When a trillionaire oligarch decides he wants her, eighteen-year-old Jane Smith is kidnapped and brought to his home to be used and enjoyed as he pleases. A painful caning leaves her sore, sobbing, and shamefully wet, but it is only when a stern, handsome operative of the Pretorian Guard infiltrates her captor’s estate that Jane truly learns what it means to be properly mastered.
As the two men dominate her together, Jane is left blushing crimson yet burning with desire, and when they take control of her in the most intimate of ways her helpless arousal only grows more intense. Denied any chance at the release she longs for until they choose to allow it, all she can do is beg and plead and hope that soon they will claim her in the way she needs so desperately.
Author: Emily Tilton
eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95
Length: 55,100 words
They made her lie on her back and hold her knees high and wide. Jane’s limbs kept trembling from the orgasms, and it felt like the very idea of resistance made no sense, after what she had just experienced under Roland’s hands.
She couldn’t think of him as Mr. Garrison. She knew that if any reason arose why she should speak to him, if for example she managed to find the courage to look down at what he did between her thighs, she would call him sir. She didn’t think her mouth could form any other word, when talking to the man who had made her come and come while her master whipped her.
But she couldn’t call him sir in her mind, she found, though at first she couldn’t figure out why. In her mind, she called him Roland. Her thoughts spun out of all control, somewhere—it seemed to Jane—up above her, above the mountains, above the sky. She tried to think about why it seemed right to call him by his first name, inside herself, even though she would say, for example, “Sir, please, may I come?” if he were to give her permission to touch herself while he watched.
Why had she thought of that? For a moment, as she gazed up at the white ceiling of Mr. Luonnen’s bedroom, she frowned, confused at her own strange mental processes.
Then she felt her knees tremble in the shaky grip of her hands, and she raised her head a little from the pillow Roland had put beneath it. She didn’t want to look, but she needed to look.
She saw Roland bending over a small leather case, on the same table where her master kept the cane he used to discipline Jane. He seemed to be using an eyedropper to put some clear fluid into a little bottle. Mr. Luonnen stood next to him, watching intently.
Jane bit her lower lip. For an instant she felt strangely neglected, but then the purpose of the two men’s attention to the little bottle came rushing back into her mind. She found her eyes dropping, to the place where she could make out only the absence of the pussy hair she had had only two days ago and the barest hint of her labia’s tender cleft.
A whimper came from her throat as she understood why she had thought of what she would call the American, were he to instruct her to play with her pussy.
He’s going to close me up, there. There, where he made me feel pleasure like I could never have imagined—pleasure that felt like it was literally rocking my world, breaking the whole universe apart and turning it into energy focused in my pussy and my bottom.
Her bottom ached, now, from the cuts of the horrible cane, but she had felt them as something utterly different from pain while Roland’s hands had made her come, over and over. Jane had to suppress another whimper, turn it into a sharp outward breath through her nose, as she remembered what they had said about her bottom.
Her master had decided that the time had come for Jane Smith’s first fucking. But he had also decided to turn her into the sort of girl who took a man’s hard cock in her anus before she was allowed to have it in her vagina.