She is kneeling, head bent, naked. Hands clasped behind her back, rocked back on her heels, knees open. She has been shaved, or maybe waxed; in any case, her pussy is bare and exposed. Her hair is long, braided. She is blindfolded.

The men standing around her are dressed, one of them very formally in a business suit with a tie. You would have expected him to have a briefcase nearby, and a secretary to bring him coffee. This one is her lover.

The other two men are more casually dressed. Blue jeans, soft from age, but expensive ones. One of them wears a crisp, white button down shirt, sleeves rolled back, and black boots. His hair, streaked with grey, is pulled back in a short ponytail. The other man is younger, dark-haired, wearing a t-shirt that says “I Speak Rope.”

The woman can’t see this, she knows that her lover is there, but she has been blindfolded before she was brought to the room and made to kneel. She is acutely aware of her nipples, which are hard and throbbing with pain. One of the men – she doesn’t know which – has just removed the nipple clamps. She had gotten used to them, she supposes that her nipples had gotten numb. But they are coming to life again, and it hurts worse than when the clamps first went on.

She whimpers, but keeps her hands laced firmly behind her back. “Good girl,” says one of the men; she doesn’t know which one and is not even sure how many there are. But no sooner has he said that than he tugs on the left nipple. Gently, but it sends new waves of pain radiating outward from the nipple and she cries out. One of them laughs.

“She’s lovely.” It is the older man who speaks up. “Delightful. It will be a pleasure to train her. Thank you for bringing her to us.”

“Well, your references are impeccable.” That is her lover’s voice. She shivers, reminding herself that he is her Master now. Reminding herself that she has agreed to wear his collar, that she has agreed to all of this.