Page 47 of Disturbed Lucidity

My hands shook as I tried to act casual. I looked around the room, my eyes darting from one corner to another, and I felt a growing sense of unease when I realized I was once again enveloped in the suffocating darkness of a hellish existence, a place I had fought relentlessly to escape.

I realized I was panting.

My nipples hardened under my shirt.

That fact should have frightened me more. Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement, my body responding with a surge of endorphins. I stood in the center of his lair, a mixture of perplexing and delectable cravings flooding my senses, like a dormant darkness within me had awakened and yearned for release.

Demanding that I embrace the disturbed lucidity of my soul.

My eyes widened as I blinked, instantly drawn to the wall covered in an assortment of dildos. Their presence in the room made me feel both uncomfortable and intrigued. The throbbing in my core intensified as my body pulsed with aching sensations that gradually transformed into an unsettling heat, enveloping me completely.

I suddenly became aware of his presence right behind me, his footsteps nonexistent as he moved with an eerie quietness. With a swift movement, he slid his arm around my hips, drawing me snugly against his chest.

My lips tingled with anticipation, prompting me to give them a quick lick.

His hand slid up my stomach, under my shirt, while he looked at me in the mirror.

“Choose,” he growled. The deep rumble of his chest stirred a sinister longing that surged through my veins.

My mind lingered while his hand crept up towards my neck, tightening its grip with each passing second. Squeezing tightly, he choked the last bit of air from my lungs.

“Choose.”

God have mercy on my soul because all I did was smile and whisper, “Harder.”

His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with determination, while his grip on my throat tightened.

“I’m going to break you.”

“Good luck with that. But first I want you to make me sing like the fucking angels.” I smirked, holding his gaze in a distinctive challenge.

“Then hang onto something, baby, because I’m about to take you to church.”

“Prove it.”

Stepping back, his face contorted into a wicked grin, he proudly displayed a length of rope, ready for whatever devious plan he had in mind. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing in the mirror, and my eyes widened, and I raised my brows in disbelief. In that moment, I couldn’t explain why I said it, but the instant the words escaped me, I sensed the weight of my mistake. “Better make it good.”

He broke eye contact and stepped away.

I turned to face him, swiftly tearing off my shirt in a single, fluid motion. He nodded toward the small whipping bench off to his right, its wooden surface worn and weathered.

Showing no fear, I walked over to the bench and kicked off my shoes. Draping myself over the bench, I reached for the small pegs bolted to the floor and I spread my legs. Gripping the hand pegs, I arched my back as the cool air of the room chilled my back.

The fear that washed over me was so intense that my mind screamed for me to escape, amplifying the craving for the pain that awaited me.

The moment he positioned himself behind me, I shuddered as the cold steel of a knife traced a chilling path along my back. With a forceful grip on the back of my jeans, he mercilessly slashed the knife through the fabric, severing the last thread of self-preservation I possessed.

Kneeling behind me, he roughly shoved my legs together. He efficiently looped the rope around my thighs and clasped my ankles tightly together, making sure I couldn’t escape.

I twisted to watch but could only see the top of his head. He worked rapidly, and I could tell he wasn’t using any complex techniques. However, my familiarity with rope play allowed me to recognize the quick-release tie he was setting up, which would easily untie the bondage with a single pull.

He stroked my back, brushing my hair off my shoulders, and then he ran his hand in a long pass down my spine and over my ribs. I could feel his body heat behind me, hear the faint squeak of his boots on the cold, tiled floor. His touch was gentle, delicate, almost tentative. That’s when I noticed his fingers were trembling and his breathing was heavy.

He was holding himself back, denying his true disturbed nature.

That revelation didn’t bode well for me.

I wanted all of him.

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