Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I thought about Ryan, probably asleep in our bed at home. Did he know what they were doing to me? Had he watched Master Paul touch me, tease me, leave me desperate and bound? The thought made my cheeks burn with shame even as it sent another pulse of unwanted arousal through my core.
I found myself thinking about Chad, about the way he used to tie me up in his apartment. But even he had never been this cruel, this calculating. When he restrained me, it was always as a prelude to using me, to taking his pleasure from my helpless body. This was different. This was designed to break me down, to make me understand my complete powerlessness.
I awoke with a whimper from a hot dark dream that had seemed much too real, very disoriented. In my dream Ryan had stood there in the darkness, his face transformed by an authority I’d never seen before. His gentle blue eyes had turned cold and commanding as he loomed over me with a leather whip in his hand.
“You’ve been lying to me,” he’d said, his voice carrying a steel I’d never heard from my husband. “About everything. About what you need, what you want, what you’ve done before.”
The whip had cracked across my bare bottom, and I’d cried out, my body arching against bonds that felt different from the ones holding me now. In the dream, I’d been tied spread-eagle to our bed, hands and feet splayed, arranged for my husband’s use.
“Please,” I’d begged, with no idea of what I’d meant. The pain had been exquisite, exactly what my body had been craving during all those months of gentle lovemaking.
“Tell me about him,” Ryan demanded, the whip falling again. “Tell me about the man who trained you to be such a dirty little whore.”
I’d tried to deny it, to maintain the lie, but each strike of the leather broke down my defenses. Eventually the words had poured out of me—everything about Chad, about the way he’d used me, about how I’d loved it despite my proper upbringing.
“Good,” Ryan had said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now show me what he taught you. I can’t believe I didn’t make you suck my cock on our wedding night the way a bride should do.”
He’d freed my restraints and I’d dropped to my knees eagerly, my mouth opening as he freed his cock from his pants. But this hadn’t been the gentle husband I’d married—the Ryan in my dream was someone harder, more demanding, someone who grabbed my hair and forced me to take him deeper than I’d ever taken anyone before, even Chad.
“That’s it,” he’d growled, using my mouth with even more authority than Chad had shown. “Show me what a good little cocksucker you really are.”
My waking body blazed with need. For a moment I was caught between the dream and reality. My hands moved instinctively toward my aching center, seeking the relief my body craved.
The leather restraints stopped me cold.
I pulled against them frantically, the reality of my situation crashing back. I was still bound, still helpless, still desperate with unfulfilled arousal. The dream had felt so real, so intense, that waking up to find myself denied was almost unbearable.
“Please,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice cracking with frustration. I twisted against the bonds, trying to find some way to bring my hands to where I needed them most, but it was useless.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made me freeze. A moment later, my door opened and Master Paul stepped inside, looking as calm and collected as if a morning visit to a naked, bound woman were a mundane sort of duty.
“Good morning, Heather,” he said, moving to the wall where my restraints were secured. “How did you sleep?”
I couldn’t look at him, my face burning with shame at what I’d been trying to do. “Please,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I need… I need to use the bathroom.”
Master Paul studied me for a long moment, his brown eyes seeming to see right through my desperate excuse. “Of course you do,” he said finally, moving to release my restraints. “Come along.”
The relief of having my arms free was immediate, but my shoulders ached terribly as I tried to move them. I sat up slowly, wincing at the stiffness, and wrapped my arms around myself in a futile attempt at modesty.
“Stand up,” Master Paul commanded, his voice carrying that same quiet authority that made my stomach flutter despite everything.
I rose on unsteady legs, my bare feet cold against the linoleum floor. He gestured toward the door, and I walked ahead of him into the hallway, acutely aware of my nakedness and the way my body still burned with unfulfilled arousal.
The bathroom was just a few doors down—a small space with white tiles and bright lighting. I stepped inside, expecting him to close the door and leave me with at least this small privacy. Instead, he followed me in and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.