Page 43 of Little Puppet

I drift under the weight of drugs and anxiety as Cain drops me onto the bed.

I’m listless as he hooks my strings back painstakingly,not forgetting the ones on my arms this time, doing his due diligence.

“I once had strings, but now I’m free. There are no strings on me,” I sing drunkenly, remembering a song from a Marvel movie I’d watched on television and thinking of how funny the connection is to my current predicament.

“No, beautiful darling. You’re not free. You never will be again.”

My eyes grow too heavy to fight, and I close them.

He says, “You are my wicked puppet, and I’m never letting you go.”

A shiver moves through my marrow as I drift into the space where I’m not a prisoner and have no strings.

Even if it’s only momentarily.

Chapter 13

It’s been hours. Grace is finally coming around, and won’t she be surprised at the situation she’s gotten herself into? Her legs are now pierced with thick hoops, thick enough to bear her weight when I need her incapacitated. New strings rated for a decent amount of weight hold them open and suspended in the air. A pussy clamp keeps her pretty pink cunt open for me, and for good measure, I’ve pierced and strung strings to three hoops running her sternum.

“Cain?” Her raspy voice runs its fingers down the hard length of me, and I close my eyes against its touch.

“Good morning, little puppet. Or should I say good night? It’s after midnight, after all.”

I’ve had to sit here and look at her, suspended and drugged, the entire time drooling at the lush allure of her pussy and delirious, relaxed state.

“What have you done?” she breathes, looking herself over.

“Seems the strings you had weren’t enough, darling.”

She lifts her head off the pillow, her chest heaving as she looks at the clamp over her core.

“Now that you’re home and alert, I think we should discuss what happened between us, don’t you?” I ask her, getting up from the chair I’d placed at the end of the bed and ascending the steps. I sit on the edge of the bed, and she shifts.

She can’t go anywhere, but instinct makes us forget reason even when it’s right before us.

“Do you know why you have more strings? Why your beautiful cunt is clamped open?” I ask her, running my fingertip over her nipple in circles.

She tries to keep her breathing even and fails. I keep my smirk inward.

I don’t want to boast. Not yet.

I need to show her that she’s already in too deep with me. There’s no running away. There is no freedom other than the one I offer.

“I tried to escape,” she says, and she can’t hide the lusty dip in her tone.

Her nipple is hard as stone, and I lean back to look over her pussy.

“Mmm, can’t hide anything from me now,” I tell her, watching as she grows wetter, glistening for me like a frosted glass of my favorite bourbon.

“You didn’ttryto escape, puppet. Youdidescape.”

She licks her lips as I reach over and run my fingertip over her belly button, drawing circles around it, relishing in the goosebumps rising to meet my fingerprint.

“You escaped only to find the world is unforgiving, didn’t you, puppet?”

She swallows audibly, and it’s as if I can feel her throat constrict on my cock because it jumps at the sound.

“Answer me, puppet. You’ve already been a bad girl. You don’t want to add to your indiscretions, do you?”

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