Alana looked dumbstruck, as if she couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “What?” she blurted, forgetting his honorific, but he didn’t correct her.
“You heard me. In your mouth. You’re serving now as my furniture. The next logical step is to use you as my toilet.”
Alana had begun to shake her head, her mouth working, though she made no sound.
“Are you refusing, slave?” He allowed her the illusion for the moment that she had any choice in the matter.
Alana didn’t answer, but only continued to shake her head from side to side.
Mark hadn’t expected this. How dare she refuse him?
Getting to his feet, he gripped her by the shoulders and forced her to her feet. Gripping her wrists, he pulled her arms up hard behind her back and frogmarched her to the bedroom. “Your choice, Alana. I think a timeout in the cage will give you more perspective.”
As he pushed her toward the closet, she finally spoke. “No, not the cage. Please, not the cage,” she begged, pushing back against him.
He stopped just outside the closet doors. “So…what are you saying? Are you ready to behave? Should I forgive you for refusing your lord and Master?”
“Yes, Sir. Please, hurry.”
He let go of her arms and she immediately brought her hands to her crotch, dancing on her toes like a little girl. He led her to the bathroom. When she tried to rush to the toilet, he stopped her, instead directing her to climb into the tub.
He’d been planning on making her take his urine first, but it was clear she couldn’t hold it another second, so he let her pee standing up, the urine already splashing down between her shapely legs the moment she climbed in. When she reached toward the tap to wash herself, however, he stopped her.
“No, you aren’t done yet. I still need to piss, too, don’t forget.” He pointed downward. “Get on your knees. Kneel up, arms behind your back and open your mouth.”
She stared at him with horror in her wide eyes. “Please,” she breathed. “I can’t. Don’t make me do that. Please.”
He’d been more than patient, giving her more chances than she deserved, and now the bitch was refusing him yet again? Anger suddenly exploded in his brain. “How dare you say no to me! Not once, but twice? You’ve definitely earned yourself a punishment, young lady. Now, don’t make it worse for yourself. Open your mouth or I’ll devise a way to open it for you. And I promise it will be much worse for you if I have to do that. Much worse.”
Alana obviously believed him. She knelt, trembling, locked her arms behind her back and opened her lips in a half-hearted gesture.
“Wider,” he ordered, as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. He positioned himself over her and stood for a moment. She was shaking, her eyes squeezed shut. “Open your eyes,” he commanded. “Keep them on your Master while he pisses in your mouth.”
She opened her dark blue eyes and fixed them on his face, a tear rolling down her cheek.
He held his shaft in his hand and aimed for her lovely, open mouth. His cock was already hardening with arousal, so he quickly released a steady, spurting stream of urine. Some of it went into her mouth, the rest splashing in her face and hair.
The disobedient girl cried out in dismay, doubling over so that the rest of the pee hit the top of her head, drenching her hair. She was crying and gagging, clearly completely and thoroughly humiliated by the ordeal.
His anger had evaporated and Mark felt suddenly sorry for his darling girl. He tucked his cock back into his jeans and knelt beside the tub. He turned on the tap, and when the water was hot enough, he filled the pitcher he kept by the tub and poured it over the crouched girl. He wet a washcloth, rubbed it with soap, and gently washed her body. Then he plugged the tub and filled it with warm water, adding some of the bath oil she liked.
At his direction, she lay back in the tub as the water rose around her. She closed her eyes and sighed, her face still streaked with tears. All that fuss over a little piss. He would have to help her desensitize. She should welcome anything that was of him, even his piss.
Then there was the matter of her punishment. She had said no to him, not once, but repeatedly, and he couldn’t let that go unpunished. But she was exhausted, and the effects of the champagne still lingered in his bloodstream. There was always tomorrow.
“Clean yourself up,” he said. “Then let’s go to bed. I’ll punish you tomorrow.”
Mark had a small workroom in the cellar. He’d just finished devising his latest toy, and he was eager to try it out. He had been intending to install the new toy up in the playroom, but had decided instead to rig it down there, for a change of venue. He’d finished out a second room with carpeting and insulated walls, and he attached a pulley mechanism in the ceiling, much like the one up in the playroom, from which he hung long, sturdy chains. In the workshop, he drilled holes in either end of a long, narrow wooden beam, and he attached the beam to the chains, creating a kind of long swing.
That day, he had Alana dress in the black satin corset he’d just ordered for her from the internet, which cinched in her already long, slender waist, accentuating her hourglass figure. Her breasts were popping over the top of the corset, revealing just a hint of nipple. She wore very high red heels that accentuated her slender ankles and long, lean calves.
He led her down the stairs and into the finished room, waving toward his new toy with a flourish. “This is called a cunt tease,” he informed her proudly. “I designed it myself.”
She regarded his creation with silence, her face impassive, as it usually was when he wasn’t torturing or teasing her. He longed for that rare smile, but it hadn’t appeared in quite a while.
He might not get a smile, but he would certainly get a reaction, once he introduced her to the formidable charms of his new toy. Leaving her to stand by the door, Mark turned the pulley mechanism until the wooden beam was lowered to calf height.
He waved her over and said, “Step over the beam and straddle it.”
Alana came forward as ordered and did as he said. She looked so hot in heels and corset, her pretty, smooth cunt and legs bare.
He raised the beam until it just touched her cunt. She looked down at it, uncertainty and the beginning of fear in her lovely face. His cock hardened in anticipation.
“Raise your arms over your head,” he instructed. He attached her iron bracelets together and secured them to a chain dangling just above her. He adjusted the chain until he was satisfied that Alana could stand comfortably in her heels.
Then he began to raise the wooden beam higher, until it was wedged between her labia. “Alana,” he said. “Why do you exist?”
She answered promptly, having gone through this exercise many, many times. “To serve you, Sir.”
“And why else?”
“To suffer for you, Sir.”
He veered slightly from the usual question and answer routine. “Do you like to suffer for me, slave?”
“If it pleases you, Sir,” she said.
Would that answer ever change? Would she, someday, truly want to suffer for her Master?
He lifted the bar higher, until she was forced onto her toes, her weight was almost entirely on her splayed pussy.
“Please,” she groaned. “I can’t take this much longer. It really, really hurts.”
“Sure you can. We’re only just getting started. But here, this should distract you.” He withdrew a vibrating egg from his pocket. He lowered the beam just enough so he could wedge the small toy between her sex and the beam. Pressing a switch on the remote, Mark turned on the egg, which made a humming sound as it began vibrating between the wood and her body.
He pulled out the clover clamps and approached her, yanking down the satin cups of her corset to expose her breasts. Mark pressed one clip open, and holding out her nipple, he let it close. As she gasped, he did the same with the second nipple.
Taking a step back, he used the remote to turn up the speed of the vibrating egg against her clit. He co
uld see the sweat forming beneath her arms and along her upper lip. She began to tremble as the egg mercilessly vibrated her toward an orgasm.
“Oh, god,” she moaned, the words low and sensual in her throat. In spite of the pain, or no, perhaps because of it, she was going to come. Pleasure and pain were always offered in tandem. She was rarely permitted the one without the other. She had learned to orgasm from a crop on her cunt as easily as from his tongue or deft fingers.
Mark loved to give her pleasure nearly as much as he loved to make her suffer. The combination of the two was a powerful aphrodisiac for them both. She had become a masochistic, deeply sexual being, and he knew just which buttons to push to make her come. Indeed, he’d installed some of them.
True, lust did not equal love, but for now it was enough.
Chapter 8
She had learned to handle the fear over time. To keep it at bay. To be quiet so he would relent and release her. Sometimes he rewarded her with lovely, powerful orgasms. Yes, there was pain associated with every pleasure. She understood and accepted that was how it had to be. It pleased Mark to see her suffer, and therefore it pleased her. The really weird thing was that as time had passed, the pain and pleasure sometimes fused together, blending so she couldn’t tell one from the other.
At those times, she was lifted out of her body—a spirit floating just above, filled with a dark, powerful energy that was like nothing she’d ever experienced back in the before time. When she thanked her Master after those sessions, she truly meant it.
She hated to displease him, but sometimes, despite her very best efforts, she did so. Then she would try to accept her punishments with what he called submissive grace. It worked best when she could disappear into that small, secret place inside her where she no longer felt the hard wood of the paddle against her ass, or the icy water in the tub, or the brutal cut of the cane.
She could even tolerate the cage now, as long as it didn’t last too long, as long as she could see that line of light beneath the closet doors. The light kept her anchored, connected to this world. When it went out, she was flung into the hard, unyielding arms of her night terrors—hours and hours alone and adrift, locked in the tight, cold confines behind metal bars, all alone.
She tried hard to be good, and so avoid the cage. It was so much nicer to sleep in her Master’s warm, strong embrace. If she positioned herself just so in his bed, she nearly forgot the chains, and he was so tender with her. She didn’t even mind being wakened in the night so he could use her body. After all, she belonged to him—he could do as he wished.
Alana sighed and curled a little tighter on the metal floor of the cage. She hadn’t meant to displease him today—in fact, she wasn’t even sure what she’d done. She rested her hands under her cheek, her eyes fixed on the line of light. He would come soon for her, she was sure of it.
She would do better, next time.
As she lay hovering on the edge of sleep, her mind drifted to the before time—before Mark. She hadn’t always been here. Of course, she knew that. There was another life, another time, filled with schedules and shoots and paparazzi and parties. She’d never had a minute to breathe, to drift, as she was doing now.
She tried to capture some specific memory from the before time, but it kept slipping away, just beyond her grasp.
She sighed again. It made her head hurt to try to remember. Better to stay focused on the moment. He would come for her soon, she was sure of it. Then he might take her to the playroom for some bondage and sex play. Maybe a flogging. She loved the flogger, with its heavy, thuddy tresses of suede that stroked her skin until she was transported out of her body and went flying in that free, open space somewhere just outside of her consciousness.
Hopefully he wouldn’t use the cane. She still hated the cane, even though the Master told her she should love everything that pleased him. She tried to, but it hurt so fucking much. She especially hated that sound—that terrifying whippy whistle in the instant before the rod marked her with its fiery sting.
Yet, even with the cane, she was sometimes transported to that special place. Just when the pain became intolerable, if she was lucky, it would happen. An odd kind of serenity would fall over her like a cloak, snuffing out the fire of her panic.
Mark had explained that when that happened, she was in a state of submissive grace—of true acceptance of the gift of suffering he offered. All she knew was during those times, the orgasms she experienced were like nothing she’d even known in the before time. She had had no idea that a person could feel anything so intensely. It was like an instantly addictive drug, and she had come to crave that sensation.
As she dreamily recalled the last powerful climax, her clit gently throbbed between her legs. She imagined his tongue licking so sweetly along her labia, or the rough but welcome exploration of his fingers, or the perfect friction when he was inside her, fucking her so hard, so good…
Her hand slid down between her legs and cupped her smooth, hot cunt. I could touch myself now. Steal an orgasm. Take a little pleasure. He would never know.
But she didn’t. It was forbidden to take her own pleasure, except under his express command. True, he couldn’t see her in the dark, but why take the chance? He would know.
Somehow, Mark always knew.
She pulled her hand away and let her mind drift again, thinking back to her first days in Mark’s home—their home, he always said, as if they were a regular couple, married even. A strange thought, but not altogether horrible…
She found she couldn’t remember the first few days very well, except for the constant, pervading fear. Back then, she’d been sure he was going to kill her, but as the time passed, she understood she was safe—as long as she obeyed.
She used to think about escape, but he was clever, her Master, and whenever he left her alone, which wasn’t often, he made sure to keep her shackled and restrained. There was no escape. This was her life now.
He was her life now.
She should hate him.
She did hate him, didn’t she?
Yes.
But also…no.
She certainly needed him, depended on him for her very survival. She thought of him constantly, as her world was now focused exclusively on her Master. What would he do today? Would he be in a kind mood or a grumpy one? Would he use the cane today, or the flogger? Would he make tender love to her in the bed, or would he grab her from behind while she was washing dishes, throw her to the floor and take her with violence from behind, his hand clamped hard over her mouth?
Would he be pleased with her? Would he find her submissive enough? Beautiful enough? Responsive enough?
She used to despise him. She did remember that. Even while she was pretending to submit and to obey, inside she had seethed with rage, but that feeling—all that anger—it had taken so much energy to hold onto. And for what? It only left her miserable and frightened.
But when had the change come? When had the pretending transformed into a real desire to please, to serve, to submit? It had happened slowly, like water dripping onto stone, slowly reshaping it into something new.
But did she love him?
No.
Because love had to be a choice, and she had none.
Yet, she had no doubt he loved her—he truly did.
It seemed impossible, and no one outside their secluded existence would ever be able to understand, but she knew in her bones that Mark loved her as no one ever had—utterly and completely. His every act toward her, however degrading or harsh it might seem to an outsider, was suffused with love.
Yet, how did one reconcile the love with the cruelty? How could the things he did to her—the whippings, the caning, the forced sex, the humiliation—be acts of love?
It was all so confusing. Better not to think so much. What was the point? Things were as they were. She belonged to Mark. Mark was her world. He would die for her—she was sure of it.
If he didn’t end up killing her first.
~*~
Alana lay on her back on the kitchen table. Her legs hung over the edge of the table, tightly secured to the table legs. Her thighs were spread wide, her ass right at the spot where a dinner plate might sit, her lovely cunt spread wide. Her arms were stretched over her head, and tied securely at the wrists with strong nylon rope.
Mark loved the way the rope looked knotted around her body. The hard, dark wood of the table contrasted nicely with her soft, pale skin. He had rouged her nipples and her mouth with red to heighten the contrast, and the black silk blindfold was the perfect touch.
They had finished dinner, and Alana was dessert. Mark stripped off his clothes and sat in front of his slave girl. He lowered his face to her smooth mons and rested his cheek lightly against her. After a moment, he lifted his head, this time lowering it until his lips touched the petals of her cunt. Slowly, lovingly, he tasted, licked and teased her sex.
It wasn’t long before Alana began to moan, her pelvis lifting toward his mouth.
Mark laughed and playfully swatted her sex with his hand. “Slut,” he whispered, but he was pleased. He inserted a finger deep into her cunt. She was wet and tight.
Moving his finger inside her, he asked, “Are you ready for fun?”
Alana licked her lips. “Yes, Sir.”
Mark slapped her pussy sharply with his palm.
She gasped and jerked in her restraints, unprepared.
Her breathy cry thrilled him, so he hit her again, and again. When her cunt was red from the impromptu beating, Mark again dipped his head, kissing and suckling the swelling, heated flesh.
Again, within a minute or so, she was moaning and arching toward him as best as she could, given the rope restraints. He licked and teased her clit, a finger moving in the tight heat inside her.
Just as she approached climax, he stopped.
A small sigh of frustration escaped that perfect mouth. “Don’t stop,” she begged. Then she gasped, clearly aware of her transgression, though of course it was too late to take it back.
Dark Obsessions Vol II Page 39