Make small-talk with the Domme

I'm relieved to be less known here on Torei. If someone recognized me as part of the ambassador's family, it would ruin everything—not just for my family, but for Aetheria's reputation entirely.

And yet, here in this cell, nobody knows who I am. Nobody cares. It's a strange kind of mercy...

Still, I can't shake the quiet ache of loneliness in this crowded room with seven other women. Back home on Aetheria, I'm royalty—not the highest tier, perhaps, but enough that servants orbit me constantly, eager for my every whim or glance. Rooms fall silent the moment I step through the door. Here? Not a single pair of eyes has lingered on me. It's unnerving, this invisibility.

As much as the anonymity protects me, I feel... disconnected without my attentive entourage.

The domme seems steady, like she's navigated this nightmare before. I edge closer to her, forcing a smile despite the relentless, low hum of the vibrator buried deep inside me, teasing without mercy. "You don't seem fazed..." I manage, aiming for polite conversation.

"Nope." She returns the smile, her voice softening just enough to blunt its usual edge. Then she turns back to her sub, murmuring something low and private.

I sigh inwardly and shift my focus to the two women who seem as lost as I feel—the ones I've somehow ended up grouped with. Maybe they'll be easier to talk to.

"This clothing isn't... as bad as I expected," I say, tugging at the loose laminate clinging to my skin. "I thought—"

The domme spins back toward me.

"You think they're being nice?" Her tone sharpens with bitter amusement. "Tell me what kind of prejudice the jury will have when they see us paraded in front of them like this—convicted of anything remotely sexual..." She turns, bends forward slightly, and the jumpsuit responds instantly, tightening until it turns sheer, revealing every curve beneath.

"Oh." The word slips out of me at the same time as the two women beside me. Instinctively, we all cross our arms over our chests, suddenly hyper-aware of how little this material actually hides. "That's very... see-through..."

"They claim it's to prevent smuggling or tricks, but let's be real." She straightens, facing me again, her gaze traveling slowly down my body before settling lower. "Speaking of which... what's going on down there?"

Her hand darts between my legs, reaching for the black laminate device locked against me. I jerk backward on reflex, bumping into the women behind me.

"Nothing."

As if in cruel response, it pulses hard inside me, sending a wave of unwanted pleasure through my core. I squirm, thighs pressing together, and wonder if the damn thing can somehow hear us—sense the lie.

"You have an edger!" Delight sparks in her eyes as she steps closer, predatory interest sharpening her features.

The other two women ease away, content to watch from a safer distance.

"What?" I try for ignorance, as if pretending will make the translucent suit any better at concealing the jet-black device nestled against me.

"What did you do to earn one of those?"

"Um... incident with a Wardrobe Device."

"Really..." She smirks, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "You must have seriously pissed it off. How long?"

"Oh, um... well..." I try to calculate in my head. "Probably about ninety hours now."

Her eyes gleam brighter. "At least I'll have some entertainment in here. Sleeping won't be easy for you—not with those urges building in a Truant Suit like this."

I raise an eyebrow, wary. "What do you mean?"

"Best not to give in to temptation and touch yourself." Her voice drips with knowing amusement. "It can be... surprising the first time."

I draw my chin back, unsure how to respond.

"Well, your cellmate over there is about to learn." She nods toward one of the bunks. There's subtle movement beneath the thin blanket, the woman's hips shifting restlessly.

"May as well explain how this works, since none of you seem to have been here before."

Even the three women who'd been bickering quietly fall silent, turning to listen. The domme makes no effort to hide how much she enjoys this—surrounded by disoriented, **** women in transparent suits. Her gaze lingers openly on each of us as she speaks.

I have to admit, every woman in this cell is breathtaking in her own way.

She gestures to the floor beside her sub. "Kneel next to Hao'oli, and I'll teach you."

The others exchange uncertain glances before shuffling forward, lowering themselves awkwardly to their knees.

She looks at me expectantly.

Kneeling feels almost natural when my face is hidden behind a mask, but in this sheer suit—everything on display—it suddenly feels degrading. As I sink down, the vibrator shifts inside me with the motion, sending another unwelcome spark of heat through my body. I feel diminished, exposed in a way that goes deeper than skin.

She doesn't wait. "This is processing. We'll be kept here until trial, conviction, and sentencing—order not guaranteed."

Two of the women glance at each other, confused.

"Yes, welcome to Torei," she says dryly. "You must know how things work here." She pauses, realizing. "This isn't your first day on the planet, is it?"

She rolls her eyes and continues. "Could be hours. Could be days. Might as well get comfortable."

Her sub, Hao'oli, lets out a soft whimper from her place on the floor.

The domme walks to the woman clutching her ballet boots, cupping her cheek gently. "If you're just here for curfew violation—first offense—you'll be fine."

The woman relaxes into the touch for a moment, then catches herself and pulls away, startled by her own reaction.

I feel a flicker of relief at the words.

"Probably some public exhibition and a day of mandatory retraining. No big deal."

My stomach twists again. Public. I can't be seen like this—transparent suit, edger pulsing between my legs. My father would lose his title. Even if the family name survived, the shame wouldn't.

The domme's expression turns smug as she glances at her own sub. "Some of us have wealthy owners who'll simply buy our way out. We just wait."

Her tone softens as she looks back at Hao'oli. "We'll be free soon, my darling."

A low moan drifts from the bunk across the room.

"Wait for it," the domme murmurs, excitement threading her voice.

Then it happens—a rapid flutter of laminate, followed by a sharp, muffled scream. The woman's hood seals instantly over her head, the suit vacuum-tightening until the material clings like a second skin. Her arms are pinned to her sides; she thrashes helplessly, unable to reach her face or finish whatever **** touch she'd started between her thighs. Her body arches and spasms before finally going limp, fingers twitching uselessly.

The domme approaches slowly, resting a calming hand on the woman's sealed head. "Don't panic, darling. Hold still."

I watch, heart pounding, as the woman forces herself to trust—has ****, really. After several agonizing seconds, the hood retracts and the vacuum releases with a soft hiss. The woman gasps, clawing at her face as if the laminate might still be there, chest heaving.

The domme settles on the edge of the bunk, guiding the trembling woman's head into her lap and stroking sweat-damp hair. "This is a Truant Suit. Apparently some girls enjoy incarceration a little too much, so they curse us with these." She glances up at the bright lights overhead, as if addressing unseen watchers. "If you get too close to climax, the suit... intervenes. Ever heard of a ruined orgasm?"

The woman, still breathless and glistening with sweat, manages a weak croak. "I don't... recommend it."

"Yes. Far worse than the breath play. That's just for their amusement." She waves dismissively toward the ceiling. "The suits have other tricks, too. Best not to dwell on them."