She glowered. “God, you annoy me. All of you. Every single piece of you drives me up the wall. Just so we’re clear.” She huffed, her fingers flying to the delicate buttons of her shirt. She undid one, then two, then three.
My mouth suddenly went very, very dry.
I couldn’t look away, not even if an asteroid chose that moment to smash us into dust. I would be happy dust. Dust with a hard-on for the stunning, infuriating girl currently tugging off her soaking wet shirt, leaving her in a tight teal sports bra.
Her eyes glowed with green and shadow as she threw the wet shirt toward the shore, deliberately slapping it onto my dry clothes.
I narrowed my eyes. “Witch.”
“You deserved it.” With a quick inhale, she ducked beneath the surface. Her hair continued to float on the surface as her curves beneath the waterline twisted and contorted, yanking off soaking boots and pulling her skirt over her head.
I shuddered as a wave of debilitating lust shot down my legs.
My hand strayed to my thigh. My cock pulsed for touch. It would be so, so easy to come. A single stroke. One delicious pump.
“Stuart!” Ms. Blain yelled. “Get in here.”
The door opened, depositing Storymaker directly into my current nightmare. I was bound and cuffed to a wooden cross. Ankles spread, arms wide, my neck chained in place so I couldn’t move. I was merely a thing to be ridden. To be taken against my wishes. To be molested however Ms. Blain decided.
This was her favorite game. To tie me up and torment me for hours. The awful thing was, she wasn’t even supposed to be my guest. I’d begged to be her plaything the night Zanik couldn’t stop vomiting in fear when he saw her name on the registration book. He was normally stoic and quiet. The one who helped me keep the others calm. But seeing him like that? Watching him flinch each time the door opened and Storymaker summoned a new Fable slave to serve, broke my damn heart.
So, I’d gone to her on my own. I’d knocked on her door. I’d strode past her when she opened, and I let her use me in every way she wanted.
I had no one else to blame for the blood running down my chest or the fact that I’d pissed myself when she’d shoved a dildo up my ass after ten hours of keeping me bound.
My bladder had given up. And with the release of pressure from needing to piss, my cock had turned soft.
In punishment, she’d shoved the phallus so deep inside me, I was sure I’d rip in two. If she was trying to get me back in the mood, bleeding out of my ass ensured I’d never get hard again.
“What? What is it, Annette?” Storymaker frowned, looking at me in my naked, piss-covered glory as if I was nothing more interesting than a boring book on a nightstand.
“He’s gone soft, and no matter what I do, he won’t get hard again.” She leaned into him, whispering loudly. “I gave him a Viagra a few hours ago. Aren’t those things supposed to last all night?”
Storymaker strolled in, eyeing up my flaccid cock with disgust. “Unfortunately, those wonder pills don’t seem to work as well on Kassen as the others, do they, boy?” He tapped my cheek, ending with a harsh slap.
My head shot sideways, sticking to the wood of the cross. I didn’t care. I was past caring.
“Unbuckle his right hand.” Storymaker spun to face Ms. Blain by the door. “Make him jerk off. Mr. Wilby showed him how to arouse himself.” Turning back to me, he grinned. “He knows the consequences of not being able to serve a guest in all ways they require, don’t you, Kassen?”
He grabbed my chin, jerking my face to him. I hoped he didn’t see the tracks of my tears or hear the brutal pain howling in my chest. “You’ll masturbate good and proper. Get that thing stiff. Annette here hasn’t finished her fun, and you know how important it is to keep our guests entertained.”
My right wrist was released, my shoulder flaring in agony.
Storymaker snatched my hand and shoved it between my legs, forcing fingers to wrap around my abused cock, squishing the softness until fresh tears sprang to my eyes. “Fuck yourself, Kassen. There’s a good boy. Don’t disappoint me. You know what will happen if you do.”
“Kas! Kas!” Hands on my chest, fingers in my hair, a warm curvy body against mine. “You’re okay. It’s just in your head. You’re here, with me. Not there. They can’t touch you—”
Touch?
Fuck, no.
Not again.
Never again.
I grabbed the person who dared to touch me. I latched around their throat.
I squeezed.
Nails sliced across my face as a reedy scream sounded. “It’s me. It’s Gemma! Stop—”
A choking sound. Legs kicking against mine. Cool water lapping around my body.