Dark Obsessions Vol II

by Thompson, Claire

  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.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Mark said with a smile. He touched the open clasp, not unlike the hook of an earring. “When I release the pin, it will spring permanently shut, a constant symbol of ownership.”

  He set down the jewelry and took a piece of ice from a small metal bowl. He held the ice to her labia until they were frozen and numb.

  Alana shivered.

  He picked up the threading needle he would use to pierce her flesh.

  Alana closed her eyes.

  “Okay, Alana,” he said, leaning over her. “Stay very still. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

  She felt the tension at her sex as he pulled the flesh taut.

  “Okay, take a deep breath and count to three. Then let it out.”

  She did so, relaxing slightly as she exhaled.

  “Again.”

  This time, as she exhaled on the third breath, she felt a stinging pinch, and she jerked in her bonds, crying out a little.

  “Shh, it’s done. You did very well. I just need to thread the jewelry through now. Stay still.”

  Alana tried to stop trembling as he finished his work. It really hadn’t been bad at all. Nevertheless, she was glad she was lying down, because the world was spinning beneath her eyelids. Then she felt his lips lightly touching hers.

  “It’s done, baby,” he crooned. “You were very brave. And it’s beautiful.”

  Alana opened her eyes and smiled. There was a dull throb of pain where the needle had pierced her, but nothing she couldn’t tolerate. She could feel the weight of the gold now locked into her flesh. She lay still as Mark untied her restraints and gently removed the pillows from under her body.

  “May I see it?” she asked, not quite believing the whole thing was over.

  Mark brought a small hand mirror and helped her to sit up. The gold hoop lay against her thigh, its clasp glinting at her labium. Alana stared at the jewelry and then up at Mark.

  He was watching her intently, something like pain moving over his features.

  “I love you,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  Alana’s mouth fell open. He had never said those three words before, though he’d danced around them many times. This was the man who owned her, who controlled her, who used her, who was obsessed with her—and those concepts she understood.

  Months of training, deprivation and constant sexual stimulation with no distractions from the outside world had fixated Alana’s focus completely on the man standing before her, the man who had just said out loud at last that he loved her.

  She knew he wanted her to say it back. She thought perhaps she would. She would test the words in the air. See how it felt. She knew it would please him. And when Mark was pleased, things went better for his slave girl. She pursed her lips as if to speak, but somehow the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t will them to form on her tongue.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she managed instead.

  ~*~

  Alana’s piercing healed well. Mark had been careful not to whip or fuck her cunt until it was fully healed, with no sign of infection or problem. While he was waiting, he used her ass instead.

  He loved to force her down to her knees and have her spread her own cheeks and huskily beg for him to fuck her in the ass, the gold slave jewelry swaying between her thighs.

  Alana would moan, and sometimes cry out if he was rough, but she never asked for mercy. She never tried to pull away. She would thank him for using her, and kiss his feet when he was done.

  This morning he had pronounced her ready to resume all her proper duties as his sex slave. Now Alana stood in the playroom, wearing only spiked high heels and nipple clamps, along with the slave jewelry at her wrists and cunt.

  Mark approached her with a long gold chain in his hand, a scene from one of his favorite books, Story of O, in his mind. “This is your leash, my pet. But instead of attaching it to a collar, I’m going to attach it to your pretty little pussy.”

  Gently, he took hold of the gold hoop between her legs, and attached the leash to it. He pulled on it slightly as he walked around the room, forcing his slave to keep up. Her heels click-clacked on the wooden floor as he led her around in a large circle.

  “Perhaps I should take my pet for a walk outside?”

  Mark smiled with anticipation as he led Alana from the playroom, leading her by her cunt. He took a long coat from the closet and put it on the naked woman. Removing her high heels, he replaced them with the rain boots. Then he led her out into the snow.

  He hadn’t zipped the coat, and he noted with approval that Alana didn’t do so herself. The day was sunny and windless, but still it couldn’t have been more than thirty degrees. After a minute or so Alana began to shiver as he led her around and around the yard, pulling at her cunt every few paces to force her to keep up with him. She slipped once and almost fell, but managed to regain her balance.

  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, and then 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, and then the gag was pulled from her mouth, though not her eyes. Then a straw was poking against her chapped lips. Alana eagerly drank the cool water, grateful for its sweetness on her parched tongue.

  She shifted in her bonds, eager for him to remove them. But there was only the sound of receding footsteps and then the soft click of the closing door.

  Tears pricked at her eyelids, but she willed herself not to panic. He would be back in a second. Soon, any moment now, he’d come back, untie the rope and lift her into his tender embrace.

  Alana tried to drift back to the harem dream, but it would not return to her. She was alone in the white, bare room, with dried semen itching on her leg and pussy, her skin still sore and stinging from the crop. On top of her discomfort, she needed to pee, as usual. If only she could close her legs. If only he would hurry back to release her.

  She drifted again into a fretful doze. These dreams were darker. A sinister, evil man was chasing her down long, dark alleys. Though she had to escape him, she desperately had to pee. She had just crouched behind a dumpster to relieve herself when she was startled awake.

  She hadn’t heard him enter, but again a drinking straw was being poked between her lips. She didn’t dare take another drink. She didn’t want to pee on herself, and the pressure in her bladder was intense. Keeping her lips pressed together, she shook her head slightly and turned away.

  Mark pulled the plugs from her ears. “Drink,” he said.

  It wasn’t a request.

  Alana sipped at the straw, drawing in as little liquid as possible.

  “Are you ready to be untied?”

  “Yes, please, Sir.”

  He removed the blindfold, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. He crouched in front of her to untie the knots and unwind the rope from her body. Her flesh was indented and red where the ropes had been, and her limbs tingled painfully as blood flow returned.

  Mark slipped off her heels and helped her to a shaky stand. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then, if you ask very nicely, I might let you pee.”

  Sadistic fucking bastard!

  The words had slipped unbidden into her mind and she tried to push them away. Absurd to waste energy being angry at Mark. He was unassailable. There was no point to resist. Better to flow, to accept, to obey. She let the errant flash of anger disappear like a pebble sinking beneath the water, out of reach, away from conscious thought.

  She lay in the bed on fresh sheets, her Master crouched between her legs. Leaning up, he licked and suckled her nipples until she moaned. His tongue trailed down her body, stopping between her legs.

  Alana sighed her pleasure as his mouth found her sweet spot. It felt good…so good…

  He tongued her clit as he slid a hard finger inside her, sending shocks of pleasure and heat through her body. As the tide of an orgasm rose, she gasped, “Please, oh! Mark, Sir, may I—”

  Her request was aborted by his fingers moving inside her like a cock, thrusting with perfect timing and friction as he sucked on her hard clit. She knew she had to try, and from somewhere inside she found the breath to say, “…come?”

  He might have said yes, she wasn’t sure, but she could no longer control herself as she spilled over the edge of consciousness into blinding ecstasy. Mark continued to kiss her, fucking her with his fingers as she spasmed helplessly against him. She would pay—she knew she would have to pay, but for now, she floated in the bliss…

  ~*~

  Alana lay sprawled, legs akimbo, pussy open like a sticky, wilted orchid. Her eyes had fluttered shut and her breathing had slowed. Mark gazed at her lovely naked body, her full, luscious lips, her dark lashes shadowing her cheeks.

  She had responded with such intensity, such abandonment, to his kisses. Sometimes she seemed almost happy to be with him, but was it simply a way to adapt? She was his prisoner, with absolutely no choice in the matter.

  He had demanded submission, and she had succumbed. He had taught her well, and she obeyed him in almost everything now, as quickly and demurely as possible.

  When she did disobey or fail to please him, he punished her soundly. She knew she deserved it. She never complained or begged to be set free, like she had in the beginning.

  Things were good, right? As good as they could be, given that he’d taken what wasn’t his and twisted it to meet his needs.

  Mark sighed heavily and looked away from the sleeping girl. What more did he want? How far did he have to go until he would feel safe? For that was really it, wasn’t it? He would never feel safe, because she could never prove her love for him with her servitude. Precisely because it was forced. Precisely because he had taken her against her will. It wasn’t a love freely given. It didn’t belong to him.

  He had stolen it.

  The idea had slowly been forming for some time now. He had done extensive research into the process. He had come up with a design. He had begun to practice on raw chicken breasts.

  He had thought of doing something with his initials, but that had seemed too obvious. The design was simple. It was based on the two oval links that held Alana’s wrist and ankle bracelets together. He had purchased eighteen-gauge galvanized sheet metal, which he had cut with tin snips. He had made several models, trying to get it just right. He practiced using a pair of large insulated pliers to hold the molded tin in the propane torch. It took a while to get the metal heated to just the right temperature.

  The tin design had turned red-hot for a moment, then faded back to its original silver, keeping its shape beautifully. He had pressed the hot metal against the chicken flesh again and again, until he’d created a perfect brand.

  At last he was ready to try it on the real thing.

  ~*~

  That evening after dinner, Mark said, “Alana, what are you?”

  Alana looked up. She had been staring into the fire, daydreaming at his feet. “Your slave, Sir,” she answered automatically.

  “What are you willing to do for me?”

  “Whatever you command of me, Sir.” Her stomach did a small loop-de-loop. Something was coming—probably not something good. She tried not to tense. Not to anticipate.

  “If I wish to beat you,” he said calmly, “you would allow me to?”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  What did he mean, would she allow it? How could she stop it?

  She glanced up at his face again. He was looking, not at her, but into the dancing, crackling flames before them. “And if I
wished to cane you, would you allow it?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She couldn’t control the slight tremor the mention of a caning caused her. Please, not the cane.

  “And if I wished to pierce your flesh with my needle?”

  “But you already—”

  “Answer the question. I’m speaking hypothetically.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And if I choose to bind you in rope, fill you with dildos, lock you in your cage, deny you food or drink, would you allow this?”

  “It’s your prerogative, Sir. I belong to you.”

  “Yes. You do.” He paused, and then continued, “I’ve been thinking, Alana. You exhibit all the signs of a submissive slave. But we both know you didn’t come here of your own volition. Nor do I choose to set you free. You belong to me. Your body belongs to me.”

  She sensed he was about to get to his real purpose. She watched his face, anxious now, waiting.

  He looked at last from the fire directly at her. “I have decided I want to mark you—permanently.”

  A tattoo, she thought with some relief. That would be all right.

  There was something fierce in his expression. Something determined. His eyes dropped, roaming her body. “Do you understand, slave?”

  “I think so, Sir. Did you mean a tattoo?”

  “No. I mean this.” He took the bag from the end table by the couch and carefully removed a piece of what looked like tin with a raised design stamped into it.

  Alana stared at it, confused.

  “This is a brand, Alana. I want to brand you. It would be a beautiful symbol of our perfect union.” His gaze was a flame running up and down her body. Heat flowed up to her cheeks. His words burned behind her eyes.

  She opened her mouth to respond, but found she didn’t know what to say. Her first instinct was to shout, no! But something stayed her tongue. That word had almost dropped from her vocabulary, from her way of thinking. It wasn’t an option even to be considered. She stared, fascinated at the pretty design of the interlinked ovals.

  Mark watched her, his eyes flickering over her face as if he were memorizing the lines. Then he pulled her up to him. Gently he pressed her over his knee. Was he going to spank her?