Incarcerated Seductive Letters นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Seeing his reaction, Lucas broke out into a large grin but to Jace, that was the devil's grin. "Y-y-yes?" "Sadist..." Kayla mumbled quietly but in the silent werehouse, the remaining two concious people heard her. "We're going to free you, on one condition..." Kayla spoke this time. "Y-you a-are..?" "You are..?" Both males asked simutainously, "This wasn't part of the plan..." Lucas whispered to himself with a blank expression. He didn't like when things didn't go according to plan. "Yes, I am. But you keep ypur mouth shut about anything related to what he did or had done to you. Got it?" Kayla stated her condition clearly so he would understand.

Chelsey opened the box and was shocked to find a thick stack of property deeds with her name printed on them. Beneath the property deeds was a neatly folded piece of paper. She picked it up and unfolded it. It was a letter Lucas had written to her. Moreover, he addressed Chelsey as his "beloved wife".

Sister Margaret said as she handed it to me. My eyes froze when I saw the address of the place from the prison that had Rogue locked up. “Is there anything else?” I asked as she shook her head. “Please give me privacy.” The moment Sister Margaret closed the door; I ripped open the first letter as a bloody pencil fell out before I looked at the paper written in blood. Dear Daniel,

Since they hadn’t gotten there, it was his world, his rules. Swiveling his seat, he drew himself closer to the table, afraid of opening the letter. That particular letter. The last time a letter like that arrived, it changed him. The words, the handwriting, the attitude. He’d never seen anyone write so meticulously. So careful with punctuation, playing with words and beautiful handwriting. Little did he know that it was coming with trouble. He could still remember that letter and him. How did he get access to sending him a letter again after disappearing for years? He shut his eyes and the first thing he saw was that letter.

“What…” Two cloaked figures stood in front of a locked prison cell and stared at its four sleeping inmates. One cloaked figure threw a handful of dirt at the solid barred door whilst chanting some words. The second cloaked figure reached out and slid the door open. Both figures entered the cell and closed it behind them. The dirt thrower recited some words and flicked a hand against the door. Nothing changed. Or so it seemed. But the door had actually been magically warded such that anyone looking into that particular cell at that moment wouldn’t have seen or heard anything unusual. The person would have simply seen four inmates sleeping peacefully. One cloaked figure stood by the door as th

William's illegitimate son did not let down Sophie's kindness. On the evening of her father's death anniversary, Sophie was about to close the café when a ten-year-old girl knocked on the door. She gave Sophie a letter. "A man asked me to give you this." There was only one sentence in the letter. [I hope this secret is enough of an apology for what my father and brother did to you. From Soren's stepbrother.] At the back of the letter was the password to every secret account of the Lucas family. It totaled up to 30 billion dollars.

I turned back to Daniel Jackson and folded my hands in my lap and sat up straight and thought: I have been in harder rooms than this. ***** Daniel was thorough and unhurried and spoke to me like someone who assumed I was intelligent, which was, I realized, not something I had experienced from a professional in a very long time. He went through the letter line by line. Explained, in plain language, what it was and what it wasn't. Adultery, he told me, was not a criminal offence. A custodial sentence for infidelity was not something any court in this jurisdiction would impose. The letter was designed to intimidate, carefully worded to sound more legally substantial than it was, counting on the

Captured. Tortured. Need backup. Immediately. The letters were jagged, pressed too hard into the paper as if carved out of desperation. Some lines were dragged sideways, as though the writer’s hand had been yanked mid-sentence. There were streaks across the page—finger marks, smeared crimson, proof that whoever wrote this had been in a tight, merciless place. My heart began to pound so violently it hurt. “No…” I whispered. Lucien. Detained. Tortured.

At home, past midnight. The envelope on the table seemed to burn my gaze. It took me a while to open it. I hesitated. Trembled. Prayed, perhaps. But I did it. Inside: a check. Three million euros. And a handwritten letter, written in black ink as cold as it was elegant. “We want you. Not for a night. You choose one of us. The other watches. You offer us your first time, your trust, your surrender. We offer you your price, your freedom, your transformation.

There were some other things in there… things I caught sight of as I fumbled through his socks… what the– Marker pens and rope. A strange place to put them. And more. Three big dildos and a string full of beads. And some photos… wow, fuck. Some actual printed-out photos of a girl with blonde hair, her hands bound up over her head. In that rope. A dark shade of red. I ran my fingers over it. She had slut scrawled on her chest in marker pen, and one of the dildos jammed tight in her pussy, and she can’t have been much older than me.