as she slipped them on. Some bird-brain must've forgotten to attach the heels to the stink'n things, as the interior sole shape and built in supports around the ankles **** her to stand on the balls of her feet, which were themselves precariously resting on three or four inches of treacherous soft rubber. Even if she were clear headed, her steps would've been reduced to unsteady, teetering tiptoes. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the bottom of the darned things were built like horse-shoes as imagined by a drunkard. The skin-tight material along her thighs and calves was impossibly shiny, and impossibly smooth. She couldn't help but run her fingers along the unfamiliar surface, or gently glide one leg up and down the other and enjoy the near frictionless sensation. In better circumstances, and with a competently designed sole, she might be tempted to wear these things out and about on her own volition now and then.

With her ante dutifully paid, another set of cards was dealt. And so too, was another defeat. The machine didn't seem to be nearly as kind to her as it was before. Surely she should've won a pity hand by now. No such luck would befall her, and once again, the donation box arrived with her penalty. This time, the blonde was presented with something shockingly familiar, yet terrifyingly wrong to see in this context. A pair of shaped plastic domes with flexible tubes which fed into a compact, gently whirring machine. No two ways about it, that was a milker. She'd worked on a dairy once or twice in her life. She'd playfully stuck the end of one of those things against her palm, or the side of her tummy and laughed at the way it suctioned itself to her skin. Only in her most deranged moments of intrusive thought had she ever considered putting one of those damned things on her own teats. No way. Drunken stupor be damned, she wasn't about to let that thing get anywhere near her. The blonde lifted herself from her seat and tried to take an unsteady stride away from the table. Her new clothes had other plans.

The suspicious tingling provided by the rubber toys in her new panties roared to life, making the vibrations unmistakably real. Sharp, surprising pain wracked her neck as the collar stung her like a cattle prod. "All tabs must be paid before leaving the table." The robot's annoying ass voice rang out above Nova's pain and confusion. The blond found her way back to her seat. The vibrations quelled, though they maintained themselves more noticeably than before. The shocks to her neck died down in intensity from cattle prods to joy buzzers, just enough to discourage her from taking too much of her sweet time attaching the awaiting device. Nova was tough. And more than that, she was stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be. The drinks were starting to wear off, and she could think clear enough to realize this had gone too far. She could sit hear and bear it. Sooner or later, the batteries on her new clothes would wear out. Then she could go find the other bitch she was supposed to be hunting, take her down, and leave this god forsaken trainwreck of a gameshow.

"Hey sweetie, why don't we help you out with that?" Nova nearly jumped out of her skin as a familiar, silky voice filled her ears. Three sets of surprisingly strong hands pinned the cowgirl's arms to the table, and her shoulders to her seat. Then beautiful woman with red hair and a daring leather outfit reached across the table and claimed Nova's "prize". No way. No fucking way. It was the high and mighty bitch from the masturbation video. "That's a good girl. We'll get you paid up in no time..." She slunk behind the still restrained nova and began fiddling with both the device, and her new metal panties. It was about this time that Nova finally realized that she'd been surrounded by a gaggle of women in maid uniforms, no doubt the "Maidstaff" she'd been warned about in that boring rules meeting. The cowgirl scarcely had time to process her new situation before a certain someone finished attaching the machine and began slowly dragging a crimson fingernail across her exposed breasts. "My toys tend to behave a little better when they're wet. Let's help her out girls..." The red-head's lips gently brushed against Nova's ears as she half whispered from behind her new captive.

In what could only have been a well practiced and frequently rehearsed procedure, the maids repositioned themselves. Two of the girls found themselves partially crouched in front of Nova, their hips forcibly spreading her legs, and their faces buried in her modest bosom. Control of the blonde's arms had been relinquished to the third maid, who held them firmly by the wrists in a crisscrossing pattern that locked her elbows just under her chin. Nova struggled instinctively, and ineffectively. At most, she simply tempted her captors by shaking her humble chest in their faces. The crouching maids each cupped one of her breasts in a free hand, and sent the other to delicately trace up and down her abdomen. The red head alternated between fondling her captive's ass, whispering gentle affirmations into her ears, and playfully laying butterfly kisses and near kisses along Nova's face. The cowgirl didn't like this. This wasn't her. She didn't like having another woman kiss her cheeks or the nape of her neck. She didn't want this fucking weirdo calling her a "good girl" or a "pet". She certainly didn't want the two bitches currently licking and suckling at her nipples to tease and torment her with their tongues. She swore up and down to herself that the bucking of her hips was her attempt to get away. Her clit was sore and excited because of the stupid toys inside her, not because of these absolute whores.

Her grunts and frustrations came to no fruition. Once the maids were satisfied that their cowgirl captive was sufficiently riled up, and, more importantly, wet in all the right places, the suction cups of the milking machine were attached. Immediately, Nova's nipples puffed and expanded into the device's dome. Unexpectedly, an army of soft silicone bristles met her newly sensitive flesh. It wasn't enough to suck on her teats, it had to tickle them too? That was the absolute last straw. The moment these maids let her go, she would rip these things off her tits, smash the damn milker against the floor till it crumbled to pieces, and she'd march out the front door, competition be damned.

"Hmm, doesn't that just look darling on you?" The redhead cooed, tracing a finger down the side of Nova's face. "Fuck you!" the blonde retorted, having absolutely lost all sense of her composure. "Oh dear. I think she's going to need some time to get used to it girls. Let's make sure she doesn't try to get rid of it prematurely." With that, the domme snaped her fingers. The donation box disappeared, then reappeared moments later. This time sporting a metal bra that nicely matched Nova's new metal panties. Struggle and curse as she might, Nova was no match for the four women working in concert to affix her new attire. The bra was strapped in place and locked with a distinct *click*. The cups of the contraption had specially designed ports and hinges to facilitate the milkers, and lock them inescapably in place. No amount of pulling or prying or prodding would remove them now. "You God-damned whores! Get this shit off of me!" Perhaps Nova did not actually require two shots of whisky to become belligerent and impulsive.

"What a shame. You were being such a good girl too." The red haired domme feigned disappointment as she snapped her fingers once more. Then again, and again, and again. The donations box became a blur as it rapidly appeared and disappeared from the table. The maids no longer sucking on the cowgirls breasts extracted all manner of bondage gear and strange equipment with shocking speed and precision. "What do you think girls? Shall we give her something to suck on, or leave that big mouth open for a better use?" The domme mused while playfully swinging a penis panel gag in one hand, and a harness ring gag in the other. "If I may mistress..." one maid quietly offered while raising a hand. "Yes dear?" The domme acknowledged. "She is a cow girl... she would hate to become a pony."

Nova did indeed hate the sound of that. She wasn't entirely sure what the little psychopath meant. She certainly didn't want to find out. Unfortunately for her, she was already being held tight by another woman, still slightly ****, being tormented by a milker and silicone toys in most of her orifices, and trapped in thigh-high boots that made walking all but impossible. This wasn't an argument she was going to win.

First they shut her up with a bit gag. Then they **** her over to a mirror so she could "enjoy" watching them attach some strange head harness. She was familiar with blinders, and their ability to block out peripheral vision. She was less familiar with wearing them herself and how claustrophobic the world became once they were donned. A second, tall and stiff collar with a large metal ring dangling off the front was placed about her neck, forcing her to look up and forward. Now she'd have to turn at the shoulders to anything not directly in front of her. Next her hands were wrapped in a strange plastic material that stuck to itself, but didn't seem to have any inherent adhesive. Not that she got to admire the wrapping for long. A pair of leather mittens with a D-ring at the apex and four additional rings along the leather wrist straps were quickly **** over her hobbled hands, making them entirely useless. Another pair of bands were attached to each arm, right at the apex of the armpit. With a pair of simple padlocks, these bands were secured to the wrists of her mittens. The D-rings at the "Fingers" were then affixed to her posture collar. Now even if she could use her hands, they were never going to move lower than the top of her breasts, nor further out than her shoulders. Yet another band of leather was procured, slid through her clenched elbows, and secured by chains to both her bra and chastity belt, forcing her elbows back and her chest out at an absurd and uncomfortable angle. A small spreader bar chained to her chastity belt and affixed above her knees **** her legs open and gave her a waddling gait. Shackles cuffed to her ankles were superlative, but helped cement the idea that she was screwed six ways to Sunday.

A leather bridle attached to her bit gag finished the ensemble, and the poor girl was led away while literally wrapped around the red-head's finger. The accompanying maids "helped" their captive along with alternating swats to her exposed ass, and utilizing a shared set of remote controls to dial up or dial down the vibrators still tormenting her from within her shiny metal panties. Being well trained experts in their field, the girls masterfully brought their victim to the brink of orgasm, but never quite gave her the satisfaction. She'd have to earn that privilege later. For now, Nova would be led to the back yard, and tormented there until her opponent could lay eyes on her and declare victory. Or until the competition ended in roughly 72 hours. Whichever might come first.