Tricked

by Claire Thompson

  She tried to zone out—to leave her body as she sometimes managed to do when enduring one of his endless torture sessions—but it was no use. That gun, still held loosely in his hand, kept her totally in the moment.

  To her relief, he finally pulled back, his cock shiny with her spit as it left her mouth. He momentarily rolled off her, getting to his feet. But then he was back, this time draping his hard body over hers. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee.

  Callie could feel the painful tear of flesh as he forced his way inside her. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, afraid to make a sound.

  “Yeah…” he breathed as he pumped inside her. “You’ve been flirting with me at the office… Leading me on…” He thrust harder, the gun waving above her face. “This is what happens to prick teases. They get what they’re asking for.” He groaned, ramming into her like a piston.

  “Please, Damon,” she begged, hiccupping with terror. “Please…”

  She wasn’t even sure anymore what she was begging for. For him to let her go? Or just put her out of her misery once and for all…

  “Oh, god,” he cried as he ejaculated inside her. “Fuck, yeah!”

  He slumped heavily against her, his skin hot, his heart hammering against her chest. The gun was now pressed hard against her temple, the metal digging into her skin. She stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.

  After a while, he lifted himself on an elbow and grinned down at her, mercifully taking the gun away from her head. “That was fucking awesome. It’s so much more fun when it’s authentic. All those stupid little fantasies you shared with Diana about the strong man taking control… The real thing is so much more intense, right?”

  She stared up at him, speechless.

  A dark look moved over his features. “I asked you a question, cunt.”

  Somehow, she managed to take in enough air to inflate her lungs. “Very intense, Sir,” she managed hoarsely.

  “Yeah? You think so? I can make it even more intense.” His eyes had a crazed look, like someone high on meth. She closed her eyes, willing him to disappear.

  “Don’t close your eyes,” he snapped. “Look at me, cunt. This is the last face you’ll ever see.

  His eyes fixed on hers, he brought the gun again to her temple. Grinning maniacally, he released the safety again.

  Time stopped.

  She whimpered.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 14

  Callie was deep under the water. It was dark and cool. No one could get her down here. She was safe.

  “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

  Those repeated words were muffled by the rushing sound of the water pressing in around her. She ignored the persistent call, snuggling deeper into her watery cave.

  She desperately wanted to stay where she was, but the voice was insistent. Somehow it was pulling her upward toward the harsh, unwelcome light above.

  “Callie. Wake up. Wake the fuck up. You’re fine.”

  All at once, she burst to the surface, pulled unwillingly back into consciousness. She sucked in a deep breath as she tried to focus on the face looming above her. He looked like a Greek god, deep blue eyes, an aquiline nose, a strong jaw, a lush, sensual mouth. Was she dead? Was this heaven?

  “There you are. I thought for a minute you’d had a fucking heart attack.”

  The familiar voice jerked her back to reality. This was no god. It was her captor and tormentor.

  She stared mutely up at him as the last nightmarish moments rushed back into her consciousness. He’d pulled the trigger. He’d shot her!

  But no, that couldn’t be right. She was alive. There was no bullet wound.

  All at once, she understood. It had been a total mind fuck. The gun hadn’t been loaded. In a way, it was worse than if he’d just shot her. At least then this would all be over.

  What a sadistic fuck he was. Anger bloomed in her gut, consuming her with a fiery rage. A red film of raw fury moved over her vision. “No more!” she heard herself shout. Before she could stop herself, her right hand curled into a fist and smashed into that smug, handsome face.

  Damon fell back with a cry, his hand flying to his nose. “You fucking cunt,” he roared, leaping to his feet. Blood was seeping between his fingers, his face blank with shock. “How dare you strike your Master?”

  Callie, too, was shocked. She stared at her bruised knuckles, as if her hand belonged to someone else.

  With a growl of fury, Damon reached for her. He hoisted her up from the sofa and threw her over his shoulder, momentarily knocking the breath out of her. He strode from the room and down the hall to the basement door. Flinging it open, he banged down the stairs, his forearm digging into the backs of her thighs as he held her in place.

  He moved through the basement toward the storage closet where he’d locked her when the maids had come. Pulling open the door, he set her roughly onto the concrete. Blood was still dripping from his nose, his eyes wild.

  “I’ll teach you to raise your hand to your Master, bitch. You’re gonna be very, very sorry.”

  With that, he slammed the door, leaving her alone in the damp, dark little space.

  She remained very still until she heard his footsteps on the stairs and the slam of the basement door. Then she curled into a ball on the hard concrete, too shocked at what she’d done even to cry.

  She lay that way for a long time, drifting in and out of an exhausted fog. As her mind began to clear, she sat up again, hugging her knees to her chest. In spite of the tears that streaked her face, a smile stole over her lips at the image of Damon’s eyes going wide with shock and pain. She flexed her hand, marveling that she’d dare to punch the guy right in the nose.

  It was probably the dumbest thing she’d ever done, but man, it had been worth it.

  His words replayed her head. You’re gonna be very, very sorry.

  What else could he do to her that he hadn’t already done? If he planned to leave her in the closet until she died of starvation, at least she’d be free of him. And god—it had felt so fucking good to smash her fist into his handsome face. She hoped she had broken his perfect nose.

  “No,” she said aloud, her voice hoarse but determined. “Not sorry, you bastard. Not sorry at all.”

  Then she heard something scrabbling in the walls, like tiny nails on crumbling concrete. She gasped, her heart constricting with panic.

  She forced herself to take a deep breath. There was nothing in the closet with her. The space was empty as a tomb. And anyway, she wasn’t scared of a spider or a mouse, which was probably all it was. She tried to laugh but it came out more as a grunt.

  Then she heard it again. Was that something squeaking?

  “Go away!” she cried, banging the wall with her hand.

  All went silent. She was alone in the darkness.

  All alone.

  Dropping her head into her hands, she let the tears flow.

  ~*~

  Damon peered at himself in the bathroom mirror, turning his head from side to side as he dabbed away the blood from his swollen nose. That fucking bitch. He touched the bridge gingerly. It didn’t seem to be broken. An ice pack and some aspirin were probably all he needed.

  He shook his head and snorted. That girl sure had a pair of balls. In spite of himself, he couldn’t help but admire her nerve. It was pretty fucking stupid to punch someone who had a gun. She’d looked as shocked as he’d felt afterward.

  But she would have to be punished. No question about that. A day or two locked in that closet should be a sobering reminder of what happened to bad girls. Yes. He would make her good and sorry for what she had done.

  Damon went out for the rest of the day. He did some grocery shopping, and then went down to the beach. He swam in the ocean and relaxed on the sand. He flirted with two French girls in tiny white bikinis who barely looked legal. When they asked him about his nose, he answered with the standard, “You should see the other guy.”

  If they onl
y knew…

  The girls were cute and bubbly, and clearly available. Yet he found himself almost indifferent to their charms. He declined their offer to come back with them to the hotel bar where they were staying. Messing around with two giggly girls was way too tame—not when he had his own slave girl locked up and waiting for him at home.

  Instead, he went to a small restaurant in town that he liked and enjoyed a delicious meal by himself. He came home around nine and briefly considered letting Callie out of the basement closet, but ordered himself to remain firm.

  She’d definitely crossed a line by striking him.

  He slept alone that night. As he drifted off to sleep, his thoughts were consumed with Callie. She hadn’t had either lunch or dinner, or anything to drink since breakfast. There was barely room in the small closet to lie down, unless she curled into a ball.

  Well, good. She deserved it. That would teach her what happened when she raised her hand to her Master.

  He managed to wait all the way until the next afternoon. Finally, deciding she’d had enough, he went down the basement stairs and walked to what he’d taken to calling the punishment closet. Using the master house key from the chain around his neck, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  Callie was huddled against the back wall, curled on her side in a tight ball. “Callie?” he said, stepping into the tiny space. She didn’t move or open her eyes.

  Shit. What the fuck was wrong with her?

  He crouched beside her, relieved to see she was breathing. Reaching for her, he lifted her into a sitting position. Her tangled hair hung limply over her eyes. As he pushed it from her face, she opened her eyes, fixing him with a blank stare. Relief rushed through him.

  As he lifted her to her feet, he was struck by how light she was. She was so thin, her hip bones jutting from her pelvis, the soft roundness of her cheeks now hollowed and angular. She smelled rank, her skin clammy with sweat. She swayed where she stood, as if she could barely hold herself upright.

  She had suffered enough. She just had to pass one last test, and then he would forgive her.

  “Hey,” he said, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Are you sorry, Callie? Do you promise never, ever to raise your hand to your Master again?”

  Tears filled her big, dark eyes. “Yes, Sir,” she croaked. “So, so sorry.” She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs.

  Moved by her sincerity, he lifted her gently into his arms. He carried her upstairs to the kitchen and placed her carefully onto a chair at the table. He brought her a large glass of cold water. As she drank it down, he wet a dish towel with cool water. Returning to her, he gently sponged her face, neck and arms. She sat passively as he washed her, her eyes fixed on his face.

  Next, he sliced some pineapple, mango and banana into a bowl and set it before her. As she ate the fruit, he prepared a cheese and cracker platter, and brought that to her as well.

  She ate everything he gave her, and drank a second glass of water. She was going to have a belly ache later, but he was glad to see her eating. He needed to fatten her up a little so she’d be saleable. He wouldn’t get top dollar for some scrawny bitch. She needed a little meat back on those bones.

  It was a shame he had to get rid of her soon. He was becoming rather attached to her. It had been very hard to spend the last twenty-four hours and change without her.

  No, he admonished himself. Don’t be stupid. A smart gambler knows when to get up from the table. This is a short-term game. Another week or two, max. Then you sell her, and you move on. Who knows, maybe you’ll do it again with a new, unsuspecting girl…

  Buoyed by the thought, he helped Callie to the bathroom and ran a bath for her. He would let her rest tonight. Tomorrow, they would start fresh. He had bought a nose clip at a shop down by the beach. That should help her when he took her back out to the pool for another lesson in underwater blowjobs…

  Chapter 15

  “What will you do for me, cunt?”

  “Anything, Sir.”

  Though Callie automatically parroted the expected response, she was immediately filled with trepidation. Whenever they played the “what will you do for me” game, each time the stakes got higher. She did want to please him. It was so much safer to please than to disappoint him, no matter how outrageous his demands became. But she was afraid one day he would go too far. What if she dared to refuse?

  She would be returned to the punishment closet—to the hard concrete, the gnawing hunger, the claustrophobically tiny, dark space, the unrelenting nightmares…

  No.

  “Anything, Sir,” she repeated more fervently.

  A mean grin lifted his lips, his eyes glittering. “Now’s your chance to prove it. Let’s go out back.”

  Outside! How Callie cherished the occasional times when he took her into the fresh air, even though it inevitably came at a price. The blue sky, the sunshine, the salty tang of the nearby ocean and the distant sound of traffic were reminders that there was still life beyond the confines of her luxurious prison. A world still existed out there, if only she could find a way to return to it.

  He took her out to the back of the property, where the landscape crew had left a large pile of dirt, along with some squares of grass sod they would presumably be placing on their next visit. The sod was neatly stacked against the side of a shed. A hose was coiled nearby, attached to a nearby spigot.

  As Callie stood passively by, Damon uncoiled the hose and turned on the spigot. The hose was capped with a nozzle that kept the water from spraying until the trigger was depressed. Though the day was warm, Callie wrapped her arms around her torso, certain that cold water would soon be directed at her.

  Instead, he kicked at the pile of dirt with his sneaker until he spread it into a loose rectangle over the ground. Then he aimed the hose at the dirt and pressed the trigger. He kept up a steady stream of water until the dirt turned into mud.

  He set down the hose and pointed. “Lie, facedown, in the mud.”

  Callie took an involuntary step back, hugging herself tighter. No way was she going to do that.

  As he glared at her, she came back to her senses. The only way out was through. Just do what he wants, and then it’ll be over. At least mud doesn’t hurt.

  She forced herself to drop her arms as she approached the mud patch. She dared a glance at Damon, who was regarding her with an, “I dare you to refuse, bitch,” expression. His cock was already tenting his shorts. He slipped a hand into the elastic waistband and licked his lips as he watched her.

  Hesitantly, she lowered herself to the ground and crawled toward the spreading pool of mud.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Get right in it. Lie down flat, arms above your head in the muck.”

  Taking in a deep breath, Callie forced herself to obey. The mud was cool, a not unpleasant contrast to the warm sun beating down on her back. She positioned herself carefully, turning her head to the side as she rested her cheek in the muck.

  “What a pig,” Damon said derisively from above her. “A dirty little pig slut wallowing in the mud. Lift up your ass, pig slut. Show me that curly tail. Bend your knees and spread your legs but keep your face in the mud.”

  Callie dutifully shifted so she was balanced on her knees, her bottom in the air, legs lewdly spread. As she positioned herself, she focused on keeping her mind blank.

  “Now, reach back and spread your ass cheeks. Show me that cute little asshole.”

  This was harder to do. She had to turn her head so she could use her forehead for balance. A strand of muddy hair fell in her face as she reached back to further expose herself.

  She remained in that position for several silent seconds, waiting with rising trepidation for whatever came next. A startlingly cold stream of water suddenly spurted against her asshole, making her fall out of position as she flopped against the ground, splattering herself with more mud in the process.

  “Back in position,” Damon barked, still spraying her with the
hose.

  Spitting out dirt and blinking furiously, Callie managed to obey. Fortunately, the spray stopped, leaving her dripping wet, ass in the air.

  A moment later, Damon knelt behind her and gripped her by the hips, pulling her back toward him. She heard him spit and knew that was all the lubrication she was going to get. Hopefully she wouldn’t bleed when he took her ass.

  Then she felt the hard nudge of his cock at her pussy. She blew out a grateful breath of relief. No anal, at least. She almost wanted to thank her tormentor for that small reprieve. But she knew better than to speak without permission or direction.

  He pushed into her, grunting as he penetrated. As he fucked her, his movements jerked her back and forth in the mud, which now coated her face and the front of her body.

  Then his hand reached around between her legs. His skillful fingers found and stroked her clit until it hardened, despite her discomfort. He dipped his hand in the mud and brought it again between her legs. He rubbed her clit faster as he rutted against her, his grunts quickening as he thrust deep inside her.

  “Filthy, dirty little slut pig,” he panted. “Come for me, cunt. Come… now…”

  He slammed against her with a cry, his fingers still flying over her sex.

  Callie focused on that small bit of pleasure amidst the fear and humiliation that was her steady companion. As he ejaculated inside her, Callie’s body shuddered in climax.

  Damon collapsed heavily against her, forcing her back down into the mud. She lay trapped beneath him, heart thudding as the mud oozed around her.

  He had won.

  The last bit of spark had been snuffed out. There was no more outrage. No more thought of escape. She was just tired. So, so tired.

  Closing her eyes, she let all thought tumble from her mind. She was blank and empty, and light as a feather. She rose high, high into the sky until the last vestige of her spirit vanished above the clouds without a trace…