‘Now get out. I’m busy.’
Chapter Eleven
Jacob’s Dungeon
I had completed my freshman year, spent a summer at home in Atlanta and was back for the autumn semester as a sophomore. I could barely get through that interminable summer. I didn’t know anyone ‘in the life’ back home. I felt so different now. So apart. I didn’t care about shopping at the mall. I didn’t give a damn about rock concerts or boyfriends. I just wanted to get back to the Corps.
My very first assignment of the year caught me completely unprepared. ‘Jacob Stewart, 1200 hours, Friday, bell tower, room 5B.’ Jacob had graduated the prior year, and was completing officer training begun during his senior year at the Academy. Somehow I had managed to avoid him most of last year. But now, not only was I going to see him, I was expected to submit to him.
On my way to the tower, I remembered how it had felt when Jacob had broken up with me. I remembered how the light had seemed flat when he had left. What would happen when I came face-to-face again with the first man to claim my innocence? Would love rekindle? Would the magic still be there?
I entered the tower from the side door, using my key that I still kept on a gold chain around my neck. I went down the now-familiar basement stairs and followed the numbers to room 5B. I had never actually been in room 5B before, but I knew about it. It was soundproofed and rigged out like some medieval torture chamber, complete with a St Andrew’s Cross, a whipping chair, and a rack.
I stood before the door a moment, gathering my courage. Tentatively I knocked. The door opened, though for a moment I couldn’t see anything in the darkened room. I realised as Jacob closed the door behind me that the only light came from candles set here and there throughout the room. As my eyes adjusted, I saw him standing there, as tall and handsome as ever, dressed all in black, his shirt open at the throat. Just behind him I noticed a rich tapestry of medieval knights on plump horses.
Jacob smiled at me. ‘Remy,’ he said. ‘How beautiful you’ve become. Submission suits you, as I knew it would.’
I looked into his face, seeking out the man I had once thought I loved. But I couldn’t find him. This man was handsome, make no mistake. But I felt no thrill of desire, no secret recognition in either my body or soul. The feelings of passion and romance that had so consumed me the year before had shifted to mild interest, if that.
‘I requested you especially, Remy. I think you’re ready at last. Ready to submit to me as you were meant to from the beginning.’
I didn’t answer. Luckily, he hadn’t asked me a direct question, so no response was expected or required. I must say I was feeling rather unsubmissive at the moment. Indifference was shifting somewhat to anger as I remembered how I had suffered when he let me go. I looked down, hoping my feelings didn’t show in my face.
Taking my action for compliance and perhaps agreement, Jacob pressed gently on my shoulders. I understood the signal and sank to my knees. ‘I want to test you today, my love,’ he said.
I inhaled rather sharply at his usage of the endearment, but reminded myself silently to maintain control. My personal feelings should have nothing to do with submitting with grace to a master of the Slave Corps.
‘We have an hour and a half. During that time I will take you to new limits. Are you ready, slave girl?’
Direct question. ‘Yes, sir, Master Stewart.’
He seemed slightly offended. ‘Don’t call me Master Stewart. Sir or Jacob will be fine. We are old friends, after all.’
Oh, is that what we were. Very well, then, sir. Of course, aloud, I only said, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take off those nasty army things and put on this.’ He handed me a very pretty white dress. It had little pearl buttons all the way down the front. I unbuttoned it enough to slip it over my head. It was slightly too snug at the breasts, which forced them up and together, showing a lot of cleavage. Jacob seemed to like the look, as he stood in front of me, unbuttoning one and then one more of the buttons at my chest.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Perfect. French peasant girl. Long blonde hair, bare feet and all.’ Taking my hand, he led me over to a small table. ‘Bend over. I want to redden those cheeks a bit before we begin.’
I have to admit, standing there in the candlelight of Jacob’s medieval dungeon, in my pretty white dress, naked underneath, I was getting pretty turned on.
As I bent, he pressed one large hand against the small of my back, forcing me far over the table. I rested my cheek against the smooth wood as he flipped up my dress. I felt a faint draft on my bare flesh, and then Jacob’s hand smoothing my asscheeks, then pinching the flesh ever so slightly between his fingers. Then the hands were gone and I knew, the split second before I felt it, that he was starting the spanking. His hand was slightly cupped as it came down hard on my ass.
People think a whipping is the worst, but sometimes a spanking can be much harder to take. Perhaps it is because of the large area that a man’s hand can cover at once. So many more nerve endings are awakened by a hard palm than by a few strips of soft leather. And if you hold your hand just so, a spanking can be brutal.
I felt the heat spread under his hands as he smacked me over and over, warming my entire bottom and upper thighs. After just a few minutes I was panting and clutching at the table top, tears seeping from under my tightly closed eyelids. I was determined to remain quiet. I was sure he hadn’t forgotten my outraged protests when he first tried to dominate me. I wanted to show him how far I had come, without any help from him.
Finally the spanking stopped and Jacob pulled me by my hair. ‘Learning to take it at last, eh, girl? I wasn’t sure you had it in you. Maybe I should have given you more time.’ Maybe.
He looked at me critically while I tried to catch my breath. I was dying to touch and soothe the burning skin of my ass, but I didn’t dare. I had to bite my tongue not to say aloud that yes, maybe I had needed more time, more understanding. But we were past all that now. No going back.
‘Well, so much for the warm-up.’ His voice was brisk, businesslike, as he led me to the centre of the room. ‘Raise your hands high over your head. Yes, like that.’ As he spoke, he was adjusting some kind of pulley apparatus that was hanging from the ceiling. He lowered it until a short, thick wooden board with wrist cuffs nailed into it was at the height of my raised wrists. Without speaking, he pressed each of my wrists into a cuff and snapped it shut. The cuffs were lined with sheepskin and felt warm and soft, though decidedly snug.
Stepping back to the pulley, Jacob cranked it, raising the wooden board, which forced me to stretch up until I was on tiptoe. I couldn’t quite keep my balance, but the cuffs held me in place. He stepped forward and kissed me, hard, on the mouth. I remembered those lips and, despite myself, I felt some of the old passion flaming into being as he crushed my lips with his, his tongue probing deep and insistent in my yielding mouth.
He pulled away, a little smile playing on his lips. ‘Still a slut, I see,’ he grinned.
I bristled and bit my lips to keep from responding with some smartass retort. Before I realised what was happening, he reached out for my dress and, grabbing firmly on each side just above my breast, he ripped the fabric. Little buttons sprayed as he rent the pretty fabric, leaving the dress hanging open.
‘Oh, God, I remember these tits,’ he murmured, as he squeezed and held them in his large hands. I was so unprepared for his action, and so stunned that he had ruined my beautiful dress, that I barely noticed what he was doing.
Looking at me, his eyes glittering with lust, Jacob said, ‘Peasant girl. I am a knight here to claim my prize.’ He was inspired by the room we were in, no doubt. But I had to admit to myself that the image was exciting, if contrived. ‘You are powerless to resist me. I have you bound and now I am going to beat you, and then fuck you.’
I gasped slightly. He couldn’t take me by force. It wasn’t ‘allowed’. Surely he wouldn’t dare go against the rules of the Corps. I didn’t have time to worry about this, thou
gh, as again he pulled me against him and kissed me. His mouth trailed down my throat to one breast, where it found a stiff nipple eager for attention. He bit it, just a little too hard, causing me to pull away slightly. Jacob stood back and slapped me, hard, on my cheek. I was breathing deeply now, trying not to panic.
‘Let’s get one thing straight, slut. You will not pull away. For the next hour you belong to me. Completely. No matter what I do to you, you take it. Understand, slave?’ His voice was low and insistent. I had no choice but to nod. Yes, I understood.
More gently he said, ‘Remy. Don’t fight me. I am your knight, come to rescue you. I just want to taste the fruits of victory. I want to whip the flesh that is my prize. I want to deflower the little peasant girl at my mercy.’
OK, so he was back to the fantasy. He had actually taken my virginity once. Why not pretend to a second time. As long as it was pretend. Even if there hadn’t been rules protecting me, I didn’t want Jacob to fuck me. Not like this. Not as part of his little game. I had no choice but to trust that he would abide by the rules as he played out his role as my captor knight.
‘I assume we understand each other, peasant girl. If you behave, I will spare your life. But first you must suffer for me, just a little.’ Jacob took a long, heavy braided whip from the wall. He snapped it several times in the air near me so I could hear the whistle of the leather against the air. Slowly, almost languidly, he began to stroke my flesh with the whip. Long, slow lashes that caressed more than stung. I felt the heat creeping back into my pussy as my skin warmed to the gentle whipping. I was suspended, my toes barely touching the ground, my clothing torn, in the candlelight of this man’s torture chamber. Just pondering my delicious situation made me hot and ready for more.
With perfect timing, Jacob increased the tempo and intensity of the whipping. It was starting to sting now and, despite myself, I began to writhe in my bonds, trying to avoid the lash. But of course I could not. Again and again the whip struck my flesh, the pain mounting until I was screaming. But I never screamed ‘stop’. It wouldn’t have occurred to me; I was only sensation, only responding to the lash. I was beyond the conscious thought-process that would have allowed me to make a request.
I felt my head falling back and my mouth falling open, as if I had no control over my own body. The heavy, stinging pain of the lash seemed to abate until all I felt was the caress, the kiss, of leather on my skin. But I knew he was still beating me as hard as before. He hadn’t changed: I had. I felt languorous and a deep feeling of peace settled over me like a mantle.
As he continued to whip me, he must have sensed the change. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. ‘Oh, yes. You are there. You have succumbed. You have risen above the pain. You are worthy at last of my cock.’
I couldn’t have answered if I wanted to, though I was aware of what he was saying. I was in some perfect, submissive place and I never wanted to come down. I realised after a moment that Jacob was no longer beating me. He was pulling off his own clothes, revealing that hard, long body I remembered so well.
Moving to the pulley, he quickly released the chain so that I was let down. I slumped to my knees, my arms still raised and locked into the cuffs. Then Jacob was there, unlocking the cuffs. As he did, I fell forward, my body like rubber. Jacob took me in his arms. Sensation was coming back; I was coming out of the submissive trance he had put me in. I wanted to go back; I wanted to taste that piece of heaven again. But it was not to be.
Jacob’s cock was pressing hard against my leg. He lifted me up and lay me back on the carpet. ‘I would have you again, Remy. I don’t care about the Corps. I want you. I want to claim you, finally and completely. Now. I want to fuck you. You must belong to me.’
Only a few months before, if someone had told me that Jacob would want me back, I would have died from happiness. But between then and now, something had changed. I was no longer the eager girl infatuated with the first boy to make love to her. I had come to my own place of strength and serenity and Jacob, to my own surprise, had no part in my new life.
I realised with startling clarity that I didn’t want to belong to him. I didn’t want to break the Corps rules and I didn’t want to fuck him. I was still for a moment, unsure of what to do. He had said he was going to fuck me and, if he persisted, he would get his way. I had to set him straight.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ My voice was husky and I cleared my throat and tried again. I wanted my tone to be deferential but firm. ‘That is against Corps regulations. I am a member in good standing of the Slave Corps. What you are asking could result in my expulsion from the Corps.’
‘Who would have to know? Why are you always so damn fixated on rules for God’s sake? I was hoping you had grown up a little from the “regular army” brat you were back then. Come on, baby. Give. You’re just a slave; you have to.’
‘Please, sir.’ I was struggling against him now, as he tried to push me down and force my legs apart. This was no longer a game. I had never been compromised before with any master or mistress of the Corps. I was tested, certainly, and brought past limits I had thought I could handle. But I had never been asked to do something I wasn’t ultimately and willingly prepared to do. Until now.
Jacob tried to kiss me again. I could feel his knee forcing my legs apart. I felt a rising panic as he manoeuvred himself to enter me. Pushing hard against him, I managed to pull away just a little. ‘Jacob! If you do this, it will be rape. And not some fantasy of yours about knights in shining armour. You won’t get away with it, I can promise you that. I’m not your girlfriend anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
My words seemed to deflate him. With disgust, he pushed against me, knocking my head back to the floor. Standing, he said, his voice cold as a razor blade, ‘Get up and get dressed, slave. Do you think I wanted to fuck you because you were my girlfriend? Do you think you’d have been the first slave girl to break the stupid Corps rules? I’ve fucked any number of you stupid sluts. You’d just be another in a series of whores masquerading as “members in good standing in the Corps”.’ He spat the words out with disgust.
‘I’m done with you. Nothing has changed. My original assessment was right.’ There was a bitterness that tinged his words like the bite of an under-ripe orange. ‘You’re a hopeless, regulation-filled automaton who couldn’t think for herself if a gun were up against her head. Get out. Dismissed, soldier. Beat it.’
I didn’t waste a second pulling on my uniform, hurling the torn dress from me as if it were contaminated. I couldn’t believe that the man who had taken me to the edge of such ecstasy was capable of such cruel and insensitive behaviour. He wasn’t a master at all; I knew that now. He was just some self-absorbed, hypocritical control freak looking for an easy target. I ran out of that room, slamming the door behind me. Jacob had gone too far. He’d confided in the wrong person about his abuse of the Corps’ slaves. If I had anything to do with it, he would be out of the Corps for good.
* * *
It turned out that I didn’t have to do anything. Several months later, I heard from none other than Jean Dillon that he had been thrown out of the Corps and was away on ‘indefinite leave’ from Officer Training. Seems he picked the wrong girl to mess with. He tried to make her to break the rules and when she resisted he tried to force her.
She not only fought back; she broke his wrist in the process. He tried to get her thrown out of the Corps for assault and for disobedience as a Corps slave, pressing formal charges through the Corps’ tribunal process. He swore under oath that she had broken his wrist out of malice and disobedience. He further swore that she had begged him to break the rules and have intercourse with him, but that he had refused, resulting in her assault on him. It would have been his word against hers, and his probably would have carried more weight, but he hadn’t counted on the fact that the whole thing had been videotaped.
Apparently she liked to hide a camera when she was able to, to capture her erotic experiences on tape for later
viewing. She was able to produce the evidence that made a liar out of Jacob Stewart.
I was stunned by the whole thing. And to think that I had thought I was in love with the guy! I was also surprised but pleased that Jean had confided in me. I guess that things were never the same between us after that fateful day at Dr Wellington’s. Jean no longer harassed me; there even seemed to be a grudging respect and friendship developing between us. Sometimes I would look at her and think about what her pussy had tasted like, or how she had forced me to lick dirt off her high heels. I wondered what it might be like for her, as a mistress-in-training. What did their assignments consist of? What was it like to whip and humiliate the submissive men and women at her mercy? One day I got a chance to ask her, and what an interesting tale!
Jean and I were on KP (kitchen patrol) duty. Each of us was sitting on a stool in front of a huge mound of raw potatoes that we were peeling for that night’s dinner. We were making small talk about campus life. Out of the blue, she said, ‘Hey, remember Ellen Roster, the Freshman Corps Commander?’
‘How could I forget!’ I answered. ‘She seemed hell-bent on making my life miserable that first semester. Until I got into the Corps, that is. Then she pretty much left me alone.’
‘I’ll bet she did. You should have seen her face when she showed up for an assignment and I was the mistress-in-training!’ Jean laughed at the recollection. ‘She stopped calling me slime-bucket after that, let me tell you!’
‘Oh, God! Tell me everything! That must have been quite a scene!’
‘Oh, it was, all right. I showed up with Mr Kowolski. Do you know him?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, he’s an accountant in the administrative office. He comes across like this typical egghead nerd kind of guy. He’s kind of short, with a little moustache and no chin. He’s always very polite and deferential with “beg your pardons” and “oh, excuse mes!” But wait till he puts on his “Master Costume” and turns into Master K.! Then you better hide your little slave butts, girls, because that man is wicked! And what a foul mouth! He even gets to me!’ She was grinning as she said this, but I made a mental note just the same. I might be assigned to Mr Kowolski one day.
Hard Corps Page 14
