At least the ordeal seemed to be almost over. She had managed to do what he asked. He had demanded that she stay conscious, "stay in the moment" while he beat her with the cane. She had done that, even when she felt panic rise up in her like a tide of fear. She had ridden through it, absorbed it, "taken it" as he told her she must. What would be her
reward? She realized with a little shock that she wanted a reward.
She wanted to be taken into his arms and soothed. She wanted to feel his warm, soft lips pressed against hers. She wanted him to wash her, to groom her, to wipe away the grime and the pain. She wanted him to make love to her.
Tender, aching, passionate love.
Emily was confused by these strange feelings. There was no way she loved this man—her tormentor, her captor. She wanted to please him, yes. To serve him, yes. To suffer for him with grace. And she knew with a part of her mind knew that these were odd, terribly strange, things to want to do.
But they weren't love. No. What she felt had nothing to do with love. It was too absurd to even contemplate. She let it slide, undisturbed, just below the level of conscious thought.
Mark was letting her down at last, unchaining her wrists, blocking her fall with his body. She hadn't meant to fall—she had planned to walk out gracefully on her own feet, but they didn't seem interested in complying. Down she went, but his strong arms were there to catch her, to tenderly lift her against his bare chest.
He carried her to the bedroom, where he lay her gently on the bed. He hadn't removed the blindfold and of course she did not. She heard him walk into the bathroom. She heard the water running. In a few moments he returned, gently washing her legs, sex and feet with a hot soapy towel. She felt a second wet towel sponging away the soap and finally a third dry towel. Then he smoothed an antiseptic-anesthetic lotion into her torn and bruised flesh. She lay still. Each touch
of his fingers hurt her, but also soothed her. She didn't protest or even move.
She felt his lips gently touch hers. She felt his hands under her neck, lifting her, removing the blindfold. The room was lit by the pink gold light of a new dawn. Emily focused on Mark kneeling beside her. Again he kissed her lips, this time with more passion, more urgency.
Emily's body was weak from her caning. This was by far the most intense and savage whipping she had endured. She was thankful Mark didn't choose to mount her, or force her to get up. Mark was silent as he gazed at the long, reddening welts cutting across her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Her vulva throbbed from the little welts inflicted by the stinger.
She licked her lips, cracked from thirst.
Mark saw the gesture. "I'll be right back," he said. In a moment, he returned with a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and held it to Emily's lips, cradling her head as she drank. Gently he let her head fall back. She was asleep before it touched the pillow. When she awoke, Mark was asleep next to her, his arm thrown across her body like shield, like a chain.
Mark fed her bits of syrup-covered pancake. She licked his sticky fingers with her soft pink tongue. "I'm thinking of piercing you, Emily. I want to pierce your pussy and attach a beautiful piece of jewelry to it. Something permanent." Emily didn't respond, but her eyes grew wide and dark. The idea of a needle piercing her flesh was terrifying. Yet at the same time...
Emily was surprised to find the image of her bare pussy with something dangling from between her legs, as erotic.
She liked the idea, the fantasy, of being chained by that jewelry, being led by it, tethered by it. "What do you think?"
he asked her.
What did she think? He was asking her? She was not used to being asked anything anymore. It was foreign to her. She was confused for a moment. Was the question rhetorical, or did he really require a response? He didn't speak, but continued to wait for a response. He seemed to care what she thought. Her answer seemed to be important to him. She looked at him, at his eyes, at the moment flat and without emotion—protected. "Who would do it?" she wondered aloud.
"I would, of course. I've done it before. I have the right tools—the proper needles."
Needles. Long, thin, sharp needles piercing her flesh. Emily shivered, though the room was quite warm. He was still waiting—the tension in him palpable, coiled like a snake. "I'm afraid of needles, sir."
"That's your answer?"
Emily licked her lips. Slowly she admitted, "The idea is kind of sexy. It's the process I'm afraid of."
Mark nodded, apparently satisfied. "We'll do it tonight."
She was relaxing in the heat, alone. It was nice to be alone sometimes. She remembered suddenly the hubbub of her prior life—the running from shoot to shoot, with hundreds of people all around her, all wanting something from her. Did she miss it? The constant attention, the constant excitement?
The deadlines, the flurry of activity, the demands on her time, the decisions to make, the jobs to be done? Now her whole world was Mark. Her whole life revolved around him. The past seemed unreal, a dream from long ago.
She thought for a moment about him. The way he smelled like sandalwood. The way his mouth tasted when his lips crushed hers. The way he whipped her sometimes with one hand, while the other fondled and teased her sex. The way he looked when she came, after begging his permission—that look of tenderness and passion, of strength and desire.
Without realizing what she was doing, Emily's hand found its way to her pussy. She rubbed it, sliding a finger deep into herself. It felt so good, her whole body relaxed, her sex opening and swelling like a flower bud in the sun. Her breath came faster, her head thrown back, eyes closed. She was close to the edge, so deliciously close.
"Stop."
The word crashed into her consciousness like a hammer.
Mark stood in the doorway, watching his slut with her hand in her cunt. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She had violated a rule—she had touched
his
body without his express permission.
"Please, sir ! Excuse me, I—"
"No. No excuse. What were you doing?"
Emily blushed, drawing her knees to her chest, wishing she could disappear under the water, swim away from the punishment she was certain lay ahead of her.
"Speak when spoken to. What—were—you—doing?" The pause between words was ominous. He was angry.
"I—I was touching myself," she said, her voice tiny.
"Whose body is that?"
"Yours, sir," she whispered.
"What happens when you touch my body without my permission?"
"I'm punished, sir," she answered, her voice barely audible.
"Get up." Emily stood, the water cascading off her up-tilted breasts, down her smooth belly and sex, off her thighs. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.
"Cold?"
"Yes, sir." She didn't dare ask for a towel.
"Good. I'll warm you up. Lean over the sink and spread your legs." She obeyed him, bending, naked, her ass toward him.
Mark struck the wet flesh of her bottom with his hard palm. Emily was braced against the sink and remained in
position. He smacked her again and again. His palm print marked her wet flesh, first white, then darkening to a fiery, glistening red.
Emily began to cry almost immediately. A palm cupped just so can sting as much as or more than any whip. Finally, he stopped the spanking. Yanking her up by the hair, he pulled her along to the bedroom, still sniffling, tears streaking her face. Without a word, he pushed her into the closet, and down into the cold metal cage. She was still naked and wet, shivering as she huddled inside the little prison, her head buried in her hands.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted miserably to herself.
It had been so long since he'd forced her into this horrid little box. She tried to quell the uneasy panic rising in her gut as claustrophobia threatened to overtake her. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe deeply. Maybe he would only leave her here a little while. Just a little while longer, Emily, she whispered to herself. You can do this. Just relax. He'll come back—he always does. Curled in a fetal position, she rocked herself to a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER Nine
Emily looked up expectantly as the closet door opened. As always, she had lost track of time while confined in the dark.
Her bladder told her at least a few hours had passed. She was thirsty and hungry too. Would he still be angry? Would he have forgiven her? Would he punish her more or would he have forgotten about it? Mark was so hard to predict.
Sometimes he was so loving and gentle—other times he would be set off by the slightest infraction.
He flipped on the closet light and crouched near the cage.
He was wearing soft black cotton pajama bottoms, so more time must have passed than she thought. Despite her trepidation regarding his mood, she couldn't help but admire his firmly muscled chest. She loved the little curls of dark blond chest hair at his sternum. If she'd been free to do so, she would have nuzzled it with her nose.
Of course she was not free to do that, or anything else her master did not expressly decree. God, don't let him still be angry, she thought fervently. Let me start over. He didn't speak as he unlocked the gate to her cage. He stood up and gestured for her to climb out. Emily obeyed, crawling out, her cramped muscles spasming as they always did after an extended confinement.
Impulsively Emily knelt before Mark and kissed the tops of his bare feet. He stood looking down at the naked young woman prostrating herself before him. Lightly he touched her head and Emily's spirits soared. He had forgiven her!
"Come, Emily. It's time for your piercing."
Emily stood, her bearing calm, her demeanor resolute. She was determined to please him tonight. She would show him her grace, her power to endure whatever he offered her.
Though she was nearly faint with hunger, she wouldn't ask for food. She wouldn't ask to use the bathroom. She would ask for nothing and simply take what he gave her.
Mark led her to the bed. As she sat down he said, "Do you need to use the bathroom?" Emily nodded. "Go on." He pointed toward the bathroom and she hurried to comply.
When he wasn't watching she was permitted to use the toilet.
Quickly she peed and returned to the bed. Mark held out a glass. "Drink this. It's brandy to help dull the pain a bit."
Emily took the glass and drained it, feeling the sweet burn as it went down. Almost at once she felt dizzy, having had nothing since breakfast ten hours before. "I'm going to tie you down to keep you still. We wouldn't want any sudden movement while I'm using the needle."
He waited as she lay down, her hips raised by the mound of pillows he had placed in the center of the bed. He bent her knees up so he had easy access to her sex. Taking soft ties, he looped one around each thigh and then tied them tightly to the posts of the bed, securing her open and spread for him.
Next he bound her wrists, pulling the ties tight.
Emily felt her heart begin to thud as he bound her. Her mouth went dry with fear. She noticed the tray on the night table. Mark leaned over it, lifting something shiny from a bowl of antiseptic liquid. He held up a long smooth oval of gold, about three inches long and a quarter inch thick. Its clasp was
open at the moment. When he released the pin, it would spring permanently shut.
Mark took a piece of ice and held it against Emily's pussy lips, for which she was grateful. After about a minute he said, "Okay, Emily. Stay very still. Understand?"
Emily nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Okay, take a deep breath and count to three. Then let it out. Again."
On the third breath, as she exhaled, Mark took the long thin needle and touched it to her soft folds. With a smooth pressing motion, he drew the needle through the flesh.
Emily cried out, straining in her bonds. There wasn't so much pain, as pressure, an intense pressure as he forced the needle through. Taking the gold loop, he expertly threaded it through the hole created by his needle, and with a snap released the mechanism, locking it into place.
The whole procedure had taken less than a minute. Emily was breathing fast now, her eyes squeezed shut. Mark leaned down and kissed her mouth. "It's over. You were very brave.
And it's beautiful." He untied her restraints and gently removed the pillows from under her body.
"Just lay still for a while. Keep your legs apart and rest."
"May I see it?" she asked, not quite believing the whole thing was over. Her sex felt numb, though she could feel the weight of the gold now locked into her flesh. Mark brought a small hand mirror and helped her to sit up. The gold oval lay against her thigh, its head passing through her left inner labia. Emily stared at the gold jewelry and then up at Mark.
He was watching her intently, though she couldn't read from his expression if he was pleased or not.
"I love you," he said.
Emily felt her lips part as she gaped at him. Not since the first week of her captivity had he said those words. She knew she was his entire world, as much as he had become hers.
But to say he loved her? How could he claim to love her, yet leave her bound and starving for hours, even days at a time?
How could he profess love, yet not hesitate to whip her until she bled, until she was begging for mercy?
Even as these thoughts burned through her mind, Emily knew there was more, far more, to the strange equation of their relationship. Whatever concept of love she had thought she understood before Mark had abducted her no longer held much meaning. Months of training, deprivation and constant sexual stimulation with no distractions from the "outside world" had fixed Emily's focus completely on the man standing before her, the man who had just said he loved her.