“Hurry up,” he said. “Get out here.”
As she walked out of the bathroom, he pointed to the carpet. “Crawl. I like to see your tits sway.”
Jessie pressed her lips together, clamping her jaw to keep from cursing him out. Just do what he says, a voice in her head urged her, but her knees refused to bend. Eric strode up to her and smacked her right breast with the crop, catching her hard across the nipple. Instinctively covering the spot with her hand, Jessie yelped with pain.
“On your hands and knees, bitch.” Eric lifted the crop again and brought it down hard on her other breast, and then began to smack her shoulders until she dropped to her knees, gasping and yelping.
“Wait right there. Don’t move,” he ordered.
Jessie stayed as she was, blinking back tears as Eric strode toward the set of drawers where she’d put most of her BDSM paraphernalia. He yanked one open, rummaging until he found what he wanted. He returned with a black leather dog collar and a chain leash.
“Move your hair out of the way,” he said brusquely. Jessie was furious at the thought of this prick placing a collar around her neck, but she didn’t dare refuse. He buckled the collar in place and attached the leash to the ring at the buckle.
Jerking it, he moved ahead of her, walking so she was forced to scramble to keep up. He led her to the St. Andrew’s cross. She well understood the heightened feeling of helplessness that being tethered to the cross engendered, and had no desire to experience it at the hands of a novice would-be Dom asshole on a power trip. No telling what real harm he might do, and there was no one to stop him.
Though she’d promised herself to pretend to go along, she found herself unable to obey when he told her to get onto the platform and spread her arms and legs. “This isn’t a good idea, Eric. You don’t know—”
“Shut up. Don’t tell me what I know or don’t know, cunt. I know a lot more than you think.” He pulled her upright, forcing her into position.
Panic rose in her chest and in spite of herself, she struggled against him, but she was no match for the big man. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, J.,” Eric growled through clenched teeth. He lifted her arms one at a time and cuffed them in place. Then he crouched and forcibly spread her legs along the X, buckling her ankles into the cuffs.
Jessie’s heart was pounding and she closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath and regain control. She was facing the wall, but she could hear him moving behind her. She felt the soft stroke of the flogger’s tresses moving over her back and she shuddered, pressing against the wood of the cross in a vain effort to get away.
“We’ll start with the flogger,” Eric announced from behind her. At least he hadn’t gone straight for the cane or the single tail. In inexperienced hands, they could be quite dangerous, and though he’d hinted otherwise, Jessie had the bad feeling that the sum total of Eric’s so-called experience was jerking off alone while watching BDSM porn.
“I hope you did your lessons, J.,” he said. “It’s test time. I’ll ask for a rule. You recite it and if you get it right, I’ll ask you the next rule. You mess it up, you get a beating, and then we try again. Ready?”
She didn’t answer. She’d spent as long as she could stand trying to memorize his stupid list of rules, something he’d probably gotten from one of those blogs written by clueless guys who pretended they had dozens of willing subs who worshipped the ground they walked on, when in reality they were probably lonely middle-aged creeps with thinning hair and dicks they hadn’t seen in a decade beneath their beer guts.
She gasped in startled pain as Eric gripped her by the hair and jerked her head back. He put his face close to hers so she could feel his hot breath. “I said, are you ready? Answer the fucking question, and answer it right or the beating starts now.”
“Yes, Sir,” she managed, relieved when he let go of hair.
She heard the sound of rustling paper and then Eric said, “Recite rule number one.”
“A slave girl always answers a direct question,” she said, glad her brain had decided to retain the information.
“Good. Rule number two.”
“A slave girl always addresses her master with respect, referring to him as either Master or Sir.”
“Good. Rule number six.”
“A slave girl,” she paused, confused. “Wait, what?”
He laughed softly. “Rule number six. Spit it out.”
“Um…” Rapidly Jessie moved through the rules in her head, thrown off by his going out of sequence. Finally she offered, “A slave girl never engages in any bodily function without permission, including but not limited to use of bathroom, eating, drinking, masturbating.”
There was a pause and then, “Wrong. That’s rule seven.”
He began to flog her, hitting not only her ass, but her thighs, back and shoulders. It stung and she squirmed against the cross. She tried to think through the flogging. What was rule six? What the fuck was it? Oh yes! “A—a slave girl never sits on the furniture!” she cried, gasping as the leather strands rained over her back and shoulders. “Without permission,” she remembered to add. Still he didn’t stop. Gasping, she pushed on. “She always kneels at attention when he, when the Master, enters the room, oh fuck!” The tips of the flogger had curled cruelly around her side, catching her left breast in a burst of pain.
“That’s your fault. You moved,” Eric said, but he’d stopped hitting her.
Her skin was on fire, her hands were clenched into fists above the cuffs. She could hear him behind her unzipping his jeans and then his naked body pressed hard against hers. She stiffened, hating him, but powerless to stop him as his hard cock pressed against her ass.
After a few seconds he stepped back and released her ankles and then her wrists. Before she could get her bearings, he spun her around. He was gripping his cock, which was as big as the rest of him, in his fist. She recognized the look on his face—he was stoked by the flogging, drunk with power and lust.
“Lie down at my feet. Spread your legs and arch your hips up so I can see that cunt. And cup your tits and press them together.”
She stared at him, frozen.
He took a step toward her, the muscles rippling in his shoulders and arms as he clenched his fists.
She took a step back, still angry, but frightened too.
“Don’t you get it yet, J.?” His voice was soft and dangerous, scaring her more than if he’d shouted. “This isn’t a contest of wills. I own you now. You can make this very, very hard on yourself or you can make it easy. You decide. Lie down, or I throw you down, and you won’t like what happens next, I assure you.”
Panic rippled through her gut. He was going to rape her again. He would impregnate her and then what? It didn’t even bear thinking about. “I’m not on birth control,” she finally whispered, covering her pussy with her hands as if that would somehow protect her.
The bastard actually laughed, though, to her relief, he said, “I’m not going to fuck you. You haven’t earned it.” He tilted his head as he regarded her, a cruel glint in his eye. “And yeah, I thought about that. I thought about the fact that I stuck my dick in a whore’s cunt.”
Anger shot through her at this insult but fear kept her mouth shut.
“It was an act of passion, I wasn’t thinking—”
“It was an act of violence!” The words had leapt from her mouth before she could censor them.
Eric scowled but then just shrugged again. “It’s a bit hard to be sympathetic to a woman who gets off on beating a bound man with a cane while he jerks off on her shoes. Spare me your outrage and do what you’re told.” He took a step closer, menace radiating from him like an aura.
“Lie down,” he said again in that hard voice, lifting his hands as if he would place them around her throat. “This is the last time I tell you.”
It’s okay, she told herself. He’s not going to rape you again. Just let him get his rocks off and maybe he’ll go away.
Jessie forced he
rself to lie on the carpet, which felt scratchy and rough against skin made tender by the flogging. Humiliation dropped over her like a net as she forced herself to spread her legs and angle her hips so her pussy was exposed. She pressed the sides of her breasts together with her hands, closing her eyes and turning her head away in an effort to distance herself from what was happening.
“Open your eyes. I want your eyes on my cock,” he ordered.
Of course you do, asshole, she thought, but she obeyed him.
Straddling either side of her body, Eric loomed over her and began stroking himself, pulling and pumping his shaft as he defiled her with hungry eyes. It wasn’t long before he was grunting, his hand flying, and she knew he was about to come.
She couldn’t help it—she didn’t want to see this man shooting his load on her, and she closed her eyes and turned her head away. She felt the warm blobs of ejaculate landing on her breast, her stomach, her cheek, each spurt adding to her humiliation and fury.
She heard him crouching beside her and felt his finger gliding over her breast. Her eyes flew open as he tried to push his goo-covered finger between her lips. “Suck it clean,” he ordered.
Jessie simply could not bring herself to obey him. Her jaw was clenched shut, her lips a tight line.
His face darkening, Eric grabbed her by the chin. Holding her still, he scooped another blob of come with his finger and smeared it over her lips. “Lick it off. Do it. Now!” He slid his hand from her chin to her throat and closed his fingers tight around her neck. He squeezed hard, completely cutting off Jessie’s ability to breathe.
Terrified, she clawed at his hand, trying to pry it from her throat, but he just slapped her hands away.
Desperate to breathe and afraid he might choke her to death, Jessie opened her mouth and forced her tongue out, sliding it over the salty jism he’d smeared on her lips. Mercifully, he let go of her throat and she gasped, drawing in a large, tremulous breath, her heart thundering.
Pulling her to her feet, he half-dragged, half-carried her back to the cage. Pushing her roughly to the ground, he ordered, “Get back in there. You’ve been a very, very bad girl. Very bad girls don’t get to eat. They don’t get to drink. What they do get is time to think. When I come back down, you better have thought long and hard about what the fuck you think you’re doing. You’re my cunt now. My property. I own you. You do what I say. You bend to my will, or I will break you.”
Nearly sick with fear and shaking with exhaustion from the ordeal, Jessie crawled back into the cage, relieved when he closed the bars and locked her in. At least he was also locking himself out.
~*~
“Quick meeting, guys. My office in ten minutes.” It was Monday morning and though he’d arrived an hour before, Eric had been completely unable to concentrate. Since leaving that morning, he had checked the dungeon a dozen times on his cell. J. was sleeping peacefully in her cage.
He hadn’t returned to her the rest of that day or evening, determined to let her know this wasn’t a game, nor a contest of wills. He had full control. He could starve her to death, if he chose. Not that he’d let that happen—then he’d lose his new toy. Truth to tell, he enjoyed her spit and vinegar—it gave him a chance to punish her, to go further than he might if she were simply to roll over and obey.
He felt a kind of freedom, a liberation that he’d never experienced in his life. It was as if the chains that kept him bound to everyday life had been broken, ripped asunder by the events of the last forty eight hours. He’d stepped beyond the boundaries of civilized behavior, and there was no going back.
He knew what he was doing was insane—beyond insane—but it was also intensely, wildly exciting. He had a secret—a huge, astonishing, fabulous secret locked down in his basement, and no one in the world knew about it. It was better than getting away with murder. As he’d shaved that morning, he’d examined his face in the mirror, trying to see himself as others might see him. Would they be able to tell he’d crossed the line from civilized citizen to wild outlaw? Could they see the newfound power and confidence in his eyes? Was his sexual prowess and raw, masculine power revealed to those who know how to look?
But the same old Eric had looked back at him. He looked tired, which was understandable, since he’d been up at the crack of dawn to use his property before he got ready for work.
The night before, he had left the house only long enough to stop at a drugstore and pick up a female urinal. He planned to leave J. locked up a while to teach her a lesson, and it wouldn’t do to have her pissing all over the cage. When he’d brought it down to her, she’d watched him with burning eyes, but hadn’t spoken, which was good. Slaves should not speak unless spoken too. He’d unlocked the cage and placed the urinal at her feet, without saying a word to her. It had been tempting to take her out and play with her, but he had responsibilities now as her Master. She was being punished, and would have no attention from him until she was properly chastened.
Instead he’d spent the evening alone, scrolling through porn and thinking up all the ways he planned to train, punish and sexually torture the woman he had locked up in his basement. There was no going back now. If he let her out, there was no telling what she would do. She said she’d just disappear, but he couldn’t take the risk. She’d already proved she was a sneak and a liar. She was his now—not only his prisoner, but his responsibility as well.
He was excited by the challenge of breaking her will, of taking this hellcat, this spitfire of a woman, and shaping her into his ideal, submissive and highly sexed slave girl. He’d been boning up on the internet, reading the blogs, advice columns and forums about how to best train your slave. The sites were careful to note the relationships were consensual, safewords should be used, blah, blah, blah, but that was for amateurs. He would write his own rules, and she would obey them, or else.
He was especially fascinated with the concepts he had recently read about sexualizing suffering and eroticizing pain. Sir Stephen and Maestro were big on that, as well as forced orgasms, along with the punishments and the torture.
J. would be a particular challenge, since she wasn’t submissive to start with. He would have to condition her to the point that she lived not only for the pleasure, but also the pain. Each orgasm would be accompanied by a whipping or some other torture. She would earn her pleasure, and her suffering, until they were so blended and fused in her mind that she would seek both with equal intensity and desire.
No one knew where she was. He had her wallet and her cell phone. Later he would force her to tell him her email accounts and passwords so he could let all her clients know she was leaving town and no longer had need of their services. He would shut down her porn site and close out her bank accounts, after he emptied them. Using her email account, he would alert her landlord that she’d had to leave under unexpected circumstances and he’d clean out the place.
He’d considered forcing her to continue filming for the site, or even to do some of the filming himself, but had decided it was too risky. No one else could know she was still in Houston. For all intents and purposes, she would vanish from the face of the earth.
Eric returned to his desk as he waited for Tony and Blake to come in. He’d thought of a dozen scenarios to explain where their office manager had gone, and had decided to keep it simple.
Once the two men were seated in front of him, Eric started to speak, but Tony interrupted him. “Holy shit, Eric. What the hell happened to your face and neck? Have a rough date?” He smirked, unaware of how close to the mark he was.
Eric touched the three scratches on his face and grinned back to show he got the joke. “Neighbor’s cat. She was stuck in a tree. I was the fool who thought he’d play good Samaritan and get her down.”
“Ouch.” Blake looked sympathetic.
“Anyway,” Eric continued brusquely, glad they couldn’t hear his heart, which was beating too fast, or see the sweat on his palms as he launched into his carefully prepared speech. “Jessie had a famil
y emergency back in El Paso. She’s moving back to take care of things.”
“Wow, what happened?” Tony asked.
“Her mother was killed in a car crash. No dad in the picture, apparently. She’s got little brothers and sisters who need her.”
“Huh,” Blake interjected, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t remember Jessie ever mentioning any family.”
Eric tensed and was about to reply, but Tony said, “Jessie never said much of anything about her personal life. I used to wonder sometimes what she had to hide.”
“Some people are just very reserved,” Eric replied, pretending to come to Jessie’s defense, though relieved the story he’d made up didn’t contradict anything she might have told the guys. He continued with his cover story. “Anyway, I tried to convince her to bring them here—that I’d help her get them in school and stuff, but she was adamant. She asked me to help her move, so I’ll be getting her place packed up for her. I figure it’s the least I can do.”
Both men nodded, and offered the requisite murmurs of sympathy.
He fixed his gaze on Blake. “Blake, I’m not going to mince words here. Your sales record is, shall we say, less than stellar lately.”
Blake tugged at his collar, his face turning pink as he glanced sidelong at Tony. “You know how it is, Eric. I’ve been pounding the pavement, you know that. I really need this job.”
Eric nodded. “I know. It’s tough out there.” Blake was young and eager, but hadn’t been able to clinch many deals in the few months he’d been onboard. Tony was by far the stronger of his two salesmen. They were paid primarily by commission, and so far Blake had barely earned enough to get by.
Not for the first time, Eric had thought about letting him go, but now he had a better idea. He leaned across the desk, spreading his hands flat. “Not everyone is cut out for sales. You used to work in accounting, right?” As Blake nodded, he continued, “I can show you the basics and you can take over as office manager. You can keep working your existing accounts, too. How does that sound?”
Dark Obsessions Vol II Page 24
