Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Please,” I sobbed, no longer certain what I was begging for. “Please, I’ll obey. I’ll obey!”
Marmareus paused, the mastix hanging loosely from his hand. His dark eyes studied me, seeming to peer past my flesh and bone to the trembling, confused essence beneath. A slight smile curved his lips, not cruel but knowing, as if he had expected precisely this capitulation.
“Yes,” he said softly. “You will.”
He moved to the hidden cabinet in the wall, returning the mastix to its place with reverent care. He picked up the collar from the bed. The sight of it in his big hand—the one that had spanked Camille so hard, that had wielded the horrid mastix—sent a shiver through me, a complex mixture of dread and unwanted anticipation.
“Kneel,” he commanded, his voice severe.
I obeyed without hesitation, sliding from the bed to the cold stone floor. My body felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive and singing with sensation. The welts from the mastix throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a dismaying reminder of my punishment and my submission to it.
Marmareus approached with deliberate slowness, the collar held carefully, almost reverently, in front of him. He circled me once, twice, his gaze assessing every inch of my naked, trembling form. I kept my eyes downcast, afraid of what he might see in them—afraid of what I might see in his.
Standing behind me, he lowered the collar in front of my face. His presence seemed a wall of heat at my back. I felt his fingers brush against my neck as he gathered my hair, lifting it away from my nape. The touch was unexpectedly gentle, almost tender, and it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear.
The leather felt cool against my heated skin as he placed it around my throat. It was wider than I had expected, covering the hollow at the base of my neck and extending nearly to my jawline. The material was supple, molding instantly to the contours of my flesh as if custom-made.
I heard the soft click of the buckle as Marmareus secured the collar around my neck. The weight of it felt both alien and strangely familiar, as if some part of me had always known this moment would come. My breath caught as his fingers lingered at the nape of my neck, testing the fit, ensuring it was snug but not too tight.
“Perfect,” he murmured, and I felt a ridiculous flutter of pride at his approval.
He moved to stand before me again, the belt dangling from his hands, wider than a regular belt, with the metal rings jingling slightly around its circumference. I shuddered at the memory of how Marmareus had used it to ensure Camille’s compliance.
“Stand up,” he instructed. “Arms at your sides.”
I complied, pushing myself to my feet then letting my hands fall limply against my flanks. He looked into my eyes as he wrapped the belt around my waist. His proximity felt overwhelming—the scent of him, clean and masculine with undertones of sandalwood and something darker, more primal; the heat radiating from his body; the intensity of his gaze as he focused on his task.
The belt cinched my waist tightly. I felt how it accentuated the modest curve of my hips and increased the swell of my little breasts above. The leather was cool against my skin, but quickly warmed, seeming to meld with my flesh as if becoming part of me. I quailed at the thought, at how easily these external bonds could become internal ones.
“Hold out your wrists,” he commanded next, his voice soft, but unyielding.
I extended my arms, wrists upturned in a gesture of surrender that felt both shameful and inevitable. The cuffs he fastened around them were narrower than the collar and belt, but still substantial, each one bearing its D-ring for easy attachment to other restraints. Marmareus checked each cuff carefully, his fingers sliding beneath the leather to ensure they weren’t too tight, the touch sending electric shivers up my arms.
“Down,” he said simply, and I lowered my hands back to my sides, acutely aware of the weight of the cuffs, the way they marked me as captive, as owned.
Next came the ankle cuffs, requiring me to lift each foot in turn as he crouched before me. The position forced me to balance precariously, to rely on him for support, a physical manifestation of the power dynamic between us. His hands were warm and steady on my calves as he worked, the touch clinical yet somehow intimate.
The thigh cuffs were last, and the most humiliating. Marmareus ordered me to spread my legs wider, and I complied, my face burning with shame as I exposed myself more fully to his gaze. He fastened the cuffs high up on my thighs, just below the curve of my bottom, his knuckles occasionally brushing against the wet heat of my sex as he worked.