Page 9 of Magnum, Volume 2

But she wasn’t used to sleeping in one, so stretching her so wide she felt the burn for hours wasn’t an option, unfortunately.

Rather than snoop through her things, I snooped through her TV to see what she watches, what the different apps were recommending to her, and discovered she watches a shitload of documentaries. Everything from the CERN lab to serial killers to ancient Sumerian documents.

Since my family is kind of an expert on the Sumerians, I found that beyond interesting. What else was I going to find out that we have in common?

Chapter 5

Storm

I finished at ten minutes after seven, and found him with his tablet, on my bed, watching a YouTube video about recent Sumerian translations I’d watched when I hadn’t been able to sleep and needed to get my mind off work a few nights before.

“I’ve known about this a while,” he told me, turning his tablet off and setting it on the bedside table. “Never really thought it’d see the light of day, though. Kind of rewrites the religious histories of several major belief systems.”

I nodded. “It does. I take it you went looking through my recently watched videos?”

He grinned. “Guilty as charged. Anything you need to do before we get started on the routine?”

Routine? The word felt odd, and I looked around the room, wondering what he was talking about.

And I immediately saw a metal bar fitted into the top of the door leading to my bathroom.

A fucking chin-up bar.

My breath caught and my clit came to life. I was suddenly hyper-aware of my nipples.

And then came that beautiful, delicious, gravelly voice issuing orders, and every nerve in my body sparked with electricity.

“Strip, slave.”

The words landed like a key opening a lock, and my hands were moving before my brain caught up. Shirt over my head. Shorts and panties pushed down. I draped everything over a chair and stood two steps inside my own bedroom, naked.

I lifted my gaze to his, dropped my shoulders back, and stood with a relaxed confidence, awaiting further orders. Obeying him felt right in a way nothing had for the last five weeks.

“Grab the bar,” he said, and assumed I’d know what he meant. He’d seen me clock it, so of course he knew I did.

I walked to the doorway on legs that felt surprisingly steady, jumped up, caught it, and hung there.

So many feelings and emotions swamped me while my shoulders and spine stretched, my torso lengthened, and I braced for what I knew came next.

He stepped in behind me, the familiar weight of the cincher settled around my waist, and he began the patient work of tightening the laces in slow, even pulls.

A sob gasped out of me, and the tears followed.

Tears of relief.

For the next hours, I was his. No decisions, no plans, no worry of listening for intruders, or whether the alarm system was set and active.

I only had to hang here and let him shape me the way he wanted. Only had to follow orders and obey.

“Oh yeah,” he murmured near my ear, voice low and pleased. “There she is. My weeping little fuckslave. Feels good to give it up again, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

A chuckle, and he kissed my shoulder.

But never slowed in squeezing my internal organs, tighter and tighter, until some of them were up in my chest cavity and it was an effort to breathe.

Tears slid down my cheeks, and I couldn’t wipe them. When he finally tied the laces off, he bent and locked the heels onto my feet one at a time, forcing my feet into the sharp angles they’d be at until he unlocked them.