She slips on the stylish heels that fit perfectly and moves right up to the dress, feeling its exquisite touch on her skin.
Set to the side, in the lower light, she notices a small table with some items on it. She tingles at this new discovery, another beautiful gift, perhaps. Stooping for a closer look she sees it is some lacy black underwear, including sheer stockings and a suspender belt. She rubs the thin panties between thumb and forefinger, pulse racing at the prospect of soon putting it all on, a giddiness that threatens to almost make her faint.
[[She presses on and begins to put on the outfit.|Black Dress]]
<<if visited("Middle") and not visited("Swim Suit")>>[[She returns to put on the swim suit.|Swim Suit]]<<else>><<if not visited("Swim Suit","Middle")>>[[She goes to investigate the swim suit.|Middle]]<<endif>><<endif>>ExtasiaShe finds herself back at the rear of the room, considering her dwindling options.<<if visited("Black Dress","Swim Suit", "Right Side")>><html><br><html><br>[[There is nothing more to do except investigate the final outfit on the right.|Bondage outfit]]<<else>><<if not visited("Left Side")>><html><br><html><br>[[She slips on the stylish heels of the outfit on the left.|Left Side]]<<endif>><<if visited("Left Side") and not visited("Black Dress")>><html><br><html><br>[[She returns to the stylish black outfit on the left.|Black Dress]]<<endif>><<if not visited("Middle")>><html><br><html><br>[[She goes to examine the swim suit.|Middle]]<<endif>><<if visited("Middle") and not visited("Swim Suit")>><html><br><html><br>[[She returns to the swim suit in the middle.|Swim Suit]]<<endif>><<if not visited("Right Side")>><html><br><html><br>[[She goes towards the final outfit on the right hand side.|Right Side]]
<<endif>><<endif>>
The mirror opens easily onto a low-lit, cobbled passage with rock walls. Cooler air meets her scantily clad body. Her memories tell her the passages that lead beyond the panels for the other two outfits are more welcoming than this one. Nevertheless, with a deep breath, she steps through the doorway. She finds a firm footing for a first stiletto heel then, finally, releases the spring-loaded mirrored panel which neatly closes itself with a click. The reverse side of the panel is smooth, she notices, and sealed flush against a rock wall. No way back.
Ahead, down the passage, a flaming torch fixed to the rock wall lights the way which curves off to the right, no end in sight. There is only one way to go and she begins to pick her path. She finds she has to focus on the floor, so treacherous are the cobbles in such shoes, yet the challenge strangely excites her. She totters along, heels scratching on stone, occasionally dropping into a crack between cobbles, making her legs shake from side to side like ungainly stilts, testing her ankles. Walking too closely to the walls, she feels the cold emanate towards her, but at least she can reach out to steady herself should she topple. The cool air of the passage on her bare skin makes her only too aware of the savagely revealing outfit. But she is soon lost in the endeavour of simply walking, gaining a rhythm, eagerly delivering herself to some mysterious unknown.
She is just ten feet or so away from the burly guard when she finally notices him. A bolt of shock pulls her up sharply and she almost topples, adjusting her legs like a spindly, new born foal. Her whole predicament from waking had all already been more than enough – but to now encounter another human seems to send every nerve and fibre of her body skittering.
The guard stands before a large wooden door, underneath which light leaks in. He is probably more than twice her age, muscular and foreboding, dressed all in leather – jerkin, shorts and boots. Around his waist, she notices, hangs a coiled leather whip – and the bulge in his shorts suggests another weapon, too. Her eyes fall back towards it briefly, thinking she can see a rippling in the bulge, and she wonders if such a thing could truly be muscular. She pulls her eyes away to his face. He glances at her, first bored, then instantly brightening when he takes in her attributes, which he does nothing to disguise. He stands at ease, hands on hips, as if to enjoy the show, beckoning her closer in a tongue she doesn’t understand.
She makes her way slowly towards him, extra careful now to display some level of grace, as if to deny her outfit and the situation. At a few paces from him, she slows. But with a nod and a gesture from twitching, stubby fingers, he insists she continue, right into his vicinity. The passage only continues to him and the door he guards. There’s nothing to do but take the last few steps, her shoulders squared as confidently as she can muster. She stops within arm range of him and looks up into his tanned, weather-beaten face, discerning something close to a smile, or at least a grin. His broad frame fills her view. Those muscles would make short work of her if he were to sweep her up now, she thinks. Off through that door to who knows where. But, despite it all, she is calm.
It seems he has a job to do, as he quickly sizes her up and examines the outfit. He says something again and gestures for her to turn around, placing a clammy hand on her shoulder as she complies. He begins to mutter and she can tell it is with some small displeasure. She feels her heart quicken with her breath. The latter she attempts to disguise and control by breathing through only her nose, though she suspects the rapid movement of her chest gives her away.
The guard quickly goes to work, his hands busy all across her vulnerable, exposed, tingling body, adjusting every strap of her outfit, tightening to their maximum. The straps begin to press into her skin uncomfortably. After adjusting a few of them, the guard’s irritable sounds turn to more pleasurable ones – not exactly enjoying her discomfort, but rather a sense of job satisfaction. He is clearly used to such preparatory work. She feels herself like an animal being readied for market. She realises that this is her first thought of anything beyond her immediate predicament since waking. A last yank of a strap brings her wandering mind back to the moment, the guard’s hands seizing her by her shoulders as he surveys his handiwork, finally satisfied.
It seems he has a job to do, as he quickly sizes her up and examines the outfit. He says something again and gestures for her to turn around, placing a clammy hand on her shoulder as she complies. He begins to mutter and she can tell it is with some small displeasure. He quickly goes to work, adjusting each strap of her outfit, tightening each to their maximum. The straps begin to press into her skin uncomfortably. After adjusting a few of them, the guard’s irritable sounds turn to more pleasurable ones – not exactly taking enjoying her discomfort, but rather a sense of job satisfaction. He is clearly used to such preparatory work. She feels herself like an animal being readied for market. She realises that this is her first thought of anything beyond her immediate predicament since waking. A last yank of a strap brings her wandering mind back to the moment, the guard’s hands seizing her by her shoulders as he surveys his handiwork, finally satisfied.
He seems to remember something he had forgotten and looks down at her shoes. He gestures for her to raise a foot, guiding her hands to his shoulders for support as she does so. He takes hold of a shoe in his firm hand and, as with the rest of the outfit, adjusts each strap, making it now into almost a torture implement. He repeats the same with the other shoe. She is sure, after all this, that the bulge in his shorts is now almost twice its original size. All well and good, she thinks, so long as it stays in there. She feels so constricted now that she just wants to sink to the floor and find some position of ease.
[[Instead, the guard pulls back a bolt on the door and guides her slowly, but insistently, through.|FINAL]]She risks aligning herself with the final outfit in the mirror. No images or anticipations this time enter her mind, which is at least a relief. Instead, there is only an airy space inside her, like unimagined possibilities. She feels a different prickle of excitement inside her, a breathy sensation seasoned with a dash of fear, as she realises that this path, this outfit, symbolises, yes – a blank page.
She lifts it from the hanger and, after some trial and error, solves the puzzle of its application to her body. With the adjustment of a few buckles, it fits well, defining the contours of her body in a way that no other outfit could, clinically highlighting its beauty. She feels contained and packaged, an entirely new feeling, she realises. And anything new feels reassuring in this room. Staring at herself, hands behind her neck fastening the collar, she notices how sober and solemn she looks. The sensation of the collar around her neck – the delicate means through which she breathes in the world, and breathes out her being – completes something like a sense of surrender, a willingness to find a novel fate.
She swallows hard and steps into the high, strappy, studded heels. A garishly thick leather strap attaches to the heel, to be worn just above the ankle, reminding her of the thick collar she wears around her neck. The shoes are angled so high, she notices, that her feet become almost like direct continuations of her leg. At first she finds it difficult to balance in them, feeling them less footwear than display platform. She looks at them in the mirror and wonders about to whom she might be displayed. No answers enter her head though she feels a response in her body, a tingling dancing up her calves and thighs, a coiled energy awakening in her belly, breath quickening. She notices finally, upon the table, a hairband which she uses to tie her cascading hair into a constrained, entrained ponytail.
It's then that the mirror clicks.
She suddenly feels unprepared; this new creation in the mirror, she doesn't recognise. It is still her, but she is buried deeper now, unexpressed and latent. This time, she realises, she may be someone else's fantasy.
[[She calmly takes a step nearer this new image and pushes through the reflection.|auction passage]]She flushes with happiness and puts on the beautiful underwear, pulling on the luxurious stockings and attaching the suspender belt. She surveys herself in the mirror, entranced by how the lingerie so enticingly packages her beauty. She pulls the dress over her head and drops it over her body, a prickly excitement building again. Finally, she completes the outfit by slipping the heels back on, barely believing the figure she has become.
While examining herself, something behind the mirror clicks. The mirror is split, she sees, into three mirrored panels, and she instantly knows that she can push upon the closest and leave the room that way. All of her fantasies related to the outfit, of attending some glamorous cocktail evening and meeting some mysterious stranger, or being taken for a romantic dinner by a similar tall, broad shouldered man, will be fulfilled beyond that door. Whatever is in her head will happen, she knows, will happen.
A rush of anticipation floods through her at the prospect. She stops, though, wondering how she knows. With a shudder she has the thought that these are not just fantasies and anticipations but may also be memories. She takes a step nearer the mirror, anyway. Just as she reaches out her hand to meet its reflection and push the mirror, she stops, staring at herself in shock, knowing that she can go no further.
She's done it all before. Many times. Too many times.
She watches herself step away, back to the middle of the room and the hanger, where she quickly pulls off the dress and strips off the underwear, as if it were now all worn out and filthy. The clothes seem like some old skin, way past its time to be shed, dead and exhausted. And she has no desire ever to inhabit them again.
[[She retreats to the rear of the room.|Retreat]]
Sasha Ash
<a href="https://clixtasy.com">clixtasy.com</a>She slowly turns to the final outfit, noticing she is reluctant, nervous for some reason rather than excited about what it might be. There is barely anything of it, she sees, just a collection of thin leather straps and metal hooks held in the shape of a torso by the thinner wires of the free-standing hanger. There are small detachable cups to cover where her nipples would be, and an attached modest leather brief. Her eyes fall on what looks like a dog's collar at the top of the outfit. Even just standing there on that side of the room gives her a cool, vertiginous sensation, as if she were suspended over a chasm.
<<if visited("Black Dress","Swim Suit")>>[[She takes a deep breath and puts on the strange outfit.|Bondage outfit]]<<else>>[[She takes some hasty steps in retreat.|Retreat]]<<endif>><<set $wander to 0>><<set $language to 0>><<set $TP to 0>><<set $KP to 0>><<set $LP to 0>><<set $OWP to 0>><<set $panties to 0>><<set $wander to 0>><<set $master to 0>><<set $sub = 0>>A dreamless sleep is left behind. Instant wakefulness. Darkness. A bed. Temperate air on naked skin.
The bed is expansive and more than enough for two. An exploration to the other side, cool to the touch, yields no other. The mind is as cool and blank, offering no memories. The body, though, with a prickling energy, urges to vault from the bed and explore.
Soft padding across a smooth floor. Hands reaching into the darkness, until an equally smooth wall is found. Then a door frame. A handle is discovered and turned, dim light cracking into the room. As the door is pulled cautiously open, light spills in to show it as the only exit from a simple room – empty except for the large bed.
Beyond lies a well-lit room, roughly twice the size. Three ceiling spotlights pool their bright light around three outfits. Each outfit is draped on its own free-standing wire-frame, so that they appear as three figures standing in the middle of the room. On the other side of these, on the far wall, is a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Stepping nearer to the first of the outfits, a reflection becomes apparent in the far mirror. A young woman. A beautiful, naked young woman. She flushes and pulls back temporarily, bashfully, as if from another. Her skin tingles, alive. She finds her own wide eyes in the reflection and giggles at herself in giddy recognition. Yet, the body she surveys seems somehow new to her. She moves deeper into the light, to take a closer look at herself, now standing between the first two outfits – a short black dress and a swim-suit.
She sees that she is tall, though not overly, an athletic figure, with long shapely legs, perfectly round breasts, a flat stomach, and entirely hairless between her legs. She shakes her head in disbelief at her luck, enjoying the feel of her long blonde hair which caresses her shoulders as it trails. She becomes drawn into her own face, fresh and youthful, innocent and pretty. She is beguiled by herself! She tries another expression and is delighted to notice a flashing charm, seductiveness, even. She realises she doesn't know how to act before such a vision, nor how to control its power. Excitement grips her and she squeals and skips suddenly away in delight. She twists her head away so violently that she near crumples to the floor. She is oddly fearful she might somehow fall into her reflection and never get away.
Gripping her squirming stomach, the near unbearable tingling slowly releases its grip. Panting, she gradually straightens and risks another look. She finds she is now directly in line with the first outfit on the left, a stylish black dress, which appears between herself and her reflection. So aligned, it looks as if she is wearing it. This new and glamorous image strikes calm into her, asking for more decorum.
She steps nearer to the dress, enjoying the appearance in the mirror. Beneath the outfit she notices a pair of equally stylish heels. She slips them on – they fit perfectly – and moves right up to the dress, feeling its exquisite touch upon her skin.
Set to the side, in the lower light, she notices a small table with some items on it. She tingles at this new discovery, another beautiful gift, perhaps. Stooping for a closer look she sees it is some lacy black underwear, including sheer stockings and a suspender belt. She rubs the thin panties between thumb and forefinger, pulse racing at the prospect of soon putting it all on, a giddiness that threatens to almost make her faint.
[[She puts on the heels.|Left Side]]
[[She goes to examine the swim suit.|Middle]]
[[She goes to examine the outfit on the far right of the room.|Right Side]]She goes to the swim-suit and removes it from the hanger, quickly stepping into it. She notices now, against the brilliant white of the material, how tanned her skin already is, ready for the strong sun of some exotic clime. She examines how the suit pleasantly reveals the sides of her breasts, each one covered by a single piece of material that meets the briefs and loops around her neck. She imagines her well-built fantasy yacht captain appreciating how ravishing she looks in the outfit and, indeed, for a moment, she imagines also being ravished on the deck, interrupted from her sunbathing by him in a crisp white uniform.
As if to temporarily banish the thought, she puts on the sunglasses and slips on the mules. The mirror clicks and she knows she can push through the panel to the actual fulfilment of such desires. With a smile and a deep breath, she takes a step, watching as this long-legged lovely comes nearer, an arm rising, and a palm about to push.
A flurry of images suddenly runs through her mind – the captain returning to her thoughts, this time naked, all over her on the warm deck, having her every which way. She feels echoey flutters of these sensations. These fantasies, she knows, are actually memories – and that isn't what she wants. It disturbs her, giving her the feeling of going in entirely the wrong direction. We should move out and away from our memories, she reflects, not towards and back into them.
The hand before her – its reflection in the mirror – suddenly strikes her as a warning, as if from some other deeper part of herself, a command to stop. Her palm hangs and presses only lightly upon the mirror which quivers in response. It would be so easy to push it open and enjoy it all again, and it is tempting. Yet, the pull in her stomach, she notices, is tinged also with nausea.
She quickly peels off the outfit, relieved to be naked once more, fresh and purged of the residues of worn roles.
[[She retreats to the rear of the room.|Retreat]]She goes to the second outfit, the white swim-suit. While there she feels also the pull of the outfit to her right, almost radiating a presence, like a figure standing quietly, almost impatiently, awaiting her. She doesn't dare look at it, though, and instead steps closer to the swim-suit.
The swim-suit is an all-in-one, though essentially a bikini joined by an intricate array of triangles of material and cords. It looks purpose designed to tastefully show off her body’s own particular qualities. She notices a pair of black high heeled mules near a table on which rests a pair of large round sunglasses. She puts the sunglasses on and briefly imagines sunning herself on the deck of some luxury yacht, moored in some deserted tropical bay with crystal waters.
[[She puts on the swim suit.|Swim Suit]]<<if not visited("Left Side")>><html><br><html><br>[[She slips on the stylish heels of the first outfit.|Left Side]]<<endif>><<if visited("Left Side") and not visited("Black Dress")>><html><br><html><br>[[She returns to the stylish black outfit on the left.|Black Dress]]<<endif>><<if not visited("Right Side")>><html><br><html><br>[[She investigates the final outfit on the right.|Right Side]]<<endif>>And so ends your tantalising taste of Extasia.
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A few glimpses of what awaits inside ...
//The master paces behind her, backwards and forwards, stopping occasionally, making the odd sound to himself – pleased, intrigued, displeased – at one point pausing soundlessly for what seems an age. It all seems like not just an inspection but a test, a test of her nerve, her self-control. No sooner has one hurdle been successfully cleared than another challenge is issued. And, yet, though quite unsettling, the rapidity of each challenge, and its successful navigation, brings its own giddy, rhythmic reward.//
...
//The girl finds her own mental patterns slowing; the discipline imposed in order to retain her composure means her unease must be conquered, piecemeal, unhelpful thoughts pruned one by one as they arise. Her breath slows, her nerves decrease, leaving her more relaxed, yet just as focused – her bared, scrutinised skin sensitised and tingling. She becomes aware of the two guards, now standing at ease. The two guards and herself, she realises, are locked into the slow metronome of the master. It is oddly engaging, hypnotic, even.//
...
//The mistress swings the door open to reveal a dank, stone-walled dungeon. The girl feels dizzy as she takes in all the devices and implements arrayed there. Low light enters from a solitary high window: there are couches, platforms, tables, chairs and a bed, all with straps, manacles and chains. The other furniture – if it can so be named – is more difficult to identify: frames, racks, posts, a cage, stocks, and items that look more like machines, as if some poor soul might in some manner be draped there, too.//
...
//"Do you like my feet?"
The words flicker like bright flames in the girl's head. A blush blooms on her face with the instant rushing force of a volcano, ejecting its fiery lava across her scalp, down through her neck and onto her bared chest. The question leaves an ocean of silence in its wake, into which the girl knows she must plunge. She knows not to verbally reply, and while her embarrassment impels her to look away, she has learned now that there can be no such retreats.//
...
//The question near halts the girl in her tracks. In a sense, and seemingly without knowing, he is bluntly probing for her most personal details. It feels embarrassing to have her attention brought suddenly to her greatest limitation, her lack of memory. She knows it would be amiss to reveal to him the deeper details of her rather strange predicament. And the truth is that, at essence, she is nothing but an insubstantial will-o'-the-wisp.//
...
//Her strictness seems to display also an anxiety, as if any further resistance from the girl – and the master's displeasure – might spell trouble for them all. She feels a swirl of feelings – revulsion, anger, powerlessness – and yet, still, that not unwelcome feeling of being the centre of attention, founded seemingly on some faith that, despite her predicament, all will be well in the end. Accompanying this, too, she feels a dangerous attraction to the mystery of what might lie beyond the abyss of utter submission.//
...
//"But what if I were to tell you I were just another imposter. Would it matter?"
The girl can discern from his tone that his question is one of philosophy, rather than some cruel game. "I expect it would not, sir."
"I quite agree," he replies, blowing a stream of smoke about him. "Life is lived in the mind, after all, perhaps even more so than the body. You believed me a lord, and that is all that matters. You cannot 'unlive' that experience now."//
...
//A tirade of unintelligible abuse follows, then an angry, painful cropping, this way and that, about her upturned, bared rear, the crop landing in criss-crosses and other creative swipes. But, rather than becoming completely upset, she notices instead a flicker of something else – quite unexpected intimations and feelings, in fact. That strange quality of acceptance again, which had been intermingling all evening with her more challenging impressions and emotions.//
...
//He knows exactly where to move and she responds immediately to his subtle guidance, effected via the delicate dance of his large hands upon her bare arms, waist and shoulders. The music feels inside her, cascading through her limbs, threatening to take control. Yet the divine, shapeless flowing of her body is always bordered and shaped by the boundaries of this heavenly gentleman, who moves her as if she were a marionette. She feels herself his instrument, and wants to flow and twist and turn for him forever.//
...
//She drops her gaze from his face to his great cock. It is a battering ram, against whose momentum she knows she can only yield. Again, almost devoid of any will of her own, her mouth drops open when it is just two inches away, and welcomes it inside.//
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