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Her Overlord {Crushed and SilverGrrl}

He watched her for a moment. She hadn't pulled the curtain, but he'd have stopped her if she'd tried anyway. She had no privacy from her master. He watched her soap up her sore thighs. He hadn't thought of that, at the time; with his broad waist, he'd probably been slamming his pelvic bone into them just as hard as he'd been slamming his cock into her. He smiled at the memory.

He stepped into the shower behind her, letting the water cascade down his skin, and took the soapy sponge from her hands. He was even more ginger than she had been in running the soap over her body, washing away caked semen and blood from her violent rape of just a few hours ago. He ran the sponge up the front of her to her poor, sore neck and again he was ginger. He towered over her in the shower, it was only just barely big enough to fit the two of them, and he liked the feeling of how he filled the space with his tiny slave inside it. He again caressed her cheek, gently, as he placed the sponge between her legs and carefully began to clean there, as well, where much of his own semen was still caked and dried.
 
Alice gasped, softly, when his hand appeared, squeezing the sponge from her hand, but made no effort to flee or fight: his sheer physical presence in that moment, standing two feet tall of her to an extent that when he blocked the shower spray, she could be completely dry for a moment, that she dared not resist. When his touch reappeared, it was as soft as spider's feet on her, almost to the point of being ticklish. It took several tensed muscles, several long, soft strokes, but finally, she began to relax. She found she slotted neatly into the curve of his body, her shoulders barely reaching his prominent pecs, her hips dwarfed by his, and she could allow herself to be cocooned in his warm embrace, strangely safe, as he slowly cleaned his marks of degradation from her wet, bare flesh.

Whimpering softly to herself, she stroked the knots from her, sighing as each one freed, her small back sometimes meeting Kain's muscled chest and stomach in a tiny slap. She allowed herself to lean against him a little for support when his hand curved under her stomach, bearing through the pain of being cleaned there by taking a grip of his other arm. Rubbing against him like this had its effect, as her pert buttocks soon found as his rising erection began to press against them massively, and she turned her body sideways slightly, reaching her small hand back to settle on the hardening tip. Stroking him as softly as he sponged her, she stood close to him; wet, naked, his. Her fingers felt their way around him, stimulating him with a timid, careful grace.
 
He grunted in slight surprise as he felt her hand on his cock, but he didn't stop gently cleaning her. He let her set her own pace; whatever had happened in her mind, he was letting her sort it out herself. The stroking felt good, very good, and he realized that the thought that it was his slave stroking him of her own free will gave it an extra added thrill. He washed carefully between her legs as she stroked him.
 
No matter how tender he was, the simple act of scrubbing clean the sore skin between her stick-thin thighs hurt. Each sting caused her to gasp, short and sharp, and in time with each exhalation, her fingers would tighten, giving his cock, now approaching horizontal, a delicately exciting squeeze. She squirmed lightly against him, almost enjoying the way her body was framed by his imposing build; her slim fingers gently pleasuring him as his hands worked her clean. Her other hand kept a grip on his other arm as her buttocks gently ground on his thigh. Squeezing and stroking him, she was almost unconscious of willingly pleasuring him, simply responding to his touches in an utterly obedient fashion as though being played like a delicate instrument.
 
He satisfied himself that she was washed off between her legs, then moved up to her breasts and neck. Then he turned her around, gently, and handed her the sponge.

"Clean me," he said. "I got just as sweaty as you did last night, thought not as bruised. Clean me off."

He stared down at her. It was such a beautiful view; the water falling on both of them, tricking down her naked body as those wide eyes looked up at him submissively.
 
When his hands slipped up to her neck, her breath caught in a long stuttering pause. But there was no harsh choking, not even the press of a thumb: just the dabbing of a sponge, wiping the dried blood from the deepest bitemark, in a circling motion so soft she gave him a long squeeze on his now almost fully erect cock in gratified response. His hands slipped to her waist, and she allowed him to pick her up and rotate her like he were moving a toy doll, shaping round to face him. She let her hand return to his hip, and stared up at him, eyes wide and shining, the hint of a smile in her face, simply glad to be the recipient of such a soft touch. A little sponging seemed like fair payment, and she took the damp mass in her palm, squeezing fresh water into it.

Slowly, she started sponging him down. It was a big task, given his size, but she worked gamely enough, reaching up as high as she could to mop at his shoulders and neck, reaching down with a bend of her waist to bathe as far as his knees. She worked tidily enough, keeping her free hand resting on his hip. When it came to his cock, now back to the enormous horror she remembered from last night, she worked with special care, sponging his inner thighs and lower stomach, then abandoning the sponge to trail water up and down the shaft with her bare fingers, and keeping her large eyes trained perfectly on his face as she knew he would want as she did so. She dared not disappoint him, continuing long past the presence of washing him, wearing a happy, dazed look as though it were a special honour to clean him of the sweat he'd built up violently raping her.
 
He grunted in pleasure as her fingers trailed along his cock, everything about her seeming so absurdly small next to his massive proportions. He had been pleased with how well she cleaned him, and now as she stared up at him stroking his shaft he favored her with a warm smile and another gentle stroke of her cheek. Somehow this was better than just raping her; he could become pain AND pleasure, cruelty AND kindness. It felt like he was literally taking everything from her mind and twisting it around himself.

"Your mouth," he said as she stroked it. He ministrations had brought it to full hardness as it throbbed in her hands. "See how much you can get in your mouth. The head, at least."

His voice was soft, but still commanding.
 
She nodded, slowly. At least he wasn't trying to force himself on her: she wasn't sure she would have been able to take that, aching as she still was. She even gave him another smile, trying to show that she would cooperate, that he did not need to force himself. Yet at the same time she was conscious, on some level, of how wrong this was: perhaps she should make him force himself? By simply giving herself, by agreeing to his every sick demand, wasn't she caving too easily? Solidifying fate? No, she decided; it wasn't every sick demand. It was just one. And if she did it, maybe he wouldn't hurt her. Maybe he wouldn't her too much, she told herself. Maybe he wouldn't hurt her too much right now, she decided.

Lowering herself to her knees with as much grace as her damaged body could muster, her small mouth parted, gaping at the size of the tip in front of her. She had to straighten her back to reach it, and sweep the wet hair from her face. Her lips, shivering with tension, slipped onto him, tasting the very head of the cock that had violated her last night, and began moving forward, trying to accommodate him. She went slowly, making no great efforts to get much of him into her mouth, simply enjoying the respite from beating and fear, even if that respite consisted of her willingly kneeling for him to serve him with her mouth.
 
He placed a hand on top of her head as the tip of his cock slid into her mouth. For a brief moment he had a vision of tensing the muscles in his arm, dragging her down onto his cock, forcing it into her throat, but he didn't. It wasn't that strong a temptation anyway. He didn't want to hurt her too much like this, anyway. He wanted her either begging for it or begging for it to stop, not weakly raising a bruised arm and trying to wave it away.

He could break her again once she had healed.

"Don't forget to suck on it," he told her, looking down. She looked so sexy with her mouth distended and her hair hanging down in wild wet clumps. "Suck on it a little. Come on, see how far you can get it down..."
 
His hand felt crushingly big on her scalp, and for a moment she quavered; but her determination to please him this way, and thus avoid any greater pain, forced to continue. Her eyes slid open again and her mouth resumed its sweet licking and lapping around the tip. But the commanding tone of his voice brooked little argument and, reluctantly, she tried stretching her mouth open further, to a point her jaw faintly tingled with ache. She pushed her head forward, trying to suck him in, trying to please him, trying to serve him. Gradually, slowly, barely, she managed, her eyes never leaving his as she struggled with the tight fit. In truth, her mouth was so absolutely stuffed she had to breathe through her nose, but she did not offer even a stifled murmur of complaint.
 
He looked down at her, wide eyed and desperate, her mouth literally filled with his cock as it distended her pretty lips, and still trying to fit more inside of herself. It was amazing. A tush of total, absolute power; the knowledge that the small, deliciously sexy woman in front of him was completely at his mercy.

He thought of hurting her, last night. Of the moment she had begged him to stop hurting her and he had laughed in her face. The sheer power of knowing even please for mercy were ridiculous; that there was literally nothing she could do to stop him...

He was going to cum.

Crap.

If he came now, he could choke her to death. He pushed her head back and slid her off his cock. The tight fit in her mouth meant that the edges of her teeth scraped against him as she slid out, hastening his orgasm, but he pulled her off his cock with an audible pop! just in time.

He came straight in her face, what seemed like gallons of sticky white jizz slamming into her, spattering all over her face, her chest, her hair, dripping down between her breasts and down her belly and onto her thighs as he covered her in his semen.
 
His eruption was such a shock Alice barely had time to close her eyes. Certainly, she had no time to close her mouth, or sweep her hair aside, or turn her head. The results were predictably messy. The body they had spent an age delicately cleaning was, an instant, defiled once more, covered from forehead to knee in dripping spurts of his thick cum. Her face bore the brunt, but her neck, breasts, even thighs did not go spare; and trails splashed her hair. A foamy mass leaked from her mouth, still agape, as she looked up at him in spluttering horror.
 
He couldn't help it. He laughed a little at her terrified reaction.

"What did you think was going to happen when you sucked your master's cock, slave?" he said, reaching for the sponge again. "Normally I'd make you eat it all, but for now I'll just clean you up. You've been a very good girl all morning, and I hadn't planned on doing it like that."

He began gently cleansing her again, washing the cum from her hair and face and chest.
 
Still dully shocked, Alice rose unsteadily to her feet with Kain's reaction. True to his word he cleaned her, but she noticed his touch was less tender, and less thorough; a couple of times he brushed a little hard, and a couple of spots he missed, leaving her to wipe up the white splotches with her fingers. She swallowed the taste with a faint grimace. Yet despite all that she kept her hand resting on his hip, almost possessively, as though she wanted to keep him close for comfort. As though she knew it would not always be like this.

When the shower finished she stepped to the rug and gently towelled herself, wincing whenever the thick material rubbed an abrasion too hard. She brushed out her hair once Kain had left, patting it dry in clumps and running a loose toothed comb through it. Warmed by the water, and the painkillers, walking was now a little easier, and she could stand before the mirror. Her face was not too bad, and with a little blusher some of the colour was restored. Her neck she could do nothing about, the bruises and marks a grim set of war wounds. With no clothes on offer, she padded back into his room, naked, where she knew a phone call that would end the life she had once known awaited her.
 
He was waiting with a change of clothes for her.

He had, for some reason, a pair of women's jeans that were just a little too big for her, but he also had a belt. He also had an old metallica T-Shirt with a faided logo. He handed them to her.

"I don't have any underwear for you," he said, "and I don't think I'd let you wear any if I did. So put these on. And then it's time to tell everyone about your wonderful new job, slave.

"Now you've been very good all morning. But I think I ought to say this, just in case. Yes, you could tell them what's happening. They might even manage to send help. But it will take them at least an hour to find us. And in that our, you will be trapped in this trailer with me, and I will no longer have anything left to lose."

And with that, he handed her the phone.
 
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