Monday, April 3, 2017

Dominated by Her Stepdaughter, Chapter 20

Next thing she knew, Annabel found herself on her hands and knees naked — save for her socks — on a sort of platform at one side of the room. Pulling Annabel’s hands behind her back, Katya tied them together with a length of rope, then tied that rope off to a hook in the ceiling. In this position Annabel’s hands were lifted straight up the air behind her, forcing her to bend forward for balance, but not quite allowing her to touch the ground. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was awkward and uncomfortable.

Going back to sit beside Carla, Katya fired up the pipe again and filled her lungs all the way with smoke. Then she walked over to where Annabel was, knelt down, and again took Annabel’s chin in her hand. Pressing her lips forcefully against Annabel's, Katya exhaled, breathing the smoke into Annabel’s lungs.

Annabel coughed, feeling suddenly lightheaded and a little giddy. Carla shook her head. “Such a waste of good dope,” she said. Firing the lighter she added, “Hold it in your lungs this time.” She took a hit and did the same thing Katya had just done, blowing a stream of second-hand smoke down Annabel’s throat.

With effort, Annabel just barely managed to hold it in. Carla stepped away as Katya came forward and jammed a ballgag into Annabel’s mouth. This forced Annabel to exhale through her nose, white clouds billowing through both nostrils.

Annabel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She suddenly became aware that music was playing in the room, something classical and intricate. Had it just started, or had it been playing the whole time without her noticing? She didn’t know.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw something alarming: Katya was holding a whip, waving it slowly through the air as if testing it. Annabel’s eyes bulged and she gulped, whimpering through her gag. Surely they must be kidding, she thought, they couldn’t possibly.... when, crack, the whip smacked against her rear end.

Annabel looked over pleadingly at Carla, whose expression was remote. Finding no help there, she shifted her gaze to Katya, whose eyes were gleaming demonically. There was a fire in those eyes, something ancient and primal; it was too much for Annabel, who averted her eyes just as Katya again raised the whip.

Fortunately for Annabel, Katya was an expert. She knew how to cause pain without real damage, and even painwise she took it easy on Annabel, dealing her glancing blows on the rump, back, and thighs. That didn’t stop Annabel from moaning pitifully or tears from forming at the corners of her eyes. Worse than the pain was the knowledge that she was in this situation voluntarily; no one had put a gun to her head.

Annabel breathed a sigh of relief when Katya finally left off, curling the whip into a coil and sitting it down. Her skin burned where it had been hit, but after a few seconds the pain began to transform into a warm feeling that was almost pleasurable.

Katya untied the end of the rope from the ceiling hook and took it with her to the couch. There Annabel watched as Katya pulled off first her boots, then her jeans, then the black panties underneath. She had a substantial crop of dark brown pubic hair, but it was neatly trimmed into a perfect triangle.

Picking up the rope, Katya began to twist it around her hand, forcing Annabel to knee-walk toward her. When she was directly in front Katya released the rope, spread her legs, and gripped the back of Annabel’s head with both hands.

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