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I used to stare at the pictures for days.
He pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing a small, rectangular, black box. I carefully lifted the lid, gasping.
Although it was useless, I clawed at the cushion under me again.
I think that was the first time I remember crying.
Chris panted somewhere above me, his grunts mingling with my moans. And then he eased off.
Yes, maybe this was all I needed to feel better. But I soon found myself squatting in the tub.
Tried to shrink away from him but found nowhere to go. Nipple clamps were still on my list of things I wasn't certain about.