Plantation X Ch. 02

Chapter 2: The Night Before His Breaking In

Mmmmmm…

Such delicious orgasm can come in the privacy of personal space. Her body was alive beneath her caressing hands as she soaped and refreshed in the powerful warmth of her shower. Reliving the night before and the day since the memories flashed through her. Of him, after his time of waiting and wanting, coming to her at her invite, dining on the simple meal with her in the kitchen.

Of their first hungry kiss, her desire matching his. Ravenous mouths intense in their craving. Of him, stripping away his clothes, to reveal a hard proud body, forged of his craft. Full balls; a cock of proportions that she made her flood to see that her intuition had been correct. There would be many types and sizes in the future, many that would satisfy her in countless ways, but this one she had picked and lured to her, unknown to him, from pure instinct. She had known, almost without doubt, when she had first seen him at his craft in the town and seen his arrogant manner with those that he engaged. Then seen the dark need that even he hadn’t fathomed, blazing in his eyes as he displayed his proud cool compliance to her when she entered his place and with dominant grace ordered from him her first item. The silver handled whip with the hard leather tails, the livid lashed memory on his flesh in his taking. Soon after that he had come to her, entered into her employ, living at her estate, compelled there by his need, not knowing yet what that need was, or why he had followed it.

Her mind wandered back to the night before, mirrored by fingertips that wandered between her labia once more playing her lust through the remembered vision of him, stood there, transfixed, almost nervous. Urgent and eager at the sight of her removing her dress to reveal the naked voluptuousness of her body beneath, hardly bearing to think he could touch her. And then reaching out to touch.

She remembered his mouth so urgent and eager, feeding his lusts from her breast and her body. His hands, his legs, his chest, his tongue and teeth all concurring to have his pleasure. His whispering of her name into the thick night and her arousal. His pleasure, bringing her hers a hundred fold, in ways he would never imagine. And of the satisfaction of his penetration, as she allowed him to enter and enjoy her, she dancing to his rhythm, almost imperceptibly controlling his responses. So subtle, that movement, he barely knew it was happening, but even as he fucked and rode, he was growing as hers hers, deep in his sex and soul.

Their storming orgasm as each came, together and alone in the same moment – strangers but held in that space and mutual storm.

His breath as he lay there, sleeping in the after lust of his animal passions. The memory of that moment filled her with a rush of knowing and pleasure – the peace after the pure wild sex, before she tamed the beast. She had no intention of losing the animal in him, only of taming it to her.

When the Smith had woken, deep in the night, there in her bed, it was to her caress, her kiss – and the throbbing insurgency in his cock. And to a realisation that there was a rope around his neck, attached to the wrought iron bed head he had crafted for he the week before. Not holding him in one place, just constraining him lightly. Like a stallion, lightly haltered. He had groaned, surged, and needed – a single rope opening up a chasm of being that he had hidden form his reality all his life.

And then. She had taken him. For the first time she had shown him what this could, and would be. She had altered the press of her palms on his chest to a squeezing, powerful pummel, she had held his testicles and squeezed so excruciatingly firm and gentle he had thought they would explode. She had turned him on the pivot of his lightly tethering collar, raised him up and explored his buttocks and the cleft between, before sinking a single finger sudden and deep inside him, pressing her pelvis to his left buttock as he screamed and yelled in pure sensation.

Then, turning him once more, she had ridden him. Hard and long, there in the indigo darkness of the jungle night. No moon tonight, only the unadulterated knowing of her physicality consuming his. As she had mounted his splayed-back body, holding his hands above his head, positioning himself he had felt the heat and wet of her arousal at his cock tip. Her large, full nippled breast had sought its pleasure at his mouth as she had circled his glans with her cunt entrance. Slowly, at first, letting him feel her. God, he had never felt a woman like this before, had never stopped to know , always plunging in and having his fuck, because that was what he knew. Until then. The slow pulse of her inner sex taking his shaft in inches, to the root, taking his soul to the core.

Then up, off and plunged back down so hard he thought his body would break. Except it didn’t…it all but exploded as she started to gallop her body against her human steed. Until once more, and once more and once more she had come, and finally he had erupted, as a tiger released, deep into her vagina.

And then she had tied him – binding him taut, he puppy like in the soft compliance of his satiation. He had slept in fitful profundity, there in her huge, deep bed, bound to her now in more than his body.

In the morning dawn there had been more. She had woken him, left his bound ankles tied and loosened his wrists. She had moved him with her hands navigating him to pleasure her body, whispering her wants in the silence of the room, until they were his only focus. His balls filling, cock straining, he wanted, and didn’t want. Now all that he knew was her, and her desires. She had cum and cum, and he had watched and felt her pleasure in the half light.

Then she had pushed him to the floor, the long leash at his throat still tied to the bed, told him he had woken her well, and had left him there, while she went to urinate. He lay on the boarded ground, dazed by the truth of this, his ears filled with the stream of her being, and slowly fought back into the truth of the day.

As the reality hit him he found himself yelling to the room that he could not, would not be possessed. Fighting the bonds, screaming his resistance, confronting the power of her possession in the individuality of himself. How could this woman, with half his physical strength have got him here, and made him feel this way. His body lashed against the floor as his roared defiance broke the day into some kind of madness.

In a flashing moment the whip had lashed down against his half curled body, stilling him instantly into silence. She had pressed one foot against his head, pinning it, without pain, to the floor, and moved her other foot to his cock, oppressing that, too, down to the floor, toying with it, not hurting yet, but with the threat of anguish at a fraction more pressure.

Leaning down, she had reached for his wrists and bound them tight behind his back – hog tying them to his ankles, taking his rope leashed neck she had loosened, then re-bound it to the bed leg, and she walked away, leaving him in his turmoil.

Her words “We both know what you are, what you will be. What you have always been, deep inside. Your resistance is most enjoyable, but wasted” had rung firm to his ears and echoed in his brain as she had moved from the room and left him sobbing.

Hearing her move, humming to herself as she readied herself for the day, he had lain there for countless time, eyes closed in instinctive, agonised denial of his state. He had pictured her as her sounds enveloped his senses…tall, powerful, her straight brown hair hanging soft against her face, the flash of her hazel eyes imprinted in his existence.

And then, deep in his painless agony he had felt the blindfold, cool in its leather newness over his eyes and almost cried out with the comfort of it. She had released his coupled wrists from his ankles, untied his feet, unleashed his throat from the bed and guided him to standing. Holding both leash and his left arm she had guided him, quietly talking words he could not fathom, out into the courtyard, and the whipping post that stood there.

To break him in and take his final resistance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the naked Mistress found her solitary pleasure in waterfall stream of her sensual shower, revelling in the touch of her hands and the memories of the hours before, the denuded Smith prepared his forge, his mind and body filled too, with the essence of what he was becoming. What he was. Lighting the brazier from the coals of the forge, a tear fell slow on his cheek.

The leather he was so skilled at crafting hung ready in the next room, in this were the tools, iron and means by which he had begun to fashion some of the first essentials of her domain. He knew now why a Smith was so important to her, and why she valued and desired his metal and leather craft skills in equal measure. He knew too that he was here, in this place because it was his place to be Hers.

In her time, when the shower was done and she was refreshed, re-dressed and ready, her footsteps fell once more across the courtyard. He felt dog-like in his perception of her, alert to her movement, wanting her to come to him, obedient in staying where he had been sent. Already devoted. He could not even look up to see her, her presence was too great in his soul. Instead, instinctively, he knelt, head bowed, his flesh gleaming against the light of the forge.

Offering himself willingly now into her being.

Nothing had been said, but he knew now that the item he had made yesterday, was not only for the purpose he had first thought. He knew now that there were to be more cattle in this place than conventional beasts. He knew that he was one of them. It was written in his soul.

Is it ready? She asked…
His eyes lifted and crossed to the brazier in the back of his hut
The iron, a simply ornate ‘K, settled in its coals, burned orange.
Burned for him.
For Her.