Scream in protest.

The vibrations from the remote-controlled buttplug tore through you, each pulse a fresh wave of torment as the chastity cage bit harder. The frilly pink dress clung to your sweat-soaked skin, the “Crestwood’s Pet” diaper crinkling beneath, a constant reminder of your shame. Unable to bear it, you screamed, a raw, **** protest that echoed across the moonlit courtyard. The crowd’s laughter spiked, but Riley’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Noisy little bitch,” she sneered, pulling a red ball gag from her bag.

She **** it between your lips, buckling it tight, your muffled cries now pathetic whimpers. Emma smirked, grabbing the remote and cranking the buttplug’s vibrations to a brutal intensity. Your body convulsed, the QOS tiara slipping as you writhed. Sophie, still in Malik’s arms, giggled at your state, her lips trailing his neck. The livestream chat exploded with degrading comments, your humiliation a public feast for Crestwood’s sadistic audience.