Forced Submission

by Claire Thompson

  M wanted to scream. No! This was happening too fast. She hadn’t even been able to formulate a plan, much less execute it. She couldn’t let another woman fall into this madman’s clutches. She just couldn’t!

  She realized Ellis was watching her, his eyebrows furrowing, a frown pulling his lips down. “M, you don’t seem to be happy for me. In fact, you look positively angry.” He stood, glowering at her. “Slaves do not have permission to be angry. You know that, don’t you, M?” He took a step toward her. “Slaves who are angry need that anger whipped out of them. They need to be cleansed of the impure thoughts that are causing these disobedient emotions. Perhaps a good dunking in the tub will remind you of your place. Hmm? What do you think, M? Do you need to be punished?”

  No. No, no, no. Mia hated the submersion torture more than anything else, even the cut of a cane. Sheer terror filled her when the water closed over her head. Ironically she understood now, in her clearer state of mind, that it wasn’t fear of drowning per se, as she didn’t think Ellis would be stupid enough to kill his toy, at least not on purpose. No, the terror had resulted because she feared she would no longer be able to resist the perverse urge to breathe the water into her nose and lungs, to end it once and for all in a watery death.

  “Please, Sir,” she blurted. “I—I’m so sorry, Sir. I’m not angry.” Think. Think, think, think! And then it came to her. “It’s just that”—she lowered her eyes in a desperate attempt to appear at once humble and coquettish—”I’ll have a hard time sharing you, Sir. I belong to you, Sir. What we have is so special. I want to welcome a sister slave, truly I do, but…”

  It worked. His frown lifted into a smile, his eyes softening. He was always easier on her when he’d had a few drinks. “Ah, of course. I understand, M.” He moved toward her and reached for the duct tape that held the vibrator in place. She pushed through the pain as he ripped the tape from her mons, relieved when he flicked the base of the vibrator to the off position and gave it a tug, letting it fall to the carpet. She would be expected to retrieve and wash it later, of course. But for now, he lifted her lifeless arms from the hook and scooped her into his arms.

  He returned to the large chair where he’d been sitting and settled with M in his lap. “You’ll need to learn to share me with A,” he said, clearly pleased with the idea of two brainwashed women slavishly worshipping him. “In fact, you will help to train her. I will teach you to use the cane and the whip. You can hold her down while I fuck her. And of course it’ll be fun to watch you two licking and sucking each other for my amusement.”

  He shifted and pushed Mia from his lap to the floor at his feet. Her arms and hands were tingling painfully back to life but she made no move to massage them. Instead, as Sir had taught her, she rested them palms up on her thighs, her ass balanced on her heels, her knees spread wide. She was the very picture of a submissive, docile, mindless slave girl.

  Ellis reached for his glass and drained it. As he poured more over what remained of the ice, he said casually, “Did I mention I’m going to brand you? I think I’ll wait though, until we get A. Then I’ll brand you both with my seal. I was thinking on the ass, but maybe on your cheek is better. That way you’ll see it when you look in the mirror. It’ll be a constant reminder that you’re my property. The branding kit should be arriving any day now.” He shrugged. “It’s amazing what you can get on the internet.”

  His eyes bored into Mia’s, his look darkening. “Each of you will hold the other down while I do it. You will be complicit in the marking of each other. What do you think of that, M?”

  Mia had no idea what to say. Horror moved like ice water through her veins at his bizarre, terrifying pronouncement. The man was clearly out of his fucking mind. She realized he was actually waiting for a response, and so she said in the flat, nearly monotone voice of M, “If it pleases you, Sir, then it pleases me.”

  He stared at her a while longer, and she quailed inwardly, frightened suddenly that he could see through the façade of her passive demeanor to the rage that lurked just beneath. To her relief, he stood, cupping his balls. “I have to piss. Wait right here. Don’t go anywhere.” He laughed as if he’d just made a good joke.

  When he’d left the room, she reached for the bottle of scotch. Ellis had left an inch or so in his glass. She poured in more, as much as she dared, and then sat back on her heels, her heart pounding. Though it had only happened once before, Ellis had once drunk enough to pass out. Unfortunately, he’d left Mia still bound in rope on his bed, forced to spend hours with a ball gag buckled around her head, unable to move while he snored peacefully beside her.

  She had been so deep into her brainwashed servitude at the time, she’d actually spent the hours chanting Sir’s mantra, and telling herself this was a test of her submission and devotion, one that would be rewarded when Sir awoke in the morning and saw her there.

  In fact, he’d been annoyed to find her beside him, her face resting in a pool of drool. Instead of praising her for her obedience, he’d left her still bound while he peed and showered, and still she’d tried to tell herself that Sir was her Master, and without him she would die.

  He returned now, his gait a little unsteady as he moved toward her. He plopped into his chair and reached for the glass, glancing at it quizzically for a moment, but then shrugging and drinking it down. He poured several more ounces over the melting ice and leaned toward Mia. “Here you go, M. We’re celebrating the arrival of A.” He pressed the lip of the glass against Mia’s mouth. “Go on. Drink.”

  Mia parted her lips, allowing Ellis to pour some of the strong alcohol into her mouth. She purposely let most of it spill down her chin and onto her chest, determined to stay completely alert, just in case. She tensed, waiting for his rebuke, but Ellis must have been more out of it than she thought, because he just laughed and then lifted the glass to his own lips, draining it in one gulp.

  A plan fell quietly into place in Mia’s mind, and she dared, “Please, Sir. May I speak?”

  He looked blearily at her. “What is it?”

  “Might this slave girl worship her Master’s body tonight? I do welcome A, but maybe this last time together, just you and me, Sir?”

  She held her breath, aware she was taking a huge gamble. It might not even work, but maybe…just maybe…

  I will draw from my inner strength and my inner light.

  Expect miracles.

  Seize the day.

  “You really love me, don’t you, M? With everything I do to you, everything I put you through, you actually love your lord and Master.”

  No, you deluded fuck.

  “Yes, Sir. With all my heart.”

  He stood and held out his hand. Mia took it, allowing him to pull her up. They walked together to his bed, and Ellis fell heavily to the mattress. “Bring me the bottle,” he said, “and then climb into my bed and I’ll let you worship my body for a while before I lock you into your cage.”

  Mia certainly didn’t need to be asked twice. She scurried back to the sitting area and grabbed the glass and bottle, bringing them to the bedside. She poured scotch into the glass, filling it nearly halfway. Ellis was lying on his back. Tentatively she perched beside him, ready to leap up if he found her behavior insolent. She held out the glass in a silent offering, careful to keep her eyes respectfully lowered.

  Ellis hoisted himself into a semi-sitting position against the pillows and took the glass. He gulped down nearly half of the contents and set the glass on the night table with a clunk.

  “C’mere,” he slurred as he grabbed his flaccid cock. “Make me hard, slave. Do your duty.”

  Mia scooted between the drunken man’s legs and gripped his cock tenderly in her hands. She stroked him gently, pleased when his eyes fluttered closed and his head lolled to one side. She continued to stroke him until he began to snore softly.

  She waited, still as stone, forcing herself to count to one hundred as his breathing deepened into a slow, steady rumble. Her plan had succeeded beyon
d her wildest dreams. He’d passed out before locking her into the cage. This was her chance!

  She counted again to one hundred, barely daring to breathe. He didn’t move.

  Slowly, carefully, she slid down to the end of the bed and lowered herself silently to the carpet. She began to crawl toward the door, her entire body tensed in expectation of his sudden, booming demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing.

  Somehow she made it to door and pulled herself upright. She turned the knob slowly and pulled the door open. Ellis’ snoring suddenly stopped, and Mia’s heart gave such a lurch it felt as if it would burst through her chest. She stayed frozen to the spot, as terrified as a deer caught in the oncoming headlights of a big Mack truck.

  Then the snoring resumed. Slowly she turned to appraise the man who had nearly destroyed her life. His mouth was open, his hand hanging limply over the side of the bed. Turning, she sprinted through the door and raced down the stairs to the study, Zahara’s promise echoing in her head.

  Chapter 15

  Mia’s hands shook as she opened Ellis’ laptop and turned it on. “Please don’t have a password, please don’t have a password,” she muttered while she waited for it to boot up. Even if the laptop was password protected, Mia was pretty good with computers and reasonably sure she’d be able to get around it, but she didn’t want to have to take the time. Who knew when he might wake and find her missing?

  The thought made her insides turn to water and she gave a small yelp of anguish. Stop it, she ordered herself sternly. Focus on the task at hand. Get on the computer. Get into your email. Send out the alarm.

  She held her breath as the computer came to life. No password, no password, no password. The desktop background picture appeared on the screen. It was a photograph of a woman bound from head to toe in rope and hanging suspended by one ankle from a tree, her long, black hair streaming down.

  As the computer continued to load, Mia stopped breathing altogether—this would be the moment she would be asked to enter a password.

  Instead, various icons and shortcuts appeared over the background picture. Mia had to stifle her urge to whoop with joy. Pushing back Ellis’ desk chair, she perched on its edge and held her fingers over the keys. She typed in gmail.com, ready to enter her user name and password, thrilled to realize she still remembered both. The sign-on page opened with the user ID of Master E filled in, the password field auto-filled with black dots. Mia knew all she had to do was hit enter and she would be in his email account.

  As tempting as it was, she didn’t dare take the time. Instead, she logged out of his account and typed in her own information. Ignoring the few unread messages in her account, she hit the compose button.

  To: princekamau@dsisland.com

  From: MiaRoberts845@gmail.com

  I don’t have a lot of time to type this. He might wake up at any second. I am in terrible danger. Zahara said you would come to me if I reached out my hand. I am reaching now. Ellis Hughes is insane. He took me against my will and brainwashed me. You started the process of reawakening my mind, and I remember now who I am. I am not M. I am Mia Roberts and I need your help. He means to entrap and abduct another girl. He keeps me locked in his house. Jira said I could stay with you. If that is still possible, please come or send someone for me.

  She had typed the words so quickly she wasn’t even sure what she’d written, but it would have to do for now. She added Ellis’ street address, praying her memory served her correctly, and hit send.

  Now to find a phone and call 911! She looked frantically around the study, though she already knew there were no landlines in evidence in the house. The only phone she knew of was the one still in Ellis’ pocket. Did she dare…?

  No. She did not.

  She began to pull open the drawers of the desk, not even sure what she was looking for. She pulled open the center drawer. It contained only pens, sticky notes and other office supplies, along with some loose change and a few random keys. She opened the drawers along the right side of the desk, one after the other, but all she could see were files and more files. The bottom drawer was locked. She tugged at it in frustration and then remembered the keys in the center drawer.

  Might one of them fit? Unlikely. Why lock a drawer but leave the key? Still, it was worth a shot. She jerked open the center drawer again and pulled out a pair of what definitely looked like desk drawer keys. Her hands still shaking, she finally managed to get the key into the small lock. To her shock and delight, it turned.

  She yanked open the drawer. Inside was a bottle of some expensive looking scotch. Peering more closely, she didn’t see anything else. Why bother to lock up his liquor? Though she knew she needed to find a phone and then get the hell out of that house, something made her stick her hand deeper into the drawer. She touched something cold and hard—something made of metal. As her fingers closed around it, Mia realized what she was holding.

  With a gasp, she withdrew a small black handgun, from the looks of it, a Colt semi-automatic, the slide locked in an open position to reveal the empty chamber within. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she whispered as she reached again into the drawer, this time closing her hand around a box of ammunition.

  While Mia had never especially liked handling guns, her father, who loved to hunt, had owned an impressive collection of firearms, and used to drag a grumbling teenaged Mia to the target range on Saturday mornings. “It’s important you know how to load and shoot a gun, Mia,” he would tell her. “You just never know in this world.”

  Now she offered a silent prayer of thanks to her dad as she picked up the magazine, thrilled to see it was already loaded with bullets. Hoping she remembered her lessons, she held the gun in her right hand and slid the magazine firmly into position, waiting for the click to tell her it was locked.

  Standing, Mia released the safety. Adrenaline coursing through her body, she pulled the slide back and let it snap into place, allowing the bullets to enter the chamber. Armed, she could take what she wanted. She could get Ellis’ phone and call the police.

  She sprinted across the room and out the door of the study as if she were being pursued. She wanted to race up the stairs, taking them in leaps, two and three at a time, but the hard fact was she was too weak to do much more than drag herself upward, one hand clenched on the banister for support, the other clutching the loaded gun, which suddenly felt too heavy in her hand.

  She moved on leaden legs toward Ellis’ bedroom, gripping the gun in both hands, one finger on the trigger. Her heart was thumping as she entered the room. A wave of dizziness moved through her. She stood, naked and swaying just inside the door. Ellis lay in a drunken heap on his bed, his handsome face slack, a soft snore issuing from his parted lips.

  Mia saw someone in the corner of her eye. She whirled toward the intruder, the gun burning in her hands. She realized with chagrined relief she had only caught a glimpse of herself in the tall mirror Ellis kept in the corner of the room. Though she didn’t want to look again, some perverse need drew her eyes back to the mirror.

  The person who stood before her didn’t match the image she’d had of herself for so long, before Ellis had stolen her life. Gone was the plump girl with long shiny hair and pretty blue eyes. In her place stood a too-thin waif of a thing, her haunted eyes overlarge for her face beneath the shaven head. Her pale skin was mottled and marked by welts and bruises. She looked, she realized with horror, like a concentrate camp victim.

  “No,” she whispered fiercely. “A concentration camp survivor.”

  All she had to do was get the phone, which she could see bulging in the pocket of Ellis’ shorts. She would call 911 and then… A moment of uncertainty hit her as she envisioned how the scenario would unfold.

  Police cars racing toward the house, sirens blaring. Hard fists banging on the front door and shouts of “Open up! Police!” She would have to get down there and let them in. But she didn’t dare leave Ellis alone. So they would have to break down the door. She could
almost hear the crunch of wood and the sound of heavy boots as they burst inside. They would find her still rooted to the spot, naked and trembling, her gun aimed shakily at a drunk asleep on the bed.

  They would stare at her in horrified disbelief. “What the hell?” they would exclaim to each other, their eyes registering both the pity and disgust they would feel at the sight of her. They would demand to know what had happened and what was going on. She would be forced to tell them what Ellis had done to her.

  She would have to spend hours, even days, as they interviewed her, examined her, prodded her, humiliated her… She had read enough crime novels and newspaper accounts to know assault and rape victims were often dragged through the mud right along with their aggressors. She would be put on trial alongside Ellis in the court of public opinion as people wondered just what part she’d played in the sick BDSM games of a pair of lovers gone sour.

  There was no telling how long the process would drag out, preventing her from leaving the country for months or even years. Ellis, of course, would get the best defense attorneys money could buy. He would find a way to turn this all on her, or at the very least to make her complicit. After all she’d endured at his hands, she would be further humiliated and shamed before the world. The thought was unbearable.

  As quickly as this hideous scenario unfolded, Mia gave it a mental kick, sending it tumbling away. She had endured enough humiliation and shame to last a lifetime. To last ten lifetimes.

  She had a gun in her hands.

  And all at once, she had a plan.

  Why involve the police? Why give herself and Ellis over to the slow, grinding gears of a huge, disinterested legal machine, and have no control or influence over the eventual outcome?