Warning: This story depicts characters having somewhat vivid hallucinations. It also contains a realistic scene of common, real-world sexual harassment. The purpose of the harassment scene is to flesh out the character, not to glorify criminal activity.



Part 3

Missouri lay tangled in sheets, her waist-length brown hair splayed across the pillow like spilled ink. The pink baby-doll nightie had ridden up during her sleep, exposing the smooth curve of her hip. Dreams of Blanca's touch still lingered at the edges of her consciousness when a gentle but deliberate hand shook her shoulder.

"Wake up, Missy," Blanca's voice slipped into her ear, warm and commanding.

Missouri's eyes fluttered open to see Blanca already dressed in her customary blue jeans and button-down shirt, her blonde hair neatly brushed. The bedroom was still bathed in the bluish glow of early morning, the sun not yet fully risen.

"Mmm, what time is it?" Missouri mumbled, reaching instinctively for her lover.

"Early," Blanca replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I need to get you ready before I head to the lab."

Missouri pushed herself up, suddenly more alert. "Get ready? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, but I'm going to be putting in a lot of hours this week. The robotics project has hit a critical phase." Blanca's fingers absently stroked Missouri's exposed thigh. “You are going to be on your own a lot, I’m afraid.”

A small pout formed on Missouri's lips. "I'm going to miss you so much," she whined, already imagining lonely evenings. "The bed's always cold without you."

Blanca's mouth curved into a smile that Missouri recognized immediately—the smile that meant she had plans, delicious plans. "I thought you might say that," she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "That's why I'm going to make sure I'm in your thoughts all day."

From behind her back, Blanca produced a tube of lubricant, holding it up like a trophy. Missouri's eyes widened, her breath catching as understanding bloomed across her face.

"Oh," she whispered, a flush spreading across her cheeks even as a smile tugged at her lips.

"Oh, indeed," Blanca confirmed. "Even though I won’t be here, I want to be inside you."

Missouri's smile transformed into something wicked and willing. "Yes, ma'am," she said, the words carrying all the devotion she felt for the brilliant woman who had claimed her heart and body.

“Good girl,” Blanca said. “Now, quickly, go to the bathroom and clean yourself for me. I need to leave soon, but I want to make sure that you are properly equipped.”

Equipped indeed.

Blanca was asking for Missouri to wear a buttplug.

Fifteen minutes later and Missouri was sitting on the bed, naked with her long hair, wet and wrapped in a towel. Her fingers traced the smooth curve of the glass plug resting in her palm. The jewel at its base caught the lamp light, fracturing it into prismatic rainbows across her skin. She smiled to herself, lost in memories as she heard Blanca using the blender in the kitchen.

Four years together, and Missy still felt that flutter in her stomach whenever she thought about how completely she belonged to Blanca. Their relationship had evolved from cautious dating to this beautiful dynamic where Missy's submission was as natural as breathing. Where Blanca's dominance was firm but loving.

Missouri’s journey with buttplugs had started long before Blanca, back when she was still experimenting with her own desires. That first vibrator with its timid little anal enticer had awakened something in her – a fullness, a vulnerability, a surrender that made her crave more.

She smiled, remembering how nervous she'd been ordering that "anal education set" online. How clinical and determined she'd been, working through the graduated sizes with patience and plenty of lubricant. The smallest had been easy, the largest still intimidating, but that middle one – that had been perfect for so long. The way it nestled inside her, a constant reminder of her body's capacity for pleasure.

The glass one came next. Missy glanced again at its box. That had been an aesthetic choice as much as a practical one. She'd always found it beautiful, like a work of art. And the sensation of it going in – that cool, unyielding pressure that warmed to her body – was unlike anything else.

Then the metal jeweled one, which she wore the first time Blanca ever took her to dinner. Only later had Blanca discovered why Missy had blushed so deeply when she shifted in her chair, why she'd been so distracted throughout their meal.

"You wore it for me even then," Blanca had said, when they'd become lovers and Missy had confessed. "Before you even knew you were mine."

Missouri's fingers drifted to another box, this one containing the remote-controlled vibrating plug that Blanca had bought for her on their first anniversary. The first toy that Blanca controlled completely, varying the intensity of both vibration and massage unpredictably throughout the day, sometimes when they were apart, connected only by Missy's gasps over the phone.

"Getting lost in your collection again?" 

Missy startled, looking up to find Blanca leaning against the doorframe, a strawberry smoothie in her hand. 

"Just remembering," Missy said, smiling as she lowered her eyes.

Blanca crossed the room, setting the smoothie on the bedside table. She pulled the towel from Missouri’s head, threading her fingers through her lover’s wet, thick dark hair, gently pulling her head back to meet her gaze.

"Which one were you thinking about wearing today?" Blanca asked, her voice carrying that edge that made Missy's pulse quicken.

"I was thinking about the heavy one," Missy admitted. "The one that I feel with every step. The one that makes me think of you whenever I move."

Blanca's smile was slow and knowing. "Good choice. But I think I have something better." She kissed Missouri’s head, releasing her hair, then knelt and pulled a gift box from underneath the bed. Missouri smiled as she slipped open the lid. 

Missy's breath caught. It was Blanca's latest creation – the perfect plug that she'd engineered specifically for Missy after countless conversations about what she loved about each of her favorites.

It was a masterpiece of engineering – heavy enough that Missy would never forget its presence, with a vibration module that Blanca could control remotely. But its most remarkable feature was the expandable bulb that could, with the press of a button on Blanca's phone, increase in size just enough to feel like it was locking into place, making removal impossible without Blanca's permission.

"Is it finished?" Missy whispered, her eyes wide.

"Completed the final tests last week," Blanca said, sitting beside Missy on the bed. "It's perfect. Just like you."

Missy's cheeks flushed with pleasure at the compliment. Then she asked rather formally, "May I wear it for you?"

"That's my good girl. Always so eager to please." She pressed another kiss to Missy's forehead. "Now turn over onto your hands and knees."

Missouri nodded, already feeling that delicious anticipation building. This was what she lived for – pleasing Blanca, surrendering control. As Missy positioned herself on the bed, she caught Blanca's gaze – intelligent, appreciative, commanding.

"Thank you," Missy said softly.

"For what, pet?" Blanca asked as she liberally squeezed a glob of lubricant on the plug.

"For understanding me. For making this for me. For..." Missy inhaled sharply as she felt Blanca’s finger guide the cool lubricant over her anus, "...for letting me belong to you."

Blanca's expression softened momentarily before resuming its dominant cast. "Show me how much you appreciate it, then. Show me how beautifully you can take what I've made for you."

And Missouri did, knowing that with every movement, every gasp, every submission, she was exactly where she was meant to be – under Blanca's skilled, loving control.

<>--+-

Missouri stirred beneath the soft, warm sheets, gradually awakening from her extended morning slumber. The gentle, rhythmic hum of the bonnet hair dryer surrounded her head like a cocoon of white noise, lulling her back toward sleep even as consciousness tugged at her mind. She stretched languidly across the empty bed, her naked body sliding against the cotton sheets as awareness slowly returned.

A sudden, unexpected pulse deep inside her made Missouri gasp, then smile dreamily. The buttplug that Blanca had inserted earlier that morning was vibrating in a slow, teasing pattern that could only mean one thing: Blanca was thinking about her, controlling the device remotely from somewhere across the city. The thought of her lover taking time from her busy workday to remind Missouri of her presence sent a warm flush through her body.

"Mmm, good morning to you too," Missouri murmured to the empty room, imagining Blanca smirking at her phone, adjusting settings while pretending to pay attention in some corporate meeting.

Still half-asleep, Missouri lifted her hands to remove the hair dryer bonnet—and froze. Something was wrong. Her wrists wouldn't separate properly; they moved together as if magnetically drawn to one another. Confusion furrowed her brow as she brought her hands before her face and discovered thick leather cuffs encircling each wrist, connected by a short, sturdy chain approximately four inches long.

"What the..." Missouri whispered, instantly more alert. The buttplug pulsed more intensely inside her as she examined the restraints. The cuffs were beautifully crafted—Blanca's taste was evident in their design—with soft interior padding and sturdy exterior leather. A small, familiar padlock connected the chain links, limiting her movement without completely restricting it.

Missouri carefully sat up, the cuffs forcing her to keep her hands together in front of her body. Her mind raced through fragmented memories of the morning. Blanca had inserted the plug before leaving, then Missouri had put on the bonnet to dry her freshly washed hair, and then... what? She couldn't remember putting on the cuffs. Had Blanca done it while she slept? But that didn't make sense—Blanca had left for work by the time Missouri had put the bonnet on.

Examining the padlock more carefully, recognition dawned on Missouri's face. It was the distinctive lock that matched the key Blanca kept on her car keyring at all times—the one she wouldn't return home without. A mix of arousal and resignation washed over her; she would remain bound until Blanca returned, likely late into the evening.

As Missouri contemplated her situation, fragmented memories began filtering back—hazy, dreamlike recollections of herself sleepily fastening the cuffs around her own wrists shortly after Blanca had left for work.

"Silly me!" she thought, shaking her head at her own absent-mindedness. "I must have been half-asleep when I put these on." The explanation satisfied her, though a small part of her mind wondered why she would have done such a thing.

With careful movements, Missouri reached up with her bound hands and removed the bonnet hair dryer. The device went silent as she set it aside on the nightstand, revealing her thick, waist-length dark brown hair, now dry and cascading around her shoulders in luxuriant waves.

Missouri slipped out from beneath the covers and stood beside the bed, her hair swishing softly against her naked skin as she moved. The buttplug pulsed again, as if Blanca somehow knew she was now fully awake and mobile. A smile played across Missouri's lips as she contemplated how she might spend her day, bound but determined to please Blanca upon her return—perhaps she would create a drawing, despite the challenge the cuffs presented. After all, difficulties never stopped her from demonstrating her devotion to the woman who had so thoroughly captured her heart and will.

Missouri stood naked beside her bed, stretching her arms overhead, the chain between her wrist cuffs jingling softly. Spotting a short skirt with pink flowers folded in her drawer, she smiled and carefully pulled it on.

"This should work," she murmured to herself, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Every movement sent delicious sensations through her body as the heavy buttplug shifted inside her. 

Missouri paused, looking down at her body. "I wonder," she said softly, her fingers trailing over her bare stomach. "What is your name?" she asked the intimate device filling her. The question hung in the air for a moment before she smiled. "How about ‘Heater’? Yes, I think that suits you perfectly."

She continued rummaging through her clothing options, finally selecting a halter neck crop top that complemented the skirt. As she arranged it over her torso, a blissful, slightly dazed smile spread across her face. The combination of the skirt, top, and the constant internal pressure from Heater was making her feel wonderfully submissive and pleasantly foggy.

Missouri drifted to the full-length mirror on her closet door, studying her reflection. The crop top exposed her midriff, while the short skirt showcased her long legs. The leather cuffs encircling her wrists contrasted with her narrow olive wrists.

"How do I look, Heater?" she asked, turning slightly to view herself from different angles, deliberately keeping her wrists visible. "Do you think Blanca would approve?" 

Feeling hungry, Missouri made her way to the kitchen where she found the strawberry smoothie Blanca had prepared for her. She carried it back to the bedroom, approaching her drawing desk in the corner. As she sat down in the chair, the buttplug pressed deeper into her, causing her to let out a surprised squeak.

"Oh! Heater! I would never forget you, love!" she exclaimed, immediately jumping back up. "How thoughtless of me. Let me make you more comfortable."

Missouri quickly grabbed a soft pillow from the bed and placed it carefully on the chair. She lowered herself gently onto the cushioned surface, sighing contentedly as she found a position that accommodated the buttplug. She wiggled her hips experimentally, adjusting herself until the pressure felt just right.

"Mmm... you're the best, H!" she said, taking a sip of her smoothie before setting it aside. The cool sweetness coated her throat as she picked up a pencil from the desk.

Missouri closed her eyes, letting her mind drift freely. Her breathing slowed, deepened. When she opened her eyes again, they held that faraway look that always came over her when inspiration struck. The pencil began to move across the paper, almost of its own accord. Her artist's hand guided by something deeper than conscious thought, Missouri began to draw, the chain between her cuffs softly clinking with each stroke of the pencil.

Missouri let her pencil wander across the paper, moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm as her consciousness drifted. The soft scratch against the textured surface created a soothing background noise in the otherwise quiet bedroom. She shifted slightly on the extra pillow beneath her, the movement sending a small reminder of Heater's presence, making her breath catch momentarily before she settled again.

Under her fingers, lines began to connect and form something recognizable – a teardrop-shaped object emerging from the randomness, anchored by a cylindrical base taking shape at the bottom of the page.

"It's a temple," Missouri murmured to herself, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. Her fingers continued to move, adding definition to the structure, shading giving it dimension and substance.

The object gained clarity with each stroke of her pencil. The transparent material of the structure became evident through her careful hatching technique, suggesting glass or crystal that would catch and refract light. The rounded top of the shape curved gracefully before tapering to a delicate point, perfectly balanced like a suspended droplet of water frozen in time.

She tilted her head, studying her creation with narrowed eyes. "No, Heater! It's an altar," she corrected, addressing her buttplug as if it had offered the previous suggestion. The chain between her wrist cuffs clinked softly as she reached to add more definition to the cylindrical base she'd drawn, making it more substantial, more grounded.

Missouri's pencil moved in deliberate strokes now, adding tiny figures around the base of the altar – small, robed forms with pointed hats. "Witches are making a pilgrimage to the altar," she whispered, feeling a pleasant tingle run through her body as the story began to unfold in her mind. The sensation made her squeeze her thighs together slightly, the movement shifting Heater inside her, sending another wave of awareness through her core.

She added more witches to the drawing, some kneeling before the structure, others approaching with hands raised in supplication. Her pencil moved faster now, inspired by the narrative forming in her imagination, adding small details to the smooth, symmetrical design of the central object.

"It's the Altar of Blanca," Missouri breathed, her lips curving into a small, secret smile as she realized what her subconscious had been creating all along. A warm flush spread across her cheeks, imagining what Blanca would say if she saw this drawing, this physical manifestation of Missouri's devotion. Would she be pleased? The thought made Missouri's heart beat faster, and she felt herself becoming aroused at the mere possibility of earning Blanca's approval.

She set her pencil down and leaned back in her chair, the chain between her wrist cuffs draped across her bare midriff. "Why are witches making a pilgrimage to the Altar of Blanca, H?" she asked aloud, genuinely curious about the narrative her subconscious was weaving.

Missouri closed her eyes, letting her imagination take full control. She began to craft a story in her mind – a story of devotion, of worship, of complete surrender to the one who held her heart.

"Oh!" she exclaimed to the empty bedroom, her voice rising with excitement. "I see it now!"

She rose to her feet, the chain between her wrist cuffs jingling softly as she gestured at her drawing. "The witches journey to Goddess Blanca's altar to renew their covenant through the sacrifice of their most perfectly submissive sister, Missouri, who has been prepared through months of ritualistic bondage and edging."

Missouri spun around, her long dark hair swirling around her as she moved to the center of the bedroom. The buttplug shifted inside her, sending a delicious shiver up her spine that only fueled her dramatic narration.

"Upon their arrival," she continued, voice dropping to a theatrical whisper as she extended her arms as though bound, "Missouri is secured to an elaborate framework of enchanted steel at the altar's center, with dozens of magical restraints that shift and tighten in response to the Goddess's whims, each one designed to expose her most sensitive areas to the altar's pulsing energy."

She stepped forward, her short skirt swishing against her thighs as she mimicked the procession of witches. Her crop top rode up slightly as she raised her arms, expanding the strip of bare skin above her skirt.

"The members of the coven draw forth their sharpened knives," Missouri proclaimed, eyes wide with theatrical fear and excitement, "prepared to sacrifice their beloved sister!"

She twirled across the bedroom floor, her bare feet made soft padding sounds against the hardwood as she moved.

"But the Goddess Blanca, cold and magnificent in her dominance," Missouri declared, standing tall and attempting to capture the regal bearing she imagined for her lover, "announces that Missouri has been chosen not for death but for transcendence—her consciousness will be merged with the altar itself, experiencing the collective pleasure of all future supplicants for eternity!"

Missouri fell to her knees in the center of the room, head tilted back, arms raised overhead despite the limiting chain. The movement forced her to arch her back, pressing the base of the buttplug more firmly against her.

"As the full moon reaches its zenith," she breathed, voice trembling with genuine arousal now, "the final bindings are secured and Missouri's screams of ecstasy echo through the temple."

She closed her eyes, imagining herself on that altar, bound and helpless before Blanca's divine power. The fantasy was so vivid she could almost feel the additional restraints around her body, the exposure, the anticipation.

"Missouri's mind expands into the structure itself," she whispered, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her halter top, "forever serving as Blanca's most prized possession—an eternally aware, eternally stimulated cornerstone of her divine power."

Missouri remained kneeling in the center of their bedroom, breathing heavily, her bound wrists still raised overhead as though offering herself to an unseen goddess, the buttplug a constant reminder of who truly owned her, fantasy or not.

Missouri's eyes popped open, her fantasy shattering like delicate glass. "Hello?" she called out, voice trembling slightly as she lowered her manacled hands from their theatrical pose above her head. The sound—had she actually heard something? A voice? The distinct click of the front door closing? Her heart hammered against her ribs, the pleasant warmth of her daydream instantly replaced by a cold dread crawling up her spine.

Carefully, she rose from her kneeling position, wincing slightly as the movement caused Heater to shift inside her. Missouri pressed herself against the wall beside the bedroom doorway, listening intently before daring to peek around the corner into the living room. She held her breath, the silence of the townhouse suddenly oppressive rather than peaceful. Sunlight streamed through the wide-open curtains, illuminating dancing dust motes in golden shafts that cut across the empty living room.

Missouri stepped fully into the hallway, her anxiety inexplicably mounting as she noticed the brilliant blue sky outside. Not a single cloud marred its perfect cerulean expanse, and something about its infinite clarity made her heart race faster. The exposure—the vulnerability of being seen through those uncovered windows—suddenly struck her with paralyzing force.



She dropped down on all fours and slowly made her way to the windows, pulling the cord to close the curtains. As the curtains darkened the room, Missouri braved one final glimpse outside and noticed a Gettar’s truck parked in front of the neighbor’s townhouse. Two workers were unloading some kind of large box. Maybe the noise she had heard was the workers. Maybe that is why she suddenly felt so unmoored.

It happened just last week. Missouri was browsing the art supply section at the local Gettar's when a man in his fifties approached her, dangling car keys between his fingers. "Hey, babe. Want to ride with me?"

Missouri froze, adrenaline immediately coursing through her veins. "Er, no thanks," she managed quietly.

"I've got a beautiful car and you would make a great accessory," he pressed, leaning closer.

"I've got a girlfriend," Missouri replied, instantly regretting revealing her sexuality.

The man smirked. "Well, if she's as skinny as you, you'll both fit in the bucket seat." His eyes traveled down her body. "Otherwise, you can ditch her and I'll give you what a girl like you needs."

Missouri scanned the store desperately, but no one was paying attention to her predicament. Following Blanca's oft-repeated safety instructions, she pulled out her key ring with the "Birdie" alarm attached.

"I'm not interested," she stated firmly.

The man moved uncomfortably close. "Oh, Baby, I'm rich and well hung. I can fuck you straight." He reached toward her, attempting to drape his arm across her shoulders.

Missouri yanked the pin from her Birdie alarm, releasing its piercing chirp and disorienting strobe. The man recoiled, his face contorting with anger. "Fucking dyke bitch!" he snarled before disappearing around the corner.

Missouri's next clear memory was of sitting behind the customer service desk, trembling uncontrollably while an older woman - a store manager - lectured her. "What do you think's gonna happen if you girls wear nothing but skin tight pants and bras?"

"It's a yoga outfit," Missouri whispered, her voice unsteady.

Then Blanca arrived, her face etched with concern. She immediately wrapped protective arms around Missouri. "What happened?"

At the feel of Blanca's embrace, Missouri's carefully maintained composure shattered. Tears flooded down her cheeks as the terror she'd been holding back finally broke through. 

…Maybe that’s why she suddenly felt so anxious.

Missouri checked the front door, confirming it was locked. Then she awkwardly crawled through the kitchen to check the door to the garage. The window over the sink didn’t have a curtain and just the sight of blue sky continued to make her stomach unsettled. She wanted to reduce exposure as much as possible.

Finally, satisfied that she was alone and the townhouse was secure, Missouri crawled back into the bedroom and looked at her drawing she had made, almost as if it was the first time she had seen it. 

“Hmm… too cartoonish, Heater,” Missouri told her buttplug. “I need to do something serious. Something that means something… I know!!”

Missouri ripped her first drawing off the sketch pad and began drawing on a fresh sheet. She worked quietly now with an unbreachable focus, starting simply then adding textures and shading to produce a work of art.

After an hour, she was satisfied with the first drawing and she ripped it out of the sketch pad.

But, she wasn’t done yet. She started drawing again, making a new image.

And again she drew…

And again and again…

She only rested in the afternoon to crawl into the kitchen where she sat on the floor by the stove as she cooked a package of ramen noodles. Luckily the clouds had returned and a gentle drizzle was coating the world, hiding the blue sky and the bright sun. Still, Missouri decided that you can never be too cautious.

Finally, evening was creeping into the apartment. Missouri grabbed some painters tape and the drawings that she had made and carefully snuck into the bathroom where are glass shower door partitioned off the shower / tub combination. After shoving some cushions, a blanket, and her pillow into the tub area, she climbed in and began taping her drawings on all the walls so everywhere she looked she could see them.

Finally, kneeling on the cushions in the bathtub, she closed the shower door with a satisfying slam. She imagined the sounds of keys rattling in an old heavy lock and the sound of a guard’s footsteps receding down a stone passage out of the dungeon.

Missouri curled up in her blanket and snuggled her pillow.

“What are you in for?” a woman’s voice asked from somewhere in the darkness beyond Missouri’s cell.

“Oh! I’m not a prisoner,” Missouri stated quickly. “The Queen just wants to keep me safe! She’s keeping me here to protect me. Uh… how about you? What are you in for?”

“Life,” the voice said. “I will be here from now until the end of time.”

“Certainly, the Queen will show mercy,” Missouri suggested, “if you are a good girl.”

“Are you a good girl, Missouri?” the voice asked.

“Oh! Yes!” Missouri said, and she snuggled more deeply into her blankets, smiling, luxuriating in the gentle buzz of the plug filling her butt.

<>--+-

In an office somewhere across the city, Blanca and Lindsay were sitting in a dimly lit room watching a video feed from a camera hidden in the fixture of the overhead bathroom light of Blanca’s townhouse. They watched as Missouri lay curled up in the bathtub with drawings of dungeon bars taped to all the walls, occasionally shifting her hips, stroking and squeezing her breasts.

“Wow,” Lindsay said. “Has she ever done something like this before?”

“No,” Blanca said. “Nothing this elaborate, at least. The conditioning is definitely taking hold. And her brain seems particularly adept at creating context to justify whatever is happening...”

“I’m surprised that the single anxiety trigger we used affected her for so long,” Lindsay said. “It seems to be working even better than we thought it would.”

“Yes. I think that her fear of open spaces is advancing quickly too,” Blanca agreed.

“Well, give her some pleasant pulses on the buttplug,” Lindsay said. “We want to make sure she gets lots of positive reinforcement when she hides in her little dungeons. Then when we move her into a real one it will seem like a homecoming.”