I like the idea of you on an island...""Oh...why's that?" She's squinting up at me, her eyes brighter than the sea in the setting sun."I could keep you all to myself. You'd be trapped, only able to come and go as I please...I'd be your Caesar..."She laughs and reaches her hand out to me, "Don't you already have that power...without need of a sea?

I no longer fear the pain...I fear no release from this torture...knowing that I've hurt him and he can't forgive me...that he won't be able to make me his good girl again.

Acting so obviously submissive to Max around strangers, I felt a lot of humiliation. The looks from people, the comments. But I also felt this strange sense of pride. I am his possession, his property. And I'm proud of that. I'm proud of how happy I make him.

When he sees my pain, the old and new, he pushes me to give it to him. To give in to his need to consume all of it and make it his.

I’m the answer to her pain. She’s my answer for the need for it.

I’ve succumbed to the absolute power of the man that pulls, culls, calls my unwitting submission. And I’ve embraced the power of my submission to draw him in further, to have him kneeling and worshiping what he’s conquered. I’ve known surrender and strength with him. True freedom. And a hell of a lot of orgasms.

Men need to hunt. She obviously understands this. She’s offering herself as prey. Not easy prey. But willing.

Some men just can’t stomach the necessary steps it takes to make a good girl great.

I have agreed to follow Max's rules. I broke a rule. And I knew the consequence.