The day passed in a blur of preparations. Mariana controlled every detail with the precision of a choreographer, dressing Lívia as if she were a porcelain doll about to be put on display. The black lingerie was replaced by an even more daring ensemble: a red leather corset that barely covered her now hoop-adorned breasts, nearly sheer lace panties, and silk stockings held up by a garter belt. The blonde wig was adjusted, the curls cascading over Lívia’s shoulders, and her lips were painted a scarlet red that contrasted with the paleness of her hormonally transformed skin. The leather necklace remained, the padlock-shaped pendant dangling like a constant reminder.

“Perfect,” Mariana declared, stepping back to admire her creation. She herself was dressed to dominate: a black latex dress that hugged every curve, thigh-high boots, and a thin whip coiled in her right hand like a casual accessory. “Come on,” she said, picking up a long velvet cape and throwing it over Lívia’s shoulders. “You don’t want to draw attention to yourself…yet.”

The drive to the club was silent, the roar of Mariana’s car filling the void. Lívia stared out the window at the city lights passing by in a blur, her heart racing with a mix of anxiety and submission. When they arrived, the place looked nothing special from the outside—a nondescript building with a black door with no sign. But when they stepped inside, the world changed. The air was thick with incense and pulsating electronic music, red and purple lights dancing over a crowd of figures dressed in leather, latex, and chains.

Mariana grabbed Lívia’s cape and pulled it away with a firm gesture, revealing her as if she were removing the veil from a statue. The murmur of the crowd ceased for a moment, all eyes on her. Men and women, some with collars, others with masks, watched with a mixture of curiosity and desire. Mariana smiled, satisfied, and took Lívia by the arm, guiding her to the center of the hall, where a circular platform waited under a spotlight.

“Step up,” Mariana ordered, and Livia obeyed, her feet shaking in the high-heeled boots that had been chosen for her. The platform began to slowly rotate, displaying her like a piece of art at a silent auction. Mariana stood to the side, her whip now unfurled, tracing light lines in the air as she spoke to the crowd. “This is Livia,” she announced, her voice cutting through the music. “My creation. My trophy. Look at her carefully, but know that she belongs to me.”

The spectators gathered closer, some whispering to each other, others reaching out as if to touch, but recoiling under Mariana’s sharp gaze. A dark-skinned man with a tattoo snaking down his arm stepped forward, holding a glass of something dark. “May I try it?” he asked, his voice deep and provocative.

Mariana tilted her head, considering. “Perhaps,” she said, wrapping the whip around her hand. “But only if I allow it. And only on my terms.” She gestured for Livia to step down from the platform and positioned her on her knees before the man. “Show him what you’ve learned,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and control.

Lívia, trembling but obedient, leaned forward, her hands hesitantly sliding up his legs as Mariana watched. The man chuckled softly, satisfied, and opened his pants, revealing an erection that made Lívia swallow hard. She began slowly, her red lips working with the precision Mariana had demanded of her over so many nights of training. The crowd watched in silence, the air thick with erotic tension, as Mariana stood to the side, the whip now resting on her shoulder like a scepter.

When the man finished, groaning loudly and spilling himself all over Livia’s face, Mariana stepped forward, wiping the mess with a silk handkerchief she pulled from her pocket. “Good girl,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss Livia’s forehead, a rare moment of tenderness amidst the public display. But the look she gave the crowd was pure challenge: “Anyone else want a taste of what’s mine?”

A short-haired woman with a lip ring stepped forward, her eyes shining with interest. “I want it,” she said, and Mariana nodded, gently pushing Lívia toward her. “Then have it,” she replied, stepping back to watch once more, the untouchable queen of her kingdom of pleasure and power.

The night unfolded like this, with Lívia being offered and tested, always under Mariana’s watchful eyes. Each touch, each command, deepened her consecration, transforming her not just into a servant, but into a living symbol of Mariana’s dominion—a masterpiece exposed to the world, but eternally chained to it.