Converting Cassandra

"How many more weeks do you intend to keep me?"

Her voice was totally flat. I don't know what I had expected after our last little episode. Maybe some degree of warmth, of desire. Maybe anger, hatred, despising of me, her, or both. I was surprised -- yes, disappointed -- that there was nothing.

In a way, her words were positive. It showed her time sense had been totally distorted so she did not realize it had only been one week. She had also woken up on her own after less than four hour's sleep, so she was getting used to her new body cycle. Still, I did find the tone a little depressing. I just wanted to convert her, not break her spirit.

I had intended to start on some more serious breast torture with her. But it was obvious I needed to be tender with her, to let her know I really cared. Not just for her body, which was at my total mercy, but for her heart, her mind. And, yes, her spirit.

She must be made to understand that I wanted to win her submission, not rape her soul as well as her body. That was going to be very hard, because I couldn't tell her. I had to show her. And it seemed the place to start was tenderness.

I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. She did not move, positively or negatively. For a moment I looked up and down her naked body, admiring the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the pale, firm stomach, the full bush hiding her womanhood, the long, tapered legs, and the long, narrow feet. After feasting my eyes I kissed the corners of her mouth, faintly, then her left cheek, and trailed the tip of my tongue down to the hollow of her throat. I made love to her throat for several minutes, kissing up one side and trailing my tongue back down to that vulnerable depression, then repeating on the other side. At last I returned to her mouth.

After a few moments, she tentatively returned my kiss. Her mouth was closed, but she was willingly responding. I did not press. Instead I kissed around her mouth, the upper and lower lip, the cleft between mouth and chin, then fully on the mouth once more. Again a hesitation, and she opened her mouth perhaps an inch. I took that as an invitation, and softly inserted my tongue. The tips of our tongues touched lightly, almost shyly, moving in cautious exploration.

When it seemed she was willingly returning my kisses, I placed my middle finger very lightly above her clitoris and started rubbing. She shook her head vaguely, making a sound that was a cross between a no and a moan. But she did not withdraw her tongue.

Naturally, I did not withdraw my finger. I pressed her clit even harder.

She thrust her head back in anguish, which only served to press her mouth more firmly against mine. She moaned loudly, which I encouraged by thrusting two fingers deep into her cervix. She moaned again, this time as much a sigh, and sank back down into the bed.

Somewhat awkwardly, I reached under me with my left hand to stroke her breasts. My right hand continued its intrusion into her most private part. That tender and sensitive area was now engorged with blood. Lovingly, yet firmly, I attacked her on all fronts. Ten minutes went by, then twenty. I could only imagine the conflict between resistance and desire that raged within her mind. I experienced an equal number of doubts as to how this would end.

Again, she succumbed. Other than normal bodily functions, I had limited her world to sexual stimulation. She had not even been able to work off any energy with exercise. Her body had become a toy for me to play with -- possibly more in her mind than in mine. So I played with her, and she responded beautifully.

There was no longer any sign of resistance. I experimented with mild pain, pinching her nipples and her clitoris, scratching along her labia and beneath the swell of her breasts. She reacted with moans, lifting herself to meet those abuses to her body. Her kiss became aggressive, dueling against my tongue with hers, raking my tongue lightly with her teeth, sucking me into her mouth.

Extremely pleased with her, I thrust my fingers deeply into her pussy, curving them upwards to find her G spot. I must have eventually found it, because suddenly she went wild, bucking against my hand. Her orgasm was like the incoming tide, the first few waves rolling through her body in towering surges, gradually diminishing in intensity until she was finally calm and quiet. I kept my hands and mouth pressed against her until her body went limp beneath me.

Finally, grudgingly, I removed my hand from her soaking vulva. Then my left hand trailed across both of her breasts. With small, light kisses to her lips, I took my mouth away last. Perhaps I was wrong, but she seemed to follow my lips with hers.

Cassandra did not say a word as she lay exhausted on the bed, still glistening with her own perspiration. She had only been awake for an hour, but most of it had been spent reacting mentally and physically to my relentless sexual assault. She may have dozed of a few times over the next fifteen minutes, but of course she could not know if she had slept for eight hours. When she finally became fully awake, her attitude was much different.

"How long will you keep me with you?"

It was very hard to read her mood. The words were almost exactly the same as before, but the tone was completely different. Was it wishful? Or perhaps wistful! Did she long to leave, or was she perhaps actually beginning to want to stay?

I went and got a basin of warm water and a washcloth. I soaked the cloth, then rinsed it out well before wiping her body. I started at the face, which was cool with the dried sweat, especially under the blindfold. I wiped very carefully around the edges, barely lifting it to wipe the moisture without exposing anything. Then I dried it with a towel.

She did not say another word as I repeated the process with her neck, upper torso, mid section, and finally her hips. I went and refilled the basin with warm water and got clean linen before finishing the job.

She must have known what was coming as she listened to me wringing the cloth out. As I laid the warm, wet cloth on her pubic area, a tremor passed throughout her entire luscious figure. She was still coated with her own dried, sticky fluids. There was no reason for me to rush the process. I rinsed the cloth several times as I wiped her pubic area, the insides of her thighs, and reached down to the cleft of her ass to wipe away the residue of her orgasmic fluids. She actually lifted her hips to assist me perform the last ablution. Then came the final, perhaps unnecessary cleansing.

I rinsed the cloth thoroughly once more. I wrung it as dry as I could. Then I pressed it against her mons veneris and gently rubbed it within that captivating cleft.

The process took two minutes, probably twice what was needed. During that time she sighed, twitched and made several mewing sounds. But she never protested. I deliberately prolonged it, wondering if she would. When I finally, reluctantly finished, I needed to find some way to wipe a huge smile from my face.

Naturally, I did it with a kiss. Just a sweet, tender kiss, to which she responded in kind. I pulled away and looked at her entire body, her breasts rising and falling so achingly. Then I decided to press the issue, literally and figuratively. I pressed my mouth against hers forcefully, insisting on thrusting my tongue into her sweet mouth. She actually raised her head to accept my intrusion, returning my kiss with a fervor.

That was the moment when I knew it would all work out just perfectly.