Own This Body Page 6

  I was melting fast, like the wicked witch when Dorothy threw a pail of water over her. Resisting deep, powerful urges to strip and kneel, I countered, “call it what you like; so long as you understand we are equals.”

  Rolf sucked the last syllable from my mouth, his lips having seized mine in a sudden, utterly successful takeover. I was left no choice but to open for his plundering tongue. On tiptoes, I succumbed, falling against his body, his will of iron. My palms came to rest on his chest, signaling—to my shame—that I was a beaten woman.

  My eyes had slid shut, my nipples burned like bullets, betraying in their whorish display the last vestiges of my pride. When his hand reached my ass, to cup and mold the fleshy globes, I was ready to come, ready to orgasm underneath my shorts and soaking panties.

  But then, just as suddenly, and twice as cruelly, he released me.

  “No,” said Rolf, “we are not equals.”

  His words, his eyes, took the last of my strength. I wanted to fall before him, to my knees to be humbled by a thick, choking dick between my foolish lips, but he was holding me up, his hand clenching my throat.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, forcing me to say the words.

  I could not swallow, could not breathe. And yet I knew he would not release me until I complied, even if I was to collapse unconscious beforehand.

  “T—take me,” I gasped. “I want you to…take me.”

  “Beg for it.”

  The words came out haltingly. “I…beg you…t-take me…”

  He lifted me to the tips of my toes, as though I were a rag doll. “Are we equals?” he prodded.

  I shook my head no, never more convinced of anything in my life.

  The fabric of my shirt tore in his strong grip, and the bra strap, too. Clamping my left tit like he owned it, he said, “Your little blonde friend is a good lay. Are you as good as she is?”

  “Can’t…breathe…” I sputtered.

  Rolf released me and tossed me onto the bed on my back. I watched him, my eyes lit with equal parts fear and lust as he went to the dresser, rifling through the drawer for some unknown article.

  “Strip,” he commanded, not deigning to look at me.

  Fingers trembling, I removed the rags from my torso then slipped off the shorts and sopping panties. Arranging myself as best I could, I awaited his pleasure.

  “Put these on,” he commanded, tossing the pair of gleaming handcuffs he’d produced from the bottommost drawer. “Hands over your head. There’s an eyebolt in the headboard. Slip the links through. Attach yourself. I don’t fuck women who aren’t in bondage.”

  The handcuffs landed at my right thigh. I recoiled as though they were live snakes. Bondage. My brain went over the word in slow motion. He was telling me he didn’t fuck women who weren’t restrained.

  Cuffed. Bound.

  “Over my head…” I repeated stupidly.

  Rolf drew his shiny belt through the loops in his trousers, brandishing it like some sort of weapon. It was black and leather, like a long, uncoiled snake. “You have to the count of five, woman.”

  “The way he’d said the last word, announcing my gender with such casual contempt left no room for doubt as to his real opinion of the battle of the sexes.

  He intended to subdue me. Not merely to have casual intercourse or even fuck me savagely, but to literally take me—possessing and using me to the very heart of my female soul. It wasn’t, I quickly realized, about sex so much as domination.

  “One thousand one,” he counted calmly. “One thousand two.”

  I moaned in frustration, slapping the cuff onto my left wrist—a cuff for which I had no key. Scrambling on my knees, I searched for the eyebolt he’d spoken of. It was in the center, made of steel. It was small enough for the cuff links to fit through and there was a little clip to secure it, but what about the other cuff?

  “I don’t know how to. . .”

  “One thousand four.”

  Facing the headboard, tears stinging my eyes, I scrambled to complete the task.

  “One thousand five.”

  The belt crashed down on my back, a swath of liquid fire. “Oww!” I squealed. “Please, I need help.”

  Rolf struck me again. “On your back,” he instructed, not unkindly. “Cuff your other hand, then hook the links over your head into the eye bolt.”

  I accomplished the task with surprising speed. It wasn’t until I looked up at him, chest heaving, my back burning against the silk sheets that I realized the implications of what I’d just done. I was helpless now, naked and at his mercy on my own guest bed.

  “Legs apart,” said my Aryan tormenter, giving no quarter. “And keep your eyes open.”

  I had to watch as Rolf took off his clothes to fuck me. He was large and strong and he was going to do to me precisely what he wanted.

  “Wider,” he said of my legs, as he peeled the shirt from his massive shoulders.

  I scissored for him, even as I voluntarily arched my back. This last motion forced me to blush hotly from my cheeks down to my obscenely stretched breasts. The odd combination of freedom and restraint was driving me wild. Here I was chained to the bed, commanded, and yet I was offering myself at the same time, freely.

  “You are aroused, woman?”

  Like he didn’t know!

  “Yes,” I replied, there being no point in hiding what my swollen nipples and dripping pussy lips so blatantly advertised.

  Rolf shed the pants and pulled the boxers down over a mammoth erection. “What is it you’ve responded to?” he inquired clinically, his cool, collected tone shaming me all the more. “Being chained? The threat of the belt? The impending fucking? Or do you simply enjoy being treated like a mere slut?”

  The moisture evaporated from my mouth at the sight of his manhood, the proud, tightly clenched balls, the shaft-like penis hard and ready to do its business. “I…I don’t know.”

  Rolf climbed on top of me, his knee at my crotch. “That’s a lie,” he slapped my breasts.

  “Oh, please,” I moaned, only half from pain. “Stop.”

  Throwing back my head and breaking eye contact earned me a second pair of blows, crisp and efficient, one each to my swollen needful tits.

  “Look at me,” demanded Rolf, “and tell me the truth.”

  I blinked back the tears. The sight of him now, the eyes so cold and unaffected was the worst hit of all, not to mention the greatest aphrodisiac. “I...it…” the confession stuck in my throat. “All of it,” I blurted at last, seeing the dark under curl of his lips indicating that I was about to be struck again.

  Rolf entered me now, satisfied. “You’re just like your friend, as big a slut as Jennifer and all the other females I’ve ever encountered. Say it, tell me you’re a slut.”

  “I am,” I agreed, the meat of his cock gloriously filling my gaping, craving emptiness. “I am a slut.”

  “This is what sluts are good for.” Rolf took me for a test drive now, subjecting me to a few thrusts, masterful and probing.

  “Yes,” I cried in the man’s clutches, chained and pinned, remembering not to deny him the right to my eyes, and to all the feelings so transparent behind their surfaces—butterfly thin and exquisitely delicate.

  “You hold back, though,” he experimented with my orbiting nipples. “Jennifer was like that too, at first. But she discovered new depths in herself. A whole new place to live and breathe.” Rolf was studying me now, as intent upon fucking my mind as much as my body.

  Biting my lip, I kept a tense, fortified silence.

  “I was there when Jennifer was branded,” he grabbed my hips, as if he had decided to break them. “I smelt her flesh burning. She was in agony, but she came anyway, just moments afterwards when we fucked her on the concrete floor. Baines, myself, the blacksmith and about a dozen others. They put her on a webbed rack, so the brand wouldn’t be marred while they were sticking it in her, driving her down. The blacksmith asked if we were going to use her that way, because he wasn’t
sure the rack could sustain the weight. Baines said that was all right, it was more fitting for her to feel the dirty floor on her back now that she was irreversibly a slave. We took turns, and a number of us came back for seconds. I came in her cunt and ass both. She spent that night in the cage, though she begged Baines to stay with her. He plays with her now, allowing her to act like a fine lady. One day soon, she will take her rightful place in the household.”

  “I hate you,” I told him, trying desperately to hold back from what we both knew was forthcoming from my out-of-control traitor’s body.

  “A brand does something to a woman,” he crooned, working me over with his cock, alternating between coaxing and badgering me towards orgasm. “Jennifer was no exception. Before that she was just another hot little slut who put out because Baines told her to and because she liked it. Afterwards, you could see she had no choice; she had to give in to what her body was telling her because it wasn’t hers anymore. It belonged to Baines and whoever he chose to give it to.”

  “Enough,” I panted, the touch of his skin like fire, branding me as hot as any iron. “I can’t take anymore.”

  “Would you like to be owned, Raven?”

  “S—top,” I pleased as he moved to my ear, nibbling, claiming the tender flesh with tiny, stinging bites.

  “N—never,” I defied, though I was already coming as I said it.

  Rolf held himself very still, resisting my onslaught. I came alone, gasping, crying, defeated, indisputably the man’s inferior.

  Waiting till I was sated, wilted and ready for sleep, he resumed his motions. “Again,” said he, and I knew that I must come for him a second time, even as he was preparing to fill me with his hot, spurting seed.

  “Rolf, I cannot.”

  The eyes were hard as steel, irresistible. “You will…woman.”

  “Yes,” I heard myself yield at last, wishing I could add something afterwards…a title, ‘sir’ at least.

  Rolf savaged me then like an animal, drawing not just the one orgasm, but a handful more on his way to glory. Before he was done, I had wound up with my legs wrapped round his ass and my tit in his mouth, my back arched, encouraging him to bite and suck all the harder. Deep grooves in my wrists formed as I strained at the bonds to give myself. My mouth weary from moaning and begging and pestering more and more, I collapsed at last, even as the last of the hot, orgasmic male stream filled and marked me.

  “You were good,” said Rolf, rolling off of me for a cigarette.

  I glowed at his praise, though the man had beaten me, heaped abuse upon me and finally come inside my shackled body.

  “So were you,” I retorted, my attempt at mutuality made laughable by the manner of our coupling.

  Leaving me chained, Rolf rolled onto his elbow, a menthol dangling from his sexy, red lips as he faced me. “I could make you my slave,” he observed with devastating casualness.

  “Only if I let you,” I resisted the magnetic tug of my body back to his. I hoped there was some conviction behind the statement, because at the moment I was feeling about as free and independent as a caged dove.

  As if to prove his point, the man reached across and laid a hand over my breast. I shuddered at the touch, wanting more, feeling hot and bothered all over again. After an agonizing few seconds at my nipple, the hand moved downward, feather light across my belly. By the time he reached my sex, I was gone all over again.

  My eyes fluttered shut and then abruptly, I heard his snapping fingers. When I opened them again, I realized, to my shame that I had climaxed for him yet again.

  “You were wanting me to help you leave,” the man reminded me, dangling the handcuff key. “Is that still your intent?”

  My face went magenta. “Yes, it is,” I rubbed my newly freed wrists, erasing as quickly as possible the evidence of my ready submission. “That is if you are a man of your word.”

  Rolf tossed me my soaking wet underwear. “Get dressed, pack your things, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. I’d paid a high price for this and I was not about to pass it up. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” I queried, slipping a dress over my head.

  Rolf eyed me. “Why don’t you let me worry about that, okay?”

  After I’d dressed and zipped up my suitcase, Rolf led me into the hall and down the backstairs. The route took us through a remote, darkened portion of the house. After numerous twists and turns, we ended up in one of the kitchens, which was unoccupied. There was a black sedan outside in the back drive to which Rolf had the keys.

  “You’ll be riding in the trunk. Till we get past the gate. Is that a problem?”

  I forced a cavalier smile. “I’ve had worse accommodations.”

  “Hold on, then.” Rolf scooped me up into his capable arms, cradling me. I felt a wave of delicious heat, knowing I was secured, protected. Dreamily, I traced my reflection in his eyes as he placed me carefully in the roomy, carpeted chamber. Was it my imagination, or was there a trace of concern on his face as he helped me curl into a ball underneath the blanket.

  “It won’t be long,” he promised, shutting the trunk as gently as possible.

  My heart pounded in the sudden darkness. I was a prisoner, in what would soon be a moving vehicle. I tried to focus on what was important: my temporary incarceration was a means to an end. Soon, very soon, I would be free.

  Free to chart my own destiny once again. As the car started up, I ran through the possibilities. They weren’t very good, but at least I’d be free of Baines. I hadn’t even asked Rolf where he was taking me. A hotel would be good—I desperately needed some sleep. After that I would try to think of a way out of my dilemma.

  The car stopped twice towards the beginning. Security checks, I imagined. Rolf was shrewd smuggling me out like this. I hoped he wasn’t putting himself at risk. Lord, but I was still horny. How could that be? Something about this close confinement, maybe. The way it let my imagination run away with me.

  Did Rolf ever put girls in trunks and take them to dastardly places where he did outrageous things to them? You could be sure the Galentanos did. And what if I was their prisoner right now, having just been raped and en route now to the infamous club. A lifetime of slavish whoring and stripping ahead of me. My thighs began to rub together almost as if of their own accord. I hadn’t bothered with underwear. Hadn’t even taken the time to clean the juices from me, Rolf’s, and mine sticky and thick, the semen drying on my thighs where it had dripped back out.

  What a slut I was becoming. My head seemed to have abrogated all responsibility and control to my crotch. As if on cue, of its own accord, my hand found its way under the hem of the dress. Nervous tension, that’s what it was. I was feeling the need for more sex because I was in shock.

  My little moans blended with the sound of the engine. The vibrations of the road coursed through my curled body, lying just as Rolf had placed it, on the rough army blanket. My pussy sucked greedily at the shoved-in fingers; I wanted to come again, hard and dirty.

  Like a captive slut. A girl-prisoner in the trunk of the very man who’d chained and fucked her. Curling myself tighter, I let the waves overtake me, helpless to resist their course. With every little bump, I had to stifle the screams.

  What was wrong with me? My life was a mess, I had no hopes, no prospects; I should be terrified, cold and frigid, my mind poring over possibilities of redemption.

  My guilt-infested reverie vanished with the stopping of the car. Had we reached a safe place already? My ears pricked, my hand hastily and strategically withdrawn, I listened with the intensity of a tiny rabbit, straining for every sound.

  I could hear Rolf getting out, opening and closing the door. He was coming to get me. But where were the footsteps? For a while everything was silent, dreadful, empty darkness. I squirmed, trying to see out the keyhole. Was he leaving me somewhere? Had he gone in someplace to take a piss or buy a newspaper?

  I was on the verge of panicking when I heard
the key, engaging in the lock. “Oh, thank God,” I exclaimed, not bothering to conceal my glee. “For a moment I thought. . . .”

  My prattling was cut short at the sight of my new surroundings. Instead of tall buildings I saw pine trees. In place of the road was a forest bed, covered in pine needles. We were alone, miles from civilization.

  I gasped at his touch. “You’re not going to. . .”

  “Kill you?” he laughed, lifting me by the waist and setting me down on my feet. “My, but you have an active imagination.”

  My next question, as to what the man could possibly want from me out here in the middle of nowhere, was immediately answered by his hands on my shoulders, pressing me down to my knees in the dirt.

  “Hands behind your head,” he instructed. “Mouth open wide; you will take all of it or face the belt.”

  My body obeyed, though my eyes were left to question, to plead, to beg. Rolf looked down in amusement at my surly subjection. Taking his time, he unzipped, enjoying the sight of me, waiting submissively for impalement.

  “Don’t worry, little flower,” he condescended, pulling his re-hardened prick from his boxers. “I haven’t gone back on our deal; this is just a little token for you to remember me by.”

  The scent of him, mixed with the elemental smells of the forest was enough to make me swoon. Rolf’s dick, salty and pulsing between my lips was the only thing holding me upright. I felt like such a little slut, servicing him like this, holding myself in position, my complete subjugation freely obvious to one and all who might pass through the woods.

  The road, a winding two-lane snake through the firs and oaks was less than a foot away. Anyone could drive by and they’d see me and know me for what I was. A woman who barters her body for small favors from men—in this case a man she hardly knows and for whom she has nothing but contempt.

  Well, not completely contempt. There was some awe mixed in there, a little fear and a whole lot of soft, sexy fluttering in my belly which made me want to strip right here and lie in the dirt for a proper fucking.

  “Yes,” he encouraged, praising my gasping, deep-throated attempts to please him. “That’s it. Take it all the way, drink it down.”