Chapter Seven
I dread going into the office, but for a different reason now. Before, it was all that work piling up on my desk that I really didn’t want to do. Now it’s the perfect order, the normalcy of routine and everything in its place. I feel as if I’ve time-traveled back to the past when the meticulous Benjamin Hunter sparked my discontent, just as he is doing now.
I arrive on time, because he’d probably preach at me if I didn’t. I don’t want lectures. I just want to work now… to do my work, what I love. That’s all; that’s my tonic, my balm, what’s sure to soothe me.
Sure enough, Benjamin’s here before me with the lights on and a spirit of order emerging from where once there was chaos under my solitary reign.
“Did you have a good weekend?” he asks. He’s standing at my door looking like any normal man without a kink in his entire soul. That’s the problem, he so good at putting on a show.
“I did.”
“Do anything special?”
“No. I sat home and ate bonbons,” I said. He catches the sarcasm and wonders why I scoff at him. “You know, we don’t have to be gracious to each other,” I say.
“But why not be gracious?”
I stare at the ceiling and bite my lip, while giving off a big, disgruntled sigh. Then my eyes go back to him. “Because I’m still not happy with your being here, and I’d rather not lie. How’s that?”
He nods. “Okay. We’ll just agree to work without incident. For the good of the company. Being civil shouldn’t be a problem. How’s that?”
“That works for me. Now if you don’t mind, I need the door closed and a little privacy so I can think about this new catalog. It’s long overdue.”
“Sure.” He shrugs. Once the door is closed, I’m all alone exactly as I want to be.
Things go well at first, at least until after lunch. But then again, I hardly moved from my office. Benjamin did have a few questions for me, but he asked them politely, without judgment and respectfully left me to myself.
After lunch, it’s time for the first business meeting and everything changes. I can tell he’s trying to be diplomatic about my failed efforts at running Textile Trading, but there’s too much of something in his voice. It’s not sarcasm… maybe triumph, maybe it’s just the condescending tone—like he’s really trying to be patient with my stupidity. So what if I filed things creatively? That’s the way I live!
“I know exactly where everything is, Benjamin.”
“But no one else would know.”
“And why did that matter, huh? At least until you got here.”
“The point is, we have to get the filing in order. I’m having Sally start on that tomorrow. I can’t quite understand why she didn’t do it in the first place.”
“I’m sure in the first place, there are a lot of things that she should have done because I messed them up so absurdly. But the point is, now, it’s your job to clean it up. So quit trying to make me feel stupid. I’ll only get pissed.” I rise from my seat, trying to hold back the rising anger—I really don’t want to be angry. “I have work to do.” I head for the door.
“Oh, no. Don’t go leaving now,” he barks at me. It’s enough to make me turn around.
“And why not? If all you want to do is deride me, I’m not going to stand here and take it. Run the business any way you damn please. You did it before. I’m sure you’ll do it again just fine.”
“I see. So we are picking up where we left off, eh?”
I have my back to him again, and this makes me whirl around. “NO, I’M NOT!”
“Then don’t tempt me like this.”
“Tempt you? How would that be?”
“I have no qualms about blistering your sorry behind if you give me cause, Dana. I think I made that clear on Friday.”
I could be a fool and say something predictable like, you wouldn’t dare. Instead, I decide to just glare at him and hope he doesn’t read my body’s fierce desire, which is… because I’m such a friggin’ slut for it… to be over his lap again, pinned by his arm, subject to his open palm, just like it was before. With that single image a vile spasm of desire shoots through my belly. Maybe I should just offer myself to him and get it over with. It’s going to happen; isn’t it? Why would he threaten me if it weren’t on his mind too?
The phone rings in my office at 3:30 pm.
“This is Dana.”
“I hope your schedule is clear tonight.” It’s Locksley.
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve arranged a few things.”
“What kind of things?”
“What do you mean, what kind of things?” His voice rings sharply in my ear.
It doesn’t occur to me until now that my abrupt replies are way out of line in Locksley’s world.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy.”
“You usually are. But you have your work in order?”
“Yes, of course. Perfect order.”
“Good. Then you’ll be fine to meet me at 9:00 tonight.” I feel a change in his mood as he thinks about what he’s planned. His voice drops with the irritation fading. “I want you fresh and sweet and surrendering, Dana. What you do best. Trust me, you’ll be knocking down the walls before the night is over.”
Knocking down the walls before the night’s over. I like the way that sounds. There’s something smooth and seductive in his voice. What made me love him to begin with was his easy manner of domination. He suggests, he assumes, he takes charge with so little effort—that is when he’s really on his game. And he is today.
Yes, dammit. I need to be taken back to my master’s world and worked hard until I scream and scream and hurt and knock down the walls…
I’m in much better spirits after the phone call. I even have Benjamin wondering what the hell happened to take the edge off.
***
“So where are we going?” I ask my master once we’re in his car and driving off.
“You remember the couple I presented you to a few days ago?” Locksley asks.
“How could I forget? The man with the blade.” A quiver of fearful excitement runs up my spine.
He smiles. “They have a boat at the yacht club, we’ll be meeting them there.”
“At the club or the yacht?”
“On the boat. We’re going for a late night cruise.”
***
I step gingerly to the swaying deck of the yacht with Locksley holding my hand to steady me against the unfamiliar rocking motion. The boat is most impressive; must be at least thirty feet long, maybe more.
I’m in full submissive gear tonight, the collar, the cuffs, even the ankle restraints were all securely locked in place by the time I exited my master’s car. I feel like both a princess and a slut, and that has always been a potent turn-on in my sex life. The idea that I could be seen by someone gives me a peculiar thrill—although viewing the near vicinity, it looks as though we’re alone.
I’ve told my master often that it’s not my favorite sexual sport to be given away to others, but something about tonight and the prospects ahead makes me want this scene. Maybe this is what I need to forget about Benjamin.
Locksley has my hands bound behind my back as soon as I catch my balance on the gently swaying deck. An honest fear rises up—what if the boat capsized now, could I survive? I certainly couldn’t swim like this. But these are not choppy seas and the night is calm, and when he pushes me into the main cabin, I feel a little safer, more protected.
The world about me suddenly spins. A blindfold slips over my eyes. This one is so effective that I can’t see even a streak of light around the edges.
I’m mad. Dammit. I wanted to see this place, get used to my surroundings; get my bearings; understand the mood. I test the environment, listening to the sounds around me. Raucous laughter, loud talking. Someone puts the rim of a glass against my lips and tips the liquid into my mouth. It’s cold and tangy and tasty. I sense that these people are all far beyond me in their fant
asy. I’m afraid I won’t catch up.
A little panic. The boat rolls. I lose my balance and stumble back, only to have my body lifted by unseen arms… it could be Locksley’s or his wicked friend’s. I’m feeling dizzy. Have I been drugged?
When my mind clears, there’s still the inky cloud of darkness surrounding me. But I’m naked now, bound with heavy chains to an upright metal rack. I know this only by the feel of it, the coldness, the smoothness of the metal and my inability to move. I can barely twitch, my waist, my arms and legs, even my head feels soldered to this unseen support.
While it would appear I am face forward against this device, I know it’s not a typical St. Andrews cross, as there are strategically placed openings that expose my breasts, my belly and my cunt below. I’m effectively bound and still available in all the ways that matter to a sexual sadist.
I feel a gnawing, pinching, scraping sensation in my labia, and I realize that tender flesh is being stretched out and pulled down hard. Suddenly a hot pain rifles like gunshot through my body. I want to scream, but I’ve been gagged with a soggy wad of cloth and I can only offer up a muffled grunt.
“Fishhooks,” a man’s voice whispers in my ear to torment me.
Before I can react to this horrifying news, another shooting pain rips though the second pussy lip and dizziness comes over me again. I nearly faint, until I catch the strong scent of smelling salts held closely to my nose. Obviously, they want me fully cognizant for this scene.
I suddenly see the picture vividly in my mind of fishhooks thread through my plump sex lips and the flesh distended luridly by the dangling weights.
“You think she’ll take the pain?” the stranger man says.
“Of course, my slave will take the pain. Won’t you, love?” Locksley strokes my back and I imagine his surly, seductive smile behind those words. He leans in and kisses my lips, deformed as they are with the gag between them. Obviously, I can’t kiss back.
Every now and then the boat rocks as some rolling wave heaves and rises on the tide, and the weights dangling from my crotch sway with the gentle movement. They become heavier with every subtle sway, offering little chance that I can gracefully endure this torture. If I could only tell them how much I hurt, but I can’t even cry so they can see. I don’t dare move a muscle, lest I create more gnawing persecution to my tortured labia.
Unseen fingers play with my clit, giving rise to a well-remembered sweetness that mixes with the pain and terror. My poor insubstantial clit is too small for something as mean as a fishhook, I tell myself—if I could only tell them, since the fact is obviously not apparent to them. A brutal clamp suddenly covers the bud of my clitoris, cutting deeply, and I suffer more. I scream beyond the gag, but to no avail.
OH DAMN, PLEASE, PLEASE. STOP THIS NOW! My silent cry goes out; I’m sure it lifts right from my soul. But the sadists hear nothing of my woe and the savage catastrophe taking place between my legs.
“You’ll do this, Dana.” My master’s loving voice interjects this thought—perhaps he does know how much I hurt. His hand attempts to soothe me with its gentle touch, but that is such a lame act when my whole being begs for an end to the pain. “Let it go,” he says, in a lewd seductive tone, “Let go the pain. Let it take you, my sweet slave, let it go.” He goes on and on and on, inspiring me to try my best.
But I don’t know what all this means; it’s just words, stupid, silly, pointless words. Even the tender tone of his deep voice does nothing to mend the tearing breach that rips pain through my every nerve.
“Let it go, Dana. Let it have you now,” he continues on, as he soothingly strokes my bottom.
There’s no sudden change, no welcome relief. Nothing new or unusual happens. The fishhooks dangle there, the weights remain and so does the awful clamp that pains my clit until all I want to do is scream. But then, as if their evil plot is finally winning out, the horror of this agony slowly takes a very different turn. I think my flesh is going numb and yet I feel a throbbing down below that will not stop. It mimics the gentle rocking of the boat. It sends me elsewhere. My mind is reeling. I’m dizzy yet again—although there are no smelling salts this time.
What was so fierce with pain, so demanding of my attention has diminished.
Even when the first strike of a flogger hits my back and my body jerks uncontrollably, I’m not shocked with pain. It’s something more. I’m rising above, letting go just as my master urged, finding everything I’d want that brings me pleasure finally taking over and my desperation ends.
I must in some small way communicate this fact to Locksley.
“That’s it, Dana,” he encourages the good feeling. “Let go, let the cum flow. Show us how much you love your suffering. Show us. It’s time for you to cum.”
I’m trembling so … everything in me is weak … I have no heartbeat, no mind … no tears, no cries on my silent lips… it’s all inside me, somewhere down below, perhaps. My nerves are on overload and I can do nothing but wilt. I don’t know whether I dive into the sensation or rise above it…my mind disconnects and I’m gone.
I must have fainted, because when I awaken, there is no pain, no weights, no clamp, no fishhooks. I can move my arms, though not freely because my hands are still bound. But they are bound in front of me now. I’m gagged and blindfolded, lying on a bed somewhere inside the boat. The gentle rocking continues like the rocking motions of a baby’s cradle. There are voices, in another room perhaps, distant but still distinguishable; the voice of the man and his wife, Chiani, and Locksley’s voice.
“You say you have two more?” I hear the man speak.
“Yes, two in training. This one came to me virtually trained.”
“Will the others be ready for this sort of thing? I’d be anxious to have them for a night.”
“No, not soon,” my master answers. “And one not at all, I’m afraid. She’s not much of a pain slut.”
“Too bad your Diana isn’t interested in such things. She would be beautiful strung up like Dana was tonight.”
Locksley chuckles. “Wives are for one thing and slaves quite another.”
“Unless you have a wife like Chiani.”
“So you torture your bride?”
“Of course she bends to my will,” he replies.
“But you still prefer a submissive less close to your heart,” my master notes.
“Exactly, Master Locksley. This one of yours has a special quality, don’t you think? There are many things I can do to his pain-slave.”
“She’s a woman who needs it hard. I almost thought we lost her tonight, but then, she did come around rather nicely?”
My mind’s works frantically to understand what my ears strain to hear. I burn with shame and betrayal, and my head’s pounding so hard that I can’t hear them anymore. No! I don’t want to know anymore. I’m scared. I’m hurt and hot and feeling feverish with rage. I struggle uselessly, then finally grunt and groan for all I’m worth, banging my bound wrists against the hard edge of the bed.
“What’s the matter? You’re fine, just fine.” Locksley is suddenly at my side, gently caressing my arm. All I want to do is shake him off and spit at his face—if I only could. The gag hurts. My mouth strains to talk around it but nothing comes out that means anything. I still can’t see for the damn blindfold. Oh, God, get me out of here!
After my struggling fails to win my freedom, I finally give up, and am left as I am until Locksley is ready to untie me and we leave. I’m calmer now, reasonably rational—at least sane enough not to do something stupid on the boat. Though as I dress, I think he can sense my anger simmering beneath my calm. Still, he doesn’t mention it. In the spirit of never airing dirty laundry in public, I find myself waiting with unexpected patience to blurt out my scathing report to the man I now hate. But as soon as we hit dry land and are far enough from the boat so the couple inside can not hear me, the violence in me explodes.
“You lying, fucking asshole!” I practically scream. Well, maybe the boat peo
ple can hear me, but I really don’t care.
“What!”
Locksley stops walking, turns and stares at me angrily.
“You heard me,” I seethe. “You’re a lying, conniving cheat. A wife? Two other subs? When was I going to get the truth about that?”
“It’s your business to know what I tell you. Nothing more,” he says, defensively—he makes me want to wretch. He sees that I’m not backing down. “What did you think I did when I’m not with you, play the celibate monk?” He laughs. “I like women, submissive women, all kinds. You fit a certain style, but you’re certainly not enough to satisfy me 24/7. You’re a decent sub, an even better slut at times…”
My ears burn; I’m about to throw up.
“You fucking ass!” I rage, before he can finish. He just stares, silent now, as if he couldn’t be bothered, until I finally order him like the Domme bitch from hell—this is so unlike me, “Take me home, you traitorous bastard!”
Never have I felt such rage. But never have I been lied to with such remarkable diligence.
My world is flat. Deflated like a punctured tire. He lied. He fucking lied. He talked about honesty, genuine feelings, even love, and what is he but just another guy with a good bullshit line to reel in some naïve, stupid, silly girl sub like me. Maybe the truth was all there from the start. Was that possible? Clues to the lies, a trail of erratic behaviors I should have followed? But of course I didn’t. I wasn’t looking for clues; I wanted to trust the man. I was so smitten, even when I knew he wasn’t the right man for me, I was so smitten by the promise of a master that I let myself fall for a married man with a harem of unsuspecting submissives. I wonder if they know about me.
You’d think someone would have told me. A mutual friend? But did we have any mutual friends? I think again; they were his friends, not mine.
***
Isn’t it weird? I see Ally from the local dungeon when I’m getting my coffee at Starbucks.
Ally was there the night I met Locksley and he so easily wooed me into his life. She’s a little Goth in looks, all black all the time, dark polish, dark lipstick, more piercings than I think look attractive, but she’s really pretty sweet behind all the veneer.
A Master For A Desperate Slave Page 8