The Bonding Ch. 04byrandemwriter©
I went to my study and took a seat behind the desk. I took a remote from the top drawer and pressed a button. To my left a section of the wall slid aside to reveal a large HD display. Another button pressed turned on the screen, showing a grid with views from eight security cameras scattered around the property. Another button switched the outside surveillance to twenty-four interior cameras.
Personally, I believed this kind of security was over the top for a small town businessman, but Anya had insisted. In matters of my personal safety, I almost always deferred to her. After all, in her mind, ensuring my well being was her primary duty. She took it very, very seriously. I, on the other hand, felt I was capable of protecting myself just fine, while her job was to service my cock. But, hey, as long as she could do both, who was I to complain?
I selected a camera with a view of the playroom I'd had Anya set up for her older fans. Selecting that view actually broke the screen into four sections, showing all the camera angles for that room.
The room was decorated in white and pink with a Wonderland theme. The wallpaper was all tiny pink hearts and white bunnies. The curtains were pink with white lace, the carpet was also a pale pink. On the walls were posters of Alice, the Mad Hatter, and the Queen of Hearts. On the bed was a stuffed Cheshire Cat. The bed itself was white with a sheer pink canopy and ruffled pink comforter. A child sized vanity and chair were in one corner, with an assortment of brushes and combs, hair ribbons and plastic barrettes. Anya thought the room was too much, but I'd had her copy everything from a decorating magazine. Maybe their designer was a closet pervert, but from the look on Bobby's face as Anya led him through the door, it was just right.
I slipped on a set of headphones in time to hear him ask, "Do you sleep in here?"
"Sometimes," she lied, as she stood naked in the middle of the room. "Sometimes Michael likes to play daddy games." Not a complete lie, but it wasn't my favorite thing, though I think it may have been Bobby's.
"I'd love to be your daddy."
Bobby looked around the room again, then stepped over and opened the closet.
I smiled. I didn't need a view of the closet to know what Bobby was gaping at. On one side hung several costumes, from an extremely skimpy cheerleader's outfit, to a ruffled dress appropriate for a very young girl, and several others ranging from sweet to whorish. The other side of the closet held the contents of my punishment box: an assortment of paddles, whips, clamps, and restraints, as well as several plugs, gags, and dildos.
Bobby pulled an outfit from the closet and tossed it to Anya. "Put this on. And fix your hair." I smiled at his choice, and we both watched her transform from naked wife to teen whore.
The shorts were denim cutoffs with pink rein stones. The waistband was low enough to show her panties, if she'd had any, and short enough to embarrass Daisy Duke. The t-shirt was pink with the word BABY in blue across the chest. The skin tight shirt just covered her nipples, but left bare the under swelling of her perky boobs.
Anya sat at the little vanity and brushed out her tangled hair, pulling it into two long pigtails which she tied with pink ribbons. A touch of pink lip gloss, and when she stood and turned to face Bobby, she was the perfect little cock tease.
She bowed her head, and shuffled her bare feet while sucking on one finger. Tilting her head to one side she glanced up at Bobby through lowered lashes. "Am I in trouble, Daddy?" she asked in the sweetest voice imaginable.
Bobby just stared at her, his jaw hanging open, his eyes dazed. I knew how he felt. I could sense Anya's humiliation through the bond, but her face was the picture of a naughty little girl about to be in a world of trouble.
The same acting skills that made her a perfect con artist, also made her perfect at these types of games. Put Anya in a costume, and she BECAME the character you wanted. After a time, even the emotions felt through the bond would take on more attributes of the role she was playing. I think becoming someone else for awhile, anyone else, was a refuge for Anya, a way of escaping her reality as a slave.
After a moment in which Bobby continued to just stare at her, Anya took a step closer. She laid an hand lightly on his chest. "Please, Daddy, don't be mad. I promise to be good."
He took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. It seemed to bring him around a little. "It," he cleared his throat and tried again. "It's too late. I mean look at you. You look like a whore."
He reached out and gave a pull on the little shirt, causing her tits to bounce free. He rubbed a hand over her nipples, one then the other, bringing them to attention.
"You let the boys at school play with these, don't you, whore?"
"No, Daddy!" she protested, trying to tug her top back into place. He slapped her hands away and began twisting and pulling at the her long nipples with both hands. Anya started to cry softly.
"Liar!" he yelled in her face. "I'll bet you stroke their cocks while they play with your titties, don't you, whore?"
"No, Daddy, I swear!"
"Sure you do. I'll bet you let them put their cocks in your mouth,too, don't you?!"
"No, Daddy. I'm a good girl, I swear!"
"Good girls don't dress like whores, baby." Bobby gave a vicious twist to both nipples bringing a loud squeal from Anya. "Or are you all tease and no touch? Is that it, baby? Are you a nasty little cock teaser?"
Bobby seemed to really be getting into this. Then again, who wouldn't? Anya was every dirty old man's hottest fantasy come to life.
Anya hung her head in shame. "I don't mean to tease, Daddy."
"More lies!" Bobby sat on the edge of the bed and pointed to the closet. "Bring me your paddle, baby."
There were actually four paddles in the closet, but even before she reached inside, I knew which one she would pick. And I was right. It was nearly two feet long, including the handle, four inches wide and a half inch thick. It was bright pink plastic with the words "BABY SPANKER" printed on both sides in bold black letters.
She handed him the paddle and stood with her arms crossed over her chest, blushing for all she was worth.
"Now, pull your shorts down to your knees, and lie across my lap."
Anya pulled the tiny shorts down, pinning her knees together and draped herself over our neighbor's lap. With no warm up and no warning, Bobby began spanking her bare bottom. He had a good arm, and he gave it all he had.
I opened my robe and began stroking my cock in time with the loud slaps of the plastic paddle.
Anya squealed and shrieked and kicked. She wiggled and sobbed. This was nothing compared to the pain of the magic, of course, but it was sharp and degrading, and it went on and on and on.
I was beginning to fear the old guy would give himself a heart attack, when he finally tossed the paddle aside, breathing heavily. Anya's backside, normally a light mocha, was bright red from the top of her ass to the backs of her knees.
He pushed her off his lap and she stood in front of him, rubbing her burning bottom with one hand and using the other to cover her exposed pussy. He slapped her hand away and shoved his hand between her clinched thighs.
"No, Daddy!" she cried grabbing his wrists with both her hands. I sat up straighter. I had seen Anya break more than one man's arm using that exact grip. Of course she knew I was watching, and she felt my sudden tension through the bond. I could almost feel her roll her eyes at me, though her expression on the monitor didn't change.
Bobby stood and slapped her face with his other hand and she dropped her grip on his wrist. I relaxed in my chair, and resumed slowly stroking my semi hard cock.
"It's time you learn what happens to little girls who tease, baby," Bobby said, pushing Anya down onto the bed. He ripped her shorts off her legs, making her squeal again, and jerked her legs apart. "It's time you get what's coming to you, baby."
I had thought this was going to play out as rape, but when Bobby took his hands away to unbutton his pants, Anya surprised us both. She drew her knees up to her chest, then spread them wide. Bare pussy completely exposed, she looked up at the old man and smiled mischievously. One hand moved between her legs. The other hand she brought to her mouth, and began sucking her thumb as she played with her pussy.
I felt my cock lurch to full life. On the screen, the old man froze with his pants halfway down his legs, his cock standing out from a patch of wiry white hair.
Anya pulled her thumb from her mouth long enough to say, "Aren't you going to fuck your baby girl, Daddy?"
Bobby gave a guttural roar and fell on her like a crazed animal, his pants still bunched around his ankles. Anya squealed and giggled. Then the old man's cock was buried to the hilt in her little cunt.
"Holy fuck, that's tight!" he groaned as he pulled back and shoved into her again. "Oh goddam, baby! So fucking tight!"
Through the bond I could feel Anya's fuckhole being invaded as Bobby grunted and thrust on top of her. She held on to her playful little teen persona, but I could feel her shame spiking with every thrust of that old cock. How she could function through that level of mortification was a wonder to me.
"Oh Daddy! Oh Daddy!" She cried out over and over. "Fuck me Daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
As the old man began to pound her faster and faster, Anya stared into the camera over his shoulder. "Cum for me, Daddy!" she screamed directly to the camera... to me. She could feel me jerking off, just as I could feel her being fucked. I matched Bobby's rhythm perfectly.
At the same moment we shot our loads. Bobby shot his cum into Anya's little cunt. Later I'd have her lick mine from the floor of my study. Seconds behind us, Anya cried out with her own climax, "I'm coming for you, Daddy!!" But her eyes were fixed on the camera.
Ignoring the man whose cock was still buried inside her, Anya seemed to be trying to temper some of her devastating shame by playing to me. Well, let her try to pass this off as a slave's duty. We both knew she'd found her pleasure on a child's bed beneath a sweating old man. And we both knew this wouldn't be the last time.
Luckily the old man was done with me quickly. I showed him to the door, suffering through a final groping. Kissing me good-bye, he shoved his tongue so far into my mouth I thought I would vomit. He shook Michael's hand, and they spoke quietly as I turned away, eager to wash the feel of him off of me... out of me.
"Anya, go to my study now, and wait for me," Michael ordered without bothering to look at me.
Too tired to answer, I walked silently to his study, ready for this day to be over. The antique desk clock claimed it was just 3pm, but that couldn't be right. My body was shaking with exhaustion, and I was starving.
While it's true the pain of the magic fades quickly, it takes an incredible toll. Even a short burst will leave me weak and hungry, not to mention emotionally devastated for hours. I'd been subjected to two very extensive sessions today. I'd also been pissed on and spent over two hours kneeling in that damned tub. I'd cum three times kneeling on the kitchen floor after being denied any release for almost a year.
My body felt as if it'd been starved and tortured for weeks without rest. My mind was a jittery tangle of horror, shame, and sexual overload. I was flinching at shadows, and trying to not to crawl out of my skin.
I was struggling desperately not to even think of what had just happened upstairs.
When Michael came into the room, I knelt and pressed my face to the floor. Displays of extreme subservience often had a relaxing effect on Michael, and at this point, I would try anything to avoid further abuse. In truth, I just wanted to turn my head, rest my cheek on the cool wood floor, and sleep right there until morning.
"You can't rest yet, pet," he said with a smile in his voice. No, he couldn't read my mind, but he knew exactly how wasted I was. "Lick this mess off the floor, while I edit footage from your little play date."
I crawled to the smear of dried cum beside his chair as he sat at his desk. My mouth was so dry that it was like brushing at a stain with a broom, and no matter how I tried, I couldn't seem to work up any moisture. The humiliation was a physical pain in my chest. And then I felt the brush of the magic in my mind. I was failing to obey a direct order. I knew I couldn't go through that again. Not now. I licked frantically at the floor, panic shattering what was left of conscious thought.
"Michael!!" I screamed for help.
"Relax," he said calmly, stroking my hair.
I heaved a sigh of relief. Michael took a handful of my hair, and pulled my head back.
"Stick out your tongue," he ordered.
I obeyed, of course. He spat twice on my tongue, then let go of me. "Now hurry up," he said. "I want to show you something."
The wash of gratitude I felt for his aid sparked a rising tide of rage. It seemed I had reached my limit for shame today. When it becomes impossible to feel any more degraded, the mind either accepts or rebels.
I had always accepted a certain measure of humility as natural. I was a slave. I was not the equal of my master. But there was nothing natural about the depravities that the bonding forced on me. Michael had spilled his seed on the floor while watching me... do what I had done with that horrid old man. He had not only enjoyed my debasement, he had wallowed in it. Now he had SPIT IN MY MOUTH so that I could lick his seed from the floor! And for a moment, I had been grateful!
I could not endure this any longer. I would not! Even as my tongue worked obediently to clean the stain at his feet, my mind rebelled. Despite the rage, I could still not see Michael as my enemy. But the bond was. It was the bond that allowed him to experience my humiliation in such an intimate way. It was the bond that compelled my obedience to his most disgusting commands. It was the bond that would tie me to a sadist forever.
I knew the only way to be free of the bond was for Michael to die. True, I would most likely die as well, but it was not a certainty. And what did it really matter? There would be no more pain, no more shame. I could kill him in a half dozen ways without ever rising from my knees. It would be so easy to shove my fist into....
My eyes widened in sudden realization of my own thoughts. The purpose of the bond was to protect and please the Master. To protect was paramount. To consider doing harm to the master of the bond...
"You can't win, Anya," he said quietly. "You will never be free."
I could barely hear his next words over my own screaming. "It's a good thing I'm not a monster."
I didn't think she'd ever stop screaming. I could do nothing to help her. She had obviously invoked the magic by thinking of killing me. It wasn't the first time. It wasn't even the first time this year. Supposedly, this magical bond was created to protect some ancient Indian royal bloodline. That I had stolen the magic by raping its agent didn't seem to change anything. The magic would protect me whether I wanted it to or not, and from whatever source, even if that source was its own instrument. And its instrument had a bit of a temper when pressed too far.
In the past stopping the pain had been a matter of Anya convincing herself that she had no desire to kill me after all. It had never taken her more that a moment to realize that my continued existence wasn't really such a bad thing. As the screaming went on and on, however, I began to worry. Either Anya wanted me dead so badly she couldn't lie to herself about it any longer, or her mind was simply too exhausted to form coherent thoughts.
I hoped for the latter. If Anya truly, irrevocably wanted me dead, I had no doubt one of us would soon die. I didn't believe this was the case, however. Only a few hours ago, she'd been hell bent on convincing me that I wasn't such a bad guy. I don't suppose it made sense that I believed Anya considered me a good man, a man worth protecting, when all reason and evidence would indicate otherwise. But I didn't believe she really hated me.
I did believe she hated herself. At the moment anyway. That was the root of the issue, of course. I don't put a lot of stock in modern psychology, but you can't spend two hundred and thirty years sharing a person's sensations and emotions without also getting a really good idea of how they think. Anya hated herself for actually having a bit of fun with the old man. It was painful and degrading, but it was supposed to be. She'd sunk herself so far into her role of teen whore that she'd gotten off on being used like a little slut.
The problem was, she wasn't very good at being a slut. At the core of her, Anya was the proud agent of a powerful and ancient magic. And when the games were over she was faced with all the naughty things she'd done.
The problem wasn't that I had gone too far in degrading her. The problem was that, for just a moment, she had let herself enjoy it.
What would happen if she were too far gone in her pain and exhaustion to figure this out? I was afraid the magic might very well kill her.
Of course, thinking this didn't keep my cock from getting rock hard. She was being punished for wanting to hurt me... even in my worry, how could I not enjoy that?
After she'd been screaming for a good 5 minutes or more, I began rubbing my cock over her face and tits. I shoved my cock down her throat several times, but as soon as I'd pull back, she'd scream again. Finally I just began fucking her face like a cunt. This went on for another 5 minutes. I pounded away at her throat, knowing it was her own wicked thoughts that were punishing her.
Eventually, she passed out. As soon as she did, her muscles relaxed and she fell to her side. I finished by jerking off on her face. Relieved that she would be alright, I went back to work on my editing.
I woke on the floor of Michael's study weak and hungry. My head was aching from dehydration, and my right eye seemed to be glued shut. I managed to hoist myself to my knees. I wiped an unsteady hand across my face and realized I was covered in a copious amount of dried and drying semen. Apparently, Michael had entertained himself several times while I was unconscious.
The clock on the desk read 10 o'clock, and by the bright sunlight streaming through the window, I gathered I'd been out for about nineteen hours. On the desk was a serving tray. On the tray was a plate with two turkey sandwiches, apple slices and Oreo cookies, a pitcher of water and a large glass of milk.
I drank water directly from the pitcher, then downed about half the milk before tearing into the food.
I was still on my knees, shoving the last cookie in my mouth when Michael walked in.
"About fucking time," he said as he stepped around me to seat himself at his computer. "We need to make another video as soon as you've cleaned up."
I wanted to protest, but didn't waste the breath. I was completely rested and healed, and he knew it. A few... well a lot of extra calories over the next day or two was all I really needed now. I stood and took the tray.
"Yeah, the video with the old man has had thousands of hits already. The one with me has had even more."
The tray dropped back to the desk with a loud clatter. He couldn't have...
"Michael, what did you do? How did a personal web page get that many hits in one day?"
"What do you mean personal web page?" He could since my alarm through the bond, but he seemed to attribute it to humiliation.