The night doesn't feel so cold anymore.

"Well, kitten, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, Sir, thank you for taking me."

"Do you want to drive?" Cal's in a good mood, warmed up by the food and wine.

"Yes! Please, Sir, can I?"

He was half-kidding and is surprised by her answer. "Really?" he asks her skeptically. "Do you know how to drive?"

"Yes, Sir, my dad loved old cars. He collected them and used to let me take them for spins all the time. I can drive. I've practiced on private roads since I was twelve."

"Hmm. Somehow private roads doesn't reassure me. You really want to drive?"

"Yes, Sir, please."

"It's a stick."

"I can handle a stick, Sir."

"Um, I believe you've proven that actually you can't."

Rose sighs. Now that he's suggested it, she desperately wants to drive the car but realizes he's probably only teasing.

"Fine." Cal slips the cold metal key into her warmed hand. "Try not to kill us both."

Rose takes the wheel, and, sure enough, she drives smoothly, shifting gears without being prompted, hugging the curves in the road. She accelerates and brakes gently, driving the expensive car well. Cal lets her get halfway home before instructing her to pull onto a more deserted road.

"Careful, there're deer," he warns her, and Rose slows down.

Sure enough, the road becomes more wooded, and Rose thinks she can see eyes blinking back at her as she warily looks around. The road winds along a gradual slope, and, slowing and glancing to her left, Rose sees the glimmering city spread out below them. "Beautiful," she murmurs.

"Stop here," Cal says, placing his hand on the wheel as Rose guides the car into a clearing.

"Here, Sir?"

"That's what I said. Kill the engine. Turn off the lights. Good girl. So good at following directions. I should give you something big and powerful to handle more often." For a moment they merely sit and admire the view from the hilltop. "Out of the car," Cal presently says. "You can leave your coat and shoes."

Rose stands beside the passenger door, unsure what Cal wants to do with her. She shivers as he removes something from the trunk.

He slams the trunk, carrying a roll of thick rope in his hand. He takes her by the arm and directs her to one of the bare, blackened trees. She steps carefully, trying not to hurt her stocking-ed feet on the crackling dead leaves and branches underfoot.

"Dress off," he commands, hastily helping her unbutton and slip out of Camille's dress. It pools at her feet in the dirt and gets a bit trampled as they both shift their feet. Her heart is pounding and she's excited for what's going to happen, and yet . . . why is Cal so callous with Camille's dress? Why not pick it up, make sure it doesn't get dirty?

"Arms up."

Rose raises both arms high above her head. Cal stands in front of her and reaches up himself, holding her up until she's on tip-toe, and tying her wrists to a protruding branch using the thick rope. The knot is firm, secure, and a bit tight. Rose struggles to hold her weight and takes her feet off the ground completely when Cal nudges her hip, testing the branch and the rope. "Perfect," he says as Rose sways.

She wants to ask him to pick up the dress and put it back in the car before it's ruined, but she hasn't been spoken to directly. Rose wears nothing but black thigh-highs, and Cal looks her exposed body up and down. He traces a light fingertip down the delicate skin of her throat, fondles her, runs his knuckles under her arm, barely, barely touching skin. It's too much for Rose's ticklish skin. She braces herself against the ground and attempts to push herself back, away from Cal's tickling touch as his knuckles run lightly down her ribs and toward her waist.

"No," he tells her, grabbing her by the small of the back and pulling her close to him. On her tip-toes, she's almost Cal's height, and their lips are only inches apart as she's pulled to him. He kisses her gently, moving his hands to her hips, and murmurs, "Open," into her mouth. She opens her mouth wider, and Cal laughs, genuinely amused. "I meant your legs, but I can work with this," he says, holding his hand sideways and inserting two fingers into her mouth. "Show me how well you can suck," he instructs, pushing his fingers back until he feels her gag reflex.

Rose dutifully sucks, caressing his fingers with her tongue.

"Wider," he says, adding a third finger. "Show me what you're good for."

Rose's throat constricts, and she gags again.

"Not good for much, are you sweetheart? How about this?" he asks, removing his hand from her mouth and inserting the slick fingers between her legs, all the way to the knuckle. "Any good at making yourself wet?" Cal asks Rose, slowly beginning to pump his fingers in and out. "There you go. At least you're good for something," he tells her as her body instantly accommodates his slow thrusts. "Although," he removes his fingers and places them back in her mouth, letting her taste herself as she continues sucking, doing her best to dutifully let him push his fingers back without gagging, "I'm doing quite a bit of the work." He pushes further back. This time Rose doesn't gag. "Aren't I, sweetheart?" he asks sternly, pulling his hand away.

"Yes, Sir," she immediately answers.

"Good girl. Spread those legs. Wide."

Trusting Cal's knot to hold her weight, Rose takes her feet completely off the ground, then wraps her legs around Cal's hips.

"Open everything for me," he instructs, putting a supportive arm around her hips and angling them forward. He looks up and catches her eyes. "Everything," he emphasizes, holding her jaw and opening her mouth. "Tongue out," he instructs, then takes his hand from under her chin and moves it to the waistband of his pants. His weight shifts momentarily, then his hand is back, cocked to the side like a gun, with two, then three fingers, deep down Rose's throat.

"Hold it. Don't—" but Rose is already gagging. He takes his hand out and slaps her cheek, not hard enough to sting, but just enough to startle her. "What did I just say? Are you a useless little whore?"

"No, Sir."

"Are you good for something?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What are you good for, sweetheart?"

"Making you happy, Sir."

"Good answer," he smiles. "We're going to try this again. Show me how useful you can be," Cal says, placing his fingers back in her mouth. "Tongue out," he reminds her. "Good girl."

Cal removes his arm from her waist, and Rose wraps her legs tighter as he puts his other hand between her legs. "Were you always a good girl?" he asks, moving his hand so that he cups her gently under the chin and only his fingertips are left in her mouth.

"Yes, Sir," she tells him, sucking and speaking around his fingers, her voice coming out muffled and alien.

"Never got in trouble?"

"No, Sir."

"Liked to make your teachers happy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good," Cal says, his hand pumping harder and faster between her legs. "That means you did your homework like a good girl? Got your body ready for me this time?"

Rose's cheeks turn pink, "Yes, Sir."

Cal removes his hand from between her legs and puts it back around her waist for support. She whimpers, aching for his touch again, but immediately he thrusts forward, into her. She cries out, pitching her head forward and trying to bury her head in his shoulder, but instead this merely causes his fingers to shove down her throat.

Cal stays still, buried inside her. "Rose," he says, his tone calm, even, but with a tinge of warning. "Did you lie to me? Did you practice?"

He takes his right hand out of her mouth and wraps both arms around her. She rests her forehead on his shoulder, letting her hair fall forward to hide most of her face. "No, Sir," she admits in a small, muffled voice.

He grabs her hair and pulls her head back, looking her straight in the eyes. "Look at me. Speak up when you talk to me. Did you lie to me, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Sir," Rose replies, shaking.

"Did you get your body ready for me like I asked?"

"No, Sir."

"So are you useful to me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How? How are you useful? You're nearly crying, and I'm barely in you."

"I'm sorry, Sir." Her eyes glisten with unfallen tears, from pain or genuine regret Cal isn't sure. He releases his grip on her hair and places a gentle hand under her chin, wiping away the tears starting to fall.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, starting to push in and out inside her.

"Yes, Sir," she whispers back, closing her eyes.

"Does it feel good?"

Rose doesn't answer.

"Tell me if it feels good," Cal instructs, still soft-spoken, but with a sternness in his voice this time.

"It hurts, Sir."

"If I untied you, let you lay down . . .?" Cal asks, thinking, hoping, Rose is referring to the rope digging into her wrists, or maybe the position.

She keeps her eyes closed. "It hurts, Sir," she repeats, her voice soft, sad, enduring the pain but asking for mercy. Cal nods, holds her hips still, and pulls out. Her mouth opens in relief. She finally opens her eyes. "Thank you, Sir."

He puts a hand on the small of her back to support some of her weight. "Legs down," he instructs, and, carefully, Rose goes back on tip-toe. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"Don't be sorry. I'll make you useful yet," Cal tells her, swiftly untying her and releasing her arms. The rope falls, and Rose brings her arms down to rubs her sore wrists. "Turn around," Cal orders. He pulls her arms behind her and ties them securely just above the elbow, so that Rose's shoulders are pulled back, her back straight, and her chest pushed out. He turns her back around to face him. "On your knees," he instructs, and Rose obliges.

This is when he misses Camille's intuition. "Is that the proper position to suck my cock?" Rose looks up at him, uncertain. "Thighs spread. Ass out," he trains her, gathering her hair in a ponytail at the base of her neck and using his grip to bring her mouth to him. Sure enough, Rose spreads her legs and leans forward, her mouth opening without Cal even needing to say anything. She tentatively licks his tip, and her eagerness excites him.

"Did I say you could start sucking?" he asks.

She pulls back an inch, as much as his hand at the back of her neck will allow. "No, Sir."

"Beg me for it."

Rose hesitates. "Please Sir, can I suck your cock?"

"Show me how much you want it. Kiss it. Stroke it." Rose obliges, and, finally, he lets her take his cock in her mouth. "Mmm," Rose closes her eyes, this time from pleasure. It tastes good, feels right. This she can do.

"Tongue out, nice and deep," Cal reminds her, pushing her head forward, till he's tickling the back of her throat. "All the way," he orders, pushing even deeper. Rose relaxes her throat, catching herself before she gags. "You like the taste of that?"

Rose nods as best she can. "Can you breathe?" There's only a garbled murmur in response. He grasps her hair tightly and pulls her head back. "Breathe," he commands. Rose gulps in air. "Back down, nice and deep," he tells her. The refrain is soothing. Rose trusts him. She breathes when he tells her, sucks when he says she can. He pushes himself deeper down her throat. "Are you ever going to lie to me again?" Cal asks, roughly pulling her out so that she can breathe and answer, "No, Sir, never." He pushes her back onto his cock. "And when I tell you to do something, are you going to do it?" He pulls her out. Deep breath. "Yes, Sir, always." Back down. "You like sucking cock, don't you?" Out. Deep breath. "Yes, Sir, definitely."

"Show me what you can do," he orders, letting Rose angle her head and suck at her own pace. He moves his hands from her hair to her shoulders, thrusting despite his best efforts to keep still. He'd wanted to hold out as long as he could, but Rose is just too good, too eager, lets him go too deep. He thrusts deep, feeling her lips, her tongue, the warmth and wetness of her mouth. Good God, if only she'd practiced . . .


Cal walks Rose all the way to her bedroom door. She feels proud of herself and content with the evening, even if Camille's dress did get a bit torn and dirty. Even feeling Cal's hand on the small of her back thrills her. No one has ever made her feel this way before. She's spent the whole evening with him, yet she already misses him. She wishes she could sleep beside him tonight, just to feel his warmth and strength. He pushes her past limits she never knew she had. She wants him, more and more of him. All of him.

"Goodnight, kitten," Cal says, bringing her to her door.

He brushes a fingertip down her throat, then her chest. "You're happy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You're pleased?"

"Yes, Sir."

He brushes lightly between her legs. "Mmm, not quite. You didn't get your release tonight."

"No, Sir, I didn't," she admits.

"Then I sincerely hope," he tells her, bringing his lips close to hers and gently stroking her cheek, "that this encourages you to practice." He kisses her long and deep, his tongue forceful. Still embracing her, he opens the door, steps her backward into her room, then lets go and turns to leave. "Goodnight," he calls out, already walking away.