Collared by the CEO

Hours Without Time

Amelia

I had no idea how long I had been alone.

The white walls gave nothing back. No clock. No window. No sound except the soft, humiliating chime of the silver bells every time I breathed too deeply or shifted on the narrow bed. The heavy clamps bit into my n*****s without mercy, pulling them downward, the chain between them cold against my skin. And inside me the thick plug lived like a second heartbeat—unpredictable, relentless, cruel.

It would pulse low and slow for what felt like forever, a teasing vibration that kept my c**t swollen and my thighs slick. Then it would surge without warning, hard and deep, forcing a broken cry from my throat and making the bells ring wildly as my body jerked. Just as I began to climb toward the edge it would drop again to almost nothing, leaving me panting, empty, desperate. Over and over. I lost count of how many times I had been brought to the brink and abandoned there.

My skin still burned from the earlier impact. Every brush of the thin sheet against my marked ass or the clamps made fresh tears sting my eyes. I tried to stay still so the bells would stay quiet, but the plug never allowed true stillness. The smallest internal throb sent the chain swaying, the soft silver sound loud in the absolute silence.

I did not know when he first came.

The door opened. I scrambled to my knees on instinct, bells chiming frantically. Alexander stood there, fully dressed, expression unreadable. He said nothing. He simply crossed the small space, fisted a hand in my hair, and pushed his c**k between my lips.

I opened for him immediately. He f****d my throat in long, deep strokes, using me without hurry. Tears streamed down my face as I gagged and swallowed around him. The plug chose that moment to surge hard; my moan vibrated around his shaft and the bells rang with every thrust of his hips. He came down my throat in thick pulses, held me there until I had taken every drop, then withdrew, wiped my mouth with his thumb, and left.

The door sealed. The plug dropped back to a low, mocking tease.

I sobbed into the mattress.

Later—minutes or hours, I could no longer tell—he returned. This time he only watched. He stood in the corner while the plug tortured me, eyes dark and assessing. When I started to rock my hips helplessly he stepped forward, tightened both clamps another cruel notch, and left again. The new pressure made my n*****s throb in time with the vibration. I cried out his name. The room swallowed the sound.

Another visit: he pushed me onto my back, spread my legs, and edged me with two fingers and his tongue while the plug pulsed inside my ass. He brought me so close I was sobbing, begging, the bells in constant frantic song. Then he simply stopped, licked his fingers clean, and walked out, leaving me shaking and empty on the sheets.

Sometimes long stretches passed with no visit at all. Only the plug and the bells and the white walls. My mind began to fray at the edges. I started hearing his voice in the silence—low, controlled, repeating the words he had made me say on the cross.

*You belong only to me.*

I whispered them back to the empty room just to hear something human.

I dozed in short, restless fragments. Each time I woke the clamps were still there, the plug still seated deep, my cunt still aching and wet. Time had dissolved into nothing but sensation and denial.

I was half-dreaming, curled on my side, when I felt warm breath against my ear.

“Good girl.”

The whisper was so clear, so close, that my eyes flew open.

I was alone.

The room was empty.

And in the same instant the plug surged to a merciless new intensity, deep and relentless, forcing a raw scream from my throat as the bells rang and rang.

****

I don't know how long it has been.

The hallucinations sharpened until I could no longer trust my own senses.

I talked to the empty room because the sound of my voice was the only proof I still existed. I apologized over and over—soft, broken words spilling into the white silence.

“I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I went to him. I’m sorry I hesitated. I’m yours. Only yours.”

When the silence pressed too hard I recited the ownership vows he had forced from me on the cross, repeating them like a prayer.

“I belong to Alexander Knight. Body. Mind. Soul. No one else. Not my past. Not Ethan. Only him.”

Every word made the bells chime softly. Every shift of my body reminded me of the clamps dragging at my swollen n*****s and the thick plug stretching me open. My cunt was a continuous, throbbing ache. The air itself against my skin felt like a deliberate tease. I was soaked between my thighs; the sheets beneath me were damp with my own denied need. The slightest movement sent fresh waves of desperate arousal rolling through me, but never enough to finish.

Alexander’s real visits became both torment and the only relief I had left.

Sometimes the door opened and he was simply there—tall, silent, fully dressed. He would push me to my knees and f**k my throat until spit and tears ran down my chin, the plug vibrating in cruel counterpoint, then leave me gasping on the floor. Sometimes he only adjusted the clamps tighter, watching my face contort, and walked out again. Once he stayed longer. He held my chin in one hand, forced my eyes to meet his, and turned the remote up while his other hand hovered just above my c**t—close enough that I could feel the heat of his palm but never the touch I needed. He kept me there, shaking, sobbing, incoherent, until I could no longer form words. Then he switched the plug off completely and left me empty and shaking on the narrow bed.

I no longer knew which visits were real.

I would feel his hands on me only to open my eyes and find the room still empty. I would hear the door and scramble to kneel, bells ringing, only to realize nothing had changed. The camera in the corner watched everything. I wondered if he was watching me unravel in real time. The thought made my cunt clench helplessly around the plug.

My body had become one continuous, screaming need. Every brush of air across my clamped n*****s sent lightning down to my core. Every tiny shift of the thick silicone inside me made me moan. I tried pressing my thighs together, tried rocking against nothing, but the denial was absolute. He had taken even the possibility of release from me.

I lost track of how many times I came close to begging the empty air. I lost track of my own voice apologizing and reciting and breaking.

I was on my knees in the center of the room, forehead pressed to the cool floor, bells silent for a rare moment of stillness, when I heard the heavy lock turn.

The door opened.

A tall figure stepped inside.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Tears already burned my eyes. I lifted my head, desperate, terrified, aching.

I could no longer be sure whether the man standing in the doorway was actually Alexander—or another cruel product of my fraying mind.