Novelas y relatos de Manacled

The kind of slap that leaves a mark on the ego of a powerful man. Ilyès Blackwood. He was no ordinary man. Cold. Calm. Insultingly wealthy. And above all, vindictive. “Are you kidding?” she breathed. “You’re not really going to…” “It’s too late,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “I’ve wiped out your father’s debts. You’re mine now, Lena.” “No. No, that’s illegal. I’m of age, I…” But she didn’t have time to finish. Two men approached from behind her. She felt their hands on her arms, the force, the impossibility of escape.

Behind Bars Compared to mine, I was only wearing a tiny piece of loincloth that covers my genital parts, and at least partially the buttocks. Also, the man had no other accessories hanging on his body. I have these wooden and shell-made bracelets in my arms and ankles. Aside from that, the old man was holding a black metallic thing with its tip pointed at me. I'm not sure what it was for. But the one thing is for certain, it doesn't do good to my wolf.

A male voice told me he was going to remove the blindfold and gag and instructed me not to shout or else he was going to put them back and I nodded my head and he took them off I knew better than to shout. The rope was digging into my skin and it was making me feel very uncomfortable but I had to manage. The others had left the room and the guy who removed the gag and bandage was sitting by the door and pressing his phone. I studied the room why he was focused on other things. The room was empty and had thick drapes so it was also dark. The floor was tiled and there was a wardrobe at one corner so it was probably somebody’s house.

a sympathetic brother uttered. The men were near the burnt palace premises now, following Jonah behind. There was the sound of someone coming through a partially charred door. It was kept ajar. A young man strode out from it. He stood a few yards away from the men. He was difficult to identify; for his face was partly covered in blood. When he came close, the men cringed in fright, for he wore a skirt of bearskin like theirs. From his belly to his head was bare save for the blood that covered his face, and he had in his right hand, a glittering sword, which he held upward, keeping its sharpest tip above his head. With his left hand, he held a man’s head which had been cut off from the body.

His torn ankle showed the effects. “The shit-holes knew what they were doing. This fucking thing is anchored to hell and goddamn unpickable.” “Max, talk to me.” “What do you want me to say? You’ve made your decision, giving yourself over to that slithering dick-wad. Fuck!” Max pulled the manacle, his muscles screaming with strain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

They were all holding mini machine guns aimed at him. The man was tied and bound so tightly I was certain it must be cutting off some blood circulation. He was tied to just a simple folding chair but as he squirmed he was barely able to make movement. It was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. He had a small burlap sack on his head, and I assumed his mouth was covered since all he could make was muffled grumbling noises.

The cold, unforgiving ground beneath them seemed to mock their vulnerability, amplifying their sense of powerlessness. With methodical efficiency, the victors bound their captives, one by one, their movements deliberate and devoid of mercy. The ropes bit into the flesh of the Sangre men, serving as physical manifestations of their confinement. Each knot tightened like the clutches of an invisible predator, ensnaring their freedom and ensuring their compliance.

My gaze falls on Ghost, wondering if he can outrun a wolf, but returns when the Wolf-Man clears his throat. He wipes blood from his mouth, his tongue flicking out to finish the clean-up. “What are you doing out here?” “Running away, and you will not drag me back!” I declare, tightening my grip on the reins. I pray Ghost is ready to run, though he stands oddly calm. The man quirks a brow and steps closer, I tense up in response. “Where do you plan on running?” “You are not going to stop me.” I state, giving the reins a light tug. Ghost takes a few steps in response, maintaining a short distance between us and him.

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD #RULE 1: I WILL SERVE, OBEY, AND PLEASE MY MASTER. I lie naked on a cold, hard surface, my wrists and ankles bound tightly to four wooden posts. The air is thick with anticipation and the faint scent of leather. My heart races as I hear footsteps approaching. The man who owns me, my master, strides into view. His tall, muscular frame is adorned with a black leather harness, accentuating every curve and ridge of his sculpted body. A leash dangles from one hand, its collar sparkling with silver.

No, this barn had a big metal table that a serial killer would drool over if he saw it on eBay, a few more unoccupied chains dangling from above, and a huge, rusty metal sink against the opposite wall. At least, I hoped it was rust. It could’ve been dried blood. Another few drops of sweat dribbled down my back and sides. Ian’s head lolled against his shoulder, and his eyes were closed. It looked like his wrists were taking his full weight, and I winced; that was a lot of weight to bear. Something was jammed in his mouth. A muzzle. They had him in a fucking muzzle, that locked around the back of his head. His ankles were manacled too, attached to chains that bo