“Your ass is a great half moon, white as pale ale. Nothing wrong with that. My preferences are different: I prefer that nice harvest tone instead.” He had stealthily returned to her side while she was lost in thought. His words emanated from behind her, followed by the loudest slap she had ever heard.
The noise rang in her ears long before the sharp pain on her ass cheeks exploded into the desolate air.
Lucien didn't give her any time to recover. Not now.
He smashed the broad faced cane over her ass again and again, mashing it into her plump rear. She made a sound somewhere between a passionate cry and a sob.
“That's it, Sandra. Cum for me. Cum when this stick finds your ass again.” His hypnotic order tore through her. The last thing she wanted to do was surrender further satisfaction and control to the degrading monster behind her, but his words were more powerful than his tools.
She had never orgasmed without masculine hands caressing her, licking her, or gratifying her void with a horny cock. Not until the cane connected with her ass.
“Oh, God...Lucien,” she whimpered, feeling her clit throb from side to side as the muscles around her sex contracted. With nothing for it to wrap around, she screamed, and her legs curled inward.
Her shrill yips bounced around the walls of his enormous basement, papering the dungeon with ghostly passion. Behind her, Lucien's cock twitched, and he momentarily thought about planting himself inside her spasming ass while she rocked against the open air.
Blood didn't know where to go in her body. All of it fought to circulate into her gushing folds, and the migration only numbed her outstretched arms and wounded extremities further.
For years, Sandra kept journals, and she fought to make sense of the experience after leaving his residence. She likened what she felt to a “spiritual orgasm,” since the way her shell like body fell molted from her body had stuck in her head more vividly than anything else.
Reason didn't return quickly or easily. For now, all she could do was scream, spurt, and grind as muscles far from her tortured cavern seized up. When her constricted points finally loosened, she recalled the feeling of coming back to earth in the hospital bed after her accident.
Release...sweet, sweet release, she thought, inhaling the fading stench of his smoke and her own sweat.
“How wonderful you are when you cum, Sandra. You'll need to keep that pleasure and energy going.
Not just for me, but for your own good, all the way until you reach the grave at the end of your life.
Now, I think it's time you graduated to what you've had your eyes on all along...” The brain fog prevented her from shrieking and beating at his shoulders when he unbuckled her shackles, dropping her to the floor. Her body wilted limply against the pavement, and when she came to, he was between her legs, rubbing his enormous shaft around and around her spiraling walls.
“Wait...wait!” she cried, coming to her senses. Too late.
One more push forward and he was in her, igniting a terrible sense of need she never knew before. Her reason didn't stand a chance, as she saw clearly long after the billionaire took her. That didn't stop it from putting up one last pathetic fight.
“No, Lucien. This wasn't in the contract. No, no, no...I'm not protected. You can't fuck me, you can't cum, you can't!” Her tongue felt like it was stuck to a mouthful of buttery grits, sliding around until her words melted.
“That's the point. You didn't really think I would settle for a few hours of fun and a quick blow, did you?” He glared down at her with demonic superiority, pinching her bruised tits in his rough hands.
When he started ramming her, the last puny barricades of resistance crumbled. He was bigger than most of her lovers, reaching all the way up to her cervix, punching her soft ceiling as he started the long volley of jabs that would end in filling her to the brim with his seed.
“Lucien...ahhhh. Lucien...ohhhh. Humph!” Her clit stroked against the mat of manly flesh and pubic hair that rode up against her slit each time he flung himself all the way into her. Soon, she couldn't have even thought of prying him away, too enslaved to her need for that fire in his bulging seed bulbs.
He's all the way up to your womb, and you're not on the pill. You never believed in it, did you Sandy?
The accident took away that nasty IUD too, unchaining your eggs to do what they do best.
The voice stopped, drowned out by the savage downward stabs of his cock. She could barely move anything but her lungs, lips, and ankles. Her body uncontrollably coiled itself around the hunky shape burrowing into her, nestling between his firm ass and the wolf skin blanket that enveloped them.
A low rumble moved across Lucien's throat as he forced himself deeper. She was chirping and thrashing from side to side as he moved across her, stopping to pull hard on the clothespins attached to her stricken nips. He smiled with pleasure as she moaned out her feelings, vocally bleeding the new order within her, the one where the easy distinction between pleasure and pain had been destroyed.
Sandra couldn't tell world from world anymore. The dim basement light turned into shards as she jerked her neck beneath his heavy breaths, listening to his muscular chest throb with his racing heartbeats.
“Please! Don't cum in. Whatever you do, don't cum in me.” Her reason had returned just a little to make one last plea, but from the look in his eyes, it was a request she he would ignore.
“Quiet, slut. Your body belongs to me now, and I'll own your mind far longer than tonight,” he said, slowing enough to twist her nipple up to the side until she gritted her teeth.
Her own legs mutinied against her as they wound tighter around his strong hips. She lifted and slammed back down against the hardened floor as she moved with his seesaw thrusts.
When he sensed his scrotum pulling up against his body, he doubled his erotic wrangling, biting into her shoulder and hammering that sopping wet space between her legs. Sandra groaned and pulled on her hair, pinned down by one shoulder as he forced wave after wave of pressure across her skin each time he dug deeper.
Her second orgasm had nearly started, and she knew that the long fuse was ignited. The final shock to her system came when the low, almost mechanical churning hummed in his throat.
His grip around her limbs became suffocating, and he powered himself into her one last time, all the way until her clit writhed against his hard pressed pubic shield. Her cervix contracted down and sloshed against the head of his cock, which erupted so hard she could feel it.
Spurt!
Jet number one burst against the entrance to her birth canal, seeping into her hungry womb, which had lain barren over the years of a glitzy career and dozens of short lived relationships. She saw herself spinning out of control on the darkened road, careening toward the hateful face behind the window of the other vehicle.
Spurt!
Even in his orgasmic throes, Lucien stayed in control. Just before the ecstasy tsunami overtook him, he thought about the massive candelabra in his master bedroom. Each arm held a flickering votive candle that he lit on his quiet nights, when he wanted to visualize how many bastard children he had created, and re-live the ways he impregnated their mothers.
Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!
His cock vibrated with an ejecting force that seemed as though it would never be quashed. Whenever he swelled and lost more of himself in her seething depths, she rolled her back, lightly humping him as her orgasm hit in wave after punishing wave.
Sandra screamed, never having taken such a sexual beating. Her eyebrows furrowed as the glowing balls beneath them circled round and round, the only response she could muster to the brimstone crackling through blood and bone, landing in great busts across all her energy points. Her nipples, clit, fingers, and toes hardened and tried to curl.
Eventually, the miniature Eden wavered, until they found themselves rasping heavily, back in the sleek basement. He anchored himself against her womb as his cock descended from its peak, softly dribbling more of his seed into her ove
rfilled flower.
Lucien smiled, imagining another mission accomplished. Vainly, he stared deep into her eyes from behind his mask, transmitting scenes of furious sperm weaving a path toward her fertile fruits. He never knew that she saw a very similar scene, even if imagined psychic transmissions had little to do with it.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
Sandra's mind raced with exasperation as she crashed back into reason's unwanted grip. The two hemispheres of her brain buzzed against each other, and she heard the voices ringing in her skull with a clarity they hadn't had since the accident.
Congratulations, Sandy. You did it – fast lane to motherhood!
No, no. What am I going to do?
How about suck up some more of that baby making seed? There's enough in your slit to nourish your eggs for days, but a few more of those delicious drops will be sure to get the job done.
She grunted as her vaginal walls tilted against his shrinking cock again, pulling his remnants deeper into her. Lucien had done all that he could, and he dragged himself away with cooling interest.
He waited between her legs for several seconds, peering down at the steaming mess streaming out of her. A vast pool of semen dribbled down across her ass and found its way to the floor, where the virile cream formed a small sea.
“Close your legs. One of my men will be down in a bit to make sure you don't try anything stupid. It's been a pleasure, but I think our bargain is drawing to a close.” He rolled off his cape and stomped away from her, leaving the musky wolf skin draped across her upper body as her well used folds steamed.
“What about my money?” Sandra unevenly propped herself up as he ascended the stairs. The door to the private dungeon slammed shut behind him, leaving her without an answer.
Unseen Clauses Fulfilled
Sandra broke down and wept, unsure whether to howl her derangement at the walls, or masturbate from the confusion settling over her. Everything about the situation seemed unreal. She babbled to herself until Lucien's aides came down to check his deposit, binding her legs at the knees and ankles to hold the remainder in.
You're living in a nightmare, Sandy. Yeah, that's it. A demon haunted nightmare, just like the night of the accident.
The stone faced men carted her off to a guest room, where she slept fitfully for what seemed like only an hour. Yet, it was already nightfall again when they finally unbound her legs, and marched her off to the black sedan, covered in a new dress very much like the one she wore when she arrived.
After Lucien's rigors, all she could think about after arriving home was the money. By the time the wire transfer finally came, other thoughts were beginning to creep in.
She found herself watching the little scrapes and bruises left from their liaison heal, the only reminders she had of their encounter. Her supple body rolled in bed as she masturbated aggressively, clawing at her strained nipples and hungry sex until she came.
Her hands no longer sufficed. She ordered an industrial grade pair of nipple clamps and a matching silver dildo that stretched her as Lucian had.
Still, the fire was missing. She could only imitate the darkly dreamy atmosphere of his Herculean form driving into her, and splattering his seed into her womb, consequences be damned.
Her greatest reminder of his presence slowly appeared over the following nine months. As her belly bulged, she only grew hornier, spanking her swollen nipples with nail files. The strange cocktail of pregnancy vitamins and fog shrouded memories made her delirious with lust, an addict of self-pleasure.
“Lucien,” she whispered, hallucinating his statuesque body trailing the wolfish cloak each time her fingers dug into places she had never touched before.
One day, not long after she had returned from her latest physical before delivering her baby, she received a call from Randy. Her agent's words seemed unreal and far away, as though a distant voice were talking to her through a staticy television.
“Good news, baby, you're never gonna believe this...” He went on to say that Lindt Lynche, one of Hollywood's titan directors, wanted her for his latest project that he had been keeping tightly under wraps.
So, everything is beginning to come together. The doctor did nod at you in a strange way at the clinic, didn't he? Smug.
Too smug.
Birth was hell, especially for a body that had always been carefully primed to look twenty five forever.
Nearly ten years beyond those years added additional strain that chipped away at her flesh, damning her self-styled physical perfection.
Meanwhile, the visions came, in the maternity ward and long after. An imaginary Lucien lingered over her shoulders as she delivered the twelve pound boy, a beautiful token of her submission, with the same piercing eyes she had observed from behind the mask.
It took a few months of her settling into her renewed millions and motherhood before she opened the script for the new film. Her nonsensical laughter nearly woke the slumbering infant as she paged through her lines, which chronicled a desperate woman's experiences in a large and secluded mansion.
In the movie, her lover had seduced her with a fake identity, only to drag the heroine down into his chambers. He left her chained to the wall in his dungeons for several days, occasionally appearing with food, water, and an exotic cream that made her loins burn with need.
When she nearly broke her constraints off the walls, he was waiting for her. Her captor gnawed at her flesh as much as he licked her, all while wearing a wolf skin cape and a dark hooded mask that didn't allow her to see anything more than his eyes.
“Miranda, cum for me on command. I demand it. You know what happens to naughty little girls who disobey, don't you?” Sandra whispered his words and practiced her character's twists of the face, gradually turning the faint shiver down her spine into a sustained spasm.
“They get hurt real bad. Life has a way of turning sour, even when things are on the up and up.” As she read the next lines, she laughed again, trying to shut herself off from receiving the message for her.
Heroine looks up to the corner and sees the camera. Her eyes pass to the opposite corner, where another awaits. She squints, overcome by lust, but understanding her new Master very clearly.
The fifteen months of filming were the longest of her life. She passed out in her trailer between breaks, exhausted, often forgetting to close her robe as she stalked past the attendants on the set.
“Wow, our makeup crew sure did a hell of a job on that one,” one of them said, pointing to the faded imprint on her right thigh that refused to go away. Lucien's whip had permanently reshaped her flesh, and she sometimes stared in the mirror at his most long lasting mark while masturbating, remembering his power.
Everyone applauded her passion when the business was concluded, and she found her name circulating in all of the big celebrity journals. Sandra Lowry became the talk of critics and judges at awards ceremonies, but she refused to show up to the normal Hollywood ringers, even when nominated.
They don't understand. I was really cumming when Lucien – or was it Carl Marsters? - was clawing at my shoulder and leveling himself into me. Everything about those scenes was real...because it happened before.
Some nights, she left her growing son with the nanny she had hired and went out late, hitting the nearest bar. Occasionally, when the liquor had worn off, she drove into the more secluded areas, staring up at the great houses and vast tracts of land that were almost in her budget.
A few times, Lucien saw her car from his fifth floor master bedroom, watching it over the trees as it glided across the winding roads. He smiled, illuminating his face in the darkness – a portrait of desire as the dull candle light haloed him from behind. His latest candle had barely lost wax off the top, carved with the initials S.L.
“It won't be long,” he said, flexing his hands the way a wild animal stretches out its powerful limbs before hunting.
In fact, Sandra's searches turned more desperate much sooner than he expected. Her lengthy drives tu
rned into all night affairs that often led her to the driveways of the gated mansions.
On more than a few occasions, private security forces from the elite stopped her car, on the verge of phoning the police as a well dressed woman in her luxury car yelled the name “Lucien” from the window. She escaped their private drives before any could ever act.
Her heart leaped into her chest when she saw the roguish faces of the hired toughs on the secluded drive she was seeking. Behind the three weathered bullies, a tall figure with a mask and a furry cape appeared.
“Come in, my long lost beauty. I've been waiting for you, with a room prepared. Once you enter, you may never leave again,” he said, watching her face wrinkle with worry as the guards smiled.
“Don't worry about our son, Sandra. He's already on his way here, where he'll receive nothing but the finest instruction – far better than a mere millionaire can purchase for a young man.” His eyes bent across hers like sheets of ice.
She swallowed a large knot in her throat as she looked up at the soaring floors of his mansion. Most of the glassy portals were illuminated with dull orange, just enough to see the outlines behind them. Every lit room, without exception, had the silhouette of women contorted in the most marvelous ways.
There's no place out there for me anymore, she thought, stepping out of her car. His aides clambered inside, shutting off her ignition and confiscating her belongings. One of them tossed her gold frosted cell phone onto the pavement, grinding it beneath his polished heel.
This is where I belong, a servile voice said from within, one that was beginning to feel wholly natural.
Lucien's soft, but rough cape wound its way around her and she listened to his familiar heartbeat. Each tone echoed with the command to surrender, the only call that mattered to her now.
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