The woman screamed, her voice hoarse, the high-pitched sound that seemed to come from deep in her throat. She is shouting something. I wonder if that's his name. For some reason, that thought made me extremely angry. Here I am, right here, in this place, tied to a damn bedpost like an object while another woman screams his name. No doubt it was the intense orgasms. Yet I must call him Master. I have no right to call his name. Even at the top, which I wouldn't do if I did, that's not the point. She screams again and this time I can't stop myself from moaning his name out loud, not in ecstasy like hers, but in pain. I had never called his name before, and hadn't realized it until now. Ever since I came here, I always think about each passing day. In my head, he was Eric, always, but I never let his name escape my lips. I spoke up again, challenging myself to call his name a little louder, forcing myself to stay ahead of the competition. More aches came, they were heavy, warm and wet be
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