The ropes bit into my wrists where he tied them to the headboard, tight enough to ache, not tight enough to hurt. I asked for it — the ache, the helplessness, the burn of waiting — and Marcus gave me exactly what I wanted, even when it sounded like something I should never say out loud.
The gag pressed between my lips, muffling every sound. Drool slicked my chin. He loved the way it looked on camera, my mouth wet and stuffed, my eyes wide and needy. I loved it too. Bound and displayed, every filthy fantasy I swore I would never show, captured for thousands.
Marcus stood at the foot of the bed, c**k hard in his fist, gaze fixed on me like I was a meal he had been starving for. The red light on the camera blinked in the corner and my chest tightened knowing every second was being filmed.
