To be owned… Part 2

Day Two – Morning (continued from Day One)

She wakes suddenly. Oh, his kiss, his body, his hands…

She stretches out on the cold vinyl, feeling weak and brittle, despite the hot, wet desire between her thighs. As she blinks in the very pale early morning light, she ponders the sweetness of her dream. A vivid and lovely dream.

It never ceases to amaze her that her subconscious always seems to long for the other side of the coin. Yesterday was brutal, there was none of the tenderness that she knows from him. And so she dreamt of it. When he has been sweet and loving, spending hours caressing and adoring her body, she dreams of his ropes, cuffs, paddles, floggers, crops and canes.

He always loves hearing about her dreams. She smiles, wishing she could tell him about this one.

The pain in her limbs has improved with sleep, but her body still feels weak and worn. She rubs her bruised wrists, almost missing the wicked shackles that imprisoned her for hours. His shackles. Her complete submission is more than worth it.

This is mine. She melts, imagining the pleasure he will derive from owning her… Body, mind, heart and spirit.

It’s too early to start cooking. The house is completely silent, and there is a definite chill in the air. She longs to be in his warm bed, in his strong arms. But she thinks she understand why she isn’t. He needs her to feel the depth of giving herself to him. The pleasure and tenderness of his love makes it an exchange. But to be owned, she must give of herself freely. Every action must be about pleasing him.

Standing to stretch some more, she decides to busy herself despite her exhaustion. As she cautiously fills a cleaning bucket, she longs to soak in the hot water, but dismisses the thought. It is his body to bathe.

An hour passes, and the small kitchen shines from her work. She ignores her hunger and thirst as she begins cooking his favorite breakfast. She smiles remembering the first pancakes she’d made him, at her apartment. He ate every, single one. Then told her he’d never liked pancakes before. The memory pinks her cheeks as she pulls her hair back and braids it quickly to get it out of her way. She sees one of her hairbands on the windowsill that she doesn’t remember leaving there. She wonders if he had put it there for her last night…

As she cooks, she hums a little. When she feels him watching her, she glances toward the doorway, smiling, but immediately turns away, feeling contrite. She is so unsure of herself all of a sudden.

He walks to her, still in just his boxers, steps behind her and grabs her bruised wrists. She drops the pan she was carrying into the sink, and winces at the pressure of his fingertips, but almost sighs in relief at his touch.

“Are you afraid to smile at me now?”

His growl and breath is at her ear as he glides her palms along the countertop to grip the edge before backing up and pulling her hips with him. She can feel his erection against her cheeks and longs for it to soothe the ache in her belly from her morning dream, but she knows this is sure to be quick and hard. For his pleasure only.

As he presses into her, she moans involuntarily.

“Thinking of me, were you? I’m sure you’re not expecting me to be gentle.”

Without pause, he begins pounding into her causing her to cry out. She bites her lip to stifle any more yelps as his fingers dig into her already burning hips. Lifting his right hand to the front of her neck, he pulls so that her back is arched as far as it can, and her breath is caught in her throat.

She loves it rough and can’t help it when her body responds. But she knows she cannot release. If she has an orgasm without permission, she is sure he will be furious. He’d told her from the very first time they had sex that her pleasure belonged to him. It wasn’t hers to squander.

She is starting to see stars when she recognizes the signs that he is about to climax. She squeezes her inner muscles, trying to make it as pleasurable as possible for him. His satisfying groans are more than enough reward. He curses as he pours himself deep inside her, and then leans into her, letting go of her throat.

Gasping and panting, she holds the counter firmly. Glancing at the stove, relieved she had turned everything off.

After pulling out of her, he spins her around and grips her arms firmly. His lips are inches from hers and she can’t help but look him in the eyes. Should she look away? What now?

“Serve my breakfast. Make two plates. You can tell me what you’ve been up to, little slut, then I’ll feed you.

Commands. Good. She exhales, knowing she’s pleased him and delighting in the chance to actually talk to him.

After making two plates, and filling two glasses with orange juice, she places them on the table. But feeling the sticky remains of their connection dripping down the inside of her thigh and pressure in her belly, she pauses before she kneels, and stares down at her fingers blushing. God, she needs to get over this.

“Sir? I need… Could you please take me to the bathroom?”

His lips twitch in a half-smile, and she blushes again. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck and walks her down the hall. She scurries to the toilet and sits, and her full bladder releases quickly. Sighing in relief, she looks up at him, and watches him pull paper again from the roll.

He kneels in front of her, though it feels different from last night. He wipes her gently then holds a finger up for her to wait. He wets a cloth under the faucet and returns to his knees in front of her. Wiping under her eyes and over her face, then down her neck and chest. She can’t help it when her pulse quickens and her lips part. He lifts her arms, bathing under them, then under her breasts. Down her stomach, he runs the cloth over the insides of her thighs then back, along her slit, cleaning her in the most intimate way.

He slips his fingers inside, the pleasure of feeling her obvious in his expression, before gripping her pussy firmly.

“This is mine. You are mine. Just tell me what you need. No more modesty. Do you understand?”

Her breath is ragged, his fingers inside her make her feel like she might burst into flames.

“Yes, Sir.”

She feels like she needs an orgasm, but wants vs. needs had been a big topic before they both decided on this step. She wants to please him, above all else. And these three days are to prove that.

He pulls her to stand, flushing the toilet behind her then shifting her toward the sink. He washes their hands together, pressed against her naked back and staring at her in the mirror. After drying their hands, he unties her hair so that the braid falls away and grabs her hairbrush from the counter. Gliding it from front the back, through her satin locks several times, she closed her eyes to revel in his touch. He’d told her she wouldn’t see this side of him unless she did things to warrant reward.

She has no idea what he could be rewarding her for in this moment.

When he stops, he wraps his arms around her and whispers in her ear.

“After breakfast, the rest of the morning is going to be rough. I need things from you and need to see that you can handle them. But I want you to remember why you’re here. To remember that I am this man too. To remember how grateful I am to have your submission. …And that I love you, sweetness.”

She stares into his reflection, feeling the precise combination of emotions he undoubtedly means her to feel. But he doesn’t give her the opportunity to respond, as he guides her back into the kitchen quickly.

As they eat, he explains to her that mealtime will always be her time to talk. A regular interval to communicate openly and to allow both of them to relax and enjoy each other. He will continue to feed her, for now, because it gives him the control he desires. And it will remind her of her submission.

She chooses to use the time this morning to tell him about her dream. When she finishes, he has a somewhat bewildered expression.

“What’s the matter?”
“I’m surprised that’s the topic you chose today..”
“I thought you liked to hear my dreams, Sir?”
“I do… indeed. I just thought you might have concerns… about today.”

Perhaps she should ask questions about his plans, though she doubts he’s going to provide details. She was very nervous yesterday, expecting a beating to rival anything he’d ever given her before, but yesterday taught her a lot about herself.

She is a masochist, and having offered her complete submission, she’d told him she didn’t want a safeword, any longer. He’d told her then that he was indeed a sadist, and wanted her to be sure before she gave up such an important protocol. Others in the community had talked to her about this too. But in all their scenes together, she’d never had to use her safeword. He’d always known when to stop, he’d never hurt her beyond her ability to absorb and process.

After that admission, she worried about being wrong. She feared what would happen if he did take it too far. However, the memory of his eyes lit up from her willingness to forego it… She wanted him to feel that kind of power and control, because it was obviously his dream come true.

But the concern that it was a mistake remained… Until last night. She realized that he knew her in a way that she hadn’t even known herself.

“I think what you are going to do to me today is teach me more about myself, Sir. I have a feeling you are going to break through more of my fears and defenses so that I can truly and successfully surrender myself to you. …Completely.”

She smiles, wondering how he would react to her touching him. She shyly decides to whisper her request.

“Sir, am I allowed to touch you during mealtime?”

His lips curl at the edges and he nods. She takes his hand and places it on her chest. Just holding it there, over her heart, so that he can feel the most important possession she’s already given him.

He finishes feeding her in silence, and after draining the last of her juice, she whispers that she is still thirsty. He rises to fill another glass with water and returns. After she drains the glass, he chuckles.

“I never noticed how much you drink. Are you always this thirsty?”

She blushes and looks down at the tile between her thighs, and remembering that she is naked, her cheeks redden further.

“Yes, Sir. But perhaps more so this morning.”
“After scrubbing down my kitchen… I watched you for a while earlier…”

She glances up at him, surprised. She hadn’t noticed him…

“I’m sure that was a sight.”
“Indeed, sweetness. Indeed.”

He sits and stares at her for several more minutes. She always wonders what he’s thinking about, he’s so taciturn. After another glass of water, he tells her to clean up, and disappears down the hall.

She does so quickly, even wiping down the kitchen chairs, then kneels in the same spot. Next to the head of the table.

When he returns, he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but no shoes.

He orders her to crawl into the garage, once more. And as she makes her way down the hall and over the threshold, she imagines him watching her ass the whole time.

In the garage, he pulls her to stand then cuffs her wrists to a spreader bar hanging from the ceiling which raises on a pulley. Then he attaches another to her ankles. His fingers skim over the bruises from his shackles, but his face gives nothing away.

Once her legs are spread, he raises the pulley more until she is stretched and on her toes. Stepping behind her, he twists her hair into a knot and secures it with one of her hairbands. He then steps over to the large table and holds up the gag, watching her. Her jaw aches from yesterday, and she prays he doesn’t make her wear it this morning.

He carries it over to her and stands directly in front her. The heat radiating off his body in the chilly garage feels wonderful… or perhaps it’s simply his proximity.

His face is inches from hers, and her heart races. He hasn’t kissed her in days. He told her the next time he did, it would be because he needed it. Oh, please need it now.

“I want to put this on you, badly, just to prove I own you. But I also know what kind of torture it must’ve been yesterday on your jaw… Instead, you are going to hold it, by the strap, in your teeth, until I take it away. If you drop it, you will wear it for the remainder of our session. You understand?”

Breathing in his scent, she literally drips onto the concrete floor below. I’ll do anything for you.

“Yes, Sir.”

He bends his knees so that his lips are fractions of an inch from hers. She closes her eyes, willing herself to expect nothing. Trust him. His breath mingled with hers is almost too much.

She feels him change positions and opens her eyes as he lifts the strap for the gag to her open mouth, positioning it between her teeth, and pressing her jaw closed with one finger. His expression is untelling, but not at all the sadistic smirk she expects.

She exhales deeply as he steps back and stares at her. No modesty. Standing before him, nude and spread open, completely vulnerable, she wonders how she might NOT feel modest.

He steps towards her again, but off slightly to her side and pinches her left nipple before twisting and pulling. She tries hard not to make noise, but it’s impossible not to whine when he produces a set of brutal clamps from his pocket and attaches the first. He follows suit on the other side and smacks both of her breasts, causing her to nearly open her mouth to cry out. She must concentrate on keeping her teeth clenched.

His hand skims down her belly and he smacks her sex with the back of his fingers. She closes her eyes with the second blow, and starts to focus on the feeling of clenching her aching jaw, in an effort to keep herself from writhing beneath his touch.

The blows grow more intense, then he produces a heavy flogger from somewhere. He spins her and begins swinging it in a back and forth motion across her buttocks and thighs, then up her back before travelling back down her legs.

The strikes begin to really burn as the strands bite her flesh. She cannot hold back the noise that escapes her throat with each searing hit. But she can process pain. And this is nothing she hasn’t experienced already.

Suddenly, he increases his speed and starts circling around her, hitting nearly every part of her body. When the flogger’s strands catch in the nipple clamps chain, the pull of her flesh is frightfully painful and she screams, but somehow manages to hold the strap in her teeth. He does it again and again, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she counts the blows.

Tears fill her eyes at 9, and start to fall at 12. But she goes silent, only grunting at each strike. Trust him. She’s nowhere near her limit. And she begins to feel the drift… That chemical reaction that changes the pain, turns it into something else.

“Not yet.”

His breathless growl makes her eyes flash open. He stares at her as he steps back to the table to drop the flogger and picks up a cane. God, no. She hates the cane, despises it.

Again, the look on his face is unreadable. Somewhere between dark desire and… uneasy anticipation?

When he steps back toward her, she stares at the thin wood rod. Her heart hammers so hard. He really does mean to push her. She’s only ever been beaten with a cane once, and it was a wicked experience. But when she told him about it, he believed it was the total experience that wrecked her. Not the implement.

He steps absolutely flush against her, tugging the strap from her mouth..

“I knew you could do it.”

Suddenly, he tosses the gag and wraps his fingers around her throat. He pulls her lips to meet his and scorches her with an intense kiss. She’s breathless and spinning when he releases her. He is also visibly affected.

“I know you’re scared. I know you have this built up in your mind as some sort of hellish experience, but I promise you, sweetness, I’ve dealt you far more pain with other things than I will with this. …I need you to trust me. …Do you trust me?”

His fingers have moved around her throat and are woven into the bun at the back of her neck. He pulls her head back again, and as her body arches against him, she reminds herself what he said earlier. And why she’s here.

“…Yes.  Yes, Sir. Implicitly. …No safeword.”
“No safeword.”

Staring into his eyes, all she can do is pray she isn’t making a mistake. Remembering her thoughts from yesterday, she tells herself the same thing, repeatedly. Trust him. I must trust him.

He strokes her cheek and steps away, the expression from earlier returning. She wishes she could figure out what he is feeling.

He walks behind her and begins rubbing her bottom. Down her thighs, then back up. He raises the pulley again so that she’s barely touching the floor, her weight is distributed between her toes and wrists. As his hand returns, but this time, slips between her thighs, she exhales deeply.

He had said long ago that he enjoyed watching her in that state of pure pleasure, then nearly overcome by pain, followed by that serenity that takes over when she’s able to change the pain or transcend it. But that there was something very satisfying about holding her between the levels.

His fingers weave their magic until she is panting and whimpering loudly. She wants to cum so badly, days without release has her completely on edge. She aches and drips and almost begs, but resolves not to speak, as that wouldn’t get her what she wanted anyway.

Then, the first blow hits her thighs. The second, across her ass. It stings just as badly as she remembered. Tears spring into her eyes, but somehow she manages not to cry out. Her almost orgasm is completely forgotten by the time he’s struck her six times. Then, suddenly, his hand slips around her front. One finger circling her clit, barely touching her, before two more strikes, hard and in succession cause her to scream.

He rubs her hard, the pleasure and pain breaking into her mind and scattering her thoughts. Three more blows make her scream again, then groan as his fingers slip inside her.

“Oh, Sir… Sir… please.”
“Who do you belong to, slut?”
“You, Sir. But please.”

Pulling free, he swings the cane back and it hits a new spot at the top of her cheeks. Oddly, she barely makes a sound, and is more desperate for the return of his fingers than for the caning to stop.

“Please, please, please.”

When his hand returns, he starts all over again. Oh, it was a test. She bites her lips and absorbs the infuriating teasing, waiting for more. Of what, she is unsure.

He reaches for the chain attached to her nipples and pulls while simultaneously increasing pressure on her clit with his thumb and slipping two fingers into her sopping wet pussy. The pain is so intense, her nipples feel like they are hardwired to the nerves behind her eyes. But the pleasure is equally intense. Her body begins to send her mixed signals, and the pain in her breasts feels good.

This is the moment she loves. It hurts… so good. Every nerve ending in her body is alive and when he blows on her neck, she convulses but holds back, not allowing her body to defy him..

He lets go of the chain and turns her to smack her again with the cane. Four more blows that completely wreck her mind. She is lost in the synergy and doesn’t even make a sound. Five additional strikes only seem to deepen her stupor.

“Good Girl,” he breathes against her lips, but she still can’t open her eyes. “How much do you want to cum right now?”

As she tries to focus her mind, his fingers tease her further, while his other hand grips her burning ass painfully. She wants to, so badly. The ache of need courses through her whole body.

As his fingers push deeper inside, her eyes fly open. He lifts his other hand from her backside to her throat, wrapping his fingers around her and squeezing tightly, “You won’t though, will you sweetness? You won’t defy me.”

She can’t help but stare into his eyes. She focuses every ounce of her being on his fingers around her neck instead the ones pushing her towards the sun. She’s not sure if he expects an answer, but before she can decide, he pulls away completely, hissing, “Yes. My good fucking girl.”

Stepping behind her again, he picks up the cane and delivers several more blows. Then spins her around and bends to remove the cuffs at her ankles. As he stands, he unzips his pants and pushes them down, releasing his iron cock before grabbing her thighs and wrapping them around his waist.

Pushing into her slowly, he groans with pleasure before reaching up and grasping her throat tightly, pulling her lips his. Before he kisses her, he growls into her mouth, “Who’s slut are you?”

She exhales quickly, “Yours, Master,” trying to steel herself against expectations, but so hungry for more of his approval.

As he thrusts into her, again, he bites her lower lip and grips her ravaged ass tightly. She yelps, but then moans as his tongue slides against her own.

His hips buck into hers wildly, and she wonders how she can hold back. She clenches tightly around his shaft, causing him groan again as his mouth threatens to devour her from within.

Pushing and pulsing, he finally pulls his lips away, grunting and cursing as she writhes wildly against him. He still has not given her permission to climax, but she has transcended the need. Her only desire is to make him cum. Her only need is to feel his complete satisfaction.

“Fuck!” He shouts as he pours himself into her. She wills her body to still, somehow, but can’t open her eyes out of fear that she will climax at just the sight him.

He pulls out of her and holds her against his chest while unbuckling the cuffs around her wrists. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he walks over to a bench where he sits.

He holds her tightly, releasing her hair and combing through it with his fingers. His breath is still labored, but she thinks she hears him whisper, “Good Girl,” a few more times. He uncaps a bottle of water and holds it against her lips. “Drink baby.”

When she opens her eyes, and draws the liquid into her mouth, she wonders how it is possible that she isn’t feeling frustrated or pouty. All she feels is pride in herself. And a freedom she hadn’t expected. She closes her eyes again, bathing in the bliss of being his fuck toy.

“How are you, sweetness?” His gravelly voice wakes her from her revelry. “Are you in pain?”

She swallows and licks her lips, looking up again into his eyes, not caring if she’s supposed to or not. “Not much, Sir. But can I have some more water?”

One corner of his mouth curls as he presses the bottle to her mouth again. “Not too fast,” he whispers.

After she finishes, he strokes her hair as she rests her head against his shoulder. “Wasn’t as bad as you were expecting?”

“No, Sir. I am surprised that I’m not hurting worse.” Closing her eyes, she tries to absorb as much of this as she can, not knowing what the rest of the day holds.

She thinks he must realize this, because he simply strokes his fingers up and down her back, occasionally pressing his lips against her forehead. He says nothing, but his touch is the most soothing thing in the world.

When he tilts her chin up so that she will look into his eyes again, he bends to kiss her lips softly. “This is what you were missing the first time you were caned. You weren’t cared for. You were beaten and discarded. I will never do that to you… I love you, little girl… Seeing you surrender yourself completely to your worst fear…”

The emotion in his voice causes her to lift her fingers to his jaw. “I will do anything for you, Master. I am yours.”

His grin grows and his eyelids lower as he squeezes her against his chest, causing her to squirm. When he looks at her alarmed, she blushes and whispers, “I need… I need to pee, Sir.”

His smile changes, and the thrill he feels from his control over her is obvious. As he stands, carrying her across the garage, he chuckles and whispers, “Of course, sweetness. Then perhaps a bath, before the next part of your training.”

to be continued.

To be owned…

Warning – This fictional story is about the breaking of a slave by a sadist via brutal bondage, sensory isolation, bodily function control, humiliation and kinky, rough sex. I’m really Pushing Limits with this one. Read it anyway… Let me know if you think I should continue it.

Day One

Her anxiety pulses through her body like ice water. Her trembling limbs are stretched in all directions by unforgivingly cold, iron shackles. Her eyes water beneath the weight of a heavy, wool hood strapped in place by a gag which presses her jaw open, just to the point of discomfort. She struggles to swallow behind the large ball held firmly between her teeth. She had consented, even begged for this experience, but her mind now bubbles with concern.

She hears nothing, the silence is intense. She knows he must still be there, as he promised not to leave her in bondage, ever. And she believed him. She trusts him.

Slowly, she tries to calm her breathing with that thought. I trust him.

It does not soothe the fear that now erodes her sense of self, though. If this is a mistake, she’ll never know. Because in the end, she will be forever changed. She knows that, and exhales a long, cathartic breath.

Suddenly, she feels his presence, and closes her eyes blindly as it washes over her like warm bathwater. Odd that she would feel relief in his proximity, knowing that he may do unspeakable things to her today. He hadn’t told her his plans, so the anxiety remained, only diluted by the hope of his tenderness. Though, she is sure what she will experience in the beginning will lack any tenderness.

Lying beneath his open gaze, she wonders if he will speak. What he might say. What his voice will sound like. What he will expect. Her heart races as her patience begins to wither. Will he simply keep her like this and watch her all day? Will it be like this every day?

The time spreads out through her. She twitches at every change in the air pressure. She flinches at every tiny sound. Is he still here? Perhaps her sense of his presence is incorrect. But that would mean he’s broken his promise…

In the cold darkness, she pulls at her restraints to hear some sort of sound. She can’t seem to fill her lungs fast enough. The hood feels like it weighs a hundred pounds but she shakes her head to see if it will shift so that she might see even a fraction of light. It won’t, the strap pressing the wet, rubber ball against her tongue holds it securely in place. The lump in her throat grows as her mind furiously spirals into a state of panic.

What if he has left? What if he’s driven away and gotten into a car accident? What if he’s had a heart attack and is dying in the corner of this garage as she lies here completely immobile and helpless? What if she dies like this?

Her sobs begin to echo through the dead silence. She tries to call out for him, desperate for any change in the stillness. She chokes on her efforts, pulling at her restraints and retching, almost screaming, until she exhausts herself completely. She knows none of these actions will change anything, and finally resigns herself to be still. I must trust him.

Time passes. The air seems to get colder for a fraction of an instant. But maybe it’s her imagination. She senses him again, though she doesn’t hear or feel anything. Her heart begins to race as his presence draws nearer. Chills break out across her naked flesh and she is oddly, very suddenly aware of her undress.

She hears a click, like that of a light switch, and then feels warmth wash over her skin. Her mind prickles with a different fear. Is it just him? Would he invite others to join him? She’d never asked. She should have asked. What if a stranger is watching her? No, I trust him. That trust is all she has.

“You need water. Do not speak.”

His voice is low and cool as his fingers lift her head and unbuckle the strap quickly. He holds a bottle to her lips and she tries to swallow as quickly as possible. It feels as though she’s been like this all day, and as she drinks, she realizes how thirsty she was. She desperately wants to ask him how long it has been and if he left her alone. But after pulling the empty bottle away, his fingers wrap around her throat.

“Your little fit earned you nothing. You’d be smart to remember that.”

Before she can even process his words, he presses the ball of the gag back into her mouth and buckles the tight leather strap. She feels the lump rise in her throat, the familiar feeling of unbidden tears burning her eyes. She remembers him telling her that crying is part of the process, but if she indeed, truly wants to submit, she would not struggle. Even in her fear.

Letting her tears fall, her breath exits in tiny sobs. But she doesn’t fight, she simply allows herself to feel his disappointment. Her fit was out of concern for herself, not for him. She is there to please him.

After some time, she realizes that he is still there. She isn’t sure how she knows, but she feels him. Especially when he is near her. Is he just watching her?

She has reached a state of true discomfort. Her arms and legs are pulled so tight. Her ankles and wrists feel chafed from the hard metal they are wrapped with. Her jaw aches and burns from the stress of the gag. Her eyes and nose itch beneath the hot wool that covers two thirds of her face. Her stomach is empty and she’s sure it’s angry requests for food can be heard.

And, she needs to pee. Making her bondage even more uncomfortable.

She hadn’t thought about this very human, basic need. She knew she could go only hours without water and maybe a day without food. She’d voiced these concerns ahead of time. Though, the only promise she asked him to make was not to leave her alone. What if he expected her to hold it? Or worse, relieve herself right there on his cold, wooden table?

She began flexing her toes in an effort to take her mind off it. It only helped a little.

“I’m guessing you are in desperate need of a restroom. The fact that you’ve been lying there suffering, trusting that I will take care of you is very pleasing.”

His fingers work the locks at her wrists as he speaks. During his languid trip to her ankles, his hand tweaks a nipple and slaps the other. The pain nearly makes her wet herself, but she remains silent. Scratching his fingers down her thighs, he finally releases her ankles then grabs her hand to help her rise.

She is unsteady on her feet and he uses his body to press her belly against the table edge. Directly against her bladder.

“I wonder if you can hold it while I fuck your ass.”

She begins to shake her head, but stops quickly, thinking that would be a huge mistake. She closes her eyes praying he did not notice. But of course he did.

Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he pushes her forward onto the table so her toes lift off the ground. Lying on her full bladder, she is sure her body is going to fail, and begins to cry. Determination, however, pulls her hands from beneath her to her backside, spreading her cheeks for him.

“Good. Girl.”

He rubs the tip of his erection up and down her slit. She had surpassed discomfort. Her belly aches from the pressure, and every muscle is strained. Her tears continue when she realizes she won’t be able to relax.

As he kicks apart her feet, she is able to shift her weight so the table hits above her navel. The pressure eases just enough to be tolerable but as he pushes into her, she is overwhelmed by different pain.

“Don’t piss on me. You will not like the punishment.”

She sobs as he begins thrusting into her ass. His grunts echo off the walls. She reminds herself how pleased he’ll be if she can bear this punishing fuck. Remembering his disappointment earlier fuels her eagerness. I will not fail.

As he nears climax, she chants that thought in her mind, no longer sobbing. Instead, she focuses on his thrusts and the pain they cause, to tak
e her focus off the other pain.

Upon his completion, he pulls her up with his cock still in her ass and reaches down her front to feel her pussy. To confirm she hadn’t let go.

“I didn’t think you could do it, slut…”

Pushing her back down, he pulls out of her quickly. She hears his zipper before he grabs her neck once again.

As he pushes her through a door then down onto a freezing toilet seat, she exhales waiting to hear a door close. Instead, she feels his fingers releasing the buckle of her gag.

This time, he pulls off the hood as well, and she squints until her eyes adjust to the light. He is holding a bottle of water to her lips. How is she supposed to pee while he stands there watching her, expecting her to drink.

Trust him.

She closes her eyes and tilts her chin back while forcing her pelvic muscles to relax. After several swallows, he pulls the bottle away but remains. She realizes he’s waiting for her to finish relieving herself, and her face heats with humiliation.

Forcing herself to empty her bladder as quickly as possible, she tries to cover her face with her hands. He yanks them away quickly.

“Don’t make me tie you. You will have no privacy from me. Ever.”

Tears prick her eyes again as she frowns at the notion. He had warned her several times that slaves do not have privacy. He’d even made her repeat it. How could she not realize that meant no bathroom privacy? As she realizes this means she’d also have to do other toilet related things in front of him, her cheeks flame red hot again. But she successfully fights the urge to cover her face this time.

When she finishes, he doesn’t even allow her toilet paper before pulling her up and pushing her into a tiny shower stall. Turning the faucet and pulling a small hand sprayer off the wall, she knows immediately that this too is going to be uncomfortable.

The water is so cold that it stings. She squeals before clapping her hands over her mouth to silence herself. She’s not supposed to look at him, but her eyes involuntarily shift to his mouth when she hears him chuckle, lightly. His lips are curled in a sadistic grin, but she drops her gaze before risking allowing herself to look into his eyes.

Closing her eyes and dropping her hands, she tries again to prove her submission. He turns and shifts her, spraying every inch of her body until she is shaking from the cold that has now seeped into her bones.

When he turns the water off, she stands shivering for several moments before she opens her eyes, staring at the floor.

He steps toward her, holding the water bottle to her lips again. She’s so hungry, but has no inclination that he might feed her today. She can see a few inches of night sky through the closed blind on the tiny bathroom window. And as she drains the bottle dry, her stomach rumbles once more.

She continues to shiver as she watches him twist the plastic cap back onto the empty bottle. Her tears begin anew, sparked by the complete bewilderment of what he plans to do with her at night. She was growing more and more sure that he wouldn’t allow her into his bed this night.

“I wasn’t going to feed you tonight. But I hadn’t expected you to do this well…”

His voice was hard and cool. She is so tired. Her entire body aches as she stands trembling and softly crying in front of him. He grabs a rough towel from behind her and dries her, almost harshly, showing no mercy to her over-sensitized skin.

“Maybe I should just feed you my ass coated cock.”

His growled words make her wince. But she thinks to herself, Please him.

She slowly sinks to her knees, her muscles and tendons screaming, increasing her tears. But when she reaches the floor, she spreads her legs open sitting back on her heels and opens her mouth wide. To be used.

She closes her eyes, trying to avoid his. She hears no reaction from him, but knows he’s still there. She hears the faucet flip on then off, then his fingers on the top of her head, sliding through her soaked hair before gripping her tightly.

As the tip of his cock touches her tongue, she nearly gags with the thought of what he did earlier with it. She didn’t have time to think about it too much because he was almost instantly fucking her face with such force that she was gagging, gasping and sobbing within seconds.

When his cum shoots down the back of her throat, unceremoniously, he holds her face still with both hands. She can’t breath but she can’t even lift her hands to try to push him away.

He finally pulls back and chuckles, tapping her lips

“Good girl. I’m happy you know what this is really for.”

His fingers dig into her jaw lifting her face. It hurts and her eyes flash open. She doesn’t understand the look in his eyes. But she now truly believes what she hadn’t several days before. He is indeed a sadist.

“Stand up. You deserve some food for that.”

As she tries, excited that she’s been able to please him enough to deserve a reward, her body fails her. As she falls backward onto her ass, he laughs and her face reddens once more.

She gathers all of her strength and pushes herself up to stand. She suddenly finds his arm around her waist, guiding her through the door. Her knees are so weak, as they step into the kitchen and he lets go, they fail and she’s on all fours.

“Crawl over to the table then, weakling.”

She follows his command, wondering why she is so weak. All she did was lie on a table all day. She’d expected to have been beaten, mercilessly. But it occurs to her that being beaten wouldn’t have had the same effect on her. That kind of pain she can absorb and process. What he put her through today tore at her natural defenses. That was the point.

Kneeling next to the table, she can barely open her eyes, but glances at the clock above the sink. It is only 8:40.

She lets her eyes close as she listens to him moving around. The room is filled with a delicious smell… soup or stew? When she hears him in front of her, she opens her eyes. He pulls out a chair and sits, completely naked before her. Had he undressed before.

Popping a spoonful of his meal into his mouth, he reaches down with his left hand and pinches her nipple. She looks up at him, but quickly looks back down. His legs are spread before her and his cock is beginning to harden again. From looking at her? From that one fractional second of touch?

He takes another bite then reaches for both nipples, pinching and pulling. She winces and whines quietly, but thrusts her chest into his demanding touch.

She senses his smile but the only thought swirling in her brain is, Please give me food…

He pulls her closer, tips her chin back and brings the spoon to her lips.

“You can look at me while I feed you. When you are like this, accepting and trusting, I will reward you. When you lose trust and faith in me, like you did earlier today, you’ll be treated with the same lack of respect.”

His words and voice are measured as he slowly empties several spoonfuls into her waiting, starving mouth. She watches his eyes, strangely feeling devoid of any thought other than thanking him for the meal. How could she thank him without words?

After emptying the first bowl, he pulls a glass to his lips and takes several deep draws of the Amber, iced liquid. He holds it to her lips, and she recognizes it as iced tea. After several gulps he pulls it away.

She looks down at his erection marveling at his body and it’s ability to recover so quickly. He chuckles at her wide eyes.

“Oh, you want dessert! You think you deserve it?”

Pushing a spoonful from the second bowl of stew into her mouth, his eyes are dark and possessed. Her brow creases and she lowers her eyes, shaking her head slightly.

He grunts before taking several more bites then pushing the bowl away. Staring down at her, he swallows the rest of the tea and sets the glass down slowly.

Then, in a flash, he turns her and pushes her face to fl
oor. Her arms spiral out to try to keep her steady, still on her knees, and before she even knows what’s happening, his cock is buried deep in her pussy.

With his fingers wrapped tightly around the back of her neck and digging into the flesh of her already aching hip, he drills into her, viciously, but her tears do not return.

This is what she wants. To be used… To be owned…

When he collapses on top of her, he whispers against her hair, exhausted and drained.

“Good girl.”

And the pleasure of hearing those words is beyond any other.

When he rises up off of her, she shifts back into a kneeling position.

“You can sleep right here, instead of the garage. Clean up the kitchen tonight and have breakfast ready for me by 7am. There’s bacon and eggs, I want pancakes. Understood?”

Glancing up at him, she doesn’t know how to respond. She has questions. Was she just to sleep on the floor? Couldn’t she sleep on the carpet in his bedroom, at least? What if she had to use the toilet?

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, glaring down at her, and she realizes that the last question is the only important one.


“Go on, but remember why you’re here.”

“I’m sorry, Yes, Sir. I just wondered if I’m permitted to use the bathroom…”

“If you NEED something, you may come into my room and wake me. No. You are not permitted to use the bathroom without me. But remember what we discussed about needs. And remember that I like my sleep uninterrupted.”

She almost smiles at the memory of some of their conversations in the weeks leading up to this. But finds the idea of waking him for permission to pee completely embarrassing. Better get it over with now.

“I… Sir, could you take me now?”

He arches an eyebrow and she realizes, again, she isn’t supposed to be looking at him. She drops her gaze and waits patiently for his response.

“Yes. Crawl, though. I don’t feel like watching you fumble to stand, again.”

Bending forward onto her palms, she follows him down the hall to the small bathroom. Once inside, she pulls herself quickly onto the toilet seat, her face burning with humiliation. She sits, staring at the floor, begging her body to just let go, this isn’t a big deal, everyone pees. But she’s always had a timid bladder.

He stands there, staring at her, and she can feel his frustration building. Finally, she forces the stream to start and exhales quietly in relief. Once finished, she looks around for the toilet paper, but it isn’t in the holder. She glances up at him, and watches him pull off a section from the tube in his hand. She lifts her hand to accept it, but he pushes it away and lowers to squat in front of her.

Pushing the paper between her thighs, he wipes her, drops the wad and slides two fingers inside of her, gripping her, roughly.

“This is mine. Everything it does is mine. Everything it is used for is mine. You get over this modesty and remember that.”

He pulls his fingers free and rises, leaving her achingly bereft. He washes his hands and waits. Her heart races as she lowers herself back to all fours and follows him back down the hall. When they arrive in the kitchen, he grabs another glass of tea, allowing her several swallows, before he leaves.

Watching him walk out, his words ring in her ears. This is mine.

She remembers their talks leading up to this. He’d told her that if she truly wanted to be his slave, she would no longer own her own body. Standing, shakily, she realizes how much better she feels since having something to eat. She’d love to have another bowl, or even finish the cold one sitting there on the table. But it wasn’t her stomach to fill…

Oh my… Her head was already changing. Fleeting questions pepper her mind, but she decides to concentrate on the job he’d given her.

After she finishes cleaning and prepares most of the ingredients she’ll need to make breakfast, she flips the light switch and lowers her achy, bruised body onto the spot he had told her to sleep. She curls up, trying to conserve body heat, and closes her eyes, praying she wakes at the proper time.

Sometime later, she feels him, his presence. She tries to keep her eyes closed, but she can’t help but investigate to see if her intuition is right.

He is leaning against the door frame in boxers, with his glass, staring at her. She looks up at him, jealous of the glass he’s holding, but unsure if she wishes she had the glass or if she wishes he was holding her. He pushes himself upright, strides over to her, and kneels down to press the glass against her lips.

She drinks nearly half before he pulls it away. Chill bumps sweep over her arms and legs as his thumb skims over her lips, wiping a drop of water from the bottom. And then he stands and leaves.

Closing her eyes again, she slips back to sleep with no idea at all what to expect from Day Two.

Part 2