by Vonna Harper
“You’re learning, just as I’m learning about you.” He circled her right breast with the sponge. “And because there are advantages in letting my subjects know certain things, I’ll tell you that I don’t make those decisions. It’s better that way because our open-ended association keeps me on my toes and on task. When the powers that be deem you ready for entering your new life, they’ll arrange to have you sold.”
“You never keep a woman, a slave, for yourself?”
The unwise question earned her a nipple pinch.
“All right. All right!” she hissed as the punishment continued. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I understand so little.”
“You don’t need to understand. You only need to experience.” He demonstrated by sending the vibrator into mild movement. Too late she realized he hadn’t set aside the control after all but had placed it on the floor next to him. “Experiencing is how the transformation is accomplished.” He released her nipple and went back to washing sweat and dirt off her. The vibrator continued its soft, almost soothing hum. “Nearly everything I do and you experience is centered on your cunt, your sexuality. By the time I’m done with you, nothing will matter more than what your pussy feels or is denied. You’ll be defined by it. We call it reward and punishment.”
“We?”
“Doesn’t matter, yet. You’re a practitioner of one-night stands. True, you may sleep with a man more than once and don’t consider yourself a cheap lay, but when you perceive that a man is getting too close or you start to have feelings for him that go beyond the physical, you back off. Run and hide.”
“I don’t hide! I’m not afraid --”
Strong fingers around her neck silenced her. She had to learn his rules, fast! “Call it what you wish. But from watching the videos on you, I saw fear of commitment. Believe me, I know the emotion.”
She told herself that he’d learned how to detect fear from his experience with captured women, but something in his tone suggested a personal component. What could possibly make this strong man fearful? Nothing, she answered. He commanded his world and those who entered it.
But he hadn’t always been a man. Once he’d been a child. Helpless and vulnerable. Abused. Alone.
“Videos?” she belatedly thought to ask, then tensed, certain he’d punish her. Instead, he turned his attention to cleaning her hips and legs. Each touch said he had all rights to her body.
Of course he does. He knows me better than I know myself.
He explained that she’d been pre-selected for transportation to the island nearly a year ago based on a number of criteria, but before making the final determination, she’d been monitored extensively. During that time her dating practices, mate choices, sexual preferences, even the way she spent her time alone had been documented.
To her shock, she learned that cameras had been installed in her bedroom. As a result, Zemar had proof that she preferred her collection of sex toys to the real thing. He didn’t yet know why, but if he or another of the island’s Doms decided it was important, they’d find out. She didn’t tell him that it was because she was lonely despite her public protestations to the contrary that she ventured into the dating game. Still, she suspected he knew from her choices, and from his mildly disdainful expressions as he spoke. For although she could have had her choice of wealthy professionals, she’d always chosen men who were her intellectual and career inferiors. She made her selections based on physical attractiveness and the weight of what hung between their legs -- and always left long before the men could bring up the possibility of a future together.
“None of them know about your bondage collection, do they?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It was none of their business.”
“Until now you’ve been content to play with yourself? You haven’t ventured into the scene.”
An image of her half-hearted attempt at self-bondage the night before she’d been taken -- if that was when it was -- made her wince. Of course he’d seen that. “It’s safer that way.”
“Not anymore.”
“No. Not anymore.”
“It’s your curiosity about the lifestyle we embrace here that put you at the top of our acquire list. Many women are followed and their behavior documented, but the majority don’t survive the selection process. If I were you, I’d take it as a compliment.”
The vibrator continued its random, quick movements, forcing her exhausted body back to life. Her breasts and cunt tingled. She kept sucking in her breath. Still, she managed to concentrate on his every word and the nuances behind those crisp, clinical and so-revealing tones. It seemed he was talking more for himself than her, but either way, she needed to understand.
“You fascinate the island’s rulers.” He rolled her away from him so he could bathe her back. The change of position caused the dildo to press more fully against the sides of her pussy. Had it slipped deeper in her? “They’re particularly intrigued by beautiful women who don’t allow a man in their lives. Outwardly independent women who are convinced they don’t need a male make the best slaves.”
How many times was he going to hit her with the word slave? No matter how many defenses she erected, he knew how to get around them. Like now. Earlier he’d punished her. Now she felt cherished, safe, and still stimulated. How do you like being considered a valuable piece of property, Asia?
“Don’t you want to know why women like you make ideal submissives?” He pushed aside the leather harness, spread her ass cheeks and slipped the warm, wet sponge into her crack. She jumped.
“I -- you told me not to ask questions.”
“So I did.” He ran the sponge down from her tailbone, soothing her, touching the tip of the plug. She swore she felt him throughout her vagina. “A great deal of successful research has led the leaders to the conclusion that the journey from arrogance to surrender has a powerful impact on the female psyche, particularly those who tell themselves that their sub-play is just that, harmless entertainment. We suspect the same is true of males, but the focus on Surrender Island is on female subs since our Dom clients are exclusively heterosexual males.”
After patting her ass, he placed the leather strap back in her crack and rolled her onto her back again. The dildo shifted, settled, shook. He bent one of her knees, reached down for a length of rope she hadn’t noticed, and slowly began wrapping it around her ankle. Trembling but mesmerized, she watched her skin disappear under a half dozen loose loops.
“Everything about breaking down a woman intrigues me.”
So matter-of-fact, like it was a foregone conclusion. As if. Break me down? Not going to happen, not!
How are you going to stop him? And do you really want to?
She hadn’t asked those questions; she was sure of it. What then, the island?
After positioning her free leg next to the bound one, he began wrapping the second ankle with a new length. His no-nonsense approach rendered her immobile. She wasn’t afraid so much as she wanted to see what he’d do to her next, what combinations of ecstasy and domination he had in mind.
“But when I’ve stripped the fight from a woman and taught her the rudiments of living to please a man, I’m ready to start over with a new, raw subject. Ready to take a tamed piece of flesh to auction.”
Was that all she was? Flesh for the auction? Somehow she didn’t think so.
Another piece of rope appeared in his strong fingers. Still working in his slow and deliberate manner, he hobbled her so there was no more than two or three inches of give between her ankles.
Trapped. Too late to resist.
His. Again his.
“Do you see how easy it is, Asia?” he asked as he helped her sit up. “You’ve already lost much of your fight.”
“No, I haven’t! But with that thing inside me, I have almost no control over my body. I have -- I have to wait until the timing is right.”
“Almost?” His chuckle carried no hint of warmth. “I’d say you have zero
command of the situation, and I have more than one hundred percent. Turn away from me, slave. Put your hands behind you.”
Don’t, don’t, don’t. But because he’d filled her cunt with memories of what had already been done to it, and she’d never met anyone like Zemar the lion or believed one existed, she did as he ordered. She tried not to shudder as he snaked yet more disgusting and confining rope under and over her breasts and then used what was left to anchor her arms above the elbows. If she tried to move her arms, she’d cause the breast ropes to tighten.
His. Helpless.
Not content with this proof of his mastery, he secured her wrists as he had her ankles. He used the breast loops to haul her to her feet, then showed her a roll of black tape. Although she trembled, she stood there while he gagged her with what felt like endless loops of tape that pressed her lips against her teeth and sealed her hair to the back of her neck.
“Now you can concentrate 100% on reaction and connect with yourself. Time to go back inside.”
No! I can’t take any more!
But she could, she discovered as he dragged her back into the room of shadows. With her legs tied the way they were, she was forced to hop. The vibrations distracted her from the full weight of her anger -- if that’s what she truly felt.
“Home, sweet home.” The door closed of its own accord behind them. “At least what now passes as home for you. You have to go to the bathroom again, right?”
She did, but with leather snugged against her, she’d all but wet herself. Perhaps he didn’t care because he hauled her across the room to the small, closed door. That one, too, magically opened, and she saw into the enclosure for the first time. A small, high, barred opening opposite the door let in enough light so she could see they were in a bathroom complete with a luxurious tub and a shower large enough to accommodate two people. The tub and shower included chains hanging from the ceiling and metal rings built into what looked like marble. In contrast, the toilet was utilitarian.
She could have used this yesterday and this morning, but no, he’d forced her to squat on the ground or pee into a bucket.
He ordered her to spread her legs as much as possible and then reached behind her and unfastened the crotch harness and extracted the vibrator.
“Do it,” he said. Deliberately not looking at him, she settled herself on the toilet seat and let go. The smell of urine filled the air, but she didn’t think she’d gotten any on herself.
“Stand up.”
She blushed, and gritted her teeth, but didn’t move as he wiped her, remained frozen in place and docile while he reinserted the high tech device and returned the leather to its home against her labia. So easy to command her. So easy.
Under his direction, she hopped back into the large room. He positioned her so she faced the stone wall she’d stared at when she wasn’t sleeping or unconscious last night. Then he untied her wrists and breasts, spun her back around, grabbed one wrist and pulled it out so he could secure it to the wall via a metal cuff and a short length of chain. He did the same with her other arm, then stepped back. Her arms were outstretched, her breasts obscenely accessible to him.
What was he seeing? His handiwork, of course, his creative placement of her. But she wondered if he was searching for what lay beneath the surface. She might only be his current assignment, yet he’d mentioned an unexpected strength that set her apart from those who’d come before her. It could only be because he’d become her everything, but she needed to believe she mattered to him, that she was more than flesh.
He’d told her what he knew about her pattern of leaving her boyfriends before they could do the same to her, but she couldn’t leave Zemar. Instead, she’d remain with him, his to do with as he pleased. And when he’d finished with her, he’d sell her to someone who’d do the same or worse.
Even as she tested the strength of her chains, resignation settled over her. Real life bondage had become her reality, chains and ropes and the ultimate object of her surrender buried inside her. Zemar the lion was responsible. She was his.
Until he was done with her.
She watched, fascinated, as he crouched and deftly untied her ankles, but the relative ease of movement lasted only until he’d snapped a cuff around one ankle and with a series of slaps to the inside of that leg, commanded her to spread herself. He secured the leg in the same way he’d done to her arms, then stood up. Because he’d all but pulled one leg off the ground, she was forced to rest most of her weight on her free foot.
“Time to get rid of this, for now. He reached behind her for the fastening to her crotch harness. He drew it off her, then reached between her legs so he could take hold of the part of the plug that felt as if it had been created to fit her contours. He pulled it, still vibrating, out. Along with relief, she felt a keen sense of loss. “I’ve got something else to entertain you with, but first I want to be able to hear you.”
As he began unwrapping the tape around her head, she admitted he could have brought her inside without binding and gagging her the way he had. The gestures were designed to demonstrate his mastery over her -- as if she needed further proof. But no way was she going to grovel. He might control her body, but her mind belonged to her. He couldn’t stop her from hating him!
Hate?
Perhaps if she hadn’t seen his scars.
If he hadn’t caressed and bathed her. Held her.
Another trip to the cupboard had him carrying something that put her in mind of a sleek, oversized fishhook minus the barbs. “No questions about my plans for this?” he asked, then aimed the rounded end at her pussy.
An alarmed squeak escaped her. It took all her self-control and then some not to try to back away from it. Despite his earlier thorough washing of her, she was instantly drenched in sweat. The straight section of the smooth hook had an eyehole of sorts, and Zemar took care to ensure she saw him thread a length of rope hanging from an overhead pulley through it. His features devoid of emotion, he came at her crotch again.
This time he didn’t stop with a threat but separated her folds and guided the object into her. She tightened her belly and tried to lean away, but the stone wall at her back stopped her. She followed the hook’s easy journey deep within her. Housed. Settled. It didn’t look as if it was capable of vibrating, but she’d already learned not to trust appearances.
Once he was satisfied with its placement, Zemar left her with the straight end protruding from her and engaged the pulley. Inch by inch, the rope tightened, securing the hook, impaling her on it. To keep the pressure manageable, she stood on tiptoe. To her relief, he released her tethered leg.
“This is the seat of everything you’re going to feel and experience for the rest of your life.” He indicated her cunt. “Although I can and will address other areas of your body, the granting and refusing of climaxes is the basis of your indoctrination. You’ve already experienced a series of climaxes you didn’t know your body was capable of, but I’m not done.”
If not for one thing, she’d call him an unfeeling monster. His loincloth wasn’t capable of hiding his erection. She might have forgotten about him as a human being while climaxes lashed her, but the rest of the time she’d known his nearly constant state of arousal. Yes, he was a master in the art of forcing a woman to submit. Yes, he understood her body’s needs and limits far better than she possibly could. Yes, he could be a cold-hearted bastard.
But he wasn’t immune. If he was at her mercy, she’d taunt and torture and demand that he tell her how it felt to have the tables turned.
Would you? Isn’t the truth that you want this?
Chapter Eleven
He’d retrieved a pair of nipple clamps from the cupboard. When he held the first rubber-tipped contraption up to her, she forced herself not to react, in part because awareness of the steel inside her claimed much of her attention. He rubbed the clamp over a nipple. “A good fit, much better than yours. Designed to grip and stay in place. Note the ring at the other end. You know what that’s
for.”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “To hang weights from.”
He cupped the underside of her breast and lifted it, cradled. Despite her vow to emotionally distance herself from him, her eyes opened. Was it only her imagination or was he drawing out supporting her breast’s weight and learning its feel and warmth?
“There you are,” he said. “Didn’t leave after all, did you?” He gave the crotch hook a light tug. “No. You’re not going anywhere.” With a smooth, practiced move, he closed the clamp around her nipple. Instead of immediately releasing her breast, he supported it a little longer while he ran a nail over the underside.
She sucked in air and willed her eyes and mouth not to question his actions. The clamp pinched but wasn’t so painful she couldn’t bear it. In truth, she found the sensation more stimulating than the small pair she’d ordered from the Internet. How strange it was to have manmade devices taking over her body this way. How erotic. She heard herself pant but couldn’t stop.
“Doesn’t take long,” he mused as he attached the second clamp. “You probably thought you were beyond reacting to any more stimulation today, but the body is an amazing thing.” He took hold of the clamps and drew her breasts toward him, watching her reaction. “On there good and tight. Some connect with only the smallest bit of nipple, but these have been designed to wrap around a woman’s contours. Keeps them in place. Your owner might decide just to have you pierced.”
She wouldn’t, couldn’t think about that!
“And not just here”
“Why are you doing this? You get off on terrifying your captives? Scaring them so they can’t think?”
“You’re wrong. I want you thinking.” He picked up something from the bed and returned to where he’d left her all but hung out to dry. “But I control the direction and amount of your thoughts.” He showed her a couple of weights. Although they fit easily in the palm of one hand, she had no doubt she’d feel them throughout her once they were attached to the nipple clamps.
“Damn it, why must you try to dominate everything about me?” She’d keep him talking, not because she hoped to distract him from what he intended to do, but because if she wanted to survive unbroken, she had to understand the world she’d been thrust into. And him. “Are you afraid of my mind?”
