Dinner for Two

She waited for him anxiously, wearing only a sheer gown and heels as he slowly made his way up the rocky steps to the manor. She wanted to tear off her gown and run out to him, but she willed herself to wait, her heart thumping in her chest as she did so. There was a knock at the door. She flew to it like a sparrow and flung it open wide, unable to contain herself.

"Master!" she cried, pushing herself into his embrace, propelled by utter desire.

"Anastasia!" he cried, seizing her in his arms and kissing her with animalistic passion. She melted in his embrace, imagining him tearing her clothing away. After a moment of kissing, her imagination became reality; the thin cloth was torn to shreds under his powerful hands. As the dress fell away, he saw she was wearing nipple clamps, his favorite pair.

Without saying another word, he threw her over his shoulder, and carried her away into their upstairs bedroom.

***

After they made love, he laid next to her and they chatted for some time. They realized they were both ravenously hungry, and headed downstairs, ordering their chef to prepare a splendid repast. Just for two; they wished to dine alone together in the great hall.

"Of course," promised the chef.

***

She laid back on the table, her arms bound underneath her by a red ribbon. Her ankles were bound too, of course, and connected to her wrists. She loved being bound; needed it utterly. Only a thin red ribbon concealed her, stretched across her breasts and down her torso, wrapping under her pelvis. The rest of her was bare, the way she belonged.

She smiled, beaming at him with pure love. She was on

his

table, a part of

his

meal, a feast for

his

eyes. She had only to open her mouth expectantly to receive a morsel of meat from his fork. She chewed for a moment, and then spoke, paying no mind to the odd angle at which her body lay.

"So, how was your trip?" she asked.

He answered, a short reply that told her only that nothing went wrong. He continued eating.

"Did you worry about me?" she asked again, hoping to find his gaze.

"I worried a great deal about your behavior," he teased, returning the gaze she so desperately sought. He stretched out his hand over her, pulling her closer and squeezing her breast possessively.

"You don't think your slave girl did anything naughty while you were away?" she asked. "Maybe you'd better punish her, just to be safe."

"Naughty? Like what?" he questioned, tearing off a hunk of steak.

She opened her mouth again, and received a slice of a ripe orange. "Mmmm, maybe you should punish her very severely, in case it was really bad," she suggested, her eyes glittering with angelic innocence.

"Well, if she masturbated without permission, then I'd have to."

She blushed, caught off guard by his accusation. "I, um. You might have to punish me, then," she conceded.

There was a long silence while she waited for him to speak. He took a sip of wine, eyeing her the entire time, and then offered her another piece of meat. She accepted. Finally, he broke the silence. "I bought something for you while I was in Miraj," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh really, what is it?" Her eyes sparkled excitedly. Despite his deadpan expression, she already knew that it was a torture device, that it was very painful, and that she would enjoy it very much. It was already making her wet.

"We'll use it tonight," he declared, confirming her suspicions.

She shifted onto her back now, looking at him upside down. "Is it painful? Should I be scared?"

He smirked at her. "Oh, it's extremely painful," he answered with dead certainty.

Her hair stood on end. It always did when he talked that way to her. It took her a moment to compose herself; she was growing wet.

She spoke again. "Wasn't very smart of me to get all tied up before I knew what was going to happen, hmm?"

Instead of answering, he reached for her slave collar and dragged her closer to him. She bit her lip and gazed up at him, basking in his dominant aura. And then he kissed her. His kiss was long and wet, and built up in intensity as the passion roused between them. He pulled away breathlessly, and met her eyes once more.

She smiled. Now he slit her bonds with a sharp knife. She thought she was to be freed, perhaps even allowed to stand at his side for a moment. It was not so. He yanked her collar abruptly, pulling her off the dinner table. She crawled desperately after him as he dragged her away, down to the dungeon. Her heart was racing, and her pussy juice left a little trail behind her as she dripped on the floor. She would later be punished for this.

The dungeon was pitch black, and the stone floor was damp and cold as ice. Master finally slowed down here, giving her a chance to catch her breath. He lit a candle, and then a torch, and the room was bathed in flickering orange light.

"Master, I-guh!"

He jerked her collar again before she could finish speaking, and dragged her deeper into the dungeon. No-one would ever hear her screaming down here, or moaning for that matter. She imagined she'd likely do a bit of both.

Eventually he took her, digging one hand under her collar and the other into her pussy. He threw her against a St Andrew's cross and reached for the metal clasps that would restrain her.

"You said this would be painful," she recalled. "I feel like I should resist or something."

"Fine. Resist," he ordered impatiently.

She lurched forwards sharply, trying to dart between the side of the cross and the powerful man hulking over her. It was, of course, useless. His open hand slammed her bare shoulder back into the cold metal effortlessly. Then he lifted her arms into place. Her wrists were locked down, next her ankles, and finally her eyes were locked with his.

He smirked at her. "Well, so much for your escape attempt. Do you have any other plans I should know about?" he asked in a low voice.

She felt herself trembling, and a little wetness running down between her legs. "No, I don't," she answered sweetly. She wiggled her hips to the extent that her binds allowed her to do so. "Just a naked slave girl trusting in her master's sense of mercy," she sang, giddy with mingled fear and desire.

He chuckled. His eyes reflected all of the beauty that he saw in her as he reached out and lifted her chin. "What a beautiful creature I am about to ravish," he declared. "You can't stop even one part of what I'm about to do to you."

She gazed at him submissively, every inch the lamb to his lion. Her heart was pounding in her chest while her pussy throbbed between her legs. Presently, his fingers wrapped around her slender neck, forcing her chin up. She could neither look up and down or side to side, so she gazed at him and gave a thin smile. She wanted to tell him everything, how eager she was, and how his words made her heart flutter. How she wanted to be ravished, and how wonderful it made her feel to be called beautiful with such casual honesty. But all she could do was smile at him nervously, trembling as her god held her in his powerful fist.

He turned away and released her, walking off to gather the toys that he would use on his toy. When she found her voice all that came out was ecstatic drivel, the verbal equivalent of her wet and swollen pussy.

"Oh master, you're so strong. I could never resist you even if I wanted to. I'm only your toy," she declared, wondering if he could still hear her from the other room. She went on. "You can break me, if you want. I know you'll put the pieces of me back together if you do. Or do you want to brand me? Oh master, you really should! The old brand has almost healed, since you were gone so long. I missed you so much!"

He returned abruptly, carrying an armload of toys. She stopped her babble abruptly, and blushed.

"Oh please, go on. That was very entertaining."

She looked at him and smiled bashfully. His eyes were on her breasts, now, and she could feel it. Soft and pale and round, with two perky pink nipples. Seeing him devour her visually filled her with unspeakable pride. But she had to obey.

"Master, I worship you. I belong at your feet. I would kiss your shoes, if you let me. If I got in your way, I wouldn't mind if you rudely kicked me out of the way. I depend on you utterly. You could shatter me with just your words if you wanted. But I wouldn't want it any other way."

"I know," he answered calmly.

Her eyes darted downward and she saw-or thought she saw-a vibrator in his hand. She shook her hips and pushed her pelvis forward a little, in case he needed help finding her pussy. But he did not use it.

"What are you going to do to me master? The anticipation is killing meee," she whined, her face a delicious question mark. She rattled her binds to drive home her desperation.

He grinned. "You make it sound like waiting is the worst part of the torture."

"As opposed to actually getting tortured. That's the best part!" she joked.

He laughed. "You might think so now, but later..." He let the expression on his face finish his sentence. Anastasia felt a chill of the most exhilarating fear. She wet herself ever so slightly.

"I worship you, master," she repeated, in a more solemn tone. "You've really planned this, haven't you? The whole time you were away, right?"

"Of course."

"If I... Master, if I'm not brave enough, and I say that word..."

"Our safeword?"

She bit her lip. "Yes." Her voice was crisp and clear. "Please, just this once, ignore it. I don't want to ruin what you have in store for me."

"Are you absolutely certain? You can't relinquish that kind of consent."

She felt afraid, but resolve mounted in her breast. "Yes, master. I meant what I said, earlier. About being your toy, I mean. I'm utterly yours."

He looked at her. "And you-" He lifted her chin, and put his face inches from hers. "You are absolutely, unconditionally, above all others, my favorite toy."

Hearing this made her knees wobble. How had he done this? He had sent her to heaven, without even using the vibrator! No wonder she belonged to him.

He pulled away, jammed the toy into her. The pleasure would buzz in a minute, and he would edge her for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, pulling it away whenever necessary. He would never grant her an orgasm so soon, completely unearned. No. The purpose of the toy was to render her sexually broken, sweating and dripping with denial. But amidst these thoughts, she realized she had a half a moment to utter a single sentence, before the vibrations rendered her insensate.

She looked him squarely in the eyes. "It's an honor to be your toy."

He nodded, and plunged her world into unbearable pleasure.

His. Toy.

The simplest way to describe what happened next is to say that Anastasia melted all over the vibrator. He had intended to hold it against her for some time to build up her desperation, but this wasn't necessary. She thrust her hips against it greedily, trying to cum, but her desire was relentlessly denied. She made no attempt to restrain herself, even though she knew the consequences of having an orgasm without permission. It was no use, however. He was too skilled of a torturer to permit even the tiniest orgasm. She, of course, begged and pleaded pathetically. Having been increasingly aroused throughout dinner, she felt nothing beside the blind desire for sexual release. She could imagine no punishment worse than the denial which she now faced.

Finally the vibrator was turned off and pulled away. Anastasia was now a trembling, drooling mess as desired, not even remotely capable of standing. He unfastened her ankles, and she hung from her wrist restraints, wondering if she were about to be freed. But instead, he lifted her legs and forced them against her, securing her ankles alongside her wrists. Her buttocks and the soft undersides of her thighs were now exposed, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized that she was about to be beaten.

She shivered, and her pussy quietly spasmed as she waited there. She felt a need to justify his actions, to remind him of how she deserved this treatment. "Master, I-I really did-"

"Did what?" His voice was calm and casual as he readied the whip. It was a cat-o'-nine-tails with little knots at the end of each strand. Very painful, she knew.

She swallowed. "I touched myself without permission, master. I deserve this."

"Of course you do."

"Yes mast-AAAHH!"

The first blow hurt much more than she had expected. Her shrieks continued as she endured the second and third blows directly across her pale buttocks. She allowed herself to scream; if her master wanted silence, he would have gagged her.

She panted for breath as the blows briefly stopped. Her buttocks burned hotly, but she offered him a painful smile, hoping he would smile in return. He did not. The lashes resumed, increasing in intensity. He allowed the strands to play across the edges of her vulva, eliciting a series of hisses and gurgles from his slave as she endured the excruciating pain.

The blows stopped, and she began to fancy a second time that her beating was finished. He looked her in the eyes and pointed the flail between her legs. Her eyes widened in horror; she pleaded with him silently. He shook his head, no. No mercy. The black strands dangled in the air for a moment, were yanked back only to streak towards her quivering wet pussy. She screamed. He delivered a second blow, and a third. Her screams turned to wails, and she writhed in her binds, trying to escape. By the time the fifth blow landed, her face was beet red and she wept bitterly.

Now she felt the caress of his hand on her cheek, and looked up.

"Hey," he uttered. "Whose toy are you?"

"Y-yours."

"What do you say when your master is done playing with you?"

"Thank you?"

"You sound uncertain. Do I need to remind you?"

"Thank you! Thank you master!" she shouted hysterically, desperately hoping to avoid another lashing of her sensitive parts.

"That's what I thought," he intoned. He kissed the undersides of each of her thighs, and then her vulva, which yet stung from lingering pain.

"Is... is my torture going to hurt even more than this?" she asked timidly.

"Yes," he answered, now caressing her thighs lovingly. He looked her in the eye. "But don't worry, you'll be bound and gagged the entire time. You won't have a chance to escape."

She nodded. He was right to deny her that. Not because she would have tried to do so, but because such thoughts should never fill the head of a toy. No. A toy existed to please her master, and should suffer helplessly. He was right to gag her, too. A toy should never trouble her master with unladylike noises.

Presently he clutched her buttocks in his hands and spat on her pussy. He rubbed his saliva into her spasming lips and followed up with his tongue. She whined a little, and thrust her pelvis towards him involuntarily. He held her down firmly, first teasing the surface of her lips with his tongue and then plunging in. He flicked his tongue upward between her labia, and then switched to a zig zag motion. She tried vainly to hold still for him, but the pleasure was too much. She briefly wondered if she would be allowed to orgasm, but he abruptly stepped back, and she knew it was over.

"Thank you, master," she panted, trying to muster some semblance of intelligence in her eyes. "I'm ready now", came her timid announcement. Behind her tears and eyes hazed with pleasure, she hoped that he would find a little bravery in the devoted little being who adored him beyond all words.

He had been about to step away to pursue some other task in the course of her torture, but her words made him turn to face her. He leaned against her, his chest pressing against her soft and bare buttocks. She felt his caress on her cheek as he brushed her tears away, but it was the look in his eyes that sent chills ripping across her body and made her pussy burn with desire.

"Brave little toy," was all he said.

An irrepressible smile stretched across her face, confirming that she was ready to be reduced to a shivering, sobbing wreck if he desired. There was no pretense that things were any other than they were: he was a powerful man, equally capable of acting on his impulses and restraining them, while she was an intelligent and beautiful woman who offered herself unconditionally to the man she found worthy. The intensity of her suffering would reveal the extent of her devotion. In fact, she knew that to be put in her place was a wonderful privilege.

She watched as he laid a kiss on her exposed stomach. It dawned on her that he was worshiping her in his own way. She felt unworthy, but who was she to reject the praise of her master? It was only because she thought so highly of him that his praise was so valuable. She leaned forward, offering her lips. Her heart fluttered in her chest as his lips united with hers, her wish granted. The inevitable pain that loomed over her no longer mattered-it was outshone by their love. He was like the sun to her. His unapologetic masculinity declared itself in his every word and touch, even down the way he casually informed her of her impending torture. With a lot of love and a little fear, she decided. That was the correct way to experience her master.

He pulled away presently, and saw his little slave beaming at him, her gentle green eyes shining with love. He saw a little smile on her lips, and kissed her again. Two of his fingers plunged into her pussy, sweetening her kiss with a little pleasure. She gasped softly as she received him, and returned his kiss, her restrained body amplifying her passion. If only his kisses would last forever! And yet, her heart fluttered with impatience, and she regarded her imminent torture with perverse anticipation. She questioned how could something so dreadful be so intensely desired? But her feelings were true. She would gladly be tortured for the sake of his pleasure.

He pulled away a second time, and she hung there limply in her binds. "I'm ready," she whispered again, surprised by the eagerness apparent in her voice.

"So am I," he answered. He took his time, gathering things. The excitement tingled up and down her spine as she hung there, her buttocks held out for him prominently. He began to spank her, alternating sharp slaps on each buttock. This part of her ordeal was unplanned, but her derriere was so unquestionably exposed-how could he not take advantage of her? She wiggled her hips for him, watching excitedly as he brought his open palm down on her bare buttocks. She enjoyed being spanked, but it was hardly a punishment.

Then it stopped, and she recognized the moment as the calm before the storm. She felt a gnawing fear in her gut, and her exposed status took on a new meaning. She was a piece of meat waiting to be rendered, restrained and subjected to torture. Her heart raced, and she could neither look at him nor look away.

A leash was attached to her collar first, and then her limbs were freed. She knelt down before him and then went on all fours, crawling as she ought. Her master guided her across the dungeon floor, to a contraption draped in cloth. She beheld the oblong bulges nervously, and glanced up at her god, who would soon inflict-! She dare not supply the fearful word which completed the sentence. No, that word belonged to her master.

He flung the cloth away.

"It is called slavebreaker," he intoned.

She hung her head in reverence. So this was it, then. She was to be broken, either mentally or physically, or both. Her leash and even her collar were removed, and her heart skipped a beat. Her collar almost never left her, but when it did, she felt incredibly naked. She made her limbs pliable in his hands as he lifted her and made her lie down. She felt the rough surface of metal and wood against her bare chest, and allowed him to secure her ankles and wrists and neck in the metal clasps. She gave no resistance; to do so would have been sacreligious. He had purchased this device, likely at great expense, purely for her experience. He would never tell her what its cost had been, because she lived in a world without money.