Chapter Eleven
Marianne
She was wet. No, she was flooded below, and the river of fluids running down the inside of her excellent, shapely thighs was caused by the mixture of fear, anticipation and other emotions regarding things to come.
“Hurt her. By The Book,” Salmon said quietly to the blond, Amazonian woman with the stereotyped Dom get-up of studded corset, fishnet hose, stiletto boots and handcuffs dangling from her wide, studded belt. “She wants it, but take care not to harm her. Not yet,” The Graf added. “I don’t want to have to fix your mistakes once again, Karine. Understand?”
“Of course, Master Graf,” the blond said, looking him directly in the eyes and nodding so enthusiastically that her long ponytail did flips behind her head as she idly twirled a well-used cat-o-nine-tai
