Page 107 of Ready For His Rule

My head must look smaller. That means my butt must seem huge.

What the hell am I doing this for?

“Holy. Fuck.”

That. Growl.

Thatwas what she’d done it for.

That…and the rest of the electricity firing off Franzen from the moment the hood dropped completely into place.

Turning her breaths into fire, as his pumped harder in his wide chest.

Turning her skin into hot and cold fusion, as his gaze devoured her body.

Turning all those words in her head into nothing but needy mewls in her throat, as his posture became forceful lines. As hard as her mind clawed to maintain the hold, something about this new anonymity turned her into something else too. A creature, fully female. An animal, fully feral.

A submissive…fully his.

“Come here, kitten.”

Her blood, still just a mass of white-hot currents, somehow powered her limbs enough to take a step. Then another. Every inch she closed in on Franzen, a force field seemed to crackle around him as well, extending spindles of pure energy toward hers.

Once her body was nearly flush with his again, the man stunned her once more, suddenly dropping to a knee. Before she could determine his purpose, he supplied it—by holding open a pair of black latex booty shorts. “Step in,” he instructed, and she obeyed at once. If it occurred to her, for even half a second, to question why he’d made her strip before redressing her, the design of her new “outfit” provided that answer now. The shorts had no crotch panels. The center seams, right and left, were masterfully designed to overlap each other, but also to part ways from each other. There was a convenient fix for camel toe.

A fleeting human thought from her faraway human life.

The feral feline batted it away, especially as her Master began checking the fit of the shorts in all the key places. She whimpered louder with every stroke of his strong, hot touch, especially as he stood again. With their mouths just half a breath apart, she let out raw, rhythmic pleadings, shuttling her crotch against the blissful confidence of his fingers.

“Such a good little pussy.” As he gifted her with the praise, he flattened his hand against her entire mound. “So hot. So compliant. So ready for me.”

“Unnnnhh,” Tracy cried, high and strident. “Mmmm hmmm.”

He groaned, harsh and hard, before forming his lips to her slightly parted ones. The latex stretched, erotic and noisy, as he forced her to open wider, accepting the scalding flame of his tongue.

Several minutes later, when he pulled away, Franz’s breath had taken over his body with as much erratic violence as hers. He set her back as if having to order himself to do so, before whirling for the wall shelf where he’d gotten her hood and shorts. There was one more item up there, waiting for him to use on her.

A roll of black electrical tape.

His eyes never leaving her, he peeled off a small length and cut it with his teeth. Repeated the motion three more times, until he had four equal lengths extending from corresponding fingers.

“The finishing touch before I take my pussy out to play.”

In another time and place—as in, back out in the gray hallway, no more than fifteen minutes ago—she would’ve already been analyzing his words backward and forward. Wondering what the hell he meant or didn’t, had planned or didn’t. Formulating what constituted a clever response, along with the proper attitude to back it up. But right now, in the confines of this space, she wasn’t that person anymore. She was just an obedient stick of heat, gasping through more arousal as her Dom crisscrossed the tape lengths, X style, over both her nipples.

She was sealed in.

Tight.

Aching.

Wanting.

And now, following.

Letting him tug her to the end of a hall. Around a corner. Past rooms lit up in red and purple, with brighter spotlights on strange and frightening and erotic things. A “medical exam” room. An exotic harem with silks, leather swings, and a gilded cage with retractable pins. And yes, a “castle dungeon” reigned by a huge wooden table outfitted with everything from spreader bars to steel handcuffs. Relief swept her when they bypassed that last one—though she hadn’t turned off so much of her brain to avoid the logical follow-up.

What if the room to which he pulled her was filled with worse?

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