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    Fugue
    Fugue
    Fugue
    Ebook42 pages41 minutes

    Fugue

    By Rick R. Reed

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    About this ebook

    Who is the master and who is the slave?

    Fugue takes the brave reader into the dungeon playroom of a master and his boy. It's the kind of place where darkness skitters into corners, hiding in shadows where the walls disappear. A boy is chained to the pipes along the ceiling. Hooded, he can only experience the sensations his master delivers with his whips, fingers, tongue ...

    But in the boy's mind, a dream state takes him places even the master can’t imagine, places where the established pecking order is flipped upside down. As he's being whipped, tantalized, and tortured, the boy takes a mental journey on a late-night train where his adventures are even more raw and erotic than what goes on in this very dungeon.

    Come along for the Fugue and answer for yourself the question: who is the master and who is the slave?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJMS Books LLC
    Release dateApr 8, 2017
    ISBN9781634862752
    Fugue
    Author

    Rick R. Reed

    Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as "heartrending and sensitive." Lambda Literary has called him: "A writer that doesn't disappoint…" Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their two rescue dogs, Kodi and Joaquin.

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      Book preview

      Fugue - Rick R. Reed

      Fugue

      By Rick R. Reed

      Published by JMS Books LLC

      Visit jms-books.com for more information.

      Copyright 2017 Rick R. Reed

      ISBN 9781634862752

      Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

      Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

      All rights reserved.

      WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

      No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

      This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Published in the United States of America.

      NOTE: This ebook was previously published by Amber Quill Press.

      * * * *

      Fugue

      By Rick R. Reed

      It’s the kind of damp and filthy basement you read about in novels written by the Marquis de Sade or authors who sign their books with only the initial O. It’s the type of cellar you’d discover in a true crime book by Ann Rule or Gregg Olsen, a shocking chiller about twisted men who keep their victims shackled, naked, and desperate for long periods of time. Men who enjoy seeing their victims suffer, who enjoy playing long, drawn-out, and elaborate versions of cat and mouse.

      There’s the whiff of decay and mildew in the air. You just know that beetles, roaches, and other creatures that scurry from the light make their homes here, hiding within chinks between bricks and black areas where the walls don’t quite meet the floor. Somewhere, water drips endlessly. The only light is from a dim-watted bulb that hangs in the middle of this space, unadorned with even so much as a shade and which is turned off and on by a rusting, beaded cord. It hums. Some grayish natural light might seep in during the day through high horizontal windows, besotted with grime and covered with yellowing newspapers taped over their glass.

      The darkness skitters into corners, hiding in shadows where the walls disappear. Here, the cinder blocks are broken up by rough and dripping mortar. The floor is concrete, stained, cold; the feel of grime is palpable, gritty beneath my bare toes.

      These are my surroundings.

      Pipes run the length of the ceiling. It is to these pipes that I am chained, my arms raised above my head to accommodate leather cuffs and the links of steel that marry me to the pipes. For now, it is painless, but I am a seer of pain and know what the future holds: how the muscles in my arms will first ache, then scream for relief, and finally succumb to the numbness that I will curse. It is as if the muscles and tendons in my arms have

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