You will want to have read the earlier episodes of this story.
This one has a 5-🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 rating, due to repeated threats to life. It’s quite stand alone, and the next episode will make sense if you skip this one, though Prilly’s journey will not lighten up much for some while yet.
Prilly was out of it for a while, and still in something of a hazy condition, co-operating without thinking as Maria helped her to her feet, out through the open french doors and to the side of the pool— the night air cool on her trembling body.
Slowly looking around her, she saw that LeStrade was in the jacuzzi— it had never been available while it was just her and Roddy; Maria though was not guiding Prilly there, but toward the cold plunge pool, and then suddenly, shockingly, Maria having shoved her buttocks, hard, she was falling into it, falling down, deep, head under water, her whole body spasming at the sudden freezing cold.
There were actually ice cubes in the water, and the taste of salt was in her mouth, the cold pool fed directly from the sea through underground pipes; Prilly surfaced, squealing, having been shocked back into full consciousness, only to have her head pushed forcefully under by Maria, whose grip made it clear she intended to keep it that way. Prilly’s tied elbows made it impossible for her to do more than thrash uselessly as the cold sucked the heat from her body, as she choked on the salty water. At the same time, every part of her body was suffering, as the salt seared into the myriad small breaks in her skin caused by the whip, the many violences imposed on her throughout the day.
By the time Maria pulled her head clear of the surface, a fist in her hair (the pool was so deep that Prilly had not felt her feet touch bottom), Prilly was bursting for air, and seriously frightened— were they capable of killing her?
She was painfully aware, at the same time, that there was no fight left in her; none; she was weak and almost eagerly compliant as Maria gave her no time to recover, but guided her, choking and spluttering and crying, to one side of the plunge pool, where her flailing feet discovered recesses in the side, forming a sort of ladder. All Prilly wanted to do, pathetic as she knew her response to be, was to figure out how to please Maria, in the hope that this treatment could end. She was dragged upward by the hair, and did her poor traumatised best to use her feet to climb out, choking back sobs and gasping for air.
I could not have got out by myself— they could have watched me drown in freezing water. Simply because of that little leather strap around my elbows.
The feeling of vulnerability, the depth of her weakness, her dependence, was eating its way into her mind, so that she was less and less able to imagine doing almost anything without help.
And less and less able to think that she deserved anything more, to be anything other than grateful to Maria for rescuing her as she shook and shivered with the cold as the freeing water evaporated in the breeze.
She was aware, though, of LeStrade, no longer in the hot pool but banking up the fire burning in a large metal dish, and, with that awareness, she found herself filled with concern, and urgent need. Need for him to want to look at her, to enjoy looking at her, to find her attractive … arousing …
I want him to want to fuck me…
No … no, that’s not honest. Not real…
I … I need him to … to want to rape me… do me again…
And as soon as she had acknowledged it in her mind, her body was filled with it, and her cold, her shame, her helplessness, the reality that he had just watched her all but drown, were all to be put to service as she went higher on her toes, spread her legs wider, pulled her shoulders back, let her fear and shame show in her body language, knowing how obvious she was making herself, how unsubtle, how inelegant she was…
I must get better at this. It … it might be enjoyable for him to see me so pathetic, to see how fresh I am at this— I … I think he likes that I’m so … that he’s violating an innocent … but that won’t last…
She could cry with the the degradation of it, let the despair and the fear rise, but there was that other in her, that hunger, and she gave herself to it and a shameful but real little flame of eager desire rose in her, fed by those same feelings— I’m degrading myself for him, and showing him how I’m nothing anymore, but what he sees in me, and letting me see how fear makes me desperate to please him and … and … and I have no choice anyway … this … this must be what I do now …
… and she was rewarded, frighteningly, but also with a rush of heat to her pussy, quivery weakness in her belly too when he, naked himself, enveloped her from behind, one hand between her legs, and lifted her immediately off the floor, the other hand taking her breast— the one where he had hit the nipple directly with the tip of the crop, a small detonation of agony there, the warmth of his body, the helplessness of being lifted, the hardness of his cock between her thighs, his voice in her ear;
“Imagine, girly,— if you hadn’t met someone who knew what you really were, imagine never experiencing this, never really knowing that you could be consumed by this, never know that you are made to be a helpless slut, used like a slut, without mercy. Lift your knees now— always when I lift you like this, you are to lift your knees, split yourself, open yourself maximally to me, to everything. Open your cunt for me, give it to me, give everything to me.”
… and Prilly obeyed, instantly, eagerly, panting and whining with an excess of emotion, lost in him, so that she did not see until the last moment that he was at the jacuzzi, that she was to be thrown in, head down, arms still tied…
And then she was in the water, terribly, painfully hot to her freezing skin, screaming into it, unable to slow her descent— he had given her a hard shove downward, and she feared smashing her head on the bottom, but found that this pool, too, was so deep that she was wholly under water, and the fear of drowning was back— he had her by the feet then, playing with her, pulling her up, pushing her down. Her body bent, twisted, but there was no way she was going to be able to get her face to the surface, to breathe, and she had screamed her air out and she was boiling alive, and she was helpless and he was doing this to her on purpose and …
I should relax.
The thought was crazy, but it came to her;
If he wants to kill me, he can; I can’t stop him. And … and … several times today I have thought of dying myself. That this … that I can’t live with this…
It was astonishing, to have those thoughts in her panicking mind, and of course she could not relax, squirming and wriggling desperately, urgently, her body unable to prevent itself fighting for life, for survival, even if it had been betrayed by her helpless weakness. Fear ate at her, and panic rose, utterly debilitating, until she was unceremoniously hauled up, landed like a played fish, and dumped on the patio floor, skin scraped on the stone, coughing and choking and spasming, but alive.
He waited a little while, until the worst of it had passed, until she found herself, driven, rolling onto her side, lifting one knee, opening herself, however inelegantly, desperate to do anything which could distract him from this terrorisation and towards fucking her, raping her…
“You are mine, Prilly. Entirely mine. You need to understand this with your whole being. You have ceased to be anything but my creature.”
“All fours now, face down, ass up, nipples touching the stone, thighs wide, while you recover. Quickly, or you’ll need to admit a black mark. Never need to be told again.”
This time, as Prilly abjectly scrambled to arrange herself for him, onto her knees, shuffling her knees apart, the fresh deep bruises there shouting their pain, still coughing up water, still panting for air, head down, lifting her buttocks, things began to make a bizarre kind of sense…
I have to learn this, have to internalise it; I’ve got nothing; I am nothing that is not his. I’ve been saying goodbye, but there’s no time for that— he’s ripped it all away. This is it. It’s not just that there is no resistance, or that part of me seems to respond to this. It’s not like it was just before, when I was trying to be sexy for him. None of that matters. I gave myself to him this evening— begged for him to take me, knowing he would be cruel, and that changed everything. I’m his creature, now, like he says; I live because he ordains it. He might as well be my god. I must give him everything. Because he is everything for me, now, like it or not.
And then he was back at the fire, and Maria was standing at her head, saying;
“Up. Up now pretty; we will do it again, and you will let it happen; and then maybe again, until you know it in your bones…”
And they did, and, the third time they were at the plunge pool, Prilly by then only tenuously holding on to any notion of who she was, of anything but the seconds she was living through, when Maria told her to throw herself in, head first, told her that she would be held down for longer than before, Prilly sobbed in fear, but made no argument, and took only a few long seconds before she complied.
And it was longer— lots longer, because even though she had not screamed her air into the water, had put up with the terrible searing of the cold and the salt, even though she had managed to remain calm— a little, at least, or perhaps because she had not struggled so much, Maria had kept her down until once again she was reduced to crazy, helpless thrashing, feeling the water invade her airways, the salt burning at the back of her nose, and being pulled out was terrible, too; desperate, Maria not as strong as LeStrade, who watched it all from the comfort of the jacuzzi, as his servant/slave reached in for a fistful of hair to drag Prilly up with iron determination, even though Prilly was so far gone she could hardly get her rubbery legs to push on the stone footholds, weeping with deepest despair when she wasn’t coughing up sea-water that felt like drain-cleaner, eating into the lining of her throat, the back of her nose.
Shivering, moaning, lost in weakness, Prilly could only crawl to the hot pool that time, no matter that she was desperate to please; her legs would not hold her. Still, she pushed herself into the hot water, at the mildest of suggestions, utterly submissive. The hot hurt more than the cold, but in an entirely different way. She would have died there, she felt sure, thinking back later, if LeStrade had not pulled her up and held her, facing him, though she could not meet his eyes.
She was empty; no thoughts came to her; she was pure waiting, pure existence, pure focus on breathing; still breathing, on not doing anything to displease, to show that she was completely willing to obey, to please.
Gradually, she became used to the heat; her body realised that she was not being boiled alive, and slowly, slowly, the feeling that her bones were frozen softened as he held her. Every now and then, for whatever reason, he would push her underwater, and somehow, it was all one with her; she was nothing; what happened to her would happen; she was his; having thoughts made little sense, even taking a deep breath before going under made no sense; it was what it was.
She was his plaything, and he would do what he would with her. She had merely to breathe when she could, and open her body to him. There was nothing else, until perhaps he might decide to rape her, which was the meaning of her existence.
As the heat warmed her, a feeling of deep and soft relaxation took her; the pains eased, everything slowed, and she gave up on everything.
She hoped he was enjoying himself.
She hoped he would never untie her elbows. It was comforting, somehow, to be disempowered so, to have no choices at all. To be at the edge of having nothing at all, not even life— and for it to be his choice, not hers.
I made my last choice when I gave myself to him.
He began speaking to her, and she struggled to understand. Words seemed so complicated compared to just breathing and accepting;
“You’ve been tortured, Prilly; the CIA do things like this to men— tough men, whom they hope to break. You have been broken, a little, I am sure; but also, you have survived. You are weak, lovely girl; terribly weak, terribly vulnerable; made so by the yearning in you to be sexually controlled. But you are also strong— strong in the centre, at the core.”
“This is good. I am powerful. From today forwards, you must know that I hold your life in my hands. If I ever wish it, you will be ended. I will suffer no guilt, nor will I be exposed to any risk; my organisation will see to that. This is what money does. Also, from today, we both know that you are deeply sexually vulnerable, due to your nature, and that I know exactly how to take advantage of you in that way. These are facts.”
“But what makes you interesting, Prilly, is neither of these things. I can kill pretty much anybody, if I care to; there are millions of pretty young women with your weakness, in one variation or another; I have had my pick of them for decades. There is no novelty in either of these things.”
“But in the strength that you have in your core, Prilly, there is something. I control your life, control your very breathing; shortly, you will experience almost permanent hunger; I know how to exploit your weakness so that you cannot resist; all of this is beyond your control. But I did not— could not have got inside your head to have you come back downstairs, naked. I did not, could not have got inside your head to have you sit, naked, through lunch with Roddy and Santi seeing your shame. I did not, could not have made your request to stay be so obviously, personally authentic.”
“This has been the purpose behind my questioning of you today, behind my offering you so many chances to be free.”
“I wanted to see if you had this inner core of strength— and whether that strength was nevertheless willing to be owned, was willing to submit, to give itself over to me.”
“Your soft weakness now, letting me push you under without even trying to take a breath beforehand, is proof of that core strength. There is something that will rebuild you after every shaming, every abuse. Something to crush in you. Until I find a way to crush it, you may remain interesting. Do not, however, think that my interest in you will be excited or prolonged by you exercising your strength; the opposite would be true.”
“As it has done today, Prilly, that strength should rather work with me— work for its own destruction. Work to have itself crushed; actively open itself up to me. I will play fair with you, Prilly; you will always know what I am doing with you; for now, you know how to escape, know that it is very simple. Each day you will have an easy out. Each day that you stay will entrap you further in the snare that I see you are made for, that a deep part of you wants, whatever the cost.”
“I don’t care how you choose to handle this knowledge, only that it remains entertaining for me to use you in the moment.”
It was worse, worse than being drowned in freezing water, to have this said to her so calmly, so matter-of-fact, because she had to think, to pay attention to the meaning of what she had done, to the trap she was in, and she shivered, violently— not from cold, but from anguish; she could not help it, then; she looked him in the eyes; some deep need to let him see her pain, to see what he really was, to let him in, for him to know that she did not even want to try to use her strength; that she was terrified and fascinated, both at once, and when he smiled at her, even though his eyes were hard and greedy, she shook with pleasure and relief, and when he said to her;
“Kiss me— come to me and kiss me; soft as you like, give yourself to me again, give your whole self to me; let me feel how deeply you offer yourself to me in your kiss, in how your body moves; hold nothing back.”
When she heard that, she melted into him and found that she wanted what he wanted, with her whole being, opening her mouth to his so softly, so wide, so deeply, moulding her sex to his cock, tentatively wrapping her legs around him, letting him take her air with his mouth this time, letting him feel how she trembled and quivered, how scared she was, how needy she was, hiding nothing, and when he let her go, at last, she did not gasp for the breath she so desperately needed, but used the last of her air to beg him, in a hoarse whisper;
“Rape me; rape me, MonSeñor, please; rape me hard, hurt me, ruin me … please?”
… feeling the need in her for him to take her with violence like nothing ever before; the only thing— the single experience— which could make sense of what she was, what she had left of herself, grinding her sex against him, having to restrain the violence of the urges in her, trembling with it, tears streaming from her eyes, but managing to smile for him, not caring that Maria must see this, how her body moved of its own accord, hungry and needy; must know just how far she had sunk, almost proud to have been so reduced, so exposed, so simplified; everything stripped away at that point, but the desire to be fucked without restraint; her fear of death, of an ignominious and pathetic ending at his hands all part of it, and when he pushed her under she took it almost as a gift, and let him hold her, her mouth and nose under, her eyes looking at him, as her body began to drown, letting him see it in her eyes for as long as she could, keeping her body soft, despite its urgent needs, for as long as she could, letting him see the fear, the stress rising in her eyes, not fighting him, until he pulled her up, laughing softly at her, his cock jerking between her legs, stiffening, and she did not need his command to know what he wanted and took the deepest breaths she could before he pushed her down again, down to his cock, so that she could worship him with her mouths, almost in a dream again, a dream of complete subjugation to the pleasure of another, oxygen deprivation no doubt feeding the heightened experience of taking his cock fully into her throat while her hands are tied and she is being held under water by a man who seems not to care much about when or how he kills her.
All of which makes it obvious for every reason to give him the most pleasure she can for as long as possible, until he relents, and pulls her up again, she uncontrollably gasping and choking and spasming while he holds her, interested, clearly pleased; enjoying his power over her, her weakness for him, and she feels nothing but weak pleasure at having made him smile, at having his interest, no matter the cost to her.
“Maria says you’re fascinated by her cunt tag; let’s get you ringed then, marked as my possession, while I come in your tight little backside. Never quite got round to doing it this way before; should be interesting.”
