CHAPTER 4
Angel bounced happily on her Master's shoulder as he carried her to their special playroom. She was delighted that Preston was going to play with her before dealing with the other two. She yelped as he smacked her bottom with each step he took.
When he reached the playroom, he set Angel down in front of a rocking chair. It was an old fashioned with a high back and armrests. This one, though, had a hole cut in the middle of the seat and a large dildo protruding up through it. Angel called it the Self-Fuck Chair.
She whined in protest when she realized he wasn't going to play with her after all. He was going to tie her and leave her. Her happiness quickly turned to disappointment and jealousy.
Preston smiled when he noted her pouty expression. “Is my little Angel jealous?” he scolded. “I told you to have yourself tied when I returned, but you didn't. Now you're being punished. And rather than the form of punishment I know you'd like, I've decided on something a little more… frustrating.'
He knelt down and untied her ankles, shaking his head at Angel's rope work. “Such poor quality,” he muttered.
She whined again as he guided her down, carefully impaling her on the huge dildo. “Don't move,” he ordered. He tossed the ropes aside and went to his workbench where he retrieved another roll of duct tape. Angel's eyes widened as he came toward her. She loved being bound in tape.
He knelt in front of her and taking her left ankle, he taped it to the leg of the chair, wrapping it halfway up to her knee. He did the same with her right ankle then moved behind her. Her bound arms stuck out where one of the slats that made up the back had been removed. In no time, her arms were tightly encased in tape from her elbows to her fingertips.
He wound the tape around her waist, gradually spiraling up until she was enclosed to her neck in the silver tape. She was wed to the chair, unable to move.
Preston stepped back and gazed at his slave. Her eyes were closed and he knew she was enjoying this just as much as he was.
“Angel.'
Her eyes snapped open.
He caressed her cheek. “Here are the rules. You cannot come until I say so. And you must rock the chair constantly.” She started to shake her head, but he grasped her chin firmly in his hand. “And I'll know if you stop, won't I?'
She lowered her eyes. “Eff ir.'
“Good girl.” He leaned down and kissed the ball-gagging her, as well as her stretched lips. He gave the chair a push to get it rocking, then turned and strode out of the room. Pausing outside the door, he listened to Angel begin to moan. As she rocked the chair, the dildo slid in and out of her hot slit. The squeak of the rocking chair was almost inaudible over Angel's moans as they sang out in unison.
When he got back to his captives, he found that his extra security hadn't been quite enough. The blonde somehow managed to remove almost all the tape from her face by rubbing it against the carpet. She was seconds away from getting the last piece off.
Calmly, he walked over and pressed on a new strip of tape. “You wouldn't be heard by anyone, anyway,” he said as she sagged in despair. “Just give me a few minutes, though, and we can chat all you like.'
He rose and headed for the garage to replace the phony license plates on the van. Now he was untraceable.
When he returned, he immediately went over to Melissa. Kneeling beside her, he rolled her onto her side and tore open her blouse. The helpless brunette squealed in alarm. “Shut up, bitch! You might as well get used to it, ‘cause we've got plenty of unpleasant surprises planned for you.'
With her blouse open, Preston used his pocket knife to cut through the center of her bra, allowing her huge breasts to spill free. He cupped them in his hands, roughly squeezing and pinching the soft mounds. “I know these aren't 100 % natural, but they're still fun to play with,” he chuckled.
After a minute of finger exercise, he reached over to a nearby table and picked up several rubber bands. “This is just to keep you occupied while I talk to our mystery girl.” One by one, he stretched the rubber bands over her breasts. They tightened painfully, creating irregular bulges of tit-flesh between them.
He stood and gazed at the suffering girl. She stared in disbelief at her own breasts, crying and straining against her bonds. “That'll do for now,” he said quietly. He turned toward the unknown woman. “Okay, blondie. Time to get to know you.'
CHAPTER 5
Sharae watched helplessly as the man ambled forward and knelt next to her. She couldn't believe what she'd just witnessed, the way this maniac had helped himself to that other woman's breasts, groping, squeezing, pinching, then constricting then in those rubber bands! Was he planning to torture her the same way?
He reached toward her face and she jerked her head back instinctively. She didn't want to get slapped again. He took one end of the tape and yanked it from her face.
She gasped in surprise then immediately screamed. “Help me! For God's sake! Somebody help me!'
He clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed up on her jaw. “Listen, bitch. If you wanna die, keep screaming.'
Sharae stopped and tears came to her eyes. He removed his hand from her face and sat back, studying her.
“Please let me go,” she begged.
“No can do, sweetcheeks.” She blushed as his eyes traveled over her body. “Tell me your name.'
She shook her head in defiance. “You'll never get away with this.'
Preston threw his head back and laughed. “I already have.'
“They'll find you, hunt you down,” she spat angrily at him. “You can't just-” She was cut off as his hand landed a hard slap.
“Tell me your fucking name.'
Tears spilled down her cheeks at the rage in his voice. “Sharae,” she said weakly. “Sharae Stevens.” What had made this man the way he was, she wondered? Did it make him feel like a big man to kidnap women and keeping them tied up? Did he derive some sick pleasure from it?
“Sharae…” he said slowly. The way he said it made her stomach turn and tie itself in knots. “Lovely name. It'll go very nicely with ‘Slave' in front of it.'
Slave? she thought. Not bloody likely. She was going to be rescued. It was only a matter of time before the police figured out everything.
“You know,” he continued. “You really should be thanking me, Sharae. I could just as easily have killed you when you stumbled upon us.” He motioned his head disdainfully toward the other woman.
He sat there staring at her expectantly. Was he actually waiting for her to thank him for not killing her? For trussing her up like a calf at a rodeo, or for referring to her some kind of slave?
“I'm waiting, Sharae,” he said testily. His grin transformed into a warning scowl. “Ordinarily, I'm a very patient man, but I can see you're in need of a serious attitude adjustment.'
“No!” she yelped. “I'm sorry. I–I thank you for not killing me.” She hated the sound of the words coming out of her own mouth.
“Sir…” he prompted.
“Sir,” she repeated.
“Again, from the beginning.'
She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. What an asshole, she thought. Then deliberately, she repeated, “Thank you, sir, for not killing me.'
He chuckled to himself. “You have a lot of spirit. I can tell. Not unusual at first, but soon you'll learn the
