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Mistress Bella's Slave

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The floorboards creaked under her 6” heels. I knew her green eyes were scanning my taut limbs and swollen belly, sizing me up even though the blindfold kept me in the dark. She circled me like a hawk and her gloved fingers brushed my skin.  The first time, they trailed below my tethered and aching balls. The second time, the cold leather fingers wrapped around my ankles before vanishing. The third time was down my ass crevice before two fingers penetrated my ass. I screamed but all that came out was a muffled groan around the ball gag. I already fucked up. Mistress Bella Maine liked silence not loud, sloppy slaves. If I didn’t clean up my act, she was going to do far worse than finger-fuck my ass.  I was her personal slave, bound by rope from the ceiling. The rope was rough and knotted into suspension-activated handcuffs around my raw wrists.  My feet were shackled to the ground about 5’apart. I couldn’t do anything to escape her cruel fingers and their harsh smacks deep into my gaping
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Couple's Experience With a Demonic Priest

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Mason is about 6'3", maybe 200lbs, with really muscular arms. He isn't one of those lanky tall guys, but rather he is strong.  He has shorter dark brown hair, just long enough to grab with my fingers in the heat of passion, and he has dark blue eyes that turn a silvery blue when he's especially aroused or angry. He has a strong jaw, with full lips and adorable dimples. Stacy’s boyfriend Mason has been together for roughly 2 years since she was a freshman and he was a junior in college. Right now he is at law school and Stacy is still working on her undergrad degree.  They get along great, love each other, and have a lot of fun together, and she can see things going far with their future, but lately, they've had a few problems. She has a difficult past and because of it, she finds it really hard to open up about her feelings or let loose and lose control.  While Mason knows about Stacy’s past, it still really bothers him that she never fully let go when she’s with h
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Under His Mercy

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There is something about having her like this. Quivering flesh uncovered but for the silk around her wrists, over her eyes. She, whose natural state is one of defiant cheerfulness, energetic callousness, a being of movement and words.  Now, she lies quiet and still, only the hitch to her nervous breath revealing a glimpse of the personality restrained. Literally. Michael did meticulous, slow work on the bindings tying her wrists behind her back, connected to the knot pulling her ankles together. She’s a present he wrapped for himself, a lone gift left under a plastic tree on the 24th of December, by a man who spends all his holidays alone.  “Are you comfortable?” He checks in with her, one large hand sliding over the pebbled skin of her upper arm. “Yes.” Lisa answers, doing a good mimicry of confidence if it weren’t for the quivering of her lips. Hers is not a pleasant position to be in, Michael knows. Not with how little give he allowed between the knots on her wrists and on her ankle
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