by Vonna Harper
Master. Like in her fantasy.
Both recoiling from and embracing the comparisons, she squared her shoulders and lifted her head only to regret the action because all she’d really done was draw his attention to her breasts.
“Someone your age has probably had a few hard knocks, relationships that went sour. Maybe you’ve been raped.”
Try as she did not to react, undoubtedly he’d noticed her tension. Fortunately he had no way of knowing she’d learned the meaning of the word thanks to her father’s drunken attempts.
“That’s what I thought.” He sounded sympathetic. “You got in over your head a few times, right?”
“Right.” You have no idea.
“What did that teach you?”
To hell with trying to placate him. He was getting what he wanted. “Not to trust men. Or anyone.”
When he didn’t immediately reply, she wondered what he intended to do with that piece of information.
“Did you ever trust?”
“Go to hell.” Don’t say that again. He’ll punish you.
“Hit a nerve did I? For the record slave, eventually you’ll tell me. There isn’t anything you can keep from me. Would you like to know why?”
She should ignore him and march—march where? Do what blind and without use of her hands?
“Because I’m becoming your master.”
“No you aren’t. No one’s ever going to control me again.” No! I didn’t say that!
Once again silence stretched out. Then: “Again? You have a hell of a lot of old tapes playing inside you, slave. Of course you don’t want to share them.”
It had been better when he’d known nothing about her, when she’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, a body.
“But you will because I’m your master.”
“No,” she moaned. Then, hating her cowed tone, she lifted her head. “Is that what it takes for you to feel like a man? The only way you can get it up is to force a woman to submit?”
“Careful. You’re in dangerous territory.”
She didn’t need his warning. If she could take back her words would she? She didn’t know. The only thing she was certain of was that she’d never felt more alive. Her childhood and time behind bars as a teenager had tested her courage. Those things had only been a prelude to today.
With her master.
Master.
#
Kaci hadn’t fought when her captor—not master—took hold of the collar’s ring. Hard as she’d tried to convince herself that she’d only stumbled after him because resistance would have been futile, something else had been at play. Against all reason, she’d wanted to see what he had in mind.
How he intended to force that one word from her.
She’d nearly panicked when he backed her to a chair and tied her ankles to the front chair legs so they were apart and her pussy exposed. Then he’d pushed on her chest, knocking her off balance. The seat was so deep she wound up leaning back with her upper body supported by her tailbone and shoulders. At least, she tried to comfort herself, she wasn’t sitting on her shackled hands because she’d pulled them up against her waist.
What did her hands, shoulders, or spine matter? Her pussy was available to him.
“That was ridiculously easy,” he said. “How does this make you feel?”
Exposed. Vulnerable. “You know.”
“As a matter of fact I do. I’ve been on the making it happen end long enough. As soon as I’m done taking more pictures, we’ll get to why I chose this position.”
I already know.
Even with her heart’s furious beating, she heard the faint sounds she had no choice but to get used to. Imagining the lens close to her exposed pussy made her blush and yet she couldn’t help but wonder how whoever received the shots would respond. She’d lost control over her world but maybe she could bring a man or men to their own edges.
Maybe Master was at his brink.
Shocked at the realization that she’d thought of this dominating stranger as Master, she tried to bring her knees together. “Not going to happen, slave. However, you have brought up something I should have thought of.”
She heard rustling sounds. All too soon he started wrapping rope around her left knee. “Don’t,” she muttered. “Oh damn, don’t.”
He didn’t say anything, only ran another loop over her knee and pulled on the rope, forcing that leg far out to the side. He tapped the inside of her thigh. “Go on, try to move.”
She couldn’t of course. When he switched to her other side, she tried to ignore what he was doing, but when he started to pull her right leg outward, she fought to sit up.
“That’s good to see.” He jerked on the strands. “I didn’t think I’d pushed all the fight out of you yet, but every slave’s different.”
Why had she wasted what little energy she still had? It hadn’t taken him any time at all to immobilize her legs. Feeling alive in ways that both alarmed and intrigued her, she gave up and sagged back again.
Owned. Controlled.
Undoubtedly he was studying his handiwork, maybe playing with himself while looking at her exposed sex.
“Your pussy is both your undoing and your greatest strength.” Like too many times before, his words rolled over her like a warm wave. “In time you’ll crave my every touch there. Think about it. No more worrying about how to pay the bills. Everything will revolve around waiting for me to grant you pleasure, pleasure that will bleed into the pain and become one.”
He’d said something like that before. Before she’d been too overwhelmed to try to analyze what he was spelling out, but—and maybe it was being blinded—now his words became vital. One thing she was sure of, he was talking about something that would take place over a long period of time.
I can’t do this, she ached to tell him. Kill me now. Don’t draw it out.
“You don’t shave your pussy. There isn’t much down there so—maybe I’ll leave it like that for a while. Let you wonder when I’ll get out a razor, hope I know what I’m doing.”
No!
“Pain first. Taking you to that place where only trying to escape matters. Experiencing the ultimate in helplessness.”
No, no, no!
“You’re quiet.” Something made a slapping sound. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a slave like you.”
She didn’t dare think about the women—not slaves!—who’d come before her. Knew only that what she didn’t want was about to happen.
Did she?
Something landed on her right breast up near her armpit. At first she thought he’d struck her with the palm of his hand but whatever this was felt flat. Alert and confused, she swung her upper body away. A moment later the same thing hit her left breast. This blow was harder than the first and stung. She’d spent too much energy trying to convince herself that not being able to see wasn’t that bad, that she preferred not having to analyze his expression. But that was before he’d twice hit her with something she couldn’t identify.
Right breast again followed by the left. Making her jerk one direction and the other, compelling her to shrink away even though she wound up smashing her hands. The blows were getting stronger, the aftermath lasting longer. Was that rubber, some kind of devilish swatter?
“These are my breasts, mine to use, abuse, or reward as I see fit. You’re turning them over to me whether you want to or not, losing control, becoming mine.”
If there was a rhythm to the blows, she couldn’t find it. The swatter struck every part of her wildly jiggling breasts. Heat hummed through them, pain vibrating and never ending. She kept thinking he’d get bored focusing on that one part of her body and would start on her pussy. The longer he assaulted her, the more convinced she became that he was tireless.
He’d whip her until—until when?
Whip? Not that really and not pain so much as too much sensation, knowing he was in charge, helplessness clawing into what remained of her. She rolled left and right, left
and right, surged upright only to collapse, strained against the damnable ropes around her knees and ankles, the cuffs, fought to see past the blindfold.
When would he let her see again?
“Can’t, can’t—please, I can’t…”
“I know this is hard but it must be done. Otherwise you’ll be incomplete. Unfulfilled. Useless.”
Those words made even less sense than other things he’d said. She might have told him so if heat wasn’t spreading around to her back and licking down her spine. More fire played over her belly, heading closer and closer to her mons, whispering warnings and promises to her pussy.
Done in and fascinated by the change, she stopped trying to escape the swatter.
“You’re tipping over the edge, taking vital steps toward sexual slavery, but there’s only one way you’ll reach the goal. By my hand.”
Sweat seeped under the blindfold and stung her eyes. She licked spittle from the corners of her mouth but couldn’t do anything about what dripped off her chin. More sweat stuck her to the seat.
She tensed when he placed something on her left thigh. Then her exhausted body sagged. Her throbbing breasts continued to exist as something more than the rest of her. It took her awhile to realize he’d stopped attacking them and put down the swatter.
“Intense. Almost more than your nervous system can handle. For the record, we aren’t done by half.”
“I…can’t…”
“Ah but you have to.”
As soon as she heard the buzzing sound, she knew he’d turned on a vibrator. Her sex fluttered in anticipation. Hopefully this was the start of the pleasure he’d told her about. If it took calling him Master to get him to place it against her pussy, she’d do so. She wouldn’t mean it of course—of course—but he didn’t need to know.
A sensation similar to what had gotten her through many solitary nights swept over her pussy except this was stronger than the battery-driven toys she was accustomed to. The vibration hadn’t lasted long enough, barely alerted her to possibilities. Desperate for more, she lifted her buttocks off the chair.
He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. You’re a horny little slave. Ready for another sample, are you?”
She’d just opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative when he again touched his tool to her labia. Like before, the contact didn’t last long enough. “What is it? It—it won’t hurt me will it?”
“If you’re asking if I intend to shock your pussy, the answer is no. This is a supercharged vibrator I helped design.”
What did he mean by supercharged? What was it capable of?
Another press of hard vibrating rubber to her defenseless core made her jump and whine. Instead of torturing her via the briefest taste of its potential like before, he held his creation against her. Sexual wave after sexual wave slammed into her. Overloaded, she tried to scoot away but of course he’d made that impossible.
“What are you—you can’t—oh please!” She squirmed and bucked.
“Just waiting for you to answer my question, slave. Do you know what a pussy vibrator is?”
Powerful. Relentless. More than I can handle. “Yes, of course!”
He had no pity in him! No matter how much she squirmed and begged, he kept the over-muscled tool against her.
“Tell me the truth, slave. Has a man ever done this to you? Maybe this is how you bring yourself off. The stronger the better.”
Answer him. Anything to make him stop. “No. I wouldn’t—oh please.”
“Then you play with yourself.”
“Not—not with that. Oh god!” She couldn’t stop bucking. Knowing she was trapped made it even worse. And better. “I never—“
As suddenly as the erotic torture began it stopped. In the aftermath of the intimate assault, she sagged like a punctured balloon. Her legs shook and cramped and yet she needed him to touch her again.
“Did you climax?”
“What? No.” Maybe. It’s all too much.
“But you wish you had because it would make things easier.”
It didn’t sound like a question so she made no attempt to answer. She couldn’t remember where she’d first heard the phrase rag doll but that was exactly how she felt. The only difference was that instead of being completely limp, part of her remained on high alert.
He wasn’t done with her. Far from it.
“Long as I’ve been doing this,” he said, “I occasionally wondered why I hadn’t burned out. After my accident whether I worked with another slave could matter less. That, in a large part is why I took you.”
She was some kind of experiment? “Why do you do what you do? You could get help, stop being cruel.” Fearing his reaction, she cringed.
“Cruel? Give me a little more time with you and you won’t be calling it that.”
It was only her desperate attempt to humanize him in her mind that had her half believing he was making her a promise. He’d turned her on—or maybe the truth was his earlier manipulation of her body had started her down that road. Maybe—oh, what was she thinking? It was all too much, a thousand times worse than being behind bars had been.
“Your sexual nature is your ultimate weakness and my strength,” he said. “My prize. That’s what you’re going to become, my bounty, my possession.”
Much as she longed to scream at him, she stared up at the man she couldn’t see. Between her too-sensitive breasts and the fiery need humming through her pussy, she no longer cared that she was naked. He’d taken her down to basics and intended to keep her there for as long as it entertained him to do so. The sooner she accepted her lot the sooner—what?
What was it he’d just said, that he intended to turn her into his possession.
His piece of flesh.
Master.
The humming she both dreaded and anticipated started up again. Ignoring her spent body, she tightened her muscles. Her sex remained open to him. It had become his playground.
There. Another touch, a whisper of contact.
“Hmm.”
“Like that don’t you. What you’d like even more is to climax, but you have to earn the right.”
Damn him for confusing her!
The too-powerful vibrator slid over her aching labia. An instant later the sensation ended.
Please. Help me—
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” he said, “and you’re going to answer. My reaction to those answers will determine the course of the rest of this lesson.”
Another touch, even shorter than the last, the barest touch. Groaning in awful/wonderful need, she arched toward him.
“You lack ambition. If you had career plans, you wouldn’t have been doing what you were. You’d have a job that’d last more than a few months, a decent place to live. Don’t you care what’s going to happen to you come winter?”
“I—I’ll find something. I always do.”
“Not good enough.” The vibrator settled against her opening. Power blasted through her.
“What—oh please—what do you want?”
By way of answer, if that’s what it was, he subjected her to a series of touches and loses that had her completely off-balance. No matter how heartfelt her vow not to respond, she yelped each time the fast-moving rubber came in contact with her pussy. Sometimes his weapon attacked her clit, other times he focused on her labia but in the end it was all the same—too much.
Not long enough.
He kept asking questions designed to strip her. Where were her parents, why didn’t she have a permanent home, why hadn’t she settled on a career, what had ended her romantic relationships, could she name a single close female friend? At first she evaded and dodged but he kept after her until she had no choice but to give him what he wanted. He wouldn’t let her climax. He knew how to keep her teetering on the brink and incapable of anything except the truth.
“I’m not in touch with my parents. They want nothing to do with me. I don’t need them. I live, that’s all, one day at a time. Seeing di
fferent parts of the country, feeling the wind, sun, and rain on my skin. Being free.”
“Why is freedom so important?”
“Because—it is. Damn it, it is!” Except when I let my imagination loose.
“Why?”
The question was gentle and at the moment her pussy wasn’t under attack. Her head had been sagging but now she lifted it, again strained to see him.
“I’ve been locked up.”
“By who?”
“The law.”
“How old were you?”
Too late to stop. She had to finish what she’d started or he’d make her pay for it. “Sixteen when I went in. Eighteen when they let me go.”
The buzzing that had become the center of her existence quieted. After a few seconds she realized she was listening to the sound of both of them breathing. She didn’t understand any of this.
“What did you do?” He touched her cheek. “Never mind. You can tell me later.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know you don’t but you have to.”
Something had changed about his tone. Whatever it was it went with his fingers on her cheek and then moments later when he started untying her legs. As grateful as she was to be able to bring them together, she had to clench her teeth to keep from begging him to let her come.
He removed her blindfold. She blinked repeatedly but couldn’t bring him into focus. Her eyes burned yet she didn’t believe she’d cried. Most likely sweat was responsible.
Touch me down there. That’s all it’ll take, a single touch.
“I’m giving you a choice,” he said. “If you want I’ll take you right to the shower followed by giving you something to eat.” He stared at her pussy. “Or you can start with another kind of relief.”
Looking at the tool now on the chair arm was easier than meeting his eyes. The silver and red vibrator appeared so innocent sitting there. Just closing her legs had given her back a small amount of privacy, a mute statement about the need for self-determination.
Shaking her head, she opened herself to him. “I hate you,” she muttered.
“Yeah, I know.”
He picked up the vibrator and turned it on. The way the head shimmied made her think of a rattlesnake about to strike.
