Slave Jade

by Claire Thompson

  She sat on the toilet, enjoying the sensation of not having to squat as she urinated. Unfolding her fingers, she stared down at the little piece of metal in her hand.

  She noted the nicks and cuts along its edge. It was identical. Identical to the one around his neck. Wiping herself quickly and splashing water on her face, she hurried back to Gilbert's bed. As she climbed in she slipped the key between the mattress and the box springs, determined to retrieve it at a later time. She didn't know the next part of the plan yet, but step one had been accomplished. She had a key.

  Scooting beneath the sheets to Gilbert's cock, she skillfully licked and caressed it, bringing it quickly to full erection. As he shot his load down her throat she struggled briefly with her desire to gag on his bitter semen. Forcing it down, she smiled up him, and whispered, “Thank you, sir.”

  As Gilbert dressed, Lisa slipped her hand down, searching for the key. Once she got it, she slid her hand under the covers and pressed the metal carefully into her pussy. Now she only had to get to her room, remove and hide the key, and bide her time. Since he'd just orgasmed, she doubted he'd want to make use of her pussy so soon, but still it was a horrible gamble.

  Lisa felt adrenaline coursing hot and cold through her system. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Now that they were lovers again, at least in his mind, he wanted her to come have breakfast with him. That was well and good, but she needed to get to her room and get rid of the key. If he found it, this would surely be her last chance. She didn't dare imagine the punishment if that happened. He might even kill her in his rage.

  Lisa was quiet as they ate their breakfast together, eggs and bacon, with buttered toast. The food was wonderful but Lisa barely tasted it, so nervous was she over her hidden treasure. Gilbert didn't seem to notice anything amiss. He held forth about some crazy plan to take her to the Caribbean where they would live happily ever after. If she hadn't been so absorbed with her secret, her face might have betrayed her stunned reaction to his words.

  How could this guy dream, for one nanosecond, that she would ever go anywhere with him willingly, much less to some island in the Caribbean! The man was seriously delusional, but she could and would play that to her advantage.

  Suddenly she had an idea. It was a gamble, and one that would cost her, but it was worth it to get back to her room. “Excuse me, sir. May I ask a question?”

  “Yes, slave.”

  “You remember that flying thing? Gosh, I can't seem to stop thinking about it. Do you think, maybe, that we could try that again? I felt so connected to you then, sir. So a part of you. I want to take the pain for you, sir. To suffer for you, sir.”

  She'd pushed the right buttons because Gilbert looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “Yes. Yes, slave. I'll take you there again. But you are right about the pain. You have to go through the pain to get to that higher plane. You will suffer, but if you trust me enough, you'll fly again. I promise.”

  Egocentric bastard. She would play on that ego, and use it to destroy him.

  When Gilbert had finished eating, they walked to her room. She had to be ready to act, and seize the brief moment when his back was turned while he unlocked the trunk.

  Before he could give her orders about where and how to stand or kneel, Lisa rushed over to her mattress and knelt quickly, removing the key while his back was to her, and sliding it underneath the mattress.

  Gilbert stood and turned, the dreaded single lash and clamps in his hands. Lisa shivered, frightened by the very real torture that awaited her, but also her heart was singing, whirling, doing loop de loops. She had the key.

  Passively she stood while Gilbert chained and clamped her. The sharp pain of the clamps mercifully dulled, but she couldn’t help the tremble in her limps as she anticipated the bite of the lash.

  “Of course you’re afraid,” Gilbert said in a soothing tone. Lisa wanted nothing more than the smash his smug face. Instead she looked down docilely at the ground as he attached the clamps to her nipples and pussy. She couldn’t help the small cry of pain as the sharp teeth bit into the hood of her tender clit.

  “You’re right to be afraid,” he droned on. “But by working through your fear and accepting your master's will, you’ll fly again, I’m sure of it.”

  The stroke of the lash caught her square across both ass cheeks and Lisa yelped and thrust forward, as if she could escape. The clamps were tight on her nipples and pussy, and her body was humming and throbbing with stinging pain.

  In fact she very much wanted to fly again, indeed was desperate to do so, to get away from the constant searing lashes across her back, thighs and ass, and the bite of the clamps on her tender spots. She waited, yearning to feel that lovely calm descend again, to feel her heartbeat slow and her pain transmute to pure sensation.

  But it didn't happen. She continued to jump and yelp, crying and begging finally for him to stop. But Gilbert wouldn't stop. She realized he was determined to take her there. It had, as everything always did, become about him. His ego was intricately involved in her reaching that submissive peak, and she realized he wouldn’t stop until she got there.

  Despite her cries for mercy, and her wails and tears, Gilbert continued to lash her skin until she felt as if she was being flayed alive.

  Finally even Gilbert admitted defeat. And, as usual when he felt he had lost something, he looked anywhere but at himself to place the blame. Something had been done to him and that something, or someone, would pay. He ripped the clamps roughly from Lisa's breasts and pussy, and unhooked her cuffs from the chain.

  “Unworthy slave. You’ve failed me” Lisa barely heard him as she dropped to the ground, hugging her body, tight as a little hedgehog. He left her there, slamming the door and flicking out the lights.

  ~*~

  She lay where she had fallen for some time, drifting in and out of consciousness. She had known she'd pay a price for securing that key, but hadn't realized it would be such a high one. Her entire back burned, and when she reached back and felt something sticky and wet, she brought it to her lips and tasted blood.

  Sickened and exhausted, she crawled back the mattress. It couldn't be very late in the morning. She had the whole day to wait. She needed to bide her time until she was sure he was asleep, so she could sneak out, get the gun, and make her escape.

  She needed to find her clothing. She'd been naked for so long she could hardly visualize herself clothed, but she remembered she'd been in her red dress, having just left the Pizzazz. She’d left her friends, laughing and waving, with no idea her life was about to take such a dramatic and horrible shift.

  Over the past weeks her emotions had run the gamut from terror, to rage, to despair and then, most frightening of all, to a kind of bizarre acceptance. In a daze of hunger, fear and sexual arousal she had almost lost her very essence. But a germ of her former self had held on, and now leaped to the fore, pulling her back from the brink of oblivion.

  Now she lay bloody and beaten, but nowhere near to giving up. She prayed Gilbert wouldn't come in again today. Hopefully he'd had enough of his “unworthy slave.” Stupid bastard. Even she, novice that she was in the ways of romantic submission, knew you couldn't force something like flying. It wasn’t something you could command.

  Lisa dozed, lying on her stomach as the skin on her back stiffened and scabbed over. She was awakened by the light, and the door. He stood in the doorway. “Get up.” His voice was hard. “We're trying again.”

  Lisa tried to roll off the mattress, but cried out as the wounds all along her back opened from the movement. Gilbert strode over to her and jerked her up by an arm. Then he saw her back and even he looked shocked. “My god,” he said, quietly, clearly nonplussed. She could feel the cuts opening as she moved, lines of blood beading along them.

  Because he was a compassionate Master, Gilbert decided against another beating. Instead he led Lisa to the bathroom, and had her perch on the toilet seat while he filled the tub with warm water and poured in some swe
et smelling bath oil.

  He helped her climb in. He winced along with her as the warm water came in contact with her abraded skin. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize. He hadn't meant to go so far. And while he truly adored whipping and hurting her, there was some invisible line in his mind that he didn't want to cross, and he had, in his fervent desire to make her fly, crossed it and then some.

  But he didn't apologize. Doms did not apologize to subs. Not in his book. If she’d been more obedient and open to him in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.

  He watched her leaning back, her eyes closed, her thin arms resting lightly on the porcelain edges of the tub. He knelt next to her, stroking her arm. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He wondered what she was thinking.

  Now that the fog of forced submission had finally cleared from her brain, Lisa found herself wondering about this bizarre young man. Who was he, who whipped and tortured her one minute, and then gently stroked her arm the next, his face a mask of compassion and tender feeling?

  How could she reconcile the two? She recalled now the sweet and thoughtful words of her online fantasy Dom, Master John. This man, this sadistic bully who had kept her so cruelly, was in fact the same man who typed all those sweet and sexy words to her in what seemed a lifetime ago. How could he have written all those things about sensual domination, and the willing and romantic exchange of power, and then go and do the horrible, unspeakable things he'd done?

  Gilbert began to lather her breasts with a wet, soapy cloth. It felt good. Lisa closed her eyes, leaning back, letting him take care of her. She was thankful for the reprieve, however brief, before he turned once again into the raging cruel sadist, intent on breaking her down.

  But that sadist didn't reappear, at least not that day. Instead Gilbert asked her if she'd like to rest a while. “I'll wake you for dinner, dear,” he said solicitously. Inside she recoiled at his endearment, but outwardly she smiled, ducking her head, and said that was most kind of him.

  Dinner was hamburgers and fries, and, as with every meal she was allowed, the food tasted heavenly to Lisa. When she got out of there, for it was no longer an “if” – she wouldn't permit the possibility of failure—she knew she'd never be so casual or careless about food again. She would never forget the feeling of real deprivation, of hunger and thirst that gnawed you to the bone, leaving you weak and listless.

  After dinner Gilbert wanted sex. Still apparently concerned about her back, he permitted her to suck his cock instead of fucking her. Instead of making her swallow, he pulled back, squirting his seed over her face and breasts. She knew better than to wipe it off, letting the blobs of ejaculate stay where they landed.

  He applied some stinging antiseptic to her cuts and then patted her semen-sticky cheek. “I think you should sleep in your own bed tonight, slave. Till your back heals a little. I wouldn't want to hurt you in the night by accident.” Not by accident, huh, only on purpose, Lisa thought bitterly. But she only smiled again and nodded, the picture of docile submission.

  The room was hot and stuffy, as always. Lisa lay quietly for a while, mapping out her plan. Once she'd judged it late enough, she'd unlock the door and look for the gun. If she didn't find it right away, she'd sneak into his room and grab some of his clothing. She would make a run for it. She'd decided she couldn't take the risk of searching for her own things, but she didn't want to run outside naked.

  She had no idea where she was, or even if she were in the country or city. Gilbert had told her she was far from Middletown, but he'd lied about many things, and this could be another lie. She hadn't even seen the outside since he'd taken her, except the bit of sky outside his bedroom window. He kept his blinds drawn all around the house, and she of course had no windows in her cell.

  Her mind wandered now, over the thought of blue skies and fresh air. Life had become so precious. Like a Technicolor world waiting just beyond her gray prison. Never again would she take her own freedom for granted. And never again would she leave herself vulnerable to such an attack.

  And Gilbert would pay. She would see to that.

  Finally Lisa decided it was late enough to venture out. The TV had been turned off at least an hour ago, and the house was silent and had been for some time. She slipped her hand under the mattress, searching for the key. A second of panic when she didn't find it where she'd thought she'd put, but then she felt it, the piece of metal freedom.

  Cautiously she got up, still wincing at her tender back. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, but she was used to being hungry, and barely noticed.

  Going to the door, she felt for the keyhole, and pressed the key into it. It slid in perfectly and she slowly turned it, hearing the little tumblers fall into place. The sound of it was magnified in the silence and she stood frozen for a few moments, afraid Gilbert might have heard it too.

  She counted to one hundred. Still hearing nothing, she dared to turn the knob and slowly, slowly, she opened it. Her hand was slippery against the knob. She was hardly breathing, and trying not to let her mounting excitement disrupt her efforts.

  Used to spending so much time in the dark, her night vision was keen, and she easily maneuvered around the furniture in the living room, guided by the pale light of the moon shining through the cracks of the blinds. She approached the coffee table and felt for the little side drawer. She slid it open, the blood roaring in her ears.

  Empty.

  Plan B. She'd slip into his room, grab whatever she could from the closet and make a run for it. Silently she glided to his bedroom. Gilbert lay on his side, his face away from her. On an impulse, she slid the little drawer to his night table open, but felt nothing that resembled a gun inside of it.

  Just as she stood, deciding to abandon the search and get some clothes, she heard, “Looking for something, cunt? This, maybe?”

  The world stilled, and time stopped. In slow motion horror Lisa's mouth dropped open, as she saw Gilbert, sitting up in the bed, wide awake, the gun in his hand pointed directly at her. This was it. The man would have to kill her now, as he realized she would never succumb to his forced submission.

  And then something broke inside of Lisa.

  She actually felt something snap simultaneously in her brain and her heart. All the suppressed rage and fury at what he had done to her—what he had wrested and stolen from her, now burst forth. With sudden, superhuman force, not even realizing what she was going to do, Lisa leaped onto the bed, screaming a blood curdling yell which was nothing if not a war cry.

  Stunned, Gilbert had no time to react as Lisa grabbed the gun from his hand, bending back his wrist as hard as she could till she heard a little pop and gun the fell free. She grabbed it, leaping back off the bed, trembling rage, but not with fear.

  “You fucking bastard!” she screamed. “You stole my life! You fucking asshole bastard!” She was waving the gun as she spoke, and now she held it in two hands and pulled back the little lever, hearing a satisfying click that she hoped meant it was cocked and ready to shoot.

  “Move and I'll blow your fucking head off,” she snarled, her voice low and sure.

  Gilbert finally found his tongue. He started to rise slowly from the bed, his voice stern. “Put that down, slave. You don't know how to use it, and anyway, you wouldn't dare. You try to shoot me and I'll fucking kill you. I'll shoot you so full of holes you won't even hold water. But if you put it down, and admit you were temporarily crazy, I'll forgive you, and lock you back in your room, and let bygones be bygones. Come on, Lisa.” His tone became wheedling. “Give me the gun.”

  “Don't move,” Lisa yelled, still holding the gun in both hands. “Where are my clothes! Give me my clothes.”

  “Give me the gun, cunt.” Gilbert stood naked, his flaccid cock dangling. He approached her, his lip curled in a sneer. “You don't have the nerve, bitch. You're a sub. You're a sniveling passive little cunt, and what you need now is a good strong whipping to remind you of your place.”

  He continued to advan
ce until he was very close, and still Lisa hadn't delivered the promised report. He was almost upon her when she squeezed, gently, on the trigger. She was aiming low, and they both looked down at his leg as a round red circle suddenly appeared just above the knee, a second after the popping sound of the bullet was heard.

  “Shit,” Gilbert said, the word a hiss of air and pain. “You fucking shot me!” He stared at his leg, his expression incredulous. He fell down onto his knees, his face draining of blood. Lisa started to back out of the room, when he lunged forward, grabbing her just below her knees, toppling her down. But Lisa was too quick, and she pulled out from under him as blood gushed from the wound. She was still clutching the gun, and now she ran from the room.

  The phone, the phone! There was a phone in the kitchen. God, why hadn't she thought of that sooner? She was so used to being completely alone with her captor, she'd somehow forgotten there was anyone left out there to help her. She was shaking so hard that she could barely lift the receiver. Her fingers slipped like in a bad nightmare where you're trying to dial and can't make your hands work. But this wasn't a dream. It was real. She was really going to get away! Her fingers steadied enough to punch in the three numbers: 9-1-1.

  Lisa, so intent on dialing, hadn't heard Gilbert, who had somehow hauled himself into the room. Now he lunged, grappling her around the legs and taking her down with him. The gun skittered across the floor, which was smeared with his blood.

  Lisa was trapped, screaming beneath him as the 911 dispatcher came on the line. “Hello? Hello, can you hear me?” came the tinny disembodied voice.

  “Help me, oh god, help me!” Lisa cried, struggling desperately beneath the dead weight of Gilbert, who was pressing his fingers hard against her windpipe, cutting off the flow of her life's breath.

  Lisa got an arm free and shoved her fingers into his eye sockets, operating off pure instinct. His iron grip on her throat eased and she pulled away again, desperately trying to throw him off her, gasping as she tried to breathe.