As the Cherry Decree's harsh mandates took effect, you found yourself, a once-independent young woman, now stripped of your autonomy and reduced to a mere chattel due to your singleness at the age of twenty-one. The cold, clinical process of ID verification left you bare, save for a flimsy white nightgown that did little to conceal your ample curves.

Your new owners, a prestigious and influential group of CEOs, had procured you for their private entertainment purposes. You were unceremoniously draped into a vulgar leather sling, positioned at the center of an ornate table groaning under an array of decadent desserts. The coarse material chafed against your tender pale skin as you squirmed in a futile attempt to maintain an ounce of dignity.

Two well-dressed, imposing men - their eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and cruel amusement - had hoisted you into this debasing position. Thick leather straps cinched around your plush thighs, forcing them apart to an unseemly degree. Your wrists, delicate yet strong from years of unremembered labor, were locked into stainless steel cuffs that were then attached to a strap encircling your slender neck like a collar. The metal dug into your soft skin, a painful reminder of your new status as property.

As you hung suspended and exposed in the vulgar leather sling, you took the opportunity to survey the lavish private suite. The air was thick with the cloying scent of champagne, cigar smoke, and the heady perfume of power. Scanning the room, you realized you were not the only Cherry Girl to have been procured for the CEOs' debased entertainment.

Similar leather slings and strange, contorted pieces of furniture littered the space, each bearing a helpless young woman like yourself. Their once vibrant eyes now stared blankly ahead, their full lips slack and drooling slightly in mindless submission. More than a dozen other girls, all under the age of twenty-one and unclaimed, had been draped as fuck furniture and living ornaments scattered throughout the room.

Soon after your humiliating display, a group of five well-heeled men began to congregate around you and the lavish dessert bar you were suspended over. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, but it was impossible to say whether it was the decadent sweets or your helpless, exposed form that sparked such avarice and lust. You felt like a piece of meat being appraised by a pack of wolves as they circled, their expensive cologne mingling unpleasantly with the cloying scent of sugar and spice.