Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“You can have anything your heart desires.” He produces a black leather contraption—two straps wrapped around a silver ring. “As long as you please me.”
He motions me forward with the same Come signal and has me kneel up and hold still while he affixes the ring gag. With the straps buckled tight, my lips are rounded into a forced “O,” and my heart trips.
“Okay?” he asks, with the corresponding hand signal. I nod. It’s that or try to talk around the gag.
Victor shoves his pants down and shows me the beautiful monster of his cock—long and uncut and turgid—and my heart stutters. My mouth is already open, ready for him, and I’m drooling around the metal ring.
The first taste of him is sweet. He glides deeper, spearing my mouth, and I breathe in the wintry scent of him, tasting salt. He reaches through the cage bars to grip my hair and control my movements. “Breath through your nose.” His harsh direction is a mercy as he fills me with his length, tipping my head back until he’s knocking on the entrance of my throat. My chest surges, and I bite down on the metal until my teeth ache.
“Good, good girl.” He eases out, giving me a moment to gasp. He taps his thumb and forefinger together a few times before swiping a thumb at the corner of my eye, collecting my tears. He tastes them and gives me the Come signal. “Again.”
After a few rounds of this, my knees are aching, but my throat has gone soft enough to let him in. Tears streak down my cheeks, and I let them because they seem to please him. At long last, he presses my head against the bars and spurts down my throat.
“Perfection,” he pronounces and massages my face after removing the gag. “You’re doing well, Lula.”
And despite myself, I feel a stab of pride.
Victor
I have to help Lula upright. I collared and blindfolded her before I allowed her out of the cage. Her nostrils flared like a frightened mare. She’s more tense now than she was in her cage, her arm rigid in my grasp. She hates to be out of control.
She’ll grow accustomed to this life. Moving gracefully through my home, naked for my pleasure, kneeling as often and for as long as I like, and obeying my hand signal’s silent commands. One day, perhaps, she will crawl for me and beg to be caged, to be chained.
I unclip one of her hands and allow her to use the bathroom with the door slightly cracked. The privacy is more than she deserves, considering her history of hiding weapons under sinks. But that was my oversight.
When I tell her time is up and open the door, she doesn’t seem grateful.
“How long are you going to keep me like this?” she asks, glaring at me. She’s removed the blindfold, a liberty she’ll be punished for, but she allows me to secure her free arm behind her.
“It’s up to you. My bed is ready for us. But first, I will train you to submit the way I like.”
Her lips press together.
“Surrender now. It’ll go easier for you.” When she doesn’t respond, I take her arm and guide her past me. She goes obediently enough but rears back when she sees what’s waiting for her.
The steel table is gone from the middle of the room, pushed to the side and hidden from view. In its place is a Saint Andrew’s cross. Made of sturdy dark wood and padded with black leather, the X shape seems to fill the space.
I give her a moment, enjoying the music of her harsh breathing. Then I draw her forward to stand before the cross.
“As long as it takes, Lula. I won’t stop until you beg me to make you mine.”
10
Lula
I press my cheek to the leather cross. It slips a little because the surface is slick with my sweat. Overhead, my arms sag in their bonds. My back is in flames. Victor warmed me up with a light flogger, then quickly moved to a heavier one. As soon as I got used to the thuddy rhythm of the strands, he changed the angle of the strokes so it felt like stinging rain. He hasn’t touched my nipples, but they throb in sympathy with my abused backside.
And now he has a crop. He showed me the implement before tapping it on my calves and the backs of my thighs. He pops it harder on the fleshy swell of my ass, making me growl. The crop peppers my back and rear, leaving spots of fire, and as much as I hate the pain, I love the heat it leaves.
The crop prods the side of my breasts. “Breathe, Lula,” he says, and I brace for the sting. The leather flap kisses the side of my left and then right breast. I snarl, straining against my cuffs.