Mark jumped up, easily catching up to her with one long stride. Grabbing her by the back of the neck he swung her back toward the bed. Pinning her with his own body, he sat
across her chest. Emily was kicking and thrashing, desperately trying to free herself from his grasp. He was back in control as he sat back slightly, straddling her hips, his penis resting lightly on her belly. While she continued to struggle helplessly under him, Mark looked down at his bruised cock. She hadn't broken the skin. Lucky for her. Still, this resistance was unacceptable and would have to be stopped—now.
"You stupid bitch," Mark swore between clenched teeth. "I can't believe you're trying to ruin what we have the potential of becoming! I can see that you need to be punished— severely. You obviously don't yet understand your position.
I'm going to teach you. For as long as it takes. It starts now."
As he spoke, Mark got up off his captive and pulled her roughly to her feet. Emily continued to struggle, ineffectively batting at Mark's chest with her fists.
"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" Emily punched Mark, the chain between her wrists slinging back and forth against his bare chest. Mark ignored her, as he half pushed, half carried her toward the large bedroom closet. Pulling open the door, Mark shoved Emily in front of him. The closet held clothing along one wall, both men's and women's, neatly hanging on the bar. Shoes were arranged in pairs on the cedar floor beneath the clothing.
Against the other wall stood a large metal cage. Its door was slightly ajar. As Mark tried to maneuver her into the cage, Emily reached up wildly and her fingers dragged down his cheek, leaving red trails in their wake. Mark barely noticed, intent on forcing her into the cage. Opening the door,
he finally succeeded in thrusting the young woman in.
Angrily, he slammed the door shut with a clang and snapped the padlock into place.
"Let me go, you bastard, you bastard!" Mark touched his cheek, looking at his fingers smeared with his own blood. She would pay. Mark walked out of the closet, closing the door behind him, not even looking back at his prisoner.
Pulling on his pajama bottoms, he went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Sipping it at the table, he turned on the news channel, listening for any more news of the missing movie star. There was mention that she was still missing, though no one had come forward regarding her whereabouts.
A large reward was being offered for information leading to her return.
No amount of money was worth the treasure he had locked in his closet. Smiling to himself, he muted the TV and sat back to think. The scratches on his cheek were starting to sting. Things weren't going quite as smoothly as he had imagined they would the day before, when she had seemed to go along with everything without too much fuss.
But no matter—Mark liked a challenge. It was like developing a really intricate computer program. Sometimes you had to go back again and again—even to rethink the whole design. He would have to rethink a little here. Ms.
Hunter was exhibiting that fiery will she displayed so effectively in
Lovers' Quarrel
, one of his favorites. Well, he would break her of that soon enough! Eventually she would yield to his will—he had all the time in the world.
Mark could still hear Emily crying and calling out for help as he ate his breakfast. Not that anyone but he would hear her—the next farmhouse was more than a mile away. Still it was distracting, so he went into his study and closed the door. Soon he was lost in computer programming, focused entirely on his work. Even his beloved Emily was forgotten for the moment.
About two hours later Mark went to check on his charge.
She was huddled in one corner of the cage, her arms wrapped protectively around herself as best she was able, given the chain between her manacled wrists. Her face was puffy and wet with tears, her eyes red from crying. Mark's heart went out to his darling girl. But he knew he had to be firm. If he didn't establish now that he was in charge, he never would.
"Emily." Mark loved just saying her name. She didn't respond. Mark went over to the cage and unlocked the little door. Reaching in, he pulled her forward, hauling her out of the cage. Emily stumbled for a moment, but Mark held her arm firmly, not allowing her to fall. Without a word he led her to the bathroom, where he helped her into the tub.
"You know what to do," he stated. Without looking at him, but without nearly as much hesitation as the night before, Emily peed in the tub. It splashed against her ankles and feet.
She hung her head, looking thoroughly miserable, but Mark noted she didn't protest this time. After she washed herself off he led her back to the bedroom. Directing her to sit on the bed, he went to the closet. Choosing a soft jersey of dark pink cotton, Mark came over to his slave girl.
"I like dresses on a woman. You won't be wearing pants any more. I bought you a whole wardrobe, my darling. When you have learned to behave better, you might earn the right to some of the finer ones. But for now this will do." As he spoke, Mark unlocked the chain that bound Emily's wrists together.
"Lift up your arms," he ordered, as he slid the dress over her head. Once it was on, he reattached the chain, this time making the length between the iron bracelets quite short.
"You obviously cannot yet be trusted," he explained. "So for now you will be treated as a prisoner."
Emily hadn't said a word since he had taken her from the cage. Mark didn't mind. He was a patient man. "I know you must be hungry, little girl," he said. "But you won't be eating for a while yet. Perhaps hunger will sharpen your desire to be obedient."
Mark led his charge down the hall to the living room, where he settled on the large, overstuffed couch. Emily stood in front of him, staring at the floor. He pressed her shoulders, forcing her to her knees. "Slaves are not allowed on the furniture. You will kneel on the floor for your first lesson in how to talk to your master.
"Emily?" No response. Mark jerked her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "Emily, listen carefully. You will respond to me when I speak to you. When I call your name, or whatever else I choose to call you, you will answer, promptly and with proper respect, "Yes, sir," or "Yes, Mark." You will answer any and all direct questions. Other than that you will not speak
unless spoken to. Now, let's try this again." He let her chin drop and Emily again stared at the floor.
"Emily?" No response. Mark felt anger rising but he forced down. His eyes narrowed and his mouth became set in a grim smile. "All right then. Since you insist, we will go about this a different way." Mark stood and pulled Emily to her feet.
Dragging her to the wall by the fireplace, he took down a large reproduction of a painting by Marc Chagall. Raising Emily's chained wrists over her head, he hung the chain over the hook.
She looked so pretty and defenseless with her back against the wall, barefooted in her pink cotton dress that clung snugly to the supple curves of her body. Her nipples poked through the fabric, distracting Mark from the task at hand.
"Emily?" Silence. Then the sharp crack of his palm against her soft cheek. Emily cried out.
"Emily?" Nothing but her heavy breathing. A red mark appeared on her face where his palm had struck her. Again he slapped her, this time on the other cheek. Again and again he said her name, waiting for her reply. When none was forthcoming, he slapped her, first on one cheek, then on the other. Her face was bright red now, her cheeks wet with tears.
Mark stopped finally, since his palm was burning.
"Stubborn cunt!" he roared at her. Lifting her dress high, he tucked it around her neck and shoulders. She looked ridiculous with her dress hiked up, her body naked but for the curled dark hair that covered her delicate mons.
Roughly, Mark grabbed her by the pubic hair, pulling her body away from the wall. He fingered her cunt for several minutes, forcing her pussy to secrete its juices, despite her best efforts to resist him. Slapping her thighs, he forced her legs further apart. Again his strong fingers found her cunt and he slid two at once deep into her defenseless body. He felt the heat of those velvet walls and longed to thrust his rock-hard cock into her. But she didn't deserve his cock. Not now.
Not yet.
Mark continued to finger fuck his chained slave until she was moaning despite herself. Even hung against her will on the wall, her dress up around her shoulders, her face still hot from being slapped, she was responding like a slut to his probing fingers.
Emily's face was averted and her eyes were squeezed shut but Mark knew from her wet pussy and her ragged breathing that he was getting to her. When her body began to move, her hips arching slightly toward his hand, he pulled away, calculatedly leaving the bound woman unsatisfied. She wouldn't be coming for a while. She would have to earn her way into his good graces.
"Emily, listen to me," he said quietly, standing back to admire her heaving breasts, the nipples suffused with blood so that they looked like little ripe cherries. "You will stay on that wall. You will keep your chain on that hook, and you will keep your dress up on your shoulders. I'm going to work for a while. When I come back, if your arms are down, or your dress has fallen, you will be punished severely. If you try anything stupid like trying to get away, I'll kill you."
Emily opened her eyes, looking at him with real fear in her face. Turning on his heel, Mark left her alone, naked and chained to the wall. She would learn what it was to suffer. He would see to that.
When Mark came out of the study about an hour later, his slave girl still had her arms raised high above her head, secured to the picture hook. Her dress was still bunched around her shoulders. Perhaps progress was finally being made. Mark slowly approached her. Her head was turned to the side, resting against her shoulder. She didn't seem to hear him come in.
"Emily?" he said softly
"Yes, sir?" she answered back, almost inaudibly. Mark smiled broadly, though Emily, with her eyes still closed, didn't see. Gently, he lifted her bound wrists up and over the hook.
Her arms fell heavily in front of her. They were icy to the touch. Smoothing down her dress, Mark scooped the slim young woman into his arms and carried her over to the couch.
Settling with her in his lap, he took her lifeless arms between his large, strong hands and gently massaged the life back into her limbs. "Thirsty," she whispered, huskily.
Mark carefully set her limp body down on the couch and hurried to the kitchen to bring his beloved some cool water.
He held the glass for her as she drank, hesitantly at first and then greedily. It was mid-afternoon and she had had nothing to eat or drink since the champagne the night before.
Once she had finished the glass, Mark stood and pulled off his t-shirt, revealing his hard belly and well-muscled chest
and shoulders. He sat back down, now only in his faded jeans. His chest was smooth, except for a smattering of dark blond hair curling down his sternum.
"I want to feel your lovely skin," Mark remarked as he unlocked the chain between her wrists so he could slip off her dress. Once she was stripped naked, Mark cradled her again in his arms, holding her body close to his. Her skin felt so cool and soft against his chest. He resisted his impulse to snuggle up against her. "Are you ready to try again, slave girl?"
Emily nodded, looking down. Mark was elated. "Good, darling. Here's the first thing. I guess it's because of your career and all—a famous actress used to having her way in everything, but you are too proud. That's what I think. And pride no longer has a place in your life. Do you understand that?" Emily didn't respond.
"You obviously need another spanking. I want you to lie over my knee like the naughty little girl you are. I'm going to remind you to behave." Mark's cock ached as he forced the girl down over his lap. He twisted so as to insert his knee between her thighs, forcing her legs apart. With one large hand he massaged and caressed her gorgeous ass. As she wriggled, he found her spread cunt with his other hand and began to tease her with his fingers. Gently at first he began to smack her ass, his other hand always on her cunt.
He spanked her until her ass was bright red and hot to the touch. Emily was whimpering and groaning, begging him to stop, promising to be good.
"If I stop, will you behave?"
"Yes! Please!"
"Please what?"
"Please stop spanking me! I can't take this! It hurts! It hurts!" Her last word ended in a high pitched wail as he cupped his palm in such a way as to create the most sting.
"All right." He had her just where he wanted her. "I'll let you get up, and eat and rest. But first you must learn how to address me properly. How to respond when spoken to."
Emily's body sagged with relief against him when he stopped the painful spanking. His fingers were still buried in her pussy, and he still had her pinned under his thigh. "First of all, what are you, Emily?"
"I—I don't know what you mean," she sniffled.
"I'll tell you what you are, so you will know." He paused a beat, then said, "You are my slave. You are my slut. You are my whore. You are my cunt. When I ask you what you are, you may answer with any one of those terms." Emily lay still, but made no protest. Perhaps she was just too tired and defeated after the last thirty-six hours of confusion and torture. Or perhaps she was finally accepting her lot.
"So, tell me, Emily. What are you?"
"Your slave, sir ."
"What else?"
"Um—your slut, sir." She kept her face buried in the couch.
Mark let go of her and pulled her up onto his lap. Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her face toward his. Her cheeks were flushed.
"So you admit you are my slave and my slut. What else are you?"
"I—I can't remember."
"You are my whore. My cunt. Repeat it."
"I, um, I'm your whore." She said it without conviction.
"And?"
"I'm, I..." she trailed off, whispering something incomprehensible.
"Say it! What are you? Say it, or you'll get a whipping and then you'll say it."
Emily winced but answered in a voice barely audible, "I'm your cunt, sir." She blushed deeply the color mottling her cheeks and neck.