Slap Sophie a second time

You slap her again. Her cheek is red now, and she holds her hand up to it in wonder. She looks up at you.

“You can, can't you?” she whispers. And she bursts into tears.

Surprised, you let her lean against you, sobbing into your chest, until she calms down, and she can pull away and look at you again.

“I - I was so afraid you'd find out about me - about what I do in there - and that you'd think it was disgusting. That you'd hate me for needing that,” she continues, still crying and sniffling. “And then you went in, and I thought, you know, that's it. That's why I was so angry, I think. I was angry at me, really, for letting myself be ****, for...well. When you slapped me - it was like, mabye he really does hate me; or - maybe, just maybe you were turned on. When you slapped me again, and I saw that you were hard, you know, then I knew. And was so, so relieved, and...”

You put your hand over her mouth gently.

“I assume somewhere in this apartment you've got gear hidden.” She looks up at you and, after a moment, nods, biting her lip. “Go get it, then go to the bedroom. I want you kneeling at the foot of the bed, hands behind your neck, tits thrust out. Have you got something to restrain your wrists with?”

She nods, blushing. “I have - I have leather wrist cuffs, and ankle cuffs, and a matching collar. Like you probably saw in Roissy,” she adds.

“How do they lock?” you ask.

“The lock's like, on the outside surface - you'll see.”

“The key?”

She points to the office shelf. “It's up there. I can't reach that shelf without a stool or chair. Seems a bit silly to have a shelf built to be out of reach, doesn't it?” Sophie laughs nervously. “But that's why it's so high. Oh God, I can't believe this is really happening.”

“Wear the cuffs and collar,” you tell her, “with your red lace garter and corset - the one that leaves your tits free. Make sure your wrists are cuffed together. Whatever other gear you have, lay on top of your dresser. I'll be in in a little while.”

You hear her in one of the other rooms in the apartment, pulling out boxes, moving things. There's a rattle of metal on metal. She drops something, swears nervously. Then you hear her in the bedroom. The clunk and shuffle of things being arranged on a dresser.

You let her stew awhile. Presumably she's positioned herself now.