Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
All I knew was that if I wanted out, now was the time.
I still didn't trust it.
Why would he just leave me here like this? He didn't put the handcuffs or hood back on me. He just left me sleeping peacefully in his bed.
It didn't make sense. What if it was a trap?
Still, I slowly, quietly crept to the bathroom, not trusting that he wouldn't pop out at any moment.
When I peered into the large, white-tiled room, there was nobody there. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, going straight to the mirror to stare at myself.
I looked the same—no, worse than that.
I looked well-rested, and my skin had a glow that it didn't before. Sure, some of the glow was the warm-to-the-touch pink stripes left by his belt. And I had several faint bruises forming on my thighs from his fingers.
But I looked more alive than I had in years. What did that mean?
It was just from the silk sheets, I told myself as I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it look less like I’d grabbed onto a live wire. Then carefully I went to remove the metal plug.
Taking it out stung even more than when he'd pushed it inside of me. Still, I gritted my teeth and gripped the jeweled base to pull the oblong orb out.
It took a few moments, but once I finally got it out, the relief I expected didn’t come. I felt somehow empty. Like I was missing something. It was like he was no longer touching me.
The small voice in the back of my head urged me to put it back in; to go back to that bed and wait to see what sinful delights he had in store for me.
That little voice begged me to be a good girl, to bend to his will and let him show me all the things I was too afraid to experience before he made the decision for me.
Memories of his lips and tongue on my breasts while his cock gave me the most incredible pleasure filled my mind.
My fingers brushed the pink stripes he had left across my ass in the club. They were sore and still a little warm to the touch, but the pain just kindled thoughts of the pleasure. The way he touched me, tasted me…even the way he put me on my knees and made me take him in my mouth.
Part of me wanted to give in to it all.
To savor the domination, and know that whatever I needed, he would take care of. There was a kind of peace in not having control, in giving all that responsibility over to someone else.
Why did I always have to choose?
Why was every problem mine to solve?
For a moment, the thought of going back into that bed and letting him handle everything was so unbelievably tempting that I almost caved. Just the idea of being able to give up my control, my own responsibilities, and the responsibilities that were thrust onto me by others was almost overwhelming.
So should I put the plug back? Go back to bed and let him find me without it just to see how he would punish me again?
I shook my head, clearing the silly idea of staying here with him. Of giving up my freedom to be, what? His pet? His whore?
No. That wasn't who I was.
I didn't want to be his toy.
I wanted freedom.
Freedom from him.
Freedom from my father's debts.
Freedom from obligations that never should have been mine.
Leaving the plug on the counter, I cleaned myself up as best as I could before creeping back into the bedroom.
It was still eerily still. Quiet.
The only sound in the room was my heart hammering in my chest.
I still didn't trust it.
It didn't make sense, but I didn't want to look this gift horse in the mouth, either. If he wasn't going to be here to make sure I stayed, then there was no reason for me to stay.
I just needed clothes, and I would be gone. No one would ever hear from me again. I'd figure out how to buy a new identity, how to start over somewhere where Alina Russo didn't exist.
It was going to be hard, if not impossible. But it couldn't be worse than this.
It couldn't be worse than demeaning myself by serving drinks in that hellhole. Nothing was worse than getting groped by old men who reeked of desperation and piss.
It couldn't be worse than scrubbing bloodstains out of carpets and mopping them up from tiled floors while pretending I didn't recognize the smell.
It couldn't be worse than having to watch my grandmother slip further and further away from me, her mind almost completely gone, and seeing the signs of neglect on her body and not being able to do a damn thing about it.