He prodded her side gently with his foot. In a kind voice that belied his sadistic intent, he said, “Answer me. Do you want to be caned by your Master? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she finally whispered.
Thrilled, Mark replied, “Good girl. Yes, you want it. You want it because I want it. That’s all you have to know. Ever.” He bent down, drawing the stiff rod across her bare back. She flinched but of course could not get away.
“There, now, my love,” Mark crooned. “It’s not as if you didn’t earn this. You brought this entirely on yourself with your lack of control. Now take it bravely and it will be over before you know it.”
He brought the cane down on her offered ass, catching both cheeks at once, painting a white line that quickly darkened to red.
Alana screamed, her hands clenching into tight fists above her cuffs.
He whipped the cane against the backs of her thighs, and then added a few more welts on her ass. The last one he aimed vertically across her bared, spread cunt and asshole. The stroke was lighter, of course, but hard enough to produce a long, loud wail that didn’t stop for several seconds.
Satisfied, Mark left her bound to the stool while he went to put away the groceries. When he released her from the stool, he pushed her to her knees in front of him. Pulling out his rigid cock, he forced it between her lips. Taking her head in his hands, he thrust in and out of her open mouth with long, smooth strokes until he spurted down her throat. Tucking his cock back into his jeans, he wiped away her tears with his thumb and then patted her on the head. “Go freshen up. I’ll make us some dinner.”
After dinner, they watched a football game on TV. Mark wasn’t really paying too much attention to the game, distracted as he was by his footrest. Alana was on her hands and knees in front of him, her back supporting his feet. Her breasts hung down like delicious fruit begging to be plucked and suckled. Her ass cheeks were pleasingly splayed, revealing the sweetly pouting pussy lips between her legs. Christ, she was perfect.
Mark finished his first beer and reached for another from the small cooler he’d brought from the kitchen. He popped it, took a long drink, and set it on her back. “Make sure you don’t spill it, slave,” he warned her.
She’d only been down there for maybe thirty minutes when she shifted her weight, almost upsetting the beer near his right foot. “Whoa,” Mark said sharply. “Watch yourself.”
“Please, Sir,” she whined. “I’m feeling very stiff. My knees hurt.”
Mark pursed his lips. “If I let you up, you’ll have to pay the price for failing to be my proper footrest. It’s your choice. Endure a little longer, or take your just punishment.” His cock hardened with anticipation as he waited for her to choose.
Alana fell silent, apparently weighing the unfair choice offered her. She managed to stay still for another twenty minutes or so, but eventually she began to tremble as her muscles strained to support her. His beer can wobbled.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
All at once, her arms gave out and Alana fell to the ground, the beer can falling with her, spilling into her hair and onto the nice carpet. Alana lay in a heap, too exhausted even to wipe the beer away.
“Get up,” Mark commanded sternly. He stood, nudging her side with his foot.
Alana made an effort to rise, but fell back down, clearly exhausted. He almost felt sorry for her.
Mark lifted the girl to her feet, and then into his arms. “I was just about to let you up,” he lied. “Now you’ll have to pay the price.”
He strode to the bathroom and lay Alana into the empty tub.
She shivered as her body touched the cold porcelain, and fixed him with those beautiful, deep blue eyes. “Please, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir. Please have mercy, Sir,” she begged, her voice trembling.
“Mercy?” Mark lifted his eyebrows. “For what? You can’t even hold a position and I should show you mercy? You weren’t being whipped. You weren’t being tortured. All you had to do was kneel there, and you failed. Clearly, you need stamina training. We’ll start that tomorrow. Meanwhile, since you’ve already got half that beer slopped all over you, I’ll go ahead and give you the rest of it.”
At first Alana looked confused, as he hadn’t brought what remained of the beer into the bathroom. His meaning became clear as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his semi-erect penis. The look of barely contained horror on her face was priceless, but she wisely refrained from protest.
Standing close to the edge of the tub he directed, “Since you did such a lousy job being my table, now you’ll be my toilet. Spread your legs wide. I’m going to piss on your cunt.”
To his annoyed surprise, she didn’t immediately obey.
“Do it, Alana.” Mark’s voice was steely. “Do it or I’ll put you in the cage and piss on you there.”
That got her attention, and Alana quickly spread her legs. Because of her disobedience, he decided to add insult to injury. “Spread your cunt open for me. And raise your hips in the air so I can piss right on your clit.”
Alana did as he ordered, a blush spreading up her chest all the way to the tops of her ears.
With a grin, Mark began to piss on her spread sex. Alana turned her head away as the warm stream sprayed across her clit, her belly and her thighs. He had a hard time finishing, because his cock got so hard at the sight of his humiliated slave girl succumbing to his perverse whims.
Next time he would piss in her mouth.
When he was done, he started to zip up, but had another idea. “Kneel up in the bathtub and suck me off, slave.”
Alana looked dismayed. “But Sir! I’m covered in—I’m a mess. Please let me wash off first, Sir?”
Mark regarded his bedraggled slave girl. How marvelous that this gorgeous, famous actress, who wouldn’t have given him the time of day back in her former life, was kneeling naked in his tub, covered in piss and beer, begging for mercy. His cock was now hard as a bar of iron. A drop of piss dangled at its tip, but he didn’t shake it off.
“You heard me, cunt. Get over here and suck me off, before I really get angry.”
She lowered her head like a good, obedient slave girl and lifted herself as ordered. She opened her mouth, reaching out to cup his balls as he’d taught her, but he stopped her. “Hands behind your back.”
Alana dutifully clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward, her mouth open, lips parted to receive his offering.
Mark grabbed her head and fucked her face, hard and fast. He was pleased she kept her hands behind her back, one hand firmly clasping each elbow, as he had taught her to do. He liked the way her breasts jutted forward when she did that. God, she was sexy, even covered in beer and piss. He pulled her forward, coming deep into her throat.
He pushed her from him, so that she fell back, sprawling against the far side of the bathtub. Mark tucked his now spent cock back into his pants. With a deeply satisfied sigh, he said, “Get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to watch the rest of the game.”
No question about it. Life was good.
The sun was just setting, the late November sky darkening to purple. There was a chill in the air, despite the efforts of the old baseboard heating system, and Mark decided to build a fire.
Alana was kneeling obediently by the couch in front of the old stone fireplace, watching as he opened the flue and lit a match to the kindling he’d strategically placed around the logs.
Soon he had a fire crackling in the grate. The scene was cozy, and as he took his seat on the couch, he reached out his arms, feeling suddenly magnanimous toward his obedient slave girl. She stared at him, a question on her face, so he explained, “Come on up here on the couch. You’ve been such a good girl, and I want to hold you in my arms.”
She smiled—an actual, genuine smile—perhaps the first smile he’d seen since that day months ago when she’d climbed into the back seat of the sedan. His heart rose in his throat at that smile
, and for the first time, a small but persistent voice from somewhere deep inside him demanded, “What the hell have you done to this woman? How dare you take such full possession of another person’s life?”
The voice irritated him, and he quickly shoved it back down, calmed as she climbed up onto the couch and allowed him to take her into his arms. Her smile faded as he pulled her close, but she snuggled docilely against him, her eyes closed. She belonged to him now. There was no going back. He leaned down proprietarily, kissing the top of her head, confident she would do anything he asked of her now—anything at all.
A light snow had begun to fall outside the window in the deepening twilight. Mark glanced down at his naked slave, his cock rising with a sudden sadistic idea. How far was Alana truly willing to suffer for him?
Not that she had a choice. It was the grace with which she accepted his devised tortures that attracted him. Submission with grace could almost equal love, he told himself.
“Alana,” he said, dropping his arm from around her shoulders and turning to face her. “Let’s go outside.”
“Outside?” she repeated stupidly, though he could understand her confusion. In the months since he’d saved her, she hadn’t left the confines of his house, not even to step into the fenced-in backyard.
“Yes,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling her upright. “It’s the first snow. I always love the first snow, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” she agreed, her face suddenly alight with expectation.
He led her to the bedroom, where he pulled on corduroy pants, a long-sleeved undershirt and a thick pullover sweater.
Alana, waiting on her knees, said finally, “Excuse me, Sir. May I speak?”
“You may.” Mark sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and boots.
“May I dress myself, Sir? To go outside, I mean.” She was, of course, aware of the clothing he’d bought for her, as it hung on one of the racks in the closet where he still sometimes confined her to the cage when she was naughty. He’d taken to keeping her naked all the time, however, seeing no point in covering all that beauty, even for a second.
“Hmm,” he said slowly, as if considering the question. “No, I don’t think so. We’ll just be in the backyard. You’ll be fine as you are.”
She looked confused. “But it’s cold and—” she began, but he cut her off.
“Do you have a problem with that, cunt girl?” He hadn’t called her that in a while, and she knew it signaled his displeasure.
Abruptly, she pressed her lips together, her face coloring as she wrapped her arms around her torso.
“I asked you a question, cunt girl.”
“No Sir,” she whispered, aware that was the only correct response.
Mark’s cock hardened with sadistic anticipation. This was going to be fun.
He decided to let her wear the pair of rain boots he kept by the back door. Even in oversized, black rubber boots, she still looked sexy as hell.
He led her out the back door to the secluded backyard. The snow had stopped, and the first few stars were starting to prick the sky. Though he didn’t feel cold at all, their breath was visible on the air. Alana wrapped her arms around her naked body and shivered, but she didn’t complain.
Mark led her to the shed at the back of the yard. He retrieved the key from beneath some old bricks on the side of the building, and opened the padlock that held the doors closed. Taking several coils of rope from wall hooks, he handed them to Alana. “Carry these and follow me,” he instructed.
He had her stop between two trees that were spaced about five feet apart. “Spread your legs and hold out your arms like a human X,” he told her. He waited until she obeyed, and then he quickly and expertly tied slipknots around her thighs and wrists, and pulled the ropes tight, wrapping them around each fat trunk.
He stepped back, thrilled by the sight. Alana’s nipples were like hard little marbles in the puckered circles of her areolas. She was shivering, her skin flushed pink in its effort to warm itself. But not one word of protest had been uttered, not one entreaty.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “You need to be punished, just for being so fucking beautiful.” Yes. She did need it. And he would oblige.
Mark ran back to the house and returned with a heavy flogger. Slowly, sensually, he began to caress her body with the leather thongs, warming her flesh with each stroke. Gradually he built up the intensity until she began to gasp and pant, her breath rasping in her throat. He covered her body, moving around the trees so he could focus first on her back, then on her front, whipping her flesh with the soft leather until she was jerking and writhing in her restraints, gasping and crying out when the tips of leather caught her across the nipple, or between her spread legs.
“Go ahead, darling,” he urged, thrilled. “Scream as loud as you like. No one will hear you. No one will see you. No one will save you.”
He whipped her hard. He wanted to make her scream, to shatter this new-found grace she seemed to have acquired. It would never be enough. No matter how much she took, he wanted her to take more. He would build her up and then break her down, again and again and again.
He whipped her until his arm was tired. Alana was crying softly, her body ablaze from the beating. Her head hung forward, her long, dark hair obscuring her face. Even in the cold night air, she was wet with sweat.
Dropping the flogger in what was left of the snow, Mark bent down to release the ropes around her thighs, leaving her arms still shackled between the trees. He unzipped his pants and moved forward to embrace the naked woman. Lifting her up onto his hips, Mark nudged his cock against her perfect cunt. As she dropped her head against his shoulder, he pushed forward, delighted as his cock slid easily inside her.
She could cry and moan all she liked, but the slut was wet from her beating. He groaned with pleasure as her hot, wet cunt sheathed his cock like a velvet glove. The pleasure was so intense he could have come with only a few thrusts, but he desperately wanted to prolong this delicious, exquisite moment.
Slowing his pace, he cupped her ass, squeezing the heated, tender flesh as he eased his cock in and out of her pussy. “Fuck,” he breathed. “It’s just too damn good.” He gave up the fight and ejaculated, pumping hard into her tight cunt.
Balancing her on his hips, his cock still inside her, Mark released her wrists from the rope, and carried the limp, shivering young woman into the house. He laid her gently on the couch and pulled off her boots.
She didn’t move, though she followed him with her eyes.
He stoked the fire, adding more wood to the blaze. Sitting beside her, he rubbed a soothing salve into her tender, welted flesh. Despite the heat in the room, her skin remained cold to the touch.
He pulled the throw from the back of the couch and wrapped her in its soft folds. Then he settled her on his lap, holding her tightly until she finally stopped shivering.
The inviting smell of the beef stew he’d made in the crockpot earlier that afternoon permeated the room, and Mark realized he was hungry.
After dinner, he decided to open a bottle of champagne. A delightfully cruel idea was hatching in his head. Alana peed for him now without embarrassment. It was accepted as a matter of course. How could he heighten her sense of submission regarding this natural bodily function?
Until now, every time she had asked to relieve herself, he had allowed it. But tonight, he thought as he filled her fluted glass with the fine, dry champagne, would be a different story.
“You may hold the glass, sweetheart.” Mark offered no explanation for the extra bit of independence. He didn’t usually allow Alana to hold anything. He liked to control every aspect of her eating and drinking, but he reasoned she would probably drink more if she had control of the glass, and he planned to make sure she had plenty.
His plan worked, and she drank two glasses in quick succession. But when he attempted to pour her a third, she shook her head. “Please, Sir,” she said. “I think I’ve had en
ough. I’ll get drunk.”
“So you get drunk. So what? I bet you’re cute when you’re drunk.” He took the glass from her and filled it. Holding it to her lips, he forced her to take a sip. At his insistence, Alana drank the rest of the glass.
All that champagne on top of the water with dinner would definitely do the trick. He led her back to the living room and sat on the couch, using Alana as a footrest while he contemplated the dying fire in the hearth. Not more than twenty minutes passed before she said, “Excuse me, Sir. May I speak?”
“You may.” He smiled in anticipation.
“Permission to pee, Sir?”
“No,” he said slowly, as if considering the idea. “I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me?” She twisted back to regard him, as if she hadn’t heard right.
“I said no. No, you do not have permission to pee.”
Alana slowly faced forward again. She was silent, her shoulders sagging a little in her defeat. While Mark could easily go all day without peeing, Alana had a bladder the size of a walnut. Certainly, it had to be quite full at this point—he’d made sure of it.
He leaned forward and idly fondled her breasts as he gazed into the fire. How long until she asked again? Until she begged?
In less than five minutes, she tried again. “Sir? I really do need to pee. Please?”
Mark made his voice stern. “When I want to you to pee, I’ll let you know. Is that understood?”
“But…” she began, but apparently thought better of it, finishing the sentence with a dutiful, “Yes, Sir.”
He glanced at his watch and placed a silent bet with himself. She would last another three minutes. She surprised him by holding on for five, but then she blurted, “Please, Sir. I really can’t hold it anymore.” She had begun to rock slightly backward and forward. “I’m going to have an accident.”
Mark lifted his legs from her back and pretended to contemplate her plight. Then he sprung his devious plan. “I’ll let you pee on one condition.”
“Yes, Sir?” She looked up eagerly.
“If I let you pee, you have to let me pee first.” He paused for effect before adding, “In your mouth.”
Dark Obsessions Vol II Page 38