Page 50 of Sinful Lord

On the screen before me is a woman. A beautiful woman. My gaze is immediately drawn to her stunning pale green eyes. They smirk at the camera, lifting smooth cheekbones into a wicked portrait. Her long black hair falls over her shoulder. Her face is framed by a large headboard.

Slowly, she looks from her left to her right.

My racing heart starts to pound when I notice the position she’s in. Her long elegant arms are outstretched, her wrists restrained to each side of the bed posts by leather straps.

She’s completely naked.

Her perfect, perky tits gently heave over a flat stomach. Her shaved pussy blares between two lifted legs. I can just barely see the leather restraints that tie her ankles to something above her head, just out of the camera’s view.

The woman looks like a human sacrifice. Like she’s being offered up to a god on a silver plate.

It’s both terrifying and arousing. And then I see who else is in the room with her.

The god she’s offering herself to.

There’s no other way to describe him, even if I can only see his backside as he steps into the frame.

The giant figure makes the outstretched woman look like a tiny doll in comparison. His broad shoulders nearly spill out of the confines of the camera. And every muscular inch of him is covered in attention-grabbing tattoos.

“Holy shit…”

A sigh swirls up from my throat like a tornado. My thighs clench.

A soft white light falls over his dark and gorgeous back like an illuminated waterfall. I gulp. He is muscular beyond belief, chiseled to a gritty perfection, with wings for shoulder blades, an ass like raised stone, and triceps that are as thick and sharp as knives.

They all work together in intricate detail as he steps in front of the woman and starts doing something to her.

My initial instinct is to try and peek around his massive body to get a better look, but I’m quickly embarrassed by how foolish that is.

This is just a video… I tell myself. No matter how big his presence is.

Still, that presence keeps me glued to my seat as his powerful shoulder blades unfurl and he goes to work on the hidden woman.

The hair on my arms stands on edge. Somewhere deep inside of me, a primal battle is raging. This is dark. This is dangerous. But this is too thrilling to ignore.

Should I turn away and run, or should I turn the volume up?

The volume…

My fingers are immediately on the speaker keys, pressing down with frantic excitement.

I guess that answers that.

As the volume rises, I start to get an insight as to what’s happening, if only because I recognize the woman’s light whimpers. They echo the sounds I was just making.

I focus.

What could this monster be doing to that tiny doll? My imagination runs wild. I want to see. I want to learn.

I want to do.

Then, the man turns, and my pounding heart stops dead in its tracks.

I recognize that face.

The silver-blue eyes, shining like corrupted ice crystals under the falling white light.

Tytus.