He came to her in the darkest hours of the night, sliding into the bed beside her where she lay sleeping, exhausted from Kami's cruel appetites. She awoke in a panic at the sudden presence of another next to her, startled that she was no longer alone. When she tried to move, she found her hands had been tied together at the wrist and pulled above her head, likely tied to some ring or another she'd never thought to look for.
She cursed herself silently for not locking her door, and then wondered what punishments she would have earned if she had.
This bedroom had seemed her one place of sanctuary, and to suddenly have even that stripped away was, for the briefest of moments, utterly terrifying. Somehow, knowing that she would never be truly alone in this house was almost too much to bear, for it meant that she would have no respite from his whims, no place where she could go to gather her reserves for the coming day.
And then, as her heart raced and goose bumps appeared on her skin at the stranger's touch, she realized: She wasn't supposed to have a place of her own, she wasn't supposed to gather her reserves for the coming day.
The purpose of her being her was to submit, to embrace what was coming, not prepare herself to fight it.
She lay very still on her right side, every fiber of her being straining to fake slumber in the hope that he – she could definitely tell it was a he – would leave her alone. His body lay against hers, the hard muscles of his form pressing into her soft curves. She could feel one of his hands draped casually over her hip, resting lightly on her stomach; the other had burrowed under her curls to caresses her neck. It moved slowly, back and forth across her skin, and she could feel his warm breath on her ear, it smelled faintly of coffee.
It wasn't an unwelcome smell, and in a lover she would have welcomed it. But now, with him so close, so unexpected, she couldn't relax, couldn't see anything pleasant in it.
His left hand began to move up her torso, one finger moving slowly across her skin, barely there at all. She held herself stiffly, determined to endure this latest test. For it surely had to be a test, some means by which to see if she'd respond to anyone but him.
And this man did not smell like Ethan. From those few moments when they'd been close, when he'd stepped in to break her will to his own, she felt she'd come to know his scent. This man smelled clean and fresh, not unpleasant at all, but nothing like her Master.
In the total blackness of her room, however, she had nothing to guide her save her hearing and her sense of smell. His body was too close to hers for her hands to explore, and moreover, he'd bound them to the bedpost above her.
And he made no noise, save for the gentle intake and exhalations of his breath. Silent and still as she was, that left only her sense of smell. And that told her that this was some new entrant to her bed. She surmised that she wasn't supposed to resist, that her duty as a slave was to please; perhaps this was some friend or client's of Ethan's, someone she was supposed to service.
That was, after all, what a bound slut like herself did, right?
Strangely, despite the fear, the light touch of the finger felt wonderful. It barely touched her skin at all, so softly she wasn't even sure that he was actually touching her. It moved in slow circles, to the bottom of her breasts, and then began to move south again, in those same phantom patterns until she could feel the faintest trace atop the bald expanse of her vulva, just millimeters above the cleft that marked the start of her labia.
She felt her nipples grow hard.
Jen opened her eyes, but couldn't see anything. No light came in from under the door, and the window, while open, offered little ambient light beyond the stars themselves. It was the kind of darkness, she realized, you could only have away from the city, away from other people. Here she was, shrouded in darkness in a strange mansion, a mere eight days into her servitude and she'd already been flogged, paddled, and whipped – and now given to a stranger.
Was her Ethan entirely gone? Was the man she'd known all those years ago simply a ghostly memory? She hadn't thought so when she'd collapsed into his arms at the auction; she'd seen traces of her old lover that night, she was sure of it.
Thinking about him like that, trying to recall the man she'd once craved, something stirred in her mind. There was something familiar about this.
His fingers danced across her nipples, causing them to suddenly ache from the pleasure pain of his touch and Kami's cruel lashes with the paddle.
Her body thrilled to that touch, wetness flooding her suddenly despite herself.
She realized that she was incredibly turned on by him, by the situation she now found herself in. Eight days into her servitude and she was lying in the dark with a naked stranger pressed against her, a naked stranger who was clearly going to fuck her until he was satisfied, and then probably leave her, bound, in the dark, to wait until her master found her the next morning.
It was exactly what she wanted, she realized.
She'd been at the house for eight days and hadn't once actually had sex. She'd been flogged and lashed with the riding crop on her first night, and then given over after a week of research to Kami's 'lessons' on the second night. But nowhere in that week had she actually had his cock as she'd intended. Part of the allure of the servitude to him was her fantasy that she'd be called on to pleasure him often.
Even Kami's paddle couldn't disabuse her of her cravings for cock.
So to finally be here, in the dark, being taken by this man, actually thrilled her. Jen could feel her body responding, moving in time to his touch, her clitoris beginning to ache.
He cupped her head with his right hand and tilted her face to the left so that he could kiss her. It was a deep passionate kiss, and it made her whole body tingle with pleasure. Yes, whomever, this was, she was going to fuck him for all she was worth.
So she smiled then, when she felt a thick, warm shaft press itself between her thighs. She lifted her left leg, allowing him to push his cock down in between her folds, moving easily amidst the wetness he found there.
Without pretext, he pushed into her, his girth filling her entirely. She shuddered and moaned out her pleasure as he did so. He felt amazing. She knew it was a cliché, but he just seemed to 'fit' her.
Shuddering with pleasure at the sudden sensation, she pushed back into him, craving more. He responded in kind, beginning to push into her and then withdraw … slowly.
It was maddening, but every time she tried to push against him to increase her stimulation, he'd place his hand on her hip, stilling her, stilling himself too.
She whimpered each time he did this, needing him so much.
This went on for some time until finally he slid his right hand down to rest on her pussy. Deftly, he located her clitoris, and then began to knead it with his thumb and forefinger, using her own labia against her to stimulate her further.
Jen began to gasp, her breath coming in short heaves as she tried to retain some degree of control over her body.
It was useless, she realized. He simply knew her too well, knew what she was capable of; knew how to take her to the ragged edge of her orgasm and then leave her at that edge, pausing to let her calm herself, only to resume again without warning so that she was surprised by her own pleasure each time.
But how did he know such things?
Her mind raced, trying to stay ahead of the delirious sensations of his finger drifting over her skin. Her pussy throbbed as he continued moving in and out of her, the fullness of his member filling her and then receding with maddening slowness.
