Daniella Defiled

"

Finish what you started. Fucking defile me

" -

from

Daniella Bound

*

Daniella's pulse raced. Her discomfort was real, but it was countered by a sense of wild excitement. She could have freed herself by a single sharp tug of her wrists but she did not want to. Not for an instant. Never in her life had she felt like this.

She was irked that he had left her so damn long, but then it should hardly have surprised her now she had submitted to his games. So she remained seated on his kitchen chair, naked and waiting. Her ankles had been secured with thin nylon rope to the outside of either front chair-leg, heels propped up in her stiletto sandals, so that her thighs were splayed wide. A sleek state-of-the-art vibrator had been plunged deep into her pussy, so that the protrusion at the base might have nudged her clitoris, had the device not been twisted an inconvenient one-eighty degrees inside her.

She could have adjusted it, switched it on and set it growling within and against her, rather than just fitted there tight and inert. But that would have meant ripping the crepe-paper bonds with which he had tied her wrists behind the chair-back. Her restraints he had improvised from the wrappings of a recently-purchased silk shirt; 'Tear yourself free if you want,' he had whispered in her ear having completed the delicate knotting, 'but if you do I'll truss you up properly and deprive you for the rest of the day. Either that or the deal's off.' So she was behaving herself, staying in place, shunting back and forth as much as she could to create friction between her cuntal walls and the smooth surface of the sex toy. All this while the images played out before her on screen.

He had picked a DVD from his modest but carefully put-together treasury of hardcore pornography, set aside as it was from the Scorsese, the Almodovar and the Kirosawa. Placing the chair in front of his fifty-inch flat-screen in the nexus of the surround-sound, he had maximized her audio-visual experience of the sweating, groaning, foul-mouthed fuck-action. 'Pay special attention to the third scene,' he had advised her prior to his departure. 'Because everything he does to her, I'm going to do to you.' How her toes had curled at the velvet intensity of his promise. How her nipples had hardened and her cunt turned moist.

The sometimes limited appeal of porno visuals was hugely enhanced by her current situation. She watched, enthralled, as a parade of porn slutlets drizzled themselves liberally with oily lubricant, massaging it lovingly into their curves, while the hired studs looked on in grinning anticipation, stroking those big erections. The same girls were then worked over vigorously by their hung-and-hoisted admirers, as Daniella gazed, shifting vainly to increase the sense of traction inside her own filled pussy. Not for the first time that weekend she was writhing frustratedly in an effort to bring herself to climax.

Then the other sensation began to compete. There had been an excited knowingness in Eric's eyes at odds with his calm demeanour as he had encouraged her to drink. Two litres of water flavoured with lime cordial she had downed, while tied there to the chair, her not-quite-captor encouraging her softly in between her long gulps. Now the liquid was draining south, filling her up and thwarting the desire which had been mounting, as she clenched her groin muscles to stem the flow. 'You let it out and the weekend's cancelled,' he had warned her mildly.

The weekend's cancelled...

She found herself unwilling to countenance that prospect, not yet at any rate, so she endured her swollen bladder, resisted the urge to relieve herself all over the bastard's living-room rug.

She sat and squirmed and endured, watched as the DVD's third scene kicked in. Physical discomfort could not squeeze out the thrill and the shame as this particular porn scenario unfolded before her. The slender nymphette with the ringletted hair oiling her body to a slippery sheen. Submitting herself to the smug fuck who got to nail her. Now

there

was a guy with a work ethic, Daniella thought in no little trepidation, as he set about his allotted task comprehensively and with fierce enthusiasm.

Everything he does to her...

Her eyes widened and her throat held in her breath.

Oh my God. Oh my sweet Christ, just look at that...

Then the urge to pee and the need to wrestle it overtook her concentration and she cursed Eric all over.

Just another date, that's how it had started. Twenty-four hours ago she'd been expecting a leisurely day of sipping wine with the man she'd thought she might be falling for, following a bout of hot sensual love-making. Maybe cooking something together later, nestling into one another on his plush sofa with a DVD. But then she had been persuaded to let him bind her, properly that first time, to this very chair. A campaign of mortifying tease and casual disrespect. He had fondled and spanked her like a plaything, then fucked her outrageously hard, and through every second of outrage she had been slick with sexual need. Even with the realisation that her debauching was Eric's revenge against her father, hell maybe because of that, she had come with an intensity that shook her to her bones.

I've got a whole fun weekend all planned out

. He'd delivered the words midway through that furious fuck and they'd stuck in her head. She would have walked out on him afterwards, though, however much he flattered himself she wanted him, had it not been for his sudden muted contrition. No full-spate outpouring of remorse, far from it, but enough to temper her fuming anger and make her stay. Stay for more. Her blood still seethed with desire; she had wanted to know what this sexy fucker had stored up in his imagination for her. Hell, she had craved the knowledge.

The disarming Eric of their first dates had returned. The beast lurked once more beneath a charming, attentive surface, but her nipples had still tingled with wariness. 'I'll see what I've got in the fridge,' he had said lightly, and suddenly it was pork stir-fry, Pinot Grigio and snuggling on the sofa. In his bed that evening the sex had been tender. He had caressed her contours and pressed his face into her yielding mound as though trying to erase the memory of the afternoon's harsh thrusting. She had straddled him and gently ridden his impressive cock, Eric letting her establish pace, so sore was she still from his earlier reaming. No screams now, rather a long aching moan on climax. He had hardly moved within her as he reached his own peak, just clasped tight to her hips and exhaled a slow voiceless breath as he jettisoned his load. As she had drifted to sleep she had declined to let him enfold her in a full-body embrace, but her hand had lain softly in his.

Then this morning - fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs and coffee brought to her on a tray. So much for the debauchery he had promised with such brio the day before. Still, if his self-reproach provided her with some pampering, why complain? It was only when she had finished the last of her eggs that he made the suggestion.

'I've had an idea to make the rest of the weekend more - fun.'

Her pulse quickened on the final word, so strong was its resonance from the day before. She kept her tone as level as possible. 'Do share.'

'Well since you've actively requested that I continue yesterday afternoon's exploration...' She blushed, it was exactly what she had done. '...I think it would be interesting if you made a certain... commitment to the proceedings.'

'Oh do you?' She raised an eyebrow, sitting up naked in the bed with the covers around her middle. It was impossible not to be intrigued. 'And what's the nature of this commitment?'

He produced the sheet of paper from his pocket. She unfolded it and read the print with a degree of incredulity. The gall of the man. 'Not going to happen,' she told him with finality. 'It's not that I don't like a surprise...' She reddened again at how the previous afternoon's surprise had affected her mind and her pussy. 'But I promise myself to nothing unless I know what it is.' She handed back the sheet.

'I respect that,' said the man who had so recently abandoned all respect. 'And yet I'd love to make this a challenge. I know you always rise to those.' He returned minutes later with a freshly-printed and revised wording. She read and her heart raced. The erotic thrills implicitly promised in those lines... 'What do you think?' he asked softly. 'Why don't we do it this way?'

She was aware of her own hoarse breath in her throat, the thump of blood in her temples, with that dangerous, unpredictable, sexy man so close to her on the bed. 'Okay, get me a pen,' she said, holding his gaze. 'I'll sign.'

His eyes had glinted with secret wickedness as he watched her writer her name to the contract. She could see it now on the coffee table as she sat in her makeshift bonds, the single sheet of A4 plucked from the printer, bearing the legend he had typed:

I hereby submit to the sexual cravings of Eric Lehane for the duration of this weekend, 17-19 July 2009. I will obey his every whim without protest, on the understanding that refusal of any demand will result in the termination of the entire entertainment.

Just too tempting, too playful to resist. And with a get-out clause just in case.

'Care to choose a safe word?' he had inquired, taking the sheet from her hand. 'That you can use if...'

'I know what a safe word is,' she had said coolly, moving in so that her face was inches from his. 'And I choose... 'prick'.' She had leaned on the word, mock-contempt all over her face.

How he had grinned. 'Time will tell if you choose to remind me of that. Go get showered. Make it quick.' His first command? The terse undercurrent to his velvet tone had made her think so and her lower abdomen had squirmed. The daggers her eyes had shot as she padded towards the bathroom had been expelled smartly, when he smacked her naked ass to propel her on her way.

She had not donned a stitch of clothing since. Having towelled herself dry and brushed her wet hair to midway down her back, she had been taken by the hand and led silently to the prepared seat. This was all new - subservience was not a role to which she was used. The tightened thrill she had felt in her tummy was new too. He had stood her in place, makeshift bonds at the ready, and made her slip into her heeled sandals, so that her petite five foot four was pushed up higher against his tall masculine bulk. Then he had drawn her nude body to him, so that her breasts crushed into the crisp white of his starched shirt, raised her head with a light touch to the tip of her chin and claimed her mouth with his.

She yielded to him easily, before his teeth snagged her lower lip and tugged, causing her breath to catch. Then his hands clapped hard to her buttocks as he let go her lip, and she registered the look on his face - all softness, all geniality replaced by lupine hunger. The same look he had worn yesterday, as his finger-fucked her vigorously to orgasm on the chair. He dropped to his knees, palms still impressing themselves against her ass-flesh, and burrowed his tongue between her thighs to tease her budding clitoris, to slither beyond her labia and writhe lustily within her. She wobbled in her heels at the thrill of his mouth's assault, but he gripped her ass to stabilize her and she gave herself up to him, fingers clutching through dark hair to his scalp in her ecstasy at being so claimed.

And then abruptly he had stopped, his tongue fleetly withdrawing. He had sat her down, trussed, prepared and instructed her. Thus she remained, with a swollen bladder and a cunt stuffed full with a plastic phallus and a head crammed with images even more lewd than those playing out on the TV screen. Daniella had become complicit in her own defilement. Eric was going to make her wait, really wait, before the game developed. So full of surprises, and smug with it. Well he'd just better match the build-up, live up to all she expected. Because she was good for it. Come on, you bastard. Her head lolled a little and her hands clenched into fists behind her back. Show me what you've got...

********************

In his favourite independent coffee shop Eric was playing a waiting game. He ordered a second cappuchino and sipped it slowly, leafing with supreme casualness through the Arts supplement of the Saturday Independent. The purchases he needed to make were limited; most of what he would need had been bought in advance of the weekend. The main reason for his trip into town had been simply to provide his guest with some reflection time. An opportunity for her to contemplate her subservient status. For that, he admitted to himself, had briefly been in question.

His post-coital reaction to Daniella just a day earlier had surprised him. Strange how the expelling of semen from one's balls could change all perception of a situation. He had never fucked as an act of revenge prior to that. It had seemed a terribly good wheeze to seduce Jonathan Blanchford's beloved girl, maybe capture some footage on camera later that weekend for the pompous oaf to view - indeed the idea still held a certain relish. He had simply not been expecting a sense of regret once the fog of angry lust had been dispelled. The smooth transition to the next act of debauching should have been easy; how could he have known that his thoughts would have reverted to Daniella's playfully ironic smile across a dinner table, to her animated chatter on subjects no twenty-year-old should know much about? Damn it if he hadn't balked at continuing his plan any further. Christ, he had suggested a further date in his efforts to appease. He had worn his contrition on his bloody sleeve.

She had let him off the hook of his own guilt. It had been more than he deserved, that much he accepted. How amusing that she should step willingly back into the trap from which he had let her walk free, prompted by her own filial grudge.

Daddy broke his promise to make you a partner in the firm and he cut me off, risked my whole university career. Let's get back at him together

. What a deliciously conspiratorial moment it had been. But with their pact had come an inevitable decrease in his power. She had witnessed the reflex regret in his face, she had seen weakness in him. By choosing to stay she had made the situation her own. The clever minx had thought she was in charge now. But he'd known just how to wrest the situation back to himself.

Eric smiled, his mind straying from the review of the new Black Eyed Peas album. How hard the little sweetheart had come for him, as he subjected her to his full evil intent on that kitchen chair. He'd seen it in her eyes - Daniella had never been aroused to such a pitch before, she had not believed such a thing were possible. Her sticking around was about more than getting back at dad. She needed to feel that way again, lost to wanton bliss. And who knew to what she would submit herself in order to attain such a state? What indignities would she swallow in her need for the continuation of this adventure? The contract, that stupid sheet of paper, had been a masterstroke.

He leaned back in his chair, mind flooding suddenly with sweet recollections. Daniella's orgasm-deprived body racked with helpless pleasure as his fingers plunged inside her. The clutch of her contracting pussy on his cock as he boned her hard from the rear, her limbs bound by rope and her soul by sweet lust. Those wild, full-throated cries that filled his house, as her anger at his presumption gave way to fierce ecstasy. Then later, later on when all had changed - her firm young breasts jogging lightly above him as she rode slowly and gently, fingertips on his chest and fronds of brunette hair dropping about his face. Oh God, hot little darling, hot sexy little sweetheart - sweet, sweet Daniell...

Shit, enough with the endearments! If he kept that up he'd be letting them slip out while he was with her. He shook himself from his reverie, finished his coffee and made to depart. He had trouble moving due to his erection, however, and so sat back with his newspaper for cover. Pretty girl, he told himself calmly. Relatively smart. Perfectly adequate company. Good conversationalist, nice sense of humour. Piece - of - ass. Hold to that and it would be one very satisfactory weekend. Revenge with benefits. Everyone happy. Particularly him.

Eric chinked several pound coins against his coffee cup as a tip, folded his newspaper and left. No more floundering, no more stupid guilt.

This girl needs controlling and that's what she's going to get

. He checked his watch on the way out - two hours, and if he went straight home that'd be two thirty. Long enough to make her squirm - yes, that'd do nicely. He just had one call to make before returning home, a short walk down the High Street.

'Is that everything sir?' the check-out girl asked, as he handed over the item he had chosen.

'That's all.'

'Is she frisky?' The girl smiled at him sweetly as she scanned the bar-code.

'Oh she's a feisty little thing all right.'

'She'll take a bit of house-training then. You'll have to show her who's the boss.'

Eric took his purchase and the receipt and returned her smile. 'Trust me, she's about to find out.'

********************

By the time Daniella heard Eric's key rattle in the lock, she had held herself on the edge of bursting for over an hour. The DVD was still churning out its explicit content, incoherent fuck-noise pouring from the speakers, but she was long past paying it any mind. All her focus was on holding in her water. She was not even sure why she was bothering any longer, short of what humiliating remarks her host for the weekend might lavish on her if he found her seated in a puddle of her own piss.

She met his gaze squarely as he came through from the entryway, tilting her chin back defiantly whatever the torment from below, whatever thrilling fear she might feel regarding his next move. And she stayed silent, just stared him a challenge through her suffering and waited to see where his whims would take her. The expression on his finely-carved features was something between benevolence and amusement. She marvelled that he could assume his old air of presumption after that rather crestfallen look of a day ago. Or was he just a very good actor? Her pulse accelerated further as he approached her; the arrogance in his bearing was tempered by something almost respectful, as he reached out and stroked her damp hair. Her arousal she felt only dimly through the pain from her distended bladder.

Eric contemplated his put-upon houseguest a moment. 'Irresistible' was the word that occurred to him, though that he kept to himself. Raven-black hair draping her slim shoulders rather stickily right now. A sheen of moisture glossing ever inch of her pale skin on that hottest of summer weekends. He watched a trickle of sweat make its path between her breasts' pert mounds, descending over the lightly-padded trim of her stomach towards the pink, vibrator-crammed revelation of her split thighs. Her exotically-tinged features were upturned to him, alert, expectant and curiously demanding. How new she was to this role and how fiercely she was sublimating the fire of her nature to explore it.

I'll let you control my body,

her eyes were telling him,

but you'll never have my mind.

Well he'd see about that.

'You

have

been a patient girl. I'm impressed.' His voice was soft and only mildly taunting, she thought. He tossed aside the bag he had been carrying and his firm hand touched her face gently. She gasped as his fingers traced a sweat-slick path down her neck, her body responding to him in spite of her need to relieve herself. His hand cupped the moistened curve of her left breast and he fondled her rhythmically till she groaned. Slowly his fingers glided to a point over her sweat-moistened surface and pinched hard at her engorged nipple. Her shudder was visible, she knew. She felt she could hardly hold herself in any further. Then he was behind her, kneading again, his other hand flat on her sternum and plunging gradually, till it firmly applied pressure to her lower stomach. 'Miss me?' his voice growled softly, as she winced and clenched.