Sold to the mafia

Katia

I roll over in the bed, unable to sleep, my nipples hard, my clit pulsing with desire. A low groan of sexual frustration escapes my lips as I scissor my legs together, trying to calm the incessant clenching of my pussy. It’s been plaguing me ever since I left the club, along with the memory of my mouth being used for Isaac’s pleasure.This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Fuck.

I loved it. I loved every second of being with him. Being used and commanded. I roll over again, my body covered with a sheen of sweat. It’s so fucking hot in here. It doesn’t help that I’m on fire with desire, primed and ready for another explosive orgasm. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wish I hadn’t left. I need more. I want more. I should’ve stayed.

There was so much left to say to Isaac, so much to explore. God, I want him. The way he walked up and challenged the other Master for my body and then took control of me was so fucking sexy. My skin pricks as I remember the determination Isaac displayed in getting his way with me, the way he made me take all of his length.

My limbs shudder, and my clit throbs as the memory of choking on Isaac’s massive cock while he plunged his fingers in and out of my pussy runs through my mind. Another moan of frustration escapes my lips. It was so fucking hot. Isaac had been in complete control the whole time. It was unreal. He’d instantly known what I wanted. What I fucking needed.

And I need more of it. Now.

I have to go back, I decide, resisting the urge to reach down and smack my throbbing clit the way he did. I can’t wait. The only problem is I’m afraid of committing completely. Afraid of the unknown. In the club though, I’ll be safe.

I roll over again, feeling frustrated and wanting to grind my pussy against the bedding so I can get some relief. But he told me not to. I don’t have permission. The very thought makes me breathe easier. I will obey him. I will not disappoint him.

I can’t get over how powerful and commanding he was. The look in his eyes behind that mask… full of desire. I hear the roar of engines outside, cars passing by on the highway, adding to my frustration. The sounds aren’t helping keep me from falling asleep, but even if they weren’t there, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I’m too wound up and needing his touch. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted like this. Since I felt this need.

But it isn’t like not being able to sleep is anything new. There’ve been many nights I’ve been unable to sleep, but for a different reason entirely. A shiver goes down my spine, and a weight presses down on my chest. I close my eyes and shake my head, refusing to go there.

I ignore the emotions threatening to smother me, suffocating me like they have night after night as another pulse rocks my clit. I’m too excited. Since getting my life back, I’ve dreamed of a place like Club X, somewhere I could fulfill my fantasies and make myself whole again. I deserve happiness in every way. Including my sexual needs, but I hadn’t found an outlet. Until today.

But he wants more. A collar. I grip my throat, my pulse picking up speed, remembering the metal chain around my neck and the spikes that dug painfully into my skin.

No, I think and shake my head, not wanting to go there. To the dark memories. But it’s too late. I can’t stop feeling the sensation of the choking collar my Master used to train me. The desire burning up my body flees as a flood of fear washes over me and I sit upright in the bed, my heart pounding like a battering ram. The burning sweat covering my skin turns cold as I try to gain control.

Isaac is not like that, I tell myself. He won’t be like that.

There should be no comparison. The two aren’t even remotely the same. A collar would be the only thing that they have in common. And the title. Master. I already feel something with Isaac that I never felt with my previous Master. Respect. It’s hard to understand, though. In some ways, Isaac reminds me of Master O.

Tears prick my eyes as I remember the only Master that was nice to me. Whenever I was around him, I felt safe. He was caring, and always sensitive to my needs and wants. In a way, I hated him for making me feel safe because I wanted him to take me away and make me his. But he never did. He had the power to save me, but didn’t. I felt betrayed by that, like he’d put on this show to be nice to me when he really didn’t care about me. None of them ever did.

I pull my knees to my chest, instinctively wrapping my fingers around my ankle. I was so filled with desire from tonight’s events, I forgot to cover my ankle with my weighted blanket. But I need it now. I sit there for what seems like hours, but it’s only a few minutes. Listening to the cars pass by outside, my heart thudding in my chest, I keep trying to push away those dark memories.

It’s gone. It’s in the past. I’ve dealt with these emotions. I thought I’d come to terms with them.

Lies, the dark voice whispers inside of me. You’d barely acknowledged their existence.

I take in a shuddering breath, refusing to listen and counting softly in my head as I repeat the poem Fire and Ice over and over again. It’s a trick I learned to lessen my anxiety, long ago. Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.

I close my eyes, whispering the poem I’ve memorized and letting the calming cadence block out all other thoughts until my heart has settled and the rush of adrenaline has waned. I just need to try to get some sleep.

Sighing, I crawl off my small bed, and it groans as I place my bare feet on the cold floor and go over to the chair in the corner where my heavy blanket lies neatly folded. It’s weighted and not meant for this use, but it works. With it under my arm, I walk back over to the bed, climbing in and then laying the familiar throw across my left ankle.

I need it. I need to feel the weight as though it’s the shackle. Without it there, sometimes I wake up late at night, feeling just how I felt before. Right after I stabbed him to death and took the keys from his pocket, frantically searching for the one that fit the lock on the cast iron shackle that had been on my ankle for four years. The deepest scars I have are on the thin skin covering the knobby bone of my ankle. Whenever he’d drag me, replacing the other end of the chain with a weighted ball, the metal would cut into me. He didn’t care.

To tell the truth, I learned to take that pain and focus on it rather than what he’d do to me.

I didn’t fear much, but that night, when he told me he was giving me to Javier and that I should be good for him, I was terrified. He warned me that I had better not be bad and make him break my arm again. He said I was getting old, and he’d have no use for a Slave with a bum arm. I couldn’t take it anymore. Something inside of me finally snapped.

The fear wasn’t fully realized until the lock came off and the weight was lifted from my ankle. I had the fear that I’d never get out. That they’d catch me and slowly torture me. That fear was so strong it nearly crippled me. If I failed to find my freedom, I knew I was dead.

Without the weight on my ankle at night, I tend to wake up feeling the same racing pulse through my blood and fear of death that nearly suffocates me.

I lie back and go still, waiting for the sleep to take me and the memories to fade. It’s this position that I learned to sleep in years ago. Images of Master O and Master C continue to haunt me, causing me to want to toss and turn. But just like all those years ago, I don’t move with the weight on my ankle, holding me in place.

Finally, I close my eyes and try to concentrate on Isaac. His calm, commanding presence. His piercing green eyes. His massive, throbbing cock. My body relaxes as the vision of my possible new Master pushes the other two from my mind. My breathing becomes more stable, and the sweats leave my body as I’m finally able to drift off into a deep sleep.