Charisma & Tiffany Part 4

The sorceress led the shemale to a basement room that Tiffany had never seen before. Now that she did see it, Tiffany wished she’d never had. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all stone. The chamber was without windows except for a long, narrow slit in each wall, a foot below the ceiling. The windows, if these apertures could be called such, were so narrow that no one could hope to scramble through one even if he or she was able, somehow, to gain access to it. Nevertheless, the windows were barred. Set in the sides of two facing walls were chains from which were suspended iron manacles. There were two pairs of these shackles, the lower set for the ankles, and the higher one for the wrists. Charisma secured the fetters at once, making Tiffany a prisoner now, instead of a guest.

“What do you plan to do to me?” Tiffany asked, her voice tremulous.

“Silence!”

Tiffany had, earlier, for the first time since she’d met Charisma, months ago, supposed herself immune, at last, from her fear of the sorceress. Now, locked in chains and iron cuffs, at her captor’s mercy, she knew she’d been wrong. Tiffany was terrified of her cruel mistress. She had no doubt that Charisma would do anything to satisfy whatever brutal impulses drove her. To appease her vile whims, she would think nothing of anally ravaging her captive with the aluminum baseball bat she kept on hand for that purpose, of making Tiffany swallow a monstrous, three-foot-long cock that Charisma made appear magically in place of her own cunt, or of strangling the shemale with a garrote held in her own sadistic hands.

Instead, the butler appeared. He looked ridiculous, dressed in a tuxedo and carrying a rattan cane upon a red velvet pillow atop a silver tray, in the all-stone torture chamber. His calm, dignified appearance, his formal attire, and his august demeanor made the unlikely setting laughable, but Tiffany did not laugh. She groaned, sagging against the heavy chains.