“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 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 enough. 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?