Slave in Chains

The chains encircled Elena. 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 had cancer. This would solve both their problems. She was afraid. And then she saw him. Polished shoes, gleaming black. A tailored businessman's suit. Broad back. Strong shoulders. A face as beautiful as God. Lips that melted her. And a look that made her bow her head. Elena: Marcos is everything to me. He's my man. My lord. My master. My owner. And I am his. I belong to him. Body. Mind. Soul. And my chains are proof of it. But what if Marcos is much more than that to me? Marcos: I'm not a good guy. But I'd never done anything like this before. It was my 37th birthday. He was a giant. In every sense. Tall. Strong. Muscular. Well-endowed. A multimillionaire. Successful. Funny. Owner of the night. Bars. Clubs. Discos. And even more private venues. Sex. BDSM. She was my first and last purchase. I could have had anyone I wanted. But I chose her. She was perfect. And she was mine. 100% mine.