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“Thank you, Sir,” I reply.
He rewards my obedience by sliding his middle finger into me. As he draws the digit in and out, he grazes my clit. I whimper at how good it feels. Somehow I remember to ask permission to come.
“Not yet,” he replies.
“Please,” I beg when he pulls out his finger.
He decorates my thighs with the wax. The candle seems unending as he adds to the wax on my belly and breasts. He gropes a breast, cracking some of the hardened wax, then steps back.
“Make yourself come.”
Unsure I heard correctly, I respond, “Sir?”
“I said to make yourself come.”
“How?”
“Just do it.”
Focusing my attention between my legs, I recall how he had his hand there. I imagine him stroking me again. The effort keeps my arousal going but isn’t enough to send me over the edge. If only I could get a little stimulation to help me out.
“Come, Priscilla,” Rafe says. “Let’s not keep our guests waiting.”
Suddenly we’re not in his dungeon anymore. We’re in his theater. Onstage. About a dozen faceless people sit in the audience. Strangers are seeing me naked and aroused. Did they hear my lusty moans? I flush in embarrassment.
“You have three minutes,” Rafe tells me.
“Three minutes?!” I exclaim.
Members of the audience snicker and chuckle.
“You can do this, Priscilla. Deep down, you’re a naughty little slut. Aren’t you?”
When I don’t answer, he slaps my breast. Hard.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then do it.”
I twist and turn in my bonds and try to rub my thighs together. I recall the different ways Rafe has fucked me: over the back of a sofa, in the swimming pool, and even the time he fucked me so hard it hurt. Surprisingly, that last memory sends me into orgasm. I quiver and shake on the stage for everyone to see, publicly admitting and displaying my wantonness. The audience applauds
“Nicely done,” Rafe compliments. “Now I’m going to let Jade have her way with you.”
When I wake, I realize I’m wet between my thighs and my cheeks feel flushed. I rarely have dreams of a sexual nature, and that one was crazy and erotic. Where in the world did my subconscious come up with that? Is Rafe a corrupting influence? I mean, I’m sure he is. But did I always have those dark desires or were they all put there by Rafe?
I shake off the dream. It’s about nine in the morning. I wonder when Rafe will be back and decide I’ll go ask Vladimir as soon as I’m dressed and ready.
While I’m brushing my teeth, I hear a knock on the door.
“Bwek-fass,” a voice says.
Her timing is always spot on, I marvel. I’m in a better mood this morning than last night because I’m resolved to be more proactive. Rafe has got to see that my sitting around his house all day is not helping him find his Morelli. And if sex puts him in a more receptive mood, then I’m ready to bring it.
I spit out the toothpaste. “Come in.”
I walk out of the bathroom to see her wheel in breakfast. Another lady comes in behind her with a huge vase of over two dozen pink and red roses.
“From Mr. Lee,” she explains, setting the flowers down on the coffee table.
