My Confession: What Happened in the Back Row
It had been less than five minutes into the movie when his hand was already reaching under my shorts, and instead of pulling away, I prayed no one in the theater would turn to look at us.
It had been less than five minutes into the movie when his hand was already reaching under my shorts, and instead of pulling away, I prayed no one in the theater would turn to look at us.
I knew the rules: one hour, no agreed limits, four against me. What I didn’t know was how much I’d enjoy losing control in their hands.
When they switched my red collar for a green one, I knew there was no one left to stop those fangs sinking into the most sensitive part of my body.
He spat at the sorceress while two slaves held him down. She smiled, licked the contempt from his cheek, and vowed to make him her next masterpiece.
He stood with his legs spread and his hands behind his back, trembling. He had spent months dreaming of that moment, and she still hadn’t even looked at him.
Before receiving the council, she tugged the leash, and her pet emerged trembling from beneath the table, lost in pure worship.
I’d spent the whole night waiting for her, tied to the bed in that house, knowing that on Sunday she would come back to finish what we’d started.
When I hung up the phone, my hands were shaking. A clinic of extreme discipline. A year locked away, no way out. And I had said yes.
By day I was the invisible wife I had always been. By night I wrote what I was too afraid to ask for. Then someone read it and decided to give it to me.