Controlling Chrissy Page 8

  Chrissy worked the zipper down over the swell in his trousers. What did he mean about her knowing what she was dealing with? And who was his father? The name Trace didn't ring a bell. She'd certainly never heard of it on any of her celebrity shows. Was he playing another of his games with her?

  She was frantic to get at his dick. It belonged in her mouth and she belonged servicing it. As surely as she wore steel right now, she knew that to be true. Please, let his underwear be easy to manage.

  Derek turned his attention back to driving. They were accelerating, leaving the truck stop. So she was going to have to perform naked fellatio on the highway. At least it was dark.

  He was wearing boxers. She popped open the single snap and was rewarded with a splendid shaft, slapping her in the cheek. She slobbered on it at once, making small mewling noises as she did.

  "It's going to be the cane, tonight, Miss Newland," said the man as he accelerated his way back to expressway speed. "That is a device far more severe than my hand. It will leave marks. It will change you."

  Chrissy shivered up and down her exposed spine. It did not help that he was laying a hand on her back, tracing the lines of it lightly. "This is the sexiest part of a woman's body," he observed. "The space of the lower back just before the upper buttocks. It's no wonder so many females get tattooed there nowadays. Perhaps I should have you do that. Would you like to be marked, Miss Newland?"

  Chrissy replied by surrendering herself fully to the turgid organ. Her jaw slack and ready, she slid it to the back of her throat. If he wanted to come down her gullet, she'd take it. The second load of the night. He could come on her face, too, if that's what he wanted. He could put his hand in her hair, look her in the eye, say her name and shoot himself all over her.

  "What would look good on you, I wonder. A butterfly?" He made the shape, inducing her to suck him all the more deliriously. "A flower? A line of ivy? Links of chain? What about chain, Miss Newland? Are you fond of steel?"

  She moaned, wanting his sperm. He denied it to her, pulling her off him by the scalp. Before she could gain her balance he depressed a button, automatically reclining her seat. She ended up flat on her back, arms pinioned behind her back.

  "Legs wide apart, Miss Newland."

  Chrissy spread herself as far apart as she could. It shamed her to have him see how aroused she was, her sex wet and glistening, her aroma filling the air. At the same time, there was a strange, dark pride in being able to offer herself up this way. As a victim, a sacrificial lamb to his predations.

  Derek popped open the glove box. Without looking at the contents, he fiddled around till he found the small silver cylinder, pointed. It was a vibrator. He turned it on at the base. A low humming filled the car. Chrissy stiffened. She knew where it was going and she did not know if she would be able to endure the teasing of it. It wasn't fair to expose her this much, to make her bare her sexual soul so completely.

  "Submission begins with taking what you are given," said Derek. "Just as obedience begins by doing what you are told. "Sometimes it's a man between your legs. But it could as easily be this dildo, or any other object I might choose to insert inside you."

  Derek touched the humming device to her pussy. "Lay still," he ordered as she began to twitch. Mercilessly, he laid it directly against her clitoris. "And no coming without permission. That will make your beating go worse."

  "Omigod," she whimpered.

  Derek left the vibrator to do its work and continued his driving. Chrissy squirmed on the seat, trying to avoid the relentless internal pounding. Her pussy muscles squeezed and released, over and over. There was no peace anywhere. Her nipples threatened to explode. Her skin was hot like fire. The leather of the seat only added to the sensations of burning lust.

  "I can't … help it," she gasped.

  The forbidden orgasm overcame her. She was so ashamed, so helpless, so intently aware of what he would do to her and the extra punishment she would receive.

  "You are a disobedient little slut, Miss Newland." Derek turned the vibrator up to full power.

  She moaned as a second orgasm slammed against her consciousness. He pinched her nipple at the same time, hard enough to make her scream. Chrissy continued to come through the pain.

  "Say it," he commanded. "Say what you are."

  "I'm a … disobedient … little slut," she confessed through gritted teeth.

  "You deserve humiliation. You deserve to be abused."

  "Y – yes … abuse me."

  "The cane will change you," he repeated. "It will teach you fear. It will make you wary of men as you have never been. You will learn, not all men are as tame as the ones you have dealt with up to now."

  "P – please, take it away." She threw her head back, wanting the terrible silver thing out of her.

  "Request denied."

  Derek pulled off the road, onto a dark exit. They made several more turns, the roads getting progressively rougher. Finally she detected the crunch of gravel under the tires. He stopped the car, extracted the vibrator from her devastated hole and got out. Without saying a word, he closed the door behind him. Chrissy had been too weak to question him. Her body was still quaking, totally conquered and beaten from the inside out. She waited for him to open her door, but she heard nothing. Where was he? She could neither hear nor see him.

  A new kind of panic filled her breast now. She was alone, more frightened than she had ever been in her life, not to mention more horny. She'd have fucked anyone or anything, but most especially she wanted this one insanely domineering, increasingly over the edge man to come back for her. She couldn't help it. He made her body wet and wanton. His cruelty inflamed her.

  And that made her his prisoner in a most dangerous way.

  "Derek?" she called out.

  There was no answer. He was gone. Was she being abandoned to her fate? Could she put anything past such a man?

  No, she thought, soberly, she could not.

  Derek Trace, as she now knew only too well, was a man capable of anything.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chrissy had no idea how long he'd been away. After a while, she'd started thinking he would never come back. "Derek," she exclaimed, when he finally opened the passenger door. "I – I was so worried."

  Derek was all business. Lifting her neck, he popped a red ball in her mouth. It was foul tasting and made of rubber. Turning her to her side, he fastened it behind her head. Chrissy bit down, no longer able to close her mouth or communicate effectively.

  He put the collar on her next. It was made of leather, thick and black, with studs. Chrissy issued a garbled protest. This was a dog collar. He had no right. She heard the clip of the leash next, signaling she was under firm control now.

  Derek pulled her from the car and set her on her feet. The leash was metal. He wrapped the long chain around his fist several times. She pulled away, instinctively, out of panic.

  Expertly, he yanked the chain high and to the side, cutting off her air. Chrissy rose to tiptoes, instantly docile. Reaching in his pocket he pulled out a pair of nasty looking clamps. She shook her head, begging inarticulately, but the man paid her no mind.

  One by one, callously, he attached the biting clips, sending instant agony from her nipples through the rest of her body. Oh, god, it hurt so much. He couldn't leave her like this.

  Derek thrust a hand between her legs, reminding her she was still a slut, and that she deserved all this and more. Through her tears, she began to moan.

  Fuck me, she pleaded with her eyes. Hurt me all you want, just fuck me.

  He spun her about, pushing her forward. When she hesitated, he delivered a heavy smack to her ass. Chrissy stumbled forward, a leashed, cuffed, gagged girl.

  It was so horrible. She couldn't see. The ground under her bare feet was a combination of dirt, twigs and leaves. Under the light of the stars and the slim moon, she could make out the tops of trees, a line of them directly in front of them.

  He was taking her into the woods.


  They made a brief stop at a small enclosure, like a wooden outhouse. It was on the edge of the forest, a very old building used apparently for supplies. Derek found a lantern, which he lit, along with a shotgun.

  "This is for bears," he held up the weapon, answering the terrified look in her eye. "Not you."

  Chrissy did not know if she should be reassured by that or not.

  Derek found the cane on a shelf. It was a thin enough device, though she trembled like a leaf at the sight of it.

  "That should about do it." He put the gun and the cane into a long canvas bag and slung it over his shoulder. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed a coil of rope.

  So he was serious. He intended to tie and beat her – and in the deep woods no less.

  "Don't look so glum," he said, hardly failing to miss her obvious distress. "I intend to make a real woman out of you."

  She could well have asked what exactly that meant, and how beating her naked ass into submission was supposed to do that, but she couldn't talk back at the moment. Of particular interest to her was whether or not the haughty Arianna had ever had to go through such an experience.

  The branches scratched at her arms. The pine needles were heavy under her feet and slippery. Twice she nearly fell, only to find herself cruelly held up by the leash. All the while, the nipple clamps continued to bite and gnaw at the core of her being.

  "If you fall here," he told her by way of incentive. "I will beat you over your entire body, and I assure you that will be much worse than on your ass."

  Derek Trace was a psycho, she was sure of it, and yet she was caught up in this. She was still dripping wet, her nipples still swollen and needful in spite of the pain. Through it all, she remained horny. Did that make her crazy, too, or was she just the perfect foil for his sadism?

  Finally, when she grew too woozy to walk, he slung her over his shoulder. He treated her with all the care one might extend a sack of potatoes. He bounced her hard on his shoulder, causing the nipple clamps to dig even deeper. Tears streamed from her eyes, along with a steady line of drool from the corner of her mouth. The pain blurred her vision, not it mattered as her eyes were fixed on the ground now. She would not have been able to see where they were going anyway.

  The trek was endless. She wondered how they would ever find their way home later on. Eventually he found the tree he was looking for. Setting her down on her feet, he tended to the lantern, hanging it from a high branch.

  The tree was a stately oak, with lots of convenient hanging places. He threw the rope over a second branch, about seven feet off the ground, cinching it off with a fancy knot she didn't understand. The next step involved unhooking her handcuffs from behind and redoing them in front.

  This gave him some chain to slip the rope through. Now it was a matter of pulling the rope tight and lifting her wrists over her head. Derek continued tightening his special knot till she was on tiptoes, her ribs stretched taut.

  Pulling down on her arms, he tested his handiwork. Satisfied at her position, he reached for the nipple clamps. "This will hurt," he warned as he prepared to take them off. "As much or more than when they went on."

  Derek did them both at once, releasing the tortured nubs, allowing the blood to pour instantly through the restricted areas. The sudden release was indeed a hellish agony. She unleashed a blood-curdling scream into the gag.

  A light lit in Derek's eyes and it was at that point she knew he was aroused by her torture. Touching his crotch, he bent to devour one of her nipples. His teeth sent her beyond pain, to silent whimpers, to dry, tears, to staggering cascades of misery too great to feel. Like a dark and evil lover from the pits of hell he had his way with both breasts.

  Even his hand turned sadistic now, finding its way clear to pinch her poor little clitoris. "Come," he hissed, his breath hot as sulfur. "Come before I cane your worthless ass."

  Chrissy orgasmed on command, like the chained, collared dog she had become. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard his voice, his latest twisted desire. He was telling her she was going to take her beating while aroused. She was going to writhe, feeling the stick on her body, wanting and craving whatever it might do to her, however badly it might hurt her.

  She looked at him for pity; she looked at him for … anything he might give.

  "You should never have come near me," said Derek Trace. "You put your hand in the fire; so pretty to look at, so deadly to touch. Poor little Miss Newland," he crooned, brushing the hair from her face. "You were afraid of the wrong thing. Murder and rape consumed your mind, to the detriment of something far darker: Your own hidden desires to be owned."

  Chrissy shook her head. She did not want to be owned. More to the point, she did not want to face the fact she might.

  "You deny with your head, but your body sings a different tune." He had the cane in his hand. He ran it up her thigh, making her shudder. "Your body wants it. Your body craves to belong to me, and it wants the proof. The only real proof there is. Pain."

  Again she shook her head and this time the cane came out of nowhere, whistling, exploding against her hip. "Deny it again," he challenged.

  Chrissy hung her head.

  He thrust the device lengthwise between her legs, up under her cunt. "Look at me," he demanded.

  Chrissy turned her eyes to his. They were burning disks. She was nothing in the light of them, nothing.

  "There are two kinds of woman, Miss Newland. Both are bitches, both need handling and punishing. The only difference is that some are sexier when you give them a little freedom to play with and others requires true slavery to blossom. Arianna is the former kind. She's as hot as she is because I give her such a long leash. But make no mistake, I own her ass."

  Chrissy didn't doubt it, not seeing how the woman yielded to him in bed.

  "So which type are you, Miss Newland? What kind of chain is right for you? Do you need to be at the feet of a master day and night, cringing before the whip to keep that belly of yours burning or are you the kind of slut who serves best when hauled in from time to time, hot and heavy?"

  "I – I don't know," she replied.

  He twisted the bamboo, putting direct pressure on her labia. "Oh, yes, you do. And one day soon you will give me the right answer."

  Derek pulled the stick out. "Time to have a little fun."

  Chrissy closed her eyes. He was moving into position. She had no way to prepare for this. If it were half as bad as what she'd just felt on her hip, she would never make it.

  "By they way," he whipped the cane through the air, testing it. "I would never cane a bitch like Arianna. Her kind is too high strung. Beatings like this are only for lowly slave bitches."

  So there was her answer – at least in his estimation. She wasn't in Arianna's league. But he'd said she herself would have to give him the right answer. Did he want it from her mouth for some particular reason?

  "One."

  Chrissy drew what felt like her last breath in the world. The cane took her, as if it had claws, attaching itself to her nerves. It was not a piece of wood but a living thing.

  A living, breathing devil.

  She thrashed about, as if something had landed on her, like a roach or a fire ant, but there was nothing to shake off.

  "Two."

  God, she was really being beaten, she was handcuffed, naked outside, swinging from a branch, at the mercy of a sadist who could count like this all night.

  "Three."

  Another solid blow across her backside, jiggling, welting and searing the soft flesh. A fucking brand couldn't be any worse than this.

  "Four."

  No tears left, but a deep moaning, and something weird, in her chest. Her breasts, wanting to be held, squeezed, hurt.

  Whip my pussy she wanted to scream. Whip my little pussy, see if I can take it.

  "Five."

  This time he hit the other butt cheek. He was spacing this out, making sure to give her a nice thorough beating. Considerate bastard, wasn't he? />
  "Six."

  The cuffs bit into her wrists. She could no longer hold her body up. Too heavy. Too much weight. Too much heat.

  "Seven."

  Chrissy went limp. It could be a hundred, a thousand, it would make no more difference. Derek sensed her overstimulation. Taking a break, he came up behind her.

  "You're ass is a beautiful red," he told her, speaking the words directly into her ear.

  She bent her neck, trying to avoid this new torture. His gentle touch at her earlobe, his tongue at her throat.

  "You won't sit down very easily tomorrow," he rasped. "Or the day after."

  Chrissy sobbed.

  "It's not over," he denied her appeal for respite. "I am not yet satisfied."

  He grabbed her breasts and shoved his crotch against her ass. It was worse than everything else put together. But this time he was doing sexual things at the same time. Massaging her swollen breasts, rubbing his hand over her belly. You mother fucking, arousing fucking bastard, she thought. Get your fucking hands off of me … out of me…

  "That woke you up, didn't it?"

  He was gloating. Always a step ahead of her, playing her so perfectly into his hands. So why wasn't he just fucking her, or marking her, or doing what he wanted to prove his point?

  You win. I'm your little bitch, Derek Trace. Whatever kind you want me to be. I'll wear your expensive jewelry, spread my legs at the snap or your fingers, and crawl anywhere you tell me to.

  But she had to be careful. If she was that second type of bitch in his mind, the total slave type, where would that leave her?

  "That's how I want you, nice and needy," he informed her. "Open for the second half of your punishment. And this time, you'll take it ungagged."

  He unbuckled the straps and popped the ball from her mouth. Chrissy's jaw ached. It was painful to shut at first.

  He showed her the bite marks in the rubber. "You have quite a set of teeth. I'm glad you didn't use them on me."