Page 128 of Haunted

Silk ropes in deep crimson. Leather restraints lined with soft fur. A collection of paddles and floggers hung up.

“Arms up,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.

I raise my trembling arms above my head, watching my reflection multiply infinitely in the glass surfaces around us. Xavier secures thick leather cuffs around my wrists, then clips them to a chain that descends from the ceiling.

With a soft mechanical whir, the chain begins to retract, pulling my arms higher until I’m forced onto my toes. The position stretches my spine, making the delicate chains of my dress pull taut against my skin.

“Perfect,” Xavier murmurs, stepping back to admire his work.

He selects a flogger with multiple leather tails, testing its weight in his hand. The movement is confident—this clearly isn’t his first time wielding such tools.

“Do you know why I chose this particular display case?” he asks, trailing the leather tails along my exposed back. “Because everyone watching can see exactly how you respond.”

The first strike lands across my shoulder blades—not painful, but shocking in its intensity. The leather tails spread the sensation across my skin like fire, and despite myself, a soft moan escapes my lips.

“That’s it,” Xavier encourages, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Let them hear how much you enjoy this.”

The second strike falls lower, across the chains that hold my dress together. The impact travels through the metal links, creating a symphony of sensation that has me arching against my restraints.

Through the glass, I catch glimpses of movement in the watching booths—figures leaning forward, some gesturing to companions. They’re commenting on my reactions.

The third strike lands across the chains at my waist, and this time, the sound that escapes me is pure need. The leather tails spread warmth across my skin like lava, and I find myself pushing back against the restraints, seeking more contact.

“Please,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it.

Xavier pauses, the flogger hanging motionless at his side. “Please, what, Mira?”

“More,” I breathe, my voice carrying clearly through the glass enclosure to the watching shadows in their booths. “Please, more.”

The next strike comes harder across my exposed shoulder blades, and I cry out in pleasure. Each impact of the leather sends vibrations through the delicate chains that hold my dress together, creating a constant caress against my sensitive skin.

“Look at them watching you,” Xavier commands, his voice rough with desire. “Look at how they’re leaning forward to see every reaction.”

I open my eyes, focusing on the dark booths surrounding us. The shadowed figures have indeed moved closer to their glass panels, and I can make out the subtle movements that suggest they’re touching themselves while watching my degradation.

The realization sends another wave of arousal through me.

“Again,” I plead, arching my back to present more of my exposed skin to him. “Please, Xavier, I need?—”

The flogger strikes across the chains at the small of my back, and I nearly scream with pleasure. My hips buck forward instinctively, seeking friction that isn’t there.

“You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?” Xavier’s voice is a dark promise behind me. “Getting off on being displayed like this.”

“Yes,” I admit shamelessly, my voice breaking on the word. “God, yes. Don’t stop.”

He alternates the strikes now—across my shoulders, down my spine, along the chains that barely hold my dress together. Each impact draws another desperate plea from my lips.

“More,” I beg between strikes, my voice growing louder with each request. “Harder. Please, Xavier, I need more.”

The watching figures in their booths press closer to their glass panels, and I realize I’m putting on exactly the show they came to see—a formerly respectable journalist begging to be degraded for their entertainment.

And I love every second of it.

The flogger hits the floor with a soft thud that echoes through our glass prison. Xavier’s hands move to his shirt, stripping it off with urgent efficiency. His belt follows, then his pants, until he stands completely naked before me.

Through the transparent walls, I watch the shadowed figures in their booths shift forward again, their attention riveted on Xavier’s magnificent abs as he positions himself between my spread legs.

His hands grip my thighs, lifting me effortlessly until my feet leave the floor entirely. The leather cuffs around my wrists take my full weight, stretching my arms even tauter as Xavier supports me with his powerful grip.