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)
A good little slut who comes when strangers finger her.
The orgasm rolls through me in waves. Violent. Consuming. His fingers don't stop—they keep working that spot inside me while his thumb presses my clit, milking every last spasm from my body.
When I finally go limp, gasping, the tall one pets my hair.
"Good girl," he whispers. "He's going to punish you so badly for that."
My eyes snap open.
What?
The dark-haired one withdraws his fingers slowly. "That's how it ended for Jasmine, wasn't it?"
Oh no.
Oh god.
He's right.
In Mine, All Mine, Jasmine came during her preparation. Her master had explicitly forbidden it—told her to save herself for him—but she couldn't resist. The servants touched her and she failed the test.
So he punished her.
Whipped her.
Edged her for hours without letting her come again.
Made her beg, and cry, and confess how weak she was.
I understand now.
The masked man wanted me to come. Set me up to fail. Orchestrated this entire scene knowing I wouldn't be able to resist three sets of hands, knowing my body would betray me.
Just like Jasmine.
So he could punish me for it.
The stirrups unlock with metallic clicks. My legs lower slowly, the mechanical tub returning me to a normal bathing position.
"Time to get you ready for the hunt," the blond one says, offering his hand to help me stand.
My legs are shaking.
My pussy is still throbbing.
And somewhere, I know the masked man is watching with that predatory smile I can't see, but can always feel.
Chapter 3
Caleb
My hand freezes mid-stroke. Cock still slick. Come cooling on my knuckles.
Scarletta just handed me everything.
She came for them. Surrendered to their fingers, their mouths, their coordinated assault on her self-control. Exactly like Jasmine in her story. Exactly like I knew she would.
Permission granted.
I'm going to make her scream.
Not from pleasure this time. From pain. From the flat crack of my palm across her ass, from the sting of leather against her thighs, from the humiliation of being spanked like a disobedient child in front of cameras she knows are watching.
Station One isn't just a test of courage. It's a punishment platform. Sixty feet up, suspended in open air, nowhere to hide when I stripe her skin red.
I grab the warm towel from beneath the silver dome—always prepared, always three steps ahead—and clean myself with efficient strokes. My eyes never leave the center screen where the dark-haired one hands Scarletta a small cream-colored envelope sealed with black wax.
She takes it with shaking fingers.
Still wrapped in white silk. Still dripping from the bath. Still swollen and sensitive from the orgasm she shouldn't have taken.
The attendants step back. One. Two. Three synchronized steps into shadow.
Then gone.
Scarletta looks up. Turns. Her eyes scan the empty pavilion, searching for the men who just violated every inch of her freshly shaved pussy.
No one.
Just her. The envelope. And sixteen hidden cameras capturing the confusion spreading across her face.
She breaks the wax seal. Unfolds the card. Starts reading.
I watch her lips move silently, forming the words I spent an hour perfecting last night.
Roses are red, Violets are blue...
Her face flushes. Shame or arousal—doesn't matter. Both feed what's coming.
You came for those strangers, Now you'll pay what's due.
She bites her lower lip. The same nervous tell she's had since I started watching her six months ago. When she's scared but turned on. When her body wants what her mind refuses.
Her thighs press together. Subtle. Unconscious. She's already wet again.
My good little slut got her pussy all wet
While hands that weren't mine made her moan.
You earned yourself punishment—don't you forget:
Every orgasm you have should be mine alone.
She reads faster now. Eyes skipping ahead, hungry for information, desperate to know what I've planned.
Walk north through the jungle, 1.2 miles precise,
You'll find the tall tree with rope hanging down.
Climb to the platform (don't think twice),
Cuff yourself up there and wait for your crown.
Her breathing changes. Shallow. Quick. Fear response activating.
The bonus is five thousand if you're brave enough, dear,
But the real reward's the pain I'll deliver.
You let them touch you—now face your fear:
Heights, and my hands, and the way you will quiver.
She touches her throat. Another tell. When reality exceeds fantasy. When the game becomes real.
Strip off that robe before you begin.
Take only this map and the watch on your wrist.
You have two hours to arrive, my sweet sin,
Or forfeit all bonuses—you get the gist.
Her eyes snap back to the top of the card. Rereading. Confirming she understood correctly.
Yes, Scarletta. Naked. Through the jungle. Because I want you vulnerable. Exposed. Unable to hide behind fabric when branches scrape your skin and humidity makes you sweat.
She flips the card over. Finds the map I printed—detailed topographic lines marking elevation changes, creek crossings, the precise GPS coordinates of Station One.
One final rule before we begin:
You're mine now—every breath, every sin.
I'm watching each step through the jungle you take.
Quit on me now, and see what I break.