continued from Part 2


It was odd. She felt compelled to watch as he drove himself, deeper and deeper into the most private, protected core of herself. She turned her head slightly to get a better view of his length disappearing, inch by erotic inch. Her bounds held her captive, certainly, but her desire to accept every facet of his possession held her even tighter.

He read every nuance of her reactions and moved inside her in an agonizing seduction of her mind and ass. Rapid short strokes were replaced with long, sensuous movements deep within her. He was hurting her, that he knew. Her pride, and her burning ache to serve would overcome it, or he'd misjudged her. And he didn't make mistakes often.

Pain, blessed pain. He tore through her soul, and the pain helped to envelop and magnify every movement. She relished the effort he made to vary his assault to cause her just a tiny bit more pain than she could endure at that moment. From her moans and her unconscious movements against him, he could tell that she was yielding to this pain, and transforming it into her most needed and desired lust. He knew the second that she crossed that thread-like line between pain and sensation, and he denied her yet again that most enveloping, warm blackness.

"BITCH" he snarled, and grabbed a fistful of her soft, red hair. He yanked her upward, jolting her out of her slavemist, and pulling the clamps taut against the bars of the cage. "You will not leave.. you will feel every stroke of this ass fuck, whore. You will hurt and you will learn to crave that hurt more than you do now."

Savage, he had said. His pounding thrusts went beyond savagery. Again and again, over and over, he drove himself into her, bringing her to the edge of orgiastic torment yet denying her that release. She writhed, moved against him, her mind begging to be allowed, yet knowing that she would not. Stifled moans and cries reverberated through the bare room, and yet he continued. The tiny metal ball, clutched tightly in her fist, remained there. She would not deny him this possession of her.

Every thrust ground her cunt against the steel bar, and she fought against the temptation to cuntfuck the cage. He'd expected that of her, she figured, and she would not give him the satisfaction of being right this time. She refocused her eyes on the mirror and vowed to remember every nuance of her taking.

His body glistened with his lust, and she knew he would soon cross the threshhold of his own and spill into her. Her few lucid moments were filled with regret that she would not feel him, that he had chosen to keep that from her. She heard him moan... felt him plunge to fully bury his cock.. felt him hold still while spasms shook him and taunted her.. and then felt him pull away suddenly and coldly, leaving her there with unsated animal need.

She watched him remove the condom, turn it inside out, and walk to face her. He casually spread the contents on her nose and chin before flicking the lightswitch, shutting the door, and abandoning her to the darkness. The quiet stillness of the room met a quiet stillness of her mind, and she floated away.

Some time later, her senses registered distant sounds and the unmistakable scent of food. In her passion and carnal need, she had forgotten that it had been over 24 hours since she had last been permitted to eat, and her body's hunger changed its focus. She was thirsty and ravenous, and she lay alone, still bound to the cage, wondering when she would be fed.

As if reading her thoughts, right on cue, the door opened and he returned. Soft candlelight graced the corners of the room, and she could see that he carried a beautiful oak bedtray filled with food. Fragile crystal goblets reflected the candlelight and she noted a fine china plate piled high with broiled chicken, mashed potatoes, corns, and steaming hot blueberry muffins. A single rose, her namesake rose, lay across one corner of the tray, and tears danced in the corners of her eyes, brought there by the thoughfulness he showed.

"Hungry, slave?'

She did not hear her permission to speak, so she did not. Instead, her eyes conveyed her hunger, both for food and for her Master.

"Been a while since you've eaten, right? Well, we can't have this little ass slave going without food for too long a time, can we? Otherwise, it makes an enema rather a futile effort doesn't it?" He set the tray down in front of the cage, and her mouth watered at the sight of the delicious dinner there before her. He unlocked and removed the gag from her mouth, released the clamps from her nipples, and loosened her ankles from the shackles that had bound her to the cage.

Attentively, he massaged her legs and arms to restore the circulation and gently rubbed her nipples to ease the throbbing there. He seemed almost gentle in his ministrations, and she closed her eyes and lost herself in his touches.

"Sit, slave. Cross legged, make sure your cunt shows wide. Press that asshole firm against the floor and put your wrists behind your back." He raised her crossed wrists up high on her back, positioned them exactly, and ordered her to keep them there. He opened the clenched fingers that held tight onto the ben wa ball, and he carefully situated it against her clit, on the floor.

She watched his every motion as he cut the chicken into small bite-size pieces, put butter on the potatoes and muffin, and dashed salt and pepper onto the corn. He reached for the elegant tablewear, speared a bite of chicken and placed it in his mouth. The movement was repeated while she waited, hungering for a meal of her own. Her arms strained behind her, but she did not move.

With about half the food devoured, he rose again and left the room, to return a moment later. He carried something in his arms, hidden behind him, and saw her try to see it in the mirror behind him.

"Eyes closed, slave". She obeyed. She heard a clank in front of her, and then obeyed his next command. "Eyes open, slave." He lifted the fine china plate from the tray, scraped the remaining food into a dual-sided dog dish that he'd placed on the floor, mixed it all together, and spoke. "Eat slave."

Her heart was crushed that she would not be allowed to dine with him, but she steadied her resolve to meet his every requirement with devoted obedience. She leaned forward, keeping her hands held high behind her back, and gingerly poked a curled tongue into the scraps to begin eating. She found, much to her dismay, that the ben wa ball pressed directly on her clit when she leaned forward; and every bite became a torment of its own.

Her master poured water into the other side of the bowl, and she gratefully lapped until the bowl was dry. She found herself ravenous, and finished every morsel of the tasty food he had prepared for her.

"Quite the bitch aren't you. Yes, whore, I think you are going to take to your training very well. Have you had enough to eat, or are you still hungry? Speak, whore."

"Master, i am still hungry. i have not eaten in a long time."

"Good. Just as I want you. As long as you are here, you will never been comfortable, slut. You will ache, you will hunger and thirst, you will want, and you will be happy. Because that's what I say. And what I say you do. Understand?"

Again, she conveyed her "yes" with her eyes. He knew her so very well. She never really wanted to be satisfied, she was meant to be kept wanting more, no matter whether it was food, or his cock, his attention, his use.

"Show me your nails, whore." The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated for a split second longer than she should have. His hand came up to caress one cheek, hold it in place while slapping her with with his other hand. "Never, ever hesitate, whore. Never. What I say you do. Immediately. Without question. Now show me your nails."

She held her hands out to him, proud of the slut-red, beautifully shaped nails she had tended so carefully for him since they had first begun talking. Every one an inch long, as he had directed.

"You really like these don't you, slut? You're pretty proud of them, I can tell by your face. Tell me, whore. What do you like about your nails? Speak whore."

"Master, i love the way they make me feel... very feminine, very slutty. i love the way they looked wrapped around the base of your cock, while my mouth slides up and down your length to serve you. i love that people look at them and admire them."

"Which is your very favorite nail, slave? Speak whore."

The question was strange, but she answered it. She'd never thought about it in that way, and she looked at her two hands before answering. "Master, i think it's this one," she said, wiggling the middle finger of the right hand.

"Why?"

She remained silent, until she heard the words that gave her permission to speak.

"Speak whore."

"Master," and she felt a blush creeping over her cheeks. "That is the finger i used to masturbate with Sir, and i like to feel the edge of it pressing against my clit. It reminds me of your teeth, Master. It hurts a bit, and it feels good."

"Very good answer. Complete and honest. Return your left arm to its position behind your back, and keep the right arm out, parallel with the floor." Her body moved into the required position, and she stood there awaiting her next command.

He returned his attention to the dinner tray and the long-stemmed rose that remained there. With a single twist, he pulled the bloom from the stem and moved closer to his waiting slave. He looped the stem around her right wrist and affixed it there, tight against her skin, so that the thorns pressed painfully against her tender skin.

"Go get me the nail clippers from the tool wall over there, whore." Sadly, she turned to fulfill his directive, found them, and offered them to him in an outstretched, flattened palm.

He took her right hand in his and clipped the middle nail to its very base. He trimmed the corners and rubbed his finger over it to make sure that there were no sharp points left.

"Whore. I own you. I own every inch of your body, from your hair, to your ass, to your cunt, to the tips of your fingers. No more will you have nails to be proud of. It's not going to press against your clit ever again, making you think of my teeth. This will now be referred to as the ass fucking finger, do you hear me? When you go for your manicures, or if someone else should happen to ask, you will tell them that you keep that nail short so that you can fuck asses with it. Do you understand? Speak whore."

With a quivering voice, she replied, "Yes Master. i understand."

"Good. Now, go piss for your Master. Be sure you sit appropriately on the commode so I can watch. I want to see your cunt get wet from your own piss."

She moved quickly to comply, humiliated and embarassed and still struggling with this level of control over her. There was nothing to clean herself with, so she looked at him expectantly, awaiting his word. Instead, he reached for the rose bloom, walked across the small room to her, and used the bloom to dry her. It was an incredibly sensual feeling, having him tend to her needs in such an intimate way, and she lost herself in the sensation.

"I have a .. oh let's call it a prior commitment .. that will be here soon, and its time for you to get a close look at your new home. Here, let me give you a guided tour of the shorter of the two cages. Just the wrong size, I've heard it described. Too short to do much but crouch or lie in, and not long enough to stretch out in. Made of strong steel, with welds that aren't going to give, no matter how hard you struggle or fight. And the floor.. let me call your attention to the floor. Quite versatile really. Made it from one of those floor mats they use in offices, to protect carpeting from the chair rollers. Flat, and I would think comfortable on one side. However, the other side seems to be covered with some very nasty sharp bumps. I would think that would be a bit .. ohhh.. let's say, stimulating, for lack of a better word. You'll see that the less comfortable side is up.

"Remember my saying earlier 'that would cost you 3 hours?' Three hours in the cage, on the mat." He waited for his words to register and he took more than a little pleasure in her involuntary shudder.

"Fuck your ass for me, slave. Put your arm between your legs, put your finger in your ass, and keep it there until I tell you to remove it." The rose stem cut into the tender lips of her cunt as she pressed the tip of her middle finger past her own rosebud and just inside. The feeling of having something, anything, reminded her of his cock in her, and she longed to feel that use again.

"Further, whore. All the way in. No cumming. Now crawl into your cage. And don't let that finger out of your ass."

The pain from the combination of rose thorns and the nubbins on the mat flooded her mind and tears flooded her eyes. She crawled into the cage, positioned herself as comfortably as possible, and cringed as the door shut and the padlock closed with such finality.

"Think of me once in a while, whore." He carried the dinner tray from the room, taking the only illumination with him. Again, she was in dark, alone.