Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Leah
My jaw went slack as I heard the whirring again, and the straps attached to the thigh cuffs started to pull again. I stared at Christian, trying to put his words together with the pulling of the straps. Were they going to rip me apart? How could that help?
They didn’t rip me apart. They did pull my knees back almost to my chest, curling me and raising my backside so that I felt folded, like a napkin or a towel. It wasn’t painful or even very uncomfortable, but I certainly felt restrained. Much worse, as I looked back at Christian through the vee of my spread thighs, I could see my panties in a way that felt terribly shameful.
Much, much worse, I understood exactly how exposed my pussy had become, how available for the terrifying discipline my keeper had promised. He had his hands in front of him, his left hand rubbing the knuckles of his right as he gazed straight back at me.
I found I couldn’t maintain eye contact, because Christian’s expression held too much fear, and shame, and need, and—worst of all—affection for me. I dropped my own gaze to his hands, and I watched the rhythmic movement of his fingers over each other. Something about the way he moved even that part of his body, his plain, ordinary hands, seemed unbearably sexy. I let out a little whimper as I understood why: those hands… those firm hands… they would deliver my sponsor’s discipline. I felt as if I could almost see him somehow thinking through them, preparing himself both physically and mentally to punish me.
My heart raced at the idea, and I raised my eyes, hoping desperately to find something different, there—some shred of mercy. Instead I saw the little smile I had already come to know so well, but also the resolution I remembered from the first night, the first spanking. When Christian moved, I supposed for an instant he would spring onto the bed and start bringing his hand down between my legs.
Instead, with deft, quick movements, he started to undress. He didn’t take his eyes off me as he unbuttoned his shirt. I gasped at the mere sight of his chest, of the dark, curly hair that said so clearly, I am a man. Instinctively, I started to struggle against the restraints that bound me to the bed.
“Wait… wait… sir…” I said, babbling, “I… you… just, wait…”
Christian didn’t wait. He had his shirt unbuttoned all the way. He had tugged its front out of the waistband of his jeans. He started to unbutton his cuffs.
“Shh, Rebel,” he said, his voice returning to the taming, gentle, patronizing tone of the animal trainer. “It’s time to see what your master looks like without his clothes on.”
My breath had begun to come in tiny pants. Of course I had seen pictures. I hadn’t sought them out, really… or I had always told myself that I hadn’t. They had made my face get hot, and I had scrolled away from them quickly. Maybe I had wanted to find one, or two, just to see—but I had definitely closed the browser as soon as I had seen, out of sheer embarrassment.
Christian shrugged his shirt from his shoulders, and I heard the rustle of it as it fell to the bedroom carpet.
“Oh, God,” I whispered. He smiled broadly for a moment. He knew how strong an effect his bulging biceps and chiseled abs would have on me: this man knew how his body could make a girl’s mouth water and, down below, her pussy clench. I lowered my eyes, helplessly, to look at my lacy panties, terrified that I had made a visible wet spot on their gusset—despite knowing that even in this position I couldn’t see all the way to the place any wet spot would appear.
Christian could see, though: I lifted my gaze again and found him focused on my face, but when we made eye contact, he looked down—as if he had waited for me to look at him, so that I could watch him look down at my lace-covered pussy, at the thong’s narrow strip running between the little round apples of my bottom.
I couldn’t see myself reflected in his eyes, really—but, to my distress, I felt like I could. When his hands went to the big Western-style buckle of his jeans belt and he returned his gaze to my face, I let out a little whimper of unmistakable need. It felt like the most humiliating thing that had happened yet tonight; I felt like Christian could see into my soul, and that it didn’t even take very much of his hyper-intelligent mental capacity to understand precisely what he saw there.
A wayward, naughty, needy girl. A submissive fuck toy, badly requiring proper training to make her as enjoyable to use as she should be. The kind of young woman who sees a dominant man looking lustfully at her bound, almost naked body and feels her shameless, whorish pussy ache for his huge, hard cock.