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.