Surrender's Dance

by Vonna Harper

  Because his hair was damp and he smelled like a spring morning, she assumed he’d had a shower, something he was denying her. But although she resented his uncaring, nearly silent treatment this morning, gratitude at knowing he hadn’t abandoned her came before everything else. Well, almost everything. The hours apart had allowed her to regroup at least some of her sense of self. Despite the most body and mind-blowing climax of her life, she’d be damned if she’d ask for a repeat performance.

  Another round of him commanding the dildo and she might never find herself again.

  “Outside,” he repeated and shoved her forward. She started toward the closed door. As soon as she reached it, it opened as if reading his thoughts, giving her a second look at the caged-in porch.

  The porch door opened just as mysteriously. With the vibrator dancing softly but relentlessly, she had to concentrate on keeping her footing as she went down the three steps. And if she relaxed her guard, her over-stimulated system might rocket off into a climax.

  The jungle waited just beyond the small opening, promising freedom. A chance to be alone. Birds sang. A trio of pale green butterflies hovered around a lush bush alive with large yellow flowers. She’d never seen such translucent butterflies or vibrant flowers before, and had she ever looked up at such a crystalline sky?

  “I want you to think about something.” He joined her. “I blindfolded you when I brought you here for several reasons, one of which is because I wanted its location to remain a mystery. You don’t know what creatures live here, which are predators, which aren’t. Surrender Island has its own society with its own rules, and rulers who control every aspect of a submissive’s life. Most live in the village but not all. Some Doms have their own settlements dotted throughout the jungle. Some of those are surrounded by high fencing to keep the subs in, while others rely on what I’ll call force-fields. The only way a slave knows she’s gotten too close is when she’s sucked in. You don’t want that to happen because each Dom has his own way of running his domain. Any woman who gets too close becomes fair game.”

  He pushed a button, and the vibration increased but not so much that she felt overwhelmed. Still, anticipation kept her on edge. “If a slave tries to run away and is caught by another Dom, her master has to pay to get her back. And that makes him angry.”

  A stab of sensation in her pussy punctuated the word angry. Desperate to let him know she’d gotten the message, she nodded vigorously. At the same time, she wondered if he had any idea how much she loathed him. Probably.

  But did she?

  “I want you to get some exercise today. And I want you tired tonight so you’ll sleep of your own accord. You’re going to run until I tell you to stop. You won’t try to escape because it won’t do you any good with your arms useless, and this inside you.” A powerful, brief jolt brought her onto her toes. “Its range allows me to control the impulses from anywhere on the island. Piss me off and I might never turn off this little training tool locked inside you. I know about your jogging routines and what you’re capable of, so start running. Circle the building.”

  A vibration a notch above the one he’d just hit her with propelled her forward. She gave fleeting thought to impressing him with her running ability, but although the vibration backed off a little, it didn’t stop, and she couldn’t put her mind to anything else. So much for telling herself yesterday had been a fluke. No way was she immune to the impact and possibilities, the promise.

  The object he’d plugged her pussy with didn’t feel quite as large as it had during the night, which reminded her that he could also control its size. Having it smaller made it easier to run, but knowing he could change its contours and movement to fit his monstrous whim unnerved her. She’d run where he wanted her to run, sweat and stretch her muscles. She wouldn’t fight. Didn’t want to.

  She dutifully circled the stone structure. If her former bosses could see her, would they take pity on her or laugh at her? It didn’t matter because she might never see them again. Never return to her old world.

  Who was doing her job? Was anyone looking for her or had everyone concluded she’d taken off to lick her wounds? Was someone new moving into her condo? What had happened to her clothes and toiletries? At least she hadn’t had time to stock up on fresh sex toys so they weren’t being wasted.

  When she reached where she’d left him, she discovered that a lounge chair had mysteriously appeared. He sat in it, legs up, body relaxed. He’d become the center of her universe.

  You’ve always wanted this, a force whispered. Perhaps the island itself was speaking to her.

  “Faster.” Another behavior-modifying shake of her pussy punctuated the order. She picked up the pace, but the vibrations didn’t decrease. Her legs felt numb, her clit alive.

  Always wanted this. Needed.

  The heat and tension in her clit increased. The jungle became a tangle of vivid colors. She tasted damp, fragrant air. The sun beat down on her head, shoulders, and jiggling breasts. Her feet slapped on packed earth, creating a drumbeat in her mind.

  Wilderness. Wildness.

  By the time she’d completed her second circuit, her heartbeat quickened. Thank goodness she was running. Otherwise, she might already be close to coming. She’d climax before the day was over. Unless he refused her, it would happen. But not yet. Not until she’d been submerged in tension, flames, taste, touch.

  “Not fast enough,” he said as she passed him. The internal assault became even stronger. The gag made breathing difficult. Her thigh muscles trembled. Her arms ached from being held in this damnable position, and her back felt strained. She couldn’t settle on a stride that felt anything close to familiar. The jungle flashed by, colors bleeding together. And her clit hummed, heated, begged.

  Every time she passed Zemar, she was treated to another jolt of energy. She came to expect it and anticipate the heightened awareness. At the same time, although her legs threatened to cramp and her feet burned, she embraced the sensations because they helped remind her that there was more to her than what was between her legs.

  She’d been wrapped in a world which didn’t exist beyond her body. Wrapped in sensation. Everything was about her, her journey into slavery and what she was learning about action and reaction. Zemar the lion had tapped into layers of her being she hadn’t known existed, and unnerving as his mastery was, she’d never felt more alive. More in heat.

  More desperate for a climax. In this time and place of his choosing and control, she’d do anything. Anything! Grovel before him if that’s what he demanded, shame herself, fuck him, masturbate, run past him the one final time that would send her into the stratosphere.

  But he continued to deny and play. Instead, her cunt remained on fire, a ravenous beast clawing at her sanity, kept a half step from leaping into release. He knew her limits and potential -- knew and held her suspended over the ledge. She rounded the prison’s corner and focused on him. Relaxed, his body language said. Removed. In command. Owning everything about you.

  No, you bastard! No more dancing to your damnable tune. And no begging! That’s behind me. Damn it, behind me!

  This time instead of racing past, she pulled up and faced him as best she could. Dripping sweat and breathing hard, she struggled to hold up her head.

  He studied her from his oh so comfortable chair. He held a frosty drink in his free hand and saluted her with it. While she tried to work moisture into her dry throat, her gaze didn’t stray from the control monitor in his other hand.

  “Did I give you permission to stop?” He jolted her.

  I hate you, she told him with her eyes and refused to move. She was so tense she wondered if she might shatter. Hard vibrations nearly took off the top of her head.

  She rocked from side to side. Her pussy clenched against the dildo. Her feet beat a tattoo on the ground. She remained in place.

  “I didn’t expect that.” He sounded, what, confused? “Not going to keep on running, are you?”

  She shook her head
. Her legs felt like hot rubber, but the need to take pride in who and what she was gave her the motivation to dismiss them. Her self-control was so fragile, so vital.

  “Last chance, slave. Get going or pay the consequences.”

  I already am. How much worse can it get?

  He showed her, the lesson pounded out in a fiery internal explosion. How stupid she’d been to believe the instrument of torture and delight locked inside her had reached its capacity. Instead, it suddenly and relentlessly began expanding and contracting. At the same time the pulsations turned into intimate earthquakes that caused her entire pelvic area to shudder. As if that wasn’t enough, he treated her to the extremes of heat and cold. One instant she truly believed he intended to burn her. The next he turned everything into ice.

  But she couldn’t, wouldn’t, run! Wouldn’t grovel or beg even though he’d tapped into her every muscle, nerve, tendon, and vein. She needed all her intellect, courage, and determination and more to try to stay on top of the unbelievable sensations. Alive, on fire, scared, anticipating, she sunk deep inside herself. She found nothing but exposed nerves.

  Screaming “no!” into her gag, she collapsed. There was nothing graceful or planned about her fall. Her knees took the initial impact, but then she sagged until she’d folded over herself, a captured ball of humanity.

  Something shook her and separated her from the terrible tension.

  Coming, coming, coming.

  She dimly realized he was standing over her but didn’t try to acknowledge him. How could she with one climax after another rolling over her. Her pussy felt as if it had been beaten, satiated, vanquished, and gifted beyond comprehension all at the same time, and still he forced her to weather more assaults. She was flying, falling apart, shattering.

  “Who owns you? Who?”

  She couldn’t answer, couldn’t even cry out any more. Incapable of moving, she remained a rag doll caught in an angry dog’s mouth. The dog shook her relentlessly, wonderfully. It didn’t matter that no real fangs had penetrated her flesh, that she wasn’t bleeding but instead was experiencing her deepest desires. Helplessness and relentless climaxes at his hand became everything.

  Then it ended. How long the vaginal plug had been stilled she couldn’t say. She trusted nothing, not him certainly, but also not her own body. Giving birth couldn’t possibly serve as a greater demonstration of her system’s primitive mechanism. Despite her exhaustion, she remained tense.

  “Which of us won that round?”

  You, she said with her eyes.

  “You’re an amazing woman.”

  Woman, not a slave?

  As the moments ticked away, she struggled to ready herself for the next assault. Instead, Zemar knelt and removed her gag. He rubbed the sides of her mouth until she could feel it again. She lacked the strength to lick her lips but managed to shoot him a look between gratitude and fury as he held her head and placed the icy glass against her mouth. She drank greedily, noisily. And when she couldn’t drink any more, she sagged against him while he massaged her shoulders, throat, breasts.

  He’d done something like this last night when he’d tended to her exhausted body and shown her he was capable of gentleness. And while he’d been doing that, she trusted him. Just as she did now.

  “You’ve earned this.”

  Keep touching me, please. “Because -- because I came so many times?”

  “No.” He shook his head, looking, what, confused? “You’re strong. Filled with pride. You stood up to me.”

  “No I didn’t. I collapsed.”

  “But you refused to continue running. That took determination and courage.”

  Determination. Courage. Taking his time, he released her wrists and pulled the steel off her waist. After massaging where the restraints had been, he took her in his arms and stood, bearing her weight as if she was a newborn. He started walking, his strides slow and fluid, prompting her to wonder what it would feel like to walk beside him, hand in hand, as he showed her the island? Right now he was taking her to the cage he called a porch, but she didn’t care.

  He held her.

  Chapter Ten

  Zemar had deposited her on a lawn chair made of something that felt like satin and was designed so her legs were outstretched, her body supported. Rolling her head toward him, she watched him come back into focus. The masterful man was beautiful, handsome in a wild and powerful way, nothing like any other man she’d had anything to do with. He’d never belong in an office as part of an organization. Did she anymore?

  She longed to run her fingers through his tangled hair, to slowly and lovingly wash and comb it while the sun dried it. He might think she was trying to court his favor with her gestures, but it wasn’t that at all. He’d become her everything. Despite the risks, she needed him to know that.

  “Interesting,” he muttered. “Not what I expected.”

  What?

  “Tough.” He patted her cheek. “Not given to panic. No blubbering. Not even a tear.” Frowning, he straightened and studied her naked body. His loincloth did precious little to shelter proof of his arousal. As her sex-induced lethargy faded, she half expected him to force himself on her, but the man had incredible self-restraint, either that or having a hard-on was nothing more than an occupational hazard to him.

  Maybe. And maybe there was something beneath the surface in his smoldering gaze that could change their relationship. She tried to tell herself that she was reacting like a prisoner of war who has forgotten who and what she once was and was emotionally aligning herself with her captor.

  But maybe it wasn’t that at all. This wasn’t war because on some level she’d long craved what he was handing her. And he was what she’d dreamed of, a soul-deep Dom. Powerful. Knowing. Supremely sure of himself. Yet even those well-defined roles didn’t seem to go far enough. Could there be a deep-seated connection between them, similar weaknesses, needs, and dreams?

  If he gave her a sign that he wanted her as a woman and not just a sexual object, how would she respond?

  The question continued to resonate as he turned away. Her attention was drawn to his broad, strong back, and she saw it clearly for the first time. Instead of a bodybuilder’s flawless flesh, his tanned back was marred by a large number of stripes that weren’t decorations after all. Scars! Whip scars.

  Oh god! Who did that to you? I’m sorry, so very sorry.

  Were you a small child when someone brutalized you? Did anyone come to your aid or were you alone, scared? As helpless as I am?

  Will you ever tell me?

  If he was aware of her scrutiny and thoughts, he gave no sign. Instead, he left her where he’d deposited her while he went inside. The door to the cage had clicked shut after he’d carried her through it, but even if he’d left it open, she wouldn’t have tried to run away. All he’d have to do was energize the vibrator still housed in her vagina and she’d be brought to the ground.

  But now more than his possession of her kept her in place. She had to learn the truth behind his scars and know if he’d escaped the nightmarish memories.

  Her fingers trembled as she touched the leather harness holding the amazing instrument inside her. It fastened behind her, though she had no doubt that he hadn’t constructed it with hooks or snaps she could operate. Instead, like the dungeon doors, this thing was his to open or keep locked around and in her. The vibrator had deflated to the point where it no longer pressed against her still-burning tissue, but she’d be a fool not to realize how quickly that could change.

  If he removed it, she’d be ready to receive his cock. She’d welcome him into her, not because she had to, but because despite the unrelenting climaxes she’d recently experienced, she wanted to feel a living and hot cock buried deep and full inside her. Him.

  She’d wrap herself around him, holding on and being held while they fucked. He’d give her vital hints of who he was, and she’d lose herself in the act of sex. Turn chunks of who she was over to him. She’d climax, not because he’d p
lugged her with a toy no female could resist but because she was a woman and he a complex man, blatant sexuality wrapped in a panther-like body. Howling, she’d call him magnificent. He’d proclaim her his and she’d believe him. Want the word and everything it meant. She’d press her lips against his scarred back and take away ancient pain. And when they were too exhausted for any more sex, he’d tell her how he’d gotten the scars.

  He returned, bare feet silent on the rubberized flooring and looking even more like the panther of her imagination. His back no longer bled or caused him pain. He’d become a predator, master of his domain -- and her. He carried a large bowl that was angled so she could see it was full of water. When he set it down near her, she caught a sweet, intoxicating aroma. And when he picked a large, blue sponge and began bathing her with it, she sank into the sensations.

  A few minutes ago he’d been torturing her. Now he was treating her as if she was precious, valued, valuable.

  Valuable, yes.

  “You didn’t beg me to make it stop.” He nodded at her crotch.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I learned. Begging never did me any good.”

  Frowning, he regarded her. “You’re my first trainee to say that. The first not to grovel and demean herself.”

  I don’t care about them. I can only be me. “How long --” she ventured. “How long will you keep me here?” Can you sense that I’m no longer sure I want to leave?

  “Did I give you permission to ask questions?”

  Determined not to be silenced again, she shook her head.