It all started with a simple statement. A promise perhaps. They were laying in bed one night during the week after she had just come off of his lap from one of her good girl spankings and rewards she always craved. She looked up at him, a smile across her face and at that moment, he told her that he had something special planned for them this weekend.
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Her heart started leaping in her chest as she turned into his driveway, the full throaty throb of the Ducati between her legs vibrating rhythmically as she let it roll up the gravel to the front of his house. As she shut the dark black machine down, she heard the sweet silence of her surroundings for the first time and took off her helmet to look around.
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She's got long, straight blond hair that always smells like coconut, a pair of legs that make up two-thirds of her height, and a round, narrow little ass. She also has an insolent, self-satisfied swagger, a pert, better-than-thou smirk, and a fifty-dollar manicure. I've taught a few like her before, and I know the way it goes. She's seen how I look at her. She's slacked off this whole term. I can tell she thinks she can scam an A out of me by shaking her ass.
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Like any other good day, today started out with my wonderful Dom tying me up. Nothing puts me in a better mood than feeling the touch of rope on my skin -- the only thing that centers me more is feeling his hand in my hair as I kneel in front of him.
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She paced the hotel room nervously, glancing every few minutes at the clock on the nightstand. Any minute now she thought, as the time slowly ticked by. Absently she twisted her fingers as she paced. She knew this was going to be different than anything she'd ever experienced, she didn't know how, she just inherently knew. What could she expect? She didn't know. She paused in front of the mirror, checking her hair and slight touch of makeup.
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I feel ridiculous; underdressed and overly aware of how much glitter is on my face.
"Come out," Maddy had said.
"It'll be fun," Tiff had said.
"It'll be good for you," Amber had added.
"You have to get out of that dark dungeon of despair you've condemned yourself too," I had said to myself.
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i sat nervously sipping coffee and trying to eat a muffin, in the small outdated hotel lobby. business men came and went, with barely a glance at me, but the desk clerk seemed much too interested in my top. my breasts swayed back and forth in my low-neck shirt, unbound as my Master had required. and i felt as self-conscious about that as the thought of whatever else would be required of me this morning.
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1.
When she was nineteen, two bandits dressed-up as Indians killed Molly Sheridan's father and her three younger brothers, and burned their ranch. They carried her off, but hadn't tied her hands properly, perhaps because they'd got so drunk, perhaps only because they didn't imagine she could give them any trouble, bound or no. Thus as they were riding, she was able to get hold of one of their pistols, and shoot the men dead.
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When you're a Villain, there are certain things you sign up for.
The risk of arrest, the risk of getting shot by police, the risk of getting hunted and severely beaten up by heroes. The risk of what happens when your secret identity is uncovered.
The risk of other Villains hunting you for their own ends.
Oh yes, don't believe that only Heroines get hunted, trapped and put through slave training by Villains. Villains get it worse.
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Shrugging into the jacket of his tuxedo, Jacob smiled hearing the chatter of the crowd that had rapidly gathered in the parking lot below him in anticipation of the doors of the club opening. Earlier while making his rounds seeing that everything was ready he shook his head glancing outside seeing the wealth of jewelry that flashed and the vibrant colors of the couture clothing the women were sporting as they clung to the arms of their tuxedo clad gentlemen.
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