He wandered into the den. There was a gas fireplace on the opposite wall. The other walls were mostly lined with books and keepsakes. A recliner faced halfway between a television and a sofa.Edward picked up a remote from the top of a pile of magazines that was next to the recliner. He turned on the TV and ran through the channels. That didn't take long because Ames had only basic cable. He took a seat on the sofa and selected a police procedural involving a female officer who looked and dressed like a fashion model. He smiled with a knowing grin. He'd whacked off a few times to her.The sound of hard heels made him look to the doorway. April entered the room. "How's he doing?" Edward asked."Well," she said with a sigh, "he took his shoes off while I got his medicine and a glass of water. He took the pill, and when I got back from putting the glass in the bathroom, he was laid out on the bed, snoring away. I just pulled the duvet over him and tucked him in. He'll be out for a solid. He ties my arms first, folded wrist to elbow behind my back, my forearms bound to each other along their length. This is more comfortable than having my wrists tied together, but I am just as helpless, my breasts just as vulnerable to abuse—which, as it turns out, is what he has in mind.I do start to protest when he next approaches me with the clover clamps. I hate those things; they’re vicious. He usually only uses them for negative reinforcement, to motivate me to do something I’m hesitant about. I take a couple of evasive steps and he reacts immediately, lunging for me and grabbing me by the hair. He controls me that way, holding me still while he plumps my nipples with his free hand, then snaps the clamps on one at a time.I cry out, dance from foot to foot, wiggle instinctively as if I could shake off the clamps and their sharp bite. Still gripping me by the hair, he reaches down to the couch where he’s tossed a large ball gag. I’m preoccupied by the pain in my clamped.
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