I scan my card and cautiously step inside. The atmosphere shifts instantly and the music from the hallway is gone as I enter the dark room. It feels like I’ve stepped inside a medieval castle pulled straight from the pages of a dark fantasy. Chunky stone walls enclose the space, their rough, uneven texture catching the flickering light of torches mounted on wrought iron sconces. Shadows dance erratically across the room, alive and restless. Hooks and whips are hanging throughout, with metal cuffs secured at various heights. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood, leather and sex.
At the center of the room stands a massive bed, impossible to ignore. Its frame, carved from dark, imposing wood, is an intricate masterpiece of twisting vines and writhing creatures, their forms seemingly frozen in motion. The bed itself sits low to the ground, draped in rich crimson fabrics that pool onto the stone floor like fresh-spilled wine.
And right in the middle of it all—two women.
The one on the right is trapped by a wooden torture device, with a belt around her neck and a gag shoved inside her mouth. She’s also got a bar around her ankles and by the looks of it, she fought hard and lost the battle. Covered in a layer of sweat,she whimpers, trying to squirm away from the vibrator that’s attached to her. But she’s not going anywhere. When she spots me, her eyes grow wide, like I’m an angel sent from above.
The woman on the left looks like she’s caught in the throes of overstimulation, her body trembling under the strain. Red tape covers her face completely, as if someone used an entire roll to mask her features, leaving only her nose exposed. A ball gag juts out where her mouth should be, securing her silence. Her hands are bound tightly in front of her. Thick rope is meticulously wound around her thighs, knees, and ankles, holding her in place with unyielding precision. She’s groaning and writhing, trying to scream but having no luck because there is a wand in between her legs and a toy up her ass.
Fucking hell, I’d rather be edged than forced to cum repeatedly.
I could be wrong but it doesn’t look like these two are having any fun. How long have they been here?
There is no one else in the room. No fucking way someone tied them up and left. They must be watching.
The one on the right won’t take her eyes off me, silently pleading with me to do something.
Fuck it. When in Rome.
I take a step toward the bed, but I haven’t made it three steps before a booming voice echoes from the ceiling.
“Leave my fucktoys alone. They’re fine.”
The sheer force of it makes me cringe. I glance up, scanning the ceiling.
“They don’t look fine,” I call out, my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my gut.
Silence.
I suck in a breath and take another step.
And then another.
“Move any closer,” the voice growls, sharper this time, “and you’ll be joining them on that bed.”
Well, shit. Guess I can’t be a hero today
“Sorry,” I whisper to the girl.
She closes her eyes, letting out a moan at the same time.
“Are you okay?”
She nods which gives me relief but the control freak in me needs to make sure. I quickly glance at both of them, looking for a sign that they are able to use a safe word if needed since they’re both tied and gagged. I notice a thin red ring around both of their index fingers which they can easily push off with their thumb if they choose to.
That’s likely their safe word sign.
One time when I found myself in a similar situation, I was told to cross my eyes and stare at my nose for a few seconds if I needed to stop.
I head for a door on the other side of the room, ready to make my exit. Just as my hand reaches the handle, something catches my eye—a pair of jeans, a dark hoodie, and white sneakers neatly discarded in the corner. They look more practical and comfortable than what I’m wearing.
I hesitate for a moment, weighing my options, then decide to go for it. My dress is far more valuable anyway, and I doubt the owner of these clothes will miss them too much. Hopefully, whichever girl left them here won’t mind my little act of theft.
After all, worse things have happened at Untamed.
As I move through the halls, a strange exhilaration takes hold of me. The adrenaline, the fear of being caught, the thrill of the unknown—it’s like tasting a piece of a life I’ll never truly know. A somewhat normal life, if you can call it that. In my world, as a woman with considerable power, these emotions are a rare luxury. Fear, excitement, adventure—those are reserved for people who don’t live under constant scrutiny.
Here, though, it’s different. Untamed offers me something nothing else ever has: freedom. Freedom from everything I am and everything I pretend to be. Inside these walls, I can shed the weight of my reality and become whoever my imagination dares me to be. I feel safe here, enough to let go and allow my fantasies to take the lead.
