The crop slides down my tethered arms, tracing a feathery line from elbow to armpit and down over the swell of my breast, eliciting an involuntary shiver. My masked face drops backward sightlessly gazing at the suspension hook. The leather sensation has me sucking in my breath, a bead of sweat forming between my breasts. I imagine my tormentor is him and the moisture of longing pools between my thighs. God, I want this.
“You betray yourself, Mia.” Her voice, a harsh reminder that the apple has not fallen far from the tree.