Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Mark lifted the girl to her feet and into his arms. “I was just about to let you up,” he lied. “Now you’ll have to pay the price.”
He strode to the bathroom and lay Alana into the empty tub.
She shivered as her body touched the cold porcelain, and fixed him with those beautiful, deep blue eyes. “Please, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir. Please have mercy, Sir,” she begged, her voice trembling.
“Mercy?” Mark lifted his eyebrows. “For what? You can’t even hold a position and I should show you mercy? You weren’t being whipped. You weren’t being tortured. All you had to do was kneel there, and you failed. Clearly, you need stamina training. We’ll start that tomorrow. Meanwhile, since you’ve already got half that beer slopped all over you, I’ll go ahead and give you the rest of it.”
At first Alana looked confused, as he hadn’t brought what remained of the beer into the bathroom. His meaning became clear as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his semi-erect penis. The look of barely contained horror on her face was priceless, but she wisely refrained from protest.
Standing close to the edge of the tub he directed, “Since you did such a lousy job being my table, now you’ll be my toilet. Spread your legs wide. I’m going to piss on your cunt.”
To his annoyed surprise, she didn’t immediately obey.
“Do it, Alana.” Mark’s voice was steely. “Do it or I’ll put you in the cage and piss on you there.”
That got her attention, and Alana quickly spread her legs. Because of her disobedience, he decided to add insult to injury. “Spread your cunt open for me. And raise your hips in the air so I can piss right on your clit.”
Alana did as he ordered, a blush spreading up her chest all the way to the tops of her ears.
With a grin, Mark began to piss on her spread sex. Alana turned her head away as the warm stream sprayed across her clit, her belly and her thighs. He had a hard time finishing, because his cock got so hard at the sight of his humiliated slave girl succumbing to his perverse whims.
Next time he would piss in her mouth.
When he was done, he started to zip up, but had another idea. “Kneel up in the bathtub and suck me off, slave.”
Alana looked dismayed. “But Sir! I’m covered in—I’m a mess. Please let me wash off first, Sir?”
Mark regarded his bedraggled slave girl. How marvelous that this gorgeous, famous actress, who wouldn’t have given him the time of day back in her former life, was kneeling naked in his tub, covered in piss and beer, begging for mercy. His cock was now hard as a bar of iron. A drop of piss dangled at its tip, but he didn’t shake it off.
“You heard me, cunt. Get over here and suck me off, before I really get angry.”
She lowered her head like a good, obedient slave girl and lifted herself as ordered. She opened her mouth, reaching out to cup his balls as he’d taught her, but he stopped her. “Hands behind your back.”
Alana dutifully clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward, her mouth open, lips parted to receive his offering.
Mark grabbed her head and fucked her face, hard and fast. He was pleased she kept her hands behind her back, one hand firmly clasping each elbow, as he had taught her to do. He liked the way her breasts jutted forward when she did that. God, she was sexy, even covered in beer and piss. He pulled her forward, coming deep into her throat.
He pushed her from him, so that she fell back, sprawling against the far side of the bathtub. Mark tucked his now spent cock back into his pants. With a deeply satisfied sigh, he said, “Get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to watch the rest of the game.”
No question about it. Life was good.
The sun was just setting, the late November sky darkening to purple. There was a chill in the air, despite the efforts of the old baseboard heating system, and Mark decided to build a fire.
Alana was kneeling obediently by the couch in front of the old stone fireplace, watching as he opened the flue and lit a match to the kindling he’d strategically placed around the logs.
Soon he had a fire crackling in the grate. The scene was cozy, and as he took his seat on the couch, he reached out his arms, feeling suddenly magnanimous toward his obedient slave girl. She stared at him, a question on her face, so he explained, “Come on up here on the couch. You’ve been such a good girl, and I want to hold you in my arms.”
She smiled—an actual, genuine smile—perhaps the first smile he’d seen since that day months ago when she’d climbed into the back seat of the sedan. His heart rose in his throat at that smile, and for the first time, a small but persistent voice from somewhere deep inside him demanded, “What the hell have you done to this woman? How dare you take such full possession of another person’s life?”