Jesus. That was horrific, yet captivating and somehow beautiful. I'm in awe.
It's bloody and violent and not for the faint-hearted. It's a tragedy in just a few pages!
Those are what some people told me after reading my story. I can't warn you enough about it. You just have to read it yourself.
Damien King is a painter who gets inspired
from tormenting his models. Julien is his one-time muse. Warning: BDSM,
torture, violence, dub-con
Excerpt
Prologue
He could not take
his eyes off the artist. His breath held fast for a moment when the
painter seemed to glance his way, but apparently not, he didn’t
stand a chance of being noticed. Damien King admired beauty and what
he meant by beauty
was a definite glory. It was obvious from his paintings. Damien
needed a delicate-looking model for his muse and Julien would not
even dare dream it. He was not in that category. In truth, he was
nothing. Nothing.
Looking around in
terror, Julien made sure he was still alone, hiding in a corner of
the gallery where Damien displayed his artwork. No one he knew was
anywhere in the vicinity although his father
would eventually realize he was missing and begin to seek him out.
Knowing his hiding
spot would not be safe for long, despite the shadow protecting it,
Julien crept out toward the tall, floor-to-ceiling, blood-red drapes.
Yet as he lifted his face, a pair of crimson-angry eyes fell to his
and Julien shrieked, fleeing to a room where Damien had just
retreated. His heart pounded hard, anticipating the horror that the
future would bestow upon him.
***
Damien crinkled his
nose as he rearranged Julien’s stance. The stench of blood and
semen—his semen—assaulted his nostrils. The lad was unconscious
now as he tightened the leather cords around Julien’s wrists. The
ropes hung down from the ceiling, suspending the model in free space.
Dark lids covered the boy’s clenched shut eyes, now drenched with
sweat running from his brow. Those liquid pearls of sweat doused the
boy’s face and body, including his bare chest and red, welt-covered
back.
Damien tilted his
head sideways, marveling at his own artwork, and that other lovely
shape—definitely not his work—a well-rounded rump swathed with
angry marks. The artist smirked, full of contentment. A little push
to spread the legs apart and he would be ready to capture Julien’s
startling expressions on canvas. Damien smiled, thinking of how it
had all started.
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