She wants to record you degrading Ella

Cecilia's smirk widens, a slow, predatory stretch of her lips. The water from the showers mists around her, catching on her dark skin and making her gleam like some sleek, dangerous animal.

"Unless," she purrs, the word hanging in the humid air, "you give us something in return. A little insurance, you understand? Just a little video."

Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. "Video? What kind of video?" Your voice is barely a whisper, lost in the echo of the room.

"A simple one," Abella chimes in, stepping forward now, her nude form a study in aggressive confidence. She circles you like a shark. "We want to hear you say it. That your precious Mistress is nothing. A freak. A pathetic sissy bitch who's only good for what's between her legs." She leans in close, her breath hot against your ear. "And that you only stay with her because you're too weak to leave."

You shake your head, the motion stiff and small. Your gaze darts back to the shower stall again. The curtain is still. But you can feel her there. A cold, unseen presence. Watching. Waiting.

"No," you manage, the word scraping its way out of your throat. "I won't."

Cecilia bursts out laughing, a bright, cruel sound that bounces off the tiled walls. "Oh, he won't. Listen to him. The little dog has a backbone after all." She snaps her fingers, and Abella produces a sleek, black phone from a nearby discarded pile of clothes.

Abella laughs. "I doubt it."

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