He held up the shock prod, which resembled a large plastic squirt gun that held four batteries in the handle, the barrel of which was long and thin, forking at the end into two metal points that could deliver a powerful shock on contact. Eric had tried it on his arm when first inspecting her gear and the effect was as much startling as it was painful. He watched with satisfaction as J.’s eyes widened in horror and her lips parted in a silent protest.
“That’s right.” He laughed. “You’ve been on the other end of this thing, eh, Princess Lola? Now it’s your turn. Ever had this baby used on you?” Without giving her a chance to reply, he touched the forked end to her right nipple. It made a crackling sound and emitted a small spark.
J. screamed.
Eric’s cock throbbed and he massaged it through his trousers. He placed the black sleep mask over J.’s eyes, aware this would add to the element of surprise when he zapped her. “Now listen closely, slave,” he said, leaning down so his mouth was close to her ear. “You’re going to have a lesson in discipline and orgasm control today.”
He set the vibrator to its lowest setting and it began to hum against her clit. “Your job is to resist having an orgasm until I tell you. And then when I do tell you to come, you are to give it everything you’ve got, no matter what else I’m doing to you. Is that understood?”
When she didn’t instantly respond, he zapped her other nipple with the prod.
“Yes! I understand, Sir,” she cried.
“Good girl,” he said, gently rolling the reddened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “The idea is to learn that there is no difference between pleasure and pain, not for you. Your only goal is to please me. And right now,” he said as he zapped her thigh, “it pleases me to see you suffer.” She jerked in her restraints and gave another startled cry.
He turned the control on the vibrating wand up just a little. J’s bald cunt lips were quivering. She took a deep breath and then pressed her mouth together in a tight line. Eric turned the control up a little more. She started to tremble and pant.
“Don’t come, J. Don’t you dare.” Walking in a circle around her, Eric used the shock prod, zapping her ass, her breasts, her stomach, her thigh. She jerked and squealed with each shock. The vibrator whirred mercilessly against her clit. Her nipples were erect and there was sweat on her upper lip.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” J. began to chant. Her body was shaking, her breathing ragged.
“Don’t you dare,” Eric warned again. He zapped her distended nipples, one after the other. J. screamed. Her body was shaking like a leaf. She began to grunt—deep guttural sounds like a wounded animal.
Eric watched her for several long seconds as he pulled open his pants and grabbed his rock hard shaft. When she slumped forward, he turned off the wand and stepped back, his cock still in his hand.
J. had dropped her head forward onto her chest. Eric lifted the sleep mask to her forehead. She groaned but didn’t open her eyes. Eric lifted her chin. “Look at me.”
Slowly J.’s lids fluttered open but her eyes seemed unfocused. Lightly he slapped her cheek. “You came, didn’t you?” Of course he knew the answer, but he would make her say it.
“I couldn’t help—”
He slapped her again, harder this time. “No excuses. Just answer the question. Did you come? Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He stepped back and picked up the tube of lubricant. “We’ll try again. Any slave worth her salt can control her orgasm, no matter what’s going on.” Eric knew this to be true, as he’d seen it time and again on the BDSM sites. Those girls might be paid, but their reactions were real, especially at the skilled hands of Maestro and Sir Stephen. They learned through steady training and discipline to override their physical impulses and hold their orgasms until they were given permission. His slave would do the same, he would see to it.
He loosened the harness enough to get at the head of the vibrator, which he again smeared with plenty of lube. He pushed it back in place and pulled the sleep mask down over J.’s eyes.
“Please, Eric, Sir, please—” J. began piteously, but he stopped her with a hand to her mouth.
“Shut up. You say another word and I’ll gag you. You want that?”
He himself didn’t want that—he loved hearing her cries and whimpers, and those hot guttural moans as he pulled climax after climax from her unwilling body. He was in complete and total control—the Master of her universe. He could make her moan with pleasure or cry in pain. She belonged to him. The power trip was fucking incredible.
He flicked the vibrator back to life, a steady hum on its lowest speed. He had an idea, and went to get the clover clamps. Pinching her lovely fat nipples one at a time, he closed the clamps over them while the blindfolded girl gasped. He turned the wand up a notch and J., no doubt already sensitized from the first series of orgasms, began almost at once to shake. The girl simply had no discipline.
He touched the forked prod to her stomach, her hip, her thigh, and finally to the chain between her clamped nipples. She screamed, a long, high-pitched wail. Good thing the basement was soundproofed. Eric turned up the wand and J. began to gasp in a series of breathy hiccups. She was shaking and her cheeks and throat were flushed and mottled.
“You want to come?” Eric, cock in hand, was about to come himself just from the thrill of what he was doing to her.
“Yes, yes, yessss!” she hissed.
“Okay. Do it. Come for me, you little whore.”
He flicked the wand to its highest setting and while she jerked and shook against the cross, he pulled the clamps from her nipples. As J. screamed in pain, he zapped her over and over again while furiously pumping his cock with his other hand. He was just about to shoot his load when J. went suddenly limp, her head lolling forward on her chest.
Shit. Had he gone too far?
Eric dropped the electric prod and reached for the vibrator, switching it off. J.’s body was slick with sweat. He pulled the mask from her eyes but they remained closed. Her mouth was slack, a line of drool dangling from one corner.
Her pulse was strong, he was relieved to note. He moved quickly, releasing her ankles first, and then her wrists. Her legs wobbled and she flopped forward. She would have fallen flat on her face if he hadn’t been there to catch her.
She groaned softly as he carried her to the sleep cage. He set her down on the padded bondage table on the top of the cage. Her breasts were perfect, soft mounds of flesh with gumdrop tips, and her cunt, still glistening from the lube, looked swollen and inviting, just waiting for a hard cock to fill it.
Eric thought about training techniques, and how all the sites said you shouldn’t give your slave the gift of your cock until they’d earned it through submission and obedience. But those were consensual relationships, weren’t they? His situation was different. This wasn’t some mutual contract based on trust and love. J. was his personal property—his private piece of ass. There were no rules to what he was doing. He made his own rules.
Eric leaned over his slave, smoothing her damp hair from her face.
J. opened her eyes. “Thirsty,” she mouthed silently.
No harm in giving her some water, Eric decided, though the jury was out on if he’d feed her today. He went to the case of water and extracted a bottle. He also grabbed a large red apple. Standing near her head, he put his arm under her shoulders and helped her to sit. He rested the apple on her thigh and tilted the bottle to her lips. When she’d finished it, he set the empty bottle aside. Her eyes were fixed on the apple.
He picked it up and took a large, crunchy bite. J. licked her lips, her face etched with longing. He chewed, swallowed and smiled. “I think I’m going to fuck you. Would you like that, slave?”
“The apple?” she whispered, as if she hadn’t heard him.
Eric took another bite. “You want it?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, Sir.”
“Spread your legs.”
J. opened her legs, her eyes never leaving the fruit he held in his hand. Eric went to the bureau and grabbed a condom. Returning to her, he set the apple down on J.’s stomach. “Don’t touch it,” he ordered.
He slid the condom over his erection and moved the apple again, pressing it between J.’s breasts. “Use your tits to hold it in place. Don’t let it fall. I’ll tell you when, and if, you can eat it. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” J. murmured, pressing her breasts together around the apple like a perfect slut.
Eric pulled her legs toward him until her ass was on the edge of the padded table. Positioning himself between them, he crouched until his cock was level with her cunt and pushed himself inside the heavenly heat.
She lay limp and unresponsive while he rutted inside her, but Eric didn’t care. He was focused on his own pleasure. Her cunt was tight as he leaned over her, his cock like a piston, thrusting hard and fast.
On a sudden whim, Eric leaned over J. and kissed her mouth, thrusting his tongue past her full lips. She jerked her head away. He reached for her chin, forcing her head back. This time he held her in place as he kissed her, or not so much kissed her, as claimed her mouth with his while he fucked his property.
He came hard, a satisfied groan of pleasure pulled from his lips as he spurted against the thin membrane of the condom, still held tight by her perfect cunt. Letting her go, he stood slowly, allowing his cock to slip from her heat.
She was now clutching the apple in her hands, though it still rested on her chest.
“I should take that away from you, you know,” he said.
She clutched it tighter.
“You are never to turn away when I kiss you, or when I do anything to you. That’s basic slave training 101.”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t—”
“Save your breath. Here’s the deal. You have a choice now. Eat the apple, but accept your punishment later for turning away, or give me the apple and we’ll wipe the slate clean.”
She stared at him and then glanced down at the apple she still gripped so tightly in her hands. He could see the struggle in her face, and then the resignation.
“The apple,” she whispered. “I’ll take the apple.”
Chapter 9
The smell of food preceded the sound of his clomping footsteps as Eric made his way into the basement. The apple was long since devoured, including the core. The smell of fried bacon slammed into Jessie’s senses, awakening a ravenous hunger.
She’d spent the hours after he’d left her moving from fevered nightmares that crawled like sweat on her skin to long periods staring into the dark, planning a dozen ways to escape. Everything hinged on the scissors and finding the opportunity to use them.
Before the nightmare of the past week, if someone had asked her if she could kill another human being, she would have said no. Even when her father, with whiskey and rage in his blood, had struck out at Jessie’s mother, bloodying her nose, blackening her eye, once even breaking her arm, Jessie had wished he would drop dead, but she’d never thought of herself as the one to make it happen.
But now, she thought, she wouldn’t hesitate. If that was what it took to get free from this diablo, she would stab him through the heart and not think twice about it. Not only that—she would enjoy it.
She knew she had to make her move soon. She was weaker each day, with the forced inactivity and the near-starvation conditions in which he kept her. Eric was no Dom, whatever he fancied himself to be, with all his ridiculous talk about proper slave training and discipline. He was modeling himself on the fantasy violent porn so readily available on the internet that masqueraded as BDSM. He was going to end up killing her in the process if things continued as they were going.
Eric came into view with the loaded tray. “Good morning, slave girl. Sleep well?”
“Yes, Sir, thank you,” Jessie forced herself to reply, using the meek, submissive voice she’d used when working as his office employee. She even managed to push her lips into what she hoped passed for a smile. She needed him to think she was going along with his insanity. She needed his guard down if the plan was going to work.
Eric lifted his eyebrows, but said nothing in reply. Though the basement was cool from central air conditioning, she guessed it was another typical hot, muggy summer day in Houston, as Eric was wearing only shorts, his broad, hairy chest bare. He set the tray down and Jessie swallowed hard as she stared at the bounty. There was even a mug of coffee, its heavenly scent curling into her nostrils like a promise.
Eric unlocked the gate of the cage and lifted it. Jessie crawled out, keenly aware of the scissors, which she’d removed from their hiding place and carefully placed beneath the mattress, close to the bars and ready to grab when the opportunity offered itself.
As she’d listened to him coming down the stairs, she’d thought about seizing the moment and hiding the scissors in her hand, ready to plunge them into him the moment she exited the cage. But the promise of food was too tempting to pass up. It was essential she get some fuel in her body if she was going to pull this off.
She crawled out of the cage and knelt upright, fingers laced behind her head, eyes deferentially on Eric’s bare feet. She felt the sweep of his insolent gaze moving over her body and bit her lip to keep from reacting.
Ay, dios mio, the food smelled so good.
“Have you thought about what we talked about? About the punishment you chose in order to eat the apple?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, silently seething beneath her submissive mask.
“I’m going to give you a choice again today. A chance to skip the punishment altogether.” Eric sat down in front of her, crossing his legs and resting his large hands on his knees. “You can eat this delicious breakfast I prepared for you, and in return receive fifty lashes with the single tail, or you can skip breakfast and take a long, hot shower instead. What’ll it be?”
Jessie dared a glance at his face. The son of a bitch was grinning, clearly thinking he was so fucking clever. She would have bet money that, even if she chose the shower option, he’d still beat her afterward. What was to stop him?
She pretended to ponder the offer as she stared at the scrambled eggs and bacon, and the toast with butter melting in the center. “I’ll take the food and the whipping, Sir,” she said softly, adding, “Thank you, Sir.”
“Oh ho,” Eric crowed. “Finally figuring out it’s better to cooperate than fight, eh? It’s about time you realized what’s good for you.” He gestured toward the tray. “Go ahead. I’m going to let you feed yourself today. Have at it.”
Dropping her arms, Jessie moved quickly toward the tray, still half afraid he might change his mind at the last second. There was still no fork, but she used the toast, as before, scooping a huge bite of the eggs into her mouth and following it with a piece of bacon. The food was no longer hot, but she didn’t care. It was beyond delicious.
While she ate, Eric moved toward the corner of the basement where the camera equipment was stored.
Eric brought the camera over to the St. Andrew’s cross and then returned to her, an evil grin on his stupid face.
You won’t get the chance to film your torture session, hijo de puta, Jessie thought, as she continued to shovel the food into her mouth.
“Slow down, little pig,” Eric said, laughing. “I’m not going to take it away.”
She didn’t believe him, nor could she have slowed down if she’d wanted to. Her body was literally starved for the food, and, if her plan didn’t work, who knew when she’d get to eat next. She didn’t stop until there was nothing left on the plate, and the coffee mug was drained dry. Her stomach was already cramping uncomfortably from the now unaccustomed quantity of food she’d shoveled into it, but she’d take cramps from being too full over the twisting pangs of an empty stomach any day of the week.
Carlos, give me the courage, she prayed silently.
Eric lumbered to his
feet and headed toward the whip wall. In the few seconds his back was turned, Jessie slipped her hand under the mattress and grabbed the scissors. She knelt, her heart beating like a trapped bird in her chest, the scissors hidden behind her back.
When Eric returned with the single tail in his hand, Jessie took a deep breath and knelt down, her head nearly touching the floor at Eric’s feet. She brought her hands forward, the small pair of scissors hidden beneath her palm. Her heart was thudding so loud in her ears she was sure Eric could hear it.
It was now or never.
Grabbing the scissors in her fist, she thrust the pointed ends as hard as she could into the top of Eric’s foot.
Eric bellowed and jerked his foot away, sending the bloodied scissors flying. Operating on pure instinct, Jessie reared upright, the top of her head making sharp contact with Eric’s chin. He fell back, still roaring, and landed with a deafening crash onto the ground, his head cracking hard upon impact.
Jessie leaned over him and peered down, confused by the hiccupping sobbing sound she heard, until she realized she was the one making it. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” she began to chant, a swell of panic threatening to engulf her.
She’d killed a man.
She was a murderer.
Then Eric groaned softly and turned his head, though his eyes remained closed. The wound on his foot was still bleeding, but it had slowed. He was alive. She stood frozen for several beats, staring at the prostrate man before her.
She fingered the dog collar he’d forced her to wear, tugging at the buckle and pulling it from her neck. She hurled it across the room, though her eyes never left Eric.
She knew she had to get out of there, but then what? What would stop him from coming after her? Where would she go? She had no family, no one to turn to for help. She didn’t want to involve the police, at least not directly, certain Eric would find a way to implicate her. She just wanted to get away.
Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies Page 28
