Chapter Seventeen
My Scheherazade
Three weeks as a s****l prisoner had nearly driven me insane. Every day, all day long, my beautiful captor would shackle me to the bed and tease me, stroking my c**k until it leaked shiny drops of passion fluid, taking me to the edge of orgasm and leaving me there, writhing and twisting in delicious s****l agony, delirious in my frustration, letting me calm down and then taking me back up the Sisyphan slopes. Then she’d masturbate, or bring in another male or female to f**k, or ride my tongue to her own climax, leaving me desperate and haunted.
“The training is not complete,” she’d tell me when I begged for deliverance. “You can take more. Much more.” Rubbing my excruciatingly sensitive n*****s until I moaned out loud in my desperate need, she continued
