The Road Trip Pt. 02

This is a follow up to my first short story, which I received some feedback on saying it might have been a bit much. I've toned it down a bit for this one, enjoy!

***

The drive home was excruciating: every bump, every twist, every sudden acceleration or deceleration put pressure on her rapidly growing set of bruises. She couldn't sit still, constantly shifting the pressure to try and find one part of her body that wasn't too sore to put weight on. Even his hoodie, as cozy and warm as it was, rubbed on her, and made her acutely aware of each and every mark on her skin. Her eyes were red and sore from crying, her hands were covered in makeup from wiping away tears, her body begged for relief, but none was coming.

Finally they arrived back home, pulling into the car park for her flat. The preceding hour and a half had helped her regain some strength, and some of her fight, but the fear of what was next grew with every mile they covered. Surely he can't do much worse than he has already she thought, can he? He could never be that mean. She certainly hoped not, or it would take a long time to recover.

"Out." He shouted, pulling open her door. She slowly undid her seatbelt and stepped out into the night, hearing the door close behind her as she walked towards the entrance of her building. He grabbed his bag from the boot, and the tatters of her top, and headed after her. The slam of the boot closing was enough to make her jump as she entered the code for the door and slipped inside

The lift arrived and they shuffled in. Hiding herself away from him in the very corner of the lift she weakly begged

"Please don't hurt me anymore, I'm so sore"

He spun his head and gave her a hard stare, enough to make her flinch

"Please SIR." he grunted

"I'm... Sorry sir."

"You fucking will be," he warned, as the doors opened and the pair stepped out into the corridor. "Go." He gestured down towards her flat, "in front."

Slowly she walked towards her flat, not knowing what to expect but knowing it would hurt. Her sore and exhausted hands fumbled with the keys but eventually she managed to open the door, and they slipped inside, the door closing and locking behind them with a thud and a click.

She turned to look, tilting her head back to make eye contact as she wrapped her arms around his body.

"Please sir" she pleaded "I don't think I can take any more."

"Are you going to remember your manners?"

"Yes sir."

"To say please and thank you?"

"Yes sir."

"Then go and get showered, I don't want you getting your bed dirty."

"Yes sir," she replied, pleasantly surprised that he hadn't lain a finger on her yet. Instead he kissed her softly on the top of her head, and whispered,

"Good girl."

She squealed as the water of the shower hit her skin. Hot, cold, warm, cool, it didn't matter, at any temperature the water stung as it ran over the marks he had left. Gritting her teeth she washed quickly, not wanting to be stood on her still weak legs any longer than she needed to.

As she stepped out she got the first good view of her body in the mirror, and gasped as she saw the extent of her injuries: her whole back was criss crossed with red lines, her bum and thighs were covered in bruises and so red they seemed to glow.

"Fuck," she mouthed, admiring each and every mark. Rubbing moisturiser into her skin seemed to help, the gentle message of apply it stopped her muscles aching so much, although she was still all too aware of the pain shooting from each red line as she touched it.

After wrapping herself up in a fluffy dressing gown she slowly opened the door to the rest of her flat, and collected her glasses from where she had left them, to avoid them getting dogged.

As she put them on she saw her master sitting at the edge of the bed, playing on his phone, surrounded by what she assumed to be the contents of the bag that now lay empty on the floor. A whip, a crop, a cane and a thick leather belt were spread out on her desk. A black leather collar, a matching leash and velcro fastening restraints for her hands and her ankles were next to him on the bed. A collection of toys were arranged on the bedside table. Looking around, taking it all in she nervously whispered, "Holy shit."

"Come here," he ordered her, pointing to his feet. She started to walk over slowly, making sure her dressing gown covered her as much as possible. "Kneel."

She sank slowly to her knees beside him, looking up at him with her big eyes, giving him a curious, excited look. "Now little kitten," he began, "you've learned your manners haven't you?"

"Yes sir," she replied with a smile

"Good," he went on, picking up the collar, "Do you know what this is?"

"It's a... Cat collar, I think," she replied with a curious squint

"Yeah, good girl," he told her. "Do you know what this means?"

"What it means?" She enquired.

"When you wear it, what does it mean?"

"I... Don't know " she admitted.

"When you wear it," he told her, leaning over towards her, "it means that you belong to me."

She let out a short whimper, but didn't say anything.

"That your body, and mind, are mine." He continued, wrapping the band around her neck, "and that I can do with you as I please. Do you understand?" He finished as he pulled it tight, struggling to stretch it around her throat, and buckling it closed at a size that left it digging into her soft white skin

"Yes sir," she agreed, tugging at the collar with her fingers, trying to find room to breathe freely.

"Stand," he demanded, and she slowly got to her feet, her legs still shaky

"Strip."

Without saying a word she slowly pulled the ties of her dressing gown, and let it slide off her body, doing her best to protect her modesty with her hands. "Happy now?" She asked finally, one arm covering her breasts and the other between her legs.

He stood up, and walked around her, admiring her curves, her pale white skin, and the bright red marks he had put on it.

"Even without a drop of makeup, with your hair a mess and nothing on," he grinned "you're the most gorgeous fucking thing I've ever seen."

"Thank you sir," she said with a grin, watching him circle around her.

Reaching for the desk he picked up his cane, and the smile soon disappeared from her lips.

He teased her with it, tickling the back of her knees, tracing it around her waist and up her thighs, as she stood still, getting more and more nervous.

"Hands up," he ordered, pushing on her elbow.

"No, c'mon," she pleaded

"Hands. Up." He repeated, giving her a light tap on the arm with the cane.

"Ow okay okay," she sighed, slowly lifting the arm from her chest, letting her perfect breasts return to their natural position.

"And the other one."

Even slower she lifted her other hand, and shyly held it above her head. Looking at the floor from embarrassment, unable to look her master in the eye.

"Good," he told her, "good girl."

She didn't say a word.

Whack. The crop hit her back and she let out a surprised squeal.

"What the fuck?" She demanded.

Whack, again he hit her.

"When I tell you you're a good girl," he growled, "you say 'Thank you sir', understand?"

"Yes sir," she replied with a whimper.

"And you will never talk to me with that kind of attitude," he continued, "understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Look at me" he demanded, cupping her chin lightly in his hand.

Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his

"You might be fucking gorgeous," he began, seeing the smile reappear on her lips, "but you need to learn to do as you're told. First time. Without answering back."

"Yes sir" she agreed.

"Pick up your dressing gown," he ordered, releasing his grip on her chin, "put it away"

"Yes sir," she said again, bending to pick it up, and swinging her hips to show off as she walked to hang it up on the bathroom door. Having hung it up she turned and faced him, hands on hips, awaiting her next instruction.

"Come here," he told her, and she took a step forward. "Crawl," he added sharply.

"Yes sir," she mumbled as she took to her hands and knees. She shuffled over the floor, as he again took his seat at the edge of the bed.

"Happy?" She asked sarcastically, as she arrived at his feet, "you've got me crawling on my hands and knees for you, is that what you want?"

"I'll be happy," he snapped at her, "when you learn to not give me that fucking attitude, slut. Come here." Reaching over and grabbing her by the hair he pulled her head towards him, holding it between his legs. Releasing his grip on her he instead swung and slapped her hard across the cheek, making her a sharp breath. "Are you going to fucking learn that you dumb cunt? Have you not had the attitude beaten out of you yet?"

"I... I" she stuttered.

"Do you need me to fucking hit you again to teach you?" He continued, raising his voice.

"I... No sir," she whimpered, "I'll learn."

"Good." He barked "now crawl over there and bring me your dressing gown."

"What do you... Okay" she sighed, quickly adding, "sir". On her hands and knees she crawled back across the room, and reached up to grab her dressing gown again, before dragging it over the room with her.

"Good, give," he ordered

As she handed it over, he simply took it, scrunched it up, and threw it against a wall

"What the f-," she started, before thinking better of it.

"Tidy it up. Without the attitude." He ordered again

"Yes sir" she replied, in her most polite voice, although visibly annoyed.

His eyes followed her across the room, admiring her curves and the lines of her behind as she crawled. In her head she was cursing him, but she dared not say a word, she didn't know how much more of a beating she could take. The room seemed so much bigger when she was forced to crawl around it, just getting across it seemed to take an age, but maybe that was just because she was so tired, or maybe it was her master's gaze locked on her, watching every movement. Having hung her gown back on the hook, she locked eyes with him on her way back to the bed. Her fiery, angry eyes staring into his lustful, cruel ones.

"Good girl," he told her, pushing the hair out from her face as she came to rest at his feet. Kneeling by the bed she looked up to him, pushing her round breasts together and giving him a sly smile, knowing that he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Enjoy the view?" she purred.

"Oh yes," he laughed, "it's quite the view."

"Does sir like my perfect tits?" She continued.

"Uh-huh."

"Does he like my round little butt?"

"I do."

"Does he like my big, pretty eyes?"

"I love them."

"Does sir like them enough, for kitten to have earned herself a little treat?"

"A treat, huh?" He asked.

"Yes!"

"And what would a little kitten like you want as a treat?"

"I want..." She began, thinking for a moment

She was cut off suddenly by a hand wrapping around her throat, and she let out a shocked squeal.

"Do you want me to fucking choke you?" He growled.

"W-what?" she replied, still too shocked to think straight.

"Do. You. Want. Me. To. Fucking. Choke. You?" He repeated, tightening his grip with every word.

"Yes..." She admitted.

"Beg."

"Please sir..." She begged, subconsciously struggling to pull from his grip, unsuccessfully, "choke me... Choke your little slut."

"Happily" he grunted, squeezing tighter still, until he could feel her throat being compressed, and her pulse growing more rapid. "How's that?"

"It's... Fuck," she panted, already going faint so tight was his grip.

"Stand" he ordered, grabbing a handful of hair, pushing and pulling her to her feet as he stood, without loosening his grip.

"Please," she begged, feeling the strength drain out of her "please... Please... Please."

Finally he relented, and she fell to her knees, clutching her neck.

"Fuck..." She panted, "fuck."

Not letting her rest, he sat back down, and barked another order

"On my lap."

Slowly she rested her stomach on her master's lap, letting her body hang limp over him.

"Other way up." He ordered, "stomach up."

With a groan she twisted, her tired legs struggling to keep her in position. In a rare moment of pity, he lifted her legs onto the bed, releasing the strain on her body.

"Thank you sir," she whispered.

"Look at me," was his next order, and she craned her neck up to look at him, tensing her whole core to lift her body into position. His soft moment had passed, and his hand traced along the tense lines of her stomach, lightly running over her breasts, coming to rest at her throat.

"No... Please," she pleaded, but he didn't listen, he began to grip. As his grip tightened again her strength started to wain, and her head fell down below her shoulders, her neck bent backwards, exposing her full throat to his strong hand. Tighter he gripped, as tight as he could, holding her struggling body still with the other hand.

"Please," she begged, hardly able to form words such was his grip. He didn't relent, instead slapping her stomach hard, listening to her grunt loudly as he did.

"Please," she repeated, softer still. Another slap.

"Please," she begged again, desperate. Her vision was blurring. Her heart pumping. Her lungs burning. It wouldn't be long until she passed out. Another hard slap came, to her breast this time and she let out a loud scream, using up the last scrap of air in her tired lungs as the pain shot through her.

A little longer he held her there. Was it a second? Twenty? A minute? She couldn't tell. Her mind was too starved of oxygen, too confused from hanging upside down. Too bombarded with pain and pleasure, fear and adrenaline. Too exhausted to tell.

Finally he relented, releasing his grip on her throat and quickly grabbing her hair instead, holding her head still as the blood rushed back. Her head spun and swam as her thumping heart forced everything it could towards her brain, assisted by gravity due to her still hanging head. A long, hard, desperate gasp restocked her lungs, and she lay panting as her head spun faster and faster, adrenaline and endorphins flooding through her, her vision going from black to red, her whole face swelling bright crimson.

Then he dragged her upright, and again the blood drained away from her brain, she panted as her heart beat as hard as ever, trying in vain to normalise her blood pressure.

"Fuck," she panted at last "fuck fuck fuck fuck."

"Enjoy that?" He growled into her ear.

"It was... Something else," she replied shakily, "I... I need a break, fuck," she panted hard, "amber, fuck."

"Okay, that's fine," he said, gently, wrapping his arms around her sore and beaten body. "You've done so well today."

"Thank you sir," she replied, still struggling to catch her breath. "But it's too much... I can't take it." Never before had she been beaten like this. Everything hurt, every inch of her body was stinging and sore, her mind swimming, filled with his words. "I-I'm sorry" she sobbed, a tear running down her cheek. She wanted to do better, she wanted to please him, she wanted to be good, but she couldn't take another moment of the treatment she'd been receiving, as much as she loved it.

"Hey, hey, don't cry baby," he told her, holding her tight, "you did great, you've got nothing to be sorry for, you've done so well."

"I did?" She asked, sniffling.

"Uh-huh, you did really really well, you took so much," he reassured her, stroking her hair.

"Thank you," she whispered, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Have you had enough?"

"Yeah, yeah definitely" she admitted, burying herself further into his grip.

"Do you just wanna cuddle now?"

"Yeah."

Slowly he shuffled back onto the bed, taking her with him, and set her down on the pillows. "You okay?" He checked.

"It hurts" she whimpered, curling up into a tight ball.

"Aww," he replied sympathetically, "what would make you feel better?"

"Cuddles."

"Just cuddles?"

"Yeah."

"Okay" he said, as he snuggled in next to her, wrapping his arms around her as gently as he could, being careful to avoid any of her most sore spots

"Am I a good kitten?" She asked, with a pout.

Leaning over to give her a long, soft kiss, he whispered, "The very best."