Caging Cadence Ch. 02

She had been so overwhelmed, so dizzy and breathless and exhausted after coming so many times in a row, that she had completely forgotten his intention to inflict even more pain on her when it was done. Her thighs were so soft, so sensitive - she had hated even the relatively gentle slaps with his palms that he had used to force her legs open when she didn't move fast enough. His belt searing her flesh, with her legs bound open and completely vulnerable, had been far too much. So she had offered up what she knew was his ultimate prize - the sweet, wet cavern between her thighs that he had blatantly, crudely craved from the moment their encounter began the night before.

And he had relented. She remembered her rush of relief when he started to unbind her, and the way it was quickly flooded by a sense of impending doom. But underneath it, bound in its own way by her defiance, was a burning, aching need for him to take what he wanted. To fuck her raw, sensitive flesh as hard and fast as he could, with no concern for her comfort or pleasure, or anything other than his own completion. To claim her, totally and completely, as he kept threatening to. To bring this whole encounter to its final, desperate, mad peak and find solid ground on the other side.

But when he had asked her to repeat her request, she couldn't. He gave her barely half a chance, asked her once and then spoken over her when she tried to speak again. And then, all too soon, she was on the ground underneath him - torn evenly between wanting him to thrust his cock inside of her and fuck her brutally, taking ownership of her...and praying he wouldn't, that she would get to maintain that last, flimsy scrap of her innocence for just a bit longer. When she thought he had finally speared her flesh with his cock, she had cried - not out of despair, but out of longing, and relief, and the overwhelming need to be fucked. When he flexed his fingers and she realized it wasn't his cock inside of her - that's when despair swept over her, made her numb with shock and loss she had never imagined feeling before.

He was right, absolutely and completely, without a doubt. She had wanted it, too. She hadn't just wanted to have sex with him, no - she had wanted it the way he demanded it, hard and fast and rough. When he threw that fact back in her face, she crumbled.

And then, the worst moment of them all - how he carelessly pushed her arms away from her face and fucked her throat, brutally fast and much deeper than before, just the way she was craving for him to fuck her cunt. He didn't even finish inside of her, didn't let her take that one brief, dim moment of satisfaction she had felt the last time he had used her throat. Instead, he pulled himself out and finished himself off, all over her face. It was degrading, and disgusting, and it made her sore, raw pussy throb with need.

It wasn't fair, that he could do this to her, that she could hate him and crave him all at once. It made her feel foolish and naive and desperate, driven by baser desires that had been only an ancillary part of her life just a day before. Now, they owned her, and she was worried that David was close to claiming the same.

So she sat on the floor of her cage and cried, completely spent, at a loss of what to do next. She wanted nothing more than the safety of her room, or her car, or the library on campus at her school. She wanted to be somewhere safe and comfortable, where people smiled and said 'please' and didn't look at her like she was a dirty, exploitable thing - less than human, less than dust.

She wasn't sure how long she waited there. Eventually she stopped kneeling and curled up on the ground.She couldn't stop the tears from coming out of her eyes, but she wasn't sobbing anymore. She just lay on the cold ground, shivering and sniffling, closing her eyes and trying to imagine that she was anywhere else.

Some time later, the closet door opened. Cadence peered through the bars, but she didn't move from her prone position on the floor. She lay her head back on the ground, tucking her face in her arms, closing her eyes again. She heard David's footsteps crossing the carpet, stopping somewhere across the room for a second. Then he claim closer, until he was standing right outside her cage. She willed herself to disappear.

"Cadence," a voice from above, gentler than she expected. "Sit up. Show me your face. It's time for us to talk."

Unwillingly, Cadence wriggled up from the ground, trying to maintain her dignity and failing spectacularly. She sat on her heels, knees together, wrists still stretched and tied to the bars in front of her, then lifted her face up. She tried to fill her eyes with fire, but she winced when she met his steady gaze. He loomed above her for a moment, then reached through the bars and tilted her chin up. He inspected her cheeks closely, lifting his hand to trace the tear tracks that cut through the come on her face.

"Looks like someone learned their lesson," he murmured.

Fuming, she pulled her head away. He chuckled.

"Maybe not." He withdrew from her cage and crossed the room. She saw a few things sitting on the table she had been strapped to only minutes before. She shuddered, remembering, wishing she couldn't.

He brought back two of the items. Cadence recognized another cup of water with a straw, and a damp washcloth from the kitchen. David unlocked her cage and opened it, his face impassive. But his movements were smooth, controlled, careful. The anger that drove him to such cruelty was still there, but he seemed to have tempered it somewhat in their time apart.

"Come closer," he said. "Let me help you."

She obliged, slow and wary, feeling like a caged animal. That was the point, she supposed. She shuffled her knees until she was just below where he stood in the doorway of the cage. He knelt down, getting on her level. He held up the cup and the washcloth.

"Which first?" he asked.

Cadence nodded towards the washcloth, scowling. David laughed a little again, then set down the cup of water and beckoned her forward. She leaned in, averting her eyes, letting him take her face in one hand and press the cloth against her cheek with the other. He worked gently, cleaning away evidence of his orgasm, watching her closely as she stoically accepted his treatment.

She hated that she felt herself melting under his touch, that she was so low that even kindness from the one who had brought her down felt like the sweetest comfort. She took a page out of his book and made her face impressive, emotionless, a mask of indifference against his gentleness. It had no visible effect on him - he continued to touch her softly, methodically wiping her face.

When he was finished, he set the washcloth aside the lifted the straw to her lips. She opened her mouth and drank, the cool liquid soothing her throat. She was getting used to drinking water this way, to relying on him to keep her hydrated and clean. The way he doled out these little moments of compassion was picking away at the core of her resolve. She hated him for it, even as she felt a swell of gratitude and warmth. David was watching her face closely still, and smiled when her saw the emotion shift in her eyes.

"Every time I think you're hopeless, something like that happens," he whispered. "I see you struggling with yourself. I'm sure you think I'm just taunting you, or mocking you, or maybe even that I'm lying to myself. But I know that there is a part of you that wants this. That wants me. We both know. Can't you just admit it, Cadence?"

His candor surprised her. She sat back on her heels.

"I can't admit that," she whispered, lifting her eyes to his. "But we can talk."