Mark was breathing heavily near her. He moved in closer, moaning as he ejaculated across her belly and pussy. Why hadn’t he fucked her, as he usually did after a caning? Then she remembered her loss of control, and heat rose again in her cheeks as she moved her feet to avoid the puddle of urine between them. Of course he wouldn’t want to fuck her in her disgrace, and who could blame him?
If only he would let her down. She wanted to be taken into his arms and soothed. She longed to feel his warm, soft lips pressed against hers. She needed him to wash her, to groom her, to wipe away the sweat, the piss and the pain.
Then he might make love to her. Tender, aching, passionate love.
For a moment, a conflicting thought pushed its way, unwelcome, into her mind. What the fuck was wrong with her? This man was her tormentor, her captor, and she wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to make love to her? She should be screaming her outrage. She should be finding a way to escape…
No. Hush. There’s no escape. Shh, let it go. Easier to obey, to submit, to surrender…
As the chains loosened and fell away, Mark caught her and lifted her tenderly into his strong, sure embrace. He carried her to the bathroom and laid her gently on the thick bath mat near the tub. He hadn’t removed the blindfold, but she could hear the running water. Then she felt the warm touch of a wet washcloth gently washing her legs and sore pussy.
Then a soft towel was gently patted over her bruised flesh, and finally she felt the soothing salve spread over her skin and lightly smoothed over her labia. Each touch of his fingers hurt her, but also soothed her. She didn’t protest or even move.
Then his arms slid beneath her body, and she was again lifted and carried back into the bedroom, where he lay her gently on the bed. When he removed the blindfold, she saw that the room was lit by the pink and gold light of a new dawn.
He leaned over her and lightly kissed her dry, cracked lips. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
She lay still while he was gone, too exhausted to move.
He returned with a bottle of cold water. He unscrewed the cap and held it to Alana’s lips, cradling her head as she drank. When the bottle was empty, he let her head fall back onto the pillows.
When she awoke some time later, Mark was asleep beside her, his arm thrown across her body like a shield, like a chain.
Lately, Mark liked for Alana to cook breakfast, and she enjoyed the simple, domestic task. She placed the plate of pancakes on the table beside the bacon and took her place on her cushion by her Master’s chair.
As Mark shared his food with her, he said, “I’m thinking of piercing your cunt so you can wear my jewelry.”
Alana’s stomach did a sudden, unpleasant lurch. The idea of a needle piercing her flesh was terrifying. Yet at the same time…
“What do you think?” he asked, his eyes intent on her face.
What did she think?
She blinked in her confusion. She was not used to being asked her thoughts on anything of this import. Was the question rhetorical, or did he really require a response?
He seemed to be waiting for an answer. Was it a trick question?
Not sure herself of her feelings, Alana replied, “I’m afraid of needles, Sir.”
“I understand. But the question I’m asking is, would you like to wear my jewelry at your cunt, slave girl? Would it please you to please me in that way?”
Ah. Now he had phrased it in a way she could understand. “Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent. We’ll do it tonight.”
Chapter 9
Mark held out a glass. “Drink this. It’s brandy to help dull the pain a bit.”
Alana accepted the glass and drained it, enjoying the sweet burn as it went down.
Mark took the glass from her and set it aside. “I’m going to tie you down to keep you still. We wouldn’t want any sudden movement while I’m using the needle.”
She lay on the bed, and he placed pillows under her ass to raise her hips. He had her bend her knees, feet flat on the mattress. Using soft ties, he looped one around each thigh and tied them tightly to the posts of the bed, securing her open and spread for him. Next he bound her wrists, pulling the ties tight.
In spite of her determination to submit with grace, Alana’s heart had begun to pound, and her mouth was dry with fear.
Mark leaned over a tray on the nightstand and held up a smooth oval hoop of gold, about three inches long and a quarter inch thick. It was beautiful, and for a moment, Alana nearly forgot her fear.