My Missing Daughter Is My Sex Slave

My Missing Daughter Is My Slave

Nym Hexel

Toby Moore stepped into the dim garden shed at the far end of the backyard, forty-five years old and solid through the chest and shoulders from years of yard work and quiet control. His dark hair was cropped short, a few strands of gray at the temples, and a short beard framed a firm jaw. His eyes were a cool blue that rarely softened. He wore a simple work shirt with the sleeves rolled up and old jeans, the scent of grass and earth still clinging to him from the afternoon. The shed smelled of wood, old tools, and the faint metallic note of the chain that hung from a heavy ring bolted into the wall.

Georgia Moore sat on the thin mattress in the corner, twenty years old and naked except for the leather collar locked around her throat. The chain ran from the collar to the wall ring, long enough for her to move a few feet but no farther. Her black hair hung in tangled waves past her shoulders, a few strands sticking to the light sheen of sweat on her neck. She had a full, heavy bust that rose and fell with each cautious breath, soft pink nipples already tight from the cool air inside the shed. Her waist narrowed before flaring into rounded hips and strong thighs. Her face was pretty in a quiet way, full lips pressed together, wide dark eyes fixed on the floor with clear fear.

She had been reported missing for a full year. Neighbors still left flowers by the mailbox some weeks. Toby had given interviews, accepted casseroles, and shaken his head in public grief. In private he kept her here.

He closed the shed door behind him and locked it from the inside. The soft click made Georgia flinch. She drew her knees up, arms wrapping around ...