Lisa stared at him, incredulous. The import of his words, especially the implication that he'd done this before, possibly many times, struck her like a blow. Where were these girls now? Dead and buried in his basement perhaps?
And her choices? To be whipped like an animal or to lick his ass! How could she choose between such horrible options? And for what? Because he'd used metal handcuffs on her, and kept her bound for hours in them? Because she'd struggled against them and they'd cut her flesh?
The man was evil.
He was regarding her impassively, though there was a glint in his eyes. “Take your time. We have all the time in the world, fair one.”
Fair one.
Master John called her fair one. How dare this man use the term!
Lisa’s gut clutched, the faintest glimmer of some kind of understanding, but it slipped away as he leaned forward, stroking her breast. Lisa wanted to slap that hand, to turn away from him, but she didn't dare.
He rolled a nipple between thumb and forefinger, smiling slightly. “Now then, Lisa. Which is it to be?”
“Please, this is crazy–”
He stood abruptly, his face dark with anger, his lips pressed in a tight line. Jerking her to a standing position, he whirled her around, pulling her tight against him, so her back was against his chest. “I said you do not speak unless spoken to, and then you answer the question put to you. What's so hard about that?”
He sat down hard on the mattress, pulling the hapless girl with him. He pushed her down so her face was mashed against the mattress, her body draped over his lap.
Grabbing the riding crop, which had fallen when he'd pulled her upright, he smacked her bare ass with it, keeping her pinned with one hand on the back of her neck.
Lisa screamed and tried to get away from him but he was far too strong. He hit her with the looped leather end of the riding crop, catching her with stinging blows on her ass, her back, her thighs.
She yelped in astounded pain. He punctuated each strike with admonitions. “You are a disappointment! I want a girl who can obey! I thought you showed more promise, Slave J–” He cut himself sharply off, contenting himself with cropping the naked girl until her ass and back were reddened and she lay still and defeated against him.
“Now you get to lick my asshole, bitch. That’ll teach you some humility.” He pushed the girl off his lap. She rolled onto the floor, clutching herself for protection as she fell. He stood and unzipped his jeans.
“Kneel up, tongue out. Now.” Roughly he hauled her up, forcing her into position. Turning, he dropped his pants and bent away from her, shoving his bare ass in her face.
Unable to help herself, Lisa dropped again to the ground. She rolled away from him, curling herself into a ball. There was no way in hell she was going to lick his ass. He would have to kill her first. She shielded her head with her hands, waiting for whatever might happen, steadfast in her decision not to yield.
To her surprise and terrible relief, he slowly stood and pulled his pants back up.
“Perhaps I’m asking too much too soon.” His voice was calm. She stayed curled up, her face hidden. “I'll give you a little time. But you really do need to learn who is in charge here. You'll get some water once you lick my ass. Not before. But take your time, fair one. All the time you need.”
She dared to peek at him. He held the dreaded leather cuffs in hand. “I'm afraid I'll have to cuff you, but these will fit over the bandages. You should be fine, as long as you don't struggle against them.”
He pulled her up from the floor. Forcing her to again lie on the mattress, he cuffed her wrists and re-secured them to the chain in the wall. As he leaned forward she again noticed the fine chain around his neck, and its several keys.
Once she was tethered, he brought in a sheet and draped it over her naked form. He kissed her cheek softly and whispered, “See you soon, slave girl.” Their eyes locked a moment. She was the first to turn away.
~*~
Gilbert sat on the loveseat contemplating the naked, beautiful girl in the next room. He had slept fitfully, awakening repeatedly to the wonderment of what he’d pulled off. If only he'd had the money, he would have installed a video camera in there. Then he could watch her nonstop.
Of course, he could have brought her into the rest of the house. He could have had her sleep in his bed, but that wouldn’t be fair. She deserved the proper training that was needed to teach her her place at his feet. She mustn’t be confused by too much love, not yet. That would come later, once he’d broken her spirit and conditioned her to accept her lot.
On some level, she craved what he offered. He knew her secret desires. She could protest and cry all she wanted—he had her fantasies saved on his computer in black and white. Pages and pages of heartfelt emails from Slave Jade to Master John, in which she admitted her submissive tendencies and her desire to serve a real Master.
Well, she had one now. She had Master John, though she didn't know it. Not yet. Perhaps in time he would be able to reveal his secret double identity. But for now he doubted it would be wise. She saw Master John as a gentle and romantic Dom. Not that Gilbert wasn't, but he knew Slave Jade, or rather Lisa, didn't yet appreciate his particular brand of tough love.
And while Master John spouted all that crap about a consensual, loving exchange of power, Gilbert knew better. The only way to properly train a slave was to break her down. To strip her of her vanity and sense of self, outside of serving her lord and master.
Unzipping his pants, he pulled out his cock and massaged it. He felt energized, almost crazed from the feeling of contained power that came from knowing she was in the improvised dungeon, naked and waiting for him. By denying himself a little longer his sense of power grew.
He would go back to her soon. He was giving her time to rethink her refusal. Her body would betray her. Her thirst would overcome her obvious disgust at what he had ordered her to do. How dare she refuse to lick his ass? He would teach her to accept it was a sign of submission. Proof that her place was below him in every respect. Her lot was to be subservient to him.
Clearly she didn’t yet appreciate the poetry behind the act, however distasteful it might be to her. She wasn't there yet. He would take her there. He would bring her around. He was, after all, Master John.
~*~
Time had lost its meaning. Lisa had no idea if hours or days had passed. She only knew she was thirsty. Beyond thirsty. Parched. Fortunately he’d removed her cuffs the last time he’d come in, probably aware she was too weak to struggle.
The lock scraped. He entered and stood imperiously before her, his hands on his hips. “You ready to obey, slave?”
Lisa shook her head, her mouth pressed closed. With a shrug, he turned and left the room, though this time he didn’t turn off the light. She waited several minutes, in case he planned to return. When he did not, she rose to a standing position, leaning against a wall until the dizziness passed.
She looked around the windowless room. It couldn't have been more than ten feet by twelve feet—little more than a cell. She tried to open the footlocker that rested against a wall, but it was locked. The room was hot and the air was close. Sweat prickled at her underarms and between her legs and her thirst grew.
He hadn't returned the bowl for her to use, but with bowels tight and knotted, and bladder empty from lack of water, she hadn't had to use it. What she wouldn't do for a drink of water! Just a little water. She was hungry too, but it was just a dull ache in her belly, barely noticed against the parched desert of her throat and mouth, against the tongue dry and sticky in her mouth.
She lay back down, pulling the sheet over her, though it was hot. She drifted into uneasy sleep.
She was startled awake by the touch of something cold on her cheek. She opened her eyes. He held a bottle of water, condensation beading on the plastic. Lisa’s tongue felt fat in her mouth. She licked dry lips, her eyes fixed on the bottle.
She knew this time she would succumb. She had to
get water and more food. She needed to regain her strength so she could think clearly. She had to begin to plot a way out of here. She wasn’t about to give up and spend the rest of her life in a dark cell at the mercy of a crazy person.
If only she could get out of the room. Get to her purse, to her cell phone. She could press 911 and hit send. She was vaguely certain a cell phone’s location could be traced by its proximity to a cell tower. It was worth a try, if only there was some way to get to it.
She thought about her computer and the emails no doubt piling up from Master John, as he wondered where she was. Not to mention her friends and her parents. How long had she been here? Were they looking for her?
He’d abducted her late on a Friday night. With a sinking heart, she realized she might not even be discovered missing until she didn't show up on Monday to work. And even then, it might take a day or two before they became truly alarmed. She could well be dead by then.
But this man—it didn't seem as if he wanted to kill her. It was almost as if he got confused sometimes, and seemed to regard her as his lover. As his willing slave girl. What kind of lover kept his beloved chained and then raped her and denied her basic sustenance? He was a monster!
And yet, he also smoothed her hair gently from her face and told her how lovely and fair she was. And how happy they would be together once she was properly trained. The man was clearly insane and entirely deluded if he thought the two of them could ever have a relationship!
Even through the numbing thirst, an idea began to form in Lisa’s head. Perhaps that was the key. She could use his delusions to gain his trust and somehow get the hell out of there. But how?
He may be deluded, but he was also very careful. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know his name or anything about him. She was kept naked and starving in a tiny room with no relief from constant terror, overlain with stultifying boredom.
For when he was gone, there was nothing. Most of the time there was no light. No sound. Nothing but her mattress, on which she tossed and turned, naked and frightened, dozing fitfully, only to jerk awake from a nightmare, or imagined noise, fists clenched, body covered in sweat, breath catching in her throat.
The man lifted one eyebrow in question. “Are you ready, slave?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice came out as a croak, from disuse and thirst. She cleared her throat.
“Kneel up on the floor,” he ordered.
Lisa rolled from the mattress, trying to blank out her mind as he moved to stand in front of her, turned and lowered his jeans and underwear.
With trembling fingers, Lisa spread his ass cheeks, squeezed her eyes shut and licked the puckered opening. Thank god, at least he was clean. Nevertheless, bile rose bitterly in her throat but she swallowed it, forcing herself to remain in position.
He didn’t move away so she licked again. And again, determined to keep on until the bastard was satisfied.
At last he stood up. Lisa sat back on her haunches, wiping her face with the back of one hand, wishing desperately she could brush her teeth. Pulling up his pants, he turned around and smiled broadly.
“That wasn't so hard, was it? I can't believe you were so obstinate! You should worship your master’s body. You must never reject any aspect of him, no matter what.”
He handed her the bottle. Lisa grabbed it and drank deeply, quickly, in case he took it away.
While she drank, he produced a small apple, which he proceeded to cut into segments. He held them out, forcing her to take them from his fingers with her lips. She didn’t care, as long as he let her eat. Obedient as a trained dog, she opened her mouth again and again until the apple was gone. She was still ravenous but didn’t dare ask for more.
Smiling with benign approval, he said, “I’m going to give you another reward. How about a nice hot shower? Because, to tell you the truth, you stink.”
Lisa flushed with shame and rage. How dare he! After he had put his ass in her face, to tell her she stank. Yet the mention of such a possibility made Lisa's skin crawl, as she realized how itchy and filthy she was, covered in her own sweat and his nasty secretions. Her hair felt greasy and dirty, and her scalp itched at the thought of a good washing.
“Yes, please, sir.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “That would be wonderful.”
“Do I need to cuff you while we walk down the hall or can you be trusted? I don't want to hurt you, but if I have to, I will.”
Lisa believed him, quietly hating him with every fiber of her being. But she was learning that to behave submissively was so much easier than to continue to fight him. And she knew he was intent on keeping her there, god only knew how long.
Swallowing the retort that welled up in her throat that he didn't seem to mind hurting her at all, she only said in a quiet and she hoped submissive way, “Oh, no, sir, you can trust me. I'll behave, I promise.”
Satisfied, he took her by both wrists, leading her out of the room and down a small hall to a bathroom. She stumbled slightly, dizzy from lack of food. He caught her, bringing his arm solicitously around her shoulders.
The bathroom wasn't an impressive facility, not much more than a sink, toilet and a little bathtub with a shower head, crammed together in a space even smaller than Lisa's room. There was a small window over the toilet. Sunshine streamed in and Lisa stared longingly at the daylight. How long had she been here? How many times had the sun risen and set since he’d abducted her?
Her attention was diverted when he turned on the water and a lovely steam filled the room. To her dismay, he pulled off his shirt and jeans, kicking his clothing aside, making it clear he intended to join Lisa in the tub.
He pushed her in first and then stepped in behind her. “Just relax. I’ll wash your body.” Aware she had no say in the matter, Lisa stood still, closing her eyes and letting the hot water sluice over her. It was better than being whipped at any rate.
He lathered the soap against her body, running his hands down and up each leg, stopping for a long time at her pussy and ass, soaping her up repeatedly and then rinsing her in the spray. He rolled her nipples between finger and thumb. His touch was surprisingly gentle. It might even have been erotic if it had been a lover, instead of her hated jailer.
As it was, it took all her self-control not to smack his hands away. Still, she was grateful to feel clean at last. He removed the soggy bandages from her wrists. The abrasions were mostly healed, though the skin remained tender.
Tossing her the shampoo bottle he said, “Here, you can wash your own hair, and then come out and get dry.” He stepped out, allowing her to pull the plastic curtain closed.
Lisa stood under the hot spray with her head back, the water streaming over her hair and face. She took as long as she dared, washing and rinsing her hair three times, as if she could somehow wash out the stench and horror of what had been done to her.
“Hurry it up. Water goes off in fifteen seconds whether you're done or not.”
When Lisa stepped out of the shower, she reached for a towel that was hanging on the rack.
“Wait,” he commanded. “Let me look at you.” Lisa stood, goose bumps rising on her wet flesh. She crossed her arms over herself but he barked, “Hands behind your head! And spread your legs. Do it!”
Taking a deep breath, Lisa assumed the commanded position. Her heavy round breasts were lifted by her raised arms, the nipples erect and distended from the cold.
He stood very close in front of her and cupped her breasts, lifting them and letting them fall. He dropped a hand to her sex, running his fingers between her cleft, and pressing one inside of her. Involuntarily Lisa shuddered and moved back from him.
“Move again and you won't eat for a week,” he threatened. He slid the finger slick with her juices across her cheek. Lisa stood still, trembling slightly, letting her eyes close. She was cold and frightened, but at least she was clean.
Again his fingers invaded her pussy, but she managed to resist the urge to pull away. “Oh Lisa, you
are so right for me,” he murmured, his voice loving.
Lisa was repulsed, again not sure which was worse—his rough treatment or the incongruous sweet words. It was as if, on some level, he really did love her. And yet, how could that be, when he treated her like an animal and abused her like a prisoner of war in some dark land with no laws. Did he think, in his twisted way, that she somehow would reciprocate these feelings?
He had lectured her about her supposed submissive nature and how, if only she would give in to him completely, she would come to a new and higher plane of existence, where he was the center of her universe.
His words actually reminded her of Master John's, though not as eloquent. But Master John had meant it in a loving way—not this forced and violent way. Master John would have rescued her from this torment, if only he knew where she was.
But Master John was somewhere in New Jersey, while she was prisoner in a little bathroom god only knew where, at the mercy of a madman.
His hands roamed over her, touching her body, squeezing her legs and ass, patting her belly, as if she were an object or an animal. She could feel his desire emanating from him like a force field.
If only she could find a way to return that bizarre affection. Would it make her life easier? Would it at least allow her more privileges? Like regular food and water, and the chance to be clean and sleep without shackles? Had her life really been reduced to this, in so short a time?
Finally he said, “Get dry. You have twenty seconds.” He tossed a towel at her and Lisa scrambled to obey. He counted as she hurriedly dried herself. At the count of twenty he said, “Drop it.”
She stood, dizzy with hunger, longing to lie down. Surprising her, he said, “Lie down. Right there on the bath rug.” And then, not surprisingly, “And spread your legs.” She lay on her back, closing her eyes, barely even wondering what was next. She was startled to feel his tongue, soft and wet, against her pussy.
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