Bound

Eight

Ananke woke to someone kissing her forehead…and moaned when she realized that she was bound once again.

“I’ve always sought pleasure for myself…my own release…” Frank purred as he ran his fingers down her bare chest. “I haven’t taken very good care of you, have I?”

For once, his touch was like a lover’s—caresses where she might like them most, kisses in her erogenous zones…and a sultry smile as he dipped below her waistline. His talking ceased as he focused on the art of oral pleasure and Ananke was grateful…except that her whimpers caused him to work harder.

Relief was slow in coming, but Frank was not yet spent.

“Would you like it…a little gentler…than I have been in the past?” He gradually made his way up her body, until he was sitting astride. “Or perhaps you would like it a little rougher?”

Without waiting for a response, her captor thrust—slowly at first, then faster until they had assumed a pleasant rhythm. Ananke did not want to admit it, but she was actually enjoying herself. Finally, when Ananke thought he would pass out from the act, Frank came in a startling finish; his captive howling through her gag. He grinned and rolled aside.

“Okay…maybe that was more for me…”

---

That night was the last freedom that Ananke knew for a long time. Frank kept her by his side constantly and seemed unusually keen to never let her go. Ananke began to welcome him to her bed and eventually, Frank responded in kind, often taking his leave before the first light of morning. At last, he set her free to hunt on her own, always drawing her back into his arms with a more than friendly welcome at the end.

It was after one such separation that Ananke received a note from Frank. It read, simply:

Meet me in Las Vegas