Slave Del Muerto was aching for days. Doing his chores and Keeping his Mistress’s affairs in order. She’d ordered five new Slave Dolls and it was his job to make their schedules. Arrange their lodgings and get them up in time for training every day, dressed and cleaned to Mistress’s expectations. As well as keep everything tidy about himself. And honor the one rule. No climaxing without permission. Wet dreams were not in...
Deep within a forest in Romania… The Carpathian mountains rising above the dark green silhouettes of the three-hundred-year-old trees were no match for the splendour of the castle, protected within the virgin forest. On its intricately carved balcony, a young woman stood trembling. She’d sensed him, and her toes curled on the cold grey stone. He waited in the shadows, naked, admiring her beauty highlighted by the silvery...
“Huh,” Laura dryly stated with more of a chuckle than a syllable, browsing through the newspaper, her scanning eyes stalling on a distinct headline. “What is it?” her roommate, and lover, asked between two generous gulps of overconcentrated cheap instant coffee, while lazily reading Sartre’s Les Jeux Sont Faits, pupils still almost hidden behind eyelids. Laura looked up from the semi-crumpled paper in her hand and threw J...
