Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
We had a simple plan involving pure-white canvas, new oil paints, and high-quality weed I’d gotten from a guy. We were going to get baked and make some art.
I’d been clear of all drugs at the time, but I was elated that my new friend was both a painter and a stoner—so I made an exception. I never kept any of that stuff in my house, though. I knew how tempting that would’ve been.
Peter wanted me to keep quiet about the weed. He didn’t want his little sister to find out about his drug use (which at times grazed dangerously closer to drug abuse) because he thought it’d make it more likely for her to follow in his footsteps. The only thing Peter wanted Sarah to emulate was his work with the animals.
I knew Sarah was the most important thing in Peter’s life, and he’d give up anything to provide a happy home for her for as long as she needed it. I thought it was admirable that he’d basically given up his entire adult life to raising his sister after their parents’ divorce and their dad’s untimely death.
“To be honest, it weirded me out, too, in the beginning,” I admitted. “Your brother seriously does great work, though, and I’m really looking forward to our collaboration.” I gave her a small smile. “But if you want us to stop hanging out, I get it.”
“Oh, no,” Sarah said, to my surprise. “Don’t let me stand in the way of your bromance. Peter’s horrible at making friends. I’m happy he’s happy.”
Her skin was so much like porcelain that the frown lines, appearing on her face, looked like they didn’t belong. She had this innocent aura, like she was this sweet, fragile little thing.
On our first encounter, when she’d shed her clothes in my tattoo parlor, along with her inhibitions, I’d been thrilled to find that she wasn’t a fragile little thing after all, that my initial impression of her had been wrong.
I’d also been annoyed that there was to be no repeat performance, but I’d completely agreed with her. I didn't need that kind of complication in my life.
Besides, Sarah was young, and it was time for her to spread her wings. She didn't need dead weight like me. I would've dragged her down with me, defiling her body and corrupting her soul.
Now, as I stare at Sarah's lovely form on the hotel bed, my mind floods with thoughts about our first time at my tattoo shop, about Peter, and about the way I’ve been watching her from a safe distance.
It's not too late.
I can still change my course of action.
I can tell Sarah nothing and let her go back home.
Better yet, I can fuck her before I send her home. She won't even know who I am. I can keep her blindfold on while I fuck her, keep speaking in low whispers so she doesn't recognize my voice, and keep acting like I’m PuppetMaster.
Hell, I am PuppetMaster. I created this online persona. It's not like I have to fake anything to be PuppetMaster.
In fact, it's a chance for me to let my inner demon out to play, and that's more real than any other side of me.
I have a feeling she’ll like it if I rough her up, bury myself balls-deep inside her, fuck her with complete abandon, and leave her tied up all night. In the morning, when she's greeted by the shocked stare of a hotel cleaner, she’ll get another rush. She'll probably pleasure herself to the memory for years after that.
I know exactly how she’ll feel, and I understand completely why she’s doing this. But that’s not a good thing. The only reason I get Sarah’s motives is because I suffer from the same addiction, too.
It’s just that I’ve been keeping my monster locked up in a cage. But now it’s grabbing the iron bars and rattling the cage with all its might. The sight of Sarah, all tied up and begging to be fucked, has woken the monster up from its deep slumber.
More than ever, I’m glad Peter was my friend. That’s the only thing holding me back right now.
My cock strains against denim. These jeans are getting fucking tight. At the very least, I’ll have to wait until my erection goes away before I talk to Sarah. No way she’s going to take me seriously with this giant boner in my pants.
There’s no way I’m going to go soft with this view in front of me, though.
Sarah’s lying on her side with her back to me, her beige coat crumpled and her hair messy from the blindfold around her head. Her arms bend awkwardly behind her, and her wrists are still tied up.
She’s been lying there for at least ten minutes while I make no sound. Some “submissive” girls would’ve squealed by now. They would’ve yelled out in frustration or maybe just asked some questions.