Anya
A week after Michael recorded his little film, I awoke on the floor of his bedroom ready to start another day of small town life. I rose to my knees and climbed onto his bed, slipping silently under his covers to take his beautiful cock in my mouth. He had wanted to sleep in this morning, so my bladder was achingly full by the time he came awake.
Each night, before crawling into his king-sized bed, Michael would point to the floor. A terse "Stay!" was enough to hold me there until time to wake him in the morning. No command would have held me there against an intruder in his home, nor against the least threat of harm to him. A previous order, even one as old as "wake me every morning with your mouth on my cock", was enough to allow me to rise from the floor.
However the compulsion to obey was stronger than any physical need of my own. For this reason, I typically drank very little in the evenings. The days Michael asked to sleep in were always uncomfortable. I would have to see to all of his needs before being allowed to withdraw downstairs to see to mine.
The first was his need to cum. He sensed my discomfort immediately, of course, and I could feel the slow smile spread across his face. The head of his member was in my mouth, stretching my jaws wide; my hands were busy stroking his long thick shaft. Despite all the times Michael had used his cock to hurt me, as much as I remained terrified of it, there was no denying its perfect beauty.
"Slow down, baby," Michael purred. "No need to rush. Don't worry about making me cum, just enjoy my cock for awhile."
I moaned loudly over his cock then let him slide from my lips. I traced my fingers over the thick, ropy veins, savoring the velvety feel of his skin. I played with his large balls, rolling them gently in my small hands. I traced my tongue beneath his foreskin and probed and sucked at his urethra.
It was times like these, lost in the pure sensation of Michael, that I could forget for a time that I was a slave. I was free to explore his beauty and power without the violence that was so much a part of him. I don't know how long he let me play, long enough for the pressure in my bladder to gain urgency, perhaps half an hour.
Finally he reached down and pulled my hands from his cock. "Enough, baby," he said. "Climb up here. Fuck me."
I crawled up his body, knees to either side of his powerful hips. I lifted his cock, squatting on my toes in order to get enough height to position him at my swollen, wet sex. Slowly I began to work myself down over his substantial pole. Intercourse with Michael is always a challenge, but when he lets me control the pace, there is actually very little pain. Unless you count the panicked cries from my distended bladder.
When I was fully impaled, my cervix shoved far up into my abdomen by his steel rod, he ran one hand lightly over my lower belly and smiled.
"Now show me how much you love to fuck me."
I did just that, rocking back and forth on that amazing cock, running my hands over his powerful chest and arms. I flicked my tongue over his nipples, sucking lightly on each one, before I sat up and began to really ride him. My tightly stretched cunt squeezed and sucked at his cock as I lifted my body up and brought it down over and over. He began to thrust up into me, meeting me stroke for stroke.
This was the Michael that was the balance to his brutality. Though he never truly suppressed his cruelty with me, this was closer to the Michael that the other women in his life got to experience: powerful and a little dangerous, but a good man, and a generous lover. He caressed my breasts, gently pinching my nipples, running his hands over my arms and back. He pulled me down into a long kiss, before letting me raise up to fuck him faster, harder.
It wasn't long before I was riding the edge of orgasm. The rare indulgence of my own desires was overpowering me far too quickly. Michael realized this, of course.
"Enough! Stop," he ordered. I froze instantly. "Finish me with your mouth."
Not bothering to protest or beg, I slid off him and knelt on the big bed. I took him deep into my mouth, sucking hard, stroking him with one hand, cupping his large scrotum with the other. My body, so very, very close to getting what it craved, screamed in frustration as Michael shot his hot cum directly down my throat.
Inside my mind I could feel his exploding pleasure as he groaned and held my face with both hands. The intensity of it took my breath, even as my body shook from being denied its own explosion. More than my pain, more than my degradation, Michael reveled in the contrast his own breathless ecstasy made against my quivering, whimpering frustration. Denying me release was, for Michael, like bathing in pure, bright joy. I fed on his joy, like a vampire feeds on blood.
Breathing deeply, he finally pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. I scrambled to the floor and darted ahead of him into the master bath, to kneel beside his toilet. He followed behind, but shook his head as I moved to lift the lid.
"No, baby, in the tub," he said.
I shuddered, tears springing into my eyes for the first time that day. Michael smiled broadly. "That's my girl," he purred as I knelt in his enormous bathtub. He stepped up to the tub, and I took his softened cock in my hands, aiming it at my upturned face. Michael never handled his own penis while urinating unless we were apart.
I sobbed with shame and revulsion as the hot stream hit me directly between the eyes. The bond ensured that it was just exactly as humiliating and disgusting as it was the first time he'd done this to me over 200 years ago. This was my payment to him for the pleasure he'd allowed me a few moments before. I was very careful to keep the stream aimed directly at my face.
When he was done, I licked him clean. He stepped back to smile down at me, my face and hair dripping with his piss.
"Stay there on your knees until you're completely dry. Do not piss in my tub. When you're dry you can go downstairs. I'm going back to sleep for a bit."
"Michael, please!" I called desperately as he turned away. "I won't last that long, please!"
"I know," he grinned at me. " I expect your screams will be waking me up in a couple of hours. Do try to let me sleep as long as possible."
With that he turned off the lights, and shut me in the dark. My knees were already feeling the bite of kneeling in the ceramic tub, and the stink of urine burned my nose. I fought against a rising panic. I was under a direct command not to do something my body would eventually do no matter what I wanted. My long thick hair would take hours to dry. I felt as if my bladder would give way at any moment. When it did, the pain would come. The otherworldly pain was brought on by the bonding any time I failed my master. Every instant of that pain was an eternity in Hell. It was like nothing I could begin to describe. I squeezed my thighs together and savored the spasming pain in my belly. Every second of cramping pressure was another second I remained free of the pain of the magic. I bowed my head in the stinking darkness and cried.
Michael
I was dreaming of a young man named George Melton. In my dream it was 1812, and George and I were visiting the slave quarters on his father's Alabama cotton plantation. George was explaining the superior quality of "negro leather" for making boots while buggering the father of a young girl I was raping. Finishing with the girl's father, George approached with a large hunting knife, offering to demonstrate his technique on the girl under me. Blood sprayed and the girl began to scream.
I awoke, panting and sweating, desperately trying to wipe the dream blood from my face. My heart was pounding, and bile rose in my throat, even as I realized it had just been a dream. That had never happened.
Her name had been Sarah, the girl in my dream. She had been sweet and kind, and a more than willing partner in our lovemaking. George had skinned her alive because I had refused his advances. She had been his sixth victim. Anya and I had heard the screams too late to save my sweet Sarah. Fitting, I suppose, that I of all men, should have my dreams haunted by the screams of a beautiful girl.
