She nodded and he placed the packet on the lip of the sink. J. ran her fingers through her wet hair, combing it back from her face. She pulled a wet wipe from the packet and swabbed at her face. Her fingers were trembling, but Eric couldn’t help but admire her stoic behavior. She’d stopped crying and seemed to be resigning herself to her fate.
That was a good thing. Though Eric enjoyed the occasional wrestling match, he didn’t want to have to subdue her on a daily basis.
Her face clean, she turned to him. “Can I have something to drink? And I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“Good. Then you’ll be paying extra careful attention to the rules going forward.”
“The rules?” she echoed faintly, her face falling.
“That’s right.” Eric led her out of the bathroom, his grip firm on her upper arm. He noticed she was shivering. “Cold?” he asked.
J. nodded, wrapping her arms around her torso. Eric moved toward the stairwell and adjusted the thermostat on the wall. He returned to J. and pointed to the ground. “Slave girls kneel at attention when they’re getting lessons,” he said, feeling a little silly but also deeply excited. He was playing out the fantasy of a lifetime, and he planned to make the most of it.
With obvious reluctance, J. dropped to her knees, rather clumsily. But they could work on that later. “That’s it,” he said. “Put your hands behind your head and your shoulders back. Keep your eyes down and pay attention.”
He watched her shifting on her knees. “You can do better than that. Shoulders back like a soldier. Show me those tits. And spread your knees as wide as you can. I want to see that cunt.”
He watched the storm of emotions rolling over her face like thunder clouds, but she kept her mouth shut.
Jesus, she looked amazing like that, with her breasts thrust proudly out and that cute pussy peeking from between her legs. His cock itched to be inside her again. It had probably been stupid to fuck her like that, unprotected. God only knew where this whore had been. He’d be more careful next time.
As he looked her over, he decided he would shave that cunt, just like he’d seen Maestro and Sir Stephen do in one of the shoots. They’d strapped a woman down on a bondage table and lathered her spread cunt with plenty of shaving cream. The cameras had zoomed in close as they carefully shaved her labia and mons until she was as smooth as a baby. Then they fingered her and fucked her with dildos until she came.
Just the thought of doing that to his personal slave girl made Eric’s cock, already rising, stiffen to steel. Feeling like he was in a dream—a dream come true—he began to spell out the rules, which came to him fully formed while he was speaking.
“Rule one,” he began. “You are always to answer a direct question, and you will address me as Sir. Do you understand?”
She lifted her eyes a moment and met his, the flash of pure hatred so stark it nearly took his breath away. Tough shit. He didn’t want her love, only her obedience. He waited, tapping his foot. “Don’t fuck with me, J.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied through clenched teeth.
“Rule two: you are going to repeat each one of these rules as I say them, to help drum them into your thick head, do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, and then, after a beat, “I will repeat each one of these rules as you say them, to help drum them into my thick head.”
Eric laughed and clapped his hands. “That’s right, J. Very good. We’ll continue. Rule three: every time you break a rule you will be punished. I will decide the form and duration of the punishment.”
He pointed at her and she repeated, her voice a monotone, “Every time I break a rule I will be punished. You will decide the form and duration of the punishment.”
He nodded. “Rule four: you will only speak when spoken to. You will never protest or say no to me. If you do, you can expect immediate and severe punishment.” Again he pointed at her.
“I will only speak when spoken to,” she began. “I will never say—”
“You got it wrong,” he interjected. “You will never protest or say no to me. Go on, say it and finish the rest.”
“I will never protest or say no to you. I—I won’t…” her lower lip began to tremble and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I can’t remember. Eric, please. I can’t do this. I’m so hungry I feel sick. You’ve kept me tied up and terrorized for hours. I’m so frightened. Please stop this. I’m begging you.” She began to cry in earnest, dropping her head into her hands.
Eric hardened his resolve. He wouldn’t let a woman’s tears get the better of him. But it was late and he felt suddenly drained, as the adrenaline ebbed away. There was time, plenty of time, to train her properly. He’d type up the rules for her in the morning and make her memorize them. Meanwhile, he said, “Okay, enough for tonight. You may crawl to the sleep cage.”
“Aren’t you going to let me eat? I need food and water,” she wailed.
He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should have thought of that when you peed all over my carpet. And when you stole from me, not once, but again with the merchant accounts. You’ve earned everything I’ve done to you.” He knew even as he said this that it was wasn’t true, but he pushed away the thought. She was into the scene—this kind of punishment was probably the only thing she really understood.
He pointed toward the sleep cage. “Now crawl into the slave cage. If you behave, I might let you have some food in the morning. It’s up to you, J.”
Sniffling, she wiped her face with the back of her hand. Eric’s cock still ached and he briefly considered forcing her to suck him off before he left her, but decided she had been through enough for one day.
~*~
Jessie lay awake for a long time in the claustrophobic cage, her stomach howling, her mouth dry as sand, her pussy bruised and sore, her mind in turmoil over her terrifying predicament. She couldn’t reconcile the Eric she thought she knew, the reasonably pleasant, if sometimes arrogant, boss she’d worked with the past two years.
In retrospect, she guessed it had been kind of stupid to divert the new memberships to a second account, but she’d been so furious at his blackmail that she couldn’t think straight. To add insult to injury, being forced to report to work everyday as if nothing were wrong was almost more than she could tolerate. She was so filled with impotent rage and fury she could barely do her job. She’d nearly confronted Eric in front of the guys, but hadn’t quite had the nerve. His threats about the police and the IRS had hit home, and she hadn’t been willing to take the chance that he wasn’t bluffing.
Still, she never would have dreamed her boss would have dared imprison her like this. The rape itself was bad enough, but she could understand on some level an isolated act of passion or, more accurately, of rage. If she had a cock and a hundred pounds on the bastard, as he did on her, maybe she would have been the one holding him down while he squealed like a pig.
Was he really going to keep her locked up? He seemed to be intent on turning her into some kind of zombie sex slave. Where the hell was that coming from? Calling her by her first initial, like that lame book, Story of O—he thought he was so clever, but he was just obvious and stupid. All that talk of slave girls and rules—did he really think that stuff he watched on the internet porn sites was real? Was he that clueless?
And yet, this was real, terrifyingly real. The bars of this cage were real, and the fact that she was being held against her will, and not a soul in the world other than Eric knew she was in this dungeon was real too. If he chose to, he could let her starve to death. He could murder her in cold blood, and probably get away with it, too.
Yet if he were going to kill her, wouldn’t he have done so already? From the crazy way he’d been talking, he clearly had plans for her, long-term plans that involved extensive slave training. She’d gotten the feeling from his ramblings that he had no intention of letting her out any time soon.
But he couldn’t keep her down here indef
initely, could he? Didn’t he have friends, family, a girlfriend? Someone was bound to wonder what he had down there, wouldn’t they? People didn’t just hide other people in their basement for days, weeks, years on end, did they? And when he was tired of her, what then? The thought terrified her and she began to cry again, great, noisy sobs, only there was no one to hear.
Eventually she must have drifted to sleep due to sheer exhaustion. She awoke suddenly and completely at the sound of the door at the top of the stairs opening. The light flicked on overhead and Jessie tensed as she listened to Eric thumping down the stairs. At the smell of food, her stomach, which had twisted into a hard, painful knot, awoke with a vengeance and growled. Reaching for the sheet, she pulled it up to her chin and waited, every muscle in her body, even her jaw, clenched in fearful anticipation.
She saw his bare feet and muscular, hairy calves appear in front of the cage. He squatted down in front of her, placing a tray on the floor beside him. The smell of bacon and eggs hit her, along with toasted bread and melting butter. She began to salivate, nearly choking on her own spit as she gripped the bars, leaning toward the tray. She saw a tall glass of orange juice beside the plate heaped with food and she nearly started crying.
She bit her tongue to keep from begging, remembering just in time his rule about speaking only when spoken to. Hunger had made her wits sharp, and she swore to herself she’d play his game, at least long enough to get at that food.
She waited as he unlocked the padlock and lifted the cage door. “Good morning, J. Sleep well?”
“Yes, Sir,” she forced herself to reply, her eyes fixed on the food.
“Hungry?”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered, not giving voice to the rest of her thought—hijo de puta, motherfucking piece of shit.
“Come on out then and have some breakfast.”
Jessie crawled from the cage, moving gingerly. Her body was bruised and battered and she was weak with hunger. She pulled herself into a sitting position beside the food, wishing she had some clothes to put on. She wasn’t at all shy about her body, but she resented the shit out of the power play Eric was pulling by keeping her naked.
Still, she wouldn’t focus on that now. There was food and drink in front of her, and unless he was setting her up, it was for her. She looked at the tray, which contained the plate and the glass, but no silverware. Looking over at Eric, she asked, “No fork?”
“Slave girls don’t get forks and knives. You’ve got toast. Use that.”
Slave girls, my ass, she thought, but only nodded and grabbed the bread, scooping a large portion of scrambled eggs onto it and shoveling it into her mouth. She ate as fast as she could, following each bite with a large gulp of juice, afraid he’d decide at any moment that she’d had enough.
But he didn’t stop her. He just remained crouched beside her, watching her with those piercing, cold blue eyes, his lips curved in an amused, disdainful smile.
Only when she’d consumed every crumb and drunk every drop did she let herself relax. Her stomach, empty for so many hours, was now uncomfortably full, but she didn’t care. Who knew when this crazy man would let her eat again?
“Thank me for the food, slave,” he said.
“Thank you, Sir,” she replied. She could play this game.
Nodding, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Opening it, he spread it flat on the ground. “For stage one of your training, I’ve typed up ten basic rules for you to memorize. These will be your commandments. Any time you transgress, you will be severely punished. We’ll spend as long as it takes until you can obey all of these rules, to the letter, without fail.”
He handed her the piece of paper. “I’ve got some work to do. I’ll give you an hour to memorize the rules and then we’ll have a little quiz.” He pointed to the cage. “Go on, back inside.”
“No!” Jessie blurted, despite her promise to herself to stay quiet. “Please, Sir, please. Don’t make me go back in there. My whole body aches. I need to wash up. Can I just stay out here? I’ll be good, I promise.”
She watched him look slowly around the room. She could see what he was thinking. The place was filled with all kinds of things that could be used as weapons—canes, paddles and whips, not to mention a set of knives she used as props role play during shoots. These were hidden in a drawer, but knowing Eric, he’d already been snooping when she wasn’t around, and knew all about them.
He shook his head. “You just spoke out of turn. That’s a punishment already, and the day’s only just begun.”
Jessie clenched her fists, aching to sock him in the jaw.
“But that can wait,” he went on, “until after you’ve memorized the rules for me.” He pointed again toward the cage. “Now go on, scoot back in there. You’ll be fine. It’s either the cage, or I’ll bind you hand and foot—hogtie you like a pig at a pig roast, would you prefer that?” He was grinning, but she could hear the steel in his voice, and knew he wouldn’t yield.
Biting back a sigh, she said, “No, Sir,” and forced herself to crawl back into the miserable little cage. He lowered the panel and replaced the padlock. She hadn’t even been allowed to pee or brush her teeth, but she didn’t dare complain, afraid she’d rack up another punishment, whatever it might be.
“Don’t forget this.” Eric thrust the piece of paper through the bars. “You have one hour. See you then.”
She waited until he’d gone and then picked up the piece of paper and started to read.
Rule One: A slave girl always answers a direct question.
Rule Two: A slave girl always addresses her Master with respect, referring to him either as Master or Sir.
Rule Three: A slave girl only speaks when spoken to.
Rule Four: A slave girl never protests or says no to her Master.
Rule Five: A slave girl obeys all orders without hesitation.
Rule Six: A slave girl never sits on furniture without permission and always kneels at attention, hands behind her head, when her Master enters the room, unless she is otherwise constrained.
Rule Seven: A slave girl never engages in any bodily function without permission, including but not limited to: use of bathroom, eating, drinking, masturbating.
Rule Eight: A slave girl never looks her Master directly in his face. Her eyes need to be at cock level or lower, unless she is expressly ordered otherwise.
Rule Nine: A slave girl never closes her lips or her legs when her Master is present, as that is a sign of disrespect. She is to remain open to him, always.
Rule Ten: Every time a slave girl breaks a rule she will be punished. Her Master will decide the form and duration of the punishment.
Jessie crumpled the paper into a tight ball, squeezing it for all she was worth. She was no slave girl, for fuck’s sake! She was a professional Dominatrix. She was the one who made the rules. How had this happened to her? And how in the world was she going to pretend to be his sub when every nerve and bone in her body was just aching to tear him into pieces?
You can do this, she told herself. You can memorize these stupid words. They mean nothing. It’s just a means to an end, a way to buy time while you figure a way out of this nightmare.
Forcing her clenched fingers to relax, Jessie stared down at the crumpled ball of paper. Dropping it to the thin mattress, slowly she smoothed it open, and began to read the words aloud.
Chapter 5
Jessie watched in silence from the cage as Eric walked past her, heading toward the wall where the whips were hung. He selected her short-handled riding crop and came over to her, crouching down. He pulled on a thin chain he was wearing around his neck and she saw a small key at the end of it. He inserted the key into the padlock and lifted the panel.
Eric stood and stepped back, pointing to the carpet at his feet.
Jessie crawled out. Every muscle and bone in her body ached.
“Into position,” he snapped.
What position she wondered, trying to recall w
hat the fuck she was expected to do. Eric reached down and grabbed her roughly by the arm, jerking her up.
“Kneel at attention and show respect to your Master!” He smacked at her shoulders and upper back with the riding crop in a series of stinging blows while she struggled to kneel upright and place her hands behind her head.
The pressure in her bladder reminded Jessie that she desperately needed to pee. On top of that, her intestines were cramping painfully. Eric must have read her distress in her face. “You need to use the toilet?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Did you forget rule number one already? We haven’t even had the test yet.”
“Yes, Sir,” she quickly amended. “I need to use the bathroom, Sir.”
“Better. Okay. Go ahead. But crawl to the bathroom. I want to watch you crawl.”
His words hit her like a slap in the face and she stiffened, despite her promises to herself to lull him into believing she was going to submit to his bullshit. Jessie Ramos crawled for no man.
Eric lifted the crop and smacked her hard across the left breast.
Jessie gasped and shrank away from the crop, her nipple on fire.
“Do what I say, slave, or I’ll take away the privilege of using the toilet. You’ll squat on newspaper in a corner.”
Her bowels cramped again, and Jessie forced herself to her hands and knees. She began to crawl over the nappy carpeting, moving quickly before she had an accident. She rose once she reached the bathroom’s threshold, relieved that he didn’t try to stop her.
“Door stays open,” he informed her, though thank god at least he didn’t enter the small room behind her. She tried to ignore his presence as she used the toilet. Her face heated as she emptied her bowels. She finished as quickly as she could and flushed the toilet.
She could feel his eyes on her as she moved toward the sink. Glancing around, she saw that her makeup bag had been removed. She washed her face and hands with the crappy bar of soap that was the only thing available, missing her own bathroom and her toiletries, longing for her soft robe, wishing fervently that the bastard staring at her from the doorway would drop dead on the spot.
Dark Obsessions Vol II Page 23
