10

In his favourite independent coffee shop Eric was playing a waiting game. He ordered a second cappuchino and sipped it slowly, leafing with supreme casualness through the Arts supplement of the Saturday Independent. The purchases he needed to make were limited; most of what he would need had been bought in advance of the weekend. The main reason for his trip into town had been simply to provide his guest with some reflection time. An opportunity for her to contemplate her subservient status. For that, he admitted to himself, had briefly been in question.

His post-coital reaction to Daniella just a day earlier had surprised him. Strange how the expelling of semen from one's balls could change all perception of a situation. He had never fucked as an act of revenge prior to that. It had seemed a terribly good wheeze to seduce Jonathan Blanchford's beloved girl, maybe capture some footage on camera later that weekend for the pompous oaf to view - indeed the idea still held a certain relish. He had simply not been expecting a sense of regret once the fog of angry lust had been dispelled. The smooth transition to the next act of debauching should have been easy; how could he have known that his thoughts would have reverted to Daniella's playfully ironic smile across a dinner table, to her animated chatter on subjects no twenty-year-old should know much about? Damn it if he hadn't balked at continuing his plan any further. Christ, he had suggested a further date in his efforts to appease. He had worn his contrition on his bloody sleeve.

She had let him off the hook of his own guilt. It had been more than he deserved, that much he accepted. How amusing that she should step willingly back into the trap from which he had let her walk free, prompted by her own filial grudge. Daddy broke his promise to make you a partner in the firm and he cut me off, risked my whole university career. Let's get back at him together. What a deliciously conspiratorial moment it had been. But with their pact had come an inevitable decrease in his power. She had witnessed the reflex regret in his face, she had seen weakness in him. By choosing to stay she had made the situation her own. The clever minx had thought she was in charge now. But he'd known just how to wrest the situation back to himself.

Eric smiled, his mind straying from the review of the new Black Eyed Peas album. How hard the little sweetheart had come for him, as he subjected her to his full evil intent on that kitchen chair. He'd seen it in her eyes - Daniella had never been aroused to such a pitch before, she had not believed such a thing were possible. Her sticking around was about more than getting back at dad. She needed to feel that way again, lost to wanton bliss. And who knew to what she would submit herself in order to attain such a state? What indignities would she swallow in her need for the continuation of this adventure? The contract, that stupid sheet of paper, had been a masterstroke.

He leaned back in his chair, mind flooding suddenly with sweet recollections. Daniella's orgasm-deprived body racked with helpless pleasure as his fingers plunged inside her. The clutch of her contracting pussy on his cock as he boned her hard from the rear, her limbs bound by rope and her soul by sweet lust. Those wild, full-throated cries that filled his house, as her anger at his presumption gave way to fierce ecstasy. Then later, later on when all had changed - her firm young breasts jogging lightly above him as she rode slowly and gently, fingertips on his chest and fronds of brunette hair dropping about his face. Oh God, hot little darling, hot sexy little sweetheart - sweet, sweet Daniell...

Shit, enough with the endearments! If he kept that up he'd be letting them slip out while he was with her. He shook himself from his reverie, finished his coffee and made to depart. He had trouble moving due to his erection, however, and so sat back with his newspaper for cover. Pretty girl, he told himself calmly. Relatively smart. Perfectly adequate company. Good conversationalist, nice sense of humour. Piece - of - ass. Hold to that and it would be one very satisfactory weekend. Revenge with benefits. Everyone happy. Particularly him.

Eric chinked several pound coins against his coffee cup as a tip, folded his newspaper and left. No more floundering, no more stupid guilt. This girl needs controlling and that's what she's going to get. He checked his watch on the way out - two hours, and if he went straight home that'd be two thirty. Long enough to make her squirm - yes, that'd do nicely. He just had one call to make before returning home, a short walk down the High Street.

'Is that everything sir?' the check-out girl asked, as he handed over the item he had chosen.

'That's all.'

'Is she frisky?' The girl smiled at him sweetly as she scanned the bar-code.

'Oh she's a feisty little thing all right.'

'She'll take a bit of house-training then. You'll have to show her who's the boss.'

Eric took his purchase and the receipt and returned her smile. 'Trust me, she's about to find out.'

********************

By the time Daniella heard Eric's key rattle in the lock, she had held herself on the edge of bursting for over an hour. The DVD was still churning out its explicit content, incoherent fuck-noise pouring from the speakers, but she was long past paying it any mind. All her focus was on holding in her water. She was not even sure why she was bothering any longer, short of what humiliating remarks her host for the weekend might lavish on her if he found her seated in a puddle of her own piss.

She met his gaze squarely as he came through from the entryway, tilting her chin back defiantly whatever the torment from below, whatever thrilling fear she might feel regarding his next move. And she stayed silent, just stared him a challenge through her suffering and waited to see where his whims would take her. The expression on his finely-carved features was something between benevolence and amusement. She marvelled that he could assume his old air of presumption after that rather crestfallen look of a day ago. Or was he just a very good actor? Her pulse accelerated further as he approached her; the arrogance in his bearing was tempered by something almost respectful, as he reached out and stroked her damp hair. Her arousal she felt only dimly through the pain from her distended bladder.

Eric contemplated his put-upon houseguest a moment. 'Irresistible' was the word that occurred to him, though that he kept to himself. Raven-black hair draping her slim shoulders rather stickily right now. A sheen of moisture glossing ever inch of her pale skin on that hottest of summer weekends. He watched a trickle of sweat make its path between her breasts' pert mounds, descending over the lightly-padded trim of her stomach towards the pink, vibrator-crammed revelation of her split thighs. Her exotically-tinged features were upturned to him, alert, expectant and curiously demanding. How new she was to this role and how fiercely she was sublimating the fire of her nature to explore it. I'll let you control my body, her eyes were telling him, but you'll never have my mind. Well he'd see about that.

'You have been a patient girl. I'm impressed.' His voice was soft and only mildly taunting, she thought. He tossed aside the bag he had been carrying and his firm hand touched her face gently. She gasped as his fingers traced a sweat-slick path down her neck, her body responding to him in spite of her need to relieve herself. His hand cupped the moistened curve of her left breast and he fondled her rhythmically till she groaned. Slowly his fingers glided to a point over her sweat-moistened surface and pinched hard at her engorged nipple. Her shudder was visible, she knew. She felt she could hardly hold herself in any further. Then he was behind her, kneading again, his other hand flat on her sternum and plunging gradually, till it firmly applied pressure to her lower stomach. 'Miss me?' his voice growled softly, as she winced and clenched.