Page 35 of Pierced

“Sacapuntas?”

“Mm-hm.”

But before he has a chance to say anything more, I drag my fingernails down his chest, making chills run through his body.

“Because I will. Stop. If you want. And you can walk out of here and pretend this never happened.”

“No. No,” he says, breathy, the feel of my nails on his skin given voice by the sound of his languid protest. “No. I don’t wanna stop.”

The growling starts again.

“OK. Fuck. Seriously? I think you have a tiger in here.”

“Maybe it’s a recording?”

“Maybe it’s not.”

I unbuckle his belt. Release his trouser button. Pull his zipper down. “Take them off,” I say.

I have no idea what’s going through his head right now. I can’t even begin to imagine. But I don’t have time to wonder because he kicks off his shoes and drops his pants.

“This isn’t fair,” he says.

“Now get down,” I say. “And crawl. I’ll lead you over to the cage, don’t worry.”

“Ten minutes,” he says. “I’m staying ten minutes and then this is over.”

“This is over whenever you want it to be.”

I know how frustrating it is. Believe me, I get it. There is nothing worse than being in charge of your own submission. Being the one who has all the power but gives it up willingly.

It’s hard.

But Pierce doubles down. He drops to the floor and my fingertips thread through his hair. I fist it, gripping tight, and then pull him along as I walk over to the cage. “It’s directly in front of you,” I say. “Just crawl in and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Oh,” I say. “Hold on. I almost forgot the gag.”

CHAPTER TEN - ANASTASIA

Good morning, Pierce. What did you do last night?

It doesn’t matter who asks that question tomorrow. Nobody is getting a fucking answer.

The most unpleasant thing for me at the moment is how cold the floor is. My boxer briefs are thin and this concrete and metal is goddamn chilly. But all of the sudden, out of seemingly nowhere, I am struck with this thought: I’m not going to complain.

I’m not going to whine. I’m not going to bitch. I’m going to take everything that’s coming my way. Because allowing Myrtle to get her wrong-headed revenge is one thing, but taking it on as my own servility is something else entirely.

So when she comes at me with the ball gag, which I can barely see in the dimness of the room, I don’t protest or balk at it. I simply open my mouth as wide as I can.

“Aim for the teeth,” I tell her. “I just had them whitened.”

And then I champ them together in a flashy grin and once again open wide. She hitches back for a second. My guess is that my apparent and fresh eagerness is throwing her off guard. Good.

She places the gag in my mouth and her breasts are suddenly dangerously close to my face. They’ve never been this close before. She smells pretty wonderful. I don’t know how a person can smell like beauty and punishment, but Myrtle does.

Once she has the gag securely placed in my mouth, I ask, “Cooiguadrnkowtrfust?”