Page 71 of Somno Slave

“Detective!” A guard realises what’s happening. “Fuck! He’s touching himself!”

But it’s too late.

I explode.Everywhere.

Pleasure chokes me, as spurts of cum shoot out of my cock. Pleasure devours every nerve that once hummed with pain.

I groan, head falling back as the release intensifies.

I don’t know when the detective released me but suddenly, I can breathe again. My face burns as the chill replaces the heat.

“You dirty bastard!” His voice is distant. It’s something like an echo pounding through the depths of some distant dream.

My head lulls forward, and then the room snaps back in all at once. Sound. Movement. Air rushing hard into lungs as the grip releases without warning, the sudden absence of pressure almost violent.

Hands grab my jaw, forcing my head up.

“You think this is control?” The detective leans in close, breath sour, voice low. “I haven’t even started taking things from you yet.”

He has no idea.

My head dips forward again as the moment settles, the body dragging itself back into alignment piece by piece. Pain returns where it belongs. Air evens out. The room reforms around me.

But my focus remains on her pulse that ticks too fast; her lips which are still parted.

And now she understands the worst part of it.

I don’t need to cross the room.

I don’t need to touch her.

I only need her to keep looking.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rheda

I keep my eyes on the desk because I know if I look back into that room, I’ll see him looking at me. Worse. I’m terrified I’ll want him to be.

The image of him doesn’t leave.

It fixes itself somewhere behind my eyes, replaying in fragments I can’t control—the tilt of his head, the low, broken sound that slipped from him, the way the muscles in his neck pulled tight, standing out under his skin like something straining to break free.

It shouldn’t stay this clear; it shouldn’t stay at all. But it does.

Heat floods my face before I can stop it, too fast, too exposing, my grip tightening against the armrest as something unsettled twists low in my stomach.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it.

I shouldn’t be reacting to it.

But my body doesn’t seem to care, and that more than anything makes something cold slip down my spine.

Peter re-enters the viewing room. He turns without warning and throws something across the desk. It lands in front of me with a blunt, cracking sound.

I flinch. The plastic is cold when I pick it up. Smooth. Too light for what it is. I recognise it a second later. The electrocution dial.

“When I tell you, shock him.” His voice is flat as if this is already decided.