Page 23 of Bears Not Included

“In the story of The Three Bears, after she samples what's in the three bowls, she sits on a chair. Pick a chair, Livia.”

I’m done playing their game. I walk over to where the three chairs are lined up, but before I can take a seat on one in the middle, the voice comes on again.

“Not that one, pretty girl. We’d like you to stay alive a little longer.”

We. It’s the first time they referred to themselves as we, which means my instinct was right. There are at least three of them.

“If you put on the mask from the first chair, you’ll inhale a poisonous gas and die.

“The second chair will electrocute you as soon as the cuffs link into place. To death if I wasn’t clear.”

“What about the third chair?”

“It won’t kill you.”

Trying to control my shaking body and put on a front of bravery is so hard that I want to break down and cry.

But keeping my head up, I drop my naked body onto the hard wooden chair.

“Hands on the armrests, please.”

I clench my fist and place my arms on the wooden rests.

“Part your legs.”

I stiffen my back and close my eyes as I part my legs.

Within my next breath, leather cuffs restrain my wrists and ankles. It’s clear they’re remote-operated. And now I’m bound to a chair. With my legs open. And naked.

“Good girl.”

I don’t ask what’s going to happen to me now. I just want to accept it and move on. I just want to be released. If I survive their sick, twisted games, maybe they will release me. I have to keep that hope alive.

I stop breathing immediately when the chair starts to vibrate, so subtly I think I imagined it. Then it shakes again. A little faster. A little harder.

My breasts bounce, and fresh milk starts to leak from them as they fill up again. The vibration of the seat against my pussy is pure torture. I squirm violently, using all my might to pull my legs close together.

The vibrations increase. And every single oscillation is centered around my clit. My need to climax is compounded. My thighs are wet with milk. My nipples are aching to be squeezed and drank from. Wetness from my pussy drips onto the wood of the seat.

What kind of crazy sexual darkness have I walked into? Why are they doing this to me?

My body shudders with a greedier force every time the vibrations are turned up. I bite my lip so hard I cry out in pain, but I’ll do anything to stop myself from the earth-shattering need to press my clit against the wood and make myself come.

How is this happening?

The aggressive urge to come takes over my mind. I have no common sense left and no power to bring it back.

An unfamiliar howl escapes my lips as I give in, lean forward, and press my clit against the wood of the chair.

And then the vibrations stop and my body becomes a feral, greedy entity. I need to come and I can’t make myself stop.

“Please,” I beg, not for my life, but for the chair to vibrate so I end the deviant agony between my legs.

“Who are you working with and what did you come here to steal?”

“No one. Please, believe me, I’m not working with anyone or for anyone. I’m a student with a love for fairytales… Please, dear god.” My body threatens to rip me apart. My mind is not my own.

Oh god.

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