Page 12 of Black Light: Cured

enough to touch her, as if to convince my mind that she’s not a figment, but instead a flesh and blood

submissive that I want to pull down from her pedestal.

But this is her scene. Not mine. I wasn’t invited in as a participant, something that will absolutely

change in the future. I always get what I want, and right now, it’s this massage therapist named Lila—

the trickster that I want to flay open with my scalpel to show these people that she’s merely flesh and

blood.

Nearly groaning, I reach down and cup my balls, squeezing them as I stare at her breasts.

Unfortunately, with the way Dillon’s trussed her up, I can only see where the abundance of her curves

spills out around her arms. She’s the type that will fill my massive hands and then continue to spill

over.

Dillon pauses and rests his hand on her back, murmuring something into her ear. Normally, I’m not

a jealous guy, but for some reason watching his lips hover so close to her body has me wanting to rip

my suit off and challenge him like some kind of caveman. Reaching up, I slide my finger beneath the

knot of my tie and tug. I need air. I need to breathe. Most of all, I need to calm the fuck down.

The moment Lila nods, he coaxes her backwards in the ropes, changing her position, and I watch

in rapt attention as war breaks out on her body. She tenses in the ropes, where just moments ago, she

was calm and unflappable. I figured she was a novice, just from the way she shook initially, but this

confirms it.

Blood surges to my cock as I watch this small battle of wills between the two. I’m not one to

entertain brats, but I do crave a woman that struggles with her need to submit until she eventually

gives in. And soon, that moment happens where she lets go and trusts the Dominant handling her,

bringing both a smile to my lips and a jerk of arousal up my shaft.

Once she’s lying back, letting the ropes cradle her like a hammock, her body relaxes, allowing

Dillon to put her in more provocative positions. He brings her right heel toward the swell of her ass

and ties it in place before doing the left. After she’s unable to move, he brings down some of the other

strands to attach to her legs, pulling her knees apart for my gaze.

I know he’s doing this for my benefit. He has to be. Why else would she be trussed up, just

waiting to be defiled? The smirk he shoots my way confirms it. With smooth, controlled motions, he

swings her around until her pussy is almost at eye level.

The delicate lace pulls taut against her mound and lower lips, with part of it disappearing into her