Enslaved

Chapter Four

Author's Notes:

Hello and welcome back, lovely readers...

I hope you will forgive me for the cute and fluffy last week but once you get into this next day's worth of activity you'll be needing to take a breather in about another 4 chapters' time. That's right...one day has stretched out to 4 chapters so I hope you're ready for it.

Also, I want to dedicate this chapter to the late Michael Aday aka Meatloaf who passed onto the great concert stage recently. He was a big man with an equally big talent and will be remembered fondly.

I'm not sure if there are any Aussies in my readers but give me a shout if you recognise a line in this chapter. It makes me giggle uncontrollably every time I read it but it won't make any sense to anyone else.

Anyway...enjoy the next day of Enslaved.

J💕💕💕

DISCLAIMER:

Dear readers:

This is a story. It is fantasy. It is not real.

Neither my beta reader nor I have any training in BDSM, or in the care and recovery from PTSD or C PTSD. We do not recommend this as a therapy session in any way, shape or form. This is purely for use in this story.

Please seek professional help if you suffer from any trauma or mental health issues.

For those in the BDSM community, we have tried to research as much as possible. If we have missed anything, we welcome constructive criticism with glaring errors. Abuse will not be tolerated.

Sincerely

BneJovi and her beta

Chapter 4

Lee-Sixx house

The Next Morning

(Ref: https://www.va.gov/WHOLEHEALTHLIBRARY/docs/Script-Mindful-Breathing.pdf)

Jon woke with a start, the unfamiliar room and gentle early morning noises distracting him from drifting back to sleep. He looked over at Richie and grinned. His husband was laying on his stomach, half hanging off the side of the bed as though he had fallen asleep mid-reach to the nightstand.

He rolled over with every intention of going back to sleep but his brain had other ideas as a replay of the night before started an old-style flickering reel in his head. He groaned softly into the pillow as the familiar tingle started in the base of his spine when their pool party had appeared but then, like a rock into still water, the pleasantness of that visual was shattered by his long-held confession about the Baxters' use of the bat.

He groaned again but this time in pain when Richie's shocked face appeared in his mind's eye. Jon didn't really know why he'd held that snippet back from him; although truthfully, he'd locked it away so hard that his brain hadn't wanted to give it up.

Richie shifted in his sleep and Jon froze, not wanting to wake him just yet but needing to do something other than just lying there and letting his thoughts swim through the vestiges of a hangover.

He wished he had some cookies to think with and, as though his brain woke up the rest of his body, suddenly his stomach agreed with him, letting out a gurgle moments before his bladder protested at the pressure it was being put under. With a frustrated huff, Jon rolled from the bed and padded into the ensuite to take care of one internal organ first.

After flushing and washing his hands, Jon found a pair of shorts, his sweats and Tshirt still out by the pool somewhere, and pulled them on as quietly as possible. However, Richie, sensing movement in the room, stirred and reached blindly for him. Jon knelt on the bed and whispered, "Shhh, baby. Go back to sleep." He kissed his cheek and waited until Richie's breathing evened out again before leaving the room.