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I had bought Heather at great expense, and I exercised my will over her because of my own passion to master the gorgeous girl; Heather didn’t provoke me into using her body to its utmost opportunity for my cock’s enjoyment through any intention of her own. To call it that… to punish her, for example, simply for the way her loveliness made me hard as iron every time I made her remove her clothing… it was monstrous, my reason told me.
Or… it would have been monstrous if I couldn’t tell how much she needed it, too. I had hardly required the help of the good-girl wand’s effect to tell me that, even at the beginning. Four months into my bed girl’s servitude, with my manhood plunging into her night after night and her backside sternly birched or spanked or strapped over and over on the slightest pretext of misbehavior, I knew Heather Foster harbored—to her embarrassment—desires that mirrored mine.
She might well have wished to cease being the kind of girl who provoked degrading use and strict discipline, but she couldn’t change that part of herself any more than I could change the hardness of my cock whenever the time came to take her again.
Or the troubling need I had to do the opposite, as well: to take care of the marvelous Heather Foster. To find a way to have her not merely as a lovely possession, a fuck toy to use and to share so that others could use her too as a coveted favor from the warlord who had earned their loyalty with such lavish generosity.
To have her as my own.
To love her, and to win her love for me, the man who had four months ago spanked her and then brutally deflowered her along every path her sweet young body afforded… who had sent her for fucking all around the city… who suddenly needed to make certain she remembered what I wanted her to remember about the first time I had taken her anally.
“Do you?” I demanded.
“Yes, Master,” Heather whispered. Her cheeks had gone very red, as if at the humiliation in the memory.
“What do you remember?” I asked, feeling my eyes narrow as I scanned her face, affection vying inside me with the sheer desire to subject her to my dominant will.
Her forehead furrowed deeply. Even before she spoke, I knew she would say exactly what I had hoped.
“You were gentle, at first, Master,” she whispered. “You wanted to see my face.”
A wave of tenderness swept through me, which my reason angrily rejected.
Don’t fool yourself, my better judgment said.This ‘love’ you think you’re feeling is a weakness. You need to get rid of her.
* * *
Heather
Ivanhadbeen gentle, at the start. He had told me to stand in front of the fire, with my hands behind my head, my face to the roaring hearth. I had trembled despite the heat from the burning logs as he had come up behind me, his hands and his hard cock seeming to touch my skin all at the same time, so that I felt like the entire outer surface of my body had become a newly, overwhelmingly erogenous zone.
Ivan’s right hand in front, taking an easy, possessive hold of my left breast, pinching my tiny pink nipple to aching stiffness between thumb and middle finger.
Ivan’s rigid penis pressed against my hip, making me bite my lip at the sheer naughty idea of a naked man simply touching me that way, his lewdest part exposed—jutting so arrogantly out from his lap that it brushed almost casually across my flank… so naturally and yet obscenely that it made terribly clear my subjection to my master’s every degrading wish and cruel whim.
Worst of all, because it felt much too good, at first, Ivan’s left hand. Behind me, two fingers abruptly pressed between my spanked cheeks where only a little soreness lingered now from my punishment over his knee.
I heard a tiny whimper come out of my throat. My hands, their fingers intertwined behind my head, shook with the tremors that traveled up and down all the muscles in my back and my arms. My knees moved, too, bouncing up and down so that, to my mortification, it seemed like I meant to rub that forbidden place between the little apples of my backside against the probing fingers.
My master’s fingers, slick with a substance I knew about but had never before experienced. Lube… cool despite the warmth of Ivan’s hands… slippery… useful for making a girl’s tightest hole easier to enjoy…
The whimper became a sob, which seemed to reach my ears from a long way away.
Ivan brought another part of his body against mine: his mouth, soft against the back of my right ear. I could feel his golden hair brush my arm on that side.
“You are going to lie on the ottoman on your back,” he told me. “You will raise your knees and hold them open for me. I want to see your face when I enter your bottom for the first time.”
I looked up into his face, kneeling before him now, with the knowledge that I would have to proceed with my mission very soon but overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on my head, tilting my gaze up to his, stealing all my thoughts and turning them backward, to that first night.
Our first night together.
The idea—the way my brain put it, then, as if Ivan Antonov and I represented some conventional romantic couple, of the sort who could remember afirst night together—brought a little sighing moan from my throat. His ice-blue eyes, slightly narrowed the way Ivan always did when he wanted to evaluate and assess, seemed to reinforce that strange connection despite the memory’s utter lack of any ordinary romance.
My first night with Ivan… the leather top of the ottoman against my back… my knees held wide and high so that I felt utterly exposed, utterly available to my master.
My hands hung at my sides, because Ivan allowed me to use them to pleasure him only with express instructions to do so. They began, to my dismay, to creep backwards, fingertips moving across my whipped bottom-cheeks, each welt from Devushkin’s birch bringing a terrible, thrilling little stab of soreness that faded immediately into the humiliating arousal I knew so well.
I had the little globes in my grasp now. Without any order from Ivan, without a command except the shameful urging of my wanton nature, the awful need to show my master how thoroughly I belonged to him, I spread my bottom-cheeks. I touched my little anus, so sore from my degrading trip to the mansion of my owner’s friend.
