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Carefully, meticulously, Eleven thumbs over her microphone's controls. Twisting this, flicking that, adjusting the sound, range, making sure her voice is clear.
Next, she sets up the livestream. Thirty minutes is plenty to set up everything else.
Just as lovingly, she picks out the toys of the night. Removes any garments that might make anything uncomfortable.
She lets down her hair and checks herself in the screenview. Perfect. She's done her best to ass mystique to her usual, comforting setup. Dimmed the lights, laid everything down atop the duvet — she won't be getting under the covers tonight — set up the lube on the nightstand, in full view of the camera.
Her patrons will love this, she's almost sure of it.
Especially due to the machine she'd mounted at the foot of her bed. It's - rudimentary at best, with it's use akin of a piston in movement.
..The phallus attached to it will tell them all they need to know, however.
After taking a moment to adjust it, she looks over at her other toys. A vibrator, a blindfold, clamps, and some other less traditional toys. She wants to mix things up tonight, give them a little surprise.
Little does she know, she's about to get a surprise of her own.
⟨Mealenthusiast#1: What a delectable surprise, darling. [Discoin: 15000]⟩
⟨Shownnot_shawn: They say that kissing is a language of love, so would you mind starting a conversation with me? [Discoin: 100]⟩
⟨SALVAnne: Miss Eleven, please do pace yourself. I do not wish to see you in the infirmary again this week. [Discoin: 005.]⟩
Maybe handcuffing both of her hands to the bed wasn't the smartest idea. Neither was not checking the settings on the machine beforehand.
Nor gagging herself, due to popular demand.
Because now Eleven finds herself restrained, on her back, hands above her head and ankles cuffed apart as she feels her insides being actively rearranged.
Her eyes are wide open, tears running down her face and tongue trying to push out whatever is inside her mouth. In the heat of the moment, she let herself get caught up in satisfying her patrons, now having bitten off more than she can chew. Ah, this is looking bad for her. Very bad. Horrible, even.
She can't free herself, can't shut off the machine, and - courtesy of the ball gag - can't call for help.
All she can do is wait for the machine's battery to die. Or someone finding her, whichever comes first - and she's not sure which will come faster.
Especially since she'd picked such an hour, on a weekend no less - when usually most of the other sinners are out on overnight missions, or visiting family, or just plain old frequenting clubs.
At first, the idea had seemed smart — if things were to get a little loud, then she wouldn't be disturbing anyone.
She couldn't have expected to need help.
In fact, she could stay here like this for the whole weekend, no one would notice. And her camera set-up was set to auto shut-off after the end of her scheduled three hours...
Speaking of which, Eleven can tell - even through her muddled sight, blurred by tears, that the chat is going wild, oblivious to the fact that this was not in the itinerary for tonight's show.
⟨Shownnot_shawn: Your body is 70 percent water… and I’m thirsty. [Discoin: 100.]⟩
[System]: Thank you, @Shownnot_shawn, for your 379th support streak!
⟨Ange11ll?: ... [Discoin: 900].⟩
As the minutes tick by, Eleven's body begins to ache from the restraints and the relentless contraption at work inside her. Her mind races, desperate for a solution, but her physical limitations leave her helpless. The humiliation of her predicament that used to get her so wet, yet now only adds to her dulled distress.
Tears languidly slip down her cheeks, blurring her vision further as she weakly struggles against the cuffs, futilely seeking to free herself. The gag mutes her moans, reducing her to frantic, garbled noises. Panic starts to set in along with the overstimulation, her breath coming in short gasps.
On the monitor, the chat continues to race with activity, users speculating wildly about what's happening behind the scenes. Some offer suggestions for how to "improve" the show, while others express concern for Eleven's safety. But none seem to grasp the true nature of her crisis.
Her thighs quiver, calves locking up as her toes curl, back snapping into an arch as she yanks against her restraints. It's her third orgasm of the night, and what would usually be the last of the night.
⟨Shownnot_shawn: Are you a supermarket sample? Because I want to taste you again and again without any sense of shame. [Discoin: 150]⟩
⟨FishinapoolofCl2: First time donating! Here goes >< /// [Discoin: 300]⟩
⟨RahúltypohowdoI: ..Are we still down for Friday, or..? [Discoin: 0]⟩
[System]: @RahúltypohowdoI — “:(”
With each successive climax, Eleven's body grows more exhausted, her limbs heavy and trembling. The machine continues its merciless pace, pushing her past her limits. Sweat drips down her face, mingling with the tears still spilling from lidded eyes.
She tries to focus on the chat, hoping someone might notice something amiss and intervene. But the words on the screen blur together, unreadable amidst her unfocused vision. Her thoughts grow foggy, overwhelmed by the constant stimulation and her own body's reactions.
Apart from the occasional muffled whimper, the room falls silent, save for the rhythmic thumping of the device and Eleven's ragged breathing. Time seems to stretch on forever as she waits for... something. Rescue? Battery drain? Merciful oblivion?
⟨FishinapoolofCl2: Hey, guys? It's been almost an hour and she's still going. I'm concerned.. [Discoin: 5]⟩
⟨Roseigardenfthorn: [responding to @FishinapoolofCl2] She usually lasts 1-3 orgasms. I guess she's just feeling generous tonight? [Discoin: 250]⟩
⟨Seamstressbuttonon: She *did* say that today we'd get a surprise on stream. [Discoin: 10]⟩
⟨Shownnot_shaun: Your legs must be tired because you’ve been running through my mind all night. [Discoin: 100].⟩
[System]: Reminder! Spend responsibly!
In a way, after her fourth climax, it starts feeling almost pleasant.
And when she relaxes her abdomen and spreads her legs just so, taking the pressure off her diaphragm, it feels nice.
Suddenly, she can't quite remember what she was so afraid of.
⟨FishinapoolofCl2: Guys, she really doesn't look okay. [Discoin: 5]⟩
⟨Mealenthusiast#1: Nonsense. On that topic, is anyone coming to untie her? [Discoin: 10000]⟩
[System]: Thank you, @Mealenthusiast#1, for your gracious support of [Discoin: 25310] of the month! Reminder: you are entitled to rewards listed on {Creator: 3AMPodcast}'s page!
⟨Shownnot_shawn: Done with the cheesy pick ups. In with the concern.⟩
As the fifth orgasm washes over her, Eleven's mind descends further into a haze of pleasure and disconnection. The initial fear and panic have given way to a numb acceptance, her body surrendering to the relentless stimuli.
Lost in the sensory overload, she barely registers the chat anymore, the words reduced to background noise. Her gaze drifts, unfocused, across the darkened room, taking in the array of sex toys and equipment surrounding her.
In this altered state, the pain of her restraints and the discomfort of the gag seem distant, almost insignificant compared to the waves of pleasure coursing through her. Eleven's thoughts grow sluggish, her awareness narrowing to the physical sensations and the steady thrum of the machine.
⟨FishinapoolofCl2: @Seamstressbuttonon HURRY. [Discoin: #]⟩
⟨Ange11ll?: I can be there in thirty. [Discoin: 700]⟩
⟨Seamstressbuttonon: no need. I'm less than a minute away already.⟩
[System]: @Mealenthusiast#1 has donated [Discoin: 17000] to @Seamstressbuttonon.
⟨Mealenthusiast: Keep me updated.⟩
As the sixth climax approaches, she feels a strange sense of detachment, as if she's feeling everytging through a pillow stuffed with leaden feathers, muffling even the roaring burn in her loins.
She allows her muscles to turn to jelly, surrendering to the relentless rhythm of the device. With each thrust, sparks fly through her nervous system, but the pleasure no longer frightens her, nor overwhelms her. Instead, it becomes a constant, almost soothing presence, washing away her pressing worries and concerns in favour of sweet indulgence.
Lost in this haze of sensation, Eleven barely registers the passage of time. The chat on the monitor fades into background noise, irrelevant to her current state. All that exists is the machine, her own body, and the gentle ebb and flow of her breathing beneath the gag.
Her voice is breaking behind the gag, and for a moment, she feels like she'll drown in her own saliva. Drool pools at the bottom of her mouth as the knot in her stomach breaks, threatening to split her hair thin sanity.
Overstimulation forces a sharp yell out of her as soon as her hips meet the mattress once again. She feels like she's about to die, about to shatter into pieces, about to—
The door bursts open and a flood of noise hits Eleven face-first.
Then the machine stops moving, and the gag's finally removed from her mouth, and her elbows are finally able to bend again.
“There, there, baby. Good girl,”
She knows that voice. And that scent.
Her back whines in protest once she's propped up from her prior starfish position.
Dumbly, Eleven's eyes rove first over her ankles. Next, her wrists - rubbed raw where the metal had dug deep into her skin. Only then does she zero in on her pussy. Red, tender - probably bruised.
In her peripheral, she can see that her monitor's been turned off. So the stream had come to an end?
..Huh.
Her world goes black.