The Offering

Her toes can barely touch the step, forcing her body to weigh down on the ropes binding her wrists above her head. It's a constant battle for balance that causes perspiration to bead across her forehead and heaving breasts.

He's dressed her up too, ready for the big presentation. A blood-red satin gown hugs her straining body and spills down the stairs below her. The matching satin wrap is tied across her eyes.

Gothic-inspired industrial metal bursts loudly through the house - the music causing the wooden floors of the entrance foyer to occasionally groan.

Scarlett feels like an offering to a vampiric lord.

"Will you stop sweating like that, you're staining that dress!" came that familiar gruff voice - the voice of the man who had taken her here.

"You filthy girl!" he shouts, climbing the stairs to where he has strung her out. He slaps her face. Instantly she turns, to spit at him, the saliva hissing between her painted red lips.

As he wipes the liquid from his eye, they both start at the creak of the heavy front door being forced open. He had arrived...

The storm outside sent powerful windy tendrils through the foyer, dragging the cold material of the dress between Scarlett's thighs and pulling her back. She struggles to remain upright, slipping on the satin tangled beneath her feet.

"Master Poder," said the man, rushing down the stairs to greet him. He bows before the tall figure in the threshold.

"Get up, Oscar," orders Poder, disinterested with his theatrical show of subordination. He slams the door against the willful winds and removes his coat, hanging the great heavy trench on the hooks beside the entrance.

"I'm here to discuss your debt, Oscar, not play masters and servants."

"Yes," admits Oscar, reluctant to discuss that subject. "I... I don't have quite... all of it, just yet, but I..." He scrambles through his pockets, churning out dozens of crumpled bills and pushing them, in his shaking hands, towards the dark man advancing towards him.

"What the hell is this?" Poder speaks through clenched teeth, and takes Oscar by the collar, drawing him, choking, closer. "I lend you money from the goodness of my heart, against your word - your word, Oscar - and you disgrace me with this..." he snatches a handful of the bills from Oscar's hand, "This filthy return?"

Poder pulls him closer still, his hand twisting tight in Oscar's shirt. "I should break your legs right here," he bellows into the man's face.

"I know, I know! That's why I brought you this!" Oscar screams and points desperately up the stairs to his crimson captive.

Slowly, Poder looks upward and takes in the vision on the stairwell. Wordlessly, he folds the dirty money into Oscar's mouth and flings the man aside, sending him to his knees against the dusty floorboards.

"You got this for me?" he asks, his eyebrow lifting with impious intrigue.

"Y-yes," splutters Oscar from the floor. The notes spray from his mouth as he speaks.

"Quite the offering..." Poder muses, ascending the stairs with slow, deliberate strides. Without shifting his gaze from the glowing red beauty before him, he orders, "Go, now. You've bought yourself some leniency. Have the money for me next week. Now, go!"

Scarlett is struck by the bellowing words. She trembles as he nears - the scratching of the other man scrambling for the door, muttering gratefully is just a distant echo behind Poder's advance.

"I'm not for you." she cries defiantly, but he only laughs. A deep throaty laugh.

He stands on the stair below her and presses his fingers into the satin folding across her ankles. Clasping it in his fist, he brings it to his face and breathes deep into the slippery fabric.

"But if I leave now, you'll be left alone in this cold house... then what will you do?"

"What are you to do with me?" she whispers, with heavy breath.

"To be honest, my dear, I think I should like to take you. Here."

"No!" came her futile cries.

Poder isn't phased by her struggles. He scours her body with his hands, his eyes - admiring the workmanship of the rope cuffs Oscar had woven around her wrists.

He draws the hem of the satin dress up and puts his hand to her firm ass, so taut with the strain of standing on tip-toes. She winces and tries to move away, almost losing her delicate footing.

Moving to the stair above her, he unbuckles his belt and lowers his pants to release his hardness. He reaches around the front of her thighs and with great force pulls them back towards him, spreading her around his hips.

Scarlett is strung from the great ceiling above the stairwell, her upper body held now only by the bondage around her wrists. She is curled backwards, her naked sex pressed against his own warm flesh. She struggles against him, but he is too strong - too powerful - and gravity is his ally.

He enters her - slowly edging himself into her sweet, tightness. He fucks her hard, unable to hold back his desire. He plunges deep and forceful inside her, enjoying the way he has her so reliant on his cock to keep her from falling.

Poder groans and digs his fingers deep into her thighs and Scarlett screams as he forces her down over his bursting thrusts. Her resistance only makes her tighter around his cock and he fights every urge he has to comes inside her. Closing his eyes and smiling at how quickly she has brought him to the edge of climax, he stops and holds her hard against him.

Scarlett's body swings back and forth, the red dress billowing with the momentum. She kicks violently, sending the satin dancing around her, trying desperately to find the a foothold below. Such a beautiful plaything, he thinks, as he fastens his belt and backs down the stairs to the foyer floor.

At the entrance, Poder rustles around in the trench coat he had hung earlier. After some brief searching, he produces a leather collar and chain from its deep pockets, and makes his way back up the stairs.

Standing before her swinging body, he fastens the collar tight around her neck and attaches the chain to its large D link. She tries to protest, but dangling from the bondage has her tired and limp and she can produce just whimpers and weak tosses of her head.

Climbing up the stairs behind her he takes a knife from a sheath on his belt and with a swift swing of it's blade, he cuts the ropes that hold her. She falls to the harsh thud of the stairs, the red gown floating down around her like rose petals.

Though she cries out from the impact, he tugs mercilessly on the chain, forcing her to yield to its hold over her. As he ascends the stairs to the master bedroom, she is forced to crawl up after him - the satin training wide across the steps in her wake.


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