Dark Obsessions - Volume I: Four Intense Capture Fantasies in One Sizzling Collection

by Claire Thompson

  Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

  The words raced through her mind as Mia struggled to keep her expression blank. “No, Sir,” she replied. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll try again.”

  “That you will. And again. And again. As long as it takes.”

  Ellis watched, his arms folded, as Mia tried desperately to remake the bed to his satisfaction. She had been careful the first time, and she had used hospital corners. It had looked just fine to her, but she was coming to realize it didn’t matter what she thought. It mattered what Ellis thought. Finally she stepped back, daring to steal a glance at him. She watched in horror and dismay as he ripped the sheet once more from the bed.

  “Again.”

  Mia reached for the sheet, tears of frustration and fury pricking her eyes. Once again she made the bed, taking meticulous care with the hospital corners, praying this time she had gotten it right.

  “Better,” Ellis said to Mia’s relief, though his tone was grudging.

  They went through the same thing in his bedroom and bathroom. Though he didn’t force her to remake the bed, he did have issue with the toilet. He took a Q-Tip from the cupboard and, lifting the seat, ran the swab along the rim of the bowl. He held it up for her to see. “Does that look clean to you?” His voice was menacing. Though Mia had been careful to run the brush under the rim, she saw that the tip of cotton swab had a smear of rust on it,

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered faintly. “I thought I had—”

  “Silence!” Ellis boomed. “Answer the question that is asked and then shut your mouth, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Mia whispered again, her body going rigid with fear as he took a step toward her. Before she could react, he grabbed the chain around her throat, using it to jerk her down to her knees in front of the toilet. She felt a strong hand on the back of her neck as he pushed her face forward until her nose touched the water in the bowl. She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for him to plunge her head into the water.

  Instead he just held her there for several long seconds, his fingers digging into the back of her neck. Finally he let her go and she sat back, water dripping from her nose, her heart pounding as she gasped for breath.

  “I’ll hold your head under next time. Don’t let it happen again.” He reached for her leash and gave it a jerk, tugging her to her feet. He dropped the leash and moved toward the sinks. He reached into a drawer and pulled some things out. When he turned to face her, she saw he was holding a pair of scissors and what looked like a trimming tool, the kind barbers used to clean up the backs of men’s necks after a haircut.

  He’d already waxed her pubic hair away, so what…?

  Mia felt her blood run cold as she realized what he must have in mind. Your hair is a mess…We’ll have to do something about that. She took a step back, her hand going automatically to her hair, her beautiful long hair.

  “No.” The word left her lips before she could stop it.

  Ellis frowned, lifting the scissors and pointing them at her like a weapon. “Did I hear the word no, M? Didn’t we have this discussion already?”

  Mia tried to swallow but it felt as if there was a lump in her throat. “Please,” she begged, taking another step back as she stared at the pointy scissors in his hand.

  Ellis moved forward. “That’s better,” he replied, deliberately misunderstanding her, she was sure. “Yes, it will please me to do exactly as I like. Don’t forget that, M. You are my possession, to do with as I will.” He lowered his arm. “Now get over here.”

  While Mia stood trembling in front of the mirror, Ellis went to the large linen closet and pulled out a folding stool, which he opened and positioned beside her. “Sit.” He pointed to the stool, tugging at her leash. Having no choice, Mia obeyed. Ellis cuffed her wrists behind her back with a clip he had in his shorts pocket. He set the trimmer on the counter and moved behind her, lifting a swath of hair in one hand, the scissors in the other.

  “It’s time for a haircut, M. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t move a muscle or make a sound. Once I’ve cut off your hair, I’m going to shave your scalp. Make sure you stay very still so I don’t nick the skin. I would hate to draw blood without meaning to, but if it happens”—he shrugged, his eyes glittering—“it will be entirely your fault, and you’ll be punished for damaging my property.”

  The thought of those pointy scissors piercing her scalp and drawing her blood was more than Mia, nearly starved with hunger and wiped out with fear, could tolerate. A whirring sound whistled in her ears, blocking Ellis’ voice as black spots danced before her eyes and the bathroom countertop rose to meet her.

  ~*~

  Ellis moved quickly when he saw M’s eyes rolling back, her mouth going slack as the color drained from her face. He caught her shoulders as she was falling forward. Holding her upright with one hand, he used the other to release the clip that held her cuffs behind her back.

  Maybe he should feed her before he cut her hair. True, she needed to shed about thirty pounds, but he didn’t want to starve her to death in the process.

  As he lifted the inert girl into his arms, she moaned, her eyelids fluttering. He carried her to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He reached for the hobble chain between her ankles and removed it.

  After a few seconds she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly several times. “What—” she began, confusion on her face.

  Ellis cut her off. If she continued speaking out of turn, he would gag her. “You fainted. Lucky for you, I hadn’t started using the scissors yet.” Her hands moved suddenly to her head, the relief evident on her face when she felt her hair. The relief would be short-lived, of course, but Ellis allowed her that moment of false hope.

  “I’m going to give you something to eat. Would you like that, M?”

  Her eyes met his, longing suffusing her features. “Yes, please, Sir.”

  He nodded. “Lie there and rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes with something for you.”

  Ellis went from the room and took the stairs two at a time. It was another warm summer day, and though the house had central air, he didn’t keep it so cool that he wouldn’t be comfortable in just his shorts and a T-shirt, his feet bare. It was a nice change from the daily grind of going into the city, dressed in a suit and tie.

  For a moment he imagined what his employees would think if they knew he had a naked woman captive in his home, a woman he planned to train and mold into a sexualized, submissive Stepford wife, one who obeyed his every whim and dictate without regard to her own comfort or safety. Wouldn’t any man, given his druthers, love to find himself in such a situation? The difference was, Ellis Hughes took what he wanted. Even better, he got away with it.

  While he prepared a tray of food for his slave, Ellis propped his smart phone on the counter, turning it to the surveillance setting and selecting M’s bedroom for the view. M lay docilely on her bed, her eyes closed. Good girl. No doubt she’d noticed all the mini surveillance cameras when she’d been cleaning. Those, coupled with the automatic remote locking system, served as well as an armed guard to keep her in line, Ellis thought with satisfaction.

  He returned to M’s bedroom with the tray, which he set on the night table. M opened her eyes, her head swiveling toward the food. Ellis sat beside her on the bed and reached for a slice of banana. “Open your mouth.” He placed the fruit on her tongue and let her chew and swallow. He selected a chunk of hardboiled egg.

  He fed her what amounted to a whole banana, an egg and half an orange. He let her sip from a bottle of water. Just for fun, he let some spill over her pretty breasts, leaving her nipples shiny with it. She gasped as the cold water touched her skin. She was so responsive. He did love that about her.

  He reached for one of her nipples and pulled it taut between his fingers. Just imagine sliding a needle through the nubbin and then threading in the gold jewelry through the piercing. He’d never actually pierced anyone, but he’d seen it done a number of times and was
certain he could do it himself.

  Not yet, though. Maybe in a few weeks, when he’d broken down her resistance. In fact, he would have her hold the nipple for him while he pressed the sharp point of the needle through her flesh. Yes, it would be a good test of her obedience.

  But first things first, he reminded himself. He reached for the leash and tugged at it. “Come on. Time for your haircut. No more excuses.”

  He led her into the bathroom. This time he placed a wooden desk chair in front of the sinks, on which he had her sit. Using rope, he tied her securely to the chair, winding the rope over and beneath her breasts and tying it in slip knots behind her back. Next he cuffed her wrists together behind the chair.

  She looked incredibly sexy like that, her breasts jutting from between the rope, thrust out by her position. Even if she fainted, she wouldn’t budge an inch the way he’d bound her. He reached for the scissors and picked up a section of her long, silky hair. In a way it was a shame to cut off such lovely hair, but at the same time the idea ignited something dark and powerful inside him.

  As he opened the scissors, M closed her eyes, her head bowing. “Head up, eyes open,” Ellis snapped. “You will watch as I cut your hair and shave your head.”

  M’s eyes flew open, the color draining from her face as she took in what he had just said. “That’s right.” Ellis nodded. “I’m going to shave it all off. It’s a good lesson in humility, M. It brings home that I can do whatever I want to you, and you will thank me for it, as you must thank me for all things. I am your Master. I give you food and water. I keep you safe. I allow you to serve me. I allow you to live. Without me to take care of you, you would die. Remember that. Let it be the first thing you think of when you wake, and the last thing you recall as you drift to sleep.”

  The sharp silver scissors glinted against her dark hair. Ellis closed them with a snick and let the first long lock drop to the floor. There was no going back now—only forward.

  Chapter 8

  “I belong to you, Sir. You are the Master of my body and soul. You allow me to serve you. I live for you, Sir. Without you, I would die.”

  “Again.”

  M shuddered as Sir moved his oiled fingertip lightly over her clit. The vibrator he had inserted into her cunt pulsed in a steady rhythm. It felt so good she almost forgot the pinch of the nipple clamps or the aching hunger that was a constant in her belly.

  She was lying on her bed beside him, her wrists tied together with rope, her arms resting over her head on the pillow, her legs spread wide. Her body was slick with sweat, her limbs trembling from the effort of staving off orgasm for the past hour. She knew she was nearly at the end of her ability to resist. Soon her body would betray her, and she would pay the price.

  Sir was naked beside her, his cock hard against her leg. The salty, slightly bitter taste of his come still lingered in her mouth from her morning worship. She loved when he came in her mouth and she made sure to swallow every drop. On days when she’d been a disobedient slave girl, sometimes it was the only sustenance she got.

  “I belong to you, Sir,” she repeated, the words flowing easily. They were the first words she said when she woke, and the last words she recited when she went to sleep. “You are the Master of my body and soul. You allow me to serve you. I live for you, Sir. Without you, I would die.”

  His fingers moved in a rapid pattern of pure perfection over her labia while the vibrator sent spirals of pleasure radiating outward from her core. Sir knew just how to touch her. M moaned softly, arching into his hand.

  “Don’t you dare,” Sir said sharply. “You remember what happened last time.” Sir reiterated his reminder with a sharp, painful smack of his open palm against her spread labia. M hissed in pain but didn’t close her legs. She knew better than that. She must never close her legs to Sir, no matter how much it hurt. To do so was to deny him, and to deny him was to disobey.

  Last time she had come without permission, he’d given her a choice. “You can take ten strokes of the cane on the bottom of each foot,” he’d said. “Or you can forego food and water for twenty-four hours.”

  The caning had been excruciating, and the soles of her feet were tender for a week afterward, but the apple he’d given her had been juicy and tart, and he’d let her eat the whole thing.

  His fingers were moving in teasing circles over her clit. The vibrator thrummed inside her and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer.

  Don’t come, don’t come.

  M focused on the throb of pain in her nipples, letting it radiate through her body. Sir said pain was good for her—it cleansed her and helped her to focus. That was why she must thank him after each discipline session, even through her tears.

  If she could stave off the orgasm just a little longer, he would reward her. She began to whisper the mantra rapidly under her breath. “I belong to you, Sir. You are the Master of my body and soul. You allow me to serve you. I live for you, Sir. Without you, I would die. I belong to you, Sir—oh, oh, oh…”

  “Do it. Come, M. Give me all you’ve got.”

  Tears of gratitude filled her eyes as M let the crashing wave of her orgasm crest over her. In the midst of the pleasure came the sudden, searing pain at her nipples as Sir released the clamps.

  “Thank you, Sir. Thank you!” M cried, gasping as pleasure and pain weaved together, tightening around her senses like silken rope.

  “You’re welcome,” Sir said.

  M watched as Sir filled the Jacuzzi, excited to see he was adding hot water. Those first few weeks—or were they months?—she hadn’t been permitted hot water, and she still shivered at the memory. That was back before she’d earned the right, before she’d understood her place was at his feet. She’d had a different name then. She could almost remember it, but it was easier not to try. She was M now. She belonged to Sir. That was all she needed to know.

  When the tub was half full, Sir surprised M by climbing in himself. For a moment her heart sank with disappointment. She had been so looking forward to slipping into the hot, lovely water. Actual baths were rarely permitted—usually Sir sprayed her with the handheld showerhead while he used the scrub brush to soap her clean.

  He had certainly never climbed in himself! What was expected of her?

  Stop anticipating. Sir will let you know what to do.

  Sure enough, a moment later Sir held out a hand. “Get in. We’re going to try something new today.”

  Those words sent ice squirting into her veins and in spite of herself, M hesitated, her gut clenching with fear. The last time they had “tried something new” Sir had bound her breasts so tightly with rope they’d turned purple and then he’d dripped melted wax over them while she knelt before him, her arms behind her back. When her bound breasts were covered in hardened wax, he’d whipped it off with a single tail. Her breasts had ached for days afterward.

  She realized Sir was staring at her, his expression darkening. M moved quickly, praying her delay wouldn’t result in punishment. She stepped gingerly into the deliciously warm water. Sir reached for her, positioning her so she was leaning against him, his legs on either side of hers, his strong arms circling her. He’d left the water running, and it slowly filled the tub, surrounding M in luxuriating heat.

  M sighed, closing her eyes as she let her head fall back against Sir’s broad, strong chest. It felt so good to be held like this. Even though she knew it wouldn’t last—with the pleasure always came the pain—she savored the rare feeling of pure comfort.

  Sir began to fondle her breasts, cupping them, kneading them, pulling the nipples taut and pinching them. Keeping them tight between his fingers, he gave each nipple a savage twist. M drew in a sharp breath at the sudden pain. She let it out slowly and focused on processing the pain without reacting. Sir liked it when she could remain perfectly still and silent. It was proof, he often told her, of her devotion to her Master.

  Finally he let her go. “Thank you, Sir,” she whispered with relief.
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  His strong arms encircled her again and she felt his warm breath as he dipped his head to speak softly into her ear. “Who do you belong to, M?”

  “You, Sir.”

  “What are you?”

  “Your slave, Sir.”

  “That’s correct. And what may a Master do to his slave?”

  “Anything he wants, Sir.” Something about this concept troubled M, but she said it automatically, as Sir had taught her. She didn’t like to follow the implications of the statement too far. She had to trust that Sir would keep her safe. She belonged to Sir. He was the Master of her body and soul. She lived for him. Without him, she would die.

  She felt his hands on her shoulders. She was unpleasantly startled when he pushed against them, causing her to slip down in the water. In spite of her training, she pushed back.

  “Don’t resist.” Sir’s voice was stern. “Or have you already forgotten what you just told me?”

  M went limp. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll do better.” Her voice sounded calm, even to her own ears, but she couldn’t dispel the tendril of panic that was curling around her heart as he began again to push her down into the water.

  As the warm water closed over her head, M closed her eyes and held her breath, trying to will away the panic that was threatening to engulf her. Her heart was pounding. She imagined the water filling her mouth and nose and spilling into her lungs. A burning sensation bloomed in her chest and she felt a scream rising in her throat.

  She couldn’t help it—she pushed back against the firm hand now cupping the top of her head. The hand slipped away and she burst to the surface, gasping and coughing as she struggled to fill her lungs with air.