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All Wrapped Up: Naked Exposure by Lacey Savage

All Wrapped Up, Vol. 2
by Willa Okati and Lacey Savage and Sierra Dafoe

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 978-1-59596-821-0

Naked Exposure by Lacey Savage
Scoop of a lifetime — Hollywood bachelor Greg Radigan in all his naked glory, participating in some very explicit BDSM play. The moment the picture hits the Internet, it goes viral. Naturally, whoever took the picture has to pay. When Greg and Deidre finally come face-to-face, he’s ready to exact revenge. And nothing short of Deidre’s complete submission will satisfy him…

Absolute Power by Sierra Dafoe
Trapped at the mercy of six overpoweringly handsome vampires, can Mia find the courage to let down her guard and discover the ecstasy of submitting herself completely to their sexual demands?

Chain of Three by Willa Okati
Two alien Marines, a human BDSM Master, and a shapeshifting Empress with a mind of her own — a recipe for trouble. Dane and Julian, ex-war heroes now in the Empress’ service, hate each other. Problem. Julian wants Dane almost as much as he hates him. The Empress thinks Master Anubis can tame the two. It’s a three-way battle for dominance, and the Empress never fights fair…

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Chapter One
Naked Exposure by Lacey Savage

“The night’s a bust, Tammy. I followed Greg to Eagle Rock but he wasn’t heading to a club. He parked on a side street.” Deidre Laxon nestled her cell phone in the crook of her shoulder and squinted up at the street sign above her head. “Just off Colorado Boulevard.”
“And then what?” Tammy Northfall didn’t bother to hide her impatience.
Wisely, Deidre ignored her boss’s frustration. An argument with Tammy always ended with Deidre running around Hollywood until the crack of dawn, hoping for a lucky shot of a celebrity picking his nose.
“Then he walked a couple of blocks and disappeared up a steep driveway leading to a private home,” Deidre said, though home was a massive understatement.
The place was a palace. One of those ten-million-dollar mansions the rich-and-famous were so damned proud of. And just like the typical celebrity abode, this one was surrounded by thick walls and neatly spaced security cameras that rotated at regular intervals without so much as a rasp of noise. A veritable fortress, meant to keep unwelcome intruders — like her — out.
“I don’t care what you have to do.” Tammy’s voice rose in a high-pitched whine. “If I have to plaster one more shot of a happy, newly-engaged couple on the front page of Voyeur, I’m going to scream. It’s your job to get me the pictures that sell magazines. I want photos of panty-less starlets or stark-raving-drunk Oscar winners. I want illicit liaisons and full-frontal nudity. The hotter and harder to explain, the better. And Deidre? I want them on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”
Before Deidre could reply, the telltale click of a disconnected line snapped in her ear. With a sigh, Deidre flipped her cell phone closed and shoved it in her tiny backpack, then slung the leather satchel over her shoulder. Her hand automatically went to the digital camera she carried on a strap looped around her neck.
Most people displayed their tools of the trade proudly, whether they knew it or not. Businessmen had their laptops and Blackberries. Plumbers had their wrenches and tool belts. Cops had their guns.
Deidre’s weapon was just as deadly, but it didn’t require a permit to carry. With the press of a button, she could capture a moment in time, forever immortalizing a celebrity’s lapse in judgment that would end up splattered all over the tabloids the next morning.
She held no illusions about what she did for a living. People hated her. She’d been cursed at, yelled at, kicked, spit on, punched and sued. Yet every photograph she took brought her one step closer to her goal of one day leaving the lifestyle of the filthy rich behind in order to join the ranks of the gainfully self-employed.
“Just a few more,” Deidre reminded herself as she set off in the direction in which Greg had disappeared only minutes earlier. Another dozen shots of minor starlets making fools of themselves should do it. Those were always a staple of the tabloid business. People embarrassed themselves on a fairly regular basis. On average, she could count on at least one of those mortifying shots a month.
But she didn’t think she could last another year hiding behind trash bins and sneaking up on people. Last week, she’d followed a newly divorced dad on a play date with his twins. She’d never felt more like an intruder than she had as she’d trailed them, ducking behind swing sets and snapping off pictures of the family eating hot dogs, the kids’ faces glistening with fresh tears.
Those photographs had fetched a good-sized paycheck. She’d swallowed her guilt and cashed it, knowing she wouldn’t have to do this for much longer.
There was no way she’d make it through another twelve months. That’s why she’d begun choosing more famous targets. The better known the celebrity, the higher the paycheck. But people weren’t interested in smiles and waves. They wanted dirt. Real, genuine dirt.
Tonight, Greg Radigan was her ticket off the streets. In his early thirties, with a smile that would charm the panties off a nun, he’d quickly become one of the most recognizable faces in show business. It had only been eight months since the release of Too Savage to Tame, an action adventure movie that saw him walking around shirtless for almost the entire two hours. Yet that had been plenty of time for Greg to make an impact on the industry. Rumor had it he was the prime contender for the leading role in a new film directed by a man who lived to create Oscar winners. He’d shaped the careers of countless movie stars who now had multiple golden statuettes on their mantels.
A compromising shot couldn’t come at a better time.
She’d spent the past week following Greg exclusively, to Tammy’s increasing annoyance. While Deidre had her sights set on Greg, she was missing opportunities to capture a slew of other seedy shots.
Well, Tammy would have to learn a bit of patience. Deidre’s gut instincts had gotten her plenty of exclusives in the past, and Tammy hadn’t complained then. If her hunch held up, she’d have a hell of a story for tomorrow’s issue of Voyeur.
Deidre crept up the side of the driveway, sticking to the long shadows cast by leafy palm trees bordering the path. Radigan was good; she had to give him that. The paparazzi were like vultures, always circling around mouthwatering prey. Greg’s house was a veritable hunting ground for them. Yet in the span of twenty minutes, he’d managed to lose three of Deidre’s colleagues, men who’d been in the stalking business for longer than she’d been alive.
But Deidre was nothing if not persistent. A man didn’t go to this much trouble to have a drink with his sister. No… he was involved in something shady. Something he didn’t want anyone to discover. She could feel it in her bones as she hunched over, ducking out of sight of a security camera’s scanning view. She rounded the corner of the brick wall, sticking close to the edge. Greg had gone in through the front gate. Since she couldn’t do the same, she simply had to find another way inside.
Tall streetlights tossed flickering shadows against the whitewashed brick. There were no floodlights installed on top of the wall, but each camera had a small bulb that cast a pool of light over the long blades of grass in its immediate path.
Sucking a deep breath between her teeth, Deidre waited until the left-most camera was turned away. Then she dug her fingers into the narrow spaces between the brick, suddenly grateful her best friend had talked her into learning to wall climb when they were in college. She scurried up the wall as quickly as her square-toed shoes would allow, dropping down the other side in a fluid move before the camera could complete its scan.
The scent of gardenias filled her nostrils as she made her way through the elegant garden to the edge of a glistening pool. Bright lights shone from within the water, casting brief wavering ripples over its surface.
Deidre quickly ran around the perimeter of the pool to reach the side of the house. Once there, she pressed her back against the wall and held her breath, waiting for the wail of alarms to indicate she’d been seen.
The place remained quiet. Almost too quiet. Even the bustling noise of the city seemed dulled within the interior of the private garden. The all-encompassing hush sent a shiver of trepidation dancing up Deidre’s spine.
Cautiously, she peeled herself away from the wall and peered warily up at the house. She could see narrow slivers of light within, but heavy drapes had been pulled closed across each one of the multitude of windows. Disappointment quivered inside her stomach. She’d been so certain Greg would lead her straight to his seedy little pastime.
And he had. She was certain of it. If only she could find a way to see what was happening inside, she knew the effort would pay off in spades.
Taking great care to make as little noise as possible, Deidre edged sideways toward the front of the house. She’d only gone a few steps when a sudden burst of golden light spilled over her feet. She leapt backward quickly, away from the small basement window that had suddenly been illuminated. Crouching down, she willed her hammering heartbeat to slow.
The murmur of a male voice slid through the glass pane to reach her ears. She couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized the rich timbre of the man’s inflection.
Hope rose inside her chest, causing a ripple effect of excited butterflies to flutter low in her stomach. She’d done it! She’d found Greg Radigan despite his best efforts to keep his scandalous diversion a secret.
Her hand went to her camera. She flicked it on, gritting her teeth when the tiny motor came to life with a whirr that sounded much too loud in the quiet garden.
With her fingers wrapped tightly around her favorite electronic device, Deidre’s calm focus returned. She had a job to do. Although she was normally careful not to put herself in any situation that would land her in jail, now that she’d come this far, she wasn’t about to leave empty-handed.
The basement window was rectangular, with the top of its frame barely reaching halfway up Deidre’s calf. She attempted to crouch down but quickly realized she wouldn’t be able to see anything, much less get a good shot, unless she lay on the ground.
With only a moment’s remorse for her favorite gray tank top, Deidre dropped to her belly along the neatly mowed grass. She inched her head forward a fraction, just enough so that she could peer inside without exposing more of herself than absolutely necessary.
The scene unfolding before her caused a mewling squeak to slip from her throat. She was certain her eyes had to be as big as saucers as she stared at Greg Radigan in all his shirtless glory. He stood just a few feet away from Deidre, his muscles looking even more perfectly sculpted than they had on the big screen, blown up to a hundred times their normal size.
But it wasn’t the sight of Greg’s powerful pectorals or his awe-inspiring flat abs that had her knuckles turning white around her camera. It was the naked woman kneeling before him who instantly captured Deidre’s attention.
The woman knelt in a subservient position, her long red hair falling like a sleek curtain around her face to slip over the slope of her breasts, the ends of the auburn strands just brushing the top of her dark areolas. Metal clamps pinched her nipples. A black strip of cloth bound her eyes, while a second had been shoved between her lips, gagging her.
Her lithe body trembled visibly, but the slick cream between her legs spoke volumes as to the cause of her quivering apprehension. There was no fear on her porcelain features as Greg fisted his hand in her hair and tugged her head back. Instead, she arched her spine and ground her hips, wriggling her bottom so that it came into contact with Greg’s leg.
Deidre watched, transfixed, as the woman slid her pussy up and down Greg’s shin. Proof of her arousal glistened on the fabric of Greg’s pants. His hand went to his belt and Deidre found herself holding her breath while he yanked the buckle open to slip the leather through the loops.
He said something then, his words lost to the privacy of the room. Deidre swallowed hard, prying her gaze away from Greg and his playmate long enough to glance at their surroundings.
The basement looked like something out of a vampire novel. It had been decorated in shades of black and crimson, liberally sprinkled with velvet and silk. A mahogany coffee table sat in front of a curved couch. Handcuffs, a bottle of lubricant and a pack of condoms had been placed along its edge, beside a bucket of champagne on ice.
A movement from Greg’s direction jerked Deidre’s attention back just in time to watch him slip out of his pants. He wore white briefs that encased his muscular physique to perfection, outlining the hard ridge of a mouthwatering erection. She knew without even having to see it that his cock would be impossibly thick and long, rivaling the size of her favorite vibrator, a purple silicone monster that had found a permanent home in the top drawer of her nightstand.
As she watched, he hooked his thumbs through the waistband of his briefs and peeled them over his hips, unleashing the magnificent girth of his cock. Deidre’s fingers went limp. The camera nestled in a patch of lawn, forgotten.
Mesmerized, Deidre pulled herself closer to the window, wondering what it would feel like to have that cock thrusting inside her, stretching her pussy lips to accommodate the thick intrusion inside her body. The mere thought had her cunt throbbing with excitement. Wetness slicked her panties, causing the thin material to stick to her soaked slit. She wriggled slightly, feeling the crease of her jeans dig into her soft folds and press against her heated clit.
Greg reached for the discarded belt and snapped it in the air with such force that Deidre flinched even though she couldn’t hear the cracking noise it made. The woman leaned forward on the plush carpet, supporting her weight on her outstretched arms. She thrust her ass high up in the air, presenting the fleshy globes with an air of aroused elegance.
The sight of the subservient offering stole Deidre’s breath. She couldn’t have torn her gaze away from the window if the entire Los Angeles police department suddenly dropped from helicopters on top of her head.
The woman kept her head down, but the expression on her features was rapturous as she awaited the first smack of Greg’s belt against her immaculate ass.
Time seemed to stand still. Both Deidre and Greg’s playmate seemed frozen — united in expectation — waiting for the inevitable lash to fall.
Deidre’s heart hammered against her ribcage. In the blink of an eye, she transported herself inside the room, picturing herself in the woman’s place. What would it feel like to kneel, bound, blindfolded and gagged, with Greg Radigan lording all that control over her?
The thought should have been repulsive, but it had the opposite effect. The rush of heat between her legs intensified, pulsing with renewed excitement as she imagined herself offering her ass cheeks and the curve of her bared cunt to the flick of his wrist –
The crack of leather against flesh was almost audible as the belt struck the woman’s cheeks. She jerked her head up, arching her back. Deidre watched, mesmerized, as a pink line blossomed against her alabaster skin.
Greg spoke again. After a moment’s hesitation, the woman nodded, prompting a second blow. This one landed lower, out of Deidre’s field of vision, though she imagined it struck at the crease where the woman’s buttocks met her thighs. As though bound by an invisible force to the scene unfolding before her, Deidre felt a tingle of heat spread from the same spot to burst across her flesh.
Oh, God.
The thought of that belt scoring her skin prompted another gush of sticky cream to puddle between her thighs. Her clit throbbed, begging to be touched.
The woman’s hips moved in time with the belt, meeting the falling lash even before it would have naturally connected with her flesh. She writhed with the grace of a dancer, her breasts trembling, the distended nipples flushed in the tender grip of the clamps.
Behind her, Greg looked like a vengeful god as he wielded the belt. His movements were guided and precise, varying in intensity and never hitting the exact same spot twice. Some of the smacks were so light as to almost be a caress, while others landed harder, causing blood to surge just underneath the surface of the woman’s flesh.
None of the blows broke the skin. They seemed designed to create maximum pleasure for minimum impact, each more sensual than the last.
Deidre covered her mouth with her hand and sank her teeth into her palm to keep from crying out. A violent shiver broke out over her skin. Her nipples hardened to stiff little peaks and her clit felt immensely sensitive. Juices flowed freely between her legs, dampening the crotch of her jeans through her soaked panties.
Fuck!
If she didn’t come soon, she’d go insane. Unable to hold back any longer, Deidre thrust her ass in the air, mimicking the woman’s posture. She slipped her right hand beneath her arched hips, pressing the heel of her palm against her sticky mound.
Greg wrapped his free hand around his straining cock, stroking the steel rod with a white-knuckled grip while the blows continued to land.
Deidre’s body trembled as pent-up arousal gathered in her cunt. She pressed down on her mound through the harsh fabric of her jeans. The climax exploded outward from her clit, rushing through her with an intensity that left her head reeling. Her inner muscles twitched and squeezed down. Finding nothing to grip, her pussy wept in protest, causing the already sticky mess between her thighs to expand. The scent of her arousal blended with the smell of night-blooming flowers.
A primal, guttural groan lodged in Deidre’s throat. Her body continued to shudder in the grips of orgasm, driven by the thrashing release, until nothing but the overwhelming rapture existed in Deidre’s lust-filled world.
A lilting chirp slid through the air, followed by another, then another.
It took Deidre a full ten seconds to comprehend what it was she was hearing. With the recognition of her cell phone’s ring tone, common sense came flooding back. She gasped and reached for her camera, snapping off a couple of random shots in quick succession.
Muttering a curse low under her breath, Deidre brought the camera flush with her right eye. Then she squeezed her left eye shut and concentrated on focusing the shot, knowing she didn’t have much time. The heat of her climax burned between her legs, a fervent reminder of what she’d just experienced.
The cell phone rang again, bringing with it a renewed sense of urgency. It took all the willpower she didn’t know she possessed to ignore it and focus on the image captured through her camera lens.
She angled the shot in a split second. Her index finger was already pressing down on the button when Greg’s features twisted with impending release. A hot jet of cum spurt from his engorged cock-head to splatter on the woman’s back.
She could almost hear him roar his pleasure as he threw his head back… and his eyes met the eye of her camera.

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