The mouth continued to explore my face: a tongue on my lip, a nip on my ear. I was dizzy, and my eyes wouldn’t focus. I had been tied to the chair and stripped from the waist down. Sensations came and went. The male mouth traveled over my ears, licking, and down my neck, biting. My clit began to swell, and sweat, and trickle. The moisture hit the plastic of the seat, making it sticky. Karen gave me a glance, and stood.

“Don’t you ruin my chair, you sloppy girl,” she barked. Suddenly, she tilted the light down to the floor. My stubby square toenails had been painted bright red. They looked like the feet of a slut. My clit grew some more. I didn’t recognize those feet as my own.

Karen noticed me looking at the color. “You like it? I call it ‘Wench.’”

I turned back to the shop window. Karen hadn’t pulled the metal grate down, or pulled a curtain. If anyone had looked in, they could have seen us plainly: a half-naked woman being gently mauled by a silent man in tight black jeans, a white cotton shirt, and a ponytail, while being watched over by a stern, tiny mistress. I couldn’t really see the man’s face, but I could smell him. I hated men who smoked. But not this one.

“Show me her breasts,” Karen snapped, and without warning, the Mouthman grabbed the front of my white Oxford shirt and yanked it open. The buttons fell on the floor with a clatter. Somehow that made me hot, too.

“What an ugly bra,” Karen spat. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

Mouth pulled a knife out of his tight jeans and flipped it open, like a biker boy. Carefully, he placed it on the material between my breasts and slit the fabric. He was gentle, but still he drew blood. Karen sighed, and picked up a cotton ball. She dabbed it with rubbing alcohol: I could smell it rising in the air. She swabbed my wound down hard, and I gasped from the stinging.

But my nipples got hard, and my cunt was slick with juice. My shirt dangled from my arms, and my bra was ruined.

“I would never have taken you if your hands hadn’t been such a mess,” Karen whispered. “Now I’ll have to do all of you.”

Mouth flung my shirt into a corner, along with my bra. Occasionally, I could sense people stopping outside, staring into the window, wondering if they really saw what they thought they saw in the shadows.

My wrists were bound to the arms of the chair, just a little too tight. Then they gagged me with a ball gag. There was a click of metal: clips made of silver filigree grasped my nipples fiercely—again, a little too tight.