First she will break. Then she will beg.
Breaking women like Yulia Wyndham is the reason for Jon Rexall’s existence, and bending her to his will should have been just like countless previous missions. Simply hunt her down, strip her bare, and torment her quivering body until she yields. Then move on to the next target.
But as Yulia lies before him naked and bound, her throat sore from screaming and her thighs glistening with the evidence of her helpless, desperate need, Jon knows this time is different.
She will plead for mercy as she is punished and beg shamefully for the climax endlessly denied to her. But when she surrenders at last he is not just going to ravage her long, hard, and painfully.
He is going to make her his.
Author: Trent Evans
eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95
Length: 82,000 words
“You feel how wet you are already? You’ve got a man who’s abducted you, made you completely helpless, stripped you of both your clothes and your pride… and your cunt is awash. What do you think that makes you, Yulia?”
She screeched behind her gag, but the petulance dissolved into a panting mew as he took up a stronger, more persistent circling of that now almost red clit, her hips beginning to pump as he moved both fingers slowly but firmly within the depths of her.
“That’s it… you can’t help what the body knows it needs. You hate it don’t you? Hate me?” He laughed, planting a kiss on the swollen, warm flesh of the crown of one of her buttocks, then giving it a little bite. “Females like you, you fascinate me… spending so much time running from who—and what—they really are. But it’s not going to work with me, girl. I see. I know. The only question is how long it takes for you to surrender to the truth.”
His words appeared to have the desired effect, and she pulled angrily at her bonds, the bench even squeaking along the floor a tiny bit as she lunged and bucked futilely against her bonds.
“That’s enough,” he barked, abandoning her clit to smack her ass once, and again, the sound like a pistol shot in the room. She mewled, but a third smack seemed to drive the point home, her hips growing still once more.
He grinned at the ghosts of broad handprints just beginning to fill in with pink across her already marked, and no doubt aching, buttocks.
It was a point of pride with him that his detainees would rarely have a single day where they didn’t wear at least a few of his marks, and often they’d be quite plentiful, depending of course on his charges’ varying levels of defiance and stubbornness.
The level of foolish will displayed by his captives held an almost direct correlation with how often—and harshly—he needed to discipline them.
The willful ones were a lot more work, yes, but in the end, they were far, far more satisfying for him, in every way.
What fun was there in breaking a meek, gentle spirit?
Returning to circle her desperate bundle of nerves, he frictioned it still more, faster and faster, until her breath was coming quick and frantic.
His penis was so hard, it was becoming a real distraction, but there was nothing to be done about it at that moment. Assessing her responsiveness came before he did.
Slipping a third finger inside her, she tensed, but her hips didn’t completely cease their now clear, circular bump and grind as he worked her higher and higher. Yes, his thick fingers were likely stretching her past the point of discomfort, even pain, by now, but it wasn’t nearly enough to distract her from the rising desire his working of her clit was apparently causing within her.
She began to moan against her gag, even as he pushed all three fingers quite firmly, as deep as they’d go, his fingertips tickling the rounded firmness of the cervix deep inside. On a chance, he rubbed her there, and she let out a shocked wail, bucking against the bench hard enough that she’d likely bruise her hips, if she kept on with it.
So, he did it again, and again, each time eliciting an even more desperate cry from the captive female.
“Like that, did you? Or did it hurt? Or maybe it was a little of both?” He kissed her right at the top of the humid cleft of her bottom. “The truth is? I don’t care, Yulia. You’ll suffer it as long as I want you to.”