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A four book box set where a variety of beautiful women find themselves in serious trouble at the hands of sadistic men, comprising:
Strategies of War, where three different women fall into the hands of Captain Rudi Brampampk.
Dark Reality, where Serena wakes up in the dark, bound and helpless, with a mystery man to torment her.
Mckenna's Surrender, where a female spy falls into enemy hands.
The Avenger, where two female terrorists pay for their crime.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Firm Hand Books    Published: 07 / 2017

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No. words: 150000

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Strong -    Bondage/BDSM Thrillers, Male Dom - M/F

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Excerpt..

It was the morning of March the 9th when Ciara Quinn was detained at customs; and mid-afternoon by the time I got to her. Whatever the real reason for Ciara’s trip to Britain; her work was apparently now done. That part didn’t make sense. Why was she leaving early if there was to be an attack? I was missing too many pieces of the puzzle to know – but one thing was for sure – if there was to be an attack then it would happen soon. The rest of the cell were probably still in London, but surely not for long. I reckoned we had two, maybe three days at best. Hindsight proved me right.
But was I really convinced?
It was all very tenuous! And there was this nagging doubt because the pieces didn’t fit.
Yes, of course I was convinced. I was right after all.
But despite that, would I have been so keen to hold Ciara under the prevention of terrorism act, and interrogate her properly if she didn’t look the way she did?
That grey area of ‘need to know’ vs. ‘need to do it’ makes it difficult to tell.
Perhaps I saw the writing on the wall and thought, ‘Bugger it! Why not go out with a bang?’ And I sure as hell wanted to bang Ciara Quinn; the girl was fit with a capital F – as fine a piece of flesh that had ever fallen into my hands, I couldn’t let the chance pass.
Okay, so my motives might have been a little bit questionable – the grounds for detention a little bit tenuous; but for whatever the reason, the arrest was made and Ciara Quinn was brought to a secret location – the exact whereabouts you don’t need to know!
We had three days at best, that was my opinion – and it was also a fact which Britain ultimately learned the hard way, but at the time it was only my professional hunch. Three days to find out where the cell was located, where the explosives were being stored if they weren’t already in place, where they planned to bomb, when the attack would be made – three days to save the lives of innocent people. I was in no mood to mess about.
To give me some credit, I started by the book. I worked with a junior colleague using the standard techniques which are deemed appropriate by the European Court of Human Rights. For the first of those precious days I deprived Ciara of sleep and allowed her no food and only a little water. I used noise abuse – a loud continuous hissing prior to the interrogations. Her beautiful face was kept covered under a thick black hood until I decided it was time to chat. I forced her to stand for hours in a stress position; spread-eagled against a wall with her fingers touching it high above her head, her long shapely legs spread wide apart and her feet well back, causing her to stand on her toes with her weight supported mainly by her fingers, whilst I gazed longingly at her spectacular rear. She was wearing a tight skirt that stopped two inches above her knees – not quite as suggestive as those clinging blue jeans in the photo, but much more feminine and infinitely more alluring.
The girl was class!
What the fuck was she doing involved with this sort of crap?
It bugged me. But I was glad that she was!
Anyway, I did all this, but she didn’t talk. She didn’t tell me what I needed to know.
But the look on her stunning lightly freckled face told me that I was right about my hunch. There would be an attack and it would go ahead despite Ciara’s lift – another thing that didn’t quite fit.
There was something not right.
But who cares! Time was running out.
So ruled by my cock that was itching to fuck her?
Or ruled by my heart that wanted to make her suffer?
Ruled by my brain that needed to know? What does it matter?
I made an executive decision...
“Leave us,” I said to the young lad I was working with – a recent recruit who was learning the ropes. He was also my chaperone under the new regime as I was no longer allowed to interrogate alone.
“But...”
“I said leave us! No ‘buts’, just get the hell out of here.”
The poor lad looked perplexed which rapidly turned to worry. He knew this was against the rules. He knew I had a reputation and needed to be monitored. But I was his superior so he did as he was told. He left me and Ciara alone in the room.
At this point Ciara was sitting on a wooden chair with her wrists cuffed behind the chair’s back. It was a position I had enjoyed putting her in as it forced out those lovely bouncy tits which clung revealingly to her sweat moistened silk top. Her ankles were also tied to each of the chair’s front legs. Her shoes had naturally been removed.
She watched the young agent leave the room then flicked her eyes back to me. I could see the fear rising in those emerald pools, countered by a steely determination not to crack. Ciara remained silent, as she had done for most of our time together. She had obviously been told that silence was the best approach if she fell into unfriendly hands.
I paced the room before her, using up a few precious minutes to let her sweat – to let her wonder what this new ploy might involve. Then I walked behind her. I let my leg brush against her tethered hands so she would know I was there, towering over her – six feet one and two hundred pounds of Glaswegian rough with an edge that had been sharpened, rather than blunted by the south. Then I placed my hand on her shoulder. She shuddered and drew in a hiss of air as my hand touched her naked flesh. Her skin was so smooth and soft, and radiated a heat that took me by surprise. It was like the biochemistry of our contact caused this reaction. I rested my hand there and absorbed the effect – I let Ciara appreciate it as well. Then I leaned over so that my mouth was at her right ear. I breathed deeply of her scent – raw pheromones that made me dizzy with their power. I watched her breasts rise as she breathed deeply as well. For a moment I was lost in the animalistic dance. Then I forced the professional spook back to the fore.
“I’ve had enough of the messing around, Ciara. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the plans. We can do it the hard way, and believe me, it will be hard. You have no idea what a bastard I can be. Or we can do it the easy way and you’ll save yourself a hell of a lot of grief.”
I clamped my left hand over her mouth and I slid my right hand slowly down the inside of her top until it rested on her magnificent firm breast. I felt its mass as she tried to struggle. I outlined its shape with the palm of my hand. Then I circled the aureole with my finger, leisurely touring the edge of her nipple. My finger coursed over the teat which was plump and swollen. She might be screaming and cussing behind my gagging hand, but the girl was clearly aroused.
I was more than aroused – my cock was rigid, almost painfully erect. I pressed my groin against her shoulder blade so she could feel the effect she had caused. She jerked in her bondage, drawing in air deeply through her nose and arching her back, pushing out her breasts as if in encouragement for me to fondle them further. More air was sucked in as I pinched her nipple gently between forefinger and thumb. I pulled it outwards – the generous size making it easy to grip. Then I squeezed on it hard and twisted it around. Ciara writhed about trying to fend me off, tossing her head from side to side, her shoulder rubbing deliciously against my throbbing prick.
I freed her mouth.
“Aaaargh!!! Stop it, you bastard! How dare you!”
That earned her a hard slap across the side of her face. I released her nipple and withdrew my hand to wallop her from behind catching her on the ear and cheek.
“The hard way it is then!” I said, just loud enough so that the words could be heard over the panting of Ciara’s breath as she tried to recover from the dual shock of sexual violation and physical abuse. “It’ll take a bit longer, but you’ll tell me what I need to know. Everyone talks eventually if they’re left alone with me for an hour or two.”
Making no attempt to hide my erection that tented out the front of my trousers, I walked round to the front of her and pulled up another wooden chair and placed it a yard away from Ciara. I sat down and hunched over so I was only inches from her face. She stared back at me defiantly. There was loathing firing out from those emerald eyes; but I could see unmistakable arousal in her dilated pupils mingling with fear. She was bracing herself for another blow.
“Don’t worry, Ciara. I’m not going to hit you again. That lovely face of yours is safe enough around me. I’m not as brutish as some of my colleagues in that respect. Well, okay, yes I am. If you were some ugly bitch then you’d definitely get smacked about. But I tend to use more subtle methods to get the cute babes like you to talk.”
As I said this I placed my hands on Ciara’s bare knees. She tried to nudge them off but she was too firmly tied to do anything other than open and close the knees slightly. She soon tired of trying to dislodge me. I could sense the realisation dawning that I could do whatever I pleased with her – that the normal rules no longer applied and that she was in deep, deep, shit.
She didn’t look at all comfortable about this... and quite rightly so!
Enjoying Ciara’s growing anxiety, I slid my hands up the inside of her milky thighs forcing her skirt upwards to reveal more flesh. My cock was throbbing as inch by inch I delved between those silky soft thighs, pushing under the skirt when it would go no further. Eventually I reached the top of her legs and touched the swell of her crotch. God, what a moment! It like I was zapped by an electric bolt, my whole body tingled. I thought I might come, the thrill was so intense. Taking a deep breath, I paused for a moment, and allowed the threat of a messy explosion to pass. Then I began stroking gently up and down her soft, puffy cunt lips, the silky material of her panties adding a marvellous element of mischief to the action. Her anxious gasps and the way she tensed in panic added even further to the thrill of the act. I repeated it, stroking up and down again brushing my fingers against the firm, warm wad of her gusset that I’m delighted to say was getting a little bit moist.
In spite of, or perhaps because of her treacherous cunt that was oozing juice, Ciara screamed at me and cursed me to the high heavens. For a classy lady she had a foul tongue in her mouth which is very typical of the Irish. I paid no attention as I continued to stroke and touch her; revelling in the contact that increased in duration with each fondle I gave. For many minutes, to the backdrop of her foul mouthed abuse, I stroked and felt, only the rasping, heavy breathing off my excitement could be heard above her defiant cries. Soon I was cupping her cunt in my hand, savouring her moistness and the heat that her sex radiated through the thin panties. She yelled and yelled, but I paid her no heed, I was too lost in the sexual thrill of this wonderful foreplay.
Then I took my hands down and looked into her eyes, pure devilment on my face. I saw a few tears had escaped which added to her vulnerable beauty - she tried to shake them away, too proud to show such weakness.
“You sick pervert!” she yelled in frustration. “You bastard! You can’t do this! I know you’re not allowed.”
“I can do whatever I want, Ciara. Now let’s get you more comfortably dressed so we can make a start.”
“But...”
“No buts, Ciara. It’s too late for buts.”


Excerpt..

It was the morning of March the 9th when Ciara Quinn was detained at customs; and mid-afternoon by the time I got to her. Whatever the real
reason for Ciara’s trip to Britain; her work was apparently now done. That part didn’t make sense. Why was she leaving early if there was to
be an attack? I was missing too many pieces of the puzzle to know – but one thing was for sure – if there was to be an attack then it would
happen soon. The rest of the cell were probably still in London, but surely not for long. I reckoned we had two, maybe three days at best.
Hindsight proved me right.

But was I really convinced?

It was all very tenuous! And there was this nagging doubt because the pieces didn’t fit.

Yes, of course I was convinced. I was right after all.

But despite that, would I have been so keen to hold Ciara under the prevention of terrorism act, and interrogate her properly if she didn’t
look the way she did?

That grey area of ‘need to know’ vs. ‘need to do it’ makes it difficult to tell.

Perhaps I saw the writing on the wall and thought, ‘Bugger it! Why not go out with a bang?’ And I sure as hell wanted to bang Ciara Quinn;
the girl was fit with a capital F – as fine a piece of flesh that had ever fallen into my hands, I couldn’t let the chance pass.

Okay, so my motives might have been a little bit questionable – the grounds for detention a little bit tenuous; but for whatever the reason,
the arrest was made and Ciara Quinn was brought to a secret location – the exact whereabouts you don’t need to know!

We had three days at best, that was my opinion – and it was also a fact which Britain ultimately learned the hard way, but at the time it
was only my professional hunch. Three days to find out where the cell was located, where the explosives were being stored if they weren’t
already in place, where they planned to bomb, when the attack would be made – three days to save the lives of innocent people. I was in no
mood to mess about.

To give me some credit, I started by the book. I worked with a junior colleague using the standard techniques which are deemed appropriate
by the European Court of Human Rights. For the first of those precious days I deprived Ciara of sleep and allowed her no food and only a
little water. I used noise abuse – a loud continuous hissing prior to the interrogations. Her beautiful face was kept covered under a thick
black hood until I decided it was time to chat. I forced her to stand for hours in a stress position; spread-eagled against a wall with her
fingers touching it high above her head, her long shapely legs spread wide apart and her feet well back, causing her to stand on her toes
with her weight supported mainly by her fingers, whilst I gazed longingly at her spectacular rear. She was wearing a tight skirt that
stopped two inches above her knees – not quite as suggestive as those clinging blue jeans in the photo, but much more feminine and
infinitely more alluring.

The girl was class!

What the fuck was she doing involved with this sort of crap?

It bugged me. But I was glad that she was!

Anyway, I did all this, but she didn’t talk. She didn’t tell me what I needed to know.

But the look on her stunning lightly freckled face told me that I was right about my hunch. There would be an attack and it would go ahead
despite Ciara’s lift – another thing that didn’t quite fit.

There was something not right.

But who cares! Time was running out.

So ruled by my cock that was itching to fuck her?

Or ruled by my heart that wanted to make her suffer?

Ruled by my brain that needed to know? What does it matter?

I made an executive decision...

“Leave us,” I said to the young lad I was working with – a recent recruit who was learning the ropes. He was also my chaperone under the new
regime as I was no longer allowed to interrogate alone.

“But...”

“I said leave us! No ‘buts’, just get the hell out of here.”

The poor lad looked perplexed which rapidly turned to worry. He knew this was against the rules. He knew I had a reputation and needed to be
monitored. But I was his superior so he did as he was told. He left me and Ciara alone in the room.

At this point Ciara was sitting on a wooden chair with her wrists cuffed behind the chair’s back. It was a position I had enjoyed putting
her in as it forced out those lovely bouncy tits which clung revealingly to her sweat moistened silk top. Her ankles were also tied to each
of the chair’s front legs. Her shoes had naturally been removed.

She watched the young agent leave the room then flicked her eyes back to me. I could see the fear rising in those emerald pools, countered
by a steely determination not to crack. Ciara remained silent, as she had done for most of our time together. She had obviously been told
that silence was the best approach if she fell into unfriendly hands.

I paced the room before her, using up a few precious minutes to let her sweat – to let her wonder what this new ploy might involve. Then I
walked behind her. I let my leg brush against her tethered hands so she would know I was there, towering over her – six feet one and two
hundred pounds of Glaswegian rough with an edge that had been sharpened, rather than blunted by the south. Then I placed my hand on her
shoulder. She shuddered and drew in a hiss of air as my hand touched her naked flesh. Her skin was so smooth and soft, and radiated a heat
that took me by surprise. It was like the biochemistry of our contact caused this reaction. I rested my hand there and absorbed the effect –
I let Ciara appreciate it as well. Then I leaned over so that my mouth was at her right ear. I breathed deeply of her scent – raw pheromones
that made me dizzy with their power. I watched her breasts rise as she breathed deeply as well. For a moment I was lost in the animalistic
dance. Then I forced the professional spook back to the fore.

“I’ve had enough of the messing around, Ciara. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the plans. We can do it the hard way, and
believe me, it will be hard. You have no idea what a bastard I can be. Or we can do it the easy way and you’ll save yourself a hell of a lot
of grief.”

I clamped my left hand over her mouth and I slid my right hand slowly down the inside of her top until it rested on her magnificent firm
breast. I felt its mass as she tried to struggle. I outlined its shape with the palm of my hand. Then I circled the aureole with my finger,
leisurely touring the edge of her nipple. My finger coursed over the teat which was plump and swollen. She might be screaming and cussing
behind my gagging hand, but the girl was clearly aroused.

I was more than aroused – my cock was rigid, almost painfully erect. I pressed my groin against her shoulder blade so she could feel the
effect she had caused. She jerked in her bondage, drawing in air deeply through her nose and arching her back, pushing out her breasts as if
in encouragement for me to fondle them further. More air was sucked in as I pinched her nipple gently between forefinger and thumb. I pulled
it outwards – the generous size making it easy to grip. Then I squeezed on it hard and twisted it around. Ciara writhed about trying to fend
me off, tossing her head from side to side, her shoulder rubbing deliciously against my throbbing prick.

I freed her mouth.

“Aaaargh!!! Stop it, you bastard! How dare you!”

That earned her a hard slap across the side of her face. I released her nipple and withdrew my hand to wallop her from behind catching her
on the ear and cheek.

“The hard way it is then!” I said, just loud enough so that the words could be heard over the panting of Ciara’s breath as she tried to
recover from the dual shock of sexual violation and physical abuse. “It’ll take a bit longer, but you’ll tell me what I need to know.
Everyone talks eventually if they’re left alone with me for an hour or two.”

Making no attempt to hide my erection that tented out the front of my trousers, I walked round to the front of her and pulled up another
wooden chair and placed it a yard away from Ciara. I sat down and hunched over so I was only inches from her face. She stared back at me
defiantly. There was loathing firing out from those emerald eyes; but I could see unmistakable arousal in her dilated pupils mingling with
fear. She was bracing herself for another blow.

“Don’t worry, Ciara. I’m not going to hit you again. That lovely face of yours is safe enough around me. I’m not as brutish as some of my
colleagues in that respect. Well, okay, yes I am. If you were some ugly bitch then you’d definitely get smacked about. But I tend to use
more subtle methods to get the cute babes like you to talk.”

As I said this I placed my hands on Ciara’s bare knees. She tried to nudge them off but she was too firmly tied to do anything other than
open and close the knees slightly. She soon tired of trying to dislodge me. I could sense the realisation dawning that I could do whatever I
pleased with her – that the normal rules no longer applied and that she was in deep, deep, shit.

She didn’t look at all comfortable about this... and quite rightly so!

Enjoying Ciara’s growing anxiety, I slid my hands up the inside of her milky thighs forcing her skirt upwards to reveal more flesh. My cock
was throbbing as inch by inch I delved between those silky soft thighs, pushing under the skirt when it would go no further. Eventually I
reached the top of her legs and touched the swell of her crotch. God, what a moment! It like I was zapped by an electric bolt, my whole body
tingled. I thought I might come, the thrill was so intense. Taking a deep breath, I paused for a moment, and allowed the threat of a messy
explosion to pass. Then I began stroking gently up and down her soft, puffy cunt lips, the silky material of her panties adding a marvellous
element of mischief to the action. Her anxious gasps and the way she tensed in panic added even further to the thrill of the act. I repeated
it, stroking up and down again brushing my fingers against the firm, warm wad of her gusset that I’m delighted to say was getting a little
bit moist.

In spite of, or perhaps because of her treacherous cunt that was oozing juice, Ciara screamed at me and cursed me to the high heavens. For a
classy lady she had a foul tongue in her mouth which is very typical of the Irish. I paid no attention as I continued to stroke and touch
her; revelling in the contact that increased in duration with each fondle I gave. For many minutes, to the backdrop of her foul mouthed
abuse, I stroked and felt, only the rasping, heavy breathing off my excitement could be heard above her defiant cries. Soon I was cupping
her cunt in my hand, savouring her moistness and the heat that her sex radiated through the thin panties. She yelled and yelled, but I paid
her no heed, I was too lost in the sexual thrill of this wonderful foreplay.

Then I took my hands down and looked into her eyes, pure devilment on my face. I saw a few tears had escaped which added to her vulnerable
beauty - she tried to shake them away, too proud to show such weakness.

“You sick pervert!” she yelled in frustration. “You bastard! You can’t do this! I know you’re not allowed.”

“I can do whatever I want, Ciara. Now let’s get you more comfortably dressed so we can make a start.”

“But...”

“No buts, Ciara. It’s too late for buts.”


Excerpt..

It was the morning of March the 9th when Ciara Quinn was detained at customs; and mid-afternoon by the time I got to her. Whatever the real

reason for Ciara’s trip to Britain; her work was apparently now done. That part didn’t make sense. Why was she leaving early if there was to

be an attack? I was missing too many pieces of the puzzle to know – but one thing was for sure – if there was to be an attack then it would

happen soon. The rest of the cell were probably still in London, but surely not for long. I reckoned we had two, maybe three days at best.

Hindsight proved me right.


But was I really convinced?


It was all very tenuous! And there was this nagging doubt because the pieces didn’t fit.


Yes, of course I was convinced. I was right after all.


But despite that, would I have been so keen to hold Ciara under the prevention of terrorism act, and interrogate her properly if she didn’t

look the way she did?


That grey area of ‘need to know’ vs. ‘need to do it’ makes it difficult to tell.


Perhaps I saw the writing on the wall and thought, ‘Bugger it! Why not go out with a bang?’ And I sure as hell wanted to bang Ciara Quinn;

the girl was fit with a capital F – as fine a piece of flesh that had ever fallen into my hands, I couldn’t let the chance pass.


Okay, so my motives might have been a little bit questionable – the grounds for detention a little bit tenuous; but for whatever the reason,

the arrest was made and Ciara Quinn was brought to a secret location – the exact whereabouts you don’t need to know!


We had three days at best, that was my opinion – and it was also a fact which Britain ultimately learned the hard way, but at the time it

was only my professional hunch. Three days to find out where the cell was located, where the explosives were being stored if they weren’t

already in place, where they planned to bomb, when the attack would be made – three days to save the lives of innocent people. I was in no

mood to mess about.


To give me some credit, I started by the book. I worked with a junior colleague using the standard techniques which are deemed appropriate

by the European Court of Human Rights. For the first of those precious days I deprived Ciara of sleep and allowed her no food and only a

little water. I used noise abuse – a loud continuous hissing prior to the interrogations. Her beautiful face was kept covered under a thick

black hood until I decided it was time to chat. I forced her to stand for hours in a stress position; spread-eagled against a wall with her

fingers touching it high above her head, her long shapely legs spread wide apart and her feet well back, causing her to stand on her toes

with her weight supported mainly by her fingers, whilst I gazed longingly at her spectacular rear. She was wearing a tight skirt that

stopped two inches above her knees – not quite as suggestive as those clinging blue jeans in the photo, but much more feminine and

infinitely more alluring.


The girl was class!


What the fuck was she doing involved with this sort of crap?


It bugged me. But I was glad that she was!


Anyway, I did all this, but she didn’t talk. She didn’t tell me what I needed to know.


But the look on her stunning lightly freckled face told me that I was right about my hunch. There would be an attack and it would go ahead

despite Ciara’s lift – another thing that didn’t quite fit.


There was something not right.


But who cares! Time was running out.


So ruled by my cock that was itching to fuck her?


Or ruled by my heart that wanted to make her suffer?


Ruled by my brain that needed to know? What does it matter?


I made an executive decision...


“Leave us,” I said to the young lad I was working with – a recent recruit who was learning the ropes. He was also my chaperone under the new

regime as I was no longer allowed to interrogate alone.


“But...”


“I said leave us! No ‘buts’, just get the hell out of here.”


The poor lad looked perplexed which rapidly turned to worry. He knew this was against the rules. He knew I had a reputation and needed to be

monitored. But I was his superior so he did as he was told. He left me and Ciara alone in the room.


At this point Ciara was sitting on a wooden chair with her wrists cuffed behind the chair’s back. It was a position I had enjoyed putting

her in as it forced out those lovely bouncy tits which clung revealingly to her sweat moistened silk top. Her ankles were also tied to each

of the chair’s front legs. Her shoes had naturally been removed.


She watched the young agent leave the room then flicked her eyes back to me. I could see the fear rising in those emerald pools, countered

by a steely determination not to crack. Ciara remained silent, as she had done for most of our time together. She had obviously been told

that silence was the best approach if she fell into unfriendly hands.


I paced the room before her, using up a few precious minutes to let her sweat – to let her wonder what this new ploy might involve. Then I

walked behind her. I let my leg brush against her tethered hands so she would know I was there, towering over her – six feet one and two

hundred pounds of Glaswegian rough with an edge that had been sharpened, rather than blunted by the south. Then I placed my hand on her

shoulder. She shuddered and drew in a hiss of air as my hand touched her naked flesh. Her skin was so smooth and soft, and radiated a heat

that took me by surprise. It was like the biochemistry of our contact caused this reaction. I rested my hand there and absorbed the effect –

I let Ciara appreciate it as well. Then I leaned over so that my mouth was at her right ear. I breathed deeply of her scent – raw pheromones

that made me dizzy with their power. I watched her breasts rise as she breathed deeply as well. For a moment I was lost in the animalistic

dance. Then I forced the professional spook back to the fore.


“I’ve had enough of the messing around, Ciara. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the plans. We can do it the hard way, and

believe me, it will be hard. You have no idea what a bastard I can be. Or we can do it the easy way and you’ll save yourself a hell of a lot

of grief.”


I clamped my left hand over her mouth and I slid my right hand slowly down the inside of her top until it rested on her magnificent firm

breast. I felt its mass as she tried to struggle. I outlined its shape with the palm of my hand. Then I circled the aureole with my finger,

leisurely touring the edge of her nipple. My finger coursed over the teat which was plump and swollen. She might be screaming and cussing

behind my gagging hand, but the girl was clearly aroused.


I was more than aroused – my cock was rigid, almost painfully erect. I pressed my groin against her shoulder blade so she could feel the

effect she had caused. She jerked in her bondage, drawing in air deeply through her nose and arching her back, pushing out her breasts as if

in encouragement for me to fondle them further. More air was sucked in as I pinched her nipple gently between forefinger and thumb. I pulled

it outwards – the generous size making it easy to grip. Then I squeezed on it hard and twisted it around. Ciara writhed about trying to fend

me off, tossing her head from side to side, her shoulder rubbing deliciously against my throbbing prick.


I freed her mouth.


“Aaaargh!!! Stop it, you bastard! How dare you!”


That earned her a hard slap across the side of her face. I released her nipple and withdrew my hand to wallop her from behind catching her

on the ear and cheek.


“The hard way it is then!” I said, just loud enough so that the words could be heard over the panting of Ciara’s breath as she tried to

recover from the dual shock of sexual violation and physical abuse. “It’ll take a bit longer, but you’ll tell me what I need to know.

Everyone talks eventually if they’re left alone with me for an hour or two.”


Making no attempt to hide my erection that tented out the front of my trousers, I walked round to the front of her and pulled up another

wooden chair and placed it a yard away from Ciara. I sat down and hunched over so I was only inches from her face. She stared back at me

defiantly. There was loathing firing out from those emerald eyes; but I could see unmistakable arousal in her dilated pupils mingling with

fear. She was bracing herself for another blow.


“Don’t worry, Ciara. I’m not going to hit you again. That lovely face of yours is safe enough around me. I’m not as brutish as some of my

colleagues in that respect. Well, okay, yes I am. If you were some ugly bitch then you’d definitely get smacked about. But I tend to use

more subtle methods to get the cute babes like you to talk.”


As I said this I placed my hands on Ciara’s bare knees. She tried to nudge them off but she was too firmly tied to do anything other than

open and close the knees slightly. She soon tired of trying to dislodge me. I could sense the realisation dawning that I could do whatever I

pleased with her – that the normal rules no longer applied and that she was in deep, deep, shit.


She didn’t look at all comfortable about this... and quite rightly so!


Enjoying Ciara’s growing anxiety, I slid my hands up the inside of her milky thighs forcing her skirt upwards to reveal more flesh. My cock

was throbbing as inch by inch I delved between those silky soft thighs, pushing under the skirt when it would go no further. Eventually I

reached the top of her legs and touched the swell of her crotch. God, what a moment! It like I was zapped by an electric bolt, my whole body

tingled. I thought I might come, the thrill was so intense. Taking a deep breath, I paused for a moment, and allowed the threat of a messy

explosion to pass. Then I began stroking gently up and down her soft, puffy cunt lips, the silky material of her panties adding a marvellous

element of mischief to the action. Her anxious gasps and the way she tensed in panic added even further to the thrill of the act. I repeated

it, stroking up and down again brushing my fingers against the firm, warm wad of her gusset that I’m delighted to say was getting a little

bit moist.


In spite of, or perhaps because of her treacherous cunt that was oozing juice, Ciara screamed at me and cursed me to the high heavens. For a

classy lady she had a foul tongue in her mouth which is very typical of the Irish. I paid no attention as I continued to stroke and touch

her; revelling in the contact that increased in duration with each fondle I gave. For many minutes, to the backdrop of her foul mouthed

abuse, I stroked and felt, only the rasping, heavy breathing off my excitement could be heard above her defiant cries. Soon I was cupping

her cunt in my hand, savouring her moistness and the heat that her sex radiated through the thin panties. She yelled and yelled, but I paid

her no heed, I was too lost in the sexual thrill of this wonderful foreplay.


Then I took my hands down and looked into her eyes, pure devilment on my face. I saw a few tears had escaped which added to her vulnerable

beauty - she tried to shake them away, too proud to show such weakness.


“You sick pervert!” she yelled in frustration. “You bastard! You can’t do this! I know you’re not allowed.”


“I can do whatever I want, Ciara. Now let’s get you more comfortably dressed so we can make a start.”


“But...”


“No buts, Ciara. It’s too late for buts.”



Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

erotica  BDSM  women in trouble  punishment  domination  submission  bondage  

Best Selling Books This Year By Dan Bruce

Women in Trouble Box Set

Women in Trouble Box Set

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Women in Trouble Box Set

Women in Trouble Box Set

Best Selling Books This Year By Dan Bruce

Women in Trouble Box Set

Women in Trouble Box Set

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Women in Trouble Box Set

Women in Trouble Box Set

Author Information

Dan Bruce is a British author of comtempory mainstream fiction which he publishes under a different name.

 


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