Six Masters Island - The Cinderella Syndrome

by Candace Smith

  Sloan walked towards the cabinet and flipped a switch on the side, and Jenna felt shocking current run across the cement floor. “Aaaah!” She scrambled around the cage, but even the mattress shocked her.

  “Out,” Sloan repeated.

  Jenna had no choice, and she crawled through the entrance, crying. As soon as she cleared the door, Sloan flipped the switch down and informed her, “The floors and everything in this room have metal sensors embedded in them.”

  “Ppplease let me go,” Jenna wailed. The man stormed up to her, and she screamed when he grabbed the loop at the front of her collar and lifted her.

  Sloan held her up to her toes with one fist and her hands, still bound and resting on her back, clenched frantically at the empty air. He gripped her jaw with his other hand and in his deep voice he said calmly, “You do not speak without permission, Belladonna.”

  Jenna trembled and she struggled to breathe. She was terrified, and tried to keep from screaming and pleading again. Sloan walked her on tiptoe over to the cabinet and he reached for something. It was the black penis gag, and Jenna sobbed. Sloan stared at her and asked patiently, “Do we need this?”

  Jenna shook her head in fear, and he finally lowered her so that she could gasp in air. Sloan reached down and ripped the patch from her pussy and she wailed and bowed over. He tossed it aside, straightened her, and ran his hand over her sore bald lips. “Done with that, at least.”

  Oh thank god. Jenna stood trembling in front of him, clenching her fists behind her back, and Sloan caught her glancing at the door.

  Jenna looked up into his dark, amused eyes. “Do you want to try to run?” he asked. Startled, Jenna shook her head. She wanted to, but she knew he would use it as an excuse to do something horrible to her as punishment.

  “‘No, Master Sloan,’” he coaxed.

  “Nnno, Master Sloan,” she stuttered. What kind of madhouse was she in?

  Sloan walked behind her and unlatched her wrists. He led her over by the table and he leaned back against it, crossing his long legs. “Kneel.”

  Jenna stared at his boots while she climbed down to her knees, feeling the coarse cement digging into them. “Butt down,” Sloan ordered, and Jenna sank down, staring at his boots the whole time. She was still trembling, but trying to focus on what he was telling her to do.

  “Clasp your hands together behind your ass,” he ordered. Sloan did not mind teaching the repetitive instruction of positions. He found a serene beauty and grace when they finally got them right… after many rounds of punishment to encourage them, of course.

  “Stand,” he ordered. Jenna put her hands down to steady herself. “Did I tell you to unclasp your hands?” Jenna’s eyes filled, and she looked down at the floor and shook her head.

  “‘No, Master Sloan’,” he said patiently.

  “No, Master Sloan,” she murmured.

  “Do it correctly.”

  Jenna sank back to her knees, and she wobbled when she stood again. Sloan stared at the hopeful misery in her blue eyes. “Better, but you need to make it a graceful, sweeping rise.”

  “Yes, Master Sloan.” I want to go home.

  “Go to the wheel,” he ordered.

  Jenna looked around the space and she slowly approached a wooden half arch that was bolted to the floor. She glanced over at him to make sure it was the correct place. Sloan decided to push it a bit, seeing that she was terrified at making a mistake. “With your back to the wheel, hook your ankle cuffs to the latches on the floor.” Jenna bent down and she cried quietly. She spread her ankles on either side of the arch and hooked them. “Lay back.”

  Her bottom touched the wood, and she was so frightened it felt as though she had been scalded. Her body began spasmed, terrified jerks as she lay back, naked and spread out for him. He walked over to where her head rested on the wood and he smiled when he saw her covering her breasts. “Arms over your head, Belladonna.”

  Jenna sobbed and she begged, “Ppplease don’t hurt me, Master Sloan,” as she followed his order.

  He secured her cuffs and began molding her breasts with his hands, lightly crossing her nipples until they tightened. Sloan said softly, “You wanted to come with me, girl. I saw it in your eyes when you joined me in the darkness. You were hoping I would take you away from your hopeless situation with that whore in the bar.”

  Jenna squeezed her eyes closed. How could he know? She realized that there was much more to this man than just the threat of physical torment. He knew her thoughts, and he would use them against her. Jenna began to understand that she did not stand a chance of out-maneuvering these people and whatever plans they had for her.

  “Follow my orders and mother will be pleased. That should be your only thought right now. You will find that working to become a well-trained flower in her garden has its rewards.”

  “Yyyes, Master Sloan.” Jenna could tell that where the woman seemed to take her obsession literally, this man… her son… was merely encouraging anything that would bring his mother happiness.

  Jenna turned her head sideways, resting her cheek on the smooth wood and watching the tall man cross the room. She was too frightened to consider the other equipment, and she wondered if the appliance she was chained to was some kind of rack that would pull her limbs from her sockets. Even if it could, apparently that was not the use this man had for it right now.

  He returned with a large silicone phallus and a small bullet shaped device. One of the first things that Sloan tested was the libido of his flowers. Some were overly excited easily, to where they became distracted from their training, while others had to be trained and coaxed to offer the correct arousing performance. Sloan had already determined that the girl would shyly try to fight her instincts and avoid pain. Later, he would decide if it was the fear of the torture or the actual physical torment she could not deal with. Either way, she would eventually be trained so that her responses met with his mother’s needs. For now, he would use the fear to further her training.

  “This is going into your pussy, and it stays there until you follow my orders.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened when she looked at the long device. She was certain that it would tear her and she began to quiver and cry softly. He spread her reddened bald lips, and Jenna felt the cool metal of the vibrator stroking her slit and settling on the clit that had swelled into position. The buzzing began and her hips jerked. The thought of this stranger watching her intimate responses terrified her with a degrading embarrassment beyond anything she had ever experienced. “Ppplease don’t do this to me,” she begged.

  She felt his thumb stroke the sensitive skin of the hollow where her labia swelled out of the junction of her thighs. “If you don’t get wet, Belladonna, it is going to hurt when I insert this. Feel the vibrator,” he encouraged, and Jenna felt his finger enter her. She closed her eyes, no longer able to watch the handsome man masturbate her. Her thighs tightened and her bottom constricted, but it was the pulsing muscles of her channel the man massaged. She felt the phallus slowly enter her and she cried again, softly. “You will not cum until I give you permission, Belladonna.” Jenna sobbed out loud.

  “‘Yes, Master Sloan,’” he reminded her.

  “Yyyes, Master Sloan.”

  “If you do, we keep on with this until you obey me,” he warned.

  “Yes, Master Sloan.” Jenna could already feel her body becoming tight, and her muscles begin to quiver as the phallus was coated with her warm, sticky juices. He was plunging it slowly in and out while the bullet played with her bead. At first, she thought there was no possible way she could climax in this horrible situation. Now, she was fighting from submitting to an arousal she did not understand, and behind her closed lids she imagined the handsome stranger standing between her thighs and slowly pumping into her.

  “Ppplease, stop,” Jenna whined. In a futile effort, her hips tried to buck him away, but it was useless. She bit her lip and clenched her bound fists, just as her legs stiffened and she gasped. “Ooo
h… oh god… no,” she cried.

  Secretly, Sloan was very pleased with her sexual response and fight for control. Placing a large palm on her pelvis, he waited for her quivering to stop. He watched her breasts, the pink erect tips quivering while her chest rose and fell rapidly, and when her breathing slowed he said, “Again. You will not climax without permission, Belladonna.”

  “Please,” Jenna wailed. “Please don’t do this to me, Master Sloan.”

  “Belladonna, you don’t speak without permission,” Sloan reminded her. He smiled when she sobbed, and then he continued the training. Within an hour, her unprepared muscles were exhausted and her clenching responses had become weak. “We need to work on strengthening your pussy, Belladonna. Your stamina is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, Master Sloan,” she cried softly. Even her humiliation at climaxing for the stranger had dulled.

  Belladonna felt the dildo removed, and a softer, warmer rod took its place. She looked down in surprise to find the man was inside her, his silken stiff cock sliding through the liquid response of her orgasms. Instead of the vibrator, his fingers gently stroked her clit, until a slower building arousal filled her. She was certain she had no more sexual appetite to tap into, and yet she could already feel her exhausted muscles trying to squeeze him and grip his length.

  “That’s good, Belladonna. When you think you’re exhausted and that you have nothing left, you will always find resources to please your Master.” Sloan felt the grip shudder and tighten. “You may cum, Belladonna.”

  For several days, Sloan led her through different positions and began binding her to different equipment. He noticed her compliance as she began to get slightly more comfortable when he did not try to hurt her, and there was a building anticipation of desire when she knew she had pleased him. Within days, she was looking forward to the reward of the intimate feeling of his cock inside of her.

  Sloan’s patient persistence always paid off. He had discovered many years ago, after his mother’s painful indoctrination of the flowers into the garden, the girls were much more compliant to his demands. Although he had no qualms with causing them physical pain… sometimes his desires demanded it… it was the psychological changes that gave him the greatest reward. This one was adjusting well, though on his mother’s warning, he was coaxing his results much more slowly from her. He had recognized her innocence when he had first seen her, but he was surprised that with a whore for a mother, the girl could be so naïve.

  Jenna’s confused mind convinced her that she might be all right, if she did as Master Sloan asked… and the woman did not come back. She had no idea how long she had been there, but sometimes she was getting real food if she did not fuss too much about the devices Sloan attached her to. It was one of the rewards he had told her about, and she found that within the confines of the depressing cell, her most important goal was doing what the Master wanted. It had taken a while for her to realize that after the restrictive binding to devices, what the man wanted was for her to orgasm… but, only when he gave her permission. It became a silent game to see if she could accomplish what he desired.

  The devices were becoming more painful and the length of time she was secured was becoming longer. All of the strenuous exercises centered on her sexual responses, and she did not realize that it had been several days since she felt her initial humiliation at climaxing in front of him. The few times she had managed to wait for his permission, he had been pleased. One time, he even allowed her wash herself… though she still had to use the freezing water from the hose.

  Cynthia questioned Sloan on Belladonna’s training, after suggesting he go slowly with her. She knew that the girl had no idea what the dungeon represented, and if her mind snapped, she would be useless to them… just another weed. Sloan would continue to work Belladonna through positions until it was time for Cynthia to re-evaluate her condition.

  * * * * *

  Belladonna was bent over forward, with her bound arms raised off her back and chained to the ceiling. Her toes ached and her arms were cramping from being in the position for two hours. Belladonna’s eyes flew to Sloan’s in fear when she heard a painful wail come from deeper in the dungeon garden.

  Sloan smiled and said, “Tomorrow, Master Daryl will begin working with you. Do not disappoint me, Belladonna. I do not like wasting time by repeating training.”

  “Yes, Master Sloan.” Belladonna barely slept, wondering fearfully what the new Master would expect from her. She wanted to beg Master Sloan to stay with her. She had learned how to please him, and he did not hurt her. Belladonna did not understand that painful responses were also required for stepmother’s Venetia Blossoms.

  Chapter III

  Daryl listened to classical music, inhaling the leather scent of the interior of the car while he drove north. He ended his trip in a large city, where he rented a room in an extravagant hotel with a view of the busy street below. Daryl had picked this particular lodging because it was directly across the street from a modeling agency.

  For a few days, he watched the girls enter and exit the building, noting that a few paid the price to park in the building’s garage, some arrived by taxi or bus, and some parked in an alley that ran between the agency and an office high rise next to it. After a week of tracking the pattern of the women who parked in the alley, he knew that the last of the girls leaving the building made their way back to their cars just after dark. Some had the slightly disheveled look of the possible bribery of willing sex to further their modeling career.

  Daryl spent the weekend enjoying the sights of the city and late Monday afternoon, he pulled his luxury car into a spot in the ally. He watched the girls walk to their cars, but none of them struck his fancy. It was Tuesday when Marissa Harrelson made an appearance, gripping her portfolio in one hand while she straightened her top with the other. She had the matt, dulled color to her remaining makeup that had not rubbed off during her quick afternoon fuck with the photographer in exchange for the pictures she was holding.

  Marissa was pissed off, because she expected the man would see her obvious alluring presence and forward copies of the photos to the agency across the hall. At nineteen, she was well aware of her physical beauty. The thought of trading her most valuable asset in exchange for what she needed had never bothered her. She had been successfully negotiating her desires for years. In high school, the hand job that she had given her chemistry teacher while allowing him to fondle and suck her tits, had convinced him that the ‘D’ really should have been a ‘B’ on her final exam. It had allowed her to graduate with the rest of her senior class.

  Marissa had never been labeled a slut like some of the other girls who had put out. She was so erotically beautiful that it seemed a status symbol for the boys who had conquered her. For Marissa, it meant no boring weekends without dates, and even though the boys nervously fumbled along her body, it was still way better than expending the energy to pleasure herself with devices or her hand.

  The photographer had laughed while he zipped his jeans, stating that she had the same hopeful plans as every other model. I am not just any other model, she seethed. The unsatisfying interlude… for her, at least… had left her with a decent array of pictures she would have to pay to have copied to send out to the dozen modeling agencies in the city. It would be an exorbitant amount to spend from her dwindling funds, and her superior ego rattled slightly with a sinking feeling that they would probably be lost among the hundreds of other promising photos of girls hoping to be discovered.

  Marissa fumbled angrily for her keys, and she felt the remaining slickness from the condom drip onto the toilet paper she had lined her thong with. “Shit. Bastard. Son of a bitch,” she muttered. Her hand made a quick swipe through her short cropped dark hair that set off the gold flecked mahogany of her slightly slanting eyes.

  Her exotic beauty was the result of her Japanese mother, but her height was a gift from her father. His strict military upbringing was one of the reasons Marissa had escaped Hunters
ville after high school. There was no way that she was going to the damn Junior College five miles from home and spend two more years under the tyrant’s rule. Their clashing domineering natures had caused a fractured battle in the household for years, with her passive little mother trying to keep the peace. Marissa thought her mom almost looked relieved when she had packed her suitcases into her car and left Huntersville behind.

  She had called home only once in the six months she had been gone, and the conversation had ended with her father shouting and swearing into the telephone while her mother wailed in the background. That had been over four months ago, and no one had attempted another call.

  “Excuse me, can you show me how to get to the museum?” Daryl stood with a map spread on the trunk of his car parked two spaces in front of hers.

  “Fuck,” Marissa muttered, and she pulled the key out of her door lock. As she walked towards the tall man, her eyes focused on the expensive car and the clothes he was wearing. Maybe she could save some money and talk the guy into buying her dinner. She let her well-practiced smile soften her disappointed features. “It’s a little late to be headed there.”

  “A friend of mine has an art exhibition tonight, so I decided to surprise him by crashing his party. I’ve just come in for the evening,” Daryl explained.

  “A showing at the museum?” Marissa asked, and she laid her portfolio next to the map while she leaned over to study it.

  “No, in a gallery two doors down from it,” Daryl replied. He ignored the French tipped nail trailing the streets on the map. She had lovely tapered legs and nice curves that were leaned thin to the almost wasted look most models forced themselves to condition their bodies to conform to. There was little doubt that he could talk her into joining him on a date, but Daryl did not want any security cameras inadvertently catching them together. He sighed and slipped the needle into the curve of her neck and shoulder.