War Queen: I just finished binding myself and the assassin came?

She put on her stockings and stood up, beginning the real "work" – the Kote Tsuna. She picked up the prepared hemp rope, soaked in a special oil to ensure its toughness and prevent it from easily chafing the skin. The rope was a dark crimson, like congealed blood, contrasting with her tanned skin, exuding a strange and alluring beauty. This was a binding method she had meticulously researched, known for its intricate structure and its ability to accentuate the body's curves to the extreme. The rope moved like a living venomous snake in her hands, agile and fluid. She folded the long rope in half, found the center, placed it at the nape of her neck, with both ends hanging down in front of her chest. Then, the rope passed under her armpits, crossed behind her back, and looped back to the front, tightening below her collarbones to form a basic framework. With each tightening of the rope, she felt a distinct sense of restraint, but instead of discomfort, it only heightened her excitement. She skillfully tied knots in the front, the rope artfully weaving around and over her breasts, snugly cupping and lifting the pair of full, firm globes. This made her already astonishing curves stand out even more proudly, her deep cleavage becoming more pronounced under the rope's pressure. Next, the rope crossed again on her back, descending to wrap around her waist, forming a diamond-shaped knot precisely in the center of her abdomen. The knot pressed just below her navel, causing her smooth, firm belly to subtly draw inward. The rope continued downward, passing through the junction of her thighs, connecting with the ropes behind her back, binding her tightly. This process was tedious and precise, and she treated her own body like the most demanding artist, constantly adjusting the position and tightness of the knots, ensuring both the ultimate binding effect and that no real harm would come to this temporarily "fragile" body due to restricted blood flow. The dark crimson ropes crisscrossed on her tanned skin, creating a visually striking image. The Kote Tsuna perfectly showcased her inverted triangle of well-defined back muscles, her slender yet strong waist, and her full, pert buttocks. Each rope seemed to emphasize the astonishing power and beauty contained within this body, temporarily sealed away. Under her control, the ropes acted like the most obedient servants, yet played the role of the most rebellious elements. After completing the main bindings on her torso, Alice's gaze turned to the most intimate and challenging step – the muna-tsuna. She picked up another, shorter but equally tough, dark crimson rope. The rope, oiled, gleamed subtly under the dim yellow light, like a poised viper about to kiss the most delicate blossom. Her breathing, already subtly rapid after the Kote Tsuna, now hitched for a fleeting moment. "This is… absurd," a calm, self-possessed voice belonging to Empress Alice echoed from the depths of her mind, tinged with self-mockery. The war god who conquered all lands and subjugated all nations was now, on the fringes of a battle-scarred camp, personally guiding the binding rope towards her most vulnerable secret garden. This extreme contrast, like the strongest aged wine, sent a dizzying wave of pleasure through her. She parted her legs, which appeared even longer due to the stockings and ropes, and stood in a slightly awkward but still balanced posture. Holding one end of the short rope with her fingertips, she first looped it around the rope connecting the base of her thighs and the curve of her buttocks, securing the foundation. Then, she needed to thread the rope between her legs. As the cool rope touched the sensitive area, concealed by thin black lace and panties but already slightly damp from her previous movements, Alice's body trembled uncontrollably. A powerful shiver, a mixture of shame and excitement, surged from the base of her spine to the top of her head, almost making her cry out. She bit down hard on her lower lip, suppressing the whimper. "Endure, Alice," she commanded herself internally, as if ordering soldiers into battle, "It's not time yet." She adjusted her breathing, forcing herself to calm down, and continued her movements. The rope had to be precisely positioned… on that most sensitive nub. She carefully adjusted its placement, her fingertips occasionally brushing against the swollen bud. Each touch was like igniting a tiny electric current, sending tremors through her sealed, hypersensitive body. Finally, the rope was in place. She gently tightened it. "Mmm…!" This time, she couldn't completely suppress the short gasp. An extremely sharp pleasure, mixed with the slight pain of pressure and intense restraint, struck her consciousness like lightning. The vibrator hadn't even been inserted yet, and this single, precisely positioned muna-tsuna was already delivering such intense stimulation. She could clearly feel the small, erect nub being pressed and rubbed by the rough knot. Every slight movement, even the rise and fall of her chest from breathing, was transmitted through the rope, transforming into waves of clear, scalp-tingling pleasure that constantly assaulted her taut nerves. This feeling… was too stimulating. Yet… damnably intoxicating. She looked at her sensual body, sculpted to perfection by the Kote Tsuna. With the addition of the muna-tsuna, it gained an indescribable, decadent, and fragile beauty. The dark crimson ropes dug into the soft flesh at the base of her thighs, creating a stark contrast with the black stockings and tanned skin, proclaiming absolute dominance and possession. A flush spread uncontrollably across her cheeks, and the seductive allure of "Rose" in her eyes seemed to become more genuine. However, the sharp glint of the empress, calmly observing her own descent into oblivion, never extinguished. She could feel her panties slowly becoming damp with a warm liquid, her body's honest reaction startling even herself. "Very good…" she panted softly. Then, she took out the small, oval magical artifact – the vibrator. It was crafted from smooth obsidian, its surface etched with subtle magical runes, and within it pulsed mind-altering magical energy. She took a deep breath, a look of mingled shame and resolve flashing across her face. She gently parted the sensitive area at the base of her thighs, already slightly indented by the ropes and stockings, and carefully inserted the cold little object. The sensation of foreign intrusion made her body tremble slightly. She didn't activate it immediately. This was the final gate before true "loss of control." Once activated, the continuous, undeniable intense stimulation would greatly distract her, making it exceptionally difficult to maintain the mental focus required for the illusionary disguise. The principle of the illusionary disguise was continuous mental energy output, imagining and maintaining the face of "Rose the prostitute." Once her concentration wavered, the illusion would ripple and shatter like water, revealing her true face, one capable of causing a massive uproar – the face of the war god empress, Alice.

She pressed her legs together, feeling those once powerful, armor-shattering limbs now like a mermaid's tail, fused and capable of only the most limited, hip-driven movements. The smooth silk of her stockings contrasted strangely with the rough texture of the ropes, a constant reminder of her current identity and predicament – a self-imprisoned, vulnerable prostitute awaiting "reward" and "danger" alike. With her legs secured, Alice turned her attention to the final step: her hands. This was the true ritual of relinquishing "freedom." Once her hands were bound, she would completely lose the ability to react to unforeseen circumstances, truly placing herself in a state of "helplessness." She stood, using her bound legs to maintain a precarious balance, each step awkward and stumbling due to the tight binding of her thighs and calves. The stockings rustled almost imperceptibly against the ropes, accompanied by the persistent stimulation from the crotch rope as her muscles moved, making her breath unsteady. She walked to the edge of the tent, her gaze fixed on the metal hook hammered into the wooden frame – the final link to "utter helplessness" she had prepared for herself. She retrieved the last rope, several meters long and a deep crimson, along with a slightly shorter auxiliary cord. Now, she would surrender her arms to the cold hook, in the most submissive, unresisting posture imaginable. The first step was the restraint of her shoulders and upper arms. She folded the long rope in half, found the midpoint, and passed the loop around the back of her neck, letting both ends hang down in front of her chest. This was not decoration, but the beginning of restraint. She passed each strand under her armpits, crossed them behind her back, and brought them forward again. Then, she pulled the ropes upward, wrapping them tightly twice around the junction of her shoulders and upper arms. The rope bit deeply into her full deltoids and biceps, carving clear indentations into her once fluid, powerful shoulder and arm lines. She carefully adjusted the tension, ensuring her arms were pulled slightly backward, her shoulder blades involuntarily drawing together. Her chest was forced to arch higher, and the ropes of the kote-gaeshi dug deeper into the flesh of her breasts. She tied a temporary slipknot in front of her chest, ensuring the loop wouldn't loosen. At this moment, her arms were preliminarily restricted, their range of motion greatly reduced, and a premonition of being bound backward made her heart race. The second step was bringing the elbows together and securing them. She picked up the shorter auxiliary rope, folded it, and passed it behind her back through the loop formed by the first step's ropes under her armpits, creating a connection point. Then, she strained to bend her arms backward, bringing her elbows as close together as possible behind her. Due to the restriction of the first step, this movement was already difficult, and her shoulder joints felt a distinct stretch. She pinched the ends of the short rope with her fingers, wrapped it around her brought-together elbows, and wound it tightly several times above the elbow joints. With each wrap, she pulled with all her might, pressing the skin and bone of her elbows tightly together under the rope, leaving almost no gap. The binding of her elbows completely eliminated the possibility of separating her arms; any attempt to struggle would only drive the rope deeper into her flesh and pull on the shoulder loops, creating a chain reaction of tightness. Now, her arms from shoulder to elbow were fused into a single unit, like a bird with broken wings. The third step was tightening the wrists. Now came the final, and most crucial, step – securing the wrists and using the hook for the ultimate tightening. She let the remaining ends of the long rope hang down her back and wrapped them around her brought-together wrists. After four or five wraps, she brought the ends together, lifted them upward, and passed them through the metal hook on the wall. The coldness of the metal transmitted through the rope, making her shiver slightly. She took a deep breath, the presence of the crotch rope becoming more pronounced as her body tensed, and the vibrator between her legs seemed to urge her on silently. She began to pull the hanging ends of the rope. The rope slid through the hook with a faint, clear "hiss." As she pulled, her wrists were gradually lifted upward, synchronously tightening the already secured elbow and shoulder loops. Her shoulder blades were pulled backward with greater force, her chest arched high, and her abdomen involuntarily pushed forward under the restriction of the kote-gaeshi, forming a posture that was both humiliating and alluring. She could feel the ropes on her shoulders and arms digging deeply into her muscles, her blood flow seeming to slow, bringing a subtle numbness and aching. When the wrist ropes were tightened to their limit, she stopped. A powerful sense of restraint washed over her. Her bound legs, unable to provide any effective support, trembled slightly, and her stockinged toes involuntarily curled in the gaps of the ropes. She tried to struggle gently. Shoulders, elbows, wrists – the triple rope loops acted like a precisely engineered mechanism, instantly feeding back immense binding force. Her shoulder joints ached, the skin on her elbows felt hot from friction, and the wrist ropes were the tightest, conveying a clear sense of pressure. Her bound legs offered no leverage, and she was like a meticulously packaged offering, struggling to maintain her standing posture in the corner of the tent. She was… completely bound.

"This is the core command area?" the female assassin whispered, her icy gaze scanning the tent like a searchlight, finally settling on the wide seat behind the map table, a symbol of ultimate authority. "Where will Elara be?" A hint of barely perceptible urgency laced her tone; the explosions and enemy attacks outside had clearly disrupted her plans. Elara, curled on the carpet, desperately played the part of the terrified and helpless "Rose." She whimpered, her eyes gesturing towards the interior of the tent, as if to say this was where important people were. She had to make the assassin believe the empress might appear at any moment, or that crucial clues were hidden here, buying herself time to find the key and break free from her restraints. The assassin clearly received her signal, but instead of immediately releasing Elara to search, she crouched down again, her sharp eyes fixed on Elara. "Do you know the secrets within this tent? Or where the empress might be hiding?" The black rope in her hand remained tightly gripped, while her other hand rested subtly on the dagger at her waist. Elara nodded frantically, her eyes conveying a desperate "I know, but I can't tell you." She struggled, her bound legs kicking feebly against the ground, her body inching towards the cot. Her "key" was hidden in an extremely secret compartment beneath the bed frame, disguised by magic! She had set it up for extreme situations, a location even Luna didn't know. The assassin narrowed her eyes, watching Elara's strange movements, seemingly judging if this was another trap. But the almost genuine urgency and fear in Elara's eyes seemed to convince her. Perhaps, from the assassin's perspective, a cowardly prostitute would do anything to prove her worth under the threat of death. "What are you looking for?" the assassin asked coldly, slightly loosening her grip on the tether rope, allowing Elara limited movement. Elara's heart soared! It was like receiving a pardon. Ignoring the pull of her restraints and the intense stimulation still present between her legs, she used her shoulders, abdomen, and tightly bound legs to inch her way towards the cot like a clumsy worm. With every movement, the crotch rope sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, and the presence of the vibrator within her was acutely felt. She had to exert all her willpower to concentrate, to ignore the physiological reactions that threatened to overwhelm her reason. The disguise illusion flickered unstably under her heightened mental tension and strenuous physical exertion, the edges of her facial contours rippling like water. She gritted her teeth, screaming internally, "Hold on! Get the key! It'll all be over!" Finally, she reached the edge of the cot. The heavy animal hide bedspread hung down, partially obscuring her view. She needed to roll over and use her bound hands to feel for the compartment beneath the bed frame! This was an incredibly difficult maneuver, almost impossible to accomplish while so tightly restrained. She raised her tear-filled eyes to look at the assassin, letting out a pleading whimper and gesturing with her eyes towards her bound hands. The assassin watched her expressionlessly, seemingly weighing her options. After a few seconds, she let out a cold snort. "Don't try any tricks." She moved behind Elara, not completely untying her wrists, but using her dagger to sever the black tether rope that connected her wrists to the complex knot, a rope she herself had added later. Elara's arms were still bound together behind her back, but at least they were no longer forcibly pulled upwards by an external force, significantly relieving the pressure on her shoulder joints. "Thank you..." Elara murmured inwardly, but the gratitude was instantly replaced by a more intense sense of purpose. She had to seize this opportunity! She shifted her body, using the power of her core, tightly encased by the bondage, to painstakingly inch her bound arms towards the edge of the bed. The rough carpet scraped against her exposed waist and hip skin, causing a stinging pain. Sweat soaked her entire body, making her feel as if she had just been pulled from the water. Her fingertips finally touched the cool wood of the bed frame. Where is it? That tiny, almost invisible magic rune mark that blended with the wood grain... Her heart pounded like a frantic drum. Her fingertips carefully explored beneath the bed frame, tracing wood grains and seams. The presence of the crotch rope became exceptionally strong as her body twisted, waves of pleasure crashing against her consciousness, nearly making her lose focus several times. The disguise illusion flickered violently; she could even feel the "Rose's" face becoming blurry, like melting wax. "Faster... faster..." she urged herself. Finally! Her fingertips brushed against an extremely subtle, almost imperceptible indentation! It was there! The compartment switch that required a specific magical fluctuation to trigger! Joy instantly overwhelmed her! She had succeeded! As long as she opened the compartment and got the amethyst pendant... She gathered the meager, almost undetectable trace of mental power remaining after her sealing, attempting to simulate the specific magical fluctuation to trigger the switch. It was like trying to pry open a thousand-pound boulder with a single strand of hair, incredibly difficult.

Finally, the assassin turned around. Her gaze fell back on Elara, still icy, but the killing intent seemed to have receded slightly, replaced by a calculated, reserved assessment. "Your proposal is... interesting." The assassin walked to the table and, surprisingly, reached out and picked up the amethyst pendant. She toyed with it in her fingertips. "I'll hold onto this 'secret' for you, for now." Elara's heart leaped! The key! The assassin casually tucked the pendant into a close-fitting pocket at her waist. Then, she walked in front of Elara, looking down at her. "I can spare your life. I can also take you with me." Elara was about to breathe a sigh of relief. "But," the assassin's tone turned sharp, undeniably commanding, "don't think for a moment that means I trust you." She crouched down and began to systematically, and with undeniable force, re-examine and reinforce every restraint on Elara. Her fingers were cold and strong, first settling on Elara's arms, bound behind her back at the elbows. She meticulously checked the several loops of black rope around her wrists, confirming the knots were impossibly secure. Then, she tugged hard on the loop connecting her shoulders and elbows, ensuring Elara's shoulder blades were still pulled tightly back, her chest forced high, driving the upper edges of the Kote-gaeshi deeper into her flesh. Elara couldn't help but let out a soft groan, a familiar ache spreading through her shoulder joints. Next, the assassin's hands moved to Elara's torso. She traced the dark red ropes of the Kote-gaeshi, starting from the loop at the nape of her neck, moving down over her tightly cupped and lifted breasts, feeling their astonishing firmness and the hardness they'd taken on from the binding. Her fingertips pressed along the points where the ropes met her skin, checking for any signs of looseness. The ropes dug deeply into Elara's tanned skin, outlining clear diamond patterns on her taut waist and full hips, as if segmenting this powerful body into pieces of her possession. Elara could feel each breath becoming more difficult, her chest cavity's expansion severely restricted. Then came her legs, covered in a dense web of ropes. The assassin's hands began to stroke upwards from Elara's ankles, encased in stockings and also bound by ropes. The stockings were torn and dusty, her toes slightly swollen from prolonged "hopping" and restraint, a pathetic pink. The assassin's fingertips traced the tightly packed rope loops on her calves and thighs, feeling the tension and slight tremors in the muscles beneath. She even deliberately scraped her nails over some of the loops, causing a subtle but distinct stinging sensation that made Elara's body tremble uncontrollably. These loops, from her ankles to the base of her thighs, progressed layer by layer, perfectly immobilizing these once agile and powerful legs, making even bringing them together feel incredibly difficult. Finally, the assassin's hands lingered on the most crucial point—the dark red crotch rope. The knot still pressed precisely against Elara's most sensitive core. After the intense climax and friction, the area was already raw and swollen. Even the slightest touch sent a violent shiver through Elara, eliciting a suppressed gasp. The assassin's fingers pinched the knot and deliberately tugged it left and right. "Mmm...!" Elara bit down hard on her lower lip, swallowing the sweet moan. A current, a mixture of pain and residual pleasure, surged through her body, causing ripples to spread through her system, which had only just begun to calm. She could feel a warm liquid seeping out between her legs again, mixing with the rope's lubricant, emitting a lewd scent. "This spot seems particularly sensitive," the assassin's cold voice held a hint of mockery. "It appears Miss 'Nightingale' has a very obvious weakness." She didn't release the crotch rope. Instead, maintaining her position, she tightened her grip on the black rope connecting to Elara's wrists, adjusting her hold to exert a more direct and inescapable control. "You will remain like this and come with me," the assassin's voice was devoid of emotion, as if stating a foregone conclusion. "This is to prevent you from 'changing your mind suddenly,' or... playing any foolish games." She yanked hard on the rope in her hand. The powerful pull forced Elara to stand on her tiptoes, and the entire restraint system instantly tightened. From her wrists to her elbows, from her torso to her legs, especially the critical crotch rope, a clear and intense pressure and stimulation radiated. Elara's heart sank. This meant that until they reached a safe location, or until the assassin confirmed her "value," she would remain in this humiliating and painful state of restraint, unable to break free, unable to reach the key that was so close yet so far. She was like a meticulously packaged piece of cargo, branded with a unique mark, her every action and freedom tethered to the rope in the assassin's hand. "I... understand." She lowered her gaze, hiding the fleeting flicker of unwillingness and anxiety in her golden eyes, and replied in a low voice. It was the only option for now. She could feel the rough hemp rubbing against her delicate skin, each subtle movement a test of her willpower. The Kote-gaeshi restricted her breathing, the bound arms brought a constant numbness, the leg restraints made her steps falter, and the presence of the crotch rope constantly challenged the limits of her sanity. The assassin seemed somewhat satisfied with her compliance. She stood up, cast a final glance around the tent, ensuring no obvious traces were left, and then pulled hard on the rope in her hand. "Get up. We need to leave." Elara was roughly dragged to her feet by the assassin. The ropes on her body vibrated and tightened again with the movement, bringing a familiar sense of restraint and pain. Her legs were still bound tightly, forcing her to rely on her tiptoes to support herself and shuffle forward. The crotch rope's presence remained vivid; her post-climax body was now exceptionally sensitive, each friction sending a heart-stopping wave of tingling pleasure. She watched as the assassin secured the key, which held the power and fate of her strength, close to her body. She watched the black rope in the other woman's hand that so firmly controlled her, her heart filled with complex emotions. The plan had deviated again. She hadn't broken the seal; instead, with a new, fragile lie, she had bound herself even more thoroughly to a dangerous assassin. But at least, she was still alive. And the key was still within reach... The future remained uncertain, fraught with peril. She would, as "Nightingale," follow this assassin, who harbored suspicion and a desire for control, on a journey into enemy territory, a journey even more arduous and dangerous.

Alice's gaze was instantly drawn, her golden pupils locked onto the faintly shimmering pendant. The key! Her key! The female assassin noticed her burning stare. She walked up to Alice, who was bound by the four-horse rig, unable to move, and crouched down. She dangled the pendant before Alice's eyes, at an almost touching distance. "You want it badly, don't you?" the assassin's voice was cold, laced with a hint of mockery. "This 'secret' of yours?" Alice nodded desperately, her eyes revealing an undisguised longing. If only... if only she could reach it! Even just a fingertip touching it! "Tell me, what is it?" the assassin dangled the pendant, the amethyst's glow tracing an alluring path in the dim cave. "Tell me the truth. Perhaps, I'll consider giving it back to you." Alice's heart pounded wildly. Tell the truth? Impossible! That was her last resort, a secret that absolutely could not be revealed! She could only shake her head forcefully, her eyes pleading, emitting muffled sounds, trying to maintain the persona of "Nightingale"—a spy merely seeking to trade her life for survival. The assassin's eyes instantly turned cold. "It seems you're still not honest enough." She stood up, and then... right before Alice's eyes, she placed the pendant on the ground, about an arm's length away from Alice's suspended body! That distance, for a free person, was merely a bend of the waist. But for Alice, bound by the four-horse rig, her limbs tied behind her, making even the slightest movement extremely difficult, that short arm's length was like an insurmountable chasm! "Watch it carefully," the assassin's voice was like a spell, striking Alice's heart. "When you finally come to your senses and are willing to exchange it for a true secret, then... perhaps you can have it." With that, she paid no more attention to Alice's gaze, which was almost spitting fire, and walked to the other side of the cave. She leaned against the stone wall, closed her eyes, and began to rest, seemingly treating Alice and the key within reach as insignificant decorations. The cave fell into a deathly silence. Only Alice's heavy, suppressed breaths could be heard, along with the faint rustling of the ropes as she trembled uncontrollably. Her gaze, as if drawn by a magnet, was fixed on the pouch containing the key. So close, the faint glow of the amethyst almost reflected in her golden pupils. She could feel the resonance growing clearer, like the silent roar of dormant power beneath its seal. But she couldn't reach it! She tried to twist her waist, attempting to lean her body forward. However, the structure of the four-horse rig was both ingenious and cruel. Any effort to change her body's angle would immediately translate into a more intense tearing sensation in her wrists and ankles, and a deeper tightening of the ropes throughout her body! Her shoulder and elbow joints screamed with pain, as if about to be torn apart. The rope loops around her legs constricted her to the point of near-blood stoppage, and the rope between her thighs rubbed against her most sensitive area like a red-hot iron wire! "Urgh... Ah..." One failed attempt was met with even more intense pain and a near-outcry. Sweat streamed down her forehead, the nape of her neck, and her back, soaking the dry grass and making her bound skin slick and sticky against the ropes, yet doing nothing to alleviate the desperate confinement. Humiliation, anxiety, unwillingness... various emotions gnawed at her heart like venomous snakes. She was the War God Empress Alice! One of the most powerful beings on this continent! Yet now she was hung here like a plaything, watching the only hope of escape right before her eyes, utterly powerless! Time crawled by in silence and torment. The assassin seemed to have fallen into a light sleep, her breathing steady. She had to find an opportunity. However, the physical torment continued to escalate. The four-horse rig posture was extremely draining. In just a short time, her abdominal and back muscles began to protest with soreness and weakness. Her limbs felt numb and tingly from poor circulation. And that rope, like a persistent leech, constantly emitted a maddening stimulation, provoking her sensitive nerves, making her, amidst the extreme pain, even feel a trace of an inappropriate, twisted pleasure. This dual torment of body and mind was driving her to the brink of madness. After an unknown period, the assassin opened her eyes. She walked up to Alice, her gaze sweeping over Alice's contorted, beautiful face, etched with pain and endurance, then over her sweat-drenched body, arbitrarily segmented by the ropes, and finally settling on those golden eyes still fixed on the key pouch. "Still refusing to speak?" the assassin's tone was flat, betraying no emotion. She reached out, not to take the key, but... to grasp the knot of the rope between Alice's thighs once more.

The illusion of disguise had long since shattered, and now she was performing in her true colors. The sharp, heroic features of the War Goddess, flushed with the crimson of extreme torment and contorted into a look of broken despair by her struggles. This raw authenticity only intensified the assassin's interest—a woman with such a resilient will, yet such a sensitive body, her secrets must be immensely valuable. "Your body tells me you've been through many of these 'games'," the assassin murmured as she worked, her voice like a cold snake's tongue lapping at Elara's ear. "But this time, there are no safe words, no retreat. Unless you speak, this torment will not cease." Seen through, Elara could only emit broken whimpers and screams. She could feel her will being stripped away, bit by bit, like skin tightening under a noose, gradually losing its color, becoming numb. She even began to doubt if she could truly hold onto her final secret if this continued. Just as she felt herself on the verge of complete collapse, the assassin's hands suddenly stopped. Elara gasped violently, her body still trembling uncontrollably, like the lingering vibrations of a plucked string. She forced her eyes open, her vision blurred. Before her stood the assassin, looking down at her with a gaze of scrutiny and assessment. "Not enough," the assassin muttered to herself. "Your will is tougher than I imagined." She paused, her gaze sweeping over Elara's body, made even more sensitive by the lingering aftershocks of pleasure, and made a new judgment. "But your body is ready." A chill colder than death crept into Elara's heart. She knew the true, most brutal interrogation was about to begin. The assassin spoke no more. She moved behind Elara and loosened some of the ropes on her wrists, not to release her, but to adjust. In a more complex, inescapable manner, she bound Elara's arms behind her again, ensuring her shoulder joints were pulled to their limit, her shoulder blades almost touching. Simultaneously, she shortened the ropes connecting her wrists to her ankles, forcing Elara to arch her back at a higher, more strenuous angle, her entire body's weight pressing down on her abdomen. Having completed this, she returned to face Elara. This time, her target was the forbidden place between Elara's legs, already a mess of filth. Elara's pupils contracted to pinpricks. No! Not that! That was the last line of defense! But the assassin's movements were as precise and cold as ever. She didn't touch directly, but first untied the thigh rope that had been tormenting Elara for so long. As the rough knot left her swollen core, Elara experienced a moment of disorientation, as if losing a continuous, almost comforting pressure. But in the next second, she realized this was merely the calm before the storm. The assassin's fingers, through the thin panties already soaked with arousal and rendered almost transparent, found her most vulnerable point with unerring accuracy. "One last chance," the assassin's voice echoed in the dim cave, like a final judgment. "Who are you? Where is Elara?" Elara bit her lip fiercely, drawing blood. She could not speak. To speak would not only expose her identity but also mean the complete loss of her dignity, utter failure. The assassin waited for three seconds. Then, her fingers, through the slick fabric, began their most brutal assault. It wasn't a simple press, but a rhythm, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, precisely stimulating the already exquisitely sensitive nub. Her other hand gripped Elara's nipple, applying torment in sync. "Ahhhhhh------!" Elara could bear it no longer, letting out a heart-wrenching scream. Her body convulsed violently, the ropes of the horse-straddle binding digging deeper into her flesh with the fierce struggle, threatening to tear her apart. The pleasure was no longer a tide, but a volcanic eruption, magma flowing backward, a world-ending torrent capable of destroying all reason. Worse still, the moment the assassin sensed her body nearing its peak, she suddenly stopped. Tease! Elara's body froze mid-air, the pleasure about to erupt brutally cut off, suspended at the brink of collapse. The emptiness, the itch, the craving, like a thousand venomous insects gnawing at her bones, made her cry out in a voice distorted by agony. "Speak!" the assassin demanded fiercely.