Absolute Power-2. Briefing.
It's hard to say how long my memories took, but when I listened to my surroundings and my own sensations, I realized there was no city noise around, and we weren't idling at traffic lights, but were driving fast along some highway. My neighbor occasionally shifted, and it occurred to me that he might be looking at me absolutely shamelessly, because with the blindfold on, I couldn't see that. I carefully ran my hand over my thigh and realized my little dress had ridden up high, and the elastic of my stockings was definitely sticking out from under it, but still not enough to see my panties (in the absence of clear instructions on this topic, my favorite burgundy
cotton briefs were chosen). I pulled down the hem, lifting my butt, and I think I heard something like a chuckle from the side, but no comments followed.About half an hour passed before the dynamic sensation of the highway gave way to smooth turns on asphalt, and then to the crunching of fine gravel from a driveway. After the mechanical sounds of either a gate or a garage opening, we stopped, and the driver turned off the engine. I heard my neighbor get out of the car, and then my door opened.
"Give me your hand," a low, quiet male voice sounded.
I raised my hand blindly towards the speaker, and my palm was confidently taken by someone's strong hand and pulled from the car. Out of habit, I tried to feel around for my purse next to me, but it wasn't there, and the same voice said:
"You don't need it with you, let's go already!"
Well, there you go, Olka! — I thought to myself. In an unknown place, with unclear people, and now without my things — a great start to the evening.
Although rationally I understood it would be like this, fear was churning inside, painting scary pictures of where this man was leading me. I clip-clopped after him across the garage floor, then down a few steps, and we walked along a long tiled corridor. Along the way, he opened a couple of doors that clicked shut behind me, and from somewhere far away came sounds of bustling activity (like a busy kitchen) and muffled music. Another door clicked ahead, and my companion stopped. A few seconds later, I felt his hands working on my blindfold and for the first time in these couple of hours, I could see something around me.
The man accompanying me said "wait," and left the room before my eyes adjusted to the light and I could get a look at him. The room was simple but quite strange: about 30 square meters, but there were no windows or furniture. Only 2 doors on opposite walls and a completely mirrored wall, around the perimeter of which an LED strip glowed, making it look like a huge makeup mirror. Opposite the mirror, a couple of lamps glowed dimly, so after the darkness of the blindfold, my vision cleared quickly. On the bright side: there was nothing creepy or scary in the room, unless you considered the room's design itself as such. But another wave of stress hit when I realized I wasn't alone in the room – there was another short blonde girl quietly standing a few meters away from me. Even a quick glance at her was enough to recognize her as my fellow unfortunate, who had also come to entertain the esteemed guests – her outfit was completely identical to mine, and the lost expression on her face was similar to my reflection in the mirror. Of course, I understood that at such events, there's rarely just one girl, and in general, I had positive experience with sexual interaction with girls, but for some reason, such a meeting caused a wave of shame in me, because if I immediately understood why she was here, then she knew my situation too. This was further complicated by the fact that hiding behind the 21st-century habit of scrolling through social media was impossible due to the lack of our phones, and there was simply nowhere and nothing to hide behind or distract oneself with in this room. From all these worries, I started sweating (I have that problem when I'm nervous), so noticing a clothes hook, I quickly took off my jacket and hung it next to a fur coat, which apparently belonged to the blonde.
"Damn, there aren't even any tissues to wipe myself!" — I thought nervously and began to fix my hair, which had gotten messed up during transport. While I was smoothing down my brunette, elongated bob, the blonde decided to join in. Since she had long hair down to her waist, it took her a bit longer, and I managed to get a better look at her. She was either my age or a little older. A typical Slavic face, a small nose and a small mouth, beautiful green eyes. Although the dress echoed mine, the size was smaller (I took an M, and this was clearly an S), because she herself was about 160 cm tall. She was pretty, but I couldn't help but notice with some sarcasm that her butt was narrower than mine, and her breast size didn't quite reach a B-cup, so we'd still have to see who outshines whom in comparison. She also occasionally threw short glances at me, but we somehow organically decided not to talk to each other, so the next few minutes passed in silence. From behind one of the doors, sounds of some kind of merrymaking were faintly audible, but the soundproofing was apparently good, and nothing specific could be made out.
When we had finished primping and were just standing dumbly in different corners, fiddling with the short hems of our blue dresses, one of the doors opened and a stocky man in trousers and a shirt (I recognized him as my escort by the scent of his perfume) brought another lady into our room. "How many of us are there going to be?!" — I thought, while the eyes of another Snow Maiden in red stockings were being uncovered. If the blonde and I had somewhat accepted the situation, for the new guest, we were not necessarily a pleasant surprise. While she looked around fearfully, we managed to look her over, and again it seemed to me that she fell a bit short compared to me. Big brown eyes looked good next to a neat, upturned nose and full, natural lips, this face was framed by wavy light brown hair, but otherwise... About the same height as the blonde, a bigger butt than mine, but not as well-proportioned; breasts also bigger, but hung lower. The dress didn't allow for a bra and fit her worse. She tried to pull her stockings up higher, but due to her build, the elastic still stuck out from under the dress. "Hi, have you been here lo..." — the newcomer began in a hoarse, quiet voice, but then the door swung open again and a tall, slender man quickly entered the room. Black trousers and a polo shirt emphasized his athletic figure. He was probably 40-50 years old, his hair was cut quite short, he was clean-shaven, which made the contours of his broad cheekbones very expressive, and that confident look he gave me gave the impression of a man it's better not to argue with.
"You're late, Darya Petrovna, and you're chatting," he noted in a quiet, calm voice. "Enough already, we're already behind schedule. There will be a very brief briefing about your immediate future. I talk, you listen and don't interfere — is that clear?"
"Clear," escaped from my suddenly dry mouth. My colleagues also found it clear.
"Now we're going there," he pointed to the second door, which hadn't opened before. "There will be people you cannot initiate conversation with. If asked — answer, but no more. The main rule in general: no initiative of your own. If you want something, you can't do it without permission. Clear?" — his gaze swept over each of our faces. We confirmed in a disjointed chorus and looked down at the floor, like a bunch of unsuccessful applicants.
"We'll explain in more detail inside, but for now, take off your shoes and leave them here," — I hurriedly unzipped my boots and placed my stocking-clad feet on the warm tiled floor.
"Turn to the mirror: fix your hair and little hats," — he took a few steps along our "line." We had already fixed ourselves up, but can it ever hurt? I looked at myself in the mirror again and smoothed my dress a little when he said in the same calm, steely tone: "Lift your little dresses up to your chests." Color rushed to my face, and my breath caught: I was ready for sexually satisfying men, but immediately exposing myself in front of unfamiliar girls (even if they were in the same position) was too much for me. For some reason, I wasn't as ashamed of our "commander" as I was of the girls, who, apparently, were experiencing similar feelings.
"Did I say something unclear? If I, or especially, anyone from that room tells you to do something, then you need to do it. You are all in a difficult situation, and this is a way out of it. You all wrote me a message, received my instructions, came here not for a children's matinee. No one will ask if you like it or not — it's too late to back out now. If you hesitate or act up, they will re-educate you very quickly in there, but here I will kindly give you one last chance to correct yourselves: take hold of the hem and pull it up so I can see your asses," — he added some hidden aggression to his voice at the end of the phrase, which, together with the meaning of the tirade, had an effect on me (and not only). I took hold of my dress and sharply pulled the hem up to my chest. "Well, damn, what won't you do for family," — I consoled myself to keep from fainting from fear.
My burgundy briefs looked decent with the red stockings. The blonde standing next to me turned out to be without panties at all, and I saw her neat, shaved slit. Darya had worn white thongs under her dress... I was lucky that while the "commander" was delivering his speech, by the time of our little parade he was near her, not next to me. In the mirror, I saw him look angrily at her hips.
"Darya Petrovna, stand still and don't move," — he approached the girl frozen in fright and asked insinuatingly: "Was there anything about panties in your instructions?" While she was gathering herself to bleat some answer, he answered himself. "Definitely not, because I wrote them," — he took hold of the thongs at the front and began pulling them upwards. The poor thing rose onto her tiptoes, but the pressure on her crotch kept increasing. She didn't dare lower her hands, and a drawn-out moan of pain began to escape her mouth. "Quiet!" — the tormentor said sharply. "If you're not smart enough to follow simple instructions, then it means you need to be taught. Shut up and endure!" Darya stifled the moan, biting her lip and breathing heavily. Tears were already welling up in her eyes when the fabric ripped and she, almost falling, managed to return to her original position. "That's much better," — the tormentor patted her bare butt. "Take those threads off yourself, and in the future, better read the rules."
At such a sight, my heart began to beat wildly, and I quickly stopped liking my burgundy briefs. These aren't thongs, I'd be hanging there for a whole minute! In a panic, I couldn't think of anything better than to also take off my panties while Dasha was pulling the shreds of her thongs off her hips. I swiftly pulled them down and was standing again with my hem in my hands within 3 seconds. Of course, this was a violation, but I really didn't want to repeat those exercises. In such an environment, the adult woman with some successes in life receded into the background, and the girl who doesn't want pain and punishment came to the fore. Embarrassment also hid behind fear.
"Sssorry, I've already cccorrected it," — I could only stammer to the "commander" when he approached me. "You not only read poorly, but you also disobey orders, Olga Alexeevna. That won't do for us," — everything inside me clenched. "I'll remember this little mischief of yours, but right now we have absolutely no time for education," — his unfriendly smile was even scarier than the harsh words. His heavy hand patted my butt, and then the butt of the blonde, who was standing "quieter than water, lower than grass" after such a spectacle.
"Let's go, ladies, it's about to get even more interesting!" — he swung the door open before us with a smirk. From there, cheerful male voices and sounds of a feast burst out, and towards them, the "commander" led three Snow Maidens on legs stiff with fear.
To be continued.