Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
They all understood.
This wasn’t just torture—this was entertainment. At least for Thune and the customers who bought his porn.
“Will you come piggy-wigs…” Thune asked, waggling the remote threateningly, “or do you want another taste of pain?”
Bright swallowed hard. He had to make the call. If Burn took another hit, he might go into Rage. And if Noelle was shocked by her collar, she might not recover—she was too fragile, too delicate to take the kind of pain Thune seemed more than willing to dish out if he was disobeyed.
“All right,” Bright said quietly, stepping forward. “But if you try to hurt Noelle, or even touch her—”
“No, no, piggy-wig,” Thune interrupted gleefully. “We have no intention of touching your little female.” The middle head gave that horrible grin again. “We’ll leave that to you.”
Bright felt sick—he knew what that meant.
He means to make us perform.
Noelle’s soft breath hitched beside him. Burn’s body tensed like a spring drawn too tight.
Goddess, help us, Bright prayed.
And then they descended the stairs, one creaking step at a time, the darkness swallowing them like a beast swallowing its prey
57
NOELLE
Noelle’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped-bird rhythm that echoed in the silence of the winding stone staircase. The air grew colder and damper as they descended—the only light coming from a faint, sickly green glow-strip along the wall.
Thune’s massive, three-headed form loomed behind them, his heavy, shuffling footsteps a constant, menacing reminder of their captivity. The control to the pain collars they wore was clutched in one of his huge, gnarled hands, a simple silver remote that held the power to send them all to their knees in agony.
What’s going to happen to us? The question was a desperate, silent scream in her mind. What are we going to do if he tries something?
She didn’t even know what she meant by “something,” just that in this place, with this creature, it was bound to be terrible, humiliating, and painful.
The stairs finally ended, opening into a vast, cavernous room that swallowed all sound. It was pitch black until Thune grunted and slapped a panel on the wall. Harsh, overhead lights flickered on, one after another, revealing the space in all its terrifying glory.
Noelle’s breath caught in her throat. It looked like a sex dungeon. She’d never been in one, but the images from BDSM erotica novels she’d guiltily read paled in comparison to the real, visceral presence of the equipment surrounding them.
The walls were rough-hewn stone, but anchored to them were polished steel racks displaying an array of intimidating implements. Floggers with multiple tails of black leather and soft suede hung beside single-tail whips that looked like they could split skin.
There were paddles of various sizes and materials—smooth wood, perforated leather, even one that appeared to be made of thick, clear acrylic with holes drilled in it—presumably to cut wind resistance.
A St. Andrew’s cross, stark and imposing, dominated one wall, its restraints hanging open like waiting arms. In another corner stood a spanking bench, upholstered in black vinyl, with straps for wrists and ankles.
Suspension cuffs and heavy chains dangled from a reinforced beam in the ceiling, and glass-fronted cabinets held rows of gleaming metal clamps, plugs, and other devices whose purposes she could only guess at—their cold, clinical appearance at odds with the raw sensuality they implied.
The air smelled of old stone, oiled leather, and a faint, coppery tang that might have been blood.
In the very center of the room, sitting directly on the cold stone floor, was an enormous, low-profile mattress, covered in plain black fabric. To Noelle, it looked like an altar. At the far end of the room was a large, overstuffed couch clearly built for someone Thune’s size. Perched on one arm was a sleek, mechanical drone, its single, unblinking red eye dark. In front of the couch was a large viewscreen, currently blank.
Thune settled his immense bulk onto the couch with a groan that shook the floor, his three heads bobbing in unison. The springs protested loudly.
“Now then, piggy-wigs,” the middle head rumbled, its voice a grating bass that vibrated in Noelle’s bones. “The three of you are about to have some fun.”
As he spoke, the drone on the arm of the couch whirred to life, its red eye glowing. It rose silently into the air and floated towards them, coming to hover just overhead. Simultaneously, the viewscreen flickered on, displaying a crisp, high-definition image of the three of them from the drone’s perspective. Noelle saw herself, pale and wide-eyed, flanked by the tense, shirtless forms of Bright and Burn. It’s a camera. He’s filming us.
“Now get on the mattress,” the Trollox commanded. “Yes, all three of you. Oh, but first, take off your clothes—we want to be able to see your pretty little bodies.”
A violent shiver wracked Noelle’s frame. She didn’t want to get nude—the thin fabric of her dress wasn’t much cover, but it was better than no protection at all.