Harem Servitude: Taboo BDSM Slave Erotica E-Book

Kimberly Sparkle

• Herausgeber: Vintage Pulp Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Teaser: 

Karen O'Malley blinked her emerald eyes and stirred to a drugged wakefulness as she lay belly down on the warm sheets. For a moment she stared dizzily at the flaking stucco walls. Where was she? She pushed herself up on the palms of her hands, tumbles of red hair cascading about her naked shoulders.
Stripes of sunlight filtered through the barred windows, creating a rectangular slash across the small room. Dimly she recalled Chet packing for Basra, him telling her that she would be under the care of a Mr. Jibsen, was it? Wearily, she slung one shapely leg off the rumpled bed, and realized with a shiver that she was completely naked. Now her saucered green eyes took in the small room with its single chair and elaborately carved table. In the corner of the room her luggage had been spilled open and its contents scattered about the floor as if someone was looking for something. What?
In a burst of alarm, the facts started piecing together. The attacks on Chet's life, the robbery in his hotel room, and now this.

Leseprobe

Harem Servitude

Kimberly Sparkle

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

He'd been savoring a stroll along Ras Beirut and poking around the Paris couture's for a present for his girl friend; the American had settled on a pair of lacey silk tap pants and matching camisole, paid for it, stuck the sales slip in his back pocket and headed into the navy blue night. After a few drinks at the Dolce Vita, he'd staggered back towards the St. George Hotel, musing at the poster-splattered walls chipped with gun fire from which Khomeini, Nasser and Arafat stared at him with militaristic daring.

None of the terror of anarchy and confusion of guerilla warfare filled this American's veins! A veteran of the Special Forces of Viet Nam, the tall, muscular blonde documentary filmmaker was in prize condition... except when he was drunk.

Like now...

He remembered twisting the key in the lock, dumping the Milady lingerie bag onto the chair, and swinging open the door. Had his senses been more lucid, he would have noticed the three dark figures crouching in waiting at the stairway. He'd heard a blur of movement behind him, but before his senses could react, they'd shoved him forward into his hotel room, kicked shut the door and clubbed him with a sickening crack alongside the skull.

Beaten to his knees under a hail of blows, it took a moment to gather the strength to fight back. Punching blind blows into the dark, the second try landed a balled up fist into a fragile cheekbone. The attacker grunted out in pain and crumbled to the floor.

Chet's blood was running hot. Hunching down like a cat, his Special Forces Marine training surfaced like a cork in choppy waters. He slunk behind the chair and grabbed it by the back legs. The Milady shopping bag gave way his position as it rustled to the floor. With a murderous grunt, he caught one attacker across the back. Chet stood panting, confident he'd gotten them both. But the unaccounted for third, slammed a bolt of lightning pain into his ribs, cracking it like brittle ice.