Forced Submission

by Claire Thompson

“You, Sir,” M murmured faintly.

  “And what am I?”

  “You are the Master of my body and soul.”

  “What do I allow you?”

  “You allow me to serve you.”

  “And who do you live for?”

  “I live for you, Sir.”

  “And without me, M—without me, what would happen to you?”

  “Without you, Sir, I would die.”

  “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” He raised the whip and flicked his wrist, his cock pulsing in time to M’s throaty cries.

  ~*~

  M opened her eyes, trying to see in the pitch dark. She was curled inside the punishment cage, locked in the closet. The air was hot and close, and she thought she heard something small skittering away into a corner. Shuddering, she curled tighter into herself and rocked slowly in an effort to calm herself.

  As she came fully awake, the dozens of small welts that covered her ass, stomach, thighs and breasts came awake as well, stinging and throbbing. Sir had kept her chained and standing in those awful shoes for what seemed like hours, whipping, caning and paddling her until she sagged in her chains, her body bathed in sweat. Each time she jerked, the hoops through her nipples pulled and twisted, and she’d been terrified they might be torn all the way out if she moved too suddenly. She’d tried her best to remain still, no matter how hard the paddle crashed into her, or how much the stingy whips lashed her skin.

  When he’d finally let her down, he’d forced her to kneel as he held her face in his hard hands and slid his huge erection roughly in and out of her mouth. At least all she’d had to do then was stay still, her jaws opened wide. She’d been too exhausted and frightened to slip away in her mind to that calm, peaceful place she’d used to go to so easily during the worst of the torture. Instead she’d remained staunchly in the present while Sir fucked her face, every inch of her flesh on fire from the protracted whipping. When he’d finally come, she’d made sure to swallow every drop, aware it might be the only sustenance she got until Sir was satisfied she’d suffered enough.

  Thirsty. I’m so thirsty. I tried so hard to be good. Surely he saw how hard I tried. When will Sir decide I’ve been punished enough?

  M licked her chapped lips, her tongue worrying the small split in the center of her lower lip that had the metallic taste of blood. Her mouth and throat were parched, her stomach once again curled into the tight, painful ball that had become second nature in the days before she’d met the prince and his girls.

  The prince! Prince Kamau. Jira. Zahara.

  Mia.

  My name is Mia. I am Mia Roberts. My parents were Bill and Donna Roberts. I am from Bangor, Maine. I’m twenty-five years old.

  Mia drew in a sudden sharp breath as this information unfolded in her brain. All at once, like bundles crammed into a closet that’s suddenly opened, whole swatches of memory tumbled into her mind. She remembered the interview with Ellis Hughes, and their pleasant email exchanges as she wrapped things up in Bangor in anticipation of her move. She remembered packing all her worldly belongings and making the long drive from Maine to New York, so excited to be starting a great new job with a sexy new boss.

  And then…

  Then what?

  How did she get from there to here?

  She understood that Sir was Ellis Hughes, but she couldn’t get past a dense, black fog that shrouded the events that led her to her current situation, naked and curled inside a cage, her very life in the hands of a madman.

  A madman.

  She should feel horrible for that thought. Sir was everything to her! He was the Master of her body and soul…

  She held her breath, waiting for the guilt to slide over her, prepared to say the penance of her mantra over and over until she was cleansed.

  But no guilt came.

  She let out her breath. He was a madman. A fucking, sadistic lunatic who was holding her against her will.

  A wave of dizzy panic crashed over Mia as more memories flooded her mind. If she hadn’t been lying down, she would have passed out from the shock. She lay, rocking and crying as she struggled to process the horror of the past months as this man’s prisoner; as his sex slave, stripped of every vestige of humanity, even down to the hair on her head.

  How many months had passed since Sir, since Ellis Fucking Hughes, had stolen her very life from her? What must Zahara and the others have thought of the docile, silent automaton slave girl who had appeared in their midst like a ghost? How had they let her leave again with that monster?

  But they’d tried to stop her, hadn’t they?

  Are you happy, dear one? We have room here for you, if you would like to stay and visit a little longer. I am sure your Master would understand.

  Mia recalled now the sudden burst of longing these words had engendered, and then the trained reaction, drummed into her over the days, weeks and months of her servitude, that made her recoil at the offer, telling herself she belonged to Sir.

  I belong to myself!

  Again she waited for the wave of guilt, as strong as nausea, to wash over her. But nothing happened. Was she free? Free at last of the madman’s spell?

  She gave a bitter grunt at this thought. Here she lay, beaten, bloodied, half-starved and locked in a cage in a dark closet. That was hardly free! Somehow she had to get out of here. She had to escape before he killed her. It was only a matter of time before he did, whether intentional or not.

  But how to get away? What possible escape was there? She knew he locked all the doors when he left the house, and she couldn’t recall seeing a landline telephone in any of the rooms when she did her chores. He always kept his cell phone on his person or locked away.

  There had to be a way. There had to be!

  The internet. Ellis kept a laptop in his study. The next time he left the house, she would try to get online. Meanwhile she would have to do her very best to pretend to still be the obedient, brainwashed slave girl who believed that Sir was the Master of her body and soul, instead of a sadistic lunatic who deserved to be castrated with a rusty, dull blade.

  You are not alone. You have but to reach out your hand and the prince will come for you. PrinceKamau@DsIsland.com. We will be waiting for you, Mia, sister of my heart. Zahara

  Mia reached for these words in the dark, clutching them like a lifeline.

  Chapter 14

  Mia crouched underneath the large desk in Ellis’ study, her wrists cuffed behind her back as she struggled to position herself over his cock. Placing a heavy hand on her head, he pushed her down, gagging her on his shaft. She struggled to remain calm. He would let her breathe soon, if she just stayed still.

  Sure enough, after about twenty seconds his hand lifted from her head and she was able to pull back enough to breathe. His thick cock filled her mouth and she had to be careful not to graze it with her teeth as she bobbed up and down. That had happened only once, and she’d paid a heavy price, though somehow, as astonishing as it was to her now, she’d accepted her punishment at the time as her due, and ardently promised through her tears to do better.

  Everything was so much harder now, now that the peaceful cloak of brainwashed surrender had been burned away. She no longer believed the comforting but patently false mantra that had helped her through so many difficult tasks and long nights locked in the sleep cage. Now that the pretense had been stripped away, it was like undergoing surgery on a daily basis without the benefit of anesthesia. They’d been home from Africa for only two days, but Mia wasn’t sure how much more of Ellis’ constant, dehumanizing abuse she could tolerate.

  In a way, she almost wished she could return to being M, to truly believing she lived for Sir, and would die without him. But no—she could never go back to that. She would not. It was better to die, she fervently believed now, than to allow that to happen again.

  Ellis groaned over her head. “Keep me hard,” he panted, “while I look for another girl. That fucking Prince Katmandoo or whatever the hell his name was isn�
��t the only one who can have a harem. So many cunts out there on the BDSM sites looking for a sugar daddy, I feel like a kid in a candy store. But we have to be very, very careful. We need someone like you, M. Someone no one will miss when they’re gone.”

  It was very hard to resist the nearly overwhelming impulse to bite down. She could imagine sinking her teeth into his flesh, breaking the skin, tasting his blood as she clamped down like a dog on its prey, not stopping till she’d bitten the thing clean through.

  How many months of her life had the bastard stolen? He’d done more than just kidnap and hold her against her will, more than just torture, rape, starve and terrorize her. He’d stolen her very life, her identity as a person, her essence as a human being. And now he was proposing to do it again, to lure another unsuspecting woman into his home under false pretenses and keep her there, stripped of her dignity and terrified for her life, as Mia had been for so long.

  I have to get out of here. I have to stop him. I have to find a way. I will find a way. I will.

  Ellis’ hand was again on her head, pushing her until her nose met his pubic bone. She could feel his cock pulsing in her mouth as a shudder went through his body. When he spurted against the back of her throat, she forced herself to swallow as best she could so she wouldn’t choke.

  He pushed her away, his cock sliding from her mouth as she fell back beneath the desk. “Ah, that was good, M. You’re a fine piece of ass, you know that?” He was in a good mood, and until very recently, this would have thrilled Mia, or rather, M, to know she’d pleased her Master. Now she had to bite her tongue to keep from snarling.

  “Lick my balls for a while.” Ellis scooted his ass to the edge of his chair, thrusting himself against Mia’s lips. The fierce urge to grab his ball and twist until he screamed in pain made her almost glad her wrists were cuffed behind her back, as she wasn’t sure she could have controlled the impulse. Instead, she dutifully parted her lips and ran the tip of her tongue over her tormentor’s pendulous, hairy balls.

  She could hear him clacking away on the keyboard. He hadn’t left the house since they’d returned from Africa. He’d had groceries delivered the day before, running down to accept the delivery while she remained gagged and chained in his dungeon.

  Eventually he’d have to leave the house. But even with him physically gone, did she dare log onto his computer? Even in his absence, she was sure he watched her through those ubiquitous cameras that were placed in various corners throughout the house. There were two in the study alone, one of them trained at the desk. Did she dare touch his laptop, knowing he might be watching?

  But it was the only way. She knew she wouldn’t be able to escape on her own. She was naked and alone. No, she reminded herself. You are not alone. They’re waiting for you. Somehow, she had to get onto her email account and send out an SOS. PrinceKamau@DsIsland.com. She would not forget that email address—it was seared into her brain, waiting for her fingers to type the words.

  Zahara had promised—she just had to reach out her hand and the prince would come for her. The question was, how to do that, when Ellis kept her hands tied, her mouth gagged, her body caged?

  But not your spirit, Mia.

  She felt another curtain lift in her mind, and suddenly remembered the daily affirmations that had once been such a part of her life. She’d had a lovely desk calendar with beautiful, calming photographs of nature, and a daily affirmation that somehow always seemed to apply. But her favorite had been a book a friend had given her after her parents had been killed. It was called Daily Quotations for Spiritual Healing. She had read it from cover to cover easily a dozen times, and she’d memorized many of the quotes. Now, with her face pressed against Ellis’ disgusting balls, she tried to recall some words of wisdom that would help her get through the next day, the next hour, the next minute.

  Ellis shifted in his seat and gripped his cock, idly stroking it while Mia continued to lick his balls. “Ah,” he said from above her. “Here’s an interesting one, posted by someone who calls herself Sub Girl. How original.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It reads: Deeply submissive girl seeks a wealthy man to meet her every need, while she meets all of his.” Ellis chuckled dryly. “Her picture is hot,” he went on, “though god knows you can’t trust pictures on the internet. But still, it says she’s twenty-six and single, and lives in Wyoming. Good, that’s good. What are there, like seven people in the total population of that state? Less folks to miss the cunt.” He laughed again.

  Rage rose like vomit in Mia’s throat, and it was a struggle to keep up the pretense that she lived for nothing but to worship this bastard’s cock and balls. He was going to do this to someone else! Another unsuspecting, innocent girl was going to have her life stolen, her soul murdered. And why would he stop there? How many young women would be lured into his monstrous trap? Unless someone stopped him. Unless she stopped him.

  Then, as if it had only been waiting for her permission, one of the quotes from the daily quotations book was illuminated in her mind, bright as a beacon.

  Suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning.

  Yes! Her suffering would have meaning because she would shut this man down. She would find a way to get out, and not only that, she would make sure the son of bitch never did this to anyone else, ever.

  That evening found Mia on all fours on Ellis’ bed, her cheek pressed against the mattress, her ass raised high, knees spread wide. Ellis waved a red plastic shock toy in her line of vision. She knew from experience this particular device imparted an unpleasant zing of electricity each time its tip made contact.

  “Each shock you take, M, earns you a point. Those points will determine how many bites of food you’ll get at dinner tonight.” While Mia silently absorbed the rules, Ellis added, “But there’s a catch.”

  Of course there is. Bastard.

  “If you move at all, you lose five points.”

  Zap. Mia didn’t move a muscle. “One,” Ellis intoned. Zap. She could have been made of stone. “Two.” Zap. Zap. It wasn’t that the shock was precisely painful—it was more the unexpectedness of it as it landed on her ass, her thigh, her back, her calf. Mia, who had only had half an apple many hours before, tried to focus on the reward at the end of the torment. She needed to eat if she was to have the strength necessary to escape.

  She stayed still for as long as she could, pleased with herself as Ellis’ count increased. “Ten,”—zap—“eleven,”—zap—“twelve.”

  But when the shocker touched her asshole and then her spread, exposed pussy in quick succession, Mia fell forward onto the bed, her hands flying back to cover her body as she screamed.

  “Oh dear,” Ellis said in mock sympathy. “Poor little girl. Only two bites of food now for you.” He touched the tip of the shocker to her ass. “Come on. Up, up. Back into position. Surely you can do better than that. I’ll tell you what. I’ll sweeten the pot a little. I’ll give you five points for each shock. What do you say to that, M?”

  Wearily M forced herself back into position, rage falling like a film of red over her eyes. Your suffering has meaning, she reminded herself. Aloud, she forced herself to say, “Thank you, Sir,” keeping her tone meek and servile.

  Though she tried to steel herself, pain exploded through her nerve endings as the shocker made contact with her labia. She moaned, a low feral sound that came from deep in her throat. Yet somehow she managed to stay still.

  “You’re welcome, M,” the prick said. “You just earned yourself five points. Very good.”

  She felt the tip of the shocker being inserted into her asshole, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart turning a summersault in her chest. The shock that followed radiated through her loins and M clenched her hands into fists, willing herself to stay still.

  “I’m so proud of you, M,” Ellis crooned, his mouth suddenly close to her ear. “You will eat well tonight, my slave girl.” He stretched out beside her, pulling her into his arms. M recalled a time not long
ago when she would have fallen into a swoon of gratitude and joy as Sir wrapped his strong arms around her—proof that he cared for her, that he loved her.

  Ellis gently kissed the top of M’s shaved head. “Who do you belong to, M?”

  “You, Sir,” she lied, almost frightened at the intensity of her hatred.

  “And what am I?”

  “You are the Master of my body and soul.”

  “What do I allow you?”

  “You allow me to serve you.”

  “And who do you live for?”

  “I live for you, Sir.”

  “And without me, what would happen to you?”

  “Without you, Sir, I would die.”

  M was exhausted, still not having fully recovered from the jetlag following their trip. She’d had a good dinner, relatively speaking, with Ellis staying true to his word and allowing her twelve bites of food, nearly enough to fill her shrunken stomach.

  He’d left her alone for the last hour while he watched a favorite TV show, if being hung by the wrists from a large hook that jutted from the wall could be called being left alone. At least she was flat-footed on the carpet and could lean against the wall for support, though her arms had gone numb.

  He’d inserted the vibrator with clit tickler inside her, using the hated duct tape to keep it in place. He’d set the vibrator on a low level, pulling a dozen small climaxes from her during the first half hour or so. Now the damn thing just irritated her over-stimulated pussy. She badly wanted to be let down, but M would never have asked, so Mia held her tongue.

  She heard a small buzzing sound and opened her eyes to see Ellis reaching for his cell phone, which he’d set on the table beside the TV. He’d been drinking scotch on the rocks while watching his show, and now he said in a voice slightly blurred on the edges, “Excellent. We have a reply from Sub Girl.”

  Mia watched Ellis from her tethered position against the wall as he read the email on his smart phone. He smiled slowly and reached for his glass, taking a long drink. “She’s interested.” He pumped the air with his fist. “Yes! She got a good vibe from me, she says.” He looked over at Mia, grinning slyly. “Her real name is Alicia. Says she has a sense about people, and she senses my kind and generous nature.” He snorted. “She can just tell I’m a good person. She’s ready to fly here, just like that! As long as I book the ticket, naturally.”