The sun lifted and beamed through the two small windows in the room. It penetrated her face in some spots more clearly than others. When she tried to open her eyes, one wouldn’t. It was too swollen closed. The other had an inflamed cut across the eyebrow. She had limited vision. He had punched her in the face.
Her hands automatically went for her eyes. She found her wrists bound, along with her ankles. They were shackled to the small, iron bed she was laying on. The thin mattress that she was laying on was as naked as she was. She wondered if it was as dirty too. The side of the bed pressed against the long wall. All she had to do was look down the foot of the bed to see him leaned on his shoulder, up against the doorway.
He must have heard the chains rattling. “Morning, pet.” She just lay there, in silence, frozen, and determined. The tension was in an elevator on it’s way to the penthouse.
“Don’t do it.” He shook his head, took his baseball cap off, raked his nails through his hair then re-positioned his cap. It was a habit she recognized. He shook his head again, looking at the floor and talking with one hand, the other still tucked under his arm.
“Are you going to try that thing where you cut yourself off emotionally? Because I think we both remember how well that worked out for you last time.”
“No,” her voice came out like a horse whisper; so she lay her head back, cleared her throat and tried again. “No. I’m just… trying to figure …everything out, and I’m tired and hurt.” She wasn’t in any physical or mental shape to earn his ire. She didn’t know what was coming next, either.
He swaggered into the room and took a seat on the mattress beside her, then looked to the only other piece of furniture in the room which was a St. Andrew’s cross. He looked back at her.
“This used to be my playroom. Now, this is your room, but I don’t have room for that anywhere else in the house. You want to take a shower, get something to eat, maybe let me look at that eye?”
She warily nodded. He unlocked her feet first and then moved to her hands. She squeaked out an expression of gratitude. Before he unlocked her left wrist her stopped and let his elbows fall to her knees, and his face to the floor. “Thank you… what, pet?”
Her stomach sank. She hoped that by omitting that one word she hadn’t undone herself and his willingness to be gentle, even for as long as it would last.
He flipped her over. The jerk to her body almost jammed her one still chained wrist. One of his hands seemed to put his entire body weight on the side of her face. She could barely breathe. She felt the springs against her cheeks. His other hand slapped her ass until she finally got it high enough for his liking.
She screamed the word “Master,” endlessly. She felt something smooth enter her pussy and she lifted her ass for it. She spread her legs for it. Everything else hurt, but her cunt felt good. He said nothing the entire time, but pulled out before she could finish.
Just like she knew him, he knew her. He let her head up and covered her eyes with his hand, pushing whatever he’d fucked her with into her mouth. She could obviously taste her own juices.
“Clean it.”
She did. He uncovered her eyes. He held the length of his hunting knife in his hands, inspecting how well she cleaned the butt of it.
She cried.
Her mind wonders. She thinks about what’s going through his his.
A twelve year old rye in his glass, and his slut at his feet.
