Page 27 of Valentine's Slave

Granted, I haven’t let her see me naked, not yet. I wanted to give her the thrill of being pleasured by a stranger, of receiving from a master she couldn’t see and could hardly touch. I want her to feel open and vulnerable and safe.

She seems to be clinging to her edge of the bed, perhaps unsure of the dynamic now since the sex is over. But after the spanking she just took, as well as the pounding from the sex andthe orgasms flooding through her, I’m sure she craves to be held close, though she wouldn’t admit it for the world.

“Come here.” My voice is gruff as I reach across the bed, pulling her to me. I feel her skin, soft and warm from the shower, smelling of vanilla. It makes me smile that she used the body wash and shampoo I set out for her. Now she smells just like she’s mine, too.

She’s hesitant at first, as if our bodies have never touched, and she’s nervous of what will happen if she gives herself to me. But then, she snakes closer, her head on my shoulder, damp hair splayed back across the pillow.

Warmth fills me as she cozies in, and I wrap my arm around her, resting it gently at her hip. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and neither am I. She trusts me. Despite how much she fights it, I can tell she feels comfortable, and she even lays her hand on my hairy chest.

The intensity and otherworldly sensation of sex is my drug, but the cuddles are like my taunting poison. To feel another human pressed against me, to feel her heart beating through her breasts, to sense her soft, gentle body against mine, it wakes me up from the dream and cuts me out of the high. I crave the feeling of connection and closeness as much as I fear it.

But this week is mine, just like she is, and I squeeze her tighter against me with a protection that sears through me like fury. She’s mine. Nothing can steal her. Nothing can break this.

Trying to calm my breathing now, I relax against her, my long black hair contrasting with her blond against the pillow. I clear my thoughts, bring myself back to this moment, feel the way the outline of her pussy is pressed against my thigh, how both of her legs are pressed up against mine. This woman craves connection and safety, and I know she’s lacking it in her life. That’s why she doesn’t have a job or even a place to live. That’s why she stayed with her boyfriend for so long, a boyfriend her family thoughtwas a shitbag. Something in this girl is broken, leading her to things that only hurt her more.

That makes two of us.

Neither of us speaks, and gradually, the room fills with the sound of gentle breathing, her chest rising and falling against mine. My little slave, my submissive, my angel.

Right now, she’s everything I need.

* * *

I wake up before she does. The blinds are down, blacking out the room, and Ava is on her side, facing me. It’s 9 a.m., but there’s no rush. I’ll let her sleep a little bit longer before I start the next round. My cock is hard again, and seeing her so innocent, eyes closed, blond hair a mess around her naked shoulders, I want to sink back into her as she stares into my eyes with that wide, blue, sleep-confused gaze.

Slipping out of bed, I take a shower, trim my beard, do some yoga, and then cook breakfast—oatmeal banana chocolate pancakes in honour of Ava’s food fetish. I have chocolate sauce and whipped cream in the fridge, and after I drink my coffee, I head back to the bedroom.

Ava is still out cold, but she’s now spread starfish across the bed, her hands reaching out where I was before. I smile. She’s in the perfect position.

Without turning on the lights, I reach under the bed for the contraption that’s already set up. There’s a cuff for each of her arms and feet, and I can secure them as tightly as I’d like, strapping her spread-eagle to the bed.

I take off my shirt so I’m only wearing my black slacks. My hair is long and loose, but I make sure it doesn’t touch her as I lean over her. Streaks of her naked skin are exposed, as she’s rolled between the sheets and comforter.

I take her right ankle first since it’s already peeking out off the edge of the bed. I wrap the black strap tight around her ankle.The Velcro is strong, and if I have her secured in tightly, she won’t be able to move a muscle.

I fish out her other leg from under the blankets. She stirs but doesn’t wake before I get her tied down, and then I move to the top half of her body.

One of her breasts is half exposed, and I yearn to run my hand over it and caress her pink nipple. But instead, I move towards her left hand, which she has thrown back above her head.

She looks at utter peace as she sleeps, and I feel that she’s been overworked and overstressed for a long time now. There are bags under her eyes.

I’m staring down at her, her wrist in my hand, when suddenly her eyes flash open. Fear registers for a second, and I feel her tense as she whips her head around, yanking her arms and legs. Without her top half secured down, she’s still able to move easily, but I stop her from sitting up.

Her crystal-blue eyes latch on to mine, but they’re spitting. Seemingly remembering her duties as a slave, Ava’s face darkens, and a little scowl forms on those perfect soft lips. I’ve already imagined them around my cock, sucking as if her life depended on it.

“I have to pee.” Her voice is icy, and I chuckle at her hostility. In two seconds, I have her ankles free.

“Then pee,” I say, and she scowls at me again before rolling off the bed, only now seeming to realize that she is indeed naked in front of me. She adds an extra little sway to her hips, and my gaze follows her meaty ass all the way to the bathroom, where she slams the door shut.

Someone woke up on the bratty side of the bed, and a smile tugs at my lips. That will just make things more interesting.

I wait for her patiently, and she certainly takes her time, though I’m convinced she’s starving, as it’s been hours since all the action, and the room smells of chocolate and pancakes,wafting in from the kitchen. I personally don’t eat breakfast as a norm. I prefer intermittent fasting, and with my black coffee, I’ll be good for hours to come. But my little minx needs to eat, and she will not refuse me.

She finally comes back. I sense that her inner battle was between wearing a towel or not, but she prances back, standing naked and tall, unashamed. She leaves the bathroom light on, illuminating the bedroom, and her gaze roves over me, seemingly eating me with her eyes, from my dark hair falling over my shoulders, down to my abs.

Finally, she plops down on the bed, and without a word, I take her wrist again, the cuff in my other hand. The flare is back in her eyes, and she doesn’t seem pleased with the situation.

“Do I have a choice?” she asks, her voice soft but resolute.

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