Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter One

Kara had been living alone for three weeks now. The separation from Ethan was quiet—no slammed doors, no screaming matches, just a calm conversation one Sunday morning that ended with packed bags and separate addresses. He’d kept the house; she’d taken a small loft downtown, close enough to work, far enough to feel like a fresh start. Or so she told herself.

In truth, the only thing that felt fresh was this.

She stood in the center of Damien’s playroom, arms stretched high above her head, wrists locked in soft leather cuffs chained to the ceiling beam. Her toes barely touched the floor, body taut and exposed. A thick ball gag filled her mouth, strap tight behind her head, forcing drooling silence. Black silk covered her eyes, turning everything to warm darkness. She was naked except for the steel collar locked permanently around her throat these days.

Damien’s footsteps circled her slowly.

“You were twelve minutes late,” he said, voice low and even. “Ten strokes. Count through the gag.”

The first crack of the leather paddle landed hard across both cheeks.

“Mmmph—one!” she managed, the sound muffled and wet around the gag. Fire bloomed instantly.

The second followed quickly, lower, catching the sensitive undercurve.

“Ahh—unh—twooo!”

By the fourth her ass was throbbing hot, tears already soaking the blindfold.

“Mmmph—ahh—four!”

He didn’t rush. Each strike was deliberate, perfectly placed, building heat on heat. Her hips jerked forward involuntarily with every impact, pussy clenching on nothing, slickness trailing down her inner thighs.

“Six—unh—ahh!”

The paddle was heavy, unforgiving. By eight she was swaying in the chains, legs trembling, drool spilling freely down her chin and onto her breasts.

“Nine—mmmph—ahhh!”

The tenth landed hardest of all, right across the center, making her scream into the gag.

“Te—unh—ahh—tennn!”

She hung there panting, body shaking, ass blazing. The pain throbbed in time with her heartbeat, melting into that deep, familiar ache between her legs.

Damien’s hand settled on her lower back—warm, steady. He unclipped the chain from the ceiling but left her wrists cuffed together in front, blindfold and gag still in place. Strong arms lifted her easily, one behind her shoulders, the other under her knees. She made a soft, needy sound as he carried her the few steps to the padded fucking bench.

He laid her on her back, then folded her nearly in half—knees pushed up toward her shoulders, ankles locked to short chains at the sides of the bench so her ass lifted off the edge, pussy and plugged hole completely exposed. Her bound wrists were pulled overhead and clipped to the top of the bench, stretching her fully. The position left her helpless, folded open, every intimate part on display.

She felt the cool air on her soaked folds, heard the soft clink of his belt, the rasp of his zipper.

Then he was there—thick cock dragging slowly through her wetness, coating himself, teasing her entrance.

“Mmmph,” she whimpered, hips trying to tilt up, begging without words.

He pushed in with one long, steady thrust, filling her completely. The angle was deep—almost too deep—head of his cock pressing hard against her cervix with every stroke. She cried out around the gag, back arching as much as the restraints allowed.

“Ahh—unh—mmm!”

He started slow, pulling nearly all the way out before driving back in, letting her feel every inch. The plug in her ass shifted with every movement, double pressure making her clench and moan nonstop.

Gradually he sped up, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Her folded legs trembled in the chains, toes curling. Drool pooled beneath her head on the bench, blindfold soaked with tears of overwhelming pleasure.

“Unh—ahh—mmmph!”

He gripped her thighs, pushing them even closer to her chest, opening her wider. The new angle let him grind against her clit with every thrust. She felt the orgasm building fast—tight, coiling heat low in her belly.

He didn’t slow, didn’t vary—just relentless, deep, claiming strokes that had her sobbing into the gag.

“Mmmph—ahhh—unh—unh—ahh!”

The climax hit her like a wave, pussy spasming hard around him, whole body shaking in the restraints. She screamed through the gag, muffled and desperate, squirting slightly with the intensity of it.

He kept going, fucking her through it, drawing it out until she was oversensitive and twitching.

Only then did he pull out, flip her over roughly—still bound, still blind and gagged—and drive back into her from behind. The new position let him go even deeper, one hand fisting her hair, the other gripping her hip.

She came again almost immediately, second orgasm crashing harder than the first.

“Ahhh—mmmph—unh—unh—ahh!”

He followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a low groan, pulsing hot inside her.

They stayed like that for long minutes—him draped over her back, cock still twitching, her trembling and spent beneath him.

Eventually he pulled out slowly, unclipped her ankles, then wrists. The gag came next—unbuckled, pulled free, strings of saliva following. Finally the blindfold.

She blinked up at him, vision blurry, face wet with tears and drool.

He brushed a thumb across her cheek, voice quiet.

“Next time, don’t be late.”

She nodded, throat raw, body humming.

“Yes, Sir.”

He lifted her again—this time carrying her to the wide bed in the corner of the playroom, laying her down gently among the pillows. She curled into him when he joined her, sore and satisfied, the steel collar cool against her skin.

Outside, the city moved on. Inside, the new rules were simple.

She was his.

And for the first time in months, that felt like enough.

 

Chapter Two

Kara drifted awake in the warm tangle of sheets, her body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only comes from being thoroughly used. Every muscle ached deliciously—thighs trembling from being pried open for hours, jaw sore from stretching around Damien’s cock, ass throbbing from the thick plug he’d left in most of the night before replacing it with himself again and again. The room smelled like pure sex: sweat-soaked skin, spilled cum, the sharp tang of pussy, and the faint leather scent from their collars.

Her tongue felt thick, coated with the salty, bitter taste of Damien’s last load. He’d held her head steady in the dark, feeding it to her slow and deep until she swallowed every drop, then kissed her messy and open-mouthed so she tasted herself on him too. Now that flavor lingered, dried on her lips and chin.

She shifted slightly and felt the steel collar locked tight around her throat—permanent now, never removed unless he unlocked it for work or showers. The short chain leash was still clipped to the front ring, its other end wrapped loosely around the headboard. A soft tug in her sleep must have pulled it taut; it rested cool against her collarbone.

Warm, soft skin pressed against her left side. Chloe—the girl from last night—was curled into her, one leg thrown over Kara’s thigh, small breast pushed against her arm. Chloe’s breath was slow and steady, but Kara could smell Damien’s cum on her too—stronger, fresher. He must have finished inside her one last time after Kara had passed out.

Three months ago this would have been unthinkable. A husband who brought her coffee in bed. Two beautiful kids who called her Mommy and fought over who got to sit in her lap during story time. A house that smelled like laundry detergent and crayons.

Now Ethan had full custody. The kids barely asked about her anymore during their short, awkward video calls. She’d chosen this instead: waking up tasting cum, wearing a leash like a pet, sharing a dominant’s bed with whichever pretty girl he decided to bring home that week.

She’d become exactly what she used to read about in secret—nothing but a collared, eager cum dump for a man she’d met online less than a year ago.

And god help her, she didn’t want to go back.

A gentle tug on the leash pulled her head sideways. The leather tightened just enough to remind her who held the other end.

“You slept good, baby girl?”

Damien’s voice was rough with morning, low and warm against her ear. His fingers—already slick with lube—traced the rim of her asshole before pushing two inside without warning.

Kara gasped, hips lifting off the mattress.

“Y-yes, Master,” she whispered. The rule was automatic now: always Master in private, always yes, Master or please, Master or thank you, Master.

His fingers twisted deeper, scissoring slowly, stretching the tender muscle that still felt loose and used from last night. A third finger joined, thick and insistent, curling just right to press against that spot inside that made her toes curl.

“Mmmm—ahh—”

The thoughts scattered. Kids, divorce papers, the empty loft—gone. Nothing existed but the slow burn building in her ass, the way his palm cupped her cheek possessively, thumb rubbing lazy circles over her clit from the outside.

“Ahhh—unh—Master—”

He worked her steadily, no rush, just relentless pressure and friction until her breath came in desperate little pants. Her pussy dripped onto the sheets, empty and aching, clit swollen and throbbing under his thumb.

“Mmmph—ah—please—”

He didn’t answer with words, just added more lube and fucked her ass harder with his fingers, curling and spreading until the orgasm crashed through her—deep, rolling waves that started in her ass and exploded outward.

“Aaahhh—unnh—ahhhh—Master!”

She came hard, shaking, hips grinding back against his hand, leash pulling tight as her body arched.

Another sharp tug—this one deliberate, making the collar bite into her throat and forcing her to choke slightly on her own spit. She knew the signal instantly. Scrambling onto her elbows and knees, mouth already open, tongue out.