Free Enslaved By Him: My Bareback Master Series (Book 1) (An Erotic Romance) by Kimberly D. Carter

Enslaved By Him: My Bareback Master Series (Book 1)
    (An Erotic Romance)
     
     
     
    by
    Kimberly D. Carter
     
     
    Copyright © 2013 Kimberly D. Carter.
     
    This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
    All rights reserved.
    No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
     
     
     
    Content Warning: Explicit sexual content. Contains elements of domination, body worship, and public sex. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted in this story are 18 years or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.
     
     
    Other books in this series: Slapped & Spanked: My Bareback Master Series (Book 2)
     
     
     
     
    ~The Beginning~
     
    I look at the big, pink clock sitting on my nightstand. The time on it flashes on and off like a bright neon light directing incoming air traffic.
    Only it’s not directing any air traffic.
    No.
    Instead, what it’s doing is driving me crazy with excitement.
    1:00 AM , it says and I feel like I just want to jump up and down in my room, literally rock the floor and make the ground tremble under my feet.
    See, today is my eighteenth birthday.
    I literally just turned eighteen one hour ago and I’m bristling with excitement because I’m finally, finally , an adult now.
    No more being treated like a teenager who doesn’t have any brains on her.
    Fuck. That. Shit.
    To celebrate my big day today, I plan on going out with my friends to a club tomorrow evening━or tonight, if you want to get all technical and shit━and staying out all night.
    That’s the plan, you see.
    Emphasis on the word “plan” here.
    And the reason why I’m just planning as opposed to being sure that I am one hundred per cent going to go out and party like a rock star━or with a rock star if I can find one who likes eighteen year old girls with red hair and green eyes━is because of the other woman who lives in my house.
    I call her “mom” most times, and when she pisses me off━which is every day now since I turned sixteen, two years ago━I like to call her monster .
    Sometimes though, she really, really gets under my skin, like when she tries to tell me who my friends should be or maybe turn the music down in my room.
    Days like those, I get real moody with her, stalk back into my room and make sure to slam the door real hard behind me. So hard that one day my door slamming antics actually broke a flower vase that was sitting in the hallway outside my room.
    The vase had been a gift to mom from my aunt, mom’s younger sister, when she came back from an overseas trip to China.
    So it was all ornamental and shit. I’m talking exquisite-looking like with blue and orange flowers covering its entire surface.
    And mom loved that vase.
    For that “atrocity”━is what she called it━I ended up receiving triple the punishment that she’d initially given me.
    No TV or cell phone privileges for three days instead of the one day that I’d originally gotten.
    On days like those, I usually just glum up and don’t say a single word the whole day.
    How dare she do that to me?!?
    She doesn’t like it when I get like that with her, but I do it anyway just to make her feel the same way I’m feeling at that particular time.
    So now that I’m planning my eighteenth birthday I’m very sure of two things:
    My mom is going to say━in fact I’m sure these will be her exact words━“No way you’re going out and staying out all night, young lady.”
    The second thing I’m sure of: My dad isn’t going to have a heart attack or anything about my supposed plans of staying out all night but he will have to side with my mom.
    Uuugh, Parents! Can’t stand them sometimes.
    I look down at