Submissive

by Anya Howard

  She was not in a room, either, in the proper sense of the word. Rather, it seemed more of a chamber hewn within a cavern. It was as large as a good-sized chapel, with greenish marble walls and ceiling and floor. The air was hot and dry, and as she studied the wall nearest her she saw beads of moisture covering the surface. She got up from the slab and ventured closer, and realized that what she had taken for moisture was in fact tiny gems formed throughout the stone.

  In the center of the chamber stood a pedestal of some ivory-hued stone. Upon this stood an old-fashioned copper lamp. As small as it was, the flame that rose from its spout shone like a diamond under illumination. Its light filled the entire chamber with a weird glow.

  There was no sound to be heard. Even as she stepped closer to the pedestal, the soles of her feet made only the softest echo across the stone floor. As she stood staring at the lamp with its unusual flame, she began to feel frightened.

  “Wake up, Gillian,” she told herself. Reaching down, she pinched the tender flesh on the underside of her left knee. It stung, but even after the second attempt, nothing about the outlandish scene changed.

  She stood and drew a long breath. Folding her arms instinctively about her bare breasts, she turned about slowly to survey the chamber. There was nothing else here besides the slab and pedestal with the lamp, nothing except the glistening walls. Her mind sought for the last conscious thought she’d possessed before going to sleep. She didn’t even know what day it had been when last she’d laid down in bed.

  Her skin tingled as she stuggled for her last recollections.

  She remembered going into work at the steak house and succumbing to an intense desire for a cigarette. And she had been anxiously waiting to see the correctional officer, Bruce, who frequently came in. He had been away for some time and she’d had no idea when or if she’d ever see him again. His absence had touched her deeply, though she’d never spoken about that to anyone. Not seeing him had cast a pall over the delicious fantasies about him that had accompanied her to bed each night.

  Now, it seemed that she had stepped out to the restaurant parking lot to catch that quick smoke. Yet, oddly, she had no desire for one now.

  As her eyes pored over the strange chamber she grew more confident that she’d just been in the parking lot…and she remembered, vaguely, a woman approaching her, the one her coworkers had nicknamed the Goth queen. The woman had made a most incredible offer. For some reason that Gillian couldn’t recall, she’d accepted.

  There were other images in her mind, or the sense of images that should have been easily recalled. Dim but sensuous. As she tried to clarify them in her mind’s eye, a sharp pain struck her temples. There was only one image she could clearly make out from the haze before the pain compelled her to release it…an ethereal being, winged and magnificently virile. This being had somehow prompted Gillian for validation of her acceptance of the Goth queen’s offer.

  But her head ached too much to recall anything else…and besides, she seemed totally alone at the moment, lost within the unfeeling walls of this cavern chamber.

  She heard a soft sound behind her, and looking back, she gasped to see a panel-shaped portion of the wall move slowly inward. Bright light filtered in from beyond and two tall silhouettes stepped upon the threshold. Instinctively, Gillian covered her breasts and sex with her arms, and watched nervously as the pair passed through the fully opened doorway.

  “Oh,” she heard a masculine voice say, “she is already awake.”

  The one who had spoken drew closer. He was a young man, rather good-looking, with brown eyes and black hair falling over his shoulders. He wore a vest and breeches of billowy, gauzy white cloth, and nothing else. His skin was richly tanned. But he was completely bare of facial and body hair, as if he had been shaved.

  He offered Gillian a tender smile as his companion walked up beside him. This one was dressed just the same, and was just as clean-skinned. But his hair was pale flaxen waves that flowed down to his waist. Despite her fear, Gillian couldn’t help but admire their smooth, boyish good looks.

  Their demeanor seemed harmless. Yet all the same, Gillian felt vulnerable before their eyes, and her hands and arms worked all the harder to shield her exposed flesh.

  “How sweet. She tries to hide herself,” the flaxen-haired one mused.

  The brown-eyed one nodded. For a moment he simply gazed at her, and then she heard him snap his fingers at his hip.

  “Come here, Gillian.”

  13

  Gillian frowned, thought again that she was surely dreaming. And ignoring them, she pinched the side of her left breast beneath her hand. It twinged, but nothing changed. Cursing to herself, she closed her eyes and willed herself awake. But when she looked again the young men stood where they had before, with the light cascading over their outlines from beyond the doorway. With a sigh, she tried to believe they could not touch her, not harm her, for she was doubtlessly asleep and they were only figments of her imagination.

  “Go away,” she said, “I have no need of you.”

  They did not vanish, nor did the room around them waver or the door disappear. All that changed was her increasing nervousness. Perspiration dewed her limbs, chilling her skin as it evaporated in the dry air.

  “You must come with us,” the flaxen-haired youth said. “You were brought here to serve in pleasure—you cannot resist now.”

  The words brought back to Gillian’s mind the offer of the Goth queen, or at least whatever dream had inspired it. She inched away from the youths until she collided with the pedestal.

  They bounded forward at once, grabbed her forearms, and pulled her away so quickly she had no time to struggle. They flanked her and each pinned one of her arms behind her back.

  “Stop it,” she hissed, even as the voice in her head cried out clearly that none of this was a dream.

  “You should be more careful,” scolded the flaxen-haired one. “You could have caught your hair afire.”

  The two young men looked at one another, and Gillian heard the brown-eyed one whisper, “Her memory has been damaged.”

  Suddenly, the flaxen youth grasped her right breast, sending a ripple of unexpected sensation through her. He massaged it and stroked her nipple until it was hard, then the other breast. His fingers drifted down her stomach teasingly. When his hand cupped over her nether hair, her thighs clamped, but still he was able to probe his fingers through the curls and touch her clit. Despite Gillian’s reluctance, the small organ roused, and, as he began to strum it between two fingers, it was all Gillian could do to restrain her hips from moving in undignified response to the passion he stirred.

  Gillian felt herself blush from head to toe. It angered her, and the anger pushed her fear aside. With a cry of rage she lifted a leg and brought her heel back into the shin of the flaxen-haired one. He made a shocked sound of his own. She delivered another kick to the brown-eyed one, and raised her foot again to attack the flaxen youth, when he released her and stepped back. As she struggled to resist his companion, the flaxen youth, brought a length of rope out of his vest pocket. Before she knew what was happening, he sprang down and wrapped the rope around her ankles. As soon as Gillian felt it, she tried to kick him away, but his deft hands quickly cinched and tied the rope so that her legs were bound.

  The brown-eyed one now had her wrists. Gillian closed her eyes once more and inhaled deeply. This time she refused to look at them again, though, and instead mentally ordered herself to wake up. She thought of the lamp on her nightstand at the dorm, how close it was to her bed, how easy it was to turn it on and surely throw off this disturbing, seemingly endless dream forever.

  And then she felt herself lifted off her feet. Her eyes flew open just as she was thrown over the shoulder of the brown-eyed man. He turned and marched to the doorway. Through her tumbled hair she could see that the flaxen one followed closely.

  At last she realized that it was all too real. Her heart pounded wildly, and her fists flailed at the back of
the young man who carried her, and her legs beat the air.

  “Put me down! Put me down now!”

  As he exited through the doorway her eyes smarted at the sudden intensity of light. It seemed he carried her down a long, wide stone corridor ablaze with torchlight. Her thick blond hair blinded her as his pace increased, but she could hear the flaxen one attempt to calm her.

  “Ssshhh, it will all be all right. There’s nothing to fear.”

  But Gillian’s panic would not let her quiet down, and as she felt the boy make a sharp turn in the corridor her fists thrashed against him harder than before. She screamed for help, though from where that help might come she had no idea. Her captor ignored her, though she heard him mutter disapprovingly under his breath. Just as she would have scratched the back of his fine legs, he stopped in his tracks. Her face was lifted just as suddenly between the hands of the others. His blue eyes sparkled as he raised a finger to his lips.

  “Hush, dearest,” he whispered. “You are perfectly safe, I promise.”

  Unwillingly, she found comfort in his voice. She heard a rapping upon stone and heard a door open nearby. Again, she was struck with the realization of her nakedness, and thought to beg these young men to cover her with something when her captor proceeded to carry her into another room. She could just imagine others seeing her secret parts exposed and clamped her legs together. But the next moment the youth set her down on the floor. It was a thick carpet her soles touched, and her gaze lifted to behold a great circular room full of women regarding her with a mixture of expressions. Aghast, Gillian gasped and tried to cover herself. But the brown-eyed man captured her wrists and pinned them firmly to the small of her back.

  Gillian felt close to crying. “Stop it!”

  Even as she struggled to wrestle from his grasp and heard the ripple of laughter this elicited from the other women, Gillian was overcome with a dreamy, inexplicable sense that somehow, she might have once felt a keener reaction of shock and outrage at this public captivity.

  At least the flaxen youth now removed the rope from her ankles. He rose to his feet and returned it to his vest pocket, when one of the women approached. She loomed over Gillian. She was a tall blonde dressed in leather pants and boots; her puffy-sleeved black silk blouse had silver trim on the collar and cuffs.

  “Who are you?” Gillian demanded.

  The woman frowned, looking over her head and addressing the young men. “She remembers nothing?”

  One of them must have made some gesture, for she began to shake her head. “Unfortunate when this happens. Ah, well, they all come around eventually.”

  The woman reached out to Gillian’s hair and swept it back from her face. Her light brown eyes seemed to inspect Gillian now from head to toe. Her demeanor was determinedly confident, and when again Gillian demanded to know who she was, the woman met her eyes for only a fleeting moment.

  “She’s very different from his last few, don’t you think? I never expected him to choose one so fair.”

  Gillian heard the two young men murmur in agreement. Agitation flickered in her veins. “Answer my question, damn it!”

  The woman’s lips tightened, but at last she met Gillian’s eyes solidly.

  “My name is Martine. I am the Overseeress of the harem.”

  Gillian blinked, unbelieving. “Harem? What kind of ridiculous game is this? Why have I been brought here? Where is this place?”

  Martine patted her cheek. The smooth pads of her fingers were as hard as porcelain. “Your memory has been temporarily affected by the passage between the elemental worlds. I am sorry that it is sometimes this way. You should be flattered, however, to know that you were selected by our king himself. This brings, of course, greater expectations as to your conduct and harem training than the others. But be assured, I am consistent and not daunted by a girl’s title. And I expect your ready and willing obedience to our rules. The breaking of rules will not be tolerated and insolence can very quickly fetch you a stay in the Disciplinary.”

  The woman’s response and Gillian’s increasing foreboding made her speechless. She regarded the other young women in the room; they were whispering among themselves and eyeing her as if she were a sideshow. But they were almost all as scantily dressed as Gillian—standing or sitting on benches, their arms adorned with sleeves of shimmering gossamer cloth, cinched with gold bands on their upper arms and wrists. They wore pantaloons of the same material. These pantaloons cuffed about their ankles and again about their thighs. These outfits varied in their rich colors, some of them in lavender, others in silver and deep green. They all wore dainty, curled-toed jeweled slippers upon their feet, and gleaming gold bands about their busts. Brassieres of a sort, with half-cup plates in the front that scooped up their cleavage so that their breasts were held firmly forward. Their jutting nipples were clamped with loops of silver or gold and coinlike discs that jingled with their every movement. Most of the young women wore only these revealing garments, with their buttocks and private regions exposed; their pubic nests were oiled and combed into attractive curls. A few others wore chastity belts of finely molded gold. Thongs of what looked like rigid steel mesh were attached to the belts, which plunged tautly down to cup and shield the flesh between their thighs. When one of the girls turned to whisper into the ear of another, Gillian got a good look at her chastity belt. She saw that the thong was sealed so firmly over her nether region that while the girl could easily relieve herself through the mesh, it was impossible for her to pleasure herself.

  Gillian blushed and looked away. Her heart fluttered with a flux of embarrassing emotions. She hated the aloof look on Martine’s face, and she tried again to wrest her arms free of the smooth-chested youths. To her shock, Martine slapped her face. It only stung a little, but the disapproval in the woman’s eyes subdued Gillian’s protest. To her own disgrace she began to cry, which only made her angrier.

  “Take her to the pool here to bathe,” Martine said. The next moment, Gillian’s captor released her wrists and scooped her up in his arms. Her body was grateful, though her anxiety only increased as he carried her across the room. At least the other young women moved aside, and when she heard Martine order them to mind their comportment, she knew a tiny moment’s vindication.

  It was an alcove the young man entered. Small and lit only with candles set about in deep niches of the cavernous walls, the sound of trickling water echoed all about. He lowered Gillian to her feet upon the bank of a shallow, natural pool. The bottom shimmered like beaten brass through the clear water. She could feel the heat of it lifting off the surface, and marveled at the slender rivulets of water that wept down the stone walls cradling the pool. Looking up, she saw that the walls soared into utter darkness. The scene made her giddy, and she started to lose her balance. But the youth’s quick, steadying hands saved her from falling straight into the pool.

  “You are fatigued,” he said softly.

  He held her hand and led her into the pool. The water was very warm, almost hot. He guided her to sit down, and the exquisite liquid immersed her to the tops of her shoulders. Gillian felt at once the tenseness loosening from her muscles.

  She was all too aware of her escort. He waded over to the closest wall, and leaning with his back upon it and his arms folded over his chest, he observed her. Blushing again, Gillian’s eyes lowered. She saw the fabric of his breeches waver with the stirring of the water. His thighs were lean beneath the fabric, and she saw that his cock was slightly erect.

  “Can you bathe yourself?” he asked, “or would you like me to help you?”

  Just then someone else entered the alcove and, embarrassed by his offer, Gillian was relieved to see it was one of the other young women. She carried several folded thick towels, and these she lay upon the bank beside the pool. Gillian noticed the way she looked at the young man. Despite the demure little smile on her heart-shaped lips, Gillian saw the flame of desire in her eyes.

  “Hello, Abraham.”

  “Good eveni
ng, Jeya. How are you?”

  When Gillian dared look, she saw the tenderness in his own eyes for this Jeya.

  Jeya’s smile broadened and her cheeks flushed deeply. “I am well. Martine sent towels.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  She looked at Gillian. “I apologize for the rude welcome of the others,” she whispered, “they can be such boors at times.”

  Gillian did not know what to say. She longed to beg this kind girl to tell her where they were, to explain what happened to her. But she suspected that to ask for such information could make some trouble for the girl.

  “I have to go,” Jeya said. She glanced at Abraham again. Their eyes locked for a deep, timeless moment. Then Jeya turned and departed.

  It was only her and Abraham again.

  “Where am I?” she asked him. “I don’t understand why I’m here…” Gillian heard her voice break under the weight of overwhelming emotions and the solid certainty that somehow this was all a mistake.

  “You are in the keep of our king,” he said. “You truly don’t remember?”

  At the shake of her head, he continued patiently, “He is king of this world, and a powerful—perhaps the most powerful—Dhjinn E’noch. You may know them better as genies, spirits of the element of fire. They are similar to the angels of air, but of a different temperament. And this is his private domain.

  “He evidently laid eyes upon you, for here you have been brought. They are creatures of obsessive desires. Once aroused, their passions are never dispelled. So you will be a member of the harem, and likely, will be groomed to be his suitable love slave. He is not so scattered in his emotions as his brethren, which is why you’ll have few rivals, if any.”