Slave Jade

by Claire Thompson

  She tried to sit up and close her legs, but he barked, “Lie down! I want to taste you. I want to make you come. With a lover's kiss. I am your lover, darling. The sooner you know this, the happier you'll be. Let me claim you now, in this lover's way.”

  She lay back down, feeling his tongue weave its way across her labia, lapping at her, using too much pressure. It was clear he didn't really know what he was doing and probably had never done this before. He wanted her to come, but she knew she wouldn't come like this, with his tongue so insistent, the pressure too marked and focused against her clit.

  And yet she didn't want to anger him. This unexpected turn of events could fit in with her plans of convincing him she was falling under his spell. She shifted, trying to guide him with her movements, but he wasn't sensitive to what she was doing. He just kept lapping away, and rather than arousing her, it was actually irritating the delicate folds.

  Still, she moaned in what she hoped was a sexy way and arched up toward his mouth, pretending to want what he was offering. He responded by lapping even harder against her, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her. She moaned and wriggled, breathing in short staccato breaths meant to imitate impending orgasm.

  After what she hoped was a reasonable interval, she bucked and cried out, grabbing his head. “Oh, oh, oh, oh!” she cried, in a breathless little Marilyn Monroe voice. Eventually she stilled, hoping her act was convincing.

  He sat up and she could see the triumph on his face, along with his own saliva, smeared there while he had pushed and lapped at her like some rabid dog. Lisa tried to assume a dreamy look of sexual satisfaction. He seemed to have bought the performance, and looked quite pleased with himself.

  Gently he pulled her up and into his arms. He kissed her and then stood, offering her a hand to help her up.

  He led her, still naked, back to her little prison. On an impulse she turned to him and dropped to her knees, there in the hall before he had a chance to force her back in the tiny room. “Please, sir.” She looked at the floor, her voice quiet but pleading. “May I speak, sir?”

  “You may, slave.”

  It was working! “Would it be possible, do you think, for me to be allowed out of that room? Maybe just a little? It's so hot in there. And I hate the dark. Please, sir? And I am very, very hungry, sir, if you think perhaps I could eat something now?”

  She waited, tensed, her face to the ground. Master John had impressed upon her in chats the importance of not looking your master in the face. It was a sign of respect, he had explained.

  “Nice try,” he said, as her heart sank. “Now get into the room.”

  Damn! She had thought he was going to give in. He did, however, allow her food. It wouldn't do to starve her, she supposed, because then he wouldn't have a slave toy to abuse and torture.

  If she could just get out of that room it might change the dynamic between them from prisoner and jailer. Shift it more toward lovers, however repugnant the notion, so she would begin to gain more of an upper hand. A fighting chance. As it was she had no leverage. Nothing to offer or withhold.

  Well, she would just have to try again. And go more slowly. Not ask for too much at once. And not act as if it mattered. Slowly she would gain his trust. Slowly she would somehow convince him that she bought into his horrid and fiendish plans of brainwashing her into becoming his willing sex slave.

  He brought her a bologna sandwich on white bread—something she would have tossed into the garbage back in her old life. But now real tears of gratitude sprang to her eyes as she thanked him. She tried not to wolf the food down, aware her stomach would cramp, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Get some rest, slave. Tomorrow your real training begins.”

  Chapter 6

  “Today we’ll focus on cock sucking. Every sex slave should be skilled at the art of pleasuring her Master. I’ll bet that guy you broke up with enjoyed your slutty mouth on his cock, huh?” His tone was bitter.

  Disquiet ran through Lisa’s blood like ice. Had that been a guess? How did he know she'd broken up with her boyfriend? Who the fuck was this guy?

  Pushing her thoughts aside, saving them for later when she would have way too much time to think, she scrambled to her knees in front of him, pretending eagerness to do his bidding.

  At his orders, she locked her arms behind her back, a hand on each elbow. She knelt up, still keeping her eyes down, waiting for his nasty erect dick to come sliding against her mouth. She tried to keep her face blank, aware her emotions were too often transparent in her expression.

  “I see you’re coming around, my little slave. The first step to freedom is complete submission.” Where had she heard that? Had she read that somewhere? It seemed familiar. The turgid cock being pressed against her mouth distracted her, and forcing herself to move with grace, she parted her lips to receive his offering.

  He moved in and out for a few minutes, gagging her slightly with his partial erection. Lisa tried to empty her mind. She wouldn't focus on this stranger forcing her into this most intimate of acts. And she would resist the impulse to bite him, an impulse that kept her jaws twitching. She didn't want to think about the consequences of giving in to that!

  His cock remained only half erect, despite his repeated thrusting. She dared to bring her hands around to help him. Gently she cupped his balls and the base of his shaft, hoping to stimulate him quickly so she could get away from him all the sooner. He moaned. He seemed to like her hands on him, but still he wasn't hard.

  Exasperated, he pulled out. “You're useless. I can't come like this. I need something more. I know.” He paused, squinting up at the ceiling. “A good whipping would turn me on. I haven't whipped you properly. We’ll use the cane. Yes, the cane.”

  He pushed her back, pulling away from her open mouth. His semi-erect cock glistened with her stolen kisses as he walked to the footlocker and unlocked it, taking out a long thin rod of bamboo, which was painted a bright red.

  “Stand up.”

  Lisa stood, clasping her arms around herself protectively. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it.

  “Hold out your arms.” He attached the leather cuffs to her wrists, adding several feet of chain between them, which he slipped through the rings of the cuffs. Pulling her toward the open door, he lifted the chain and slung it over the top, forcing her arms up high in the process.

  Her body was pressed against the side of the open door, bared for the cane. “It's about time I marked you properly,” he said in a low voice. He swished the cane through the air beside her. It made a slicing, whistling sound. Lisa emitted a little cry of terror. “Please,” she began but he cut her off.

  “I’ll gag you if you say one more word. I’m going to cane you and you might as well deal with that fact. I'm going to mark your ass with welts, to remind you of your place even when I'm not in the room with you. You should be marked every day, you know. A slave should always be marked. I think you're ready for that new step in your training, don't you, Lisa?”

  Lisa started to protest, but recognized it was useless. Instead, she silently vowed to continue with her new plan to convince Gilbert of her change of heart—of her coming to terms with her lot.

  Trying to keep the waver from her voice, she answered, “Yes, sir. I'll try to be ready, sir. I know this is what I need.”

  He stared at her a moment, his gaze piercing. There was a curious expression on his face, almost loving, she would have thought. If such a man is capable of love. She thought for one aching moment he might let her down.

  Instead, he said, “Today we move to a new level, my darling. Where pain isn’t merely a means to an end, but the end itself. I'm going to transport you to that special place where submissives can go, when they truly relinquish control and release themselves to their Master.”

  Lisa froze, horror falling over her like a shroud.

  Master John.

  Those were his words. Not just similar, or familiar. Those were his exact
words, written to her in an email once after an intense online game they had played. She had thought about it a lot, and he had even referred her to several testimonials on blogs written by submissives who had entered a kind of trance state during especially heated sessions, transported by the heady mixture of pleasure and pain, administered by a loving Dom.

  She didn't dare to move, though her mind was reeling. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe this guy and Master John read the same books on the Art of Dominance, or some such thing? Now that she was focused in this direction, she remembered several times when words he'd said seemed familiar somehow, when ideas he'd presented seemed to strike a familiar chord.

  And his knowledge of her had seemed to exceed anything he could have gathered from stalking her or going through her purse. Still her mind rejected the premise forming inexorably there.

  Master John? Her beloved but elusive Master John? What they had was so special, so unique. Could this monstrous man really be he? John Anderson was a professor in New Jersey. He was so private he wouldn’t even talk on the phone. He was older and looked nothing like this pasty-faced boy.

  Or did he? Who really knew the first thing about anyone online? What was to stop the person who called himself Master John from really being a younger man, who had downloaded some model's picture off the web? Didn't women do that all that time? Why not men?

  But Master John was so different from this creep. Lisa felt an actual ache in her heart. The sheer betrayal was more than she could bear. More memories flooded into her mind. Master John’s seemingly innocent inquiry as to where she lived. Even having her call him, and then conveniently not being there. Of course he’d had Caller ID, the lying fuck.

  Jesus, she’d given him her name, her phone number and where she lived. She might as well have sent him the key to her apartment while she was at it.

  Tears of shame and loss pricked her eyelids. Master John was dying in her mind, and it was as painful as if her real lover had been ripped from her arms and murdered in cold blood while she watched.

  A sinister certainty flooded through Lisa like an intravenous infusion. She felt sick with it, as if she would fall to the floor and convulse with her new knowledge.

  The chains held her up. Whoever the man was behind her, he still had her under his control. Thought flew from her head as the supple rod sliced through the air and landed on her ass, cutting her flesh. She screamed. Any poetic longing for a man who had probably never existed was wiped out in that instant of blinding heat.

  Again a stroke of fire seared her flesh, the blow delivered just above the first cut. Lisa sagged heavily against the door. She felt sick and her ears were ringing. She knew she was fainting and she was glad of it. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness take her.

  She came to on the mattress. She was lying on her stomach. Master John or whoever in hell he was, sat beside her. She felt his fingers moving along the welts he'd raised with the cane.

  “You passed out. It was too much for you, poor girl. We’ll have to practice every day so you can get used to it. You have two beautiful welts. I only drew a little blood. Next time I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

  Lisa lay still, hiding her head in the crook of her arm.

  He stroked her back. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It was our first time. You’ll learn grace. I'll teach you to take the cane for me. Would you like that, darling? To take it for me?”

  Forcing herself to look at him, hiding the murderous rage in her heart, Lisa nodded, biting her lips, biding her time.

  He didn’t trust her. Not yet. Yes, they were making headway, but her docility could just be a ruse, a way to make him lower his guard. He was nobody’s fool. Still, it was thrilling to hear her say, “Yes, sir,” in that deep, smooth sexy voice of hers.

  He wanted to reward her for her newfound obedience. After her morning birth control pill, he made her a nice breakfast of bacon and toast. He liked feeding her with his fingers, feeling her warm, soft lips and tongue as she took the food.

  Now he had decided to give her a bath. She knelt on the floor while he filled the tub with hot water, pouring in two capfuls of bath oil.

  When the tub was full, he held her arm as she climbed into the bathtub. She sank back into the warm water, wincing slightly, no doubt from the welts he’d raised. His cock hardened at the beautiful sight of her, her breasts jutting just above the waterline, the nipples rising in the cool air.

  He didn’t let her wash herself. He liked the feeling of taking care of her. “Wet your hair,” he ordered. “I’ll wash it for you.” Lisa obeyed, dipping her head back into the water. Gilbert squirted shampoo into his hand and lathered her thick, soft hair. He would have to buy her conditioner. Girls liked that sort of thing. He made a mental note for next time he went shopping.

  He turned on the faucet, using the clear water to rinse her hair. Lisa remained silent and compliant as he bathed her. Using a washcloth, he soaped her underarms and pussy. She actually blushed as he rubbed her cunt, which he found delightful.

  He took a fresh razor from the drawer by the sink. “I’m going to shave your under arms and legs for you.”

  “Please, could I—”

  “No. And don’t speak without being spoken to. You won’t like what I do to you.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked away. Good. She was learning. He had her put her hands on the top of her head. Carefully he drew the razor under her arms until they were smooth. She stayed very still while he did this, and happily he didn’t nick her.

  Next he focused on her legs. He had her lift them one at a time onto the edge of the tub. He squirted some of the bath oil over them to make them slick for the razor. In long, smooth strokes he scraped the stubble from her shapely calves. Jesus, she was lovely.

  He realized his cock was cramping painfully in his jeans. “Get out. Bath’s over,” he informed her. As she climbed out, he shucked his clothing and pushed her roughly to the floor. “Get on your hands and knees. Reach back and open your cunt for me.”

  He knelt behind her, admiring the two welts he’d raised, still a dark, angry pink against her soft, pale flesh. He spit on his cock to lubricate it before entering her. Someday his slave girl would always be wet for him. Maybe someday soon.

  He groaned with pleasure as he entered her silky heat. Grabbing her hips, he thrust hard against her. “Move,” he ordered. “Fuck my cock. Come on, slut. Do it.” She began to move against him, her wet body slippery beneath his fingers.

  All too quickly he shot his load, grunting as he collapsed against her, pinning her beneath him as they fell. He pulled away from her, wiping his cock on a towel. She lay where she’d fallen, her dark wet hair spilling around her.

  He knew as he stared down at her he would never let her go.

  ~*~

  This time he chained her to the wall above her mattress. Instead of standing, he forced her to kneel on the bed, her ass thrust out, her legs spread. The welts were still there from the last caning, but they had faded and mostly healed, leaving pale purple marks.

  He stood to the side of her, smoothing her ass and thighs with his hands. “Count for me,” he said.

  She knew it was no use to beg for mercy. This was going to happen. There was no way around it. “One!” she screamed, as the cane found its mark. “Two!” Pain bloomed through her nerve endings. She jerked uselessly against her chains. “Three!” This one landed across the backs of both thighs, the tip wrapping slightly around her leg with the force of the blow.

  “Give into the pain. Take it. You need it. If you could see yourself, slave girl. You look incredible with those marks. My marks.” He slid a hand between her spread legs, reaching from behind to fondle her sex. He rubbed against her clit, then spit on his fingers and rubbed again. Desperate to stave off another blow, Lisa pressed against his fingers, encouraging him.

  He laughed softly. “My little slut. You want it, huh? You want my cock.”

  “Yes, sir,” she lied. Though if she ha
d to choose cock or the cane, she’d take cock.

  He wasn’t done, though. She heard the slice of the cane the split second before it cut into her. He struck her several more times in succession. She was breathing heavily, too far into the pain even to cry out. Sweat was pouring down her sides and she didn't hear the man's words, though she was dimly aware he was talking. Her entire world was focused on where the next searing line of fire would strike. She was beyond counting, and he didn't seem to care.

  The air felt cold against her flesh as the sweat dried. Lisa was still chained to the wall, and her back, ass and thighs were crisscrossed with lines of fire. Her head was down on her chest, but she could feel him fumbling at her wrists. She fell forward as he released the cuffs from the chain. He caught her and lay her down on the mattress.

  Lisa was limp as a rag doll while he smoothed a salve into the welts he himself had raised. She found herself grateful for his gentle and soothing touch. Wait a minute—how could she be grateful to the very man who had inflicted the wounds in the first place? What was happening to her? Was she losing her mind? Would he overcome her at last—turning her into a compliant and willing slave, not out of love, but out of sheer exhaustion?

  Even with these thoughts, barely articulated, swirling through her consciousness, another thought, a tiny voice but an insistent one, shouted, no! This man would not break her down. This man would not control her spirit, even if he could force her body to obey. She would get out of this somehow. Or she would die trying.

  For now though, all she wanted was to be left alone.

  ~*~

  “Don't go,” Lisa entreated. She held his arm, her eyes imploring. He had just fucked her, doggie style, and then spanked her ass till it was rosy red, his hands alternately hitting and smoothing her as she lay prostrate across his lap, his semen dripping from her pussy.

  He stopped, waiting with a raised eyebrow. She had spoken out of turn and afraid he'd realize it, she rushed on, “I mean, sir, with your permission, I wish you could stay with me a little longer. I miss you when you're gone. You’re my world now. My entire world. When you're gone, it's so empty for me.”