Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies

by Claire Thompson

  Again, within a minute or so, she was moaning and arching toward him as best as she could, given the rope restraints. He licked and teased her clit, a finger moving in the tight heat inside her.

  Just as she approached climax, he stopped.

  A small sigh of frustration escaped that perfect mouth. “Don’t stop,” she begged. Then she gasped, clearly aware of her transgression, though of course it was too late to take it back.

  Nor would he let her get away with it. “How dare you tell me what to do?” Mark demanded, though he loved what a total slut she had become. “Have you forgotten all your training? You obviously need a stern, painful reminder.”

  Alana began to whimper quietly. She knew better than ask what her punishment would be.

  Mark selected a long red candle he had ready for this occasion. His hand shook with excitement as he lit the candle, causing a drop of melted wax to fall on his own finger. It was hot—perfect.

  Holding the candle over her stomach, he let the first series of scalding drops fall.

  Alana cried out, no doubt startled by the sudden, unexpected splatter of heat. She continued to jerk a little as he moved the candle slowly up her torso, leaving a line of red dots along the skin.

  He circled a nipple with red droplets. Alana yelped when the hot wax landed directly on her nipple.

  Barely able to contain his excitement, Mark circled the second nipple with melted wax and then aimed a scalding drop on her tender nubbin.

  His cock was hard as a rock. He blew out the candle and pushed it carefully into her spread pussy. She grunted a little, but knew better than to try and push it out. He stepped back to admire her sluttish look as he fisted his cock, which was aching for attention.

  He pulled out a chair and climbed onto the table. Straddling Alana’s chest, he leaned forward and lightly smacked at her lips with the head of his cock. The obedient slut at once opened her pretty mouth, and he leaned forward, moving his shaft until the tip lodged at the back of her throat.

  He thrust back and forth, groaning with pleasure as she did her best to worship her Master’s cock in her awkward position. He didn’t want to come though, not yet. Alana hadn’t yet suffered enough. Pulling away from her eager bird’s mouth, he climbed off the girl and retrieved the candle, now redolent with the heady scent of her juices.

  He lit it again and held the flame just above her spread pussy. The wax began to drip in a steady, scalding stream over the delicate folds.

  “Ah,” Alana cried, the pain ripe in her throaty voice. “Please, Sir. It hurts, it hurts!”

  “It’s supposed to,” Mark said with a laugh. He let the hot liquid fall until her cunt was coated in a red cap of drying wax.

  Satisfied, he again straddled his girl and shoved his cock down her throat. He pumped fast and hard, making her gag, which only spurred him on. Within seconds he shot his prolific load down her throat.

  When he could catch his breath, he climbed off the table. Though he wasn’t yet ready to remove her restraints, he did take off her blindfold. He wanted her to watch what came next.

  Reaching for the single tail, he snapped it in the air near her body. She bit her lower lip in that sweet way she had when she was nervous, but otherwise betrayed no reaction.

  “I’ll need to remove the wax from your pretty cunt,” he said with a cruel smile. He flicked the leather tail, the tip catching the edge of the wax cap.

  She cried out her pain.

  “Take it,” he advised her. “You earned it.”

  With carefully aimed strokes, he flicked away the hardened wax, and when he was done, all that was left was her sweet cunt, red and welted, and perfect for fucking. She was crying quietly.

  Dropping the whip, he took his pleasure.

  ~*~

  Snow was falling thick and fast outside. Inside it was cozy and warm. Alana shifted, swaying gently in the thick leather cuffs lined with sheepskin that held her upside down in the dungeon, her long hair brushing the white floor. Her arms were tightly secured around her back, the iron bracelets clipped together.

  Mark leaned down and held the single tail lash he called the stinger to her lips, and she dutifully kissed the handle.

  “Are you ready to suffer for me, cunt?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Alana whispered, because that was the only answer permitted. Yet, despite her fear, perhaps partially because of it, her nipples stiffened and there was a clutch of desire in her sex as he moved closer.

  Mark caressed her thighs with his hands, and then kissed her inner thighs, his touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. She shivered as his mouth moved closer toward her spread sex. She felt his warm breath against her pussy. She sighed as his velvet tongue began to glide slowly between her folds, and abandoned herself to the exquisite pleasure.

  Then came the sudden, sharp sting of the lash on her inner thigh. Alana screamed, caught completely unaware, though she shouldn’t have been. Hadn’t she learned all too well that with the pleasure must come the pain?

  She retreated into herself as the lash rained across her flesh, the pain coiling like fire in her nerve endings. Finally, the whipping stopped. She was too dizzy and disoriented to even try to lift her head as she heard Mark move away. She just swayed, eyes closed, waiting for whatever came next.

  When he returned, she felt the insistent nudge of something at her cunt. As it slid inside her, she felt the familiar, hard fullness of a vibrator, and she grunted as he pressed it deeper. He flicked a switch at the base and it whirred into life.

  It pulsated and tickled inside of Alana’s pussy, vibrating her clit, instantly arousing her. Though these battery-induced orgasms were never as satisfying as his fingers, his mouth, his cock, nevertheless, they were relentless in their vibrating persistence, and it wasn’t long before she hovered on the edge of a climax.

  “Please, Sir, may I—” she began breathlessly, but before she could complete the question, the vibrator was pulled from her body.

  “No. Not yet.”

  She forgot her frustration as the Master brought the cruel whip down on her bare, exposed sex. As it made searing contact with her clit, Alana screamed and begged for mercy. But there was none.

  He whipped her cunt with ruthless strokes, and she couldn’t do a thing to stop him, held wide open by the leather and chains that suspended her. Pain exploded through her nerve endings, overloading her with sensation. She squeezed her eyes shut beneath the silk blindfold, whimpering and moaning as she struggled to take what he gave her, but it was too much—too much.

  “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” she heard someone moaning, the sound distant to her own ears. The words faded away, replaced by a steady, rising ringing. Then the inky blackness came to claim her. With a relieved sigh, she stepped into its arms.

  ~*~

  Mark dropped the lash and quickly lowered Alana to the floor. He released the chains from the cuffs and leaned over her, pulling the blindfold from her eyes.

  “Alana?”

  Remorse assailed him as he gazed at her swollen, red cunt. The trickle of blood at once repelled and excited him, and his cock was stiff with need.

  He lightly slapped her face. “Alana, wake up. Open your eyes.”

  Her lids fluttered open and she fixed him with a dilated, unfocused gaze. “Wha…?” she said, confusion etching her features.

  “You passed out. That’s unacceptable,” Mark admonished. “It’s a way of running from me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she mumbled, her words slurred. “I didn’t mean to run from you.”

  He looked at her carefully. Was she merely parroting what she thought he wanted to hear?

  He stroked her cheek and she turned her head to kiss his hand. He pulled it away, startled by this subservient, almost loving gesture.

  The thick fringe of her lashes brushed her soft cheeks, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Why are you crying?”

  A silly question, as her poor cunt had to be on fire. But to his surpris
e, she said, “I’ve displeased you, Sir.” Another tear fell.

  Shocked, Mark didn’t know what to say. He tilted her chin up and lightly kissed her soft lips. Was she sincere? That kiss, like a dog licking its master’s hand. And that tear—was it truly because she felt remorse and sorrow for having displeased him?

  Something was different, that was for sure, though he didn’t yet understand completely what it was. Her behavior no longer seemed solely motivated by fear or avoidance of pain. Something else was happening between them. Something he felt but wasn’t ready to thoroughly examine.

  It might disappear if he approached it, dissipating like a wisp of smoke if he got too close.

  As the days passed, Alana continued in this newfound apparent devotion. Mark wanted to be happy—wasn’t this what he’d always dreamed of, from the moment he first hatched his plans? The transformation seemed genuine. She had become his dream girl—compliant, obedient, highly sexed and utterly focused on him. Could these things in their sum approximate love?

  There was one area, however, where his slave lacked grace. She was still afraid of the cane. He had but to mention its use and her eyes would widen with fear, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control her reaction.

  As they lay in bed, Mark glanced down at the sleeping woman in his arms. His cock nudged against her warm body as he contemplated marking her ass with the new fiberglass cane he’d purchased online. At only an eighth of an inch thick, he knew it would provide a harsh sting. The business end was made of smooth white fiberglass. The handle was ribbed with rubber for a good grip. It was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t sleep, so why should she?

  “Wake up,” he said into Alana’s hair.

  Her eyes opened as she struggled to focus.

  “I can’t sleep,” he informed her. “I’m going to cane you to relax.”

  Her eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth. “Not the cane!” she blurted and then bit her lip. That protest alone was enough for punishment, but he let it pass as he unlocked the chains that held her iron bracelets. He pushed her from the bed, pressing her shoulder so she knelt on the floor as he climbed out of the bed.

  “Crawl to the playroom and wait for me.”

  “May I use the toilet first, Sir?”

  “No.”

  He detected the slightest hint of a sigh, but after a moment, she dropped dutifully to her hands and knees and crawled out of the bedroom, her gorgeous ass swaying.

  When he came into the playroom Alana was kneeling up, her back straight as she sat back on her haunches, her legs spread as he had taught her.

  When he showed her the blindfold, she lifted her chin and closed her eyes, waiting with absolute serenity.

  She was breathtaking.

  I love you.

  He placed the blindfold over her eyes. “Stand up,” he ordered and she obeyed. He raised her arms and she held them aloft, wrists touching, while he clipped a chain to her cuffs, and then to the metal bar hanging from the ceiling. He admired her naked body for a moment, the long, slender waist, the high, full breasts, the gently flaring hips. He reached down and cupped her pussy, inserting a finger deep into her cunt. She was wet, wonderfully wet, but he could see the fear in her eyes. What a perfect combination.

  Mark held the new fiberglass cane to her lips. She kissed it. He placed the tip against her lips. They parted. He inserted the cane several inches into her mouth and pressed down, forcing her to open her mouth wide. She began to tremble.

  Withdrawing the cane, he walked around behind her. Slowly he dragged the rod across her back, down to her ass. She remained still, but the pace of her breathing had picked up. Mark returned to stand in front of her. He leaned close so their naked bodies were touching. He brought his arms around her, holding the cane in both hands, imprisoning her between his body and the cane.

  He could feel her heart pounding against him. He could see she was afraid. And brave. And willing. He stepped back from her and again walked behind the bound woman. He spit on the cane’s handle and rubbed the saliva over it as a lubricant.

  Alana let out a sudden cry as he inserted the rubber handle of the cane into her ass.

  He took a step back. What a picture she made, hung and naked, with the cane hanging lewdly from her ass. Mark held it there a moment longer, testing her grace, testing her resistance.

  “Whose ass is that, slave?”

  “Yours, Sir,” she managed between clenched teeth.

  “That’s right, my love. It’s mine. If I wanted to, I could have you bare your asshole so I could cane it until it bled. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said in a tiny, frightened voice. He could smell her fear. And her desire. Mark withdrew the rod from her luscious bottom. The time had come. Let the dance begin.

  The first blow landed suddenly, across the front of her thighs. She hissed her pain. Again the cane struck, this time behind her, on her ass, across both cheeks. Aiming a few inches lower, he let the cane strike her flesh again. The welts were beautiful. The only sound in the room was the whistle of the cane, the crack on her flesh, and her breathing, ragged and rasping in her throat.

  When the cane landed across her breasts Alana wailed, losing control of her bladder. Urine trickled down her legs as she danced and hopped in her efforts to avoid the cruel bite of the rod. Aware of what she’d done, she blushed a dark, brick red. She would suffer for her lack of control, and they both knew it.

  He brought the cane to her lips again. After a moment, she kissed it. Then he smacked her breasts again, bringing the cane down hard on her tender flesh. Alana screamed. He knew, because of the kiss she had thought they were done, but they were only just beginning.

  ~*~

  Alana’s arms were numb. Her body was covered in lines of fire, sweat stinging the welts. Her blindfold was damp with tears. She could sense Mark close by, and knew by the slippery slap of his hand against his spit-lubricated cock that he was masturbating.

  Every ounce of strength had been caned from her and she sagged against her restraints, relieved it was over. She was desperately thirsty, but lacked the strength even to form the words, to push forth the breath it would require to ask for a drink of water.

  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…

  She felt the chains loosening, falling away, and then 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, and then 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 bl
indfold, 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 then 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.”