Alana jerked, but then stilled when she realized he wasn’t hurting her. No—he was caressing her with the leather, warming and readying the skin for what was to come. For several minutes he simply stroked her flesh with the flogger, enjoying the sound of the leather brushing against her soft skin, and the contrast of the black whip against her pale flesh.
Alana’s breathing slowed to something nearer to normal and she relaxed somewhat in her restraints. When he let the first real stinging blow land on the fleshiest part of her bottom, she flinched and yelped.
“There now,” Mark crooned, barely able to contain his excitement. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” He brought the flogger down again, even harder, across her ass. He whipped it in stinging strokes over her back and shoulders.
Alana cried out and jerked against her restraints, but this only spurred him on. “You know you want it, Alana. In your heart of hearts, you share every woman’s fantasy of being kidnapped, raped and ravaged. You’re just so incredibly lucky I’m the one to claim you, because I will cherish you as you deserve.”
God, was he really saying this directly to the girl of his dreams? Was Alana Hunter actually naked and bound in his dungeon, suffering beneath his flogger? He could hardly believe it was real. Stunned at his astonishing good fortune, cock hard as steel, he flogged Alana in earnest from shoulder to thigh. Her skin reddened beneath the stinging leather, her breathing ragged as she cried out with each stroke against her virgin flesh.
Only when his arm was tired did Mark finally drop the flogger. He draped his naked body against hers, his cock pressed just above her ass. He would have to make her wear high heels next time, so his cock could nestle right into the crack of those perfect globes.
Taking a step back, he released Alana from the cross and caught her as she fell back. Lifting her into his arms, he settled her onto the floor in front of him and pulled her up so she was on her knees. Just to be safe in case she got any stupid ideas, and because he liked the way it looked, he clipped her slave bracelets together behind her back. Returning to gaze down at her, he smoothed tendrils of her hair from her tear-stained cheeks and tucked them behind her ears.
“You did very well for your first time,” he informed her. She stared up at him, mute. Slightly annoyed that she’d ignored his compliment, he prompted, “When I praise you, you will thank me.”
A flash of fury moved over her face, but she quelled it before he was forced to slap her for her impudence, and instead said, if somewhat stiffly, “Thank you.”
“Thank you…?” he trailed off, adding, ”What did you forget? Thank you…?”
“Thank you, Sir,” she muttered.
He smiled. His cock was still hard, and his balls ached. Gripping his shaft, he moved the head close to her mouth. “Straighten up. I’m going to let you worship my cock as proof of your thanks.”
She didn’t move.
He grabbed her head with both hands and forced her face down onto his cock. He moved forward slowly, not stopping until he had slid his cock down her throat.
Gagging, Alana tried to pull back, but Mark wasn’t about to let her. She had probably sucked off that bastard Rutherford, or was planning to, when they met up for the movie shoot. Well, the movie was off. All bets were off now. She had a new job—a new vocation—serving him and him alone.
Her lips and tongue felt good on his shaft, the muscles in her throat yielding to his onslaught. He held her head in place as he thrust in and out of her lovely mouth, holding himself back to sustain his pleasure. Yet, all too soon, he felt that delicious tightening sensation in his balls. Overcome, he spurted his seed in a series of jolts down her open throat. He held her close, her face mashed against his pubic bone, until he was spent.
When he finally let her go, Alana fell back onto the floor, coughing and gasping. Mark pulled her to her feet and lifted her into his strong arms. He carried her down the hall and into the bedroom, passing through to the bathroom, where he set her gently on her knees on the bath rug in front of the sink. She had a dazed look on her face, which was understandable, as she’d been through a lot her first day as his sex slave.
He ran the water until it was warm, then wet a washcloth, which he used to gently wipe away the remains of her makeup. She didn’t need all that glop—her skin was perfection itself.
Since they were in the bathroom, he thought to ask, “Do you need to pee, Alana?” Even as he asked, he knew she must have to. She hadn’t used the toilet since he’d first abducted her hours before. He quite liked the idea of making her pee in front of him. A proper slave held nothing back from her Master. To his surprise, however, she shook her head.