Cold Mountain.

[vierge]

In the mountains of Colorado, there wasn't much except for the small towns spread out throughout the different lands of the state. One in particular was the sleepy quaint Cadeston, a small town, moreso village, which was all on it's own at the base of a large mountain, on which a couple people lived, spread out on a winding road. One of them was the daughter of a man and woman, Mr. and Mrs. Jolsten, who had long since passed away. Josephine or 'Jo' continued to live in the spacious Victorian house, even after the peaceful deaths of her loving parents. They had raised her well, being that she had been homeschooled and kept mostly to her family. She was quite beautiful, and it was rumored that her Father kept her away from the town because he was afraid of the impurity in his only offspring that might come of it.

Jo had glossy chestnut ringlets, highlited with gold from skiing on the mountain and sunbathing during the warmer climates. Her face was perfect in conception, a pouty pucker with large green eyes and a darling button nose, set in a heart-shaped countenance that could only be described as angelic. She had perfectly aligned pearly whites and a few freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her skin was flawless and silky to the touch, as Harry Wilkins, one of the delivery boys had once rubbed against her arm by accident in the passing of groceries. And even though she had all the looks of a model, she was quite humble and sweet, possibly due to her lack of social interaction with the town. She was never dressed provacatively, mostly in jeans and baggy tee shirts, but they could not hide the fact that she had a lovely bosom and a peach bottom.

Still after being alone, Jo rarely came down to Cadeston. It seemed as though she liked being closed off from the world, and it was no wonder, as that was all she had known her whole mysterious life. Everything that she needed was delivered by the town's grocer, Jimmy's Market. Food, liquids, hygien products, and a weekly newspaper were all placed in a few paper bags and brought up to her house nestled in the woods on the side of the mountain. Although the trek up to her place was quite a drive and sometimes very difficult, it was never too much trouble to help out the girl, who was very generous with the fortune left behind by her parents.

There was talk in the newspapers about a rapist, James “Thrasher” Blacketter, who had escaped from the prison of a neighboring town, Colsann. As the town was only 60 miles away, Cadeston was on alert. The man was quite brawny but not very distinguished as far as marks or scars, and he was actually quite handsome. It was the trick that did his victims in, who he had supposedly all chosen at random. They were not all pretty girls, but the common factor was their youth and ‘purity’. He was never the same about the sex he had with them either, except that it was extremely rough and each girl described his cock as an inhuman length. He drew on their innocence to bring them into his evil world of twisted religion, which he called upon to justify his actions. Thrasher said it was his duty to show a virgin the truth of the world. He was described as charming and in his 40’s with an athletic build, and black hair, very warm brown eyes, but all of this could not pin anyone to his identity. Lots of men looked like this, were of the same height and width, and walked around with the same country charm. How could they pick him from so many?

It was a while after this convict’s escape that the main delivery boy suffered a ski incident, in which he lost the use of his legs, and had to be replaced. It just so happened that a man visiting named Ian McBride, cousin to Henry McBride, who had passed on due to illness, had come to Cadeston to finish out his life in the town. His cousin was of an old family he had lived with for a year of his life during his teens. As he had broad shoulders and what looked to be a strong back, he was hired at Jimmy’s and soon given the order to deliver to Josephine, as Mr. Stewart, the owner, was not capable of making the long journey on a certain snowy occasion. It could possibly have been a blizzard, but the phones were down and no one could get in touch with Ms. Jolsten to warn her or prepare her for the event.


OOC: I need someone to fill the role of Ian ( James ), and then the thread will be closed for the two of us. Warning: This thread is meant to contain D/s as well as force themes.

 

[patrick1]

ian

He bumps along the road on a motorcycle with one of the smallest, noisiest engines in the world. Blue panniers strapped to the back carry everything she's ordered. Just when he's sure he's going to make it up the hill, a patch of ice under the freshly-fallen snow makes the wheel spin and he's flat on his back.

When he's gathered his wits and got the machine upright again, he sees the front wheel's twisted. He can start the engine all right, but the wheel's too buckled to ride straight. How far is it still to the girl's place? He looks up through the trees, but sees only more trees, and everywhere, all around, the glorious white white purity of the snow. How he loves it.

He gets off the bike, unzips his jeans, pulls out his cock with difficulty, and urinates. He watches the funnel drill itself down into the snow, the yellow spiral boring down into the white, defiling it. He zips up and just stands there, staring, for more than a couple minutes. Then he picks up the bike, and begins to push.

*

It's more than an hour before, quite suddenly, just when he's thinking of taking another rest, he rounds a corner and the house comes into view. Bigger than he expected, a second floor looming above the first. Or maybe the looking's just the effect of the snow on the eaves. And is that a face at the window? Or just an illusion of the cold?

He pushes his bike all the way up and leans it against the porch. He pauses to listen. No sound from the house. Just a bird twittering in the pines. He takes the three paper bags from the panniers of the bike, and steps up on to the porch. Kicks the snow off his black boots. Wishes he could just sprawl out in the rocking chair, no matter how cold it is, and take a nap.

'Ma'am? Ma'am?'

The screen door is shut. The inner door opens a fraction. 'Yes?'

Her voice is a thin reed. He tries to tone down his voice, summoning up the English English he can still put on once in a while. 'New delivery man. Ian's the name. Didn't they tell you?'

She doesn't reply. Doesn't open the door. He puts down the bags. 'Pardon me, I need to rest a while, I've been pushing that bike for over an hour.'

He takes a deep breath, and sits down in the rocking chair. His breath freezes on the air. It takes her several minutes to emerge. She's wearing jeans, just a tee-shirt. She bends to pick up the bags. He almost gasps at her thin form. She turns. Her face is stunningly beautiful. She gazes at him, expressionless. After a moment he takes this for a request, and gets up to hold the door open for her, and she takes the bags inside. A glimpse of something strangely old-fashioned within. A stand in the hall. Beyond, a room with antimacassars over the furniture.

The door bangs shut. He turns, and leans over the balustrade to stare at the pure white snow.

The door creaks and he senses her behind him. If he looks at her again he's lost. 'You ever hear of Han-Shan?' he asks. He gives her ten seconds. She is remarkably still. He goes on: 'Chinese man. Wrote a poem called Cold Mountain, about where he lived. Called himself a ragged hermit. Is that you? The ragged hermit of Cold Mountain?'

Don't look at her, don't look at her.

He turns, and looks, and smiles. 'Ma'am, I'm sorry to impose upon you, but I wonder if you could spare a hot drink before I set off back down?'

She opens her mouth, her rosebud mouth, but no words emerge. She turns, and holds the doors open, half behind her. He assumes that's as much of an invitation as he's going to get, and follows her in.

 

[vierge]

Jo wasn't sure what was going on, the oncoming look of the wind and sky breathed danger, and it was in this moment that shetried to use the phones again. There was no avail. Sighing, she went to the living room and sat there, waiting for something, as it was always like this during storms. She could not venture out into the snow, too afraid of storms and the impestuous torment that her father and mother had died in.

The power had long since turned off, and she remained glowing in candleligt. Looking out the window from where she sat, she saw the faint look of lights across the woods and went to the window. Someone was coming, and she realized that it was the day of her groceries. Thank god, she thought to herself. She would have something to do after all. Getting up, she went to the window for a moment, but left just as quickly as she had gone, crossing the room to the foyer and waiting, watching him walk up through the peephole.

He was a rather broad shouldered fellow and strange. It wasn't Henry. It wasn't Jimmy. Who was this person? Swallowing, she had been warned plenty of times by her Father and Mother, but this was Cadeston. She needed the groceries, especially the newspaper , which had been forgotten in the past week. It was no big deal, but it kept her busy to read, especially what was happening out in the world she was too afraid to be apart of.

Looking him over, she opened the door, remained quiet, took the groceries in, and then listening to his plea, she stared back into her dark house with patches of candle and moonlight here and there. She looked around and then headed back inside, holding the door open for him. She shut it after he came in, rbinging the sack of groceries to the kitchen and lighting more candles that she had taken down form the upper cabinets.

He was a most handsome gentleman from scond glance, and he was tlal, rather dark good look. He was charming, too, polite and well-mannered. She made the tea in silence, never respondign to his questions or clearing of his throat. Shereally didn't notice if it was awkward or not, such was her way around new people. She was neither talkative or forthcoming about herself.

Raising her hand, she brought her loose curls up off of her neck and then let them drop around her shoulders as she placed a hand on her hip and started to make dinner as best she could on the gas stove.

 

[patrick1]

ian

He finishes the last dregs of his tea. He can't take his eyes off her. Each new pose she assumes, in her innocence, is a delight. Her hand at her neck, shaking out her curls. The way she bends to taste the food. Her hand at her hip.

'I'd better be going then. Thanks for the tea.'

Before she can realise what he's going to do, he lifts her hair and kisses the nape of her neck, very lightly.

'You're an angel, I'm a devil.'

He pads across to the inner door in his stocking feet. Out in the hallway, he sees she's turned at the stove to stare at him. Shocked. He pulls on his left boot, slowly. And then his right. She turns down the gas, and moves towards him. Falters. Stops. He begins to tie the lace of his left boot.

'Ragged hermit,' he says. 'This house is full of fear. It needs to be exorcised of that fear. I could do that for you.'

She moves, to his surprise, a little closer, so she's at the door to the hallway, her right hand against the frame. Her eyes glint.

He laces up his right boot. 'In return,' he says, 'you would help me exorcise my own demons. My own demons terrify me. But I see,' he looks up at her, 'I see you could help me.'

He sighs; stands. 'Well, you can contact me through the store if you...and thanks for the tea.' He offers his hand to shake. He smiles. He wonders if she's going to cry.

 

[vierge]

The snow had begun to beat down upon the house, and the creaking from the wind was particularly frightening, but she had dealt withit plentyof times before. Still, she remained at the frame of the door, letting her wide eyes of deep green carry over him as he talked. She furrowed her slender brows, trying to figure out who he was, thinking that she must have known him from somewhere. Her pretty face softened as she noted his turning to look at her, something afoot in his eye that she could not quite understand. Running her fingers through her sweet luscious tendrils, she brought them away from her face and turned to look out the window at the grounds quicy covering with snow.

"Do you live in the town?" She finally ventured as he was about to open the door, which opening just a creak, let in a flurry of snow, soaking the foyer. "I don't think you should go back to town. All the phoens and electric are down. It is...deadly out there."

She spoke slow adn exact, her voice fit her perfectly, soft and slightly weak, just like her petite little form. Jo moved about the kitchen, preparing a small meal for herself and,now, for the man, who might have wanted the dinner. Her hadn lifted to rest on her hip as she leaned on her right leg, her round bottom in the denim jeans sticking out unknowingly while she leaned on the countertop.

 

[patrick1]

ian

He can hear his breathing. It seems to him to fill the room. He struggles to speak, to remember to moderate his voice. 'Who can break from the snares of the world, And sit with me among the white clouds?'

She's looking at him so softly. 'Your Chinese poet?' she asks.

He nods. 'Cold Mountain. It's like a dream to me, coming here.'

She stirs the dinner. He has to touch her. He has to. He gets up, and goes to her left side, and puts his arm round her shoulders. And although she looks up at him, startled, she doesn't pull away. 'You see,' he says, 'your fear, the fear in the house, I don't know if you've ever heard of this, it's like when people have a phobia,' he has to resist the urge to smell her hair, 'sometimes the best thing is to beset them with their terrors.'

He squeezes her shoulder. He reluctantly lets go. He knows what he's going to do. 'Maybe I could show you what I mean, over dinner. Would you like me to do that?'

She looks sidelong at him. Her mouth opens and closes. It's almost a yes. She turns away.

'I'll need some things,' he says, 'you have a cellar?'

'Why, yes, through the scullery, but -'

But he's already gone, on his stocking feet, his demons trailing in his wake, dancing over the girl as they pass.

 

[vierge]

She was upset at first, having never been touched like so, and watching him was like feeding off of the adrenalien as it bubbled in mere fright of the situation. Jo stood by the stove cleaning up after her cooking mess, which wasn't very much, as she was a very organized and humble chef. She had made wild rice and lemon chicken, a tender dish that sat on her delicate plain white plates with steam rising as he emerged.

Jo sat her lovely figure down, crossing her legs and bringing her up into a bun, wrapping her own soft curls around it to hold it up as she gestured toward the empty chair. Lighting a few more candles atop the table, she heard a window break open somewhere upstairs, the banging against the wall frightening. Jumping up, she turned like she was going to say something, btu she figured that he already understood and left himself to figure it out if he didn't. She took the steps up quickly, eager to be rid of the loud noise as it slammed harshly against the window frame.

Upstairs was completely dark, but she had learned to deal with her fears, even if they were springing into action as she walkd hurriedly to the banging window, snow filling up the room as she raced forward to slam it shut, ending the array of sleet and snow inside of her house. She breathed hard, panting from all of the running and pressed her back against the wall, as she wiped her forehead, feeling quite distraught over the situation of having a stranger in her home all of a sudden. He gave off a very unnatural vibe, but he was all the more polite. The touches though...they were unwelcomed, as she had always been taught to get to know someone before anything....

She sighs in the pitch black room, her eyes adjusting.

 

[patrick1]

His shoeless feet are soft on the stairs but there's something in the shape of her, in the darkness, that tells him she's heard his approach. 'You didn't finish your dinner,' he says, placing it on the carpet. There's something else too: a bag of something, that he brought up from the cellar and didn't explain.

He knows and understands darkness. He glides to her. Perhaps he can fly, or hover over ground, demon that he is. 'It's time to begin to exoricse your fear. Face the wall.' She doesn't move. He takes hold of her hair and turns her and shouts: 'FACE THE FUCKING WALL!'

'Please...'

'That's good, that pleading tone. Wrists behind you. WRISTS BEHIND YOU!' There's rope, he has it ready in his bag. Her left wrist over her right, behind her, he ties them together tight, leaving rope trailing. 'Now I'm going to cut off your clothes with scissors. Do you want me to do that?'

'No, please...'

'That's good, that's good. Keep whining. Remember, we're trying to maximise your fear.' He cuts upwards from her right wrist, to her collar, then from her left wrist to her collar, methodically, as if he's done this before. She makes a move and he grabs her hair and bends her head painfully back. 'Stay still.' Is his soft voice even worse than his loud, now, as he cuts, snips the back of her bra, cuts down the back of each leg of her jeans, snips the sides of her panties, turns her round so her back's against the wall? 'You can piss yourself now if you want, that would be good evidence of fear.' She's shivering, as he cuts down the front of her t-shirt, her bra, panties, jeans.

Her clothing falls away.

She's naked in the darkness.

He's discarded the scissors. His left hand in her hair pulls her down. His right hand is stroking her quivering body: her back, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs. 'Now I want you to finish your dinner. I want you to do it in a special way.' She's on all fours now. The food is in front of her. He's found an old pet bowl in the cellar for it. 'I want you to lap it up like an animal. Because that's what you are, my animal. No hands. No paws. And while you do that, I'll just see how fear really affects you.' And she cries out, as his right hand is between her legs, from behind, and his fingers are thrusting into her vagina, and his left hand is pushing her head down. 'Eat, animal, eat. See how wet with fear you are. Eat...'

 

[vierge]

Seeing his form come in quickly, Josephine opened her mouth, but it was just at that moment he began to talk, and he bent low speaking of her dinner. She pressed her back against the wall, chilling at the sound of his vioce, which contained a tone that she wasn't fond of. It reminded her of a calm before a nasty storm.

AS he shouts, she jumps and her hands press at their tips against the wall, and Jo shakes her head bringign one to cover her mouth as he lurches forward to grab her up by the delicate ringlets and shove her against the wall. A yelp escapes and she whimpers, crying franticly as her hands are tied behind her back. Her parents had taught her to hide, not to fight, and now she was without the means to get away from him as he overpowered her gentle spirit roughly.

She almost asked him why he was doing this, but he cut her off with his question, or moreso statement and her pleads were spoken to no avail as he began his torment with scissors snipping away her only separation between embarrassment and total humuliation. Jo hadn't been naked in front of someone since she was younger, and now, her shirt was being cut away from her. She whimpered and moved her shoulders, in which he yanked her back once more. A cry with a sob pierced the air as he spoke to her gruffly. By his tone, she can tell that he could kill her and get away with it. The mere idea of this is more torment than being naked in front of him, and she remains motionless except for the quivering that she can not contain as one by one, he has gotten to every piece of clothing. He has turned them into scraps, that drop down with a wisk of his hand and she is left there to face him naked. Her large full breasts with round pink perked nipples exposed, likewish with her shaven mound and pussy ( she had a hting about hair ). All she had was her ass, which was protected by her back being towards the wall.

The fear has consumed her until the point where she almost wishes that she was dead instead of enduring this embarrassment. Then, he forcefully brought her to her knees while grabbing her ass and touching her. That was when she felt like she could throw up, but she could only gasp and cry out with every new intention her made for her.

His commands were outlandish, and as her face was pushed into the plate, tears streamed down her cheeks and chin, unable to do what he asked as she was in an incredibly tortured state. Suddenly, his hand pushes between her hot thighs and stuffs two fingers into her tightly clenched hole, a region that has never been touched in her whole life, by herself or another. The pain immense, she squeals and gasps, arching her slender muscular back and shaking more. The body has betrayed as cum leaks out over his hand as he rams his pointer and middle deep into the cunt, then reminsd her of what she is to do.

"If that dinner is still there by the time I feel your climax within your pussy, then I am going to give you something else to fear. Now eat, animal..."

Flushing hot with an anguish she had never known before, she began to bite the chicken with her teeth and suck it into her mouth, coughing as she fought back sobs and cries from the harsh rogering of her womanhood. Josephine was in peril, and all because she had brought a stranger into her home....

 

[patrick1]

'That's it, that's it.'

The woman - the animal - kneeling, bent, nude, arms bound behind her, eats from her animal bowl, and - and her cunt rocks, wet, against his penetrating fingers.

How perfect she is.

'Animal,' he says. He rocks with her, as she bites the food, and moves against his fingers, and tries to eat, and moves against his fingers, and he twists and twists her hair, and now his middle finger moves out of her to rub her clitoris while the two fingers either side push in, and out of her, in and out of her, 'That's right, Animal,' he says, 'Cum for me, cum for Master...'

 

[vierge]

Josephine is wild with immense bewilderment and terror, finishing her plate and hearing his command, she forces herself to like what he's doing. She already feels that her body would have if her mind wouldn't. Her pussy gushed her cum over his hand, fingers running through her tight canal brutally. She winces and gasps, breath getting caught up in her moans as the orgasm takes her powerfully. Even if she were to ignore everything, try to put it out of her mind, how could she avoid the feeling that she recieves when he rubs that certain sensitive area. Another gasp as she is relieved of all orgasm.

His fingers removed from her swollen pussy and another wave of relief sweeps over her. The pain subsides and she kneeled there for a moment, panting heavily, the sweat of this sick moment perspiring over her brow and chin, and along her back, legs, as well as cum.

The rope tugs back forcefully as it is looped around her neck by his stroke of force. She cries out but is stifled as her perfect had of glossy curls and stunning face is jerked to his hands for him to feel. His mouth on her neck, on her ear, licking and sucking, she can not escape it when she pulls away, and is brought back to him by a yank of the rope.

"Please....just leave me...I can not bear anymore. Please."

 

[patrick1]

He touches her tenderly on her face. 'I tell you when I'll leave you, animal. When you beg me to stay. That's when I'll leave you.' He undoes the rope around her neck, only to adjust it more carefully, going back to her wrists, pulling it up between her legs and her breasts, then twining it twice around her neck again, leaving a leash for him to pull. 'Follow me, animal. No walking, now. Stay on your knees.'

He strokes her. When there's a glint of her eyes in the darkness and he thinks she's going to defy him, he strokes her hair - or her back - or her throat - and, as now, she obeys. She follows him, on her knees, across carpet, across the hall, to the bathroom. He leads her in and turns her, so that she faces back to the door.

'Head to the ground. Wait there for me completely still. If I come back and find you've moved, I'll beat you with my belt.'

He returns in a few minutes with two candelabras of candles: one for the cistern at the back of the toilet, one for the side of the bath. She is still. Bowed. Beautiful.

'There, now, let's look at you. On your feet. Step into the bath.'

Her skin glows in the candlelight. She almost topples as she tries to stride over the bath's edge and he catches her; holds her. He feels her quivering. He helps her to stand. The bath has a shower-head at one end, and a grating handily overhead. He kisses her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth softly. He unties the rope from round her neck. 'You're a beautiful animal,' he says. He lets the rope play over her breasts. Then he unties the rope from her wrists. 'Hands in front of you, animal.' She was just rubbing her sore flesh. She shoots a glance at him; but obeys. He places her hands facing each other, winds the rope round her wrists once, twice, three times; secures it. He lifts up her wrists, and pulls the rope through the grating above her until she's stretched.

He ties off the rope taut at one of the faucets.

He takes off his shirt and she shivers. 'Don't worry, animal.' He begins to caress her body, from her shoulders downwards. 'I'm not going to fuck your cunt. Not until you beg me to. And you will. I'm going to fuck your mouth, though. Later tonight. But for now...'

He pulls off his jeans, underpants, socks. His erection is big. Big.

'For now I'm just going to wash you. And you're going to cum for me,' he says, running a little water into the bath, turning away from her, testing the temperature. Then he steps beside her, and switches the water to shower, fumbling for the soap in the dish below. 'I'm going to soap you, and wash you, and rinse you, and the water's going to go on until you cum for me again. And I'm being nice now. But as time goes on, if you delay, the water 'll get colder.'

And he holds her as he moves past her, so that she gets more of the water, as the shower, warm, hits her full. And his left hand begins to touch her cunt again, his fingers rubbing, penetrating...as his right begins to soap her, caress her, stroke her...

 

[vierge]

He speaks of her begging him, and she tells herself she won't, no she wont' ever beg, unless it was to get out of death, to remain alive, and then she would. She would do anything to live past these fearful moments of impending doom. His cock frightens her because of it's size and magnitude. His talk of oral only makes her want to cry, as she knew that she would incapable of giving it to him how he'd want it. She had never done it. He would be displeased, and then what?


"Ah..." she whimpers as she rubbed once more, touched once more, and fingered once more. Ravaged by his hand, continuously, she is helpless to defy him and is soon leaning against him, weak in the knees to stop it. Moaning as his fingers plunge into her soft flesh, squeezing tight around him. She can not help it.

The water poured over her hot body, running through her curls and soaking them to a dark chocolate hue. The tendrils stuck to her creamy flesh as rivulets of hot water poured over her nipples and stomach, over her mound and down his hand, which moved in and out between her wet thighs.

She was unable to cum, and even thinking about it, forcing herself was impossible, it only made her worry more. She was horribly afraid around this stranger, and becoming a shaking mess as she was washed like never before, all of her body being exploited in a soapy froth. Her naked breasts being massaged and squeezed, her little bottom being groped and slid over by the bar in his hand. It was too much, but she didn't dare try to get away. It was slippery , and the rope still bound her delicate hands tight, not allowing her to even think of running away from this madman.

 

[patrick1]

The touch of her. He dreamt she would become his slave and feels himself, through his hands, becoming hers.

She's so beautiful: he must have her forever.

How she leans into him, as the water swirls around them, how her cunt clenches around his fingers. Then he feels her reminding herself that this is wrong, wrong, and she tenses.

And still he touches her, he touches her.

He must step away, or he'll dissolve into her.

He steps out of the bath, reaching for a towel. 'I warned you.'

He watches her, swaying under the rope, soaking, a river of flesh, so pretty, so pretty.

He reaches above her, but the water's making the rope too slippery, he has to turn it off. It's still difficult, her body half against his, it's driving him to distraction, fuck, and the rope's so soaking, he breaks a nail, but finally it begins to unwind from around her wrists. 'Ah!' he hears her exhale in relief, little does she know, as her wrists are freed he keeps hold of her right wrist, and rewinds the rope around it, once, twice, three times, tying it tight.

He steps back. Blows out one of the candles on the toilet cistern and brings it over. He takes hold of her pubic hair in one hand. With the other he thrusts the candle into her vagina. Heck, and she's slippery, so why won't she cum for him? He takes her free, left hand, and places it against her cunt. 'I warned you. Now, you've got five minutes to put on a performance and cum for me. The water's going to be icy. If you don't, I'm going to thrash these cute little buttocks,' and he squeezes them till she yells, 'till they're raw and bleeding. Your choice.'

And he turns on the cold shower, and steps back to watch, and towel himself, and smiles as she begins to yell...

 

[vierge]

She can't, and Jo doesn't know why she just won't make herself. Her body just won't perform now, it is exhaustd already from the amount of sexual activity occurring in the past 20 minutes. The fear never subsides even as he unties the rope, only at a brevity does she believe that he as actually untying her forever. Then, the rope is looped around her wrist tight and she knows its coming as he talks, his actions spelling danger, and the candle, the curiosity of it is not led on for long as it is pushed into her pussy with a grunt and wicked from her predator. A cry rips through Jo and the hands ball into fists of panged intensity.

Again, and again, he thrusts in and out of her, leaving her to scream and writhe, the cold water only adding to the perilous journey between slight pleasure and instant followup of pain. She whimpers loudly and cries, the squeals ravaging her just as the candle does to her sore and innocent pussy. Tears swell, but she contains them, spreading her legs and making herself forget about the pain for the 10 minutes that she needs to bear it, the water becoming a chilly ravine, splashing over her naked body like a Canadian stream. Crying out harshly and hissing in a breath, she feels an excitement, the tension growing loose and relaxing the muscles of her cunt, the cum begins to drip and then flow out over the candle and his hand. She whispers in an almost inaudible whisper when the ordeal is over, "Thank God..."

Raising her head of wet curls and bright big green eyes, Jo swallows and wonders if he's pleased. Shaking uncontrollably, she remains to wait and see what is to befall her...

 

[patrick1]

'You've done so well.' He turns off the cold water. She's half-hanging from the rope but he leaves her there for now, shivering, while he dries her. He kisses her wet hair as he dries her body, rubbing, kissing her eyes, rubbing. 'Animal,' he says, 'lovely animal,' as he kisses, and dries her, kisses, and dries her.

He puts his clothes back on, but leaves her naked, as he unties the rope from the grating above her. She almost falls into his arms. 'Here, Animal. On to the bathroom floor, and kneel for me.' She moves; she kneels, her head bowed. 'Head up.' His hand under her chin. He moves her arms behind her, she moans, as if in complaint, but he takes no notice, as he unties the rope, only to tie it again, round both her wrists, winding it once, twice, three times, secures it there.

He leaves the rope trailing. Taking hold of her wet hair in one hand, and a candelabra of three candles in the other, he leads her out, just as the hall lights come on. 'That's good. Isn't it, Animal?' She crawls on her knees after him, still intermittently shuddering. He is going in and out of rooms, discarding the candles on a table in what looks like her parents' old room, finally finding her bedroom. 'Sit.' She waits, watching, while he hunts through her drawers. He comes to her with her hair-dryer, and a comb, and a brush.

He combs, and brushes, and dries her hair. He sings to her. 'Beautiful dreamer' he sings to her, and 'Love is a many splendored thing', old romantic songs. When she tries to speak once, he slaps her breasts in turn, hard. 'Ssssh,' he says.

Finally her hair is dry, and combed out, and brushed. 'Now,' he says, and suddenly he's rough again, twining her hair round his hand, leading her out into the hall. 'You're going to have to crawl backwards down the stairs.'

And she does: all thirteen of them: naked, his hand in her hair, on her knees, she nervously crawls backwards: 1 , 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.

There's no respite for her though, he's dragging her along again, hunting for something else. He takes her into the study. 'What we want is - ah yes, Daddy's chair.'

The chair her father used to sit in: an old revolving chair, walnut, with arms, a blue cushion fastened to the seat. He undoes his flies, lowers his trousers to his knees, and sits in Daddy's chair. He takes her hair in his hand again. His cock bulges. 'Lick,' he says. 'Lick, suck, and swallow every drop. If you bite, I'll pull out your teeth. If you don't swallow every drop, I'll beat you. Come on now.' He pulls her hair so that her face is close to him...

 

[vierge]

Leading her around, calling her an animal, it's all Jo can do but cry, being forced to act like a pet for someone she does not know or love. She whimpers while she pushes herself to do these things of his whims, finding them incredibly shameful. Bowing her head, she crawls along naked for the longest, her head lifted up and staring at him, breasts hang and ass pokes in the air. Her knees hurt from hitting the bare wood after a while, and when they come to a stop, she shakes from due cause, her legs almost giving way.

As he combs and sings, she is not assuaged completely, still believing him to be a dangerous madman who has hurt her plenty of times already, and there was no telling what he could do as she was helpless and out of control. She spent her life all alone up here, and the first one who comes in was a dominating rapist. She bowed her head and almost said something, but as she was slapped, she bit her lip and remained quiet, the sting on her breast unbearable to see and feel.

The now disgraced beauty trails behind him, and then comes to the study, a place she never really entered funny. It was just as degrading to come into a place full honor, on her knees, with a man undoing his pants like it was nothing. His erect dick popped into her vision, and he sat yanking her head to his crotch. She could smell him and as he was so close, she had to shut her eyes or see the monstrosity so close to her face. She had known nothing of sex or men, and she blushed hard, her nipples titillating even more than they had been, until the saucers were tight pink rounds.

He goes on to tell Jo the rules, giving her the guidelines that she must follow to suck his dick in her Father's chair. She wonders if he can see her in heaven, looking down on her and trying to protect her, she begged in her mind for this to stop, not wanting to take the pulsating, engorged cock into her mouth.

She hasn't opened her eyes yet, nor actually touched the cock, and he has been done speaking for a few seconds. He lets out a growl at the girl's hesitance, slapping her across the face so that she cries out and jerking her up, the dick his shoved in her wide open mouth.

He makes her head bob fast and hard, uncaring what she has had in the past, listening to her try and gag, he only forces it all the way down her throat and holds it there, saying, "Breath out your nose, cocksucker!"

Tears are welling and trickling down her cheeks, as she sucks and slurps on the cock like he asked her to. It was what she thought she needed to do, but her experience lacked in the area of teeth hitting against his cock every once in a while, a reason for him glare at her and say 1, then 2, when she did it again. She was up to 10, and that was when he pulled her breathlessly off, letting her cough before swinging her up and over his lap, so that her ass was bent high over his knees.

He smacked her ass hard with his bare hand. it panged and delivered stings of pain all over her ass, which bounced when he hit it again, and again, and again, until he had smacked her bottom 10 times in the same place. She was shoved bakc to her knees, with a hand on her large breasts and then squeezing it roughly, he twisted and glared at her once more. "Don't let your teeth touch it again, or I'll pull them out."

He parted his legs and she got up in between them, taking the cock in her mouth without being forced to. She knew what would happen and she didn't want anymore pain, she just wanted to do whatever he said, whenever he said, and however he wanted it. She swallowed the throbbing cock down, licked and sucked, doing her best to keep it exactly what he wanted. He pressed her head down in urgency, all the way into the back of her throat. She took it with whimpers of frustration, needing to breath, needing to cough, choking, but still she deep throated him, used for his pleasure. She could taste his precum. She pulled off wildly, coughing, the salty unknown taste having an odd affect on her. She looked at him and shook her head, "I swallowed it, I swear, I just didn't know what it would taste like, please I swear I swallowed it!"

 

[patrick1]

He's slow, careful, genial. 'It's OK, Animal.' Stroking her face. 'I wanted a reason to beat you, anyway. Here.'

How light she is, when he lifts her, shivering, on the edge of sobbing. He places her over his knee, and moves her bound wrists up to the small of her back. 'I am going,' he says, 'going to be doing this for perhaps thirty minutes. You don't have to come, but if you want to, you may.'

Perhaps he was going to do this anyway - his right hand circling and circling her right buttock, then her left - his left hand reaching under her to caress her breasts, the left, the right, the left...

'You may only,' he says, his soft palm still circling each buttock in turn, 'you may only make animal noises until you come again. Any human noise, and you're out in the snow. I'm going to spank you, until you come. Or - well, it will never stop, unless you come, or offend me so I have to put you out in the snow.'

Suddenly he's hitting her. Left buttock, right, left, right, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, oh!

Her arse is red. She only shrieked.

'You may be a pussy cat. Or a dog. Or any animal you choose.'

And then he's doing it again. Slapping, slapping, slapping, slapping...and his left hand moves to her cunt...