Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
To his surprise, she’d asked if he wouldn’t mind if she used her own recipe. He’d been mildly affronted at her audacity. If she’d been his actual sous chef, he would have put her promptly in her place. Curiosity won out over professional umbrage, and he’d let her go ahead, though his expectations had been low.
She’d produced a product as good, if not better, than his own, with a perfect golden-brown crust, the insides fluffy and flaky. When he’d complimented her on them, she’d smiled shyly, her cheeks dimpling prettily. He’d liked that smile and had found himself smiling back.
It still irritated him that Anthony was allowing Hannah to wear clothing when not in a training session. He found her clothing distracting. All Enclave subs were generally kept naked or nearly so, particularly the trainees. He was so used to this state of affairs that he barely registered their nudity in a day-to-day setting. But Hannah’s clingy dresses, the fabric hugging her ample ass and draping over her lush breasts, were like a taunt.
If she’d been any other Enclave trainee, he would have come up behind her as she worked. He would have flipped up that dress and pressed his hard erection against her bare ass. “Don’t stop what you’re doing,” he would have murmured in her ear. Then he would have gripped her by the hips, pulling her against him as he slid his hard cock into her wet cunt.
Idly massaging his cock through his jeans, he glanced out the kitchen window at the outdoor dungeon. Brandon and Marjorie were conducting a training session with Michael and Ellen. The two slaves straddled the punishment horse, facing one another. Their arms were bound and suspended from the overhead trellis beam. They were both on their toes, their genitals almost but not quite touching the hard-edged wood between their legs.
To give them even more of a challenge, clover clamps were attached to their nipples—one chain tethering Michael’s left nipple to Ellen’s right, the other Michael’s right to Ellen’s left. Each time one of them flinched or jerked, they both paid the price.
The punishment horse was aptly named. The basic wood sawhorse had been modified so the thin edge of the main plank faced upward, perfect for fitting snugly between labia or pressing painfully into testicles. The plank could be adjusted to accommodate the height of those who straddled it. To make up for the height difference, for this session it had been angled so both trainees faced the same trial. Even so, Michael had the advantage of muscle over Ellen, whose slender legs were already trembling with the effort of holding her cunt above the sharp-edged sawhorse.
To add fire to the slow smolder of their predicament bondage, Brandon stood behind Ellen, Marjorie behind Michael, each wielding a single tail whip. From his vantage point at the window, Mason could see Ellen’s face twist into a grimace of pain each time the lash snapped against her back.
Aroused, he went out back to watch the scene unfold. To his delighted surprise, Hannah was kneeling on the tatami mat nearby, her arms bound behind her with Shibari rope. Her nipples were also caught in a pair of clover clamps, the chain swaying between her breasts. Her knees were spread wide, no trace of clothing on her curvaceous body.
Moving quietly so as not to disturb the scene in progress, Mason crouched beside Hannah. She turned her head, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open in surprise. Mason let the hint of a smile ghost his lips as he looked her over.
She’d apparently succumbed to Lucia’s gentle persuasion to shave her pubic mound. Her plump, pretty labia were tantalizingly exposed by her position. He wondered what she would taste like.
Brandon acknowledged Mason with a lift of his chin and then returned his concentration to his task. Both trainees were sweating, their backs crisscrossed with thin red welts, their legs shaking.
“Shibari rope suits you,” Mason whispered into Hannah’s ear. His cock was stiff beneath his jeans, his balls tight. She gave no indication that she’d heard him, save for the flush of color moving over her chest and throat. Her nipples had to be numb by now. He tugged lightly at the chain between her breasts, making her wince.
All at once, Ellen cried out, her feet slamming to the ground, wedging the sharp-edged plank between her labia. “Oh, oh, it hurts! It hurts!” she cried out, tears flowing down her cheeks. She tried to lift again to her toes but her aching legs refused to support her.
“You win,” Brandon said to Marjorie with a grin. Neither of them appeared particularly concerned at Ellen’s predicament. “Or rather,” he added with a chuckle, “Michael wins.”
They both set down their whips. Working quickly, they released the trainees from their bonds and helped each off the horse. “Stand next to me and get your reward, boy,” Brandon directed.