Tis storming out, the wind is howling, the rain pelting. It's not yet evening but the day has grown dark, the clouds above menacing. Her struggles with her umbrella, her slow progressive walk into the wind, her fight with nature stir the beast within Him as He watches from the luxury of His chauffeur driven car with its warm leather seats and dark tinted windows.
He taps the glass that always divides Him from the driver and the car pulls to the curb. His ever-humble servant opens the door for Master and holds the umbrella above his head, not batting an eye at the drenching he is receiving; his only concern is that his Master stays dry and safe. He takes the umbrella from His servant and calls out to the girl fighting the elements.
She is desperately trying to get home. The storm, the likes of which, she hasn't seen so fierce in a long time, has her exhausted after battling five long blocks. She only has one block to go and her umbrella is trying to turn inside out. She wants to toss it to the wind, but is thankful at the same time for the small shield it is creating against the wind that she is leaning into.
She is soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, her long hair, normally tied so neatly, hangs in loose strands that blow into her face; her long black skirt is completely moulded to her skin. Her blouse is transparent. Her four hundred-dollar leather shoes are ruined, her feet slush and slide around inside them. The squeaking with each step she takes puts her in a foul mood, the thought of what her feet will look like when she pulls her stockings off, makes her despondent.
Deciding she has had enough, she stops to discard her beautiful Italian leather mules and walk the distance home barefoot. One shoe still remaining, she hears a voice calling; she turns towards the voice and finds a dignified man walking purposely towards her.
"Excuse Me?" He calls to her in a lightly accented voice.
She frowns at him and looks to the sky; the ever-menacing clouds thicken further as day turns to night while she looks on in frustration. The wind whips her hair harshly, tossing it around stinging her face and eyes, distracting her momentarily from the man walking towards her.
Her already bad mood escalates when she notices his umbrella is in perfect condition. She reaches up, shoves at her hair and puts a false smile on her face. 'Bastard, at least someone's dry', she hisses to herself before yelling out to him, over the wind.
"I can't hear you. Sorry what did you say?"
He motions to her with his hand cupped to his ear and continues with his purposeful stride. She interprets the gesture as a sign that he can't hear her either. Releasing a pent up breath slowly through almost blue lips, she hops on one foot as she reaches down to pull off her shoe. Her bag slips from her shoulder and she almost stumbles while trying to push it back up, at the same time he reaches out to steady her.
He quickly thrusts out a hand for her to hold, which she gratefully takes and looks up at him with a dazzling smile, the first real smile she has had since leaving the office. He holds her hand tightly, pulling her slightly towards him; she espies a handkerchief as his other hand reaches for her face. A repugnant smell slaps her in the face as the kerchief is brought heavily down on her nose, sending her senses reeling and opening a cold pit of blackness. Before losing consciousness, she hears him growl;
"That won't be the last time you reach for me slut!" as she falls into his arms.
*****
She starts to awaken. Her head is groggy, her mind lazy. She tries to recall what had happened and where she was, but nothing makes sense. The rain, she remembers, yes the rain. She knows her eyes are open but she cannot see. She attempts to wipe her face, but finds that she cannot move her hands, they are not free. An ache in her arms, annoying and uncomfortable, has her more confused then scared. Her skirt feels unusually tight and her ankles are apart. She tries to move her legs, but she cannot. With a sigh of exhaustion, she hangs her head and drifts again into blackness; it's too much to think about, the blackness is welcomed.
He watches the girl across from him, as he has watched her many times before. She is 25 years old, not too late to be trained for the purpose He wants her for. He has done all sorts of things to this girl already. He has organized and orchestrated so much in her life, without her knowledge. For the last year she has unwillingly and unknowingly been prepared for his use. A use he now feels she is ready to par-take in, a job, one that He believes she is ready to fill.
From all the reports he has seen, from the many men he has employed to enter her life so fleetingly, he is most pleased with the results. The last report showed that she is fed up; she has had enough of men and their uncaring ways. She seems desperate to believe that He is out there, that one perfect mate. She wants to chance it one more time, but fears her instincts are failing her.
Her fears are real and rightly so. The men He chose for her were all stage playing a script that he had written for his own design. These men were actors who were paid a small fortune to put her in a specific frame of mind; a frame of mind that guaranteed she would be unhappy, unsatisfied and full of self-doubt. Exactly where he wanted her.
He could see the desperation in her eyes when she daydreamed in the park at lunch times. In the way her eyes scan, searching, when she thinks no one is looking. She is searching for Him, the man that will see her; she just never seems to look in the right direction.
He enjoys the sadness that enters her eyes when her search finds no one. He laughs at her disappointment, for He knows that someone has noticed her. He sees her need to fill and be fulfilled by the desires she hides behind and maybe unconsciously so, with her polished look, manicured nails, and made up face.
He knows these desires burn, deep within her stomach with every aching disappointment of another dream unfulfilled. He wants her that way; aching and desperate to prove her worth to someone, to Him.
She has never seen Him, never looked in His direction. For that He will make her pay. She will pay for her self-absorption in not seeing him, not seeing the satisfaction that he could bring her. The price will be her complete and total obedience, surrender and submission. She will be His whore; His own personal whore, to use as He sees fit. He will offer her nothing and take all in return.
His cock hardens with the pleasure these thoughts bring Him. Watching with a lecherous grin on his face, He thinks of the look in her eyes to come, the look she will finally bestow upon Him. He knows there is a fire behind the demure appearance and relishes the coming fight, the fight with her for her.
*****
With brutal hands, He ruthlessly rips her blouse open, exposing her white bra. He grabs a knife and cuts the bra from her chest with one quick twist. He reaches for His assortment of tools laying on the seat next to him.
He picks up the first of two clamps, perfect for her long nipples. He pinches and twists with the pink buds until they are hard. He attaches the first clamp, then the other. With this done, He loops a chain through the clamps.
