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Love Slave Part 13 (18+ only)

“I am Master. There’s nothing level about our time here in this hotel, unless I want there to be. You will do as you’re told. Beginning now.” He clamps his mouth over mine, his finger still in place, kisses hard as he slides his finger out of my mouth and down my neck. As one of the other men presses the button with a sense of urgency, and the lift clunks and rattles down towards us, he reaches to my collar and undoes his tie. Why has he taken me off the leash? Are each of the men wondering? Each of them is watching, and I know they’ve all heard what he said to me. The lift is nearly at the ground floor, and I turn to face the door, ready. He pulls my head back to face him.

“Look at me. Stay still.”

I look into his eyes, and they are smouldering grey-blue, and his cock is pushing at the zip on his trousers. He has his tie in his hand, and he slips it round my neck just above the collar and ties it in a slip knot.

“Be a good girl, or it will pull tight.”

I know the men are watching and I’m wet. I can feel it in the place where my knickers should be, as I stand there with my slave collar round my neck, and I find myself smirking. It’s a stupid thing to do, and I don’t know what possesses me. Maybe it’s because I know there are others there that I think I’m safe if I push at the boundaries.

“I may not be a good girl.” The men are all bulging in their trousers, even though two of them are pretending they’re not looking or taking any notice of what he’s done to me.

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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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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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Where’s the love slave gone…?

This post comes by way of an apology to those following my Love Slave story. Due to circumstances beyond my control, the next instalment is(read more…)