Obsession - Girl Abducted (16 page)

Perhaps in their strange contained little world his words made sense.

She knew he wanted her to say it back. She thought perhaps she would—test the words in the air. See how it felt.

She knew it would please him. And when Mark was pleased, things went better for his slave girl. She pursed her lips as if to speak, but somehow the words caught in her throat. She couldn't will them to form on her tongue.

Mark was watching her with those brooding grayish green eyes. She looked down. When she looked up again, he had left the room. "I'm hungry," she whispered to the empty room, not daring to follow him. Instead she slept, dreaming her favorite recurring dream of an exotic harem with
perfumed girls whirling in silk—their sexes pierced with gold and hung with chains that tinkled like bells as they danced for their sultan.

Several weeks passed. Emily's piercing had healed well.

Mark had been careful not to whip her pussy or fuck her until it was healed. He used her ass instead. He loved to force her down to her knees and have her spread her ass cheeks and huskily beg for him to fuck her in the ass.

Sometimes he would fuck her with a large dildo, forcing her to kiss the dildo first, sucking it deep into her mouth, covering it with the saliva that would be her only lubricant as it invaded her little asshole. Mark would kneel next to her, while she crouched on her knees, the gold loop swaying between her thighs.

Slowly he would press the large head of the rubber dildo against her ass. It wasn't yielding the way a man's cock was, and he knew sometimes it hurt her. He was careful not to tear her inside as he slid it deep into her. He would allow her the chance to grow accustomed to the invading cock. Then he would slide it back and forth, watching it come out and press back into that sweetly rounded ass. Emily would moan, and sometimes cry out if he became too rough, but she never asked for mercy. She never tried to pull away. She would thank him for using her, and kiss his feet when he was done raping her ass.

Sometimes he would leave the dildo lodged deep in her ass while he whipped her. She was forced to crouch with her forehead touching the floor, the dildo lewdly sticking from between her ass cheeks. He would use a small whip or paddle
to heat her ass and thighs to a bright red. He might pull her up by the hair and he would fuck her face until he came, either in her mouth or on her face and breasts. Only then was she allowed to remove the phallus and wash it in the bathroom sink. Sometimes he liked for her to bring it to him, crawling on her hands and knees, with the cock held in her mouth like a bone.

He would take it from her, patting her head as if she were a dog. Emily always blushed furiously when he did this. The humiliation of being treated like an animal seemed to affect her more than the actual sodomy that had taken place before that. It was clear that she hated it—so, of course, Mark continued to do it.

Today he pronounced her healed, after a careful inspection of the site. Emily stood in the playroom, wearing only spiked high heels and nipple clamps, along with her ever-present manacles. Mark approached her with a long gold chain in his hand. "This is your leash, my little pet. But instead of attaching it to a collar, I'm going to attach it to your cunt.

Mark took hold of the gold hoop between her legs, and attached the leash to it. He pulled on it slightly as he walked around the room, forcing his slave to follow. Her heels click-clacked on the wooden floor as he led her around in a large circle.

"Perhaps I should take my pet for a walk?" Mark smiled cruelly as he led Emily from the playroom. He took out a long fur coat from the closet and put it on the naked woman. Then he led her, still in her heels, out into the snow.
Mark had cleared a path in the backyard so that Emily could walk reasonably well on the hard-packed snow. He hadn't buttoned the coat, and he noted with approval that Emily didn't do so herself. The day was sunny and windless but still it couldn't have been more than thirty degrees. After a minute or so Emily began to shiver uncontrollably as he led her around and around the yard, pulling at her cunt every few paces, forcing her to keep up with him. She stumbled once and almost fell. Mark had not released the chain and the hoop was jerked in her piercing, causing her to scream with pain.

"Keep your footing, slave, or you might really get hurt,"

Mark said. But he ended the walk then, leading her back into the warmth of the kitchen, his hand on her arm for support.

He left the leash on, hanging it over a chair as he had her kneel on the floor by the table.

He served her hot cocoa, leaving the coat on her until she stopped shivering. The tension of the leash pulled at the jewelry in her sex, stretching her labia. Unable to resist, Mark knelt beside her and began to finger her hot little cunt. In a few moments she was wet, her nipples stiffening as her sex swelled beneath his hand.

"Whom do you belong to, cunt girl?"

"You, sir."

"What will you do for me?"

"Whatever you wish, sir."

How far would she go? How far did he dare to take her?

Did she really belong to him now? If he took off her manacles and chains and unlocked all the doors, would she remain?

Would she still belong to him? Would she still be willing to
suffer for him? To endure whatever tortures he devised with her considerable grace?

In a moment of stupid weakness, he'd let those three little words slip from his lips. His heart had nearly stopped as he'd waited for her response. What a fool to imagine, even for a moment, that she would return the sentiment! True, she was extremely obedient and always open to receiving both his tenderness and his punishment, but to expect love! No—love was more than he dared hope for—he realized that now.

Drawing himself up stiffly, he gazed down at the woman he'd stolen from the world. He couldn't demand love but he could demand obedience. In place of her heart he would claim her body and her soul. He didn't yet know her limits or his own—but he intended to find out.

Emily was tethered to the chair in the center of the playroom. Her eyes were covered in a long red satin blindfold wound around her head to cover her mouth as well. Loops of fine black nylon rope were coiled around her body. Her breasts were wrapped, the rope crisscrossing tightly across her flesh. Her torso, belly and hips were caught in a mesh of rope.

Her legs were spread open, black rope looped from thigh to ankle. On her feet were ruby red stilettos. Mark leaned over to press earplugs firmly into her ears.

Silence engulfed her. She couldn't move, speak, see or hear. But she could feel. She felt Mark's large strong hands smoothing their way across her bound breasts, pausing to tweak and twist the nipples that poked out between the ropes. She felt the hands slide down her belly to her sex.
Gently he pulled on the golden oval nestled against her pussy.

His fingers danced around her clit, purposefully avoiding the erect little nubbin. Wantonly she tried to arch toward his hand. All too soon his hand was gone, replaced by the stroke of leather as a riding crop smacked down on her inner thigh.

Methodically he struck every inch of exposed skin, startling Emily with each well-aimed blow. Even if she could have cried out for mercy, she knew it would have done her no good. Her own breathing was loud in her ears, plugged as they were from other sounds. Her moans behind the soft satin gag were amplified in her head.

Just when she knew she couldn't endure another stroke of the crop it stopped. After a moment, she felt Mark straddling her legs. His sudden weight surprised her, making her grunt involuntarily. He maneuvered himself so his cock was level with her spread cunt. With one smooth thrust he pressed himself into her. He filled her completely as he began to rock inside of her, moving up and down the length of her hot tunnel. She was pressed back hard against the unyielding wood of the chair.

The sensation of being fucked while tightly bound, with both sight and sound cut off, was overwhelming. Emily could feel his cock like an iron bar thrusting into her softness. Yet, except for her muffled moans, she was completely unable to respond. She might have been a statue, carved of stone.

Mark came inside of her, slumping heavily against her for a moment. She could feel his heart thumping against hers.
Slowly he lifted himself from her, leaving a sticky trail of semen in his wake.

She waited, expecting at any moment to feel him release the knots of rope at her wrists and ankles—to unwind the silk wrapped around her face, to remove the plugs still blocking her hearing. She waited, straining to hear his movements, to guess what he might be doing. She realized after a few minutes he had left the room. She was alone in the dark silence.

She dozed lightly, floating to a dreamy space where the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted in a fresh, gentle breeze. Her gaze was turned inward—the blindfold couldn't stop the images in her mind. Revisiting her recurring dream, she saw the lovely slave girls dancing on the soft harem rugs for their sultan king. The women were young, barely more than girls, with dewy skin the color of pecan shells. Their almond shaped eyes were lined in kohl, their mouths glistening like red fruit. Their arms were adorned with bracelets, or were they cuffs like the iron links that never left Emily's wrists?

The young dancers dipped and rose, as graceful as gazelles, making a slow circle around the solitary man. She tried to see his face, but it was in shadow, hidden in a swirling mist. Who was the man? Was it Mark? She didn't know. She leaned forward, straining to discover the secret master of her secret dreams. The room was clearing, the mist burning away. In a moment she would see his face...

Suddenly Emily snapped back to reality as she became aware of Mark's presence. She hadn't heard him enter, lost
inside her dreams. She licked her lips beneath the gag, which had loosened during the rape. They were dry. Her mouth felt like cotton.

She felt the gag being gently pulled from her lips, unwinding the cloth enough to free it, without removing it from her eyes. Anticipating her need, Mark held a little straw up to her mouth. Emily drank the cool water, grateful for its sweetness on her parched tongue. Then, without a word, the master withdrew.

Emily tried to drift back to the strange harem dream but it would not return to her. She was left alone in the white, bare room, with dried semen itching on her leg and pussy, her skin stinging from the crop. Emily realized she desperately needed to pee. If only she could close her legs. If only he would hurry back to release her.

Ah! The door at last. She lifted her head, straining to hear through the plugs that still blocked her ears. She felt the drinking straw being poked between her lips. She shook her head slightly and turned away.

Mark pulled the plugs from her ears, one at a time.

"Drink," he said.

"No thank you, sir." Her voice was raspy from disuse. She tried again. "I'm not thirsty." She was lying. She was very thirsty. But if she admitted what was really bothering her, there was no telling how her capricious master might respond. She wasn't willing to risk his displeasure.

"Liar. I say you are thirsty. Drink."
Complying, Emily delicately sipped at the straw, drawing in as little liquid as possible. Mark seemed satisfied. "My sweet slave. Are you ready to be untied?"

"If it pleases you, sir."
Yes, yes, yes, please yes.

"Hmm, if it pleases me. Let me think. Would it please me to untie you and let you pee?" He laughed softly as her lips parted, betraying her surprise. "Don't be silly, Emily. Don't I know you well enough to know you would need to pee after two glasses of water and two hours of restraint?"

Two hours. If he had said ten she would have believed him. Her body was numb. "You know," he said, moving closer, his voice losing its playful edge. "I had come in here to let you up. But then you lied to me. Didn't you, cunt?"

She heard the displeasure in his voice—the slight edge of anger. A sickening knife's edge of fear dug into her gut.

Slowly she nodded. What could she say?

"That's right. You lied and said you weren't thirsty. I don't like it when you lie. I want you to be completely truthful, no matter the consequences. Do you understand?" His hands were on her throat now, closing, the fingers intertwining behind her neck.

Emily tried to nod, but his hands, still tightening around her throat, restricted her movement. Her breath was coming fast, adrenaline pumping as if it would help her, tied so securely to this chair. Tighter still, his fingers pressed into the delicate flesh of her throat. Emily felt real fear as he closed off her windpipe, making her cough and gag.

Was this how it would end? After all the torture, and the pleasure? After all the humiliation and the new found self-knowledge about her own submissive nature, would he end up choking the life out of her? Things went fuzzy after that, lost in a vortex of confusion, of sleep.

Just as suddenly she was awake, blinking, the blindfold removed, confused by the wet warmth under her thighs. Mark had almost rendered her unconscious, but he knew when to let go. But poor Emily had let go too. She had peed all over herself while bound tightly to the whipping chair. Thoroughly humiliated, she watched through a veil of tears as Mark sponged up her urine, clucking his sympathy, a mocking smile on his lips.

Finally he untied her, slowly unwinding the lengths of rope from her body. Her flesh was indented and red, as if the ropes had been painted onto her. Mark slipped off her shoes and helped her to a shaky stand. "Let's get you cleaned up.

Then you can come back and clean this mess with a bucket and sponge. Really, Emily! I thought you had more self-control. We have a lot of work to do in that area." Laughing, he led her to the bathroom.

Bastard!
The word slipped unbidden into her mind and she tried to push it away. Absurd to waste energy being angry at Mark. He was unassailable. There was no point to resist.

Better to flow, to accept, to obey. She pushed the errant flash of anger away, let it slip down to a secret place, out of reach, out of conscious thought.