How can i be fucking loving this?’ she asked herself, feeling herself being on display, sucking on a stranger’s cock, simply because Brian asked h...r to. Part of her knew she should rebel, she should complain, but a bigger part of her was awash in feelings that were making her want to do this. And more. So much more. She was imagining this as her life now, long past the 6 months. She did not want this to stop ever, though she could not tell Brian that. Let him think it was only to pay off her. She drove faster then she had ever driven in her life. She parked the black, Toyota in front of the sprawling, hospital and strode briskly inside the emergency room entrance. Preparing her for the worst she slowly, walked up to the reception desk. ‘I’m looking for Trevor Watson…he was in a car accident,’ she queried excitedly? ‘If you’ll have a seat I’ll have the doctor who looked after him come out and talk to you,’ the young, lady at the desk answered. She went and sat in one of the waiting. I stroked her hair gently, praising her for her good work. "Thank you master", she said. "You can untie me now, I'd really like to take a shower now" she continued."This is not over yet", I told her. "Did you think you would get away with orgasming without permission that easily?" I asked rethorically.I unclasped her wristcuffs, freeing her arms from her ankles. "Face down" I commanded her. "But, but.." she complained. "You will do as you're told" I interjected.Ignoring her protests, I spread. “I’m sure we’ll be calling you Camille,” she said, eyeing her luscious body.“You’re Dan Davenport, the murder mystery writer?” Cheryl exclaimed, realizing his name.“Guilty, so to say, as charged,” he quipped with a smile.“I’ve read ‘Desert Secrets’. I had better read your other books too if I’m going to be fucking a celebrity!”“I’m just an ordinary guy. Only the great authors are recognizable, like Agatha Christie, Danielle Steele, H. G. Wells, and J. K. Rowling to name a few.”Dan insisted on.
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