Chapter Two

The day after her humiliating ordeal in the new Director of Slave Improvement’s office, Emma balanced on the tips of her toes as she pushed open the door to the briefing room, the locked red PVC ballet boots forcing her posture into an exaggerated arch that made every step a precarious challenge. The bright red latex of her full-body catsuit clung to her skin like a second layer, the material stretching over her hips, thighs, and ass while leaving her breasts completely exposed through perfectly cut circles that framed the base of her mammaries. The large plugs nestled deep inside her pussy and ass remained still for now, but continued to shift as she tottered on her extreme heels. She ashamedly folded her arms over her bare chest in a futile bid for modesty before she realized the gesture only drew more attention to what the suit had invitingly revealed.

Gareth and Luke lounged against the far wall, their lazy postures relaxed in a way that grated against the woman’s nerves, their eyes lifting from a shared screen to take in her entrance with matching smirks that lingered far too long on the bounce of her modest bare breasts. She could sense that a power dynamic had shifted since the introduction of the disgusting new uniform policy, and she knew Gareth, the ringleader of the two, would try to capitalize on it. Emma needed to ensure that didn’t happen.

She dropped her arms to her side and straightened her spine, refusing to let the impossible boots throw off her balance as she carefully moved to the head of the small table, the plugs moving just enough with each mincing step to send a warm pulse through her nether region. The SmartGag lay dormant beneath her tongue, a privilege she knew could end at work at a moment’s notice, but for now her mouth remained free, and she intended to use it to reassert her control.

Emma lowered herself into the chair at the head of the table with care, the plugs pressing deeper as her weight settled and sending an unwelcome shiver up her spine that she masked with a sharp glare directed at her two subordinates, still wearing their smug expressions. She crossed her legs beneath the table and leaned forward with her elbows firmly planted on the surface, doing their best to cover her exposed B-cup breasts resting just above the edge.

“Wipe those grins off your faces,” the brunette woman ordered, her voice snapping like a well-struck whip. “I’m still the supervisor around here, and these new, dumb uniform requirements change nothing about that fact. I can perform my duties just as well as I always have, and you will treat me with the respect this position demands.”

Gareth tried to stifle a chuckle as he heard my words, moving from the edge of the room and taking a seat opposite me. “Of course, boss,” he said with an unwavering mocking grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Emma slammed her palm against the table and pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her as the ballet boots forced her weight onto the balls of her feet. Most women wouldn’t have dared raise their voice at a man in the workplace. However, Emma was accustomed to her word carrying weight, and Robert Hayes, her deceased father’s best friend and the former company CEO, would protect her from harm; she wasn’t shy about pulling her own weight. “You’ll show me respect, Gareth, and I’ll have you cleaning toilets all week,” she snarled, her voice rising with authority despite the way her exposed tits jiggled slightly when she moved. “Don’t think I’m bluffing here.”

Gareth raised his hands in mock surrender, but the amusement never left the subordinate’s eyes as he leaned back in his chair and watched his boss struggle to maintain her footing. The man nodded slowly, his thumb tracing the edge of his smart watch in a way that sent a flicker of unease through the woman’s chest. “I’m with you, boss,” he continued with a chuckle. “However, I read over the full uniform policy last night, and it says the SmartGag should stay in active operation for the entire workday, and we’re on the clock right now. As your designated handler, I can’t exactly be seen breaking the rules, can I?”

Emma’s eyes widened as she opened her mouth to snap back, her anger flaring hot and immediate as she took a step forward on those torturous boots. “No! Don’t you fucking dare—”

Her words cut off mid-sentence as Gareth tapped his smartwatch with a casual flourish, and the dormant device beneath the brunette’s tongue sprang to life with ruthless speed. A bright red ring gag expanded between her lips in an instant, forcing her jaw wide open and stretching her mouth into a perfect O shape. The woman tried to clamp her teeth shut, but the attempt proved futile. She stumbled forward half a step, her hands flying to the harness straps that now locked the gag firmly in place while her muffled protests spilled out as wet, incoherent moans.

As he watched the events unfold, Luke let out a silent chuckle, his shoulders shaking as he watched his boss’s eyes widen in shock and fury, the sound barely contained behind his closed lips.

As she muffled unintelligible pleas, Gareth tilted his head with exaggerated innocence, his voice dripping with false sympathy as he stood up from his chair. “Sorry, what was that?” he said mockingly. “You’re giving me and Luke permission to take it easy today? Well, thank you very much, boss.” His comment elicited a more audible laugh from his male colleague.

Wide-eyed Emma attempted to pull at the gag in her mouth again, but the restraints were held tight, and it was clear the ring wasn’t going anywhere. “Aghh aghhhh!” she cried out.

Gareth shrugged and glanced down at his tablet. “Slave 14 is all set in Room 3 whenever you’re ready to wobble over there, boss.” He grinned and took a more obvious look at the woman’s catsuited body and the bare flesh of her breasts. “I’ll be monitoring you from the control room, just to ensure your safety.”

Luke followed close behind his male counterpart. “Have a great session, Miss,” he said. “I can’t wait until your debriefing.” He laughed to himself before exiting the briefing room along with Gareth, leaving the Chief Trainer on her own, humiliated and gagged. She needed to put an end to this uniform requirement, although she had no idea how she’d go about that.

❖

The gagged Chief Trainer teetered through the door of Training Room 3 with the ring gag stretching her mouth wide and drool already gathering at the corners of her lips. The latex catsuit she had been forced to wear that day continued to wrap tightly around every curve and keep her B-cup breasts bare, the plugs inside her orifices shifting with each painful step on the locked boots.

The brunette trainer spotted Slave 14, a young redhead with freckles dusting her shoulders and a defiant spark in her green eyes, perched on the restraint table. Why wasn’t she already bound? Emma thought to herself. The woman sat naked without a single restraint or gag, her legs swinging casually as if she owned the place.

The redhead looked up and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Emma precariously stumbling in, gagged with her tits out. “Well, what the fuck is this?” She asked coarsely. “They sent a slave to ‘train me’? Well, that’s just disrespectful.” The woman spoke with the tone of someone who had nothing to lose, someone who just wanted to have a little fun on her way out.

“Aghhh unggg!” Emma narrowed her eyes and tried to bark an order through the ring gag, but it came out as a garbled mess. Shaking her head, the trainer reached for a pair of cuffs hanging on the wall, her balance continuing to waver on the extreme heels.

The slave hopped off the table and crossed her arms over her bare C-cup chest. “Seriously? We’re going to play this game?” she taunted. “No man has been able to tame me yet. I can assure you no gangbang slut is going to bring me to heel.”

Emma stepped forward with the cuffs, but the redhead moved faster. She shoved Emma hard in the chest, causing the trainer to topple backward, her legs folding beneath her as the ballet boots offered no stability. The gagged woman hit the floor on her plugged ass with a hard crack, the plug wedging deeper inside, a muffled yelp escaping around the ring gag as she fell.

The redhead threw her head back and laughed, clearly enjoying the pathetic turn of events. “Look at you. Pathetic little thing can’t even stay on her feet.” She glanced down at Emma’s extreme footwear. “Not that I blame you with those. It’s been fun, but I’m leaving this place.”

Emma scrambled to push herself up as she glared through her haze of humiliation. The redhead turned toward the door with a swagger that said she was already halfway out of the building.

However, she never made it.

After she left the room with Emma using the table to pull herself up, she was soon being thrusted back inside, with two large security guards bursting through the door, their thick arms clamped around her biceps as she tried to wriggle free. “Let me go!” she cried out as she thrashed.

They dragged her straight to the St. Andrew’s cross bolted against the face wall, forcing her wrists and ankles into the heavy cuffs until her limbs were trapped, spread wide, her naked, freckled skin flushed with fury.

Emma rose slowly from the floor, a furious look in her eyes as she stared at the bound, flailing slave. The two men wordlessly left the room, one of them grinning as he passed the exposed slave trainer on the way out. Emma paid him no mind and tottered up to the wall, taking a large red ball gag from a hook, and stepping close to her subject.

“You think that will silence m-mphhhh!” the redhead cried out as Emma forcefully shoved the gag into her mouth, buckling the strap far tighter than she needed to prove a point. Emma’s eyes lit up in triumph as she watched the woman helplessly bound and gagged.

The trainer teetered back and let the satisfaction wash over her for a moment. She hated rebellious know-it-all slaves, and this one was top of the defiant pile. The redhead’s green eyes blazed with hatred above the bulging red ball, her cheeks puffed out from the pressure while she continued to hurl muffled curses at the woman. The trainer snatched a short leather whip from the rack and cracked it through the air, the sound sharp enough to make the bound woman flinch.

She paced around the cross slowly, her own balance still precarious on her unforgiving boots, and brought the whip across the slave’s bare stomach with a satisfying snap. A bright red ling bloomed instantly on the girl’s pale skin, and the redhead jerked against the cuffs, her muffled shriek turning into an angry growl.

Another lash followed, harder and lower this time, landing just above the slave’s pussy folds. Just as the slave trainer was about to deliver the third blow, she felt a faint buzz in her own pussy and ass begin to start. She paused mid-motion, breath holding as the plugs shifted and began a low, steady pulse that sent warmth spreading through her body. Where the fuck had that come from? The brunette wondered, although she was almost sure that Gareth had something to do with it.

Emma narrowed her eyes toward the observation mirror and forced herself to ignore the growing hum between her legs. She cracked the whip again, this time across the slave’s thighs, the leather biting into her soft flesh and leaving another angry mark. The slave’s muffled protests grew louder yet somehow weaker, her body twisting futilely against the cross while the trainer’s own pulse quickened from the vibration inside her.

She delivered a sharp slap to the bound woman’s pussy with the flat of her hand, the impact making the redhead buck and scream into her own gag. Emma felt a rush of power despite the growing weakness in her knees as the plugs responded instantly, the buzz climbing higher and turning into a steady throb.

The trainer tried to focus, raising the whip for another strike. Still, the vibration surged without warning and sent an incredible bolt of pleasure straight through her. Her knees buckled, and she dropped to one knee with a gagged, muffled cry as an orgasm rolled over her in waves. Drool spilled freely down the trainer’s chin as her hips jerked involuntarily, the plug pulsing menacingly inside her stretched body.

The redhead watched with confused eyes, her own chest heaving from the pain she suffered, yet a glint of satisfaction shone through the pain.

Emma forced herself upright, her cheeks burning with shame and fury as the orgasm dissipated. She brought the whip harder across the woman’s chest in retaliation, and the redhead arched her back and screamed into her gag. However, the plugs inside Emma ramped up again, pulsing more intensely with every lash she delivered. She managed two more strikes before the second climax hit, stronger than the first, and her legs gave out completely. She collapsed onto her back with a strangled wail, hips bucking off the concrete floor while the vibrations pounded relentlessly, drawing the orgasm out until her vision blurred.

When the waves finally ebbed, she lay there panting through her gag, drool pooling beneath her head while the redhead stared down in a mixture of pain and confusion.

Emma rolled onto her side and pushed herself up, the plugs still vibrating as she kept her thighs pressed tight together. She grabbed the whip again and staggered forward, refusing to be deterred by Gareth’s stupid games. Another crack of the leather across the redhead’s pussy echoed in the room, and the slave jerked hard enough to rattle the cross, her eyes suddenly pleading for mercy.

Emma followed up with a vicious whip to the bound woman’s inner thigh, close enough to the exact same spot she had just hit to make the redhead squeal into the rubber ball.

The slave trainer raised the whip one more time, but the vibrations in her orifices spiked to the maximum and sent her crashing back to the floor, hips bucking wildly as the third orgasm ripped through her. Her muffled cries bounced off the walls while her latex-clad body arched off the concrete, bare breasts heaving with each desperate breath. The plugs refused to halt, milking the climax until her legs turned to total jelly, making it impossible for the trainer to stand.

Eventually, the plugs stopped, but the damage had been done. Emma felt the strength from her lower body escape her, and the extreme heels made it impossible to continue.

The door swung open, and Gareth strolled in like he owned the place, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. He took one look at Emma sprawled on the floor and shook his head with exaggerated disappointment before moving to the cross.

He unbuckled the shuddering redhead’s wrists first, then her ankles, helping the shaken slave down while she rubbed the fresh marks across her skin.

“My deepest apologies for the poor service,” Gareth told her smoothly, guiding the slave toward the door where a guard waited. “Your Master will receive a full refund of course and a complimentary session to make up for this… unsatisfactory display.”

The redhead shot Emma one last glare before the guard led her away. Gareth turned back to the trainer, still catching her breath on the ground, her legs splayed wide from the aftershocks. He crouched beside his boss and tilted his head, his voice dripping with mockery.

“That wasn’t your best work, Emma,” he said with a wide grin on his face. “You’re going to really need to up your game next time if you don’t want the big boss hearing about this.”

Emma bit against her gag as Gareth stood and walked out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the brunette woman alone on the cold floor, the plugs finally silent, but the damage already done. The woman pushed herself up onto her knees, rage and humiliation running through her veins. She would make that bastard pay eventually, she was sure of it.

❖

Twenty minutes later, Emma slipped into the women’s restroom and locked a cubicle door behind her. The ring gag still forced her jaw wide, saliva refusing to relent, no matter how often she swallowed. She needed five minutes alone, just five, to sort herself out before the next session.

She turned to the mirror first, catching sight of herself in the fluorescent lights. Drool glistened on her bare breasts, and the red latex shone as it stretched across her hips. The plugs, now dormant, sat inside her as she teetered on her toes.

Emma twisted around and reached for the zipper at the back of the catsuit. She didn’t care what this damn uniform policy said; those plugs made it impossible for her to do her job effectively. When she was ungag and in Carlos Mendez’s office, she would be sure to make her point clear; she was certain that he’d understand. Her gloved finger found the pull tab easily enough, but when she tugged it, nothing happened. She tugged harder. The zipper refused to move more than an inch before it stopped dead against something solid.

A small silver padlock gleamed at the base of the slave trainer’s neck, locking the suit shut.

She turned and stared at the devious lock in the mirror, gasping as she realized she was trapped in the outfit. No key. Of course, there was no key. Glancing around, Emma’s eyes settled on a notice taped to the back of the cubicle door, her eyebrow raised as she read.

FEMALE EMPLOYEES REQUIRING RELIEF MUST REQUEST PERMISSION FROM THEIR DIRECT SUPERVISOR. ONCE GRANTED, TAKE WRITTEN PERMISSION SLIP TO THE KEYHOLDER OFFICE FOR SUPERVISED RESTROOM VISITS.

Emma stared at the notice in shock for an entire minute. Supervised restroom visits. Written permission. She almost laughed at the obscenity if it wasn’t so real. The brunette yanked the zipper again anyway, harder this time, ignoring the way the plugs shifted as she struggled. The padlock held without a budge. She clawed at the crotch seam next, her fingers slipping on the slick latex as she tried to pull it down to get some relief. The material gave a fraction before snapping back, squeezing the plugs tighter inside her orifices.

A low throb started between her legs, the plugs waking up just enough to tease her, before fortunately falling silent again. Emma pictured Gareth sitting somewhere with his phone, thumb hovering over her controls, probably laughing with Luke about how long it would take her to beg for relief. It wasn’t going to happen, though, the brunette thought defiantly. She wasn’t going to let dumb and dumber control her life.

Emma swallowed hard, tasting nothing but latex and defeat. She still had hours left on the clock. Hours of walking these corridors with her mouth forced open and her body stuffed full, with her feet forced en pointe and her breasts bare for the world to see. Her life was as good as any woman’s in this dystopian world just 48 hours ago. What the hell had happened?

Emma wiped the drool from her chin with the back of her glove and straightened as best she could. The boots held her posture exaggerated, ass pushed out, and breasts forward like an offering. Hiding in here changed nothing. Gareth and Luke were waiting for her to resign, and she refused to give them the satisfaction.

She drew one shaky breath through her nose and reached for the lock. The day was far from over, and the next session started in ten minutes. She would walk out there with her head held high, plugs or no plugs, gag or no gag. She was the best damn slave trainer the company had, and Emma intended to make sure it stayed that way.

The brunette opened the cubicle door and stepped back into the corridor, the ring gag still stretching her mouth wide, like so many female employees alongside her, the plugs still seated deep and waiting for whatever came next.

❖

Emma cursed the ballet boots with every tiny, mincing step down the corridor. The afternoon had been and gone, and now she was late for the 4:30 potential client meeting with Justin Maddison. Justin was renowned in the city for his wealth and status, and the gagged brunette knew how important this meeting was. The torturous plugs continued to torment her as she carefully took another step. She knew if she quickened the pace, she’d fall over and struggle to find her feet again. The slave trainer knew she needed to take her time and focus on her next move. However, she hated running late. It looked unprofessional, and Justin Maddison was not a man she wanted to upset.

The woman finally reached the meeting room door and paused to steady her breathing. She felt exhausted and hot inside the red latex suit she’d been trapped in all day, but she only had one meeting left before she could head home and have a long, cold shower. Emma pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Mr. Maddison stood with his back to the slave trainer, staring out the window at the city skyline. He turned the moment the door clicked shut, and his expression darkened as he saw the woman teetering in on extreme heels with her mouth stretched wide by a bright red ring gag.

“You are twenty-three minutes late,” the man barked with a clipped tone. “I don’t enjoy my time being wasted. Now, where is your Master?”

Emma shook her head and tottered forward, the plugs unnerving her sensitive, freshly pleasured orifices as she walked. She raised her hand and pointed at herself, then at the folder on the table. “Aghh ammmphh the trmmphainer,” she tried, the words coming out as wet garbled nonsense.

The dark-haired middle-aged man raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, staring at the gagged woman like she had grown a second head. “I don’t speak desperate slut,” he grinned. “Now, go fetch me someone who can have an actual conversation.”

The trainer narrowed her eyes behind the gag and felt heat rush to her cheeks while drool slipped freely down her chin. She refused to let this arrogant prick’s words get to her. She tottered to the table and snatched a piece of paper from the folder, grabbing a pen with her gloved finger before starting to write.

The wealthy man watched with open amusement, his gaze lingering on the way her bare breasts jutted out with the motion. The man stepped closer and reached out without warning, cupping both of her exposed tits in his large hands and squeezing firmly while his thumbs brushed over the brunette’s nipples.

“These things could definitely use an upgrade,” he said casually, giving them another possessive squeeze. “My stepdaughter has better ones than this, and she’s only eighteen.”

Emma bit down hard on the ring, her muffled growl turning into a wet snarl as she flinched away from his touch, her boots keeping her off-balance. Her hands clutched around the pen as fury boiled inside her. She started writing a message saying she was the chief trainer and would be leading the training of his stepdaughter. However, she paused when the door unexpectedly opened.

The slave trainer turned her head, her eyes widening as she watched Gareth stroll in with that familiar lazy confidence she had seen plenty of over the last two days. The man closed the door behind him and witnessed the potential client’s hand still lingering on Emma’s naked breast. Gareth grinned widely as though he had walked into the best possible scene.

“Mr. Maddison,” Gareth said smoothly while extending his hand. “Gareth Olsen, head trainer for this department. I am sorry for the wait, but I had important matters to attend to. I see you’ve already met my slave assistant, Emma. She loves to be hands-on with the new clients.”

Emma’s eyes widened at her subordinate’s introduction. Head trainer? That was her role. How dare this bastard pretend to act superior to her? He couldn’t organize an entire department if his brain had even double its current capacity. Slave assistant? Emma was no slave; her exemption license attested to that. What kind of game was this asshole playing?

Justin released the gagged woman’s breasts and shook Gareth’s hand with a tight grip, his earlier irritation starting to melt away as he sized up the man before him. “Finally, someone in charge,” he said with a chuckle. “I was starting to think that this place let the slaves run the asylum.”

Gareth chuckled at the comment and gestured toward the chairs around the glass table. “Please take a seat, Mr. Maddison,” he said with far more confidence than Emma had ever seen in him. “We have a lot to discuss, and I would love to hear the story of how you came to obtain your new slave.”

The potential client nodded and settled into one of the white leather chairs, his eyes flicking back to Emma’s exposed body for a moment before returning to Gareth.

Emma’s subordinate turned his attention to the gagged trainer and pointed to the floor beside his own chair. “Emma, kneel,” he demanded simply.

Emma raised an eyebrow. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? She was his boss, not the other way around, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be kneeling for him. She was going to rip him apart when this meeting was over. She may not be able to fire Gareth herself, but she sure as hell could raise her case with the Director of Slave Improvement. Emma shook her head and refused to budge.

Gareth sighed and casually pressed a button on his smartwatch without breaking eye contact.

A harsh jolt of electricity shocked deep inside the female slave trainer’s pussy, the dildo plug inside her coming to life with two rounds of fierce shocks, making the brunette’s legs buckle instantly. She dropped to her knees with a muffled cry, her eyes glancing up as she stared daggers at her subordinate.

Gareth smiled down at her and patted the brunette’s head like a pet.

“Good girl. Stay right there,” he mocked her.

Justin watched the exchange with explicit approval, his gaze drifting appraisingly to how submissive the woman looked kneeling beside the other man’s side, her back straight and breasts available. He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.

Gareth took his own seat and opened the folder on the table, the one that had been prepared for Emma. “So tell me more about this stepdaughter of yours. What happened to her real father, and how did you come to obtain her rights?”

Justin leaned forward with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to finally speak with someone who understood the proper order of things. He rested one hand on the table as he puffed out his chest. “Her father was a business rival of mine,” he began confidently. “He made some very poor investments and ended up drowning in debt. When the bank came calling, he couldn’t pay, so I paid off his debts, and the court transferred guardianship of his personal assets to me, including his wife and daughter. I married his wife, and his daughter turned 18 a few weeks ago, making her my property.”

Gareth nodded with interest and flipped through the folder. “I heard you were a shrewd businessman, Mr. Maddison. Now, what kind of training are you looking for exactly?”

The client grinned and glanced up as though he was remembering something. “Well, she was always a spoiled brat when she lived as my rival’s daughter. She loved the horses and planned on becoming a professional jockey. I thought it would be marvellous if she were trained to become my very own ponygirl.” He smiled widely at the thought. “I have quite the large estate, and the idea of using her as my personal cart pony to transport me and my guests from one building to the next sounds like a fitting purpose for Lara.”

Gareth leaned back in his chair and tapped the folder thoughtfully while Emma knelt beside him with her thighs pressed tight together. She wanted to stand up and take charge, but knew a second shock would have her drooling on the floor. Her subordinate glanced down at her form for a moment, almost as if he were looking for silent pointers, having never been in this position before.

“Ugh, yes, Mr. Maddison. Ponygirl training is one of our specialties,” he finally said, giving Emma’s neck a light squeeze that made her stiffen. “We can have her trotting in full harness within the first week, and have her fully trained for service within three.”

Justin’s eyes lit up at the description, and he shifted forward, clearly picturing the scene. “That sounds incredible,” he said with excitement. “I want the full package. Money is no issue here.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gareth smiled as he reached out to shake the wealthy man’s hand. “If you bring her in on Monday, I can introduce you both to her trainer.”

The middle-aged man accepted the handshake and nodded. “I can do that,” he confirmed before looking over at the gagged brunette. “If she ends up as well-behaved as your little slave over there, you’d have earned your money.”

Gareth rose from his chair, with Justin following suit as the two men conversed about payment terms as though Emma wasn’t even there. Emma remained on her knees, the ring gag keeping her silent as Gareth clipped a leash to the front of her in-built catsuit collar without even looking down.

The subordinate trainer gave the leash a casual tug that forced the woman to crawl after them on all fours, her small bare breasts hovering below her as she humiliatingly moved across the carpet. Justin glanced down once more and buckled at the sight before leaving the pair and heading to the exit, leaving Emma to follow Gareth back to the debriefing room like a common pet.

❖

The furious brunette slave trainer slammed her fist on the briefing-room table after the clock had ticked past five. The workday had ended, and the ring gag finally receded beneath her tongue, leaving her mouth free for the first time since morning. She straightened up as much as she could on the ballet boots still painfully attached to her feet, and fixed Gareth a stare that could kill.

“Your behavior in that meeting was completely unacceptable, Gareth,” Emma spat, her voice hoarse from an entire workday of being unable to speak her mind. “That can’t go unpunished.”

Gareth lazily sat on one of the chairs and folded his arms, the same lazy grin from before still plastered on his face. “Come on, Emma. I thought you were enjoying yourself. I lost count of how many orgasms you’ve had today. Naughty girl.”

Gareth’s tag-along colleague, Luke, barked out a laugh from his chair, slapping the table as he washed his boss’s cheeks flush darker.

Emma pushed herself up against the table for support as her fists clenched. “This isn’t a joke, Gareth,” she said through gritted teeth. “You crossed a line today. Carlos might have handed you control of my SmartGag because he was too lazy to oversee it himself, but he never would have done it if he thought you’d sabotage the department’s performance. You almost cost us a client today.”

The confident man stood up from the chair. He stepped around the table, closing the distance between the door, his grin never wavering as he looked at the woman struggling to stay stable on the extreme boots. “I think you’ll find my smart thinking landed us Justin freaking Maddison. That’s the most lucrative client we’ve earned in a long time.”

The ungagged woman planted her hands on the table again and leaned forward, the silent plugs still making their presence known as she moved. “I am your supervisor,” she repeated in a louder, more authoritative tone. “You will obey my every instruction from now on. Do you understand?”

Gareth stopped just in front of her and looked on with open amusement, his height giving him an easy advantage even with the extremely tall heels she was trapped in. “That’s your problem right there,” he said calmly. “You never know when you’ve lost an argument.”

She opened her mouth to tear into the obnoxious man. “I’m your damn boss. I always win the—”

Suddenly, Gareth’s voice rose, interrupting the woman as he spoke with a clear, concise tone. “SmartGag Emma, Set Rule One.”

Before Emma could react or question what the man was talking about, she shuddered as a soft beep sounded beneath her own tongue, clear for all around the room to hear.

“Any time Emma argues with a man,” Gareth continued in the same nonchalant manner, “activate large black ball gag, two-point-five inch diameter, duration two hours.”

Another beep beneath the woman’s tongue sealed the command, and Emma’s eyes went wide with pure confusion. “What the hell did you do?” she demanded as she flicked her tongue.

Gareth chuckled to himself. “Wow, that worked,” he said, almost in disbelief. “These beta SmartGags are a wondrous piece of technology. They allow the gag handler to set rules and parameters for when the gag activates, rather than having to set it manually each time.”

“You have no right to mess with the rules like that!” the brunette shot back. “Reset whatever you did right now!”

The man shrugged, as if he had just completed a simple, everyday task. “I disagree, Emma,” he said, his smile growing wider. “I am merely taking my role as your gag handler extremely seriously. I figured some rules would help you out.”

Emma felt her blood boil at her subordinate’s casual arrogance and his friend’s incessant chuckling. She stopped balancing on the table, standing straight on her heels. “You’ve gone too far this time,” she snarled, her voice rising with every word. “You can’t just create new rules for me. I’m reporting this to Carlos first thing tomorrow, and when he hears how you’ve—”

The sentence died in her throat as the SmartGag erupted beneath her tongue. A thick black sphere began to swell rapidly, stretching the chief trainer’s jaw wider than the ring ever had until the massive 2.5-inch ball locked in place with a pop. Black traps snapped tight around her head, sealing it immovably as her teeth pressed against the unforgiving plastic.

“Mmmphhh!” she cried out, the sound desperate and muffled as her hands flew to the straps, clawing uselessly at the firm straps.

Luke burst into fresh laughter, clutching his stomach while Gareth watched with silent amusement, pleased with the result of his latest rule. It was her own fault for arguing with him, he thought to himself.

Emma’s eyes blazed with fury as the two men tormented her, tears of rage pricking at the corners as she tried to speak again, producing only pathetic garbles that made both men laugh harder. Eventually, she stomped one boot against the floor in frustration, almost toppling herself over.

Knowing she had lost this battle completely, Emma turned precariously on her heels. She tottered out of the briefing room, the giant black ball gag stretching her mouth obscenely.

“See you tomorrow, boss,” Luke shouted out, finally with the nerve to speak now that Emma had been royally humiliated.

The woman ignored him and left the room, slamming the door shut as she made her way to the Keyholder Office. The workday had ended, and she could finally remove this disgusting, slutty uniform.

❖

Three hours after storming out of the office with that monstrous black gag stretching her mouth wide, Emma pressed the doorbell at the private entrance of her mother and stepfather’s penthouse. She hated these forced dinners, especially twice in one week, but her mother’s change in attitude since marrying Gregory had concerned the young woman, so she wanted to keep an eye on the pair. Her father treated both Vivian and Emma with as much respect as a woman could hope for in this cruel world, and Emma felt like it was her duty to keep her mom on the right path since the man’s death.

The elevator ride up felt endless. Fresh from a long, well-deserved shower that had washed away the sweat and drool of the workday, Emma wore simple black jeans that sat loosely on her hips and a gray sweater that hid the plain white bra beneath. No plugs, no boots, no gag, and no outlandish presentation of her bosom. Freedom tasted sweet again, even if she knew she’d have to endure it all again tomorrow. The woman knew she couldn’t quit the job. A free woman without a job was a recipe for entrapment, and Emma was too smart to fall for that.

There had to be a way out of the uniform policy, the slave trainer thought to herself on the ride up. Perhaps if she would speak to the new CEO, Kyle Francis, himself, and plead her case. A man in his position would listen to reason once she laid out her record. The previous chief executive was like a second father to her, and he surely put in a good word about the woman before he left.

The elevator door slid open directly into the hallway, and Vivian Locke stood waiting with her arms already spread wide. The older woman wore a bright pink PVC string bikini that left almost nothing to the imagination, a thin strip covering up her C-cup breasts and a bald slit. The look was topped off by the six-inch pink stiletto heels with clear two-inch platforms, which lifted the woman’s posture into something provocative. The heels were tall, but they seemed like child’s play compared to what Emma had been subjected to all day. The older auburn-haired woman pulled her daughter into a tight hug the moment Emma stepped forward.

Emma returned the embrace for a second before easing back, her gaze sharpening as she took in her mother’s face up close. She had only seen her mom a couple of days ago, but the woman’s lips definitely looked fuller, much fuller, in a way that makeup alone couldn’t enhance. The faint lines around her eyes had also vanished completely, leaving her skin almost too smooth.

Vivian released her daughter with a bright smile as Emma continued to examine the face.

“Mom, have you had any work done?” she asked plainly. She had always had an honest relationship with her mother, and that wasn’t going to change now. “Your lips look different, and your skin…”

The auburn-haired woman laughed lightly and waved a manicured hand, the motion stretching the bikini over her barely covered breasts. “Ohh, yeah. Gregory’s best friend is a renowned enhancement specialist,” she said as though she had practiced the answer. “He gave us an incredible discount. Nothing dramatic, but I like it.”

Emma stared at her mother in open disbelief. What the hell had this man done to the woman she thought she knew? “Seriously? You always said the same thing I did,” the slave trainer replied, struggling to keep her tone even. “Free women shouldn’t change themselves to please men. We’re supposed to be proud of what God gave us, and it was a symbol of our free status.”

Vivian’s smile faltered for the briefest second, something almost vulnerable flickering behind her hazel eyes before the warmth returned with full force. She looped an arm through Emma’s and guided her further into the apartment, her heels clicking softly against the marble.

“Dinner’s almost ready, darling,” she said smoothly, changing the subject without missing a beat. “Gregory’s waiting in the dining room, and Tristan arrived half an hour ago. Come say hello.”

❖

Emma followed her mother into the dining room, the scent of roasted meat already in the air, while her stomach twisted at the thought of another night with her gross stepfamily. Gregory Locke sat at the head of the table, his newspaper folded neatly beside an empty beer bottle. He looked up when they entered, his eyes moving over to Emma in her simple jeans and sweater with clear disapproval.

The patriarch set the paper aside and leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Good to see you again, Emma. You’re looking… comfortable.”

The young woman forced a tight nod and took her usual seat across from her well-groomed stepbrother, Tristan, keeping her expression neutral as she tried to stay civil. “Hello, Gregory.”

The older man picked up his glass and finished the dregs of the bottle before placing it down again. “How is work going these days?” he asked with that familiar patronizing tone. “Still enjoying all that power over those slaves?”

The brunette slave trainer kept her answer short and clipped, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation about the day she just had. “It’s fine.”

Tristan leaned forward from his spot opposite her, drumming his fingers on the table while his eyes flicked over the appearance of his stepsibling. “Some of my buddies have been hearing some big changes are coming to CuffTech,” he said with a cocky smirk. “Apparently, that new CEO you got has a reputation for making radical, sweeping changes to drive revenue and profit. Have there been any recent changes yet?”

She met the young man’s gaze without flinching and shrugged her shoulders. “No. It’s been business as usual.” It was a blatant lie, but she didn’t want to broadcast her humiliations to these two assholes.

Vivian chose that moment to glide back in from the kitchen, carrying two steaming plates that she set in front of Gregory and Tristan. The portions were generous, with thick-cut sirloin steak alongside roasted vegetables and buttery potatoes. She returned a moment later with two smaller plates: the food noticeably lighter, lacking any protein, a green salad without an ounce of meat in sight. She set one of the plates before Emma, then slid the other in front of her own chair.

Emma raised an eyebrow at the obvious difference, something her mother had never done before, but decided against making a scene. Vivian disappeared again before returning with two chilled beers, placing one in front of Gregory first, taking his empty.

“Here you are, Sir,” Vivian murmured with a soft smile.

She repeated the motion for Tristan. “And for you, Sir.”

The young slave trainer watched the interaction with growing disbelief, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. “Mom, what the hell? You’re a free woman,” she said firmly. “You don’t have to call them Sir.”

Gregory let out a low laugh and cut into his steak. “Your mother is simply being respectful, Emma. You could learn a thing or two from her, you know.” The older man’s gaze flicked over her sweater and jeans. “Starting with how you present yourself. You look like a homeless bum in that getup.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth and set her fork down harder than necessary. “No, thanks.”

Tristan snorted and took a long pull from his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dad’s right, sis,” he said jovially. “You’d look great wearing a bikini like your mom’s.”

The young woman turned her glare on the man opposite her. “Shut up, Tristan,” she snapped.

Her words drowned out the conversation, and the group settled into awkward silence as they dug into their meals. Emma played with her food as she tried to stomach the bland meal presented for her, while her stepbrother across from her openly enjoyed a thick steak.

Eventually, however, Tristan couldn’t leave the topic alone and broached it again. “I’m serious, Emma,” he said. “You’ve got the base level hotness going on. If you added some big juicy tits to that frame of yours, you’d be an A-grade knockout.”

Emma felt her blood boil at the crude comment, and she knew she couldn’t let that one slide. Her fork clattered against the plate as she leaned forward. “I don’t fucking care about your disgusting, misogynistic views, Tristan!” she shot back, her voice growing louder with each word.

Tristan gasped, clearly not used to being challenged on his views by a woman. “M-my views aren’t misogynistic,” he replied nervously. “They are the same views shared by every man, whether he wants to admit it or not.”

Emma slammed her palm on the table and rose halfway from her chair, her face flush with color. “You’re wrong. You’re views are nauseating and miso—”

The last syllable never left her mouth. A sudden pressure bloomed beneath her tongue and exploded outward, a thick black sphere swelling with uncanny speed until it forced her jaw apart in a perfect circle of plastic. Straps snapped tight around her head and locked the massive 2.5-inch ball in place, turning her furious words into a strangled, muffled moan.

“Mmmphhh!” she cried out, the sound desperate and pathetic as her hands flew to the straps, clawing uselessly while her eyes blazed with confusion above the bulging gag. What the hell had just happened? Had the SmartGag malfunctioned? She wondered.

Gregory’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, his eyes widening before a broad grin spread across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said with genuine delight. “That’s one of those fancy new special gags they keep advertising on the TV.”

Emma tried to bite down on the solid gag, but her mouth remained wide open to accommodate the invading toy. “Mmphhh!” she groaned out again. There was no way this could happen, she thought. The SmartGag was only supposed to activate during work hours. She thought back to Gareth’s rule at the end of the day. He hadn’t specified a time or place for the rule, and now it could activate anywhere. How the hell was she supposed to navigate her normal life if she was unable to argue with a man? She was going to kill that smug son of a bitch when she saw him next.

Tristan grinned as he shoved a piece of steak into his mouth. Halfway through chewing, he let out a long, satisfied laugh, his eyes fixed on the way the massive black ball stretched her mouth wide. “Looks like someone finally found a way to shut that smart mouth of yours up,” he said between chuckles. “It’ll be fun watching you try to eat dinner now.”

Emma’s hands scrabbled at the straps one last time, her short nails scraping the rubber uselessly while fury and humiliation burned in her veins. It was too much, and she couldn’t take any more of this. The gagged brunette shoved her chair back with a violent scrape and stood up, storming out of the room and towards the elevator, the sound of Gregory and Tristan’s laughter chasing her down the hall.

The elevator doors slid open the moment she jabbed the button, and she stepped inside without a backward glance. As the doors closed and the car began its descent, the laughter faded behind her, leaving only the quiet whir of the elevator and Emma’s labored breaths drowning out the silence.

Biting down on the gag, she knew she would be trapped in the painful device for another two hours, just as she had been when she had argued with Gareth a few hours prior. Things were getting out of control, and if she didn’t plead her case to the new CEO fast, her life at CuffTech would never be the same.

End of Chapter Two