Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
She would dutifully obey, waiting patiently in the middle of the room if he had told her to, or kneeling, her ass raised high, her forehead resting on the white floor, her heart beating in anticipation.
He would enter a while later, and the erotic torture would begin. The cane, his cock, the whip, the cross, the suspension rack, whatever pleased him. Whatever he decreed.
She would lose track of time and space as she became pure, raw sensation. Pain and pleasure would blend and bleed, twist and spiral inside her until she dissolved into it—into him.
Alana reread the same paragraph in her book a dozen times, and still the words didn’t register.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Alana looked up at the sound of his voice. He was staring at her, an intensity in his gaze.
“Nothing,” she replied reflexively. Everything.
He pursed his lips. As his slave, she didn’t have the right to withhold anything from her Master, not even her thoughts.
But she wasn’t his slave.
According to this odd, new situation, she was his guest.
As if having the same thoughts, Mark nodded slowly, saying nothing more. Instead, he rose to his feet, stretching elaborately. “I think I’ll turn in early. I’m really tired.”
She let him go, of course. It was a relief, in a way, to have him gone. She didn’t have to sit on the couch any longer in her clothing pretending to read her book, wondering how to behave.
She got up and went into “her” bathroom. She stripped out of her clothes and stared at herself in the mirror, turning around and twisting back to admire the brand. He had taken her slave jewelry, but he couldn’t take that from her.
Turning back, she noticed the shadow of stubble on her mons. She touched the soft fuzz and realized with a small shock that she liked being smooth. She had grown accustomed to the bare, silken feel.
Looking furtively at the closed bathroom door, she decided she would do it herself. Even if he no longer wanted her, she would keep herself ready. She would keep herself soft and bare for him, just in case he changed his mind. And if it was a test, she would pass it, when he inevitably called an end to this odd game they were playing.
He had filled the drawers with all the toiletries she would need, including a fresh razor and shaving cream. She drew a bath and placed the razor and cream on the ledge. Climbing in, she soaked for a while, luxuriating in the hot water. Then, trying to imitate his long, even strokes, she shaved her legs, then her underarms, and finally her pussy.
He did it better. She missed his sure touch.
Alana dried her body and applied the creams and oils he used to smooth into her flesh. Then she quickly washed her face, brushed her teeth and went into the bedroom.
Sleep eluded her as she tried to get comfortable in the soft bed. Where were her bracelets and chains? Where was the strong, warm man she had become used to having beside her, holding her close until she fell asleep?
Her hand found its way to the brand. She traced the slightly raised lines, visualizing the linked ovals. She had been branded by the man who would now set her free.
She would never feel the lash again. Never again know the intensity of being cropped on her spread pussy and ordered to come. Never know the humiliation of crouching naked while her Master urinated on her back, the yellow droplets rolling down her sides and hanging for a second in perfect globes at her nipples, before sliding down to the cold porcelain below her.
She should be thrilled he was going to set her free. She could go back to the before time, when she was in command—in control. She could return to the filming and the photo shoots, to the runway events and the promo tours, to the hectic, glamorous, exciting life that had been hers.
Did she miss it?
Could you miss a dream?
What was real now?
What did she want?
What would happen when she told everyone what had happened to her? Would they even believe it? She had been whipped and tortured and completely isolated from all other human contact. She had been pierced and branded. She had submitted to it all. She hadn’t really tried to fight him, had she? Would they understand she had been held here against her will? That she had had no choice but to comply?
What would they make of it all? How would she be treated? Would they believe her wild tales? And where was the man who had done these horrible things? If they tracked him down, despite his certainty they wouldn’t, he would be tried. She would be on trial as well, with the whole world avidly watching. The star witness.