The goals were the same as last night’s—but more intense. Tonight she would be instructed not only in taking, but in giving. Tonight she would be exposed to rougher sex—and other partners, not just women this time. Tonight he would teach her that sex didn’t have to be gentle to be good. No silk sheets and violins for you, sunshine.

He hoped like hell she’d stick this out and keep trusting him. It had to happen for her to make the leap to true sexual comfort and freedom. She might never do anything this wild again, but she had to do it tonight if she were to be truly, deeply happy in her sexuality. It was just her bad luck she’d gotten ugly impressions of sex in her youth—but since she had, and since it had affected her lifelong outlook on the activity, she had to take big, definitive steps to alter those perceptions.

Despite himself, he would take it personally if she opted out. Not only would he fear he’d failed her—but he would fear for the rest of her sexual life. Oh, he knew she’d be okay—not miserable or anything—but he wanted more than that for Jenna. He wanted her to know every possible pleasure, every joy. And besides, he’d be sorry to see her leave, since he was enjoying this particular challenge—as well as the guest who’d challenged him. His cock was already stiff, not only because playing the dominant came so easy to him, but because he ached to see her nipples wrapped with those tight silver rings.

Glancing around the room, he thought briefly through his plans for her. BDSM tools and toys hung on the pegboard secured to the fake stone walls across the room and lay upon the black wooden bench in front of it. Nearby, adjustable-length chains for securing slaves extended from the pseudo-rock wall, along with a variety of cuffs and harnesses. Various padded tables dotted the space, some with chains attached, others with leather restraints, still more with cuffs at each corner or steel rings for slipping ropes or other tethers through. Far to his right stood the whipping post and what the facilitators casually referred to as the pommel horse, an apparatus for bending someone over for spanking or fucking. And near the door hung the black bands of the room’s two sex swings, and beyond that, the stocks and cage.

The room was specially designed to make visitors feel they’d gone underground—even though that would be impossible on a small island. Jenna would soon be entering a building on the ground floor, following her instructions toward a set of dark, winding stairs that led downward—but the structure had been built on a slope, and the entrance just happened to be on a higher piece of land than most of the island.

Throughout the room, facilitators stood chatting, ready to take their places when she arrived. For tonight in particular, he’d chosen people who fit everything he knew about what appealed to her on both a conscious and a subconscious level. And while he’d told her it was possible other guests could show up in her fantasies, mostly, Jenna would encounter only trained facilitators—given her trepidations, he couldn’t risk including someone he didn’t know. Especially tonight.

Now he had to hope he had it all just right.

He sighed, thinking ahead to the evening. If it went well, he would enjoy it tremendously, as he had the previous fantasies he’d created for her—but even if she didn’t use the safeword at any point, she still might be angry with him when this was over. So be it. Going soft on her wouldn’t give her what she needed now.

So tonight, everything coming her way would be very hard.

The fact was, after checking herself out in the mirror, she’d felt like a sex queen. A dominatrix. A woman far bolder—sexually—than she could ever be. If the ensemble had come with panties, she was sure they’d be soaked by now, especially when she added her ongoing arousal from the nipple rings and other less obvious stimuli from the last day and a half. So she was very ready for sex.

She was just scared to death about what she’d find at the bottom of these stairs.

Please let it be only Brent. More slave play she could handle, even though it would obviously be darker than last night’s. Domination, submission—she thought she could handle that, too—so long as Brent was the only other person involved. And maybe he was intuitive enough to realize that. God knew he’d been intuitive enough about her so far.

She still couldn’t believe she was starting out the evening pantyless, though—that her cunt was completely bare beneath the coat, without even the sheer covering her harem skirt had provided. The corset itself extended to her hips, but not beyond—and the boning made her feel very bound already. Which was the idea, she supposed. As she’d suspected, the leather cups for her breasts were small, just barely covering her nipples, and the corset shoved her breasts high, making them look plump and sexy.

Yet, of everything she wore, as weird as all of it felt, the most unsettling accessories were the collar and wrist cuffs. They weren’t uncomfortable, but in her mind, they lifted the kinkiness of the outfit to a whole different level. Even so, she’d tried—for Brent, and for herself—to embrace this as much as possible, even applying exaggerated eyeliner in some attempt to look a little more daring than usual.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, she encountered a heavy wooden door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

But this clearly wasn’t the dungeon—this was some sort of entryway to the dungeon, just like she’d gone through for her other fantasies. Although she’d dressed in her room, she could see the same clothing hooks and closets she’d encountered en route to the schoolroom and harem room.

Just then, the door on the opposite wall of the small space opened and in stepped a beautiful . . . porn star. That’s all Jenna could think, since that’s what the girl looked like. The blonde was gorgeous and topless, with large, perfect boobs. She wore a miniscule leather skirt with black stockings and black patent-leather stripper heels. Both the skirt and shoes possessed lots of silver buckles. “You must be Jenna,” the girl said as naturally as any party hostess.

Taken aback, Jenna could only nod.

“I’m Serena,” the petite but buxom blonde said. “Let me take your coat.”

Jenna could barely breathe as she untied and unbuttoned the long trench—and when she slipped it off, she was trembling with nerves.

Serena noticed. After tossing the coat on a wall hook, she turned back to Jenna with what looked like genuine concern. “I know you haven’t played any BDSM games before, but there’s nothing to be afraid of—I promise.”

“Okay,” Jenna managed to eke out, yet she knew she didn’t sound convinced.

Serena held up one finger. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and not thirty seconds later, she returned with a glass of white wine. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”

Jenna took it, sat down on the padded bench near the door, and sipped. She’d downed half the bottle of pinot grigio that had come with dinner, but that had been hours ago. It just now occurred to her that Brent had probably sent it to relax her before the fantasy. So she drank more from her glass, eager to take the edge off her anxiety.

Serena sat down beside her, shifting to face her. “About the BDSM—let me assure you no one here would ever do anything to cause you real pain unless you specifically requested that, and even then, we have our limits. Your fantasy tonight isn’t about pain—it’s about discipline and obedience. I hope that helps assuage your fears a little.”

“Actually, it does.” Deep down, she knew Brent wouldn’t hurt her, but given the setting and lack of control involved, it was a little scary. “Brent always says that everything he designs for me will ultimately bring me pleasure.” She supposed she was reaching out to Serena for even more reassurance.

“Completely true. After all, that’s what we’re all here for,” she added with a smile as she squeezed Jenna’s hand.

You seem so nice, Jenna wanted to say. Why do you work here? Why did anyone work here? But then, why was she here herself? Maybe the circumstances that brought someone to the Hotel Erotique were too complex to be tackled in pre-fantasy small talk.

“Drink up,” the topless Serena said, then widened her eyes playfully. “And let yourself get excited about this!”

“Okay,” Jenna said, finishing the wine and setting the glass beside her.

Then she watched as Serena reached into the nearby chifforobe and pulled out a long, thin length of leather—which she then smoothly snapped onto one of the decorative rings on Jenna’s neck collar.

Oh God. Oh shit. They weren’t just decorative. “Um . . .” she said nervously.

But Serena acted as if it were nothing. “Just a little leash,” she said. “Remember, you’re Brent’s new slave tonight—and it’s my job to deliver you. And . . . I might not seem as friendly once we’re inside, but that’s just part of the game. Don’t be afraid. Let your body love this.”

With that, she opened the door and pulled gently on the leash, and Jenna literally had no choice but to follow her through—into what looked like a true dungeon, complete with curving rock walls and ceiling. Except, glancing around the room, she could see this wasn’t a place where people were banished to die—it was clearly where people came to be punished.

Brent sat in a large black chair atop a small pedestal, but Jenna was so busy taking it all in—the strange, scary equipment and the other men and women in the room, all wearing more domination-style black leather or shiny vinyl—that she didn’t even look at him at first. He’d been right—the harem fantasy had been a walk in the park compared to this. She wished she were back in the harem room in her flowy chiffon right now.

“The new sex slave, master,” Serena said, leading Jenna to Brent’s perch.

Their eyes met, only for a second, before his gaze swept down her body. He didn’t smile, but she wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t expecting many smiles here. “Chain her to the wall,” he said.

The wine had just hit her and she went light-headed. Chain her to the wall? But when Serena tugged, she followed—what else could she do?

Say Susan B. Anthony, a little voice in the back of her mind answered.

But a submissive slave wouldn’t even think about saying it.

She stood obediently, trying to relax her breathing, as Serena pushed her back to the wall directly across from Brent, from which chains protruded at various heights. Serena secured one of the chains to her collar, after which she removed the leash. Then she hooked chains to each of the cuffs on Jenna’s wrists. Thankfully, their length left plenty of room to move around if she chose—but she still felt trapped. Why on earth did that make her pussy spasm?

“Get her tits out,” Brent commanded then, making Jenna flinch atop her impossibly high heels. “But be careful—she’s wearing nipple rings.”

With movements still as smooth as silk, Serena reached up to draw down the leather cups covering Jenna’s breasts. And there she was, as topless as Serena—and bottomless, too—in a room full of strangers.

And, of course, her breasts, nipples, remained sensitive and aroused from the rings—and a glance toward Brent told her he knew it. “The nipple rings suit you, slave.”

Jenna wasn’t sure how to reply. “Thank you,” she answered feebly.

“Master,” Serena whispered next to her.

“Huh?”

“Thank you, master,” she said softly. “You must always address him as master.”

“Thank you, master,” Jenna repeated, but the words came out light, barely audible, because this felt so strange.

“Attach a nipple chain, Serena,” he instructed, and while Jenna waited to see what the hell that was, she realized her breasts were heaving a bit—still from nervousness, but also from the stark arousal she’d been suffering. Nothing here should be arousing her—and nothing was, mentally—but after so much unanswered lust, her body seemed to be responding to the hard sexual aura of the setting: the clothes she wore; the men and women staring at her breasts and pussy right now; and knowing that whatever Brent wanted to give her here, she had to take. Unless she ended it all with the safeword. She’d decided unequivocally not to use it, but this fantasy had her reconsidering that.

Serena returned from a nearby cabinet with a much smaller chain in hand—thank God—than those that held Jenna to the wall. Carefully, she slid one link at the end of the silver chain onto the overlapping end of one nipple ring, then repeated the process at the other breast, leaving the length to dangle in a semicircle between Jenna’s boobs. Glancing down, she noticed black beads decorating the chain, like a necklace—except it hung from her nipples.

“What’s it for?” she asked Serena.

“Did I give you permission to speak, slave?” Brent boomed from his chair.

Jenna flinched, but no one else seemed surprised. “Um, no,” she managed timidly.

“You do not speak unless spoken to. You are here for my pleasure, to do my bidding—nothing more. Do you understand that?”

She swallowed nervously around the lump rising in her throat and forced a nod. She couldn’t speak at will? That made her uncomfortable.

“Serena,” he said, still sounding brusque, “you may tell the new slave the purposes of the nipple chain.”

Serena looked to Jenna and said, “Two purposes. It looks sexy. And this.” She reached up, curled the tip of her index finger under the dangling chain, and gave a light tug.

Which sent a burst of sensation that straddled the line between pleasure and pain shooting through Jenna’s breasts and outward. “Ooooh,” she sobbed lightly, noting the dark amusement on Serena’s face.

After this, Brent left his chair, moving in a leisurely manner, not meeting her gaze as he walked past to take something from the wall at her left. Then he came to stand in front of her—looking frighteningly handsome tonight, she realized—holding on to a tool which she recognized, sort of, from her studies of Medieval times. Designed to look like a cat-o’-nine-tails—a torture device—this was smaller and constructed of thin leather strips, both black and red. It resembled a limp leather pom-pom—but would clearly inflict pain. “Have you ever seen a flogger before, slave?”

Now he met her gaze, but it didn’t feel like she was looking at Brent—she was actually a little frightened of him right now, and so far, she didn’t like this fantasy very much. She shook her head, afraid to answer audibly.

“A flogger can be used in soft ways,” he said, his voice growing slightly more gentle as he dragged the leather strips across her breasts, making them tingle and ache, then down her arm in a caress that left her burning for his touch.

“Or,” he went on, “it can be used to punish.” She feared he might strike her, but instead he snapped the tool harshly against his own thigh. “Be a good, obedient little sex slave and you won’t have to suffer the latter.”

She wasn’t sure whether to nod, so she didn’t—simply suffered the unexpected ribbons of pleasure that fluttered through her in response to the flogger’s fingerlike strips.

“Now,” he said, turning back to Serena, “take that to the new slave.” He pointed to a small, round stool, the seat padded in black leather, like so much else in the room.

Serena situated the stool against the wall beside Jenna.

Brent then pointed at it again. “Sit, slave.”

Jenna sat, made aware of the chains that bound her, when she moved—and of her bare ass, when it encountered the leather.

“Now spread your legs wide.”

The demand caught her off guard and the very idea left her feeling horribly exposed. So much that she considered refusing. But that was fear talking, and Brent’s words echoed in her head once more. Never use your safeword out of fear.

So Jenna took a deep breath and slowly parted her legs—mostly covered with her boots and fishnets—as wide as she comfortably could, putting her surely glistening pussy on full display for everyone in the dungeon. The move made her swallow nervously—yet again, she oozed with unexpected, unbidden excitement. God, how strange.

Brent now passed his flogger to Serena. “Tease her cunt,” he instructed simply.

So Serena knelt between Jenna’s thighs and gently began brushing the flogger up and down through her pussy as if it were a feather duster and Jenna’s crotch needed tidying.

And—oh God—it was hard not to react. The fact that her cunt was shaved left the soft skin there ultrasensitive to such a light touch. Not to mention the effect the tender strokes had on her clit, which she suspected had been protruding from her slit long before she’d parted her legs at Brent’s command.

Again and again, Serena swept the flogger between her thighs, and it was impossible for Jenna to hold in her sighs, impossible not to thrust ever so gently against it.

She didn’t look at Brent—for some reason, she didn’t want to acknowledge to him how much pleasure this particularly kinky act was bringing her. At moments, she looked at Serena, but that felt odd, too, and at other moments, she simply looked down, at the flogger and her pussy—but again, weird. So finally, she just closed her eyes—and then, oh God, she really felt it, even letting a soft moan escape her lips.

“Gabe, Zack, secure the new slave’s arms tighter to the wall.”

Brent’s voice briefly interrupted Jenna’s pleasure to make her glance up, but her pussy felt so swollen and hot now that even this command didn’t frighten her the way it might have just minutes ago. Maybe she was starting to get accustomed to the game here.

In fact, rather than worry about what was happening, she found herself more interested to see exactly who was joining the festivities— and, oh my, her whole body warmed further at the sight of the two strapping, muscular guys heading her way through the dim lighting.

She decided the one with the large Z—like the mark of Zorro—tattooed on his arm was surely Zack. Sporting long, dark hair and a silver hoop earring, he looked like . . . a biker or someone equally as dangerous. Gabe, on the other hand, was—oh shit, how had she forgotten? Gabe was her greeter and co-pilot! He looked scruffy but sexy tonight, his dark blond locks messy, a light, stubbly beard shading his face.

She stayed utterly brave as the two men positioned themselves on both sides of her and pulled on the chains attaching her to the wall—simultaneously hoisting her arms from her sides to an outstretched position, as if she were being crucified. The move thrust her breasts forward, jiggling her nipple chain lightly, and though it was far less comfortable than before, the cuffs supporting her wrists were soft, and the flogger at her cunt continued to deliver delectable sensations. The position somehow left her feeling even more on display, but despite herself, that only upped her excitement.

When a large shadow moved over her, she looked up to see Brent—easily lifting one leg over the kneeling Serena to bring his bulging crotch eye level with Jenna. She leaned her head back to peer up at him—and oh God, he felt powerful and ominous looming over her, muscular and hot.

But she instantly drew her eyes downward when he began working at the front opening of his leather pants, and a few seconds later, his big cock came free, somehow appearing more enormous than usual just an inch from her face.

He took his hard shaft in hand, bending it toward her, and said, “Suck it, slave.” Then he smoothly fed it to her.

She accepted it willingly, at once stunned but not, at once embarrassed at performing such an intimate act in front of others . . . but not. Pure, hot, animal lust overrode every negative emotion and in that moment, she became—truly—his willing slave in a way she had not before now. Something about that strange pleasure, the heat of sucking his cock mixed with having no choice, no control, enslaved her to him. She suddenly didn’t mind that her arms were being stretched and that she had no use of them. She didn’t mind the harsh setting, her harsh master, the strangers surrounding her. Nothing else mattered in those moments but sensation, both physical and mental.

Brent moved his rigid length in and out of her accepting mouth like a piston, emitting low sounds of pleasure with each steady thrust. Soon, he held her head with both hands, threading his fingers through her hair. As Serena pleasured Jenna, Jenna pleasured Brent, and she found a primal joy in being a tool for his gratification. Part of her, her logical self, thought she should have felt devalued, degraded—and yet . . . there was something deeper at work here. Because she felt completely the opposite. She felt vital, giving, like a fully realized sexual being, as she’d yearned to feel in the harem room last night. She was surrendering to him everything he asked—demanded—of her, and with it came an undeniable freedom she’d never experienced.

She felt free to suck his hard cock with unbridled enthusiasm, even as Gabe and Zack watched closely. She felt free to accept the pleasure Serena’s flogger delivered so gently, along with the more brutal pleasure of having Brent drive his cock repeatedly toward her throat. She felt free to be sexy and dirty in front of everyone in the room. She felt free to give herself over to whatever Brent wanted.

“That’s good, baby, so fucking hot,” Brent murmured above her in the darkest voice she’d ever heard from him. He sounded like a master and she loved pleasing him. “Suck that big cock, my nasty little slave. Let me fuck your warm, sweet mouth.”

Something about it all, about being restrained yet confident, forced yet pleasured, left Jenna feeling shockingly empowered—so that she sucked Brent’s shaft still more vigorously, no matter how stretched and tired her lips became, so that she moved her pussy against the strokes of the flogger almost involuntarily now.

Until she came—hard, so very hard, sobbing her orgasm around Brent’s erection, letting it all flow through her, rocking her body, her very soul. She’d never been so entranced and freed by any sexual act in her life.

As the orgasm passed, Brent pulled back, extracting himself and using his hands to tilt her face upward. “You did very well, Jenna,” he told her, sounding somewhat like the Brent she knew but still in master mode. She didn’t care, simply glad to have satisfied him, her body still winding down from the intense climax.

And then it hit her—oh God, oh wow, that made her come. Being restrained. Forced. And she suddenly wasn’t very sure she liked it.

It’s the two-day arousal, she assured herself. That’s all. She’d just needed to come so badly.

She took a deep breath and got hold of herself, still a little stunned by it all. Then she looked back up into Brent’s eyes. Yes, still in master mode. But despite herself, she remained aroused. On some level, it excited her even more just to know she could be pleasured by what had just taken place here.

“Nicholas, take Amira to the swing and fuck her,” Brent said then, surprising Jenna by focusing on someone other than her. She felt almost relieved, watching as a cute blond guy grabbed on to the hand of a dark-haired girl—whom Jenna recognized as the Middle Eastern girl from the harem—and led her to a contraption of black bands sewn together and hanging from the ceiling. As Amira reclined among the bands—which did indeed form a flexible sort of swing—she shimmied out of a pair of leather panties.

“Gabe,” Brent added, “tie Serena to the horse and fuck her, too.”

As Serena was escorted away, toward something that looked like a gymnast’s pommel horse minus the handles, Jenna’s pulse kicked up. Because of all the new, rough sex beginning to take place around her and because, oddly, she felt as if she’d lost her one comrade in the room with Serena’s departure. Brent should be that, but tonight, he wasn’t—even when he approved of her.

With her arms still stretched, she watched fair-haired Nicholas pull a string that brought his cock lurching forth from his pants. She noticed it was smaller than Brent’s and possessed a slight curve—right before he drove it between Amira’s thighs. She cried out and Jenna flinched, her breasts jiggling.

She was just getting accustomed to watching Nicholas and Amira when a female moan drew her attention across the room. She expected to see Serena being fucked, but instead she was simply being tied—and apparently taking great pleasure in it. Her body straddled the horse, as Brent had called it, her rear elevated at one end, peeking from beneath her tiny leather skirt—apparently, she hadn’t worn panties, either. Gabe wrapped a rope around her body, circling it and the horse repeatedly, and with each length that crossed her back, she emitted another sound of pleasure.

Within moments, Gabe revealed a sizable cock that looked red and formidable in the brief seconds Jenna glimpsed it before it plunged into Serena from behind. Then both girls were crying out at the rough thrusts being delivered, the guys grunting and groaning their pleasure, and Jenna barely knew where to look—but her pulse raced still more wildly, her pussy already swollen and sensitive again.

Oh Lord, how had she gotten excited again that quick? But she supposed it was like with the harem—if the stimulation kept coming, her body kept responding. Now the stimulation was all visual and audible, stunning her with how powerful that could be.

Only when she looked for Brent did she realize he’d returned to his thronelike chair, lounging there like a well-satisfied prince of darkness. His cock still jutted from his pants, magnificent as ever, and she wondered how he looked so satisfied without having come. He seemed so in control of his body that she was beginning to find it intimidating. Especially since she seemed so . . . lacking in control.

“Zack, go to the cabinet and get the newest glass dildo.”

Jenna sucked in her breath. A glass dildo? And they had so many that one was clearly the newest? Could this get any kinkier?

Another two girls and a guy still hung in the shadows of the room and Jenna waited with odd fascination to see what happened next. Who would this glass dildo be used on? And when she saw the other faces, would there be more she recognized?

Meanwhile, her eyes were drawn back to Amira and Nicholas and their naughty sex swing. Amira’s boobs bounced, her body jerking with each stroke from Nicholas, and Jenna’s cunt pulsed harder still. She felt caught in a porn movie. Not that she’d ever seen one—but she couldn’t imagine them being any wilder than this.

When she found herself switching her gaze toward Serena on the pommel horse, she instead spotted Zack with—oh my—a shocking, clear dildo that made her gasp. Probably ten inches long and considerably thick, it came with a ball-type knob on the tip, and the handle, as lengthy as the phallus-shaped part, consisted of a succession of smaller glass knobs. Brent looked to the bizarre tool in Zack’s fist and smoothly commanded, “Fuck our new slave with the glass cock.”

And all the blood drained from Jenna’s face.

The second Zack knelt before her, she instinctively snapped her thighs shut. Because that couldn’t go inside her. It was too strange. Invasive in a whole new way. Brent was pushing her too far.

But the defensive closing of her legs brought him instantly to his feet—he looked like an angry god, fury blazing in his gray eyes. “Do you want to be flogged, slave? The hard way? If not, spread your legs—now!”

The threat silenced the room—the couples having sex went still as Jenna’s whole body tensed.

Could she? Do this?

Despite herself, her pussy ached for more attention.

But . . . this kind?

“Do it!” Brent demanded, and their eyes met.

And she knew she had two choices. Say her safeword—or part her legs.

Slowly, she spread her thighs, again making her pussy available for viewing—and fucking.

Still kneeling before her, Zack moved closer and lifted the glass tool, gently sliding the shockingly unyielding tip up and down against her folds—letting her get used to it, she realized. It was so amazingly hard, with no give or flexibility, that it scared her. So she held very still, focusing on the Z on his arm as he inserted the head—making her let out a small noise—then slid it deeper.

But the truly horrifying part, it turned out, was how her excitement escalated with the glass toy inside her. Watching it move in and out was . . . amazing. Inside the walls of her cunt, the head was so unforgiv ingly rigid, rubbing against her with each gentle stroke, that she almost thought she could come without clitoral stimulation. She heard her own breath as she drew it in, let it back out, awash in astonishing pleasure.

Zack began to whisper to her, too low for Brent to hear. “What a hot, wet pussy,” he breathed, peering up at her with dark, seductive eyes. “I love watching the glass glide in and out of your pretty pink flesh. Mmm, I bet it’s warm in there. I bet it’s fucking hot. I wish I could slide my cock in and find out.” And like everything else happening in the dungeon, Jenna wanted to be appalled, but instead she was involuntarily aroused. God, maybe Brent was right. Maybe dirty talk did turn her on.

Without quite meaning to, she began to lift her pelvis ever so slightly toward the inward thrusts Zack delivered.

“That’s much better, slave,” Brent said from his throne.

Then, casting a mischievous smile Brent still couldn’t see, Zack leaned forward, bit down on the chain dangling between her nipples, and gave a slight pull.

And, oh God—what a hot burst of pleasure/pain! She moaned. Met his gaze. Felt they shared some sort of obscene secret now.

“Jason, Decker, go watch the new slave take the glass cock,” Brent said.

So Jenna lifted her gaze to see two more men exit the shadows and head her way, both sporting dark hair and muscles. The one who’d responded to the name Jason wore his hair short and looked like a tough guy, and Decker was . . . a more devilish version of Brent himself—midthirties, but with slightly longer hair, curling at the ends, and a goatee. Both dripped with an undeniable sexual energy she felt. Or—who knew—maybe it was just the glass dildo in her cunt skewing her thoughts, turning every sight, every person, into something lust-worthy.

“Jason, kneel on one side of her—Decker on the other,” Brent instructed. “Then suck her tits. But don’t suck the rings off—I want those left on.”

Oh shit. Three guys at once? Doing unthinkably intimate things to her?

Maybe, all things considered, it was no more shocking than anything else she’d done, but it felt that way. Three. All strangers. She suffered the urge to cover her breasts, but of course, her arms were chained to the wall. She drew in her breath, suddenly feeling vulnerable again, more than at any point so far.

Damn it. Should she do this? Or should she end the madness and say Susan B. Anthony, once and for all?

But she couldn’t think straight because Brent had sensed her reaction and was back on his feet, pinning her in place with his gaze from across the room. “Remember the flogger, slave. What I give you, you take. Now take it!”

But her pussy throbbed with pleasure, even amid her fear and indecision. Her breasts ached. And when she envisioned what Brent wanted to see—three guys pleasuring her at once . . . oh God—was she crazy? Wicked? More sinful than she could have imagined? Because despite her trepidation, a part of her wanted it. Wanted to see it. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to be that dirty, that brazen.

So she said nothing. Just took a deep breath, looked briefly from Jason to Decker, then faced forward, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. With her arms still outstretched, she surrendered—crucifying herself in a whole new way.

Her breath caught at the first new sensation—a light chafing of whiskers against the flesh of her breast, then a wet tongue flicking over her nipple. Her pussy spasmed, and she let out a moan when Zack chose that exact second to begin moving the glass toy again.

Next came a warm breath on her other breast, then a light nibble on the peak that made her sob. Jesus God, the pleasure. Already, it was nearly unbearable.

And then they did what Brent had told them to—each man began to suckle her in earnest. Gently, she noticed, so as not to dislodge the rings and chain, but the sensations still stretched through her like taut rubber-bands connected directly to her clit.

She opened her eyes to watch then. And, mmm, the sight was positively obscene. She was the porn movie now. The porn queen.

It was unbelievable to realize she was being so deeply pleasured by three total strangers. Yet she had no choice but to finally let herself sink into it—the sensations were too powerful not to. She had to do what Serena had advised: Enjoy this. She had to take the pleasure Brent always promised—and always delivered. Would she prefer it come from him? Yes. But he was watching, just like last night, and moving closer to her now, and somehow that was the next best thing. She wanted to be hot for him, nasty for him, wanted to be what he wanted to make of her—a submissive slave.

She no longer made any effort to squelch her moans, letting them flow forth at will. It was like exhaling after holding her breath—the whole new level of freedom she’d just given herself increased her pleasure still more. “God—oh God!” she heard herself cry.

Her only frustration was that her clit got no attention. And it needed some—badly.

And then, Brent—only a few feet away now—said, “Zack—remove the dildo and fuck the slave.”

Oh Lord. Oh no.

Just like a few minutes ago—despite all her pleasure, the command froze something inside her. Maybe it made no difference at this point—a guy’s real cock versus a fake one—but to Jenna, it was an enormous leap. Zack remained a stranger, and it was one thing to do all this other stuff, but to be penetrated by another guy, someone other than Brent—the very idea made her panic. Brent kept pushing her tonight, further and further, too far too fast, and she’d just reached her breaking point.

When Zack smoothly extracted the glass toy, time seemed short, so without a plan, Jenna cried, “No! I can’t!”

Like before, everyone in the room went still and she could have sworn she heard her own heartbeat.

Clearly enraged, Brent took a step closer. “You dare defy me, slave?”

Lips trembling now, Jenna peered up at him, trying to figure out her next move.

Brent had always brought her pleasure and maybe this would be the same; maybe she should apologize and let this happen. Based on everything that had taken place in this room so far, she’d probably be screaming in ecstasy soon if she went along with his demands.

But he had pushed her so very far tonight. And as she met his gaze, her disobedience became about more than protesting sex with Zack. There was a part of her—a dark part, perhaps brought to life just tonight, since arriving in the dungeon—that wondered what would happen if she did defy him.

“Yes, I dare defy you,” she said recklessly, then added sarcastically, “master.”

He narrowed his gaze on her, his silence forcing her to recognize the obvious fact that hung between them—she was openly defying him, but she wasn’t saying the safeword. She wasn’t . . . ending this. Even she knew it was a challenge. To see what he’d do. Would he dish out real punishment? He wouldn’t really hurt her, would he? Serena had said no one would. Yet her heart pounded violently as that new, darker part of her waited to see what happened next.

Finally, Brent’s expression hardened even further and he sounded angrier than ever. “You refuse to be fucked? Fine then—that wet, hungry pussy will not be fucked.”

It wasn’t what he’d said so much as his tone that made Jenna’s blood run cold. He’d sounded so heartless—as if her insolence had crushed any bit of kindness he’d held for her tonight.

“But you will be punished. Ruthlessly,” he said with just as much ran-cor. “Zack—attach the clit chain to her.”

She sucked in her breath. Oh God—what the hell was a clit chain? How much would it hurt? Was it too late for the safeword? But when Zack left and returned quickly, she saw that what he carried didn’t appear as frightening as it sounded. Thank God.

Her legs remained parted—they’d been that way so long they’d simply stayed in the position without thought—and now no one touched her, but the other guys in Brent’s command knelt around her, watching as Zack closed a small clip over her swollen clitoris, from which hung a short, thin chain, black beads dangling from the end. It was like the nipple rings and chain: sexual jewelry.

The pinch of the clip was so light that it inflicted no pain . . . just a certain pressure. Which increased her need for release almost immediately. She felt her features scrunching slightly as she tried to get used to it. And she quickly figured out that—damn it—it was more than mere jewelry. It was a torture device. It was like a horrible itch that couldn’t be scratched—inflicting a constant, gnawing need.

“Decker, Jason—release the slave’s arms, but don’t let her have use of them. Zack, grab a strip of leather and tie them behind her back.”

Being a sex slave had already felt surreal, but it was now that the term took on a whole new meaning. Feeling completely at Brent’s mercy, she was so caught up in everything happening to her that she forgot the safeword existed altogether. It was as if challenging him had stripped away her last bits of courage and independence and now she was lost to the situation she’d created, left to suffer the consequences.

“Now tie her to the kneeling rail,” Brent said.