Submissive

by Anya Howard

  For a moment Gillian thought this was all only a nightmare, that at any moment she’d awaken in her own humble bed in her campus room. But the boy’s sober mien was all too real.

  “A genie,” she said, her voice tittering without humor. “You mean like a genie in a bottle?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head and stared at her tightly folded legs beneath the water’s surface. How hard they were shaking!

  “So, why is he not in a bottle—or under obligation to some enchanted object?”

  “Because he was set free, Gillian. And having been set free after servitude to mortals, his power is on a par with that of the archangels.”

  The image of the ethereal being glinted in Gillian’s brain. It was fleeting, but it seemed so familiar, a titanic winged figure of ravishing masculine beauty. Nothing like what she surmised this Dhjinn E’noch surely looked like…and she wondered if perhaps the Goth queen had been conjured from her fantasies as well.

  “He kidnapped me, then.”

  The youth’s brow creased, but his voice held no certainty. “I would imagine not, as kidnapping is generally viewed in your mortal culture. You must remember,” he continued in a warning voice, “that world, which was mine at one time, too, does not hold the last word on ethics, Gillian. Earth is a battleground of religious conflict, of temporal greed, of psychological immaturity. I consider myself fortunate to have been taken from it, and you should think yourself the same.”

  “Perhaps, if I’d been asked,” she said. Again she thought of the Goth queen, and she felt very confused. “He came to me through that woman? The woman in the parking lot?”

  The youth shrugged. “I cannot say where he found you. You remember a woman when he claimed you?”

  Gillian nodded, but she was uncertain.

  “It is probably a dream you had, a dream during the flight. I would not worry about it. You are here, and that’s all that you should be concerned with. And pleasing your lord, of course.”

  These last words struck Gillian as condescending, and she said coolly, “Oh? What will he do if I spurn his obsessive desires? Am I safe?”

  Abraham glanced toward the entrance, then knelt in the water. “I think our king realizes now that mortal women are fragile creatures compared to his fortitude.” A grave shadow crossed his face, and he glanced away a moment until it was gone.

  “But for those who have not accepted our king as their lord and husband, there awaits the crystal sepulcher,” he sighed. “I would not wish to see you entombed there, Gillian.”

  “Entombed?” The word hung on Gillian’s lips, and a horrible half-vision tried to form in her mind.

  Again, Abraham peered toward the entrance, and now his voice was hardly more than a whisper, “All he seeks is love, Gillian. And it is not so hard to love those who adore you, is it? Besides, you will never age while you are here. If you accept him, you’ll never lose your beauty, nor know the sorrows of mortal life. I am not part of the harem, but I have accepted my state, and thrive and am happy. You can know this, and more, I am certain, by just giving in to the simple restraints of his passion.”

  This is madness, Gillian thought desperately. But the sincerity that shone in Abraham’s eyes was not.

  As he lowered and kissed her brow, a sudden longing to see the correctional officer overcame her. The longing was imbued with more emotions than the old regret that she had been too shy to get to know him. Emotions that defied logic.

  She stared at Abraham, her eyes filled with bereft tears. Rashly, she envisioned herself forgetting her misery in his touch. How sweetly sensual he was, and his gentleness belied his authority over her. Knowing that compelled her to her knees, and she reached for his crotch. He made a surprised murmur when she touched his cock through the wet fabric. Yet he neither scolded her nor moved away. She caressed him so that the length of his cock stiffened under her touch. Slowly, her fingers drew down the length of his shaft and she dandled his tightened scrotum over her fingertips.

  Abraham looked nervously at the entranceway. “You should not,” he whispered, “we could get caught.”

  She stroked him and licked his balls. With a low moan he bent at the knees and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her breasts and licked her nipples until they were hard pink stones. His hands clenched her buttocks, massaged them while his cock pressed against her dripping fount. Gillian explored his body with greedy hands. What a tasty contradiction he was, all supple skin and firm muscles. He kissed her mouth, and her wet body ignited with yearning.

  But it was not Abraham she wanted. And she could not deny this even as her pelvis rocked hungrily against him and the heated moisture inside her trickled over her thighs.

  “Oh, pretty one,” he whispered finally. He drew her hands gently to her sides, and nuzzled her throat with a rueful sigh. “Our king has chosen well, but I cannot put you in jeopardy because of my own weakness.”

  He urged her to kneel again in the water, and assured her that their king had no equal in virility and soon would pacify the desires that tormented her.

  She wondered if she should hope this was true and ached yet to forget her fright in his arms. This alien, cavernous place, with the sensual ambience that permeated the dry, hot air only added frustration to her fear. It seemed she’d been brought here to serve in some sexual capacity…so why was it forbidden to indulge those fantasies? Especially when they had taken away her chance of ever seeing Bruce again?

  Whatever the answer, she didn’t want to make trouble for Abraham, especially when he had been so kind.

  She let him wade back to the wall without following. Into the soothing water she sank to her shoulders, and turned her back to him slowly, hoping to obtain a little privacy for her thoughts, at least. She looked up at the fathomless maw that stretched above them, and gave in to the silent tears of desolation and intimate frustrations. They ran down her cheeks and spilled into the water, making tiny ripples on the glassy surface.

  When later Abraham escorted her back to the chamber filled with women, Martine directed her toward a chair near the back of the chamber. Upon it was laid out an outfit like the ones the other harem girls wore. Gillian felt an objection rise to her lips. But there was nobody here to rally to her cause, and she thought again of that place Martine had alluded to: the Disciplinary. A new dread welled up inside her, which vanquished the calm imparted by the hot bath.

  “We took your measurements while you slept in the welcome portal,” she heard Martine say matter-of-factly.

  The pair of gauzy sleeves that had been laid out were made of a shimmering indigo fabric, and completed with a pair of matching thigh-cinching pantaloons. There was a golden breastplate with the partial cups to elevate her breasts. Gillian shivered as Martine snapped the little clasp together at her back. The metal contained her breasts very snugly, so that her nipples bulged over the rims. Gillian was grateful that the Overseeress didn’t seem to notice the deep flush on her face. And onto her nipples Martine attached golden loops. Golden coins dusted with diamond powder dangled from the loops, and they jingled as Martine had her sit down and handed her a pair of black satin slippers with curled toes.

  Abraham was standing close by. When Gillian was dressed, he brought a comb to Martine and a wide band of indigo cloth. With deep, soothing strokes, Martine swept the teeth of the comb through Gillian’s hair. She made a ponytail on the crown of Gillian’s head, and this she cinched in place with the band.

  Now Martine told her to rise from the chair and to turn about. Gillian complied, very aware of how the adorning pantaloons left her sex visible and that her nipples jutted provocatively in their golden breast cups. These things seemed to draw focus to her sexuality, and the pinch of the loops only intensified the feeling. She felt more exposed and captive than when she had been naked.

  At least the other girls were paying no attention. They were involved in their own private conversations. Except for Jeya, Gillian noticed. The girl stood by herself to a sideline of the
room. Her gaze was transfixed on Abraham; her expression at once animated and tormented. If Abraham noticed her gaze, he did not acknowledge it as he stood beside Martine and watched while she lifted Gillian’s ponytail and released the strands slowly so that they cascaded over her back and tickled her skin.

  “I think our king will be pleased,” Martine commented. “What say you, Abraham?”

  It did seem to Gillian that his attention was elsewhere. Nonetheless, he smiled and murmured in agreement.

  Martine told Gillian that she might sit where she was and relax for a while. The overseeress walked away with Abraham then, and they took a seat together on a plain wooden bench far from the others. Despite the fact she did not like the high-handed Martine, Gillian felt more uncomfortable than ever sitting alone. The atmosphere of the room was one of patient expectancy, and she wondered what exactly everyone was waiting for.

  As her tension increased, ideas of escape raced through her mind. She scrutinized the walls for a possible route out. But the door was firmly shut, and the only other passageway visible was the one to the bathing pool.

  Slowly, she realized she was being watched by the other members of the harem. There was a variety of emotions in the faces of these women; some looked at her as one would gape at some oddity, while the faces of others were twisted with smirks. A few offered friendly smiles. And there were two or three among them who ogled her with blatant lust. Gillian was shocked, but heard an unexplainable inner voice scold that such shock was wrong. When she turned her face away, her eyes met an even more disquieting sight.

  A throng of the harem girls had risen from the floor where she had previously thought they were simply clustered in a circle to talk privately. But as they scampered off into the crowd, Gillian saw the couch they had surrounded. Another girl was lying there on her stomach, and her mouth was filled with a large silver ball that was tethered by a leather band behind her head. The girl’s hands had been bound at the small of her back with a thick braid of black. Her ankles were bound together similarly. Her eyes were reddened, and her brow knit with chagrin. Gillian noticed, too, how her backside glowed scarlet as if it had been punished very recently.

  Gillian’s breath faltered, and as she stared at the girl, she felt a little quickening between her thighs. It was embarrassing enough to make her look away again—but she couldn’t stop thinking about the bound girl and especially the telltale shade of her buttocks.

  A loud clap got her attention, and raising her eyes, she saw that the door had been opened and another male youth with long fair hair stood at the threshold. Martine came up to him and as they spoke the frivolity of the harem was silenced. Martine turned and gestured to three of the girls, who immediately flocked to the door. Then she looked at Gillian and waved for her to come forward.

  Gillian tried to rise from the chair, but her legs seemed strangely heavy. She was almost relieved when she heard Abraham’s voice next to her ear, “It is all right, Gillian. You’re going to be introduced.”

  He helped her rise and she plodded to where the others awaited in line. Martine squared her shoulders.

  “Stand straight,” she fussed. “You are going to be introduced to the brothers and freed kin of our king. So stop looking so glum. This is an honor for any new girl.”

  As Gillian wondered what these freed kin were, the girl standing in front of her made a disgruntled sound. At once Martine’s palm slapped her buttocks smartly. The girl jumped with a startled yelp.

  “Your master is devoted to you, Gigi. Why do you have to be so snide to Gillian?”

  “I apologize,” Gigi murmured. She bowed her head humbly, but Gillian thought her words sounded grudging.

  “Very well. Gillian, you must be on your best behavior. Any impertinence will be reported back to me.”

  Gillian refused to comment. She was still determined to find a way out of the cavern. But as the youth led the four out into the corridor, she could not shake the smoldering image of the girl on the couch. It had kindled some familiar, warm, and delicious excitement in her that made her cheeks flush now as brightly as the girl’s behind.

  The chosen harem girls were led to a room with walls of real cream plaster and dark wood molding and paneled ceiling. Hotter and drier than anyplace else Gillian had been so far in the cavern prison, there was, strangely, no hearth fire, nothing that indicated where the heat manifested. But this did not make her as curious as the men who were sitting around the great round, stone table.

  They were very tall, every one, with long arms and powerfully muscular legs. Their hair—of various shades of silver and burnt orange—was long and flowing. Each was garbed in an outfit that reminded Gillian of the fashion worn by gentlemen during the Romantic era. Their features were extraordinary. Some looked serpent-like with mottled or yellowish scaly skin and down-pressed noses. Others looked like gargoyles to Gillian, with skin of slate gray and strange features that could have been chiseled straight out of stone. Most all of these titanic beings were attractive in an unworldly way, but there wasn’t any doubt that they were hardly human.

  They were playing a game with slivers of geodes painted with pictures in luminous colors. At the feet of one player knelt another young woman. She was dressed in a leather thong and collar, and seemed to be watching with much interest as the player pored over his cards. Gillian saw his hand dip down and pat her hair like a man would a loyal pet.

  “Ah, you are on time for once, Attendant,” commented one of the players. He regarded one of the harem girls and his hard brow seemed to soften.

  “Come here, Belinda,” he said, and the girl hastened to him, giving a little squeal as he embraced her.

  The other two went to stand beside two of the other gargoylemen, while their attendant led Gillian to a single unoccupied chair.

  “Who is this morsel, girly-boy?” demanded one of the players. Seeing how the face of the attendant blanched, she felt an immediate dislike for the speaker.

  The youth managed a breezy smile. “Our king’s new acquisition, my lord.”

  Then he bade Gillian to kneel beside the chair. She was appalled. Was she some animal to kneel anywhere—especially in a room full of men who were not men?

  But the attendant must have sensed her unwillingness and gave her a look that warned that this wasn’t the time or place to resist. With a heavy sigh she relented and took her place on the floor. The other harem girls were allowed to stand or were invited to sit on the lap of this or that player, and it was obvious that they were well acquainted with the men, who caressed them frankly.

  The youthful attendant quietly exited the room. As the door shut softly on its stone hinges, Gillian’s chest swelled with terror. Her place on the floor seemed suddenly a welcome refuge from the scrutiny of the inhuman males. She hugged the leg of the huge chair and turned her face away from the table, staring at the wall behind, hoping they had forgotten her entirely while they talked and played their game.

  Then she heard one of them speak, “Did you know he had taken a new one?”

  “He doesn’t confide in me these days,” replied another. “He is preoccupied much of the time.”

  A third snorted thickly. “And with what? That Queen Marianne again—and King Marcus’s ridiculous threats?”

  “How would I know?” retorted the second speaker. “But it is not my concern, nor yours, brother.”

  “It is the concern of us all,” said another balefully. “Yet, I suspect he might just keep the pretty queen for himself. That would show Marcus!”

  There was a deep grunt from one. “Ah, but this is not the time, my brothers…our ladies are here. And I am interested in how long this new little pet will last him.”

  “You mean survive him?” spoke another in an undertone.

  The first speaker told him to hush, but an icy sweat already covered Gillian.

  Almost to her relief she heard one of them scold the girl at his side, “You are not wearing the jewel I gave you?”

  The girl stam
mered, “M-Martine would not let me keep it. She said it is too valuable and I must wait…”

  The creature’s voice grew surly. “The overseeress is trying to overstep her position again. You will inform Martine that next time you are brought to me and I do not see the jewel on your finger, she will answer to me.”

  The girl’s voice was shaky, “Yes, my Master.”

  Then Gillian heard a loud smack and the girl whimpered. A chair was scooted back from the table, and she heard the creature rise from his seat. The girl made a languid little moan and the man stood and led her from the table. Gillian watched furtively as he directed her to a couch in a dark corner of the room. The girl lay down on her back, and her Master raised her knees with her thighs parted. She moaned again, a sound mingled of both timidity and passion. Beneath the idle talk of the others he gave her some order that brought a sultry curve to her lips. And slowly, hesitantly, the girl’s hands crept down into the nest of soft brownish curls between her thighs. To Gillian’s shock, she began to masturbate under her Master’s rapt and approving gaze.

  A sharp, pleasurable twinge shot through Gillian’s belly. With a gasp, she covered her eyes and turned her head to the shelter of the chair. She tried to think of nothing, but the creatures at the table were fondling the harem girls at their arms. The girls’ amorous sighs lilted the air, and the one in the corner began to moan. Then one of the gargoyle creatures remarked that Gillian’s hair was blonder on the mountain than at the valley, and her cheeks blazed. Fervently, she prayed that the attendant would return soon and escort her from the room.

  But more so, she wanted something to take her away from the disturbing sense of normalcy she felt amid all she heard and saw.

  What is wrong with me?

  The next moment one of the beings rose from his seat and came round toward her sheltering chair. Before she knew what to do, he grabbed her up by the arms and raised her to her feet. Her head reeled with panic. With his huge hands, he lifted her by the wrists so that her feet only brushed the floor. As inhuman as he was, his eyes gleamed with earthy lust. She squirmed in his grasp and desperate tears sprang to her eyes. But they fetched no sympathy from the gargoyle-man; he simply lifted her higher, and turning, dangled her before the others.