The Bonding Ch 02

The Bonding

Anya

By ten that morning Michael, my master, was $200,000 richer, and I had a spot of blood on my favorite shoes. I'm not allowed shoes often, and comfortable shoes are a special treat.

Still things had gone amazingly well. The criminals we'd robbed, though apparently very important men, had only brought one bodyguard each, which made this the easiest job we'd done in some time.

Michael was so pleased that he took me to a park on the way home. He even bought me ice cream. I'd only had ice cream once before, but it was as delicious as I remembered.

He held my hand as we walked, which drew a few second looks because of the age difference, but no one called insults at us, or told us we had to leave. It seemed strange after living through slavery and segregation. Of course, I am still a slave, but no one that day knew it. It was... nice.

Suddenly he pulled me to a stop near a tennis court where four teenage girls were playing. However, my master wasn't watching the girls, he was watching an old man in thick glasses sitting on a bench with a newspaper. The man was watching the girls, and occasionally rubbing his crotch behind his paper.

"Go to him," he told me. "Sit next to him, don't speak. Put your hand inside his pants and stroke him til he cums. Lick it from your hand, and thank him politely. Then come back to me."

I have been a slave to a sexual sadist for over 200 years. I should have grown immune to humiliation. I have not. The bond I share with Michael ensures that I never will. Every humiliation, every pain is as sharp as the very first. I am the eternal innocent, the eternal virgin.

My hands were shaking when I sat on the bench. My heart was racing, and I could feel my face flush. I was trying very hard not to cry. The man stared at me as I scooted close to him. When I reached for his crotch he jumped, then quickly held the paper to block what I was doing as I unzipped his pants.

I could feel Michael watching me, enjoying my shame. He knew how much I hated these random sexual acts with strangers. This is not what my life should have been.

"I don't have any money, kid, if that's what you want," the old man said, his voice full of his need.

I shrugged and slid my shaking hand into his pants. His cock was smallish, very hard and oozing pre-cum. I fought down a wave of nausea and felt Michael smile inside my mind. This was only mild amusement for him, but if I went to my knees, took the old man in my mouth, right here in front of these young girls... that would bring his passion to flame.

The thought brought on another wave of nausea and deeper shame. To even think such a thing! But I knew what pleased my master, and pleasing him was life. Luckily his instructions had been specific, or I may have acted on my wicked thoughts. It will be shame, I have often thought, that kills me in the end.

The old man never moved or tried to touch me, but he lasted much longer than I would have thought, given the circumstances. He grunted softly as he shot his load into my hand.

I licked the thick mess from my palm and fingers and said, "Thank you very much, sir."

"Oh god," he moaned. "Look kid, come back tomorrow. You can blow me in my car. I'll give you 50 bucks."

I shrugged and stood up. He grabbed my arm.

"How old are you, kid?" he asked.

"Sorry, I'm no kid." I freed my arm, and walked away.

Michael

I'm not sure why I had Anya jerk off the old man on the park bench. Maybe because she had seemed so happy and innocent moments before. Also, I find beauty in contrasts. Light and shadow, hope and despair. A young girl with an old man.

I have to admit I enjoyed watching her happy face crumble into shame. The fact that after all this time, I can still catch her off guard is just amazing. Her suffering is always so exquisite. It's the most precious thing in the world to me.

I really do love her. As much as a man like me can love. When I found her I was a very bad man, quickly on my way to becoming a monster. I was 39 years old, which was far from young in those days, and a mercenary. I had killed more men than I could remember. I had tortured. But I had never raped. Until her.

I had witnessed plenty of rape, had allowed it from my soldiers. But I had hopes of being a gentleman. I daydreamed of weeping women, but I held myself in check. It was my last claim to being a civilized man.

And then I saw her. I pulled her from her palanquin thinking to strip her of any jewels and leave her for the men. Instead I threw away all humanity and ravaged her like a beast.

It wasn't just her beauty that captured me, though she was the most lovely creature I'd ever seen. It was the way her fear played across her features, enhancing every lovely line of her face. The way pain lit her eyes, and shame made her whole body tremble. It was as if she had been made just for me.

And the bond made all of that forever. More, it let me FEEL her suffer.

I haven't hurt another woman since, or tortured another man. I have killed, though only the worst of men. I have Anya to hurt now. Now and forever.

"What did the old man say to you?" I asked as we drove from the park.

"He asked me to come back tomorrow, sir," she answered, blushing prettily. "He... said he'd give me 50 dollars to blow him in his car."

I laughed. "Something to think about. Anyway I need you to begin packing my things. I've been in California too long. Our new I.D.'s can be ready in a day or so, and the house in Tennessee is all finished. I'm ready for a new life. I think I'll make you my wife this time."

"Wife?!"

"Why not?" I laughed at her shock. "I've bought up a few small factories in the area. I'll be a big fish in a very small pond. A much too young trophy wife is just perfect."

Anya

Wife. I was Michael's wife, at least in this time and place. We had never done anything like this in all our time together. At first, I had needed no cover. I was his slave. Later, I was a servant, occasionally a ward, often a nameless whore. I was seen by his friends for an hour or a day, as long as a week perhaps, and then I was secreted away again, to be enjoyed when he was alone.

I didn't know how to live a life in the open as a free person. To be seen, known by others as a WIFE. It sounded like a fairy tale. I now had a real closet filled with pretty new clothes, a cell phone, even a car! Of course all these things belonged to Michael, not me. But there were so many new things to experience.

I had been a killer and a con artist for centuries, cars and cell phones I knew. But I'd never been inside a supermarket, never been to a hairdresser. I hadn't had a casual conversation with another woman in over a hundred years. I found myself exhilarated by all the possibilities.

The movers were still unloading Michael's things when the only close neighbors paid their customary visit. This was a very rural area, and theirs was the only other house within a mile.

They were in their sixties, but still healthy and attractive as people that age can be in this century. The man, Bobby, was retired; his wife Grace still worked as a school teacher. They both seemed surprised when Michael introduced me as his wife. Grace was openly disapproving, her husband quite the opposite. In fact he stared at me with such obvious hunger that his wife had him heading out the door before I could even offer iced tea.

Michael said something quietly to Bobby as he left, something his wife couldn't hear, something that brought a wolfish grin to his face. Then they were gone and Michael was pulling me into the kitchen, out of the way of the movers.

He pointed to the floor, and I knelt on the marble tiles, wearing my new pretty yellow dress, and locked my arms behind my back. Michael took his enormous cock from his trousers and fed it down my throat. As I serviced him, he told me his plans for our new life.

"I'm going to let that old man fuck you, you know. In fact, I'm going to hand you around to every dirty old man in this county."

His cock was hard as steel now, and far enough down my throat that I couldn't breath. I choked on it, my throat convulsing around the impossible thickness of it, then I slowly pulled back to take a breath. My tongue danced over him and I sucked lovingly on that monstrous head before taking him into my throat again. He held my head down this time, forcing himself fully into me as I choked and fought to breath.

"You're going to be the biggest slut in this town, Anya. Everywhere you go, you'll run into old men who have cum on your face, played with your tits, spanked your naughty little ass. Their wives will suspect what you are and spit on you in the street. Strangers will hear about you, and pull you into allies in broad daylight so that you can suck their cocks behind dumpsters."

He pulled his cock back to allow me to breath. I gulped in precious air, as I sobbed in horror at the picture Michael was painting in my mind.

"No matter how many pretty dresses I let you wear, you will always be a slave, Anya. You are property, and everyone in this town is going to know that. You will let anyone touch you anywhere, in any manner they choose. You will display your body to anyone who asks to see it. You will perform any sexual act asked of you by anyone."

He began thrusting his cock in and out of my throat, fucking my face harder and faster as my horror at his words overwhelmed me. He had shared me with others in the past, many times, but not like this. Not publicly. Not so freely to any and everyone who might want me. I was supposed to be a protector, a fighter, not a common whore. Why call me his wife and then have me do these things?

"You will keep your eyes lowered to everyone, unless told otherwise. You do not speak unless directed. Everyone you meet is better than you, remember that. You will be obedient and respectful, always."

His thrusts were getting more and more violent as the horror of my future fed his passion. The violence of his assault terrified me as it always did. He was very, very much larger than I. Rationally, I knew the that the bond would not allow him to kill me outright. But in these moments my rational mind was gone. There was the violence and the terror, his passion and joy at my fear, and the pure life his joy gave me.

My sex was dripping with his passion, burning hot, swollen and ready for him. My body craved him despite the horror and fear and pain. He pushed me away finally and sprayed his seed on the tiles. I licked it up, moaning at the pleasure of his release, though my body still ached for its own.

I looked up at him as he caught his breath and put away his softening tool.

"Michael, please." I stopped. Tears burned my blushing cheeks.

"Please, what, Anya?" He smiled down at me.

I swallowed hard. "Please touch me, Michael. Or... or let me touch myself? Please... I haven't cum in so long."

It had been nearly a year since he'd allowed it. I woke him every morning by sucking his cock, and every morning he came before even rising from his bed. And whenever Michael became aroused, my body readied itself for him instantly. No matter how much I hated the things he did to me, or had me do, as long as he was aroused, my body remained wet and throbbing.. He took his pleasure from me in every imaginable way, but he was a master at denying me any pleasure of my own.

I hated begging him for this. It was worse than degrading.

He continued to smile a me for a moment. "I think not," he answered finally.

It was pointless, as I had known it would be. He never gave permission. Rarely, he would command me to cum while hurting me, or even more rarely while fucking me, but never if I asked. I bowed my head and sobbed.

"Still, don't lose hope. You're going to be doing a lot of fucking in the near future. I'm sure if you're especially nice, one of the old men in town will let you play with your pussy for him. Maybe he'll even go down on you. Wouldn't that be nice? You have my permission to cum anytime some old fart is playing with you. Okay? Isn't that sweet of me?"

"Yes, Michael. Thank you," I whispered.

But I knew unless he was present and enjoying himself, there would be nothing for me from anyone else. It was impossible for me to become aroused without my master's passion to feed me. I wasn't capable of hating Michael, but I hated the bond that linked me to him with every fiber of my being.

"Now how about making some lunch for the nice movers? But put on that new bikini before serving it to them. I have a meeting to attend. I'll be gone most of the afternoon. After lunch, go for a two mile run. Wear the bikini top and a tennis skirt. I've cut the hot water to the bathroom under the stairway, so you can shower there when you're done. Then start unpacking."

"Yes, Michael."

Michael

By the time I returned from my meeting in town, my new home was in some semblance of order. The movers had done most of the work, of course, but Anya was hard at work on my office. When you've been a criminal for over two centuries, you learn not to trust the movers with your personal stuff.

She went to her knees as soon as I entered the room, of course, and bowed her head.

I ignored her for a moment. I left the door opened as I moved around the room, checking that my computer was set up properly, my books placed on the shelves the way I liked. It looked like she was down to the last box of books, and then there was the box that held my s&m paraphernalia.

I'm not one to make use of a lot of toys. Punishment play is a bit silly with Anya. She is incapable of deliberate disobedience. Any inadvertent disobedience, such as ignoring an order to save my life or failure to perform some impossible task, is punished more severely by the magic of the bond than by anything I could possibly do to her.

I do keep a willow switch on my nightstand, and as I said I enjoy costumes. But I reserved the ropes and chains, clamps and whips and paddles for public display. Many people enjoy such things, and that's fine. Myself, I prefer watching her strain to comply with an incredibly difficult command, and savoring the pain of the bond if she fails. Or I can simply elicit the magic by giving conflicting commands or demanding something impossible, like that she fly to the moon.

During the first week of my possession of her, when I was still trying to understand the bond, I ordered her to kneel in a certain spot. Then I commanded her to try to move from that spot while making it plain I desired for her to remain there and not move at all.

I watched her scream for nearly 20 minutes before I rescinded the order to try to move. I've never let the magic punish her for that long again. I think it very nearly killed her. It was incredibly erotic, don't get me wrong, but I found the limits of my sadism that day. I still give her over to the pain quite often, but never for more than a few moments at a time.

I much prefer humiliation to pain, anyway. And Anya is so very easy to humiliate. She was raised from birth by eunuchs, and though they somehow seemed to have taught her a great deal about pleasing men, they managed to keep her naivety completely intact. Something of a minor miracle compared to the bond itself, but still impressive.

"You may stand." She stood but kept her eyes lowered.

Bowing her head to me and kneeling to greet me when I came home, were not things I'd ever ordered her to do, by the way. I play a lot of little games with her, but her slavery isn't one of them. I own her, body and soul, and she knows that even better than I do. She has shown me proper respect from the very beginning.

In fact I've had to order her to temper her demonstrations of submission at times. With the abolition of slavery, I had her begin calling me sir rather than master. Later I even had her refer to me by name, though she's never been one to abuse that privilege.

I sat a my desk and booted up the computer. "Did you settle your things in the downstairs bathroom?"

"For the most part, yes sir. The wardrobe is in the basement laundry room, of course, as it wouldn't fit in the bathroom. The movers placed your new clothes for me in one of your bedroom closets, but I can move them to the basement if you'd prefer."

"No need. In fact, move the contents of the wardrobe to the bedroom closet as well. I'm not hiding you away this time, so I may as well have everything close to hand. But that can wait."

I turned the web cam to face her and began recording. There are hundreds of websites for older men to ogle teenage girls, and I'd found a couple that I thought would appreciate my little Anya.

I smiled. "I thought I'd post a film on the internet to let the men in town know what a prize you are"

I turned to the camera.

"Hi, my name is Michael, and this is my lovely bride, Anya. I married Anya shortly after brutally raping her. Now she's completely submissive to me. Aren't you, baby?"

"Y..yes sir." Her shame shot through our bond like fireworks.

"Anya, tell the nice gentlemen watching how old you were when I raped you." As I spoke I began rifling through my box of paraphernalia.

"I was 18, sir." Her voice was a mortified whisper.

"You'll have to speak up, sweetheart."

"Eighteen, sir," she squeaked.

"Were you a virgin when I raped you?"

"Yes sir."

"How long ago did I rape you, sweetheart?"

She hesitated before coming up with the right answer.

"About a month ago, sir."

It had been nearly a month since we'd played at rape. It's one of my favorite games. I command her to fight me as if she were a normal girl. She's not a wind up doll, and perfectly able to fill in the blanks to give me what I want in our little games. Fighting back during these games doesn't seem to trigger the full pain of the magic, I guess because it's clearly what I want, but it does make her somewhat nauseated for hours afterward.

"How many times have you sucked my cock since I raped you, baby?" I asked stepping up to her holding what I had pulled from my box.

"I... I'm not sure." She began to tremble. She truly hated my toys for some reason.

"That's okay, sweetie, take a guess." I leaned down and took her left nipple in my mouth, biting it roughly.

She cried out, and her trembling grew more pronounced.

"I... I guess about 50 times," she sputtered as I chewed her flesh.

I straightened up and quickly snapped a vicious alligator clamp to her deliciously long nipple.

She gave a delightful scream and her eyes filled with tears.

"That sounds about right. And how many times have you licked my cum from the floor?"

"M..maybe 20 times?"

"Now tell the nice gentlemen what you asked for after the last time you licked my cum off the floor." I took her right nipple between my fingers and began to pull and twist it.

She was sobbing in earnest now, but she had no choice but to speak. "I asked you to... to let me cum, sir."

"And did I allow it, baby?" I snapped a second clamp on her right nipple. She gave another beautiful scream for her future audience.

"No, sir."

"In the month since I raped you, how many times have I allowed you to cum?"

"None, sir."

"How many times in the last month have I pissed in your face, sweetie?"

"Um... five times, I think."

"And the last time you had my piss burning your eyes and dripping from your chin, what did you ask?"

"I asked you if I could touch myself, sir."

"And did I give you permission?"

"No, sir."

I moved to zoom the camera in on her beautiful bare cunt. Even standing with her legs together you could seen the glistening wetness. I moved the angle back to show all of her. Didn't want the old geezers missing the look of desperate shame on her face.

"Would you like it if I let you touch yourself now, sweetie?"