Submissive

by Anya Howard

  Their hungry eyes roamed over her. Gillian’s face scalded with humiliation, and without thinking, she lifted a foot and drove it back so that her heel struck her captor’s thigh. He laughed, and when again she kicked, he was obliged to swivel his hip before she struck him fully in the scrotum.

  “A feisty one!”

  “Bring her here, Ghi,” purred one of his companions. This one scooted his chair away from the table. Gillian let out an agitated squeal, and again kicked back at the captor. But her efforts were useless against his agility.

  “I would enjoy training this one, yes.” His brazen words agitated her deeply. Against her will, she felt her sex ripen. Mortified, she struggled to loosen herself.

  Then to her utter disbelief he carried her around the table to where the other one sat. This one greeted her with a lick of his lips. Gillian’s agitation intensified. When he reached out and touched her leg, she screamed and kicked him squarely in the chest. The impact made a soft thud, and a disapproving frown creased his brow. Gillian cringed with remorse for the stupid move, knowing full well that she was no match for any one of these creatures, let alone half a dozen of them.

  The next moment this one seized her legs. With a leer, he yanked her legs wide apart. She struggled with both legs to break free, but like her wrists, they were well constrained.

  “I could break your legs off, pretty one,” he said softly, “as easily as a child snaps off a butterfly’s wings.”

  His wicked threat halted her struggle. Gillian felt close to fainting with terror; and yet, as she saw him peering at her nether mouth, an undercurrent of excitement passed through her shivering limbs.

  “That’s better,” he said. Leaning forward in his seat, he pressed his stony lips over her tenderest flesh. His skin felt like baked leather against her fount. His tongue flicked over her pubic lips; it was a leathery, snakelike thing that inflamed her against her will. His devilish tongue parted the folds of her labia; Gillian felt her clit stir and a trickle of moisture seep from her trapped sex.

  “You must not,” she panted.

  “Hush,” cautioned Ghi, “or we can gag that little mouth.”

  Tears of humiliation flooded her eyes so that his face was only a misted image. She struggled to restrain her hips as his mouth continued to ravish her, and as his tongue entered her fount, her entire sex convulsed madly. Her nipples hardened within the pinching loop clamps. The soft tinkle of the bangle coins seemed an ornate and mocking song of her helplessness.

  His tongue plunged in and out of her, turning her pussy into a swollen, starving, pulsating orifice. Wantonly, her hips arched toward his cruel face and her clit pulsed wildly. As her head lolled back, she saw Ghi watching with much amusement. Seeing her, he winked. Gillian blushed and closed her eyes. The other continued to lick her clit, and her pussy ached enviously, growing wetter as his tongue teased the aroused organ again and again. Mounting pleasure coursed through her body. Gillian’s hips bucked wildly in the air, and her moans rebounded indecently against the cream walls.

  And then she heard a door open. It seemed a faraway, unimportant sound. But the one who held her legs looked over his shoulder. Her sex throbbed for his tormenting mouth even as she felt the sudden change all around her. He lowered her legs suddenly, so that she swayed on her unsteady legs. If not for Ghi holding her wrists, she would have fallen.

  The other one growled thickly under his breath. Following his eyes, she saw another titanic figure standing at the open door.

  He was as humanly male as these others were only hulking caricatures. Gillian’s entire body shuddered as he stepped in, and when his eyes set upon her, her quickened breath stopped.

  He was the single most beautiful man she had ever seen. With a smooth complexion and fine features, his skin had a subtle, exotic over-sheen of olive. His mane of silvery-blond hair was long and silken and there was a widow’s peak on his high brow. His clothes were fashioned similarly to the others, except his were cut of a more refined fabric and his boots were of dark suede leather. Through his gossamer hunter-green shirt she could see his lean torso and the sinews of his long arms. But it was his deep-set eyes that most keenly defined his looks. Pale and blue as the sky, they regarded her like two hard, brilliant aquamarines beneath his heavy silvery brows.

  Only the hard set of his mouth indicated his displeasure. Gillian heard the gargoyle-man in the corner tell his girl to be quiet, while the others at the table rose from their seats. In two great strides the newcomer was at Gillian’s side. The one who had ravished her stood up immediately and shrank back. Ghi, however, grasped her wrists all the more jealously.

  In an uncertain tone he challenged the one that looked like a man, “It is custom to share, brother!”

  Brother! Gillian could not believe it. Surely, she thought, this is only a turn of phrase they used when addressing one another.

  The newcomer replied in a voice melodious as well as fierce, “In my domain you will follow my custom. Now, release my woman.”

  When Ghi hesitated, he uttered a threatening, eerily light sound. A ripple of terror crawled up Gillian’s spine. Ghi did not back off, but returned the sound with his own guttural challenge. She winced to see the baleful glint in the newcomer’s eyes. They lowered a moment, however, and registered her frightened gaze. And confronting Ghi again, his hands clamped into fists and again he uttered another dreadful growl.

  The air was growing insufferably hot, and Gillian felt the others edging away to the recesses of the room. The women were pressed protectively behind the palisade of their forms.

  And though she was terrified, Gillian could not take her eyes from this newcomer. She heard Ghi speak some words that brought a flare of color to the handsome one’s cheeks.

  Then to her amazement, flecks of heated amber glowed in the surface of his blue eyes. Fear like a cold blade cut through her belly, and the room reeled as a sickening sense of familiarity swept over her. She smelled him now—the faint tinge of sulfur beneath his virile scent. It seemed to strangle her, and the half-memories that flooded into her mind suddenly were precious things that ravaged her heart. She felt Ghi finally relent and release his hold, and the newcomer’s hands clasped her shoulders to steady her.

  She tore at those hands, pushed away from him, and pressed herself under Ghi’s towering form.

  “You,” she gasped, “you are the reason I’m here!”

  She didn’t know how she knew this, but she did. His now gentle regard did not fool her, nor did she know comfort as the amber flecks in his eyes softened and faded as if by will. She perceived an emotion like hatred chafing at her consciousness, and an instinctive knowledge that he was dangerous.

  Sprinkles of pain filled her head. All the horrid reasons for her hatred deluged her mind. Memories of Nemi and of Madam; of the lush forest surrounding the household. She felt the handsome Warden taking her over the sofa; heard Clive’s honeyed words in her ear. She saw again the Ur’theriems, the prisoners, the coolly passionate Leather Wives.

  And she remembered Sir Bruce. Her Sir Bruce.

  This was the Dhjinn E’noch who had tried to seduce her outside the Temple of Purity. She recalled the shatter of the window in the kitchen at Bruce’s chalet. This creature’s phantom presence and ghostly caresses came back to her, as did the stifling odor of the acrid mist in which he’d carried her off.

  She ignored the pretty mask he donned now. Her entire body shook with hatred. He’d kidnapped her from Nemi and, worse, her true love. This creature had corrupted the only happiness she had ever known.

  The hatred bled with violence into all of her memories.

  His features blurred into a thousand angry, crimson dots before Gillian’s eyes and her surging blood roared in her temples. She thought she moved toward him; she definitely felt her nails sink into her palms as her hands drew into fists. She hissed and raised her arms to strike when consciousness seeped away.

  14

  Gillian’s eyes opened to a scene of lavish pag
an delights, of nymphs running through a lush, flowery field, the sun gilding their streaming hair and voluptuous bare limbs.

  For a moment she thought she’d returned to Nemi and her heart lightened. But then she realized it was only a frescoed ceiling above her head, and that she lay on a bed draped with a red satin spread. The pretty slippers they’d put on her feet were gone, and her hair loosened. She looked above her, seeing an astonishing headboard, a great arch of yellowish marble that touched one golden frame of the ceiling. Four pillars of the same stone cornered the great bed.

  As hesitant and suspicious as Gillian was, the tantalizing aroma of food tempted her to sit up.

  It was with great disappointment that she realized she was simply in another cavern room in the Dhjinn E’nochs’ abode. The walls were glimmering russet stone and the floor was covered by an ornate rug. The light emanated from a framed square globe of thick glass situated high in the wall to her right.

  But the sleeping place was an antechamber, divided off from what appeared to be a private sitting room by two tall screens of latticed woodwork. Peering between them, Gillian flinched to see the Dhjinn E’noch in the sitting room. He reposed on a heavy sofa upholstered in black damask, his face turned away from her.

  Desperately she thought of what to do next…when suddenly the Dhjinn E’noch’s eyes lit upon her. His seductive mouth turned up in a lean smile.

  “You’re awake.” His smooth voice seemed to penetrate her skin and make her shiver. “Come here, Gillian. I have had some food brought in.”

  She was still dressed in the scanty garments she’d been given, and for a moment she was determined not to comply. But her stomach betrayed her with sharp hunger pangs. With a sigh she crept off the bed and walked through the screens into the sitting room. There were two more of the framed light fixtures on the wall here, too, flanking a wardrobe of carved ebony. As she stepped around the couch she found a low table, also of smooth ebony. On it a golden platter had been laid out with small, open-faced sandwiches and candied figs. The Dhjinn E’noch offered her a stemmed glass filled with what looked like dark wine.

  “Thirsty?”

  Gillian shook her head. Though she avoided looking at him, she felt his gaze, and instinctively she folded her hands over her pubis.

  He laughed softly. “So you will garb yourself in modesty?”

  Her face warmed angrily.

  “It is a natural reaction to the unexpected, and so I will overlook it. From now on, however, you will not try to hide your charms.” His authoritative attitude agitated her, and yet, his languid voice made her feel drowsy and weak. Her arms fell awkwardly to her sides.

  “Good,” he said. “Sit down now. I know you are hungry.”

  She complied again, almost grateful to be able to keep her legs together and hide herself a little bit. He set the glass on the table and slid the platter toward her. Despite her hunger she eyed the figs and sandwiches suspiciously.

  “What is it?”

  “Beef and cheese on bread. Figs, too. Common victuals among your people. But no, nothing has not been drugged, as you fear,” he said. “And Gillian—you will speak to me respectfully at all times. Address me as ‘my lord.’”

  She was almost painfully hungry now, and looking away from him, tried one of the little sandwiches. She couldn’t help thinking she had no idea what poison was supposed to smell or taste like. She sipped the wine as well, and detected nothing amiss in the bouquet or flavor.

  From the corner of her eye she saw him grimace.

  Without meaning to she wondered how he’d changed his appearance from the demonic image he’d presented on Nemi.

  Probably a natural talent among his kind.

  And then she realized he’d read her mind concerning her suspicion of poison. It hadn’t been the first time, either: he’d done the same in the Temple of Purity. Gillian’s mouth felt parched as she ate. She wanted to avoid thinking about it and feigned indifference as she looked around at the furnishings.

  On the wall to their left hung a large pyramidal mirror. Beneath this stood a cabinet about two feet high. Fashioned from a creamy beige wood, it resembled a doll’s wardrobe, and Gillian presumed it was a liquor cabinet, given the lock hanging on a chain between the little doors.

  Looking around, she saw a niche hewn into one part of the room. It could have made an excellent closet, but it was bare. And a beam on the ceiling supported something odd: a large metal hook with metallic loops hanging from it by short chains. At first she wasn’t sure what purpose this hook served, and then she saw the long metal canister bolted to the niche wall. A suede-sheathed crop was propped inside this. A twinge of alarm compelled Gillian to turn her attention back to the food. She nibbled on a fig, and hoped the Dhjinn E’noch did not sense her disquiet.

  He watched silently as she finished the sandwich. She suspected that he was trying to penetrate into her thoughts, and tried to keep her conscious mind separated from her intention to find a way of escaping his abode and making her way back to Nemi.

  “You are certain that I have kidnapped you,” he said at last, “made you an unwilling hostage.”

  The statement was true, though certainly not a solid thought in her mind during the last little while. She refused to willingly look at him, and took some vindication in the exasperated sigh he gave.

  “That interpretation is subjective, of course. You are mine because I took possession of you—but I would not have been so infatuated had you not been so desiring of possession.”

  Gillian’s anger flared, but she remained poised. He came nearer, and it seemed his very breath was a dangerous entity shadowing over her.

  “Ah, you try to ignore me in an effort to insult. This is the testimony to the shallow training that Nemi gives to its Disciples.”

  The insinuation roused Gillian more deeply than she would have thought. She cast him another quick glance, unable to keep her brows from knitting.

  He smiled softly and the blue in his eyes was warm. “And you would defend Nemi and the Ur’theriems even now. A human woman of perfect readiness and inclination to enjoy all fleshly delights. You believe they satisfied your true penchants and awakened your real self. But it is not so, Gillian. They merely used those desires you denied yourself too long. I, on the other hand, will appreciate them. I will refine and polish them. Soon, you will be a brilliant, faceted gem, instead of a mere chip among many on the jewel-cutter’s wheel.”

  The determination in his voice troubled Gillian. She was racked with dread of what exactly transpired when he’d kidnapped her. Had he besieged Nemi in other ways, and most importantly—had he harmed Bruce?

  And then she sensed the Dhjinn E’noch’s calmness drain away. His cheeks flushed slightly and anger imbued his close aura. She heard his knuckles pop as one hand clenched tightly.

  “The fragile mortal man is unharmed,” he said in low tones. “And for the present, I have no intention to lay siege to the Nemian stronghold.”

  Gillian looked boldly at him, careless of the angry amber lights dancing in his eyes. “I have no proof you speak true, kidnapper!”

  His voice thickened so that the air shook with his suppressed rage. “Unlike mortals, my race does not fabricate, woman.”

  He snatched her wrist suddenly. His skin was so hot it almost burned. She attempted to twist out of his grasp, but it was impossible. Grabbing the length of her hair, he pulled it back so that she was forced to look at him. The horrible thought of the otherworldly beast snapping her head off her neck made her tremble.

  But his voice resonated with what sounded like an effort toward patience. “I only wish you to not worry for your acquaintances on Nemi. And I assure you, my dear, that while I may punish you, never will I damage what is mine.”

  “But I am not yours and you had no right to take me!” she cried. “I belong on Nemi, where I chose to serve as a Disciple of Pleasure! I never asked for you!”

  He bowed over her so that her upturned face was shadowed under his
glowering regard.

  “It is enough I chose you! You should feel honored. Grateful! I have delved into your thoughts and all the desires of your heart, Gillian. I know the secret of your soul. You sought a Master inflexible, reliable, and desirous of your devotion. The Nemians only offered the outward satisfaction of your desires, and only for their benefit. I am the real thing, the Master you have longed for all your life.”

  “Not so. They gave me love and security, and for that I am grateful,” Gillian seethed. “As for a Master, I have already chosen one!”

  His eyes flashed and his lips flooded crimson. Then his eyes closed a moment. He drew a long breath, and when he exhaled his features were again composed. He released her hair and drew his fingers down the length of her spine.

  “You were already a Disciple of Pleasure,” he murmured, as if speaking aloud his thoughts. And looking at her again, his eyes shone tranquil blue again. The half-smile on his lips was assured and firm.

  Still holding her wrist, he stood and pulled her up to her feet on the floor. Under his full height and lofty gaze Gillian’s heart raced. She felt like a small child looking up at him, her arm a doll’s limb in his hand. He touched her cheek and the pads of his fingers singed her flesh. Catching her chin, he bent and kissed her mouth. Her nostrils detected a blazing virility that swept away the traces of sulfur. When she squirmed and tried to wriggle away, he pulled her captive arm to her back and hugged her against his hard body. Her entire body quivered; her pussy swelled and moistened against her will.

  He uses my training against me!

  His mouth drew back, and to her shock her lips felt almost bereft.

  “Perhaps I do use it against you,” he replied. “But it will serve to help to teach you the difference between what you were in Nemi and what you will come to be very soon—a true passion slave, and my disciple.”