Playtime

Veronica let her mind wander to more pleasant places while she waited. Focusing on the dire straits she was in didn't seem to be getting her anywhere; she hadn't thought of any brilliant escape plans. She had hoped that something would occur to her, but that hope was fading fast.



At some point, she must have drifted off, because when she woke, he was there, touching her. His hands weren't gloved, and his touch was not as gentle as he possessively stroked her. One hand splayed across her lower back, while the other wrapped around her breast, massaging it. Soon, his mouth claimed the other, nipping at her and sending jolts of sensation down her spine.



"Mmmmm...." he hummed, nuzzling her neck, pressing kisses along her collar bone. "Did you know you began shivering as soon as you woke?" She could feel the smile curving his lips as they brushed her neck. "Your fear is so delicious." His teeth scraped her throat as he bit down, marking her.



Abruptly, he stepped away.



"It's time to begin your real training." As he spoke, she felt something touch her neck, "and it's time for your collar." The unwanted necklace tightened, snapping shut despite her struggle to escape. It had not occurred to her to be grateful for anything about this situation thus far, but in retrospect she should have been grateful that she had not had a collar.



"The rules of the game are simple, obey, and you get to keep living. Disobey, and you die."

With the explosive slave collar around her neck, it would be nearly impossible to escape. It seemed she had no choice but to play his "game," if you could even call it that. It was not as though she could win.



His hand was between her legs, stroking her most intimate place, his touch was careful, almost gentle. His fingers stroked her, teasing, but not quite touching the most sensitive areas. His other hand cupped a breast, his fingers teasing her nipple.



"I'm going to make you want it," he whispered, kissing her just below her ear. "You'll beg me to take you." He nipped her earlobe, then kissed the tender spot. Veronica fought the urge to pull her head away. He wanted her afraid-- and she was-- but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he was doing to her.



He didn't need to know about the bone-deep terror which curled in her gut and made her nauseous. He didn't need to know about the panic which, even know, threatened to overwhelm her and make her scream. But most of all, he didn't need to know about the traitorous sensations of pleasure which he was evoking from her with his caresses.



The man was talented with his fingers, wicked with his tongue. His hands on her breasts were knowing. Massaging, pinching, squeezing, stroking in just the way she liked. It took all her effort to keep her breath steady, but she could not prevent the moisture gathering between her thighs. He couldn't know what he was doing to her. It was her body betraying her, becoming aroused even as her mind railed against her situation.