His Will Be Done

By Ariel Bruhl

After years as the old man’s long-suffering personal assistant, putting up with his lewd suggestions and advances, Marsha was amazed when, after he died, she learned she could inherit his fortune. But there was a catch. A big one too. If she wanted to enjoy all her old boss’s riches, she would have to submit to one last vindictive condition. Which was why she had ended up in this dank cellar, dressed provocatively, and waiting for three masked men to arrive and have their way with her. Illicit, Explicit, 18+ Erotica.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ariel Bruhl
• Release date: Aug 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005528089

Ariel Bruhl

Hi! I’m Ariel Bruhl, Your Naughty Neighborhood Smut Writer with Tales to Excite & Provoke.I Hope You'll Enjoy All The Filthy Fantasies I Have on Offer Here.But Have a Care!Everything I Scribble is Definitely 18+, NSFW, & Designed to Get You Hot Under the Collar From the Start!

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Copyright © 2022 Ariel Bruhl

Smashwords Edition

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved.

All characters depicted in this publication are 18 years of age or older, are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover Art © Ariel Bruhl 2023

CONTENTS

BRUTAL BEGINNINGS

THE COLLAR

THE PROMISE OF PUNISHMENT

SUBMITTING TO BLACK

BRUTAL BEGINNINGS

I still don’t understand, I said, fidgeting on the edge of the hard, plastic chair. With only a single bare lightbulb hanging from the metal beam in the cellar ceiling, the man I was addressing was little more than a shadow in the gloom. The bastard is dead. How will he get the slightest pleasure out of any of this?

The shadow gave a shrug. I can’t tell you that, Marsha. Maybe he anticipated your decision. Maybe it didn’t matter which way you jumped and he simply liked to imagine you squirming. You know how vindictive he was.

I did at that. Layton Dennings had put me through hell for the last few years of his extended life. But there had always been the promise of his wealth at the end of it. With no relatives to speak of, I – his personal assistant - was the one who was tipped to inherit the lot. But in a final twist, I’d ended up here: dressed like a whore, my hand still hovering over the consent form on my lap.

I’d always known the old fucker had lusted over me, but impotence had prevented him from ever making his move. Instead, he’d tried to manufacture liaisons with other men over the years - which I’d always pointedly refused. Until now. Now, I was a pen stroke away from the sick cunt finally getting what he’d always wanted. I could almost hear him cackling from some empty part of the house: the house I would own when all this was through.

I craned my neck against the collar. The tight, pink plastic bodice (zipped up against my modest cleavage) and short, black plastic skirt (which barely covered my ass) creaked as I moved. Together with the white fishnets and platform shoes I knew I looked ridiculous – but I was also acutely aware I could carry this fetish gear off too. I still had the figure of a twenty-year old, even though I was in my middle thirties. My tits were on the small side, but nicely even and suited my slim body. My ass was round, plump, and filled out a pair of jeans nicely. And together with my hair scraped back into a ponytail, and my plump lips, rouged red, I could easily have suited any one of those BDSM pornos that I knew Layton loved so much.

Except, this wasn’t a movie. This was real. And would get even more real if I signed the paper.

Well? the shadow pressed. Layton’s lawyer, Harry Bryce, had been sympathetic to me all the way through the process. But there was a time limit. Either I signed now – before it reached three o’clock – or I’d lose the lot.

Fuck!

And these men… I said, buying just a smidgeon more time. "They can do whatever they want