Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
The voices in the jungle have gone completely silent. There's no sound except the distant call of birds and the pounding of my own heart.
He turns back toward me with something in his hands.
I can't see what it is, he's holding it tight in his fist as he slowly approaches me.
My body tenses with anticipation. My pussy clenches. My nipples ache.
"Do you know what these are?" He holds up a pair of clamps connected by a delicate chain. The clamps themselves have small screws for adjusting tension, and the chain has weights hanging from its center.
I nod.
"Say it."
"Nipple clamps, Master."
"Do you remember when I put these on you after the auction?"
"No, Master."
"But you've written about them." It's not a question. He knows. He's read everything I've ever posted. "Twenty-three of your forty-seven stories include nipple clamps in some form. Usually adjustable. Usually weighted. Usually applied while the protagonist is restrained and unable to protect herself."
I swallow hard.
"You're going to feel them now," he says. "You're going to understand exactly what you've been making your characters endure."
He steps close enough that his bare chest nearly touches mine. His cock brushes against my hip—still hard, still wet at the tip—and I make a desperate sound that I can't control.
"Shh." He brushes his lips against my forehead. "Hold still."
His fingers find my right nipple.
He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, working it until it's even harder than before, until it's a tight peak aching for more contact. The sensation shoots straight to my pussy, making me clench.
Then he attaches the clamp.
The pressure is immediate and intense—not quite pain, but close. A sharp bite that hovers right on the edge of too much. My breath catches in my throat and I arch against the restraints, but there's nowhere to go.
"Color?" he asks.
For a moment, I'm confused. Then I realize, he's asking if I need to safe word. He's asking if he can proceed.
"Green," I gasp. "Green, Master."
Keep going….
He moves to my left nipple.
Same treatment. Rolling and pinching until it's almost unbearably sensitive, then the bite of the clamp closing around it. The chain connecting them pulls taut across my chest, and the weights in the center swing gently with every breath I take.
Each swing tugs at both nipples simultaneously.
I whimper.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
He returns to the cabinet.
This time when he comes back, he's holding a flogger—soft-looking leather falls attached to a braided handle. He runs the falls through his fingers, letting me watch the way they separate and come back together.
"You know what this is."
"Yes, Master."
"You've written about it."
"Yes, Master."
"Seventeen stories." He drags the falls across my stomach, the leather cool against my heated skin. "In seven of them, the flogger is used on the protagonist's breasts. In ten, it's used on her pussy. In three, both."
The leather trails lower.
"What do you want?" he asks.
I don't know how to answer. I want everything. I want nothing. I want him to make the choice so I don't have to be responsible for whatever comes next.
"Tell me," he commands. The falls brush against my inner thigh. "Be specific."
"I—I want—"
"Where do you want to feel this?" The leather traces the crease where my thigh meets my hip. "Here?"
I nod.
He brings the flogger back and swings it forward in a gentle arc. The falls connect with my inner thigh—not hard, just a soft thud of sensation that makes my skin tingle.
I moan.
"More," I beg. "Give me more. Make it harder. Make it… hurt."
Chapter 9
Caleb
Make it hurt.
Her words land somewhere between my chest and my cock, detonating on impact. The muscle in my jaw tightens. My dick throbs so hard it actually jumps, straining toward her like it has its own agenda, its own desperate need to be inside her.
She has no idea.
No fucking idea how much restraint I'm burning through right now. How every cell in my body is screaming at me to drop this flogger, grab her hips, and fuck her until she can't remember her own name. Until she can't remember anything except the feeling of my cock splitting her open.
Make it hurt.
I look her directly in the eyes.
Her pupils are blown so wide that her hazel irises have nearly disappeared, swallowed by black. The gold flecks I've memorized from a thousand hours of surveillance footage are invisible now, drowned in arousal and need and something that looks dangerously close to trust.
I can see my own reflection in those dark pools. A man holding a flogger. A man barely holding himself together.
"You should be very careful, my little slut, in what you ask for."
My voice comes out lower than I intended. Rougher. The predator bleeding through the controlled facade.
"Because we're writing this story together now." I let the words sink in, watching her face for any flicker of fear, any sign she's reaching for a safeword. "I'm not obligated to fulfill your wishes."