Start there.

You dread the thought of hanging by your wrists for much longer, and the ideas that come to mind staring at that drain don't appeal to you. "I'll start there," you tell the woman. She smiles gently before reaching up and unhooking you from the rail.

As she leads you by the chain toward the ice wedge, you get a better look at the thing. It seems to not have been here long, as it's just beginning to melt. The runoff slides down a slightly tilted pan to disappear into the metal box the ice sits on. The ice itself stands at chest height, reflecting the dim light throughout he smooth, translucent shape. When you reach one end of the box, the Cerulean Queen hooks your manacles to another chain hanging from the ceiling, and after moving behind you, snaps some more to your ankles. She then walks over to a lever sticking out of the wall nearby.

"Just relax," she tells you. It doesn't have the intended effect, yet nevertheless she pulls the lever. You're suddenly lifted from the stone floor and pulled up with the chains. As you glance up and around, it drags you forward over the wedge of ice, to where your feet brush its cold body. You wince at the strain on your arms and the chill of touching the ice, and soon you're lowered on top of the wedge, the chain attached to your ankles rising to bend your knees and hold your feet behind you.

Despite your attempts, you can't avoid touching the cold ice. You come down onto it and gasp as your knees slide down each side until the top edge meets your panties, pushing them inside you. The cold almost takes your breath away as you let out a shivering sigh, squirming for any semblance of relief and finding nothing but an invasive chill that touches you deeper with every movement you make.

Your chest grows as you inhale sharply, and you shudder with every exhale, doubling over as far as possible with the chains restraining you. Your knees don't reach the metal surface beneath the ice, and the chains have enough slack to let your body **** itself down on the wedge, the point of most pressure being between your legs.

The wet, slick and freezing surface is **** to try and sit upon. The inside of your thighs quickly grow to near-numbness, while your panties are soaked by the melting ice, chilling your cunt yet at the same time getting it hotter as your squirming rubs your pussy on the ice that splits it.

The discomfort is suddenly joined by excitement, and moans of pleasure are mixed in between your gasps. You can't help but feel aroused beyond the shock of the cold, but if you sit on the ice much longer you won't be feeling much of anything from the waist down.

You look to the Cerulean Queen desperately as she walks over, but before you can say anything, she flips another switch on the box below you.