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Love Slave Part 11 (18+ only)

My breath catches in my throat, and my face burns from the inside out. He detects it somehow—the heat coming out of my mouth and creating steam in the air, his palm not as hot as my cheek. His voice rasps in my ear: “You’ve never been fucked there, have you?”

I pause; the heat in my face oppresses me. I manage to shake my head—an almost imperceptible motion, but it rubs against the trace of stubble on his chin, and I know he can feel it. His shower gel fills my nose, the scent of sandalwood invades my head. He fills me. And my gaze pulls away, finding something very interesting in the old piece of chewing gum on the floor. He leads me to a shallow alcove, pushing me against the tiled wall. The ceramic feels ice cold on my back, in stark contrast with the heat of my skin.

“I own you.” His eyes stare into mine, hard and sparking with lust. “You chose to meet me—you didn’t have to come; I’m your Master.

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Love Slave Part 10 (18+ only)

He’d grinned. “BURMA—Be Undressed Ready, My Angel!” And he’d winked at me.

Something deep inside my stomach begins to roll around, making me feel squiffy. A reminder of the past. Like I need one.

The contents of the box are made up of a long, white envelope, a small parcel wrapped in red, and a folded piece of paper. That’s it. I can’t feel anything bottle-shaped. I let out a sigh, just a little bit relieved. Opening the piece of paper, I read:

Well, my little Slave Girl, have you been waiting? Open the parcel. I expect you to keep it in your bag at all times, until I say otherwise. And then open the envelope, and you’ll know what to do. This is what I expect…

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My Lusty Lilitu is Almost Ready for Flight

Or, otherwise entitled: This is what I’ve been up to! I said a few weeks ago that I was working on a project that had(read more…)

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Love Slave Part 9 (18+ only)

“All right. Were you only going to fuck me because he says so, this creep, whoever he is? Tell me who he is, Charlotte.”

I can’t. I can’t tell him. It’d break his heart. He’s never forgiven him for the way it was before. “I’d never make love to you on someone else’s say-so. Mike, I wanted to. I want to. I—oh, what a fucking mess.” I struggle to even look up at him.

“Make love? Is that what we were going to do? You know how I feel about you. I’d have been making love. But you, you’d have been performing for Mr Creepy, wouldn’t you? This was never about me. You and me. Was it?”

“You should never have come, Mike. I told you on the phone that you shouldn’t.” I know I’m lashing out. There’s no way I should apportion blame to him. If he’d only listened. If only he wasn’t so lovely…

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Love Slave Part 8 (18+ only)

I can’t speak. The pillow slips down onto my thighs, leaving my body pressed against Mike’s shirt. He’s warm, comforting, and I soak the material, leaving it translucent and clinging to him. But I can’t hide a grunt of pain any longer, and it’s only at that moment the state of my arm really seems to sink into his head.

“Bloody hell! How did you end up like this?” He tugs at the chain, at its lock, only then really drinking in the sight of me before him. Naked on the bed. He’s never seen me like this, ever. Not even partially clothed. His cheeks colour vivid pink, and it chases down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. I feel for him; my skin must be mirroring his embarrassment. But still I don’t answer. I can’t.

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Love Slave Part 7 (18+ only)

Just his voice sets me gasping. My juices are beginning to tickle the top of my backside. Everything throbs. “I can’t believe you’re here.” The words seep through my lips. “Can I see you? Let me see you.”

“Keep your eyes closed.” His words are like silk. They wrap around my body, over my face, forming a veil of desire over my words. “I want you to do exactly as I tell you.”

“Yes.” My affirmation is nothing more than a whisper. My body feels incapable of articulating anything more coherent right now.

“Suck your fingers. One by one. Slowly. I want to see them wet.”

I do as he asks, drawing saliva up onto my tongue with difficulty, trying to keep my breathing even—how do I make my mouth sexy for him? I can barely breathe at all. But I manage, sucking each finger until they’re drenched for him.

“Good girl. Show me your wrist. Show me. Twist in that chain for me. I want to know you are properly tied to that bed.”

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Love Slave Part 6 (18+ only)

A photo comes through. The blood rushes to my ears, my heartbeat drowning out every other noise, and an unexpected pang between my thighs, at the sight of a pair of handcuffs. I massage the throb into submission as I read the message: “Do you have any of these?”

What does he think I am? I reply: “No.”

Bing: “Heeheehee! I didn’t think you would. I have had SUCH fun with this pair.”

There’s that pang again, this time shooting through my middle, lodging between my legs and throbbing there, uncomfortably. He wants me to ask, doesn’t he—who has he had fun with? How many women; what has he done with those cuffs? My hand roams to the inside of my thigh, an image of some unknown six foot, flaxen haired stunner with her hands over her head, chained to the bed while he pushes open her knees, lifting her feet onto his shoulders while he grins at her and says, “I’m going to take you.

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Love Slave Part 5 (18+ only)

I eat cake, and I have more, and as she’s telling me about the knitting group there’s a noise in my bag.

Bing: “Little love slave, I wish you were climbing on top of me and guiding me inside you. For some reason, I really like the idea of you climbing on top of me and feeding me into you… Those soft, beautiful breasts bouncing in front of my lips…”

My chest hurts; I struggle to control my breath. I can’t believe it. Not a command, a demand—just… I can feel the sweat breaking out in cold shivery patches all over my skin. Without really being conscious of what it might look like, I tongue the cream in the massive piece of cake, as Mrs Barnett pours me more tea. And try to ignore the image I have of me feeding his cock inside me. The client is talking, and I’m trying to concentrate. Why? Why didn’t he let it drop when I didn’t send him the picture? Why today? Why now? Why at all? An image of my naked body sitting astride him dominates my h

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Love Slave Part 1 (18+ only)

Almost immediately, there’s a return message: “I knew you would be. And that you would answer.”

After almost ten years he can still raise my blood pressure. I ought to just ignore him. How can he still be as arrogant as that with me, assuming that I would still care, even a tiny bit? Maybe I’m just curious. It’s true, I am. But I’m irritated in equal part now.

“What do you want?”

I flick back to my document, add a few words, then a few more. All of them awful. There it is: the bing of the email on my phone:

“You. Be my love slave.”

The laptop screen is close to wearing my coffee. I drink it, eventually, but it does no good; my mouth is completely dry. What the hell am I supposed to do? If I’d just ignored it… My chest is banging, and there’s a feeling that’s travelling repeatedly from my navel and down between my thighs, gathering there. It’s beginning to hurt, to throb. I slide my hand into the waistband of my jeans, put my hand on it, tease it gently with my finger through my panties, just to ease the feeling a bit. It feels nice, a bit like having an ally against this message, and I type with one hand as I open my legs a bit wider and slip my finger under the lace edge to touch my skin. It’s wet, and my clit is hardening against my fingertip. It takes me all my willpower to get my hand back on the keyboard. I’m about to reply, not really knowing what to type, when another one comes through.

“I mean it. I haven’t mastered you yet. And I want to.”

I send one back, an instinctive response: “Cheeky! Don’t be bloody ridiculous.”

Return: “I’m deadly serious.”