After the walk, he led her back into the warm kitchen. He took off her coat and the leash, and had her kneel in her usual spot beside his chair. He served her hot cocoa. When she was done sipping, he directed her to position herself on the table in front of him, her legs spread wide.
He fingered her pussy, pleased as her nipples stiffened and her cunt grew moist and swollen at his touch. “Who do you belong to, cunt girl?”
“You, Sir.”
“What will you do for me?”
“Whatever you wish, Sir.”
Was that really true? 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 claim she was his? Would she still be willing to suffer for him?
When he had finally, finally said those three simple words—I love you—she had not responded in kind. He could demand obedience and grace. He could make her suffer and he could give her pleasure, but he couldn’t make her love him.
He stood from the table and stared down at the woman he’d stolen from the world. No, he couldn’t demand her heart, but he could claim her body and her soul.
~*~
Alana was tied to a chair in the center of the playroom. Her eyes were covered in a long red satin blindfold that wound around her head to cover her mouth as well. Her ears were plugged, all sound muffled and distant. Loops of fine black nylon rope were coiled around her body, crisscrossing tightly across her flesh. Her legs were spread open, rope looped from thigh to ankle.
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 stomach and between her legs. He tugged gently on the gold hoop nestled against her pussy.
His fingers danced around her clit, which throbbed with anticipation of his touch. He stroked her until she moaned against her gag, but then the hand was withdrawn, and a moment later she felt the leathery sting of a riding crop on her inner thigh. He smacked her methodically, covering every square inch of her thighs until they were on fire, and she was whimpering steadily into the satin gag.
Just when she couldn’t endure another stroke of the crop, it stopped. After a moment, Mark’s heavy weight was suddenly straddling her legs. He maneuvered himself so his cock was level with her spread cunt, and with one smooth thrust, he pressed himself into her. He filled her completely as he began to rock inside of her. 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. She might have been a statue, carved of stone, unable to respond, save for the pounding of her heart and the throb in her cunt.
He came quickly, and pulled away, his heavy weight suddenly gone, a trickle of semen left on her thigh.
She waited for him to release the knots of rope at her wrists and ankles, to unwind the tight bindings that made her breasts ache. She waited for him to unwind the silk wrapped around her face, and to remove the plugs still blocking her ears. She waited, straining to hear his movements, to guess what he might be doing.
Finally she understood she was alone.
He had left her there.
She dozed lightly, floating to a dreamy space where there was no pain. 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. They wore the same jewelry as Alana, iron bracelets at their wrists and ankles, gold hoops glinting between their legs.
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 Alana snapped back to reality as she became aware of Mark’s presence. She could hear him moving about in the room. She licked her lips beneath the gag, which had loosened. They were dry. Her mouth felt like cotton.
There was fumbling at the back of her head. The gag was pulled from her mouth. A straw poked against her chapped lips. Alana eagerly drank the cool water, grateful for its sweetness on her parched tongue.