Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet 1)

“Crawl,” he ordered again in a voice just like the lightning crack of the whip.

My body felt filled with lead as I tried to make it move against the objections of my heart. I stared at my trembling knees, but they would not bend.

Why was the act of crawling so difficult?

If I could understand it, I could do it. I knew I could.

But the answer to that question wasn’t easy. It was buried in the cultural norms I’d had instilled in me since birth, and the tangle of Catholicism I’d forsaken as a girl never quite having figured it out.

I caught Alexander’s dark eyes daring me from across the room and grasped that he took pleasure in my struggle.

Maybe it was easier to ask another question.

Why did my Master want me to crawl?

Those answers boiled to the surface of my brain from deep within my gut.

It was sexy. The slow slink of my body over the floor, the high crest of my ass in the air and the way gravity held my breasts in its hands. There was something about seeing a beautiful woman crawl toward you that would made a man feel like primeval lord.

It was power. He was above and I below, my limbs shackled to the ground by his words, my stubborn mind bent under the strong hands of his will. He would be hard beneath his suit trousers, harder maybe than he had ever been before knowing that our wills were at war in my mind and his was winning.

Of course, my Master would want to see me crawl.

I collapsed to the ground gracelessly, like a balloon punctured thanklessly by a child. I focused on my breath as I rolled onto my hands and knees, knowing that if I allowed myself time to reorient myself in my mind, to draw back my empathy from Alexander and root it once more in myself, I would stand up and fight back.

Fighting back was fruitless. Fighting back was for the dumb.

I wasn’t stupid. I was a survivor. I would submit to Alexander’s sexual games if it meant I could earn insight like this into his character. Insight that might get me home.

So I started to crawl.

There was nowhere safe to look save the veined marble floor, which made it impossible to tell where I was moving, but at least I didn’t have to face the sight of me in the mirrors, or even worse, his eyes.

“Master says stop,” Alexander drawled.

I took a moment to comprehend what he had ordered and didn’t stop immediately.

Electricity bit into my skin at the site of my paddles on my breasts, hips, tummy, ass, and thighs. I curled my fingers and toes into the ground, gritted my teeth, and rode out the wave.

After the long pulse of sensation, it was over.

It didn’t feel finished, though. My skin still buzzed as currents ran like tantalizing ribbons over my sensitive skin. My hips canted back instinctively, searching for friction.

I panted.

“Master says come,” he said again, wicked humour in his voice as he perverted the child’s game Simone dice or Simon says.

Even as I wanted to roll my eyes at his artifice, I admired the quirkiness of his mind.

Another shock surged through me, making me pause and pant through it.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder and looked up at him. “I didn’t do anything wrong that time?”

“I will say whether or not you are obeying my orders,” he said coldly. “Crawl.”

I resumed my steady pace toward him.

“Take your breasts out,” he ordered.

I used one shaking hand at a time to scoop my flesh out of the corset into the cool air of the hall. They weren’t shaking with fear or fury but deep, bone-stirring arousal.

It was if the electric shock had tied my nipples too tightly in copper wire, so that each shock pierced brutally through the tender flesh.

I was moments away from orgasming. My pussy was a leaky faucet dripping down my thighs to pool in the backs of my knees as I crawled and crawled and crawled.

He stopped me again, commanding me to kneel and play with my hard clit for him. I shifted on my heels and let my fingers find that diamond of sensation. My head fell back on my shoulders as I felt it throb against my circling fingers.

“You don’t like it soft. Pinch it. Pluck at it. Twist that pussy with your fingers until you want to come for me,” he said, and his voice was even heavier, pressing on me like the absolute silence of a mid-summer desert.

My fingers plucked and pulled at my wet flesh, barely finding traction in the slippery folds. I gyrated softly back and forth before I could stop myself, grasping for something more, needing friction against my cunt.

“Stop,” he said, and when I took too long, electricity stole through me like a full body sting.