The Making of Monique Pt. 02byJericoKnight©
Monique had no intention of giving Darian the satisfaction of making her cum.
"Go to hell," she spit out.
The sharp slap to her ass was automatic, as was Darian's response, "Go to hell, Sir." He let the girl's ensuing growl of frustration go uncommented as he scooped her purse from the floor and began going through it.
The young woman started to complain about the invasion of her privacy when she realized he'd just had his fingers on her pussy and bit back the comment.
"Nice phone," he said, aiming it at her. "You can get pretty decent photo quality with the new ones." The phone clicked as he spoke. "Video's not bad, either. Smile for daddy."
"You're not my daddy," she spit out, eyes flaring.
Chuckling, Darian began thumbing through the phone's contact list. "No, I'm not," he said, "But I bet daddy's in here. Here we go. Oh, this is so cool. You can send video as a multimedia message. Does your daddy have a data plan? Because if he doesn't, he's going to have to pay a fortune to see his little slut in her new outfit."
Monique's eyes grew wide with alarm.
"Wait," she cried out. "Sir."
"That's better," Darian said, transferring her data to his own cell. "Gotta love Bluetooth." Walking back to the bound college student, he ran his hand along the smooth curve of her bare bottom. "Did you want to say something?"
"Please don't send that video to my father ... Sir," she choked out. Monique was gritting her teeth, holding back her rage and trying to sound as respectful and sweet as possible. "I don't want him to see me like this."
His finger tips trailed along the small of the girl's back, the nails tracing a design into her soft, smooth skin. "But you wanted me to see you, didn't you?" he asked.
"N-no," she stammered. "I didn't have a choice. You forced me."
"I forced you to take the outfit home and put it on?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing more of her body as he spoke. "I forced you to finger yourself as you lay there in bed dreaming about being a slave girl?"
"N...no," she whimpered, shivering as his fingers sent an electric jolt through her pussy. "You tricked me."
"I tricked you?" he murmured, stroking the furrow of her sex with one hand as he reached beneath her and toyed with her breasts with the other. "Am I tricking your nipples into getting hard or your pussy into getting wet? Are you really going to pretend you don't want this?"
Monique whimpered, her pussy growing hot and moving to meet the man's hand in spite of herself. Darian kept playing with the girl, teasing her pussy and nipples, letting her body's natural response to stimulation undermine her confidence.
"Here are the rules," he murmured against her ear. "You will always refer to me as sir and show the proper respect or you will be punished. When you earn it, I will give you a name, but until then, you're just my girl, do you understand?"
Monique nodded imperceptibly, still trying to wriggle her pussy against Darian's fingers. Pulling them away from her cunt, he slapped Monique's ass hard as he tweaked her right nipple.
"What did you say?" he demanded.
"Your girl understands, sir," she gasped out, sighing in relief as his fingers stroked her labia again.
"You will kneel and ask permission before entering or leaving my presence," he said. "You give me your complete and total obedience because I own your ass, understand?"
"Your girl understands, Sir," she gasped out, writhing in her bonds. The sensation of his fingers on her clit was driving the girl mad even as her calves began to burn from the effort to remain on tip toe. The ache in her shoulders was a dull burn even as tiny sparks of pleasure shot through her nipples. "You own this slut's body and she will obey you, Sir."
Monique arched her back, crying out in ecstasy as she came on her master's fingers. The girl's legs turned to rubber and she collapsed, the sudden pressure on her shoulders sending a searing jolt of pain through her shoulders before Darian caught her.
The photographer was actually gentle as he untied the girl and lowered her to the floor. At first, she curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. But then she remembered the rules and rolled onto her knees, tucking her feet up under her bottom.
Darian left her kneeling there, watching him through hooded eyes as he wiped his hand clean on a handkerchief.
"Is this really what you want, Sir?" she asked, her eyes dark with mixed emotions. "An unthinking slave?"
Chuckling, Darian ruffled the girl's hair.
"You can think," he said softly. "You may even speak. After all, if I own you, I own your thoughts. You should always tell me what you think and what you feel."
"This isn't fair, Sir," she said quietly. "You can't just force me to be your slave like this."
Darian looked up, blinking in surprise. "Of course I can," he said. "I just did."
"You tied me up and fingered me, Sir," she said. "You blackmailed me. I didn't do this willingly."
"You came," Darian said with a wry grin. "You got your slut juices all over my hand and you came like a little slut. I didn't climax. My fingers don't get erect. This was all for your pleasure."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No ...."
Suddenly, the man's hand was fisting the girl's hair, jerking her head back to look up into his eyes, but he met her gaze only briefly before his cool green gaze slipped down her half-naked torso and widely parted thighs.
"You're leaving a wet spot on my floor," he said. "Is that slutty little cunt of yours still hungry?"
Blushing to the roots of her hair, the girl stared at the floor, refusing to meet her captor's gaze, not wanting to answer him.
"Is it?" he demanded again, tugging her hair.
"No, sir," Monique growled. "I don't want this. That's just my body's natural response to ..." She fell silent, unwilling to finish the statement.
Darian smiled grimly as the young woman's voice trailed off. With a victorious smirk, he turned his back on the kneeling coed and went back to playing with her cell phone.
Her eyes followed him curiously as he gathered a shimmering handful of silver chains and set them on the table while thumbing key strokes into the phone.
"Sir," she asked, "Please don't send that video to my parents."
Darian grinned wickedly as he glanced up at her. "Don't worry, little one. I'm not. As long as you don't try to escape me, I'll keep your secret."
"It's not my secret," she growled.
Abandoning his work for the moment, Darian reached out to seize Monique's collar, dragging her across his lap. His hand felt surprisingly soft and smooth as he caressed her bare bottom.
"It's not my secret, Sir," he said wearily as he landed a sharp blow on her bottom. Without waiting for her answer, he rained a dozen more strokes, alternating from one buttock to the other, making sure to never strike the same place twice. "Understand?"
"Yes, Sir," Monique said, tears beginning to streak her face. She wasn't even sure why she was crying. The spanking hadn't actually hurt. The humiliation of being so easily taken and spanked as if she were a mere child bothered her more. The nagging hunger in her pussy was worse. She didn't want this to turn her on.
Her hands were still locked behind her back when Darian allowed Monique to stand again. With disdainful ease, he reached out and swept the leather g-string down her thighs, letting it fall to the ground.
"Yes," he said sarcastically. "I can see how that was impossible for you do to last night."
Monique bit back her response, but her eyes were smoldering as she watched him. She might have to obey, but she was still far from submitting, she thought. She just had to bide her time and find ways to resist. Still, as she watched him toying with the phone and chains she couldn't quash her curiosity.
"Sir," she sniffed. "What are you doing?"
Chuckling, he turned his chair to face her.
"Here, let me show you," he smirked. "You're really going to loathe this."
Sweeping the collection of slender chains into his hand, he leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around her ankle and motioning for her to lift her foot. Moments later, he was sliding the device upwards, the cool metal links caressing her legs as they rose to her waist. As he adjusted them, Monique realized the chains formed a kind of thong. A single, slightly heavier chain cinched firmly around her waist, just above her hips. Chains then ran from each hip to a small silver ball which rested just below her clit. Another chain ran from the ball, between her labia and wrapped under her and between her cheeks before attaching to the belly chain with the all too final sounding click of a lock snapping into place.
"Please tell me I'm not wearing a chastity belt, Sir," she murmured, trying hard to keep her voice soft. She was still hoping to reason with him.
"In a way," he shrugged. "A guy could just slide his cock inside you along side the chain. So it won't keep you completely pure. It would be uncomfortable, though. We'll call it a slut anti-theft device."
The girl growled with frustration but kept silent. Darian leaned back in the chair and held up her cell phone.
"You keep this with you all the time?" he asked.
"Most of the time, Sir," she admitted.
"Excellent," he said. "In the future, I want it with you all the time. When you get a text that simply says, 'home,' you will come here immediately, no matter what you are doing, understand?"
"Yes, Sir," she said. "But what if I ... your girl ... is taking a test or is in an important class?"
"Nothing is more important that serving your master," Darian said coldly. "You will obey." A genuinely warm smile softened his features. "And you must trust your master to see to your welfare by not doing anything that will harm your academic career."
"Yes, Sir," she said, breathing easier. At least Darian didn't seem to be planning to deliberately ruin her life. He seemed to be acknowledging she was a human being with responsibilities.
The thought died a moment later as Darian held up his hand and said, "Stay," as if he were speaking to a dog. Monique's eyes flared with anger, but she held her tongue as she watched Darian pace off 30 steps before placing the phone on the floor.
Returning to Monique's side, her took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Caught off guard, Monique fell into the kiss, even returning it as her body was crushed against his. Already aroused by the humiliation she'd undergone, her desire seemed to explode inside her as Darian simply claimed her. Breathless, she let her body respond to the strength and confidence of his embrace.
As the kiss broke, he slipped behind her, holding her body against his chest as he stroked his fingertips along her torso to toy with her pussy.
"You really do get wet easily, don't you?" he murmured against her ear.
"I ... your girl ... has always juiced easily, Sir," Monique replied, blushing. "It is not something your girl control. Anything can cause it."
Even this small bit of rebellion, implying that he shouldn't take too much pride in her arousal, felt like a victory to Monique and she tried to keep the grin off her lips.
If Darian noticed the jibe, he ignored it, instead bringing out his own cell phone. Making sure she could see the screen, he flicked the voice dial button and said, "Bad slut."
The screen responded by bringing up the text message screen and sending the word's "bad slut" to Monique's number.
A second later, she heard her phone ring. The electric jolt fired through her pussy a second after that.
Crying out, she spasmed, her body falling back against Darian as her legs went weak. It felt as if someone had slipped a taser between her legs and fired it off. And yet, in spite of the pain, she found herself climaxing. The burst of energy seemed to have broken the wall of resistance she had been building against her own arousal. Monique wasn't even sure if the pain of the shock had added to the strength of the orgasm.
"Oh god," she whimpered as the photographer held her in place, her chest was heaving.
"High voltage, low amperage," he explained. "The voltage causes the sting but the amps are what kills you. So it's not too dangerous. Although that was just the medium setting. There's also high and maximum, but you'd have to be a very bad slut to feel that."
"How?" she gasped.
"Your phone has Bluetooth. I paired the receiver in the ball just like you would a headset. We know it has a range of at least 30 paces now."
Monique's eyes widened as she realized the implication of his words.
"I've got the only key to your new slut training belt," he said. "Oh, and if the belt loses its signal, it switches off by firing on maximum until the battery is dead. That could be up to 30 minutes. So make sure you never get more than 30 paces from your cell phone or ... well, you can imagine what it would feel like."
Now, she was staring at him in pure horror.
"I take it you understand the need to be my good little slave," he said, eyes dancing with amusement.
Still tingling from the aftershocks running through her quivering flesh, the girl nodded silently, blurting out, "Yes, Sir" at the last minute as she saw him raise his phone again.
"Good girl," he said, leaning forward to kiss her throat. "I think we'll get along just fine as long as you remember who owns you now."
Monique seethed with anger and humiliation as she she knelt on the floor of Darian's studio.
He had clipped the d-ring of her collar to a saw horse, locking it into place with a loud snap. Her arms had then been pulled straight out from her sides and her wrists chained to the ends of the saw horse. The photographer had also slipped a leather belt around each of her thighs just above the knee and chained them to the feet of the horse, spreading them obscenely wide. She was completely naked except for the dog collar and her slut training belt.
The photographer simply stared at her, obviously amused as the girl struggled against the bonds. The horse seemed to be bolted to the floor. No matter how much Monique tried to struggle, she couldn't rock it. The collar held her neck so firmly to the side of the horse, she wasn't even able to turn her head. After a brief struggle, she gave in and simply glared at her captor.
"Okay, I get it ... Sir," she finally spit out. "I'm a weak, helpless little Asian girl and you're a big strong white guy. I have to do what you tell me or you'll hurt me."
Even if Monique had tried, she probably couldn't have kept the contempt from her voice.
"Is that what you think this is about?" Darian asked, cocking his head to one side. "Bullying?"
"Isn't it, sir?" the girl demanded. "How is this anything but bullying?"
"You're aroused by it," he remarked.
"No, sir." Monique kept her tone polite but her eyes were staring daggers.
In answer, Darian simply squatted in front of her. His hand flicked out, the knuckles brushing the girl's hard nipples as if he were doing nothing more mundane than testing a light switch. The knuckles then trailed down Monique's belly to brush her labia. As the knuckle of his index finger parted the silken folds of Monique's labia, it became obvious her sex was glistening with moisture.
Monique simply glared into his eyes.
"How many orgasms have you had as my little bondage slut?" he asked. "Two? Three? More? Don't bother saying none. You've cum at least once from my fingers and a second time from your little silver slut belt."
Monique stared at the floor rather than answer.
"How many times have you made me cum?" he continued. "Oh, that's right, you haven't. Interesting, isn't it? I'm the bad guy but you're the little slut with the wet pussy and hard little brown nipples just aching for her master's touch. You're the only one of us who's actually gotten of on what we're doing here. How do you explain that?"
Monique's gaze stayed riveted to the floor.
"Oh, don't worry, I get it," he mused. "I know it's hard for you to admit just how submissive you are, just how much you yearn to be enslaved. Believe me, I spent half my life in Asia and South America, trying so hard not to be the stereotypical American jerk. I'd imagine the last thing you want is to have to admit that you really are a submissive little Asian fuck bunny."
From the savage growl and the way in which the girl's teeth snapped closed, Darian was glad she was bound.
"That's a good little slut," he grinned. "Show some spirit."
Eyes dark with anger and frustration, the girl stopped struggling, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching her fail helplessly to escape. Chuckling, he stepped closer and ruffled her long, silky hair.
"Ayah," he sighed. "You have shamed your ancestors."
That time, despite her small size, the girl almost managed to rattle the horse as she tried to lunge at him. Darian smiled broadly and ruffled her hair again.
"You have wonderful eyes," he said, turning serious. "And those teeth are amazing. They're so white they practically glow." His hand trailed over her skin until again, he caressed her breasts. "I love these small, firm breasts. Never let some dumbass talk you into implants. You're perfect like you are."
The girl kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet his eyes as he toyed with her. She grit her teeth as he brushed her tummy with his finger tips, stopping to toy with the dangle of her navel ring. Her jaw clenched hard as she felt the back of his fingers trail lower, running over her mound. His knuckles parted her labia, opening her as they pressed between her lips.
"Nice," her murmured. "You've got a juicy little pussy. I just touch you and you begin leaking all over me. That's a very good sign. They say you can tell a lot about a slut by the amount and quality of the slave oil she produces when she juices."
The sound escaping Monique's lips was somewhere between a growl and a moan. She couldn't deny that despite herself she was becoming aroused. The humiliation of the realization just turned her on more.
He continued teasing her pussy as he spoke, keeping the stimulation to her dripping pussy non-stop while beginning to toy with her nipples as well.
"This isn't about bullying," he said softly, his fingers continuing to send little tremors of pleasure spreading from her clit and nipples through her whole body. "This is about pleasure. It's okay for you to enjoy this. There's nothing wrong with enjoying being helpless, having no choice but to feel every atom of pleasure your master chooses to allow you."
This time the sound from Monique's lips was nothing more than a series of sweet little whimpers as her arousal overcame the resistance of her conscious mind.
"Isn't this what you dream about at night? Bound, naked, immobile, helpless. You're a work of art, being pleasured by your master, giving pleasure to your master by the simple act of existing as he strokes your hot little shaved pussy? Do I own this hot little pussy?"
"Nnnn ...." she moaned. "No, sir."
"Wrong, slut," he murmured, his lips brushing the helpless girl's ear. "You say you hate this and I'm just bullying you, but who does your pussy obey? You? I don't think so."
His fingers were a blur now, making fast light circles around her clit, teasing and tormenting her as he drove her toward her orgasm. "Try to tell your pussy to dry out. Order it not to cum for me. You may be a free woman, but I own your cunt. What's the phrase I'm looking for? Hmmm ..." Listening to the girl moan and pant as his fingers moved more frantically, he finally said, "Ah, yes. I think the phrase I'm looking for is 'ngoh yungyauh neih geh hai.' I'm afraid I don't know Mandarin. My associates tend to speak Cantonese and Vietnamese almost exclusively. I suppose it doesn't matter. Your slutty little pussy doesn't have to understand the words. It just has to obey me and cum for its master."