And then it hit her—he was going to fuck her. With that big, hard cock that had been jutting through his pants like a missile through the entire fantasy. Thank God!

“Sasha,” he said then, “come lick this sweet cunt, since I know you want another taste of it.”

Just barely over her orgasm, Jenna’s body went numb. Sasha? He wanted Sasha to eat her? Moreover, he wanted her to let Sasha eat her? Enjoy Sasha eating her? Above her then, she saw Sasha lick her lips and cast Brent a naughty grin while Barbie hovered on the other side.

Her eyes must have looked crazed, since Brent gazed down and lowered his voice in that commanding way. “Now you’re going to please your master by letting lovely Sasha go down on you.” Then, to her shock, he winked. “Who knows—you might like her tongue even better than mine.”

Jenna said nothing, but sucked in her breath as Sasha and Brent quickly traded places, Sasha now on all fours between her parted thighs. Despite her orgasm, her pussy still pulsed, her heartbeat still pounding there. Barbie eased one arm around her shoulder and used her free hand to again lightly caress her breast. And—mmm, God—her cunt vibrated harshly; she was somehow truly excited again, that quickly.

So when Sasha’s small tongue flicked over her clit, Jenna simply shuddered and sighed. Oh—oh, it felt good.

Sasha’s next naughty lick was longer, like Brent’s, traveling all the way up through her pink flesh, then running in a heated little circle around her still-engorged clit.

“That’s so hot,” Brent murmured, watching Sasha’s ministrations closely. Then he used both hands to reach between Jenna’s thighs and part the lips of her pussy even wider for Sasha’s next oh-so-deep lick.

“Unh.” Jenna heard herself groan as the sensation snaked through her, and despite herself, she was aroused by it all—by the way Brent held her open, wanting her fully exposed; by Sasha’s eager, sensuous feasting; by the fact that now Barbie bent over her to massage her breasts, looking enraptured by her task.

Soon, though, Sasha stopped delivering licks and instead sucked on Jenna’s swollen clit. Like before, with Brent, she couldn’t help thrusting as moans of delight echoed from her. Nothing happening here made sense—this couldn’t be her, this couldn’t be real, it was all too strange—but the onslaught of pleasure made her forget all that as she simply sank into it, soaking it up.

As Sasha sucked her clit, Brent, now using only two fingers to part her pussy, dipped to lick her erect nipple. Barbie still squeezed and massaged both tits and it gave Brent the opportunity to draw Barbie’s index finger into his mouth as Jenna watched. Once it was wet, Barbie extracted it, using it to dampen Jenna’s other hard, pointed peak—after which she bent to lick it as well.

Oh—oh God. Jenna sighed her pleasure—it was too much, literally coming at her from all angles. It felt as if her body floated on an ocean wave as she thrust in a smooth, even rhythm, undulating between Sasha’s mouth at her cunt and Brent’s and Barbie’s on her tits.

The whole room seemed to moan with her—she sensed pleasure all around her. She lifted her arms above her head in sweet abandon and let herself simply feel it, simply take it, everything Brent wanted her to have. “Oh . . . oh,” she heard herself groan deeply. She couldn’t believe it, but just like last night, she was going to come again. From a woman’s mouth this time. It seemed impossible.

But then the climax hit, shorter than the first—yet still harder, too. She didn’t hold back—she couldn’t, her pelvis jerking against Sasha’s mouth of its own accord. But Sasha held on through the whole orgasm, during which Jenna heard herself crying out, “God, yes—oh, yes!”

When it passed and she opened her eyes, she spied Sasha between her legs, smiling lasciviously, then lowering a soft kiss near Jenna’s belly button, above the row of gold medallions still holding her harem skirt in place. Likewise, Barbie gently kissed the side of her breast, smiling sweetly. And Brent hovered next to her, whispering, “So fucking hot, my little slave girl.”

Then his voice took on a slightly more ferocious quality. “Now I’m going to give your hungry little pussy the last thing it needs tonight. Do you know what that is?”

With more boldness than she’d have believed she could show, she reached out and wrapped her hand around the thick column still poking at his pants. “This?”

He growled lightly at the touch, then said, “Mmm, yes, slave girl—that.” Then he yanked open the front of the thin white pants with one hand and his big cock burst free.

She gasped, and Barbie let out a hot sigh.

Jenna wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted anything as much as she wanted that incredible appendage inside her right now, and she bit her lower lip in eager need.

Within mere seconds, Brent and Sasha had switched positions again, and now it was Sasha who held Jenna’s pussy open with two hands—while Barbie reached boldly out, closed her fist around Brent’s cock, and guided it to Jenna’s opening.

When the head pushed in, Jenna moaned, feeling the entry in her gut. Then he drove inward, to the hilt, and she cried out as he groaned. Oh God, he was big! But good—so, so good inside her.

“How’s that cock feel, my little sex slave?”

She could barely speak, so her words came out breathy. “Huge. Amazing. Like it fills every inch of me.”

“It does,” he promised her. “Your pussy is fucking tight.”

She drew in her breath as he began to move in her. Short, slow strokes at first that made them both let out heated sighs. Sasha caressed Jenna’s inner thigh as he fucked her, while Barbie moved behind her, soon reaching around beneath Jenna’s arms to resume fondling her tits.

When Jenna’s eyes met Brent’s this time, he didn’t tell her to look anyplace else. In one sense, she could almost forget the other two girls were there, a part of their sex—but on the other hand, she stayed startlingly aware of their presence and excited to be sharing something so forbidden with Brent.

Soon he thrust harder, plunging deep, as he bent forward to nibble her breast. Barbie automatically lifted it for him, releasing Jenna’s other tit to run her fingers through Brent’s hair. While Sasha caressed Jenna’s hip with one hand, she used the other to caress Brent, his back, his leg, eventually even grabbing on to his ass.

After a long while of kissing her welcoming tits, Brent rose back upright and resumed fucking her wildly. The girls still touched them both, heightening every sensation, and Jenna cried out at each body-wracking plunge. “So damn tight and wet,” he rasped, teeth clenched, and she lifted to meet the brutal ramming of his rock-hard erection. She heard his cock moving in her wetness—the slap, slap, slap into her female juices—and knew she must be more drenched than ever before.

And just when she thought she’d felt everything there was to feel, she realized her clit was tingling hotly again—Sasha had reached down between her and Brent to rub it. Jenna’s every upward thrust met Sasha’s naughty touches as well as Brent’s length—until Jenna exploded into orgasm yet again!

She screamed it out in earnest—there was no stopping her cries or holding them in. She screamed and screamed—until finally her body went so weak she feared she couldn’t move another muscle.

And that’s when Brent said, “Aw, baby, I’m gonna come. Gonna come in your sweet pussy—hard.” His orgasmic strokes nearly lifted her from the pillows upon which she lay and she found herself reaching out, holding on to the cushions at her sides, trying to find purchase as he emptied into her.

Oh God. Oh wow.

Then he collapsed gently forward onto her body.

Over his shoulder, she saw Sasha and Barbie exchange lusty looks, as if maybe they finally needed some pleasure of their own—which in fairness, she could easily understand. And then they were gone, just like that, and Jenna sensed the entire room quietly emptying of all but her and Brent.

The fantasy was over. And she’d survived it.

Except—oh God, she truly couldn’t fathom the things she’d done.

She’d thought sex with Brent had felt like sex with a stranger—but it measured nothing compared to the things she’d done here tonight—or had done to her.

And yet . . . she had responded. With orgasm after amazing orgasm. Three. Dear God. She hadn’t known she could do that. As she rested her head more deeply in the plush pillows, she couldn’t quite decide how she felt about it all.

A long moment later, Brent rolled off her onto his side. He propped one fist beneath his head and rested his other hand on her stomach. It made her look down at her askew harem girl outfit, her breasts and pussy still on display. She felt brazen. But she liked the way his hand looked on her skin.

“How are you?” he asked, gazing down.

She tried to sort through it. “Aghast,” she finally replied.

“Don’t be. It was a beautiful thing to watch and take part in.”

She found herself shaking her head. “I’ve never . . . even thought about . . .”

“Shhh,” he said. “Doesn’t matter. It felt good. For you, tonight, that’s all that counts. Accepting that it felt good. And that you’re still the same person and that there was nothing wrong with it—no one got hurt; it was all about mutual pleasure.”

She took in his words—all were true. Her life would still go on. She was the same person she’d been before this.

But . . . was she? Or hadn’t something intrinsic changed inside her tonight? The real question, she decided, was how she felt about that and how she dealt with it. With secret shame or . . . secret satisfaction.

Jesus God, she’d aroused the hell out of him. Sure, he could credit some of it to the other girls—any facilitator at the Hotel Erotique was super hot—but he knew himself and his body, and he knew most of his excitement tonight had come from Jenna’s willingness. He’d always enjoyed watching girls together, but other girls who came here wanted what they were getting. To watch Jenna open herself to pleasure like that, to think of how far away that openness had been just a couple of days ago—shit, that was what had had his cock about to explode like a stick of dynamite.

He liked this too much, being both a guide and facilitator at once. Or maybe it was having her within his command that was getting him so worked up. Usually when he was in this position, it was with a woman who liked being submissive and wanted to play out that fantasy. But with Jenna, he was making her submit. His dick hardened further just to think about that: her trust in him, the way she liked pleasing him.

Of course, he couldn’t make her be this submissive for long. The ultimate goal was to give her sexual freedom, and taking her through a light domination/submission process was only a means to an end.

And maybe that was why—when she opened her eyes, looking so fucking . . . ready to give, ready to submit some more—he left behind his plans, his scripted fantasies for her, and did something totally, completely selfish.

Or . . . maybe it wasn’t a hundred percent just for him. Maybe it was simply the next step in her journey. Maybe he was just taking a cue from her that would pleasure them both.

Either way, nothing could have stopped him in that moment. Right now, he wanted what he wanted. To dominate some more. He’d made her take tonight—now he wanted to make her give.

So when she gazed up at him so pretty and open and innocent, he took her face in his hands and said, unsmiling, voice low, “Suck my cock, slave girl.”

It stiffened him almost painfully when sweet Jenna didn’t even hesitate. She simply moved down his body until she reached his already erect shaft, gently closing her hand around it. He sighed, drew in his breath. God, he really wanted this, really wanted to see and feel her mouth on him. “That’s right,” he urged softly. “Suck it.”

And . . . mmm, that’s what she did, sinking her warm mouth over the tip of his cock, then taking him farther, deeper, soon beginning to slide her lips up and down his rigid length.

He watched her, felt the power of her affections moving through him, and . . . fuck. What the hell was he feeling? Something too . . . tender, too soft. He ran his hands through her hair, felt the slow passion inside her as she found a steady rhythm, heard himself whispering, “So good, baby. So good.”

Such sweetness wasn’t what he’d intended when he’d told her to suck him—but something about her pulled at his heart. Even during the harem fantasy, there’d been moments when he’d let himself feel more gentle than he’d intended—and of course, he knew, again, this was exactly why guides never fucked their own guests. But you’re in this now, and you’ll just have to work it out, that’s all.

As she sucked him some more, he remembered again how incredibly hot and beautiful she’d been with the other girls, all of them in their chiffon costumes looking like any man’s dream come true. She was beginning to change, his Little Miss Sunshine, beginning to let go of her old sexual ideas. Even though they had a long road ahead, she was already experiencing things, because of him, that she never would have otherwise. And that made him feel powerful.

So when she looked up, her mouth stretched obscenely around the circumference of his thick shaft but her eyes still remarkably innocent, giving—hell, it pushed him over the edge in a way he hadn’t seen coming. “Oh God, Jenna,” he moaned, then did his best to physically lift her from his cock without being forceful—he didn’t want to come in her mouth; he didn’t think she could take that and it wasn’t important to him.

“What?” she asked, looking worried.

“I’m gonna come,” he growled. “Push your tits together for me.”

Again, without hesitation, she did it.

And he took his throbbing cock in hand and helped himself the last bit of the way there, then groaned his pleasure as his hot semen shot onto her pretty breasts in three intense bursts.

She was breathing hard, looking down at her come-spattered tits as well, and it dawned on him that maybe—probably—no one had ever ejaculated with her like this before and she likely thought it was kinky as hell, like everything else he did with her. Releasing his dick, he cupped her breasts in his palms and said, “They look amazing this way.”

“They do?” All innocence.

He simply nodded. “Hot. Dirty. It turns me on sometimes to come like that.” Then he met her gaze. “And it would turn me on even more to watch you rub it in.”

She sucked in her breath. And he almost thought of rescinding the request—this wasn’t part of the plan, after all, and she surely needed some downtime, some safe time, without his sexual demands.

But he didn’t. Because even if it wasn’t part of the original strategy, this was no time to start letting her make choices or feel less submissive to him—it was too early for that and could cause her to regress.

So he simply looked at her, prodding her with his eyes.

And she slowly reached up and used both hands to gingerly massage his semen into her skin. It practically gave him another hard-on already to see her chest, tits, wet and shiny with his juices. “Sleep with it that way, me on you,” he told her.

Again, she visibly pulled in her breath—but he said no more, growing quickly drowsy again. His eyes fell shut, yet that naughty vision of Jenna wet with his come stayed in his mind as he slept.

“Morning,” she said, those blue eyes easing open.

“Morning,” he returned, trying not to put any particular emotion in his voice.

But then her arms looped around his neck and she proceeded to kiss him, and just like in the schoolroom, he couldn’t resist. So he kissed her back for a long, hot, pleasant minute, even lifting his palm to cradle one bare breast—but when the kisses ended and she smiled into his eyes, he knew he had to put a stop to this. Because she was looking sort of . . . romantic. And in some other setting, some other world, he might have been inclined to do the same, but he had to snap out of it. He was her guide, her tutor. That was it.

So he sat up, out of her grasp, and pulled his pants together in front while making small talk. “You should go get some more sleep,” he said, “since you’ll need to stay well rested for your upcoming fantasies.”

She sat up beside him. “Do I have any homework this time?”

He held in his smile. It didn’t surprise him to learn Jenna really was a good student—apparently, once she committed to something, even “sex school,” she intended to do a good job. And she was doing a very good job already. “Homework,” he said, pondering it. “Let’s keep this simple. I just want you to think about the various pleasures you experienced last night, and I want you to quit being aghast about it. You did admirably well—you were fucking amazing, actually—but we still have a long way to go and you need to be ready for it.”

Meeting her gaze, he could see his last words clearly concerned her a little. And maybe that was good, given the next fantasy he had slated for her.

“The next one won’t be so soft, sunshine. You should prepare yourself for that.”

Well, she understood that in a way—all the female curves, the lulling music, the soft fabrics and equally soft touches—but it had been a lot to handle at once. So it hadn’t felt soft. Utterly seductive, maybe, but not soft. So what was coming tonight?

Although maybe she shouldn’t worry so much about what was coming as what had already been. Concentrate on your homework.

She still couldn’t quite believe she’d fooled around with other girls. Or let them fool around with her anyway—she hadn’t exactly taken an active role. Still, even Shannon had never done that—other than one drunken bump-and-grind fest with a stripper in New Orleans at Kevin’s prodding. Shannon had been red-faced telling her about it afterward, but had finally summed it up with, “What can I say? Something about it was really hot.”

Jenna had concluded that a drunk Shannon was not a great judge of what was hot—but now she got it, sort of. Probably far more than Shannon did, actually. There was a world of pleasures to be experienced out there, and many of them simply weren’t . . . traditional, not what anyone in her suburban neighborhood growing up had been raised to think was normal, by a long shot. But that didn’t mean it didn’t feel good. It had. And she supposed that here, at the Hotel Erotique, it was normal. Maybe Brent really did know exactly what she needed.

So as she peered out over the vast Caribbean waters in the distance, sparkling in the sunlight, she made herself a vow. Whatever was coming, she would take it. She wouldn’t use her safeword. Whatever sex Brent thrust upon her, she would endure it. For him. And even for herself. If she could do what she’d done last night and come out feeling better, stronger, for it—instead of just freaked out and ashamed like she probably would have a few days ago—she could do anything he wanted her to. She would show him just how sexual she could be.

Not that she was sure when this had become about Brent. From the beginning, she supposed, at that first dinner. But if getting a little caught up in him was necessary to make her break out of her sexual shell, so be it. In fact, that was probably the only way this could happen. And when she left here, maybe she’d surprise herself and discover she could have casual sex more easily now; maybe she’d find she could appreciate it solely for the physical pleasure it brought, not the emotional part. Maybe.

Just then, a knock came on her door. She barely heard it from the balcony, but rose on bare feet to go answer. She opened it to find only a small black gift bag, which she picked up and took inside. Reaching into black tissue paper, she found a velvet jewelry box with a white envelope—and being a girl, she couldn’t resist opening the box first.

But, lifting the lid, she didn’t know what she was seeing. The little pieces of silver jewelry came in a pair, like earrings—but they weren’t earrings. Although they were circular, open-ended, and unadorned. She sighed. God, she should have known a box from Brent wouldn’t contain anything simple.

Which left her no choice but to rip into the white envelope, seeking answers.

Oh boy. Just when you thought things couldn’t get any weirder around here. Nipple rings? Was he serious? Oh, what are you thinking—of course he is.

And, of course, he’d never know if she didn’t put them on yet—she could keep them in the box right up until the next fantasy and he’d never know.

But . . . maybe she was curious.

And maybe she was truly starting to trust him more—at least about what brought her pleasure.

Hell, when else in her life would she have a good reason to put on nipple rings, for heaven’s sake?

So, taking a deep breath, she carried the box into the bathroom to stand before the large mirror atop the sink. Then she reached up, drawing down the straps of the cami she wore and the bra underneath.

It struck her then how everyone had seemed so taken by her boobs last night. They weren’t the perkiest pieces of her anatomy, which had always bothered her, but . . . they were ample and round, with large pink nipples that, as Brent had noticed, often stayed erect whether or not she was consciously aroused. So maybe they were . . . more striking than she’d ever realized.

In fact, now that she thought about it, some of the harem girls’ breasts hadn’t been as firm and porn-perfect as she might have expected, either, so . . . hmm. Maybe it meant breasts didn’t have to be perfect to be appealing.

But she hadn’t come in here just to analyze her tits.

Tits, she thought then, a little surprised at herself. She really had adapted to Brent’s way of talking—shockingly fast. She could only blame it on the aura of lust and debauchery in the air here.

Finally, she reached into the small velvet box and drew out one of the nipple rings—a simple silver circle with tiny round balls on each end. Playing with it a bit, she discovered it was flexible, as he’d implied, and could be adjusted. As usual, her nipples were already pointing prominently, so she slipped the ring on her right nipple, then squeezed it enough to make it cling there.

After which she looked in the mirror, then bit her lip.

Amused by the thought, she put on the other ring and looked again, unable to deny that feeling kinky was kind of hot.

Although she didn’t think feeling kinky was the sole goal of the jewelry—the idea, he’d let her know, was to be physically aware of it. So she reached up, squeezing each ring a little tighter, until she suffered a soft pinching sensation that echoed through her pussy. That’s when she realized the constant pressure of the rings probably kept a woman’s nipples hard for as long as she wore them. Which likely kept her just slightly aroused for the duration. And that was probably the real purpose behind them.

Hmm. Well, she would see about that.

Finally, she put on a sundress, deciding to venture to one of the resort’s restaurants for dinner. Given that she was at the Hotel Erotique, she wore one of her thinner, prettier bras underneath—and felt unduly sexy to leave the room with her nipples jutting through the pale blue fabric of her dress, knowing she still wore the nipple rings. Her pussy tingled within her lacy thong—not her usual undies, but another of the items bought specifically for her trip. Her only disappointment was knowing Brent wouldn’t see them.

She chose a casual restaurant located on a deck overlooking the ocean, complete with tiki torches. The sun was just beginning to set as she arrived at the Paradise Grill, and a calypso band played on a small stage in the corner.

It was strange to sit down and look around at the other people—couples, friends, again knowing they were all here for extreme forms of sex. But she felt less embarrassed by it now than she had before.

She drank an erotic rum punch while she awaited her food, having chosen a simple barbeque sandwich with coleslaw and fries. If she had the night off, she was going to be low-key about everything, just relaxing and enjoying the downtime. Even if she continued to remain more aware of her body than usual. She wasn’t sure whether to blame it on the nipple rings or on three successive nights of hot sex. But she tried to take pleasure from the awareness more than push it aside—because that’s why she was here, right? To learn to enjoy her body. And besides, she knew more sex was coming, even if it wasn’t tonight.

The food was good without being too filling, so she indulged in a piece of key lime pie for dessert, enjoying the Caribbean music and the vibrant colors left behind in the sky when the sun sank past the horizon.

When the band played a particularly upbeat instrumental tune, heavy on the steel drums, the lead singer—a tall, handsome black man with a light Jamaican accent—encouraged the crowd to dance. “Up on ya feet—everybody.”

One couple took the floor, then another, soon joined by a group of three girls who looked a little tipsy on their heels but appeared to be having a good time. Probably because Jenna happened to be the only person dining alone, the singer—who bore a striking resemblance to Blair Underwood—wove through the tables to offer a smile as he held out his hand. “Dance with me, pretty lady.”

She instinctively waved him away.

But then he cast a teasing look, an enticing look, and said with that soft island lilt, “Come now, lady—don’t break my heart.” He laid a dark hand across his chest. “Share a dance with me tonight.”

And suddenly it hit Jenna: She wanted to dance with this man. Because it was a beautiful night and a warm tropical breeze wafted over the deck. And because the music was intoxicating and fun. And because she had on a pretty dress and there was simply no reason not to.

So this time she put her hand in his and pushed back her chair. He led her to the dance floor, where she found the beat easy to move to and realized she was truly enjoying herself. A few days ago? She never would’ve done something like this, simple as it was. Maybe with Shannon, but never by herself. She would have feared looking silly, tripping over her feet or dancing badly, people staring. But somehow, now, none of that mattered.

She danced with the handsome man for the remainder of the song, occasionally daring to smile up into his eyes—which were always on her when she checked, it seemed—and when the music ended, he gallantly kissed her hand and said, “Thank you for the dance, my dear.”

A bit flushed but energized from the exertion, she headed back to her table—only to see Brent sitting there grinning at her.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, sinking back into her chair.

“Long enough to see a side of you I didn’t know was there.”

She lowered her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I didn’t, either.”

“I like it.”

She smiled, feeling a bit self-indulgent. “I think I do, too.”

“I was afraid last night might have sent you swimming for the mainland, but it looks like you survived quite nicely.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” she shot back at him coolly, as if she hadn’t indulged in ultra-kinky, near-orgy type sex last night.

“I have all the faith in the world in you, Jenna. And I’ll have even more if you assure me you’re no longer aghast.”

She tilted her head, weighing how she felt—for some reason, Brent always made her want to be as honest as possible. “Yes, less aghast. Although . . . it seems surreal. Like something I could have dreamed—even though I’ve never had a dream like that before. I guess I’ve begun to learn that . . . I can find pleasure in things I never would have thought possible.”

He gave a solemn but satisfied nod. “Very good, sunshine. And speaking of that, are you wearing what I sent you?”

The mere question made her pussy quiver. “Yes.”

“Good,” he replied simply.

“So . . .” she ventured, “do I have . . . plans tonight?”

He gave his head a short shake, and despite having already feared as much, she suffered a twinge of disappointment. “You get the night off to rest. I just happened to see this vision in blue dancing as I headed home, so I thought I’d stop and say hi.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you did. But where’s home? You live here, on the island, right?”

He nodded. “I have a private bungalow up the beach.”

“Wow—sounds nice. I hadn’t thought about what staff accommodations might be like.”

“Only the other owners and I have houses,” he explained. “Everyone else lives in apartments or dorms, depending on tenure.”

She nodded, then let herself smile in amusement. “Tenure. Who knew the Hotel Erotique thought in such lofty terms?”

He chuckled warmly, but changed the subject. “You will have some more light homework, though. You’ll find your assignment when you return to your room.”

For some reason, that thought actually pleased her, but she didn’t examine why.

Just then, Brent pushed back his chair, clearly preparing to go. “By the way, just because I saw you accidentally tonight, that doesn’t mean you can take off the special jewelry I sent.”

Hmm. “So you’re saying you want me to wear it until . . .”

“Until I see you again. Tomorrow evening.”

He looked arrogantly content with his answer. But her dance with her new Jamaican friend had her feeling a bit bolder than she sometimes did with Brent. “I could just take it off, then put it back on before I see you.”

“You won’t,” he said, completely certain.

She tilted her head. “What makes you so sure?”

“You’re an obedient little student, Jenna,” he said, his voice still all confidence as he met her gaze, “and you do what I say.”

She still wanted to fight back. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“You already have. Every day since we’ve met. But you’ll still do as I tell you.” Then he leaned in and spoke lower. “Because you’ve begun to figure out that I know what I’m doing and that it all brings you more pleasure than you’ve ever known. Plus—you like pleasing your master,” he added with a wink, then stood and walked away.

Jenna followed Brent’s instructions, and such bold, naughty thoughts came more easily than they would have before her arrival here. She thought through the sex partners she’d known in her life—a handful of guys, all of whom she’d felt deeply about. And she’d loved the way their cocks had felt inside her, yet . . . she’d often felt timid around the appendage, too. It was so . . . foreign compared to anything on a woman’s body. And she’d been utterly shocked the first time she’d seen one—in a movie actually, as a young teenager, with Shannon, who’d insisted on watching R-rated films on cable when her parents were away one winter day.

Of course, she’d long since learned to appreciate the merits of a penis. But the truth was, she’d honestly felt more enamored of Brent’s cock in the few short days she’d known him than in any she’d had before. It was so big, downright majestic looking, like one more ultra-strong, sure part of him. And he used it so damn well, too.

When he’d demanded she suck it in the middle of the night, the command had excited her and she’d instantly embraced her task. Which, now, struck her as odd since going down on a guy had never been her favorite activity. It was something she’d done to please her lovers, and she’d taken satisfaction from their pleasure, but she’d never taken personal , physical pleasure from the act—until last night. She’d wanted to get up close and personal with Brent’s magnificent shaft.

In addition to thinking about cocks, though, Jenna also found herself thinking about breasts, nipples. Her own. She’d felt ridiculously erotic showering in the nipple rings—which seemed content to hug the pink peaks pleasantly tight without ever growing uncomfortable.

And sleeping in them—in a cami and boy-short panties—kept her in a slight but constant state of arousal all night. She had vague dreams—of Brent, and harem girls, and hard cocks—and she woke more often than usual, repeatedly finding herself reaching up to touch, to see if the tips of her breasts were still hard, still encircled, and they always were.

The next morning, as she donned her bikini, she found herself again enjoying the kinky look of her tits in the mirror. And as she took a lounge chair at the pool, it titillated her to know she wore the rings beneath her leopard print, and that they likely made her nipples protrude even more than usual through the tight Lycra. Every time she spoke to an even remotely attractive man—a waiter at the pool or anyone else—her pussy surged with the mere thought of how hard the guy would get if he knew about her hidden jewelry.

She tried to read more of the Civil War memoir, realizing she’d barely read thirty pages in five days. Yet she simply couldn’t concentrate. Her pussy tingled too pleasantly from the effect of having worn the nipple rings for nearly twenty-four hours now—and from simply feeling sexy in her bikini, her body stretched out across the chaise in the sun.

So she simply soaked up the rays, drank a couple of erotic rum punches, ordered a sandwich for lunch from her spot by the pool, then returned to her room by five, as Brent had instructed.

Walking in, she found a large black gift box on the bed, tied with red ribbon. A black envelope rested on top.

As usual, she couldn’t bear to open the envelope first, going straight for the box. Standing there in her bikini, she briskly untied the ribbon, yanked off the lid—and gasped. Inside rested an elaborate outfit of black leather. The main item: a boned leather corset with thick shoulder straps, but the molded cups for her breasts looked tiny. Next she encountered a pair of black fishnet stockings—then realized the corset possessed garters. Digging deeper in red tissue paper, she drew in her breath upon discovering a pair of high leather boots with the same stripperlike platform heels she’d worn with her Catholic schoolgirl outfit. And then—oh, dear God—she came across what appeared to be a black leather . . . collar, decorated with silver rings, and two matching . . . cuffs, to be worn on her wrists perhaps? Underneath it all lay a black vinyl trench coat—to wear over the naughty outfit when leaving her room, she supposed.

The truth was—by the time she’d examined the whole outfit, her heart beat like a drum against her chest. Despite Brent’s warnings, she’d not thought much about what lay ahead—which was just as well, since she couldn’t have imagined . . . this.

Barely able to think straight, she tore into the envelope to extract an invitation, this one on thick red paper, printed with black ink in a rather menacing-looking font.