of her freedom. If she knew how badly freedom was going to feel, she would beg to stay caged.
I pull up on the top of the cage and fold it back on its hinges. Kneeling before her, I twist my fingers into her hair and pull her face up to look at me. She squeals in pain, her neck having been supported by the collar for almost a week. “Are you ready to leave your confines, slave?”
“Yes, Lord Fyre.” Her eyes appear glazed, still wavering between sub-space and reality.
“And have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes, Lord Fyre,” she answers automatically, confusion filling her eyes.
“Crawl to me slave,” I command, backing away three feet and watching her attempt to crawl. She lifts her right hand and looks at it as if she is unsure what to do with it before placing it on the carpeted floor in front of her. Only then does she realize that she cannot crawl forward, she must crawl backward to escape the cage. Tentatively, she moves one leg back, followed by her hand, which she places in the middle of cage for support, a good start. Another crawled motion backward though and she is falling. I let her.
“Get up!” I growl.
She presses against the floor with her hand and I see the agony of using her muscles rip through her eyes. She grunts but it is a shrill grunt, almost a scream as she pushes up onto all fours to crawl toward me. Each motion forward is agonizing as blood circulates and tissues stretch. As she gets closer, I back away.
Opening the door, I step into the hallway and walk away several feet from the room, turning to call to her, “Hurry up!”
She tries to move faster, I can see the effort, the determination written in her creased brow. She moves agonizingly slow, arms and legs stretching, hips swaying. Without realizing it, she couldn’t move any more provocatively if she tried. She definitely has animalesque down to a science. I wonder if Garrett taught her to crawl like that, or whether it is pain making her limbs reach longer, her muscles stretch more seductively than if she crawled normally.
Entering the hall, she mentally sags when she sees how far she has to crawl to reach me. I shout at her to hurry up then growl, “Lift your face to me, slave.”
She lifts her sagging head and makes eye contact.
I back away another two steps and her head moves side to side, warning me to stop. Her eyes glare.
She continues her long-limbed, stealthy approach, shaking her head side to side. She is like a mountain lion, pacing toward me, left hand reaching long, stretching the muscles of her arm taut, her right knee sliding forward only a fraction of a second behind the hand movement. Her hips sway slowly with her long, right-hand reach. She is exotic and mine, if only borrowed. Mine, for now. How did Garrett ever let her go? He only possessed her three weeks…
I have three months, and yet, after only a week, I am possessive. She is mine.
Until this moment, I have kept myself in check, but even reading the pain each movement causes her, I want her. My cock hardened with the first long stretch of arm, the first sway of her ass, and the jiggle of her small, tight breasts. My hardness is caught painfully behind unyielding denim. I embrace the ache of it, letting it clear my mind just a little, but then the lust comes back three-fold.
I press my back against the closed door to my bedroom, feeling the pull of energy coming off her, passing between us. I wonder if she knows the power of seduction that she possesses. I’d planned to get her to crawl into the bedroom and point her toward the bed. I planned to close the door and leave her alone to rest and recuperate. Now, victim of her siren’s lure, I am not thinking about her recuperation…though in the back of my mind I remember the promise I made to her that I would not touch her until she gained at least five pounds, but truly her health is the last thing on my mind.
She pauses only two feet away, sitting back on her ass, knees pulled up to her
I pull up on the top of the cage and fold it back on its hinges. Kneeling before her, I twist my fingers into her hair and pull her face up to look at me. She squeals in pain, her neck having been supported by the collar for almost a week. “Are you ready to leave your confines, slave?”
“Yes, Lord Fyre.” Her eyes appear glazed, still wavering between sub-space and reality.
“And have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes, Lord Fyre,” she answers automatically, confusion filling her eyes.
“Crawl to me slave,” I command, backing away three feet and watching her attempt to crawl. She lifts her right hand and looks at it as if she is unsure what to do with it before placing it on the carpeted floor in front of her. Only then does she realize that she cannot crawl forward, she must crawl backward to escape the cage. Tentatively, she moves one leg back, followed by her hand, which she places in the middle of cage for support, a good start. Another crawled motion backward though and she is falling. I let her.
“Get up!” I growl.
She presses against the floor with her hand and I see the agony of using her muscles rip through her eyes. She grunts but it is a shrill grunt, almost a scream as she pushes up onto all fours to crawl toward me. Each motion forward is agonizing as blood circulates and tissues stretch. As she gets closer, I back away.
Opening the door, I step into the hallway and walk away several feet from the room, turning to call to her, “Hurry up!”
She tries to move faster, I can see the effort, the determination written in her creased brow. She moves agonizingly slow, arms and legs stretching, hips swaying. Without realizing it, she couldn’t move any more provocatively if she tried. She definitely has animalesque down to a science. I wonder if Garrett taught her to crawl like that, or whether it is pain making her limbs reach longer, her muscles stretch more seductively than if she crawled normally.
Entering the hall, she mentally sags when she sees how far she has to crawl to reach me. I shout at her to hurry up then growl, “Lift your face to me, slave.”
She lifts her sagging head and makes eye contact.
I back away another two steps and her head moves side to side, warning me to stop. Her eyes glare.
She continues her long-limbed, stealthy approach, shaking her head side to side. She is like a mountain lion, pacing toward me, left hand reaching long, stretching the muscles of her arm taut, her right knee sliding forward only a fraction of a second behind the hand movement. Her hips sway slowly with her long, right-hand reach. She is exotic and mine, if only borrowed. Mine, for now. How did Garrett ever let her go? He only possessed her three weeks…
I have three months, and yet, after only a week, I am possessive. She is mine.
Until this moment, I have kept myself in check, but even reading the pain each movement causes her, I want her. My cock hardened with the first long stretch of arm, the first sway of her ass, and the jiggle of her small, tight breasts. My hardness is caught painfully behind unyielding denim. I embrace the ache of it, letting it clear my mind just a little, but then the lust comes back three-fold.
I press my back against the closed door to my bedroom, feeling the pull of energy coming off her, passing between us. I wonder if she knows the power of seduction that she possesses. I’d planned to get her to crawl into the bedroom and point her toward the bed. I planned to close the door and leave her alone to rest and recuperate. Now, victim of her siren’s lure, I am not thinking about her recuperation…though in the back of my mind I remember the promise I made to her that I would not touch her until she gained at least five pounds, but truly her health is the last thing on my mind.
She pauses only two feet away, sitting back on her ass, knees pulled up to her
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