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Chapter 8 by Mister Z Mister Z

Can Sarah follow directions?

Yes

At exactly 6:30 you open the door to see Sarah Crawford, poured into a short, tight blue sheath dress. You pull her into your stark white, minimally decorated foyer and close the door, her heels clacking on the dark hardwood floor. “You understand, at any time you can say no, walk out, and never come back. Until you can’t. And if you’re willing to face the consequences,” you say. She pauses just a moment, her eyes glancing between you and Ms. Bishop standing in black silk robes, her mind going through the permutations of what might happen, before she nods, just a bit too firmly. “Now strip,” you command.

You and your assistant watch impassively as the blonde kicks off her black high heels and slowly wiggles out of her dress, her eyes seductively half-closed as she sways her hips. Her white lace bra is next, and she spins in front of you as she unfastens it. Her white lace panties are crotchless, her stockings are held up by garters, and you hold up a hand as she reaches for them, and she stops.

Her eyes widen as you pull out the black silk blindfold, but she doesn’t protest as you tie it around her eyes. She flinches as you put the black leather padded cuffs around her wrists, and you wait a moment to allow her to say something, but she remains silent as you run chains through the cuff’s and bind her hands in front of her. You silently lead her through your house to a bedroom, lit by a white-domed ceiling lamp, the white of the walls only broken by the large flat-screen TV on one wall, the iron grill of the bedstead at one end of the large, white-silk-sheeted bed, the black iron bedposts at the other end, and the black lacquered box next to the bed. You sit her on the bed, and with black silk rope from the box bind her cuffed hands above her head to the iron grille behind her. The slack rope allows her to slump down but **** into a full sitting position by a pull of the rope. Ms. Bishop spreads her legs and places more black leather cuffs on her ankles as you attach chains and loosely bind her ankles to the bedposts.

“This is your last chance to speak. Do you have anything to say?” you ask.

She jerkily nods and no, and you take a black ball gag from the box and fasten it around her head. You can see her jaw working slightly around it, her chest rising and falling as she breathes nervously. Then you wait.

Can Madison follow directions?

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