Dark Obsessions Vol II

by Thompson, Claire

  But no—he touched her ass with the metal piece he held in his hand. Alana stilled like a trapped animal. The tin was cold on her flesh, but her mind was on fire. A brand. He was going to burn that design into her flesh. Could she bear it? Would she resist him? But what good would it do? If he were determined, he would simply use force—pin her down, bind her into position and then do as he wished.

  Mark set the brand aside and gently stroked her ass. Speaking softly, he said, “I want your permission, slave girl. I want you to want this too. I don’t want to force it on you. I want you to offer it.”

  He slipped his hand between her legs and began to rub her clit, swirling his finger in circles around it, then sliding the finger deep into the smooth, tight heat of her cunt.

  “Offer it to me, slave. Offer me your flesh.” His voice was low, mesmerizing. Alana shifted and moaned, loving the feel of his fingers against her, in her.

  In her mind’s eye she saw the pretty image of the looped rings and suddenly realized what they were—the clasps to her ankle and wrists bracelets—bracelets that had never been removed since he had placed them there that first day.

  The image blurred as his fingers danced upon her, suffusing her body and mind with intense pleasure. Just as she arched up to meet those fingers, to ask for release, he said again, “Offer it to me, Alana. Give me what is mine.”

  His words distracted her from the oncoming orgasm. Why was he asking her? Why was he forcing her to make this decision? It would be better just to do it! How cruel to force her involvement on this level—to make her commit herself to this disfigurement.

  She moaned as he stroked her cunt. She needed to come. He would take what he wanted, no matter what she said. Better to say yes, to give him what was already his.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “Take it. Take what is yours, Sir.”

  ~*~

  It was dark out. Somehow nighttime seemed the most appropriate time for this symbolic, almost sacred act. Alana lay face down on a quilt on the kitchen table. To help her keep still, he had tied her wrists and ankles to the legs of the table with long red silk sashes.

  He loved the contrast of the crimson against her pale skin. Her back, ass and thighs were crosshatched with fading lash marks and welts, overlain with newer ones. The marks were a lovely tribute—concrete evidence of her willingness to suffer for him.

  And now he would give her the ultimate mark. A brand. A burning into her flesh of the symbol he had chosen for her.

  If only he could brand love into her heart.

  He shoved that stupid thought away. He had everything he could expect, and it was enough. It had to be.

  He went through the steps again in his head. The key was to make sure the brand was hot enough. You had to press down firmly, but not too hard. He wanted the scarring deep, but not so deep that the design would be obscured. It had to be perfect. Alana deserved perfection.

  She lay quietly, her cheek resting against the soft quilt. He could sense her fear, but also her control. As when he’d pierced her, he had given her a large glass of brandy, which had helped to relax her.

  Mark set the propane torch into the stand he had devised, angling it until he was satisfied. Taking the small sack that held the brand design, he opened it and carefully removed the tin design.

  Bending over her, Mark kissed Alana’s head. “Are you ready, slave girl?”

  She swallowed visibly, but then nodded. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  Taking the large pair of disinfected, insulated pliers, he placed the design into it, closing it so that the grips held it firmly in place. He flicked the propane torch, causing it to burst into a long, hot blue flame.

  Alana gasped and stared into the flame. She had an expression not unlike an animal trapped in the headlights. But that animal could run. Alana wasn’t going anywhere.

  Mark was intent on his task, barely focused on the terror in his slave’s eyes. Not that that would have stopped him. He was fully concentrated on what he was doing as he held the metal design in the flame, watching it heat to just the proper point for the strike.

  Quickly, before it cooled, he brought the metal to her soft flesh. He held it there for several seconds. The sharp smell of burning flesh filled the air.

  Alana screamed.

  He lifted the brand.

  The deed was done.

  Chapter 10

  Mark was careful with his slave girl after her branding. The strike had been perfect, and though scabs would form over the wound, when they fell off, he was sure the brand would be true to its design. After a few days, he would remove the sterile dressing so the wound could breathe as it finished healing.

  Because he didn’t want to risk disturbing the healing process, he restrained himself from their daily whipping and fucking, though that didn’t stop him from using her lovely mouth.

  He had noticed that she grimaced sometimes when he ejaculated on her tongue, as if she didn’t like his taste. He decided to call her on it. “You don’t seem to really enjoy swallowing my jism. What’s that about? You should love it, because it belongs to your Master.”

  “Oh, no, Sir,” Alana began, though her eyes darted away from him as they did when she was lying.

  He cut her off. “Don’t deny it. You take it, sure. You have to. But you don’t seem to love it, to crave it, the way a real slut should. Am I right about that? And think before you answer, because if you hold back any bit of the truth, I’ll just beat it out of you eventually. You know I demand complete honesty from my slave.”

  Alana again started to protest, but as his words apparently sank in, she quieted. “Please, Sir,” she began, “It’s not that I don’t like it. I’m—I’m just not very good at it.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, but pretended to accept the half-truth. “Well then,” he said with a sudden, cruel grin. “I’ll just have to help you get better at it. For the next week, I’ll come in your mouth before each meal. If I suspect you’re not showing the proper submissive enthusiasm, then that will be your meal.”

  They started the next morning. Because Alana couldn’t kneel comfortably on her haunches with the brand still healing, Mark lay on the bed and had her crouch over him. His cock grew hard and large as she licked and kissed it. He allowed her to do most of the work, resisting his own impulse to fuck her face the way he usually did. She would have to earn this one. He allowed her to use her hands, one cupped sweetly around his balls, the other gripping the base as she guided his cock into her mouth.

  Her lips closed in a red ring around his hard shaft. It felt so heavenly that Mark began to arch into her, thrusting slightly forward, despite his own promise to himself to let her do it all.

  As he was nearing a fever pitch of pleasure, he completely abandoned any effort at self-control and grabbed her by the hair, forcing his cock deep into her throat. Alana apparently hadn’t been prepared for this sudden action. As he shot his load, she jerked back, coughing and spluttering like a novice.

  Quickly, she tried to recover herself, sucking his now spent but still erect cock back into her mouth, into her throat. But the damage was done. She had failed the first test. There was no question about it.

  ~*~

  Alana lay under the kitchen table on her stomach while the Master ate his breakfast, food he’d had her prepare, but forbidden her to eat. Tears pricked her eyes as her mouth watered. She was so hungry. But there was only the acrid aftertaste of semen on her tongue.

  “Excuse me, Sir? Permission to speak?” she dared.

  “Hmm?” Mark’s mouth was full.

  “I’m very thirsty, Sir. Perhaps some water?”

  “No. Nothing but semen till you learn to love it.”

  Alana suppressed the sigh that rose to her lips. Cradling her head in her arms, she tried to block out the heavenly smell of syrup, sausage and hot coffee. She would just have to try harder.

  After breakfast, Mark went to work in his office, leaving Alana loosely chained in the bed. It was silly to feel so hung
ry from missing just one meal, but there it was. She hoped he would give her another chance before lunch.

  The brand throbbed painfully, and she reached back gingerly to touch the gauze padding that covered the wound. She couldn’t wait to see the brand. Would it look like the loops on her bracelets? Would it heal properly? She was truly marked now—she was property, branded like chattel.

  The image shifted as she gazed inward. She saw herself dressed in the fine silk scarves of her harem dreams. The brand was visible beneath her sheer flowing skirts as she danced through a palace with mosaic ceilings and soft light, clasping hands with the other girls as they whirled.

  Alana opened her eyes, aware she must have dozed off. She lay on her stomach. Mark was standing over her, gently pulling away the bandage on her ass. “It’s looking really good,” he assured her.

  “Can I see?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll show you when I’m ready.”

  Chastened, Alana bit her lower lip. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her she was hungry.

  As if reading her mind, Mark said, “Ready for lesson number two? I’m not really in the mood, so you’ll have to get me there. You have permission to open my pants and do whatever it takes to make me hard.” He stood impassively, his arms folded across his chest.

  Alana shifted on the bed, still in the loose chains. It would be harder to please him in this position, with him standing beside the bed, but she would do her best. She unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, which was only semi-erect. She soon had him erect, his cock like silken steel in her hands.

  Just as she opened her mouth to take in his length, Mark curled his fingers into her hair and yanked her head back suddenly. Alana gasped from the unexpected pain while still trying to focus her attention on his cock. She tried to pull her head forward to reach his shaft. He kept tight hold of her hair. “Go on,” he said. “Suck my dick.”

  The only way she could reach his cock was to pull against his hard grip. She felt like her hair was being yanked out by the roots, but she managed to strain far enough forward to take him partially into her mouth.

  To her relief, he let go of her hair with a contented sigh. Though the angle was difficult and not what she was used to, she licked and caressed him with all her skill and devotion. Soon he was moaning. His balls tightened in her cupped hand and she gently squeezed them as her tongue traced the vein along his cock.

  Mark groaned, thrusting against her. As he came, he pulled back so the bitter jism gushed into her mouth, coating her tongue. Squeezing her eyes closed, she swallowed quickly, trying not to gag.

  Mark pulled out and looked down with a judge’s grim expression. “Better. But far from perfect. I know you’re not used to doing it from this angle, but that’s no excuse. What really pisses me off is that face you made, like you were eating shit. What the fuck was that about?”

  “But, Sir. That’s not fair. I…” Her words shriveled in her throat at his glare.

  “No excuses, Alana. You fucked up. That’s all there is to it. Now you’ll pay the price.”

  She couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped at these words, as she realized she would not be eating lunch, either.

  He reached into his nightstand and pulled out a roll of duct tape. “Not only did you make that awful face, you spoke without permission. This will help you remember to keep your mouth shut.”

  He hauled her to her feet and then tore off a piece of the tape with his teeth. He pressed it firmly across her mouth.

  “You look hot,” he observed. He peeled off another piece and pressed it across one nipple. Then the other was covered, and he stood back to admire the effect. “Nice,” he said with a mean smile. Then he tilted his head and asked, “Do you need to pee, darling?”

  Alana nodded her head, surprised to realize she did, given that she’d had nothing to drink since the night before.

  “Well, isn’t that just a shame?” he said, his eyes glinting evilly. “Because you can’t. That will be part of your punishment. But just to make sure—” He paused to rip off another, longer piece of tape with his teeth.

  “Spread your legs,” he barked.

  Reluctantly, Alana did as she was told.

  Mark pressed the duct tape between her legs, carefully avoiding the piercing that contained her jewelry. “There,” he said, tossing the roll of tape onto the bed. “Now you can come watch me eat lunch.”

  Alana had difficulty walking with the tape sticking to her pussy lips. Fortunately, Mark allowed her to go slowly as he led her into the kitchen. Again she was forced to lie on her stomach under the table.

  Miserably, she cradled her head in her arms. Silent tears trickled down her cheeks as she lay, bladder full and stomach empty, while her cruel Master ate his sandwich, crunched on potato chips and slurped his drink.

  When he was done, he helped her from beneath the table and had her stand in front of him. Gently, he wiped away her tears with his thumb. “My poor baby,” he crooned. “I wish you would learn more quickly how to be a proper slut. Then I wouldn’t have to do all these things to you. You do understand that, don’t you, darling? That this is all your doing? If you took my come like you should, I wouldn’t have to starve you, and tape your pretty cunt, now would I?”

  His tone was solicitous, but she knew he didn’t mean a word of it. No matter what she had done or how she had behaved, he would always find a way to punish her. “But you don’t answer my direct question. Where are your manners, cunt girl?” He laughed. “Oh wait, you can’t answer, can you? Not with that duct tape sealing your luscious mouth. Let me just take that off.”

  He gripped one edge of the tape and yanked it quickly away.

  Alana’s hands flew reflexively to her face. It stung but she barely noticed, so relieved to have the sticky, confining material off her mouth.

  But the nipples were another story.

  “Put your hands behind your back, gripping the elbows.”

  Reluctantly, Alana did as he commanded.

  Cupping a breast in one hand, he peeled back a corner of the tape. In one quick movement, he pulled it free from her skin. Alana gasped at the sudden pain, but at least it was over. The second nipple was worse, because she knew what to expect. As the tape was ripped from her flesh she cried out in pain, digging her fingers into her arms to keep her position. She longed to cover her sore nipples with her hands, but she didn’t dare take them from behind her back.

  “Very good, slave. You handled that well. Now for the final piece.”

  “Oh, please be careful!”

  She hadn’t meant to speak. It just slipped out. She knew that piece of duct tape would hurt far worse than the others when he tore it from her delicate skin. She began to tremble, though she managed to stay in position.

  “How dare you direct me, cunt?” Mark demanded, his eyes flashing. “Do you want to make it ten times worse for yourself? Shall I starve you for another day? Shall I cover your entire body with tape and then slowly rip it off until you’re raw? Stand there and take it.”

  She bit back the whimper as he took hold of a corner of the sticky silver tape. He ripped it from her cunt, causing the gold hoop to sway against her thigh. The pain was blinding, and maybe it was because she was so hungry, or maybe it was because of the pain, but the ceiling tilted. Her mouth filled with saliva. Spots appeared before her eyes as the ringing started in her eyes. She felt her knees buckle, and then she slipped gratefully away…

  ~*~

  Winter was nearly over. Birds were trilling outside the window, singing in the trees. The sun was spilling out over puffy clouds, smearing the sky in golds and pinks. Mark stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Alana as she came awake. She stretched and sighed, falling back into the soft pillows.

  “Good morning, beautiful girl,” he said as she focused on his presence. “Today’s the day. You’ve healed enough to see how the design will set permanently. I want you to see it.” He held a large hand mirror, which he brought to the bedside.

&nb
sp; Alana sat up expectantly. He knew she was very curious, even eager, to see what he had wrought upon her flesh with fire and steel. He released the loose bed chains and then held the mirror as Alana positioned herself until she could see the brand.

  Alana stared in fascination at the looped ovals seared into her skin.

  Mark removed the mirror and sat down beside her. “Well, what do you think?”

  She smiled at him, and though he looked for it, he couldn’t see a trace of guile in her face. “It’s amazing. It’s as if someone carved it there. It’s so perfect.”

  “Yes,” Mark agreed happily. “Pretty good for a first attempt, if I say so myself.”

  It occurred to him that he’d like to show her off, to have someone in the world other than the two of them be a witness to what she had become—his perfect slave girl.

  But of course that couldn’t happen. As far as the world knew, she was dead—another mysterious disappearance in these tragic and uncertain times. As for him, he had no family to speak of, save for an estranged stepbrother he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. His few friends had fallen away over the two years of his obsession with the lovely Alana Hunter.

  Could he really hope to keep her here forever? Did he even want to? Wouldn’t he tire of this same woman? Of only her company?

  No.

  He would never tire of those deep blue eyes, so expressive of her feelings. He would never tire of that soft, supple skin, those full, perfect breasts, those dusty rose nipples, that delicious cunt that molded so tightly around his hard cock. He would never tire of her lovely smile—so rarely flashed, but all the more special because of that. Or those long, shapely legs and slender ankles. He would never tire of her increasingly graceful submission. Of whipping that perfect flesh until she flew. Of using that perfect body until she came.

  But in the end, he had her because he’d taken her. He’d stolen her and held her in chains and fear. Yes, it was true there had been a shift over the past month—her submission seemed genuine, her passion authentic. But was that enough?