The Making Of Monique free porn video

Chapter 1

Darian settled onto a bar stool and signaled for a cognac as he let his eyes flicker over the rest of the bar's inhabitants. The crowd was young tonight. Too young, he thought sourly as he swirled the brandy in his glass and eyed the pair of young Asian girls flirting with the bartender.

"I am a dinosaur," he sighed, taking a long sip as he pale green eyes flicked past them to land on a blond boy in a UCLA sweatshirt making a beeline for the girls. His lips curled into a grin as the older man shifted on the stool, making sure he had a good vantage point for the upcoming show. In his experience, hitting on the hot Asian girl was almost never a good idea.

"Nei ho mah," the boy bellowed at he approached the girls.

The taller of the took glanced at him dispassionately and lifted her and in a lazy wave as she answered "Hoh, hoh. Do jeh. Nei na?"

The boy looked lost, his eyes losing focus for a moment as if it had never occurred to him the girl might answer in Chinese.

"Uh ... do you speak English?" he asked, "English?"

Darian's lips curled into a wolfish grin as the girl replied that she did, in fact, speak English.

"Ngoh sec gong ying mon," the girl replied.

Her friend was less polite. Covering her mouth with her fingers, the second Asian girl lowered her eyes and giggled in a very nice impression of a Japanese geisha before cheerfully replying "Pok gai."

Coughing to cover his chuckle, Darian took another pull of cognac, only to have the brandy burn though his nostrils as the girl added, "Lei da yun fei gae mm sai sou."

He missed the rest of the conversation as the bartender came over and handed him a bar towel to clean up with. Wiping his face, Darian waved the bartender's helpfulness away.

"I'm okay," he said. "Serves me right for eavesdropping."

Grinning, the bartender leaned closer and asked, "What were they saying?"

"I told him to go die in the street and suggested he doesn't wash his hands after he masturbates," a female voice answered in perfect, unaccented English. "Do you always go around eavesdropping on Chinese girls?"

Making a face, the bartender beat a strategic withdrawal as Darian turned to face the girl.

"Not always," he said. "Sometimes I eavesdrop on Vietnamese, Hispanics, Hindustanis and Persians. But they rarely make me laugh like that."

The girl's eyes narrowed slightly and she nodded as she took in Darian's 6'3", 225 pound frame and neatly trimmed mustache and goatee.

"So you're a language dork and not a rice king," she said with just a hint of a smirk. "The Uncle Ho beard confused me."

Bowing politely, Darian took in the small, Asian girl's long legs and slender frame. Long hair with a slight curl at the fringes framed a lovely face that bordered dangerously on cute.

"Have a drink with me," he suggested.

"Why would I want to drink with an old white guy?" she asked, features serious except for the hint of mischief behind her dark eyes.

"Because I am buying, college students are always broke and we're already talking so I'm clearly not making the offer to hit on you."

Waving to her friend, the girl hopped up onto a stool and nodded agreeably.

"Yeah, I suppose that makes sense," she said. "I'll have an apple martini."

Signaling for two more drinks, Darian smiled and asked, "Have you ever done any modeling?"

The girl laughed and shook her head, "Okay, now you're hitting on me."

"Yes," Darian nodded. "Yes, I am. But the question stands. I've got a commission to fill and I need a young Asian model. No nudity involved and it's for a respectable, if somewhat embarrassingly Chinesey product."

"I'm not holding up chopsticks on an ad for egg rolls," she said.

"All you have to do is lie down on a bed and rest your head on a pillow," Darian said, holding up a hand to stall the next questions. "It's a new import from China ... silk pillows filled with tea leaves. The scent is supposed to aid in relaxing sleep. White people will go ape shit over them."

The girl pursed her lips, seeming to think over the idea. Tilting her head, she studied Darian for a long moment before asking, "I don't have to wear slutty lingerie?"

"Red silk pajamas with long sleeves and a mandarin collar," Darian said wryly as he slid a business card onto the bar. "The most offensive part is the little gold dragons on the PJs. They want you to look like a real China girl. It pays cash. My studio is just around the corner and you can have your friend come watch if want a bodyguard. Tomorrow at 3 p.m.?"

The girl nodded as she tucked the card into jeans. "I'll be there."

"Good," he said. "Don't worry about makeup or clothes. I take care of all that at the shoot. I'm a bit of a control freak. So just show up anyway you're comfortable."

Sliding money onto the bar for the drinks, Darian was turning to leave when the girl asked, "Hey, you speak Cantonese because you have Chinese clients?"

A grin pulled at the older man's lips as he fell into a fairly decent Antonio Banderas impression.

"No. I speak the Cantonese because if a language is spoken by beautiful women I know enough to ... how do you say ... ah yes ... get my face slapped."

The wadded up napkin hit Darian between his shoulder blades as he heard the girl giggling behind him. Raising his hand he waved with his back to her.

"Joi jin, sui jeh," he called out, realizing he'd never gotten her name.

* * * * *

He was pleasantly surprised when the girl actually showed up at 3 p.m. She had come alone, shrugging when he observed she must have a trusting nature.

"You've got an ad in the yellow pages and a gallery in your waiting room," she said. "I doubt you're selling girls into slavery out the back of the shop."

The man's hand reached out, fingers closing around her jaw as he gently turned her head from side to side. The girl watched him curiously but didn't resist. Other than a moment of surprise when she realized how large his hands were and how easily one could cover her face, she seemed almost relaxed.

"Good," he murmured approvingly. "You're not wearing any makeup at all. I was afraid you would be."

"You said someone would do my makeup here," she said. "So I thought you'd just make me take off anything I was wearing anyway. I hope you still like the way I look without it."

Smiling, Darian brushed the back of his fingers along the girl's cheek, letting them stroke her skin as they trailed their way back into her hair. The slight shiver that went through her body as he touched her throat was barely perceptible.

"Good girl, he said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders for this kind of work. You're quite lovely without makeup. It makes you look younger, more innocent. I don't want to put much on you. We'll take a look after you change into this."

Moments later, the girl was back in the studio, dressed in a pair of full length red silk pajama pants and the long-sleeved red silk top Darian had warned her about.

"I look like one of those porcelain Chinese girl figurines you find in a Toscano catalog," she said as she slipped into a chair before the vanity table.

"That's the point," Darian said, slipping his hands into her hair and adjusting the angle of her head until he was happy with the way she sat. "You're an adorably exotic little China doll getting a good night's sleep on this giant silk tea bag."

The girl giggled, but continued to hold the position he'd placed her head in.

"You're a very good model," Darian murmured. "Or just a very obedient girl."

"A little of both, maybe," the girl grinned.

Producing a small brush, Darian selected a tray of powders and began mixing them.

"You've got great skin," he said, gently caressing her cheek with the brush. A soft scent of ginger and bay leaves reached her nostrils. "This is mainly to give you a bit more flattering tone when contrasted with the dark red of the pajamas and pillow. Colors always shift a bit on film so your skin needs to be just a tad darker than its normal shade."

She shivered again as he caressed her long slender throat with the bristles. And it went on like that. Her lips were outlined in a dark red with a brush an then filled in with a slightly paler red. The girl felt her nipples growing hard as Darian rested his forearm on her chest. The intensity of his concentration as he carefully caressed every inch of her soft, full lips was arousing her. Her eye makeup was just as painstakingly done.

By the time he was brushing her hair, the girl was squirming slightly in the chair. Her small chest began to rise and fall more markedly as the brush worked its way slowly through the length of her hair.

"This is a great color," he murmured as he switched to a comb with long, fine teeth. "I like the honey highlights. And I love the way it feels."

The girl had forgotten to breathe as the long, soothing strokes of the comb through her hair relaxed her. Completely zoned out, she had allowed her body to respond on its own to the stranger's touch as he pampered her, carefully reshaping her appearance to fit his own ideal of beauty.

At one point, she had pressed her shoulders back against his chest, lolling her head back and sighing happily. She whimpered as she felt his breath on the nape of her neck and his lips brushed her ear. The girl actually jumped as his voice brought her back to reality.

"Ready to get in bed?" he asked softly.

Chapter Two

Grateful for an opportunity to hide her confusion, the girl hopped out of the chair and padded to the four-poster bed Darian had set up for the shoot. Perfectly manicured nails traced the carvings in the cherry wood posts.

"Isn't this bed too western?" she asked, letting her long, dark hair cover her face as her blush faded. "It seems more colonial than Asian with the mosquito netting and fluted columns."

"You've got a good eye," Darian nodded as he checked his camera settings. "I'm shooting for that East/West colonial mix. Buy this pillow and you, too, could have your own adorable Asian sex slave."

The girl paused and glanced down at her pajamas. Raising an eyebrow, she turned back to the photographer and said, "This is how you dress your sex slaves?"

"Only the shiny new ones," he chuckled, snapping a quick shot of her as she leaned against the bedpost. "You know the fantasy about Asian girls."

"No, I don't," the girl said, tilting her head to look up curiously at the older man. "Guys don't really talk about things like that in front of me. I mean, it's really obvious when a guy has yellow fever but I just think he's weird and creepy. I don't really know what he's thinking. And most guys won't tell me because they think I'll get offended."

Darian nodded and took another shot as he gestured at the pair of red silk pillows against the headboard. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense," he admitted. "Pick up the pillow and hold it against your cheek. Think of a cat rubbing against ... whatever cats rub against."

The girl giggled as she began playing with the pillow, her eyes dancing as she purred against the silk.

"Well, come on," she said. "Tell me. What's the deal with yellow fever? What are you pervy white guys thinking when you look at me?"

"I'm not telling," Darian said, moving about the room to try different angles. "Besides, it's disgusting and dirty and racist."

"Tell me," she shouted, bouncing on the bed and beating the pillow on her knees. "You've got me all curious now."

Rolling his eyes, Darian gestured for the girl to lie down, "It's just the standard stuff, that you're naturally submissive, you're born knowing how to suck cock, those tight little bodies are designed to squeeze cocks, you've got sideways vaginas ..."

"What?" The girl sat bolt upright in the bed and demanded, "We have what?"

Capturing her glare on film, Darian chuckled. "Sideways vaginas. Instead of going up and down like normal women, Asian vaginas go side to side so they get tighter when you spread your legs." As the girl's mouth opened and closed in wordless disbelief, he nodded solemnly. "It's true."

"It is not," she snorted, throwing the pillow at him. "That's disgusting."

"Prove it," he grinned, tossing the pillow back. "Take of your pants."

"Sure," the girl said, rolling onto her back and pulling her knees up to her chest as she shimmied out of the red silk pants. As her black panties came into view, she stuck her tongue out, spreading her legs wide to flash the panties before sitting up again with her feet tucked under her bottom.

"Cheater," the photographer grinned. "You know I was expecting you to be bare. Now, lay back down and pretend you are asleep. Put your hand on the pillow next to your face." He frowned as the girl complied. "Stop giggling. You're supposed to look sweet and innocent, not smirky. The fantasy is that you're a sweet, innocent submissive Asian virgin who'll just become a complete cum-addicted whore with your first taste of white cock."

This, of course, only made matters worse. Snorting and rolling her eyes, the girl rolled onto her tummy and gazed at him through the veil of her hair. "Yeah," she said. "Because we're all like Little Red Riding Hood." Her voice took on a childish lisp as she widened here eyes and said, "Asian dicks are too small. And black dicks are too big. But white dicks are just right."

Setting the camera aside, Darian took a seat beside the girl, dropping his hand to caress hers. "Relax," he said, his voice low and soft. "Close your eyes and try to actually sleep. We're going to have to get you calmed back down."

The girl giggled as his nails caressed her open palm, tickling her. Taking her hand in both of his, he began massaging the pressure points in her palm with this thumbs. "You are such a little giggle monster. Straighten up."

This, of course, only sent more giggles running through the girl as he caressed her hand. Opening one eye, she peered up at him curiously.

His hand moved along the girls arm, kneading the muscles as he murmured for her to be still. She blushed again as his finger tips began to probe her shoulders. A small whimper escaped her lips as his fingers began caressing her throat.

"How would you like to quadruple your money?" he asked.

The girl squinted at him suspiciously and shook her head.

"I'm not getting naked," she said.

Darian shook his head as he reached into his pocket and produced a short length of shiny black leather with small silver rings, a dog collar. Smiling, he brushed the girl's cheek, letting the soft suede caress her.

"This would be the only wardrobe change," he murmured. She did not stop him, just stared without blinking, as he circled her neck, lifting her hair slightly, cinching the soft leather band around her throat. "Just a little collar, a very subtle hint."

Still she did not speak, but reached up to feel it, her eyes not leaving his, her breathing coming in short intakes of breath. Her fingers slid between her neck and the collar, feeling its snugness, but not uncomfortably so. She watched as he reached back into his pocket, pulling out a small padlock.

"No," she whispered, but did not stop him as he reached up, turned the buckle which had been hidden by her hair, and slipping the lock into place, he snapped it shut. The "click" made her shiver.

"A subtle hint of what?" she asked.

Hooking his fingers in the collar, he tugged gently, bringing the young woman to her knees on the bed. His pale green eyes held a hint of humor as he grinned.

"That if you buy these pillows, you, too, could have your own hot Asian sex slave," he said.

"Yes," the girl laughed nervously. "Clearly. Because that is what Asian girls look for in boyfriends, tons of fake Asian crap in their bedrooms. I know red paper lanterns, dragons and tigers always make me horny."

"Which is why you are not the target market," Darian chuckled. "Honestly, how many Asians do you know who'll buy a pillow stuffed with tea leaves? This is for white college kids who think they're Buddhists because they've watched a yoga DVD. The shots we've already got are for family-oriented magazines and papers. I'm thinking about something for Maxim and men's magazines."

Returning to the makeup table, he made a few selections and returned to remove her lipstick and eye make up. As he carefully began to apply deep scarlet lip color and a subtle peacock eyeshadow, he continued to explain.

"These photos are designed to sell the pillows to rice kings," he said. "You know what these guys want when they look at you. Just give the impression that you can't wait to give it to them when you pose."

The girl nodded, tucking her heels up under her bottom as she kneeled on the bed. Bowing her head, she let her long, dark hair fall forward to screen her face and she spoke in an exaggerated accent.

"Yes, sir. A very good slave, I will be for you."

The camera clicked even as the photographer chuckled. "Perhaps a little less good," he suggested. "I think a bad girl might be more appropriate. Part your thighs and place the pillow between them. Give the hint you're humping it."

The transformation was instant. Giggling the girl parted her thighs and wedged the corner of the pillow against her sex. Lifting her chin, she left her lips slightly parted and gazed at the camera with smoky, hooded eyes.

"Excellent," Darian cooed, shooting more photos. "Keep going."

Nodding, the girl began slipping through pose after pose, leaning forward onto her hands and knees, falling onto her side and taking a strand of hair between her lips, licking her fingers. Darian locked a leash to her collar and she began to use it as a prop as well, stroking it through her fingers and letting it trail between her thighs.

Darian smiled as he watched the girl work harder and harder to look sexy. A flush was growing along her throat and face and her breathing was growing shallower as she began to become turned on.

"You're amazing," he marveled as the shoot came to an end. "You really seemed to be getting into it."

The girl blushed furiously and looked down at her hands.

"Maybe a little."

Darian bit his lip as he looked at her, finally coming to a decision.

"Keep the collar," he said, digging into a chest and drawing out a small bundle. "And take these as well. Try them on at home and see how they feel. If you're comfortable with them and interested, I'd like to schedule another photo shoot."

Chewing her bottom lip, the girl looked at the wrapped bundle curiously.

"Wear them?" she finally asked.

"Bondage outfits. A bit more daring than what you're wearing now," Darian said, flipping through his wallet and handing her five $100 bills. "But the pay's also better."

"But still no sex or nudity?" she asked, her eyes suspicious.

"And no whipping you bloody," he grinned. "Just fantasy dress up."

"I'll think about it," the girl said, heading back to the changing room. "But no promises."

Chapter Three

Darian groaned in frustration as he looked at the photos on the desktop. Normally the problem was finding half a dozen shots he could actually use. Today, he was finding it impossible to weed any out.

"This girl is amazing," he thought, swearing under his breath as he realized he'd now forgotten to get her name twice in a row.

Whatever her name was, the girl had range. There was no denying the fact she looked extremely cute and innocent in the early photos. But as he clicked through to the end of the shoot, her whole persona changed and it was far more than a matter of makeup.

"You are one fierce little sex kitten," he murmured, stroking his cock through the fabric of his jeans as he worked his way through the shots. Sliding the controls to tone the photograph, he found himself frowning. "What the hell is going on with my black levels?" he muttered, zooming in first, on the girl's hair and finally on her panties.

Chuckling, he leaned back in his chair, unzipping his fly and stroking himself to a climax as he thought about what his was seeing. There was no defect in the shot. The girl's panties had become darker toward the end of the shoot. Posing for him had gotten her wet.

* * * * *

At home, the girl fingered her new collar absentmindedly as she stared hard at the bundle the photographer had given her. She had actually forgotten she was wearing the collar until she got home and caught her reflection in a mirror.

"God, what is wrong with you, Monique?" she thought. "Everybody who saw you probably thinks you're some kind of pervert."

Looking back at the package, she squirmed on the edge of the bed and thought, "Maybe they're right."

There was no denying the experience had made the young woman horny. By the time the shoot ended, Monique had been terrified the photographer would see her juices running down her thigh. For some reason, that had just made it worse and she became even hornier.

She was afraid to open the package.

But she had to. The girl pounced on it, squealing with excitement when the paper tore away to reveal a pile of leather straps and silver chains. Running her fingers over the soft, shiny black leather, Monique felt herself growing wet again. Hesitation gone, she stripped herself naked and began separating the parts.

The wrist and ankle restraints were easy enough to figure out. Monique simply wrapped them on and secured the buckles. The leather thong went on quickly as well, although the fit was odd. The knobby interior rubbed maddeningly against her labia and the rawhide strap settled into her slit, teasing her with each movement she made.

Monique was already out of breath as she examined the top. It seemed to be a collection of straps and chains meant to simply lock around her torso, barely concealing her breasts and leaving her tummy bare.

"What kind of slut would let a guy see her in this?" she wondered as her fingers slipped inside the thong to tease her clit. The girl's head lolled back as she moaned with passion as she glimpsed herself in the mirror. The crimson lipstick and blue-green eye shadowed combined with the raw need on her face to make her seem even almost feral.

Shocked at her own appearance, she drew back onto the bed, sinking her fingers inside her pussy as she moaned with pleasure.

"Me," she whimpered as she rocked her hips against her fingers, feeling the cool metal chains brushing her hard nipples. "I'm that kind of slut."

* * * * *

Monique kneeled with her thighs spread in a pile of dark furs, a fine sheen of sweat making her skin gleam as brightly in the firelight as the oiled leather and silver chains she wore.

Darian was seated at a table by the fire, arguing politics with a pair of dark-skinned Arabs. The girl kept her eyes lowered, focused on her master's left hand as it rested on his thigh. When he turned palm up, Monique leaned forward, gracefully crawling to his side, making a point of swaying her hips suggestively.

"May this girl serve her master?" she asked, kneeling at his side and keeping her eyes lowered until he asked for another round of drinks. As she crawled away from the table, she could feel three sets of eyes boring into her bare ass. Rather than concealing her sex, the leather thong bisected it, making her labia even more prominent as she moved.

Walking back to the table, she kept her eyes lowered but could still see the way the Arabs were looking at her. Kneeling again at her master's feet, she placed the tray on the ground and served him first, kissing the rim of his cup and then raising it toward him with both hands. Each of the Arabs was served in the same manner, minus the kiss. Darian was her master, not these other men.

Blushing deeply, she crawled back ot her furs as the conversation turned from politics to slaves. Although their words were crude, Monique realized the men's comments were meant to be complimentary. There seemed to be much amusement over her small stature and the pleasure such a tight pussy could offer. However, both Arabs offered Darian their condolences on the smallness of his slave's breasts.

Monique burned with shame as she realized her master was being teased due to her deficiencies. Blinking her eyes against tears, she almost missed Darian's summoning gesture. Scrambling to him on her knees, she chewed her lip and rose gracefully to her feet when he commanded her to rise and display her tits to his guests.

Monique's breasts were just coming into view when her alarm clock went off, bringing her back to the real world and the knowledge that she had to be in class soon. Groaning, she fingered her pussy as she calculated how long it would take to get dressed.

Chapter Four

Darian took a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of oiled leather and cedar. Closing his eyes, he leaned again the wooden support post, running his palm over the rough, unfinished surface. An image of the girl restrained at the post was forming in his mind when he heard the front door chiming.

The girl's face was a mask of pure fury and she flew toward him. "You ass," he screamed. "You perverted, deceitful ass."

"Whoa," Darian said, throwing up his hands. "What did I do?"

In answer, the girl pulled up the loose-fitting sleeve of her baggy blouse. The black leather wrist restraint gleamed darkly against her skin.

"These don't come off," she growled. "I had to wear them under my clothes all day. Not to mention this." Tilting her head, the girl swept aside her lustrous hair to reveal the padlock firmly attached to the back of her collar. "You didn't give me a key, you bastard."

"Good thing you had that turtle neck," he grinned. "How'd you get your bra on under the top?"

"I didn't!" she shrieked. "I had to sleep in the whole outfit and wear it to class today. Those leather panties drove me nuts all day."

Cocking his head, Darian favored the young woman with a wicked grin before he said simply, "You know you could have just slid them down your legs. There's no way to lock a g-string."

With a wordless howl of rage, Monique threw her purse at the photographer. Bouncing harmlessly off Darian's shoulder, it flopped to the ground behind him.

"You have serious anger issues, little girl," he said. "You need discipline."

"You need to get me out of this stuff," she huffed.

Darian nodded again, his face lighting up as he agreed to help Monique.

"No problem," he grinned. "Just get undressed and I'll have you out of it in no time."

Monique's eyes widened and she actually squealed with rage.

"I'm not letting you see me in this!"

"Then I can't get you out of it," Darian shrugged. "The buckles all have arrowhead clasps. It takes two really strong hands to squeeze the points together and then pull them back through. But I'm sure you can find a friend or relative somewhere who'd be happy to help you off with it. Maybe your dad. I bet he'd love to help."

Monique fumed as she ran through the list of guys she knew who were strong enough to work the clasps and who she wouldn't mind seeing her in the bondage outfit. With a sigh of resignation, she realized it was a very short list and kicked off her shoes. Moments later, after what seemed like an agonizingly long and humiliating strip tease, she stood before Darian wearing nothing but her collar, wrist and ankle restraints and the leather and chain g-string and bodice.

As the photographer slowly ran his eyes over every delicious inch of the girl's body, he let a small smile play over his lips.

"You look amazing," he said. "Are you sure I can't convince you to do a few test shots before I help you out of it?"

"Positive," she snorted, tapping a small, slender foot against the hardwood floor of the studio.

Pouting sorrowfully, Darian nodded and gestured for Monique to turn around. "Put your hands behind you," he instructed.

"Why?" the girl asked suspiciously.

Chuckling, he said, "You can always do this yourself if you don't like the way I do it. How long did you spend wrestling with it last night?"

Monique blushed with humiliation, not wanting to admit she hadn't wrestled with it at all. The outfit had made her feel so sexy and so hot that she had worn it to bed, fingering herself to fantasies of Gor until she drifted off. She hadn't discovered how hard it was to get out of until she was already late for class the next morning.

Helplessly, she turned around, clasping her hands together behind her back as she leaned forward to present them to Darian. Moments later, she felt his hands envelop hers and heard a shark click. Sighing with relief, she tried to pull her hands back in front of her, only to realize he'd locked the two wrist restraints together.

"What the fuck?" she shrieked as a sharp tug pulled her wrists upwards behind her. Her only answer was the sting of a firm, open-handed slap on her bare ass.

"What the fuck, Sir," Darian corrected, hauling the girl's wrists higher until she was forced to bend at the waist to ease the strain on her shoulders.

"Fuck you," she shouted, only to be answered by a sharper yank on her wrists and a harder slap on her ass.

"Fuck you, Sir," Darian chided her, barely able to restrain his laughter.

Monique continued kicking and cursing as the photographer spread her ankles far apart and connected the restrains to the ends of a wooden spreader bar. With her wrists suspended from an overhead beam by a length of rope and her legs spread, Monique tipped forward on her tip toes as she bent forward at the waist.

The girl howled with outrage as he strolled around in front of her and cupped her breasts through the leather straps and chains.

"Not very large, but they suit your frame," he commented clinically. "And I love these hard little brown nipples. Does being pissed off always make you horny?"

"Thinking about kicking your ass turns me on," the girl snarled.

This time, he smacked her ass with a short slapper made of a length of rectangular black leather.

"Thinking about kicking your ass turns me on, Sir," he said with a great show of weariness.

Darian left her there, angry and struggling for half an hour as he shot photos of her near naked body in bondage. For the first few minutes, she was in a daze, not completely realizing the predicament she was in. In some ways, it was a dream-like state. She had a moment of anger, upset with herself for being in this position and anger at Darian for the way he had taken her. But then fear began to take over. No one knew she was here. The pain began to make its way to her overwhelmed senses, an ache in her shoulders and a burning sensation on her ass cheeks. She had never been spanked, not even by her father.

Anger had not worked. Maybe she could try her female charms. "Please, Sir, I'm sorry for yelling at you and being angry. Please let me loose, Sir. I won't tell anyone."

"This position is called a strapado," he said, conversationally, totally ignoring her previous plea. "It's a wonderful position for taking a slave from behind or for oral sex." His hand caressed the smooth globe of the girl's bottom before teasing the folds of her labia as they peeked out between her widespread thighs. "You will spend a lot of time in this position until you learn to do these things willingly."

As the girl continued to struggle, he worked a finger into her tight little pussy from behind her.

"You're wet, slut," he said quietly and confidently. "You may continue to struggle, but we both know you enjoy this. Now, would you like to cum before I tell you the rules of your new life?"