Try to hide the face.

**** to shield yourself, you tilted your head down, trying to bury your tear-streaked face in the frilly pink dress’s ruffles. The sleek black vibrator buzzed mercilessly against the diaper, the “Crestwood’s Pet” label a glaring taunt as your sobs shook your bound body. The buttplug and chastity cage intensified the humiliation, each vibration a stab of shame. Emma’s laugh cut through the air. “Oh no, you don’t,” she snapped, signaling Riley. Riley’s fingers gripped your chin, forcing your head up with a cruel twist, positioning your face perfectly for the livestream. The camera zoomed in, capturing every tear, every quiver, as the chat erupted with jeers and lewd comments.

Malik loomed closer, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. “Let them see the pretty pet,” he said, his presence a stark reminder of your subjugation. Emma cranked the vibrator higher, your muffled cries echoing through the pacifier as the audience online cheered. The nickname “queen of submission” flashed across the screen, solidifying the qos label. Your attempt to hide only fueled their delight, the dorm a stage for your public degradation, Crestwood’s control broadcasted to a growing, mocking crowd.