The sun had barely dipped behind the palms when Maria Moon was taken.

One moment, she was lounging by the pool in her tight bl*ck swimsuit, the glossy fabric hugging every curve — the swell of her hips, the soft bounce of her full breasts as she stood to stretch. Now, she stands in a dungeon made of wood, exposed topless, fluorescent lights glaring across sweat-slicked skin. Her wrists are locked behind her back in leather cuffs, threaded through a thick rope that pulls her arms taut to the side, tied off to an ring embedded in the wall. Her shoulders ache from the angle, but that’s not what makes her tremble.

It’s the collar.

Bl*ck leather, snug but not ch*king — not yet. A second rope extends from the front of it, running up to a pulley system bolted above. She’s standing on unsteady feet, bare against the floor, every muscle in her thighs b*rning as she fights to stay upright.

Because if she falls... the rope pulls.

And the collar tightens.

She doesn’t know who took her. Doesn’t know why. All she knows is the silence — the bl*ck tape sealed across her lips, muffling her panicked whimpers. Outside, she couldn’t scream. Inside, she still can’t, but the terror in her wide, glistening eyes says it all.

Her chest heaves beneath the tight swimsuit, breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. Sweat beads along her collarbone, drips down her spine. Her legs twitch — a tiny slip, corrected just in time. She gasps behind the tape, body j*rking upright, heart slamming against her ribs.

This isn’t a prelude.

This is the punishment.

No threats spoken. No countdown. Just the endless, agonizing wait — how long before her muscles fail? How fast will the rope h*rm her the second she drops? Is someone watching? Will they save her... or savor her s*ffering?

She stands.

And stands.

And stands.

Each second longer than the last.

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