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𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝘽𝘿𝙎𝙈 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙧.

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𝙈𝙮 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙚, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙢, 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙘𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨.



𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘐 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝒦𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝑀𝑒 𝒩𝑜𝓌; 

𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.

𝘈𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦.

𝘾𝙖𝙣 𝙄 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙮?

𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘺, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵?

𝙄𝙨 𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨?

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘚𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘺’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳. 𝘉𝘜𝘠 𝘕𝘖𝘞 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴.


Cover Design by: @Pebbles Lacasse

Cover Model: @ Susan Gerth


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📚𝘼𝙙𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙂ood𝙍eads 𝙏𝘽𝙍


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broken charm teaser

By Pebbles Lacasse

“Mistress Scarlett…” A deep but whispered voice calls to me. “It’s time to wake up.”


With a groan, I roll to my back, yawn, and stretch my legs and arms, as if trying to reach for the footboard. The leg stretch feels especially good after the hellish workout I had with Colby yesterday.


Without acknowledging my bedfellow, I sit up, tossing the covers aside. My hands fold over the edge of the bed as I stretch my back by arching and lifting each shoulder as high as possible, ending with another groan. That damn knot beside my shoulder blade still hurts. I’ll get Ted to rub it out later. Right now, I have to pee.


After a quick bathroom visit, I return and collect the key from my nightstand. Before I went to sleep, I handcuffed Ted to a spindle on my dark walnut headboard and told him not to go anywhere. Obviously, he can’t, and that’s why I find it funny.


Ted smiles as I slip the key into the handcuff attached to the bed and unlock it, but I leave the one on his wrist. I allow him a few minutes to relieve himself. He leaves the door ajar, knowing he isn’t allowed privacy.


The shower starts, and I enter the bathroom, where Ted holds the glass door open for me.


“Ted, wash me.”


Without hesitation, the thickly built man steps in behind me, and I stand under the hot water. I love the way the heat seers my flesh, turning my tanned hue a deep red. Ted holds a pool of shampoo in his hand, waits for me to step from under the water, and then massages it onto my scalp. With him towering over my 5’7” frame, he manages with ease.


I rinse, and then the deep brown-eyed man coats my long, dark strands in conditioner and whirls it atop my head to affix with a clip. I wash my face, and he rubs me down with a sudsy loofah. My legs spread, and he washes my undercarriage with great care and tenderness, but not enough to warrant punishment for taking sexual enjoyment from the task.


After I rinse my hair and body, I step out into Ted’s waiting arms, who holds a fluffy white bath sheet, and he wraps it around me before tucking in the edge to keep it snug. I bend forward, and he wraps my hair in a turban-towel. I leave the bathroom to allow Ted two minutes to wash himself.


What the hell am I going to wear today?


The left side of my walk-in closet is lined with a variety of long dresses that promise to accent my thin, muscular figure. To the right hang all my lingerie, leather gear, latex, and silk clothing; everything and anything to scream my dominance. The centre houses my regular street clothes and workout wear, which is my goal this morning.


I lay my pale blue spandex shorts and matching sports bra on the bed. I sit in the black metal-framed chair perched before my make-up table with the large matching mirror. Ted chooses a pair of socks and a thong for me and sets them beside my chosen outfit.


While Ted’s towel-dried hair points in many directions, he massages my long hair with argan oil-coated fingers and then blow-dries it. He brushes the strands and then twists them into a loose braid while I lotion my face. When I rise, he coats my body in lotion, and then leaves while I dress. By the time I’m slipping my feet into my workout shoes, he’s returning with a steaming mug of coffee.


“Thank you, Ted. You may go,” I say as I take the mug from him. 


He bows, and then his tight ass sways over thick thighs as he scurries from my bedroom.


That man enjoys being my submissive. I enjoy his company, even though he isn’t permitted to speak without permission. Having him beside me when I shut my eyes is a comfort. I don’t have romantic feelings for Ted and never will. Our relationship is strictly professional… Well, sort of. It’s mutually beneficial to us both, and we’re friends, I suppose.


Ted visits four times a week: Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, if I permit. He does whatever I ask, which is usually catering to me. He cooks and cleans, bathes me, dresses me, when I tell him to, and remains on his hands and knees for me to use as a footrest when I watch television or read a book. The man’s content to remain motionless for hours without complaint.


The benefit of our relationship for him is that he can shut off the decision-making aspect of his brain. Ted’s a clinical doctor with his own practice, and he has to make tough decisions and stay sharp while he’s on the job. It’s stressful and draining. When he’s here, there are no decisions to be made, and he can relax his mind.


It’s a rare occasion when we have sex, but not unheard of. If he’s been exceptionally well-behaved, I’ll allow him to masturbate while he eats my pussy, but he’s only allowed to cum after I do. Every so often, I’ll fuck his ass with a strap-on, or allow him to lie flat on his back while I ride him to take my pleasure. He can finish himself off only after I dismount him. He isn’t to touch me unless he asks permission first, or I instruct him to.


There are rules to be followed, and if he breaks them, he gets punished. Sometimes, when he’s feeling frisky, he’ll step out of line because he wants my attention, punishment, or both. My favourite punishment is to make him wear a cock cage with a weight attached while he stands at the end of the bed, holding the metal footrest with his legs spread and a penny resting on his nose. He’s forbidden to move. If he drops the penny, I add weight to the cage. The task is harder than you think.


About a year ago, I left him for almost an hour. By the time I got back to him, his legs were shaking, and he was crying. I felt bad and sat on my make-up chair with him on the floor so he could rest his head on my thighs and cry until he felt strong again. After that, I’ve kept a closer eye on the time.


I hop down the stairs to the open-concept main floor with my braid bouncing against my back, and head to the kitchen to get my protein drink and jug of cold water. The large windows lining the west wall of the loft reveal a sky lined with dark grey clouds, promising a hot, muggy day with showers. The grimness of it has me thankful I don’t have to go outside today.


My runners slap the hardwood floor as I tread down the hall, turn, and follow the glass wall to the entrance gap at the end. Through the glass, I watch Colby pull down on the weighted cable to work his latissimus dorsi muscles. I refer to them as wings.


Colby is my best friend. He’s also a dominant and understands the pressures and pleasures of this lifestyle. He’s not my boyfriend, but he likes to say he is when people ask. The man is my best friend, nothing more. That’s not to say he hasn’t hounded me to push our relationship past that level. I simply have no use for the bullshit concept of love.


Love is a useless emotion. It makes people do stupid things like marry, which gives your spouse half of your possessions should the relationship fail to live up to the hype. People have killed in the name of love. Thanks, but no thanks. Don’t even get me started about cheating spouses! That happens way more often than their spouses know.


Being alone and able to make my own choices without input from anyone else works well for me. I do what I want, when I want, and how I want. If people don’t like it, they can fuck off.


“Hey, woman! You’re late,” Colby teases as he eases the weights into their resting position.


I set my water jug on the pewter-coloured, vinyl-composition tile floor, and then step onto the 10’ x 10’ midnight-grey floor mat. My legs spread shoulder-width apart. With my fingers weaved together behind my back, I bend forward, allowing gravity to pull my arms for a good stretch. Damn, my legs are really feeling yesterday’s workout.


“I’m not late. You’re early.” I stand and lunge side to side as I groan through the stretch.


Colby chuckles. “Stiff?”


He rolls his right arm while he holds his shoulder and fails to restrain a wince. That’s the shoulder he injured when a submissive passed out and he lunged to catch the man before he hit his head on the metal bench to his left. The man was bigger than him and had an epileptic seizure. Thankfully, my submissive, Dr. Ted, was here to tend to both men until the ambulance came to take them to the hospital.


Ted hid in the next room until they left. The last thing he needs is to have the paramedics tell everyone at the hospital they saw him dressed in a gold half-shirt, locked cock cage, and a collar with a charm that says BITCH dangling from the front loop.


The man who had the seizure was okay after a short stint in the hospital, but Colby dislocated his shoulder. He had surgery to repair something, but he never wanted to talk about it, so I don’t know the extent of the damage. Muggy days like today often make it ache, even though he’s in a temperature-controlled building.


Colby stands and comes to kiss my forehead. “Good morning, beautiful.”


“Good morning, Colby. I don’t know about you, but my thighs are feeling it today. I won’t be working on legs for a week, and certainly won’t try to keep up with you.” He laughs while I pull each arm across my chest. I twist and feel the stretch in my back, too. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”


He points at the dark-grey floor mats and the two treadmills positioned side-by-side facing one of the floor-to-ceiling, ten-foot-wide window panes. “How about some yoga after a twenty-minute run?”


“I said no legs!” I hiss, and then groan when he points demandingly to the machines. “You’re a fucking asshole.” Why did I give him full control over my workout schedule? He’s a slave driver… It suits since he’s dominant.


Colby laughs. “Hey, you asked me to whip your ass into shape, and unless you want me to actually whip your ass, get running.”


He pinches the corners of his hand towel and spins it until it’s tight, and then thwaps it toward my ass, earning him the reward of my yelp, even though it doesn’t make contact.


“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I allow you to whip me,” I say as the machine revs to life at a steady walking speed.


Colby steps onto the second treadmill. He sets his speed, shrugs as he smiles, and says, “A man can dream. Can’t he?”


“Yeah. Keep fucking dreaming.”


Twenty minutes later, we’re both huffing and puffing, and my legs feel like cooked noodles. I hate cardio 

workouts, but they’re a necessary evil. I want to be in my best shape to better physically dominate men and, on the rare occasion, women.


“What are your plans after this?” Colby asks.


I sag to the floor, and we stretch our bodies along our straight legs while holding our feet. Well, I hold my feet and rest my head on my knees, but Colby can barely grip his toes with his fingertips, which is still impressive for a muscle head.


“I have to call Cindra to come and look at the spanking bench in the blue room, and I have to restock the bar. Other than that, not much.”


He rolls backward until his weight rests on his shoulders, and his legs rise high in the air. “What’s wrong with the bench?”


I copy his position. “The knee pad came off.”


“That shouldn’t be too hard to fix,” he says and lies flat while stretching the length of the mat.


I lie flat but don’t stretch. Instead, I flop like a starfish. “You’d think so, but the bottom bolt broke through the wood. It has to be taken apart and replaced, and I don’t have time to do it. Well, I do, but Cindra could use the work.”


Colby sits up and crosses his legs in front of him. “Oh, that’s right. Her dog had emergency surgery because he choked on a bone or something. Right?”


“Yeah. He ate an entire beef knuckle. They came to learn he’s allergic to beef and everything swelled inside him. The bone wouldn’t pass into his stomach, so they had to go in and get it. He’s doing okay now, but it was a major surgery and expensive. A Mastiff is in the giant dog breed category, and that means astronomical vet bills. So, if something needs repairing, she can handle it. Besides, she does great work, and it saves me from having to do it.”


He grins and leans back on his hands. “So, what you’re saying is that you have most of the day free.” My apprehensive nod has him excited. “Good! You can come shopping with me. I have to pick up some groceries, and we can do some Christmas shopping.”


I scoff. “I’d rather make a list and give it to Lana or buy everything online. You know how much I hate shopping for other people.”


He stands and rubs his glistening forehead with his towel, and then his chest. “I know, but you’ll be with me, and we always have fun.”


With a sneer, I say, “Fine! I’ll go, but I won’t enjoy myself.” 


“Yes, you will,” he says with a grin and offers me his hand, which I take, and he pulls me to my feet.


As I pick up my water bottle and pop the top, I fire back, “Fine! I’ll go. There’d better not be a lot of walking after that.” I point my water bottle at the treadmill and then lift my leg up and hold my knee to my chest. My groan has him snickering.


“The walk will do you good. It’ll help work out your aches. If you don’t keep moving, you’ll seize.” He swats my ass when I turn to leave the gym. “You can’t resist a day with me, even if it means shopping, because you love me.”


I grimace over my shoulder and scoff. “I tolerate you. I’ll be ready in half an hour.”


Again, he laughs, but I wasn’t joking. Not completely. He means a lot to me, and if he weren’t in my life, I’d miss him terribly. I’d feel alone, even when socializing with my other friends. Colby is my best buddy.


My hand presses to my stomach as I climb the stairs to my bedroom and watch Colby stride across the main floor toward his suite. Imagining him abandoning me carves an empty pit inside me that has me feeling nauseous. ...

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