Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
She lifted her head and looked around the strange, empty room—painted white from ceiling to floor, what the hell was that about? The sun was just rising, the room bathed in a pearly gray light that outlined the scary torture devices set around the space like some kind of stage set for a medieval film. Except this wasn’t a stage—it was all too real. And he wasn’t her lover—he was her captor, her tormentor, her Master…
After he’d climaxed, he’d lifted himself from her body and left the room. Where was he now? Had he gone back to sleep? Was he locked in his study clicking away on his computer? What if she made a run for it?
Slowly, she hoisted herself to her feet. Her ass and the backs of her thighs were stinging. She winced as she reached back to gingerly touch one of the raised welts. Did she dare try to find some clothing? Or should she just make her break and take her chances?
Cautiously, she walked to the dungeon door and placed her hand on the knob. She turned it slowly and gently pulled.
It was locked.
Chapter 6
The weeks edged into a month, and they were happy as two lovebirds in their private nest—at least he was. He loved to walk into the playroom and see her bound and suspended from the overhead bar he’d so cleverly rigged. She waited for him with her feet barely touching the ground, arms spread in welcome for him like a gift, like a prize.
He liked to leave her a while, trembling with anticipation as he went about a task or two at his computer or puttered around their cozy farmhouse. Upon returning to the playroom, he invariably experienced a split second of joyous surprise—how had this gorgeous woman come to be tethered in his dungeon, naked and waiting just for him?
He stroked his cock as he imagined Alana at his feet, his cock down her throat.
She was doing well with her deep-throat technique, thanks to his patient lessons. He liked to start out by having her kneel at his feet. He would sit on the bed just in front of her and lean forward, slapping her cheeks with the side of his erect cock. There was something so deliciously humiliating in the act, and he never tired of her startled expression when his cock made contact with her face.
Once she was able to take it with, if not grace, at least stoicism, he would inform her she had now earned the right to worship his cock.
She had learned that was her cue to obediently part her luscious lips, just as she did when he fed her. Holding her head still with his hands, he would guide his erect shaft into her mouth, moving slowly forward until the tip touched the back of her throat.
The first few sessions when he’d done this, she’d gagged and tried to pull away. But a swift slap to the face reminded her more readily than any admonition to stay still and take it. Eventually, she had learned to accommodate his substantial girth, and now, though her eyes might water, her face turning red when he blocked her windpipe, the obedient slut no longer pulled away.
He would press forward until her nose was touching his pubic bone. When her eyes began to bulge, and only then, he would ease back to allow her to gasp for air, but only for a few seconds. Then he would ease himself back into the sweet, wet heat of her mouth, not stopping until the tip was again lodged against the soft tissue at the back of her throat.
How easy it would be to kill someone this way—to suffocate them with your cock. Of course, they would have to acquiesce, to stay still while you slowly shut down their brain and ultimately their heart. Not that Mark would ever do that. He wanted Alana alive. Without her, he would be nothing.
Aware he’d completely lost his thread of concentration, Mark shut down the computer and pushed back from his desk. Alana was waiting for him. He didn’t want to disappoint her.
As he entered the playroom, he whistled with appreciation. Alana was perfect—her arms high overhead, her legs cuffed on either side of the metal spreader bar that would hold her still, no matter what he did to her. She glanced up at him as he entered. Then she looked down quickly, as befitted a proper slave girl. She no longer pleaded to be set free.
Perhaps she was finally accepting that this life was now her lot, her freedom. He had set her free from the incredible stress and clamor of her days as a movie star and sought-after celebrity. Now all she had to focus on was him.
Mark approached Alana and kissed her on the mouth, wishing for an instant that she’d kiss him back. Maybe one day…