Chained Slave

Her wrists. Her ankles. Her neck. She was going to be sold. Like an object. Voluntarily. Forever. But the sacrifice was worth it. Her father had debts. Her mother cancer. That would solve their lives. She was afraid. And then she saw it. Polished gleaming black shoes. Bespoke businessman suit. Wide back. Strong shoulders. A beautiful face like God. Lips that melted her. And a look that made her bow her head. Elena: Marcos is everything to me. He is my man. My Sir. My master. My owner. And I am his. I belong to him. In body. In mind. In soul. And my chains are proof of it. But what if Marcos is much more? Marcos: I‘‘m not a good guy. But he had never done something like that. It was my 37th birthday. He was a giant. In every sense. High or tall. Strong. Muscled. Gifted. Multimillionaire. Successful. Funny. Owner of the night. Pubs. Clubs. Discs. And even more private premises. Sex. BDSM. It was my first and last purchase. He could have whoever he wanted. But I chose her. It was perfect. And she was mine. 100% mine. More about this source textSource text required for additional translation information