Ivy is laying on her back atop the bed, her ass and hips raised up by the two pillows I have stuffed under her. Her black hair is tossed and messy, splayed everywhere about her head. Her face is covered by ruined makeup and tears in various states of drying, the gag over her mouth tied firmly in place. Her white blouse, now stained by sweat, lays rumpled and disheveled beneath her, the sleeves stretching up above her head on her bound arms, the nylon rope holding her wrists near the bed's headboard. The torn bra, straps still sliding up over her shoulders and around her back, display her rolling breasts topped by still swollen, hard, red nipples. Her black skirt is also a disheveled mess, twisted and wrapped around her waist, balled up and shoved out of the way. At her crotch her pussy is red, worn and weary from the two fuckings she has received. A mixture of juices drip from between the swollen lips. Her nylons are now barely holding on to her legs, their thin material torn and shredded well below the initial cut and tear and bunching up down around her knees. Miraculously her one high heel has managed to remain attached and in place, a single piece of her previously defined persona holding tightly on through this ordeal. Around her ankles more nylon rope is tied, stretching out to the bottom bedposts and holding her legs open and still.
She holds her eyes tightly shut as she lays there panting, a scowl visible around the gag.
After a minute I reach out and jerk the pillows from beneath her. I figure she probably needs to pee again and I don't want these stained with the scent of urine. Her body jerks and falls as I remove them, she struggles to keep her eyes closed even as her curiosity and shock cause them to want to open.
"Ivy?" I whisper.
Her eyelids fight with themselves, half of her wanting to open them, the other half refusing.
"Ivy? Would you like some water?" I ask.
Slowly her eyes then open, her pupils staring straight at me with a mixture of hope and anger.
"Are you thirsty?"
Barely perceptible her head nods a silent "Yes."
I step closer to the head of the bed so that I can stare straight down into her eyes. My one hand reaches out and brushes at a few strands of hair that are on her cheek. I see her fight against the urge to jerk her face away from my touch, to pull away from my fingers.
"I have some ice water here," I tell her, my eyes sliding to the nightstand for a second, then back. "If you are good I'll let you have some."
I pause then, allowing my words to sink in.
"It's not that I'm worried about anyone hearing you scream," I shrug with a slight smile. "After all, you know your house. You know how far away your neighbors are . . ."
Once more I pause so that she can think about this herself for a second.
"I just don't like it, that's all. I don't like it when a lady screams in my face," I explain. "So . . . If you promise not to scream, I will remove the gag and let you have some water. Okay?"
She is looking at me, her eyes now filled with sadness and only a tiny, tiny sparkle of the fire she had when she'd first arrived home earlier that evening. She is thinking about my words, realizing how right I am about her neighbors and the futility in screaming. She is weighing her desire for liquid with her need to upset me, trying to decide if she will scream or not. She is going to say she won't, she is going to promise not to . . . But she is not sure yet whether or not she actually will.
Slowly, very slowly, her head nods an answer.
I don't know what her decision is, but I have to give her the chance. If she does behave, the water will do her good, help her continue through my own fun in a healthier, more enjoyable fashion for myself. If she doesn't . . . Well, I can always enjoy the additional stress and mental torture I will give her.
I bend over and slip my hands behind her head where the gag is fastened. A simply tug and pull and the object is slipped from her face, pulled away. Ivy instinctively works her jaw a few times, opening and closing her mouth, sliding her tongue over her lips.
They are lovely lips too. They are soft and delicate. I feel a second's disappointment at not having been able to see them during the last couple of hours. I also regret that I will never be able to gently kiss them, to feel their delicate touch upon my own lips.
She doesn't scream, her need for refreshment stronger than her desire to torment me in anyway she can. I have a straw in my bag and I use this to allow her a couple of long sips from the ice water. I watch her lips wrap themselves around the thin implement, watch her suck at it, drawing the liquid up through the clear tool and into her mouth.
"Not too much," I warn, pulling the glass away after a couple of swallows. "Too much, too fast is not good for you."
I set the glass back on the nightstand then lift my own water to my lips and take a drink.
"Wh- Why?" Ivy ask, her voice shaky and slightly harsh.
I set my own glass down and smile at her, understanding.
"Because," I tell her, my fingers once more stroking her cheek. "Because I want to . . . Because I can . . . Because."
Standing there, staring down at her, watching her nostrils start to flare, seeing the fire rising up in her eyes, I know that she is about to make a mistake . . . One for her at least.
The hand that is caressing her cheek drops quickly and my fingers fill themselves with her hair. I jerk her head back, forcing her neck to bend and her chin to raise up. I bend down and put my face inches away from hers, my eyes glaring into her orbs.
"Don't fucking think about it, bitch," I growl. "Don't even."
She inhales sharply, the fire in her eyes wavers.