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)
“Good girl,” Ryan said, and the approval in his voice made me tremble. “Master Paul, would you please hold her hands behind her while I take the kind of look at my wife’s body that I should have taken a long time ago?”
I watched in stunned silence as Master Paul moved behind me, his large hands closing around my wrists and drawing them gently, but firmly behind my back. The position thrust my chest forward, making the red lace bra even more revealing, and I felt completely helpless as he held me in place for my husband’s inspection.
The moment Ryan’s eyes began to travel over my body, I felt a rush of arousal so intense it nearly buckled my knees. I’d fantasized about it during all those lonely morning showers—being displayed, examined, treated like something that belonged to him completely. But the reality was overwhelming in ways I hadn’t expected.
“Beautiful,” Ryan murmured, stepping closer. His voice held a reverence that made my breath catch, but underneath it was something harder, more possessive. “I should have done this on our wedding night.”
His hands reached out to cup my breasts through the lace, and I gasped at the contact. Unlike his usual tentative touches, these were confident, claiming. His thumbs brushed over my nipples through the sheer fabric, and I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped my lips.
“So responsive,” he said, his voice thick with discovery. “How could you hide this from me for so long, Heather?”
I tried to shake my head, to deny what my body was so obviously revealing, but Master Paul’s grip on my wrists kept me perfectly positioned for Ryan’s exploration. My husband’s hands moved lower, tracing the curves of my waist, my hips, before settling on the tiny scrap of lace that barely covered my pussy.
“Spread your legs,” Ryan commanded, and the authority in his voice sent another jolt through me.
I obeyed without thinking, my thighs parting as his fingers traced the edge of the thong. When he pressed against the damp fabric, I cried out, my hips bucking involuntarily against his touch.
“Already so wet,” he observed clinically, his fingers exploring with a boldness that left me breathless. “This is what you needed all along, isn’t it? To be touched like you belong to me.”
His other hand moved to my bottom, cupping one cheek before sliding beneath the thin strap of the thong. The intimate touch, combined with Master Paul’s restraining grip and Ryan’s newfound dominance, created a perfect storm of submission that had my entire body trembling with need.
But even as the arousal consumed me, a voice in the back of my mind whispered warnings. This was too intense, too overwhelming. I didn’t trust myself not to confess everything if he kept touching me like this, didn’t trust myself not to beg him to use me the way Chad had. The pleasure was building too quickly, threatening to shatter the last of my defenses.
Ryan’s fingers pressed deeper, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood to keep from crying out his name. He was learning my body’s real responses, cataloging every gasp and shiver with the same kind of interest I had thought he reserved for his engineering projects at work. I had become a problem to be solved, a mystery to be unraveled, and the intensity of his focus was more arousing than anything he’d ever done to me before.
“I think that’s enough examination for now,” Ryan said finally, his hands stilling against my overheated flesh. I whimpered at the loss of contact, my body straining toward him despite my fear. “Master Paul, I believe my wife needs to be restrained over that bench. I’m going to paddle her so hard for her lies that she won’t be able to stay still on her own.”
The words hit me like ice water. I’d been so lost in the sensations, so overwhelmed by his newfound dominance, that I’d forgotten what was supposed to happen next. The paddle with my name burned into it. The punishment I’d earned by running. The confession they expected me to make about Chad.
“No!” I cried out, my voice cracking with panic as Master Paul began to guide me back toward the whipping bench. “Ryan, please! I’m sorry I ran, I’m sorry I lied about small things, but please don’t—”
“Small things?” Ryan’s voice cut through my pleading with devastating quiet. “Is that what you’re calling the lies you’ve told me? Small things?”
I found myself bent over the leather-covered bench again, but this time Master Paul had adjusted something to change the angle so that my upper body sloped downward, my head lower than my waist. I trembled as my trainer fastened restraints around my wrists and ankles. The leather cuffs were lined with soft padding, but they held me completely immobile, spread wide and vulnerable with my bottom pushed high in the air.