He reached for her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. She felt it tremble under his grip. Before he got the chance to ask what was going on, she blurted, “Preston has a daughter.”
She tapped under Mike’s chin and closed his mouth. “That was my reaction, too. Internally, of course.”
“What the actual fuck? Where is she? What’s her name? When did you find out? Why would he hide this from you?” he sounded like a machine gun with all the questions spewing from his mouth.
“I don’t know much about her and neither does he. All I know is she’s in Greece and she’s about fifteen years old.” Abigail avoided his last question. She couldn’t be mad at Preston for hiding this when she hid something that impacted both their lives.
“What do you mean he doesn’t know?”
“He had her when he was nineteen. All he has of the girl is a picture of when she was five. The girl’s mom thought he was abusive because of his sexual preferences. She didn’t want him around her or the child. The woman got married soon after Preston came back to New York and told that man he was the father. Preston considers himself the sperm donor, which I mean, I get how he’d think that, but I think he uses that as an excuse to cover the wound of letting her go. He sends them money every month, so at least he knows she’s well taken care of.”
“Fuck.” Mike whistled.
“I know. A fucking daughter.” As the words slipped through her lips, she sensed a presence behind her. With her peripheral vision, she caught Preston’s shadow. She closed her eyes tightly and inhaled a sharp breath. Fuck. He’d heard everything.
“Excuse me for a second,” Abigail said, standing.
“This seems like a conversation I should not be present for. I’ll see myself out. I hope to see you tonight! Give me a call if you need a ride,” Mike stated, giving Abigail a tight but brief hug.
Abigail left Mike by the elevator while she rushed behind Preston. She didn’t bother knocking and instead pushed open his office door. They needed to address this whether he wanted to or not.
“Prest—”
“If you’re to invite people into our home, I’d prefer if you’d give me a heads up.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I would also appreciate Mike not knowing my business, much less this information reaching your mother’s ears.”
“Mike won’t tell a soul, I promise.”
“I wouldn’t know, Abigail.”
“Not like you’d care to know.”
He stared back at her intently almost glaring into her soul.
“Oh, come on, Preston. You don’t take the time to spend even an ounce of time with my family.”
“I married you, not your family. I told you about my daughter because you are my wife. Had I wanted Mike to know about her or my sexual preferences, I would’ve told him myself.”
Every ounce of anger she’d held against herself for the past two days, she’d redirected at Preston. He didn’t deserve the way she was treating him, the way she was blocking him out. Every second that passed without reconciliation, caused the cracks within her to spread, reaching the smallest of crevices and marking their new home.
Abigail needed to mend this, and she knew exactly how.
“Excuse me.”
Making her way into their master bathroom, she removed all of her clothes and braided her hair into two pigtails. In the closet, she removed a red box from the top shelf and placed it on the bed. Her heartbeat raced as she unlocked the box with a key, revealing her collar and leash. As she latched the collar around her neck, she exhaled the most profound breath.
The leather around her larynx brought her immense peace. Now her thoughts would be void of any distraction. Her movements would be puppeteered to the likes of her master. She’d obey his every command without a thought. She’d think of nothing but pleasing him.
Holding the leash behind her, she made her way back to her master. Stopping at the door, she lowered to her knees and spread her thighs. With her head bowed, she brought the leash from behind her and offered it to Master Trice.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Abigail sat in a kneeling pose at the corner of The National Torture Museum of Master Trice. Her ass rested on the heels of her feet. Her eyes looked down at her nails as they impatiently imprinted crescent marks into her thighs. She moved forward and crossed her hands. Her mouth was left agape, showing Master Trice she was more than ready to please him.
But Master Trice took his time. He walked the perimeter of the museum, grazing the tips of his fingers along every flog, cane, paddle, and whip. He inspected every ancient apparatus as if they were pieces of art. In a sense, they were. Just as a painting elicited an emotional reaction so did the St. Andrew’s Cross, the Breaking Wheel, and the torture rack.
Moisture began to build between her legs as Abigail thought of the pleasurable pain Master Trice would inflict on her. Would he use his vampire glove to spank her ass as he’d done before? Would he lecture her on the repercussions of her actions just as a parent does to their petulant child? Maybe he’d do something completely different—catch her off guard with a new punishment she’d never forget.
She was so ready to experience all of his wrath, but it seemed as though Master Trice had other plans. He continued his tour, perusing each item with tender care as if they each brought him back to a past performance. His shirt hid his toned muscles. His pants failed at their attempt of concealing the hardness between his thighs.
Abigail’s tongue slipped out of her mouth to lick her parched lips, wishing she’d savored the tangy taste of his semen rather than the blandness of her saliva. She started to become jittery, her body too eager to control her movements—her words.
“Please,” she begged with a whine, wondering what was taking him so long. Was this a part of his tricks?
Master Trice came to a complete halt by the spiked cage. He let out a profound breath as his neck rolled from shoulder to shoulder. The veins under his skin pulsed violently. Abigail bit her lip and closed her eyes, knowing Master Trice was about to lash out. She heard his thudded steps as he walked toward the middle of the room and sat on his throne.
“Crawl.”
Her gulp was audible as she prepared for yet another one of his mind tricks. With the leash attached to her collar, it scraped along the floor as she shakily crawled to her master, who intently watched her every move. She felt as her knees bruised against the marble floor, and her wetness dripped along her inner thighs.
Abigail stopped right at the foot of Master Trice.
“On your knees.”
Placing his elbows on his knees, Master Trice leaned forward. He moved his face so that his lips grazed against her ear. “You’ve been very disobedient, telling others our personal business without consulting me. Tsk, tsk. Disobedient girls get punished. Today, I am going to show you how ancient Romans used to crucify their people.”
He licked her left cheek as from behind him, he pulled a long piece of rope. He instructed Abigail to stand on her feet with her arms behind her back, resting them at a ninety degree angle and holding each hand at opposite wrists. Master Trice weaved the rope between her arms and back and continued with an infinity pattern. He brought the rope to her front and tied both her wrists together with a sophisticated double knot.
His eyes followed his artwork as he extended the rope up her forearm, wrapping it around three times and repeating the same pattern on the opposite arm. He draped the twine around her chest twice, forming a V, and squeezed her breasts into two identical diamond shapes. Weaving the rope across her stomach, he pulled tight enough to pinch her delicate skin between each layer. His eyes traveled down to her empty thighs and his menacing demeanor grew darker. With movements like a sinister snake, he attached both legs together and formed a crotch rope that bit at her clitoris. At the nick, Abigail allowed a small gasp to escape her lips.
Hanging from the ceiling, swinging by two ropes on either side, was a thick bamboo beam. The large beam had a
hole three inches in size drilled into the center and a thick ring was hooked through it. Master Trice wrapped the rope around her ankles and threw the remainder of it through the ring. As a final safety, he fastened the ends with a twist-lock carabiner.
He walked over to a mounted box that was drilled into the wall and opened it with a key from his pocket. He reached toward a lever and paused for a moment. Turning around to make eye contact with his bound slave, he pulled the lever.
Abigail’s breath was taken away from her with the swift motion and she gasped for air as she struggled to focus her vision. Once her vision came to, the floor had become the ceiling and the ceiling had become the floor. She tried to adjust to the shift of the room as all the floggers hung along the wall, appearing as if defying gravity.
Her head felt as though at any moment, it would explode. She was afraid to swallow her saliva, feeling like all the liquid in her body would block her airways and she’d drown. She could feel her pulse in her eyes and squeezed them shut, wanting to keep them from popping out of their sockets.
“Eyes open.” He snapped his fingers.
When they opened back up, the room had become a foggy blur. She thought of uttering her safe word, and as her heart beat faster, she tried to open her lips, but the knot above her clitoris muted her concerns. The ring from which she hung only allowed her incremental movements from side to side. She focused on swaying herself and received pleasure from the grip the rope held on her clitoris. The rope sunk into every crevice of her body and as she squirmed, she allowed it to sink deeper and deeper. She didn’t need to wonder if she was wet or not, she knew she was soaked.
Master Trice watched on from his throne as little by little his slave’s body became white as snow. All the blood had rushed to her face and as her tears slid down to the floor, they created a pitiful puddle that began to serve as a mirror in which she could see her hung corpse.
He placed both feet onto the floor and leaned forward as he stood with a gaze that consumed his slave. He walked toward her and stopped just in front of her face. It was the perfect height—where her mouth met his cock, and his cock met her mouth. He unzipped his pants as his hand caressed her wet cheek and his thumb entered her dried mouth. With the sound of her pathetic whimpers, his cock had become fully erect. He removed his thumb with a blop and replaced it with his cock.
As the top of his piercing spread her lips apart, she couldn’t help but arch her back. His hips jotted forward as she took him all the way inside her mouth. His cock felt hard and swollen, warm and slick with her saliva. She wished to free her hands and massage his aching balls, but it was in vain. His head swung back in blissful ecstasy as Abigail wrapped her tongue along his shaft and moved her neck back and forth.
Master Trice stabilized his slave by placing his hand behind her neck as he plunged into her mouth. She looked like she had just devoured her favorite dessert as her saliva mixed with her master’s precum, glistening down the side of her mouth.
He made an attempt at controlling his breathing as he pulled out of her mouth. He straightened his shoulders to his full stature and didn’t bother to conceal himself as he pulled on the rope that lowered Abigail’s upper body to the floor. With her chin anchoring her in place, the bottom half of her body was perched up at the perfect height for her master.
Master Trice tugged on the rope that locked her ankles together and cut through them with the nick of a blade. The tip of the blade followed along her calves and thighs before settling on the knot between her legs. She let out a pleasing moan that shifted to fear once she felt the cold bite of the knife on her clitoris.
“Be careful not to move because if you do, I’ll cut your clit.” His tone was deep and aggressive. She understood his warning and slowed her breath to keep her body still.
Pressing the spine of the knife onto her clitoral hood, he cut downward through the rope that had squeezed her pussy green and blue. Spreading her legs, he entered her warm and inviting pussy in one sole move—without warning and without preamble.
Abigail let out a painful scream as her walls expanded to accommodate his impressive size. It didn’t take long for her body to adjust to its master as it grew wider, inviting him in further. His cock reached her deepest depth as it brushed against her inner walls. She began to sway slowly, allowing her desire to take over her looming fear.
Her head felt so heavy, so immensely filled with a headache that she didn’t make an attempt to stop the bottom of her chin from hitting the floor as Master Trice plunged into her with deep, rough plunges. With every push, it clung to the floor and caused her teeth to clatter together.
Everything around Abigail slowly disappeared. She didn’t hear any noise around her—not the harbored breathing of her master or the pounding of her chin as it collided with the floor. She derived endorphins from the pain as she sank into the moment and let it drown her deep into an ocean of pleasure.
Her chest jotted forward, and her toes curled as with one final tug of her hips, the couple let out their loudest moans. Abigail hung lifeless as her adrenaline made its way through every nerve of her body. The last thing she remembered before her eyes gave out, was Master Trice unraveling her knots with ease.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Planting a kiss on Abigail’s temple, Preston closed his eyes and inhaled the unique scent that belonged to her and her alone. No soap or perfume. Quintessentially Abigail Bennett and nothing more. Her distinctive scent was his haven. It was his home away from home. The sanity to his insanity.
He watched his wife’s chest rise and fall as she slept peacefully. Utterly satisfied. A smile grazed his lips as he fingered the collar around her neck. She had been so spent after their scene, she’d forgotten to unclasp it. He was in no hurry to remove it. It turned out, all Abigail needed to get well was an orgasm.
Examining the bruise he’d left under her chin, he touched her ring finger and lowered the white sheets that covered her breasts. Her nipples instantly turned into hard pebbles. He traced his initials under her breast and kissed her softly on the belly button.
Abigail started to stir in bed. Blindly, she reached for Preston and let her arms round his neck. She brought his mouth to hers and kissed him fervently. She let her tongue explore his mouth and raised her hips to grind on his groin.
The woman was insatiable.
“Is necrophilia a fetish of yours, Mr. Trice?” she asked playfully, wiggling her eyebrows with closed lids.
He thrust his hips into her. Her eyes sprung wide with newfound desire. “No. I can’t hear you scream if you’re dead.”
Preston refrained from smiling and pulled the remaining sheets off of her naked body.
“Are you going like that?” he asked her.
“Going wh—Oh, shit.” She jumped out of bed and rushed to the closet. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just resting my eyes, but I mean, it’s your fault. You exhausted me to no avail. I’ll be ready in five minutes. Promise!”
She shouted from the closet, “Did you ask Lauren to join us?”
“Clubs aren’t her thing.”
“Are you quoting her or speaking for her?”
Wearing a floral-lace dress, Abigail stepped out of the closet and gave her back to Preston. He brushed her hair to the side and zipped her dress up. He couldn’t resist the call of a kiss to her shoulder.
“This isn’t just a club,” she continued. “It’s a gay club and Mike’s the owner. No one will hit on her. She will be more than safe there.”
Preston raised his shoulders.
Nightclubs were overwhelming for anyone. There were so many people stuck in one place, smelling and looking like sweaty sardines. Someone was bound to grope her—intentionally or unintentionally. For Lauren, it’d be too much. Who cares if the men were gay or straight? All she’d see would be dicks. Whether or not they were attracted to her, didn’t make a difference.
“You didn’t even ask her, did you?” Abigail asked as she fastened a pair of nude stilettos ar
ound her ankles.
A fog came over Preston as he imagined the scene that would play out between him and Abigail later tonight. He’d ask her to take everything off except for her collar and shoes. Then, he’d fuck her hard against the spiked board. The imagine pleased him immensely.
“Prest?” Abigail’s voice seeped through his sexual fantasy.
Preston shook his head, but the image didn’t leave him.
“I’ll call her right now, happy?”
Whatever it took to shut her up. God, she was exasperating at times.
“Very.”
As Abigail strode into the bathroom for her final touchups, Preston pulled out his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. He dialed Lauren’s number and slid onto the balcony.
He gazed out into the city, cloaked with streetlights, car lights, and window lamps. It was a sight to see and no matter how many years he had lived there, it never got old.
It felt like he’d just gotten home from Greece and now he’d be leaving for Paris to meet the Bessettes one final time. Preston would say farewell to Manhattan once again, say goodbye to Abigail, too. He doubted she’d accompany him, especially now since she’d missed three days of work.
He never claimed to play by the rules, though. Abigail was just as much a workaholic as Preston. He was all about feminism but if he could keep his wife all to himself, he would by whatever means necessary.
“Hello?” Lauren’s voice cracked through the speakers of his phone as she tried to hide a sniffling cry.
Preston was on instant alert.
“I’m on my way,” he said, already sliding the door.
“Don’t!” Lauren shouted. She cleared her throat and faked a cheerful voice. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
He smoothed his left eyebrow, pressed his thumb on an inane nerve that just wouldn’t give.
“Tell me what’s going on or I will have Kenneth at your apartment in five minutes.”
Leashed (Masters of Desires Book 2) Page 10