Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
A flurry of activity as everyone continued getting ready.
My empty stomach rumbled again. Light-headedness made me slightly dazed. I didn’t have the strength to hear about murders and money paid for a woman’s life.
I didn’t even think I could eat with conversation like that flying around.
Tomorrow, they’ll come.
Tomorrow, Henri’s team will arrive, and all of this will be over—
“I heard he fucked you on the witch’s stake in the garden.”
My head snapped to another girl. A curvy, large-breasted black beauty with eyelashes as long as my fingers.
“The stake?” I asked.
“That’s where he took you the first time, isn’t it? The Master who owned me this afternoon strung me up afterward. Said he wanted to recreate how Master H took you, seeing as he couldn’t have you for the rest of the weekend.”
We shuddered at the same time.
“He even painted me in cum afterward. Sick fucking bastard.”
I winced. “He copied that too?”
“You mean, your Master completed a damn voodoo ceremony on you with his own jizz?”
“It wasn’t voodoo,” Rebecca, the flat-chested girl from the showers, said quietly. Keeping her eyes down, she slipped into a black lace G-string and sheer matching bra. “He’s got fetishes, that one. Very odd fetishes.”
“Don’t they all.” A Spanish girl huffed. Plopping herself next to me on my bed, she passed me a silvery-white negligee. “Here. New jewels always wear white to their first dinner. Yet another sick fetish that you’re a tender, innocent bride being married into this twisted club.”
I took the lingerie only because it offered the faintest whiff of protection. Slipping out of my see-through dressing gown, I wriggled into the glittery fabric and gulped as it barely skimmed my ass.
“Is there…can I have a pair of underwear?”
“Sorry.” The Spanish girl shook her head. “You have to earn the right to a pair or be commanded by your current Master to wear one. Some men get aroused by what they can’t see, but most of them…they want to gawk and touch whenever they damn well want.”
I reached for the dressing gown again, but Rebecca claimed it with a sad shrug. “Can’t have that either, I’m sorry.”
“Everyone ready?” Kurt, the well-endowed slave who hid his brokenness beneath cocky bravery, asked as he appeared on the threshold of the dormitory.
A few other men entered behind him, some dressed in tight boxers, others in flowing linen pants, most naked in their own skin. Like a well-orchestrated dance, they all went to their respective beds, reached into the farthest corner of their pillowcases, then subtly touched their mouths.
The blonde girl caught me watching. Coming close, she whispered, “Self-medication. The only way a lot of us get through the night. Do you…do you want one?”
I shook my head quickly. “I don’t do drugs.”
“What? Like ever?”
“I…I had a bad reaction to a joint when I was fifteen. I didn’t want to take it, but a friend at the time pressured me. I ended up in the ER.”
“Oh shit.” She stood. “That’s not good.”
No, it wasn’t good.
My father, working upstairs in the cardiology department, had been summoned. He’d had to watch me suffer a rare reaction to cannabis. Krish found out I wasn’t well from overhearing a phone call Dad made to Mum, and he fell into an utter tailspin at the thought of losing me. He hadn’t settled until Mum drove him to the hospital, and he crawled into my narrow bed.
“Right.” Peter marched into the dorm, clapping his hands to get our attention. “Let’s go. We’re cutting it fine, and I have no intention of being shocked tonight.” His eyes narrowed on the Indonesian girl. “Looking at you, Citra.”
She nodded. “Sorry. Last week wasn’t entirely my fault—”
“It was and we all paid the price.” Peter sighed with a weary smirk. “But it’s fine. Not like we haven’t been barbecued for plenty of other reasons.” Twisting on the threshold, he bowed and held out his arm. “After you ladies and gentlemen.”
I drank him in.
I’d seen him naked far more times than I’d probably even seen Sam bare in four years, yet now that he wore clothes, it somehow seemed more erotic.
The other slaves filed out, some patting Peter on his shoulder, others accepting a kiss he bestowed on their cheeks. Every single one of them acted as if he were their leader and trusted him to guide them through hell.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I padded barefoot toward him. The skimming of the short negligee and the bareness between my legs made me drown beneath self-consciousness.
Stopping before him, I narrowed my eyes at the black open waistcoat and tailored black pants that fit him perfectly. His body had been blended with makeup to hide the bruises, and the bowtie around his neck, tied around his slave collar, made him seem like a present about to be unwrapped. “Why are you dressed like that?” I swallowed hard, imagining all sorts of awful reasons. “Did your Master request it?”