Page 66 of Ruthless Desire

"You're learning," I murmur, circling her once more. "Slowly, but surely. And tonight, you'll learn just how deeply my control runs. How thoroughly I own you."

Her breathing is ragged, her chest heaving with each labored breath. I step back to the cabinet once more, selecting a sleek, slender cane. The sight of it draws a choked whimper from her gagged mouth, a sound that sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

I move to the pulley system rigged in the ceiling, a discreet but effective apparatus. With a few deft manipulations, I hoist Natalie into the air, the ropes pulling taut, suspending her in a graceful arc.

She makes a sound behind the gag, a garbled mixture of protest and frightened arousal. I can see it in the blown black of her pupils, the hardening tips of her dusky nipples. Her body betrays her, even as her mind rebels. It knows who it belongs to, even if she hasn’t fully accepted it yet.

“There now,” I say softly, circling her slow-spinning form. “Isn’t that better? No more running, no more fighting. Just sweet, blissful surrender.”

I reach out, trailing my fingers along the curves and valleys of her trussed flesh. She shudders at my touch, gooseflesh pebbling in the wake of my hand. So responsive, so deliciously sensitive.

I’m hard, achingly so, my cock straining against the confines of my trousers. I want nothing more than to bury myself inside her, to feel her clench and spasm around me as I wring every last ounce of pleasure from her quaking body. \

But not yet. First, she must learn. Must understand the futility of her defiance, the price of her disobedience.

I step back, drinking in the sight of her. Tear tracks glisten on her cheeks, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. But there’s a glassiness to her eyes, a subtle slip into subspace. She’s teetering on the edge, halfway to the sweet oblivion of total submission. And I will be the one to push her over, to catch her when she falls.

“I’m going to leave you like this,” I tell her, my voice a velvet murmur in the charged air. “Leave you to contemplate your transgressions, to reflect on all the ways you’ve disappointed me.”

I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. She flinches, a muffled whine vibrating in her throat. “And when I return,” I breathe, “we’ll begin your true training. Your complete erasure, until all that remains is what I design you to be. My perfect toy, my flawless possession.”

I pull back, drinking in the exquisite cocktail of dread and longing in her gaze. With a final caress to her cheek, I turn on my heel and stride from the room. I don’t look back. Don’t need to; I feel the weight of her stare and hear the hitching sobs that chase me down the hall.

Let her weep. Let her rue the choices that brought her to this moment, trussed and trembling in the dark heart of my domain. In the end, her tears will dry. Her cries will fade to whimpers, then to silence.

And all that will remain is my will. My wants.

I pause outside the door, my mind already spinning with the possibilities of her training. There are so many ways to break a soul, so many methods to mold and shape her into the perfect reflection of my darkest desires.

Time is my ally, and patience my weapon. With each passing moment, I will strip away her defenses, layer by layer, until she is laid bare before me, a blank canvas upon which to paint my will.

For now, I leave her in the dimly lit room, the shadows and silence her only companions. She will learn to embrace them, to find comfort in the darkness. It will become her solace, her refuge, and eventually, her prison.

Chapter 21 Natalie

The world spins in dizzying arcs as I dangle from Dante's elaborate rigging. My muscles scream, joints stretched to their limits. The golden ball gag muffles my whimpers, saliva dribbling down my chin a constant reminder of my helplessness.

How long has it been? Hours blur into an eternity of aching limbs and racing thoughts.

I can't escape the memory of Dante's fingers trailing fire across my skin, his voice a dark honey in my ear. "You're exquisite like this, moy voron. A masterpiece of submission."

My body betrays me, core clenching at the recollection. I'm a mess of contradictions – disgust warring with a hunger that terrifies me.

What kind of monster am I becoming? What kind of monster am I craving?

Flashes of my old life taunt me. Sun-drenched canvases, the heady scent of oils, laughter echoing through my crumbling studio. That Natalie feels like a stranger now, an echo from another lifetime.

Focus. I have to focus.

I strain against the ropes, seeking any hint of slack. It's futile. Dante's knots are as unbreakable as his will. Still, I struggle. It's all I have left.

The whisper of the door opening freezes me mid-twist. Footsteps approach, measured and deliberate. My pulse skyrockets, a butterfly trapped in the cage of my ribs.

"Still fighting, solnyshko?" Dante's voice cuts through the silence. "Good. I do so love to watch you struggle."

I try to snarl, but the gag reduces it to a pathetic mewl. Dante chuckles, the sound sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"Oh, the sounds you make," he purrs. "Music to my ears."

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