Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Shit. I let go of her and looked down at her pink tailored suit. I’d cut it off her that first day in a frenzy to get at the body underneath, and spent a fortune on a replacement. She was offering me access to that body all the time, along with her smiles and her spirit...
There was so much to figure out, so much to worry about as I brought her into my life, and, of course, into my home. I would need her to live here and be available to me all the time, but she’d want to work too. Maybe I could rent a design space for her in my office building. On the same floor, preferably, so she’d be right there. I’d make her rent out her apartment and invest the money into her fledgling jewelry company. My business mind took over, because my heart was overwhelmed.
There was so much risk, but I’d warned her and rebuffed her, and demonstrated the depth of my perversity, and she was still choosing this. She was choosing me. I didn’t know if it would feel like love to her. All I knew was that I hadn’t taken a chance like this in years, and that I’d never taken a chance where the stakes were so high.
“Are you okay?” She touched my arm, a light, soothing caress. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be scared right now.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered. “This is all your fault.”
“It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”
Trust me. Women couldn’t be trusted, and love couldn’t be trusted, but I’d let Chere into my dungeon and into my heart. Any torture that resulted was my own fucking fault, even if I blamed all this on her. I should never have opened the door.
But if I hadn’t, I knew she’d still be out there, ringing the bell for the thousandth time.
“Want to try some of the equipment on for size?” I suggested, because if I didn’t move around and do something, I was going to die of anticipation. I took her to the spanking bench, bent her over it and swatted her a few times to make her laugh. I showed her the modular parts of it, all the ways it could display her gorgeous ass for punishment or fucking. Next, I fit her wrists into a pair of shackles in the middle of the room. I raised them with a winch until she was on her tiptoes, her shoulders straining in her suit. Practice only. This equipment was made for nakedness.
She couldn’t have straddled the sawhorse in her tight-fitting skirt. Instead I showed her how the leather-covered top could be inverted to suit my purposes, so straddling it was either comfortable or torturous for her. I left it in the torturous configuration, so she could imagine how the peaked edge would feel digging into her pussy for some future crime.
And she’d commit crimes, I knew. She’d break rules, push boundaries. She was my fighter, after all.
I led her to the ladder-style bondage rack and made her stand on the lowest bar, and then instructed her to reach up and hold the highest bar she could. Once she obeyed, I went around to the other side, to the space between the rack and the wall.
Since she stood on the bar, her eyes and lips were on a level with mine. I kissed her, a kiss for all the ecstasy she’d brought me, and the agony, and the promise of more. When I opened my eyes, she was staring back at me. I closed my hands over hers.
I’d be able to bind her to this rack whenever I wanted to, with rope or cuffs or leather straps. I’d clamp her tits and loop the chain over the bar above or below, so every time she moved, her nipples would feel it. Then I’d flog her, or hit her with a broad strap or paddle until her ass was scarlet and her legs trembled. Then I’d take her down and carry her to my bed, and fuck her while she was still crying from the pain. Maybe I wouldn’t even make it to the bed. Maybe I’d push her down on the floor and fuck her ass, using the absolute minimum amount of lube I needed to get in.
I’d do things like that, and sometimes, more rarely, I’d do gentle things like hold her and stroke her. Maybe I’d write her some poetry. Maybe, finally, I’d be able to find the words.
I kissed her once more and let go of her hands.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s see if you fit in the cage. I know you’re dying to get in there.”
She hopped down off the rack and made for the cage like a kid set loose in a toy store. She was already waiting beside it when I arrived to swing open the door.