Ivy is laying on her bed with her arms tied above her head and her feet tied to the bottom bedposts. Her blouse is torn and laying open exposing her beautiful breasts held within a white lace bra. Her black skirt is a disheveled ball around her waist. Her nylons are torn and pulled open, baring the tops of her legs and her abused sex where I have just finished fucking her, a thin trickle of white semen can be seen dripping from her red, swollen slit.
Above the gag over her mouth her eyes stare at me in disbelief. Not so much over the act that I have just finished performing, but at the news I have just laid on her.
"Yea, you thought this was all over. That I was just gonna put on my clothes and go trotting on out of here all happy and carefree now that I've fucked you once."
I chuckle as I sip at my glass of ice water. I stand above her, naked, my cock shimmering with the drying juices from having fucked her delicate pussy.
"Well, I'm here to tell you that that just is not happening."
I take a step forward and set the glass on the night stand. Then I reach out and gently stroke her black hair, moving a few strands away from her face. I lean down and stare deep into her eyes, seeing the mixture of shame and fear inside of them.
"See, I've been blessed with two things," I tell her. "A lack of a conscience and a ravenous sex drive, one that would make any man, even a young one, jealous. So I ain;t leaving until I've had my fill."
I stand back up then and tower over her.
"Now, I'm willing to bet that you gotta go pee right about now. And depending on how much you had to drink with dinner, it could be a pretty powerful urge too."
I see in her expression her own realization at the correctness of my statement.
"Problem is, I don't think it's safe to untie you and let you use the toilet." I shrug. "So, the only thing I can say is either hold it or piss your bed, right where you lay."
She looks at me with a surprised and shocked glare in her eyes.
"And I can tell you now, no matter how hard you try, you aren't gonna hold it long enough. You will end up peeing your bed. So you might as well get it over with and avoid the pain of trying to hold it."
I turn away and reach for my pants that are laying on the floor by the armchair. After I pull them on I stroll into the bathroom to relieve myself. While I stand before her toilet pissing I glance around the facilities. It's a master bath, a door leads into it right from the bedroom, but it is not very big or luxurious. The single sink, toilet and tub are all plain. A set of plastic, see-through sliding doors serve as the shower curtain. There are a few decorations around the room but not many.
She watches me as I stroll back past the bed on my way to the chair but I ignore her. I reach into my bag and pull out a magazine. Sitting down in the chair I flip open the magazine and start reading an article that is earmarked.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Ivy squirming on the bed. She is trying to find a semi-comfortable position while concentrating on holding her own pee. The restraints hold her limbs secure and she ends up in an awkward half-on-the-side position, her face turned away from me. I can just see the start of a gently curving mound as one of her ass cheeks peek out at me.
Over the next thirty minutes or so I read the magazine while watching her through the corner of my eye. She squirms around every few minutes, struggling to find a more comfortable position while fighting the urge to relax and pee. Occasionally I can hear a muffled sob from beneath the gag but she is quite good at keeping her crying hidden and quiet.
I leave her alone during this, letting her mind work over the details of what has happened and what is going to happen. She is a strong willed woman, her inner fire had burned in her eyes even after the initial rape, but she can be broken . . . She will be broken.
They all are broken eventually. Some quicker than others, some slower. But I have yet to fail at any. It is actually kind of surprising how easily some of them have broken. You watch them in their lives and you think that they are strong and resilient, that it would take a massive blow to even shake the foundation of their resilience. But then you get them alone, you bring them to this point, and you find that all the outer walls were nothing more than a mirage.
Then there's the others. The ones who seem so meek and fragile, so easily flustered and brought to tears. But you throw them into an extreme situation like this and suddenly you find that their inner strength is what myths are created from.
Of course you always find the ones who are exactly as they appear too. The ones who seem weak and helpless and end up breaking within the first seconds of the initiation. And the ones like Ivy here. The ones who not only appear strong as mountains, heavily fortified against the ways of the world and the damage that it can cause, but truly are.
But no mind, she will break. She will fold and crumble, her iron clad walls of inner fortitude evaporating just like everyone else's.
Yes, she will crumble.
I decide it's been long enough. The sight of her disarrayed clothing and struggling body are working their magic inside of me. I set the magazine on the floor and stand up. She doesn't notice, her back is mostly toward me, her eyes facing the opposite wall, her mind too occupied to notice any of the sounds I make as I step toward the bed.
For a minute I simply stand over her, looking down and admiring the view she presents. Her black hair is a tussled mess now, having been thrown and tossed about with her actions. A few strands lay across the visible profile of her face along with the evidence of several dried tears. Her eyes are closed so she has no idea that I am there.
Her white blouse, the thing that had been so well ironed and postured through her day, is now a wrinkled mess, the loose flap of it laying behind her on the bed so that her torso is bare, except the lace bra still cupping her breasts. The side angle I have shows me the one on her right, its luscious mound pushing outward inside the lace material, the top curve delicately displayed. Above her head her arms are stretched, held by the rope and bent in an awkward attempt at comfort, the long sleeves of her blouse being stretched and held near her wrist by the buttoned cuffs.
At and just below her waist the black skirt is a rumpled mass of material, folds and creases everywhere. A half moon orb of her one ass cheek is visible, the soft, delicate flesh held tone by firm muscles. From beneath the skirt her legs shoot down, the nylons around them now rumpled and ripped, their tops pulled most of the way off her waist and hips. One high heel has remained intact, its straps holding firm to the ankle next to the rope holding it.
I sigh quietly and reach down to brush at her cheek, stirring the loose strands of hair laying across it. She jumps from my sudden touch, her body jerking and her eyes flying open as she turns a little to look up at me. A soft, startled yelp is heard from beneath the gag. Instantly the smell of urine invades the air. In her eyes I see a mixture of disgust, relief and sadness. I grin down at her knowingly.
"You pee'ed the bed, Ivy. You're a dirty little girl." I tell her in a soft voice. "I don't know why you fought it for so long. As I told you, it was inevitable."
This seems to rekindle some of the fire inside of her and she jerks herself onto her back, rolling and jerking at her restraints once more. I can tell she is cussing at me behind the gag, her muted sounds flaring with the anger she is feeling.
I simply remain where I am and continue to stroke at her cheek even as she jerks and tries to pull her face away from my touch. Her bodily actions cause the blouse to stir and flutter, her bra encased breasts to roll and bounce, jiggle under the exaggerated movements she is making. Her legs twist and roll too, the nylons being yanked even further down her thighs by the actions.
I allow her a few moments of all this before I decide it is time to stop her. I am growing concerned about her wrists and ankles. Her violent actions are causing the ropes to cut at the flesh in these places. With a sudden growl of exasperation I throw myself onto the bed, draping my one leg across her lower torso. The hand stroking her cheek slips back and I fill it with a fistful of her hair, yanking it up and back so that I have control of her head. My other hand slaps down onto her upper chest with a flat palm, the cup between thumb and forefinger just centimeters below her throat.
"Settle down, bitch," I growl. "Settle down before I'm forced to hurt you bad. You're only rubbing your wrists raw, scraping your ankles sore and you aren't causing me any strife. So stop hurting yourself, you bitch."
Now her eyes are filled with renewed fright, they stare up at me in shocked torment. But her body is still as she freezes in place. I watch as her nostrils flare from her heaving breaths and wait for a moment as they settle down, her heart slowing, her breathing becoming less violent.
"That's better," I whisper after another moment. "Now, I said I'm here for a while and I meant it. That means the time while I'm here as well as after I leave can go one of two ways. Which way, is entirely up to you. You can spend the time tied up like this, pissing the bed and then laying in it, sleeping in your own urine after I leave . . ."
I pause here, allowing her brain a few seconds to absorb the mental image of what I have just said.
