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๐ฅ๐BROKEN CHARM๐๐ฅ
โ ๏ธ๐๐๐ง๐ฃ๐๐ฃ๐โ ๏ธ
๐๐ค๐ข๐ ๐ฝ๐ฟ๐๐ ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ฃ๐ฉ ๐ข๐๐ฎ ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ ๐จ๐ช๐๐๐๐๐ฉ ๐ข๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐๐ง ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฉ ๐๐จ ๐ฉ๐ค๐ค ๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ฃ๐จ๐ ๐๐ค๐ง ๐ง๐๐๐๐๐ง๐จ ๐ฌ๐๐ฉ๐ ๐ ๐จ๐๐ฃ๐จ๐๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐๐๐๐ง.
๐ถ แดแดแดแดสแด สแดแดแด แดส๊ฑ แดษดสส 18+
๐ถ แดXแดสษชแดษชแด ๊ฑแดXแดแดส แดแดษดแดแดษดแด
๐ถ สแดษดษขแดแดษขแด
๐ถ แด ษชแดสแดษดแดแด
๐๐ฎ ๐ฅ๐๐จ๐ฉ ๐๐๐ช๐๐๐ฉ ๐ช๐ฅ ๐ฌ๐๐ฉ๐ ๐ข๐, ๐๐ช๐ฉ ๐ ๐ข๐ช๐จ๐ฉ ๐ฃ๐ค๐ฉ ๐๐๐ก๐ก ๐๐ค๐ง ๐๐๐จ ๐๐๐๐ง๐ข, ๐๐ค๐ง ๐๐ฉ’๐จ ๐ก๐๐๐๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ฉ๐ ๐๐ค๐จ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฎ ๐จ๐๐๐ง๐๐ฉ๐จ.
Blurb
๐ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ ๐ข๐จ๐ฐ, ๐ ๐ง๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ช๐ญ๐บ ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ข๐ง๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐จ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ฆ๐พ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฉ๐๐;
๐ข ๐ฏ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต๐ค๐ญ๐ถ๐ฃ ๐ค๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฌ๐บ. ๐’๐ฎ ๐ข ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ ๐๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด, ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ญ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ด๐ต ๐ค๐ข๐ต๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ฆ.
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๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฆ๐บ๐ฆ๐ด, ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ข๐จ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ง๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ฆ, ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ. ๐๐ช๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐๐ณ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ’๐ด ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ง๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐บ๐ด๐ช๐ฒ๐ถ๐ฆ.
๐พ๐๐ฃ ๐ ๐ง๐๐จ๐๐จ๐ฉ ๐๐๐จ ๐๐๐ง๐ค๐๐๐ค๐ช๐จ ๐จ๐๐ญ๐ช๐๐ก ๐๐ฃ๐๐ง๐๐ฎ?
๐๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ, ๐๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฃ๐บ, ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ด ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ฏ๐บ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ. ๐๐ด ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฃ๐ต ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ท๐ช๐ด๐ช๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ’๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด, ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ฆ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ค๐ญ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ซ๐ถ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต?
๐๐จ ๐๐ง๐๐จ๐ฉ๐๐ฃ’๐จ ๐๐๐๐ง๐ฉ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ง๐ ๐ค๐ง ๐๐จ ๐๐๐จ ๐๐๐๐ง๐ข ๐ก๐๐๐๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ฉ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐ง๐ค๐ ๐๐ฃ ๐ฉ๐ง๐ช๐จ๐ฉ ๐ค๐ ๐๐ค๐จ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฎ ๐จ๐๐๐ง๐๐ฉ๐จ?
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๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ต ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐๐ณ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ข๐ฏ’๐ด ๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ต๐ฐ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ต๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ด ๐๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฃ๐บ’๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ถ๐ช๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ, ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ง๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐ด ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ธ๐ข๐ช๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฎ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ท๐ช๐ณ๐จ๐ช๐ฏ๐ช๐ต๐บ ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐บ๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ๐ด ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ช๐ฐ๐ณ. ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ช๐ค๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐จ๐ฆ๐ด.
Cover Design by: @Pebbles Lacasse
Cover Model: @ Susan Gerth
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BROKEN CHARM CHAPTER 1 TEASER
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By Pebbles Lacasse
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“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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