They slept together when their initial sex was over. They snuggled close like lovers at midnight, and woke at three for sex again.
And though Darcy was gone when she awakened the next morning, she found him in his office already working, freshly showered and immaculately dressed as usual. A check of the clock – it was nearly nine o’clock.
“You’re a mess, Shelby,” he said directly. “Perhaps you should go home and get yourself cleaned up.”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled, “I do feel rather…rather well-used.”
“Indeed you are.” He smiled back.
Giving up her apartment and her salary, and everything she owned seemed only to cement an arrangement she deeply cherished. Mr. Darcy’s property. She even loved the sound of that and what the thought of it did to her body. She was at his disposal any hour of the day or night. She belonged to him as much as his house, his clothes and his business belonged to him. She was an asset he’d acquired with great time and expense to him. She couldn’t have been more grateful to have found a man who so thoroughly understood her.
Chapter Five
“So, when does this end?” Shelby peered through the gloomy fog of the dark room, sensing Jessup’s presence. The fear and loathing that she’d felt since her incarceration began were morphing into something very different, but she was unable to name exactly what that was. Desire? No, too strong a word. Desire resided in her heart as much as in her sexually charged loins. To desire the man meant that she had some emotional bond with a known evil.
Maybe she was going soft on her captor? Was his abuse becoming as welcome as the sound of boots on concrete? Boots brought food and whatever comfort she was given. Boots bore her to sessions of masochistic pain. The sound of boots sent a shiver down her spine…
Obviously something was happening in her fractured psyche. She’d lost track of the days…in her mind she was living simultaneous to her time with Darcy. She could flip back and forth from one to the other easily, one consciousness as distinct and real as the other. At least she could still tell that the one was her past and the other her present.
In her present life as a captured criminal, she was regularly taken to the machines. Dildos were fitted into her vagina and ass, and her body was fucked by attached mechanical arms that trust the invaders deeply into her sexual spaces. The erratic rhythms seemed to go on for hours at a time. Although judging time was impossible in this place. What she might take as minutes, could be hours, hours could be reduced to minutes. Is this how insanity begins? she asked herself. But there was no one listening, no one to answer but the voices inside her head.
“And how is my favorite masochist?” Jessup taunted her when he came to watch the sexual torture.
Her body spoke when her voice refused to answer. She glanced down to see him staring at her, a foul and vulgar gleam in his eye. He was obviously enjoying the sight of her rapturous body forced to come and come again, having no control over her sexual responses.
“This is a natural state for you. I think you even know that, Shelby. When you’re gone from here, I’ll have the movies of you to play back any time I want.” He pointed to the eye of the video camera set in the far corner of the room.
Not that she hadn’t seen the camera before; she had confirmation…maybe a reason why she spent so much time on the hateful machines. Would they sell the tapes to some collector? Post them on the Internet? Her imagination rattled on with the possibilities – none of which was hers to control. She closed her eyes, closing out Jessup and his video camera, then turned her face away, giving the lens as little as possible to record – as little as possible for Jessup to gawk at on some future date.
When she opened her eyes again, the man was gone.
Long periods of bondage followed the sessions with the sex machines. Jessup fashioned himself an expert in shibari bondage. She hung suspended until her consciousness fell into deep, meditative states from which she could hardly be awakened. Sometimes, she dreamt of flying, sometimes of drowning in the ocean, or diving from the sky into a dark pool of loving hands.
On more lucid days, she wondered if her captors noticed her delirium. Did the sadist Jessup still get off to his choreographed sessions in torment? He ordered her abuse, which she took with few outward signs of suffering – pain was pain; and there were ways to escape pain. The mind just needed to figure out how to outsmart the attackers, and make its way through the intensity until those merciful endorphins kicked in.
On the other hand, it became more difficult to avoid reality and check out during the gang rapes. The men were real, so were their mouths, their hands and their penises, hungry for the satisfaction her body could give them. She relished their feral scent. She looked forward to their sweat, even to the odors that in her real life she would have shunned in disgust. They were alive and human, with beating hearts, and mouths that groaned and growled and panted in their quest for the physical satisfaction she would give them.
Funny, how deprivation changes the mind about a lot of things. Judgments cease. Longings take new forms. Any sort of touch can be welcome. And small favors – a bite of fresh baked bread, a stolen sip of wine, the scent of sweet perfume, a breath of fresh air – this was what she lived for.
Then one day…
Shelby was marched from the cell by two guards and was taken to the shower room. She’d been there before when they blasted her with hoses, and laughed at the way she danced frenzied and screaming as alternating bursts of hot and cold water exploded against her skin. Just as before, one of the guards took pleasure in roughing her up with soap. Before, the scent of it had been foul and the smell lingered on her body for several days after. This time, the soap smelled of lilacs and honeysuckle. The heady scent seemed to tap an endorphin all its own and she smiled, cheered for the first time since her captivity began. This was a sensuous surprise to enjoy, though undoubtedly it was only meant to taunt her with a promise that would be left unfulfilled. Such scents were for lovers to savor and there was no lover to savor the sweet scent of her flesh.
Before, when she showered, she’d been left to drip dry in her cell. This time she was handed a large scratchy towel and told to dry herself. Then there was scented cream to rub into her skin and a comb to smooth the tangles from her hair. The soft wavy hair framed her face when she was finished and for the first time in days, she blushed as the guards gazed at her nude body. Was she even more appealing to them now?
“Here, put this on,” one of them handed her a dress: a bright print with a collage of colors vivid enough to shock her eyes. After so much gray in a long series of foggy days, she’d wondered if the world had turned black and white. She was thankful to see that it had not.
The dress was small, covering little of her flesh. Her breasts were pressed so tightly against the fabric that her nipples poked out like bullets, while the short hemline had her honeysuckle scented pussy peeking out from underneath.
“And these.” The same guard shoved a pair of red high heels into her hands. “He wants you wearing these. And you’d better walk like a whore.”
“Who wants me to walk like a whore?” And how does a whore walk?
“Don’t ask questions. You’ll have your answers when you get there.”
“So Jessup’s prostituting me tonight. Is that it?” she sarcastically bit off. Buoyed by the normality of dressing in real clothes, she took a chance with her haughty retort. “I always figured it would wind up like this.”
“You’re wrong,” the guard answered curtly. “And don’t even talk, unless you want to get slapped around again, or you want to be gagged.”
“Sorry,” she replied, having been immediately reminded of her status in this house of horrors. She sheepishly bowed her head in shame, knowing this was exactly what they wanted to see, and it was easy enough to give them.
Then they marched her down the hall, the pretty prisoner with her fresh-washed hair and fancy flowered frock and tall high heels. Walk like a whore. She did her best, bounci
ng her hips back and forth, letting her lips part like a sexy runway model’s. They should have given her lipstick to paint her mouth and mascara for her eyes if they wanted her to be a whore. But maybe this was good enough.
A few corridors here and there, enough for her to lose her way, and she was shoved into a room, almost stumbling on a carpet so thick that her heels sunk in a good half inch. She righted herself and peered at the bewildering sight of a living room, chairs, a sofa, tables that looked like vintage 1950. Mid-century lamps were lit around the room, casting a yellow fog of light over everything inside the strange looking space.
At first, she thought she might be staring into a painting, or had walked onto a movie set, or flipped back to a past she was far too young to have lived. The scene felt too contrived to be real. But then there was Jessup in an easy chair by one of the glowing lamps, smoking a cigar and chewing on the end.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked suspiciously, almost an accusation. She felt curiously annoyed, though she couldn’t understand why.
“Is that any way to greet me? Here I thought you might enjoy a little civility. I give you a shower, clothes. I thought a drink, a cigarette, maybe a decent meal and a place to sit would please you.”
The food on the coffee table was real, so was the smell of liquor. Both were very welcome. But what she said in response to these alluring stimulations was, “I don’t smoke.” Her voice was terse and meant to hurt.
Jessup shrugged. “No matter to me, sit down, Shelby Ryan.”
She tried sitting in the chair farthest from Jessup but he objected and motioned her to the couch next to him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Not now, anyway.”
He poured her a beer. Suspicion made her reluctant to take the glass and reluctant to drink. But the liquid went down fast as soon as she tasted that first sip; it tasted like freedom on her parched tongue.
“Eat what you want. This is here for you.”
She stared at the plate filled with olives and cheese and slabs of beef and succulent grapes. There were even chocolates on the side. The smells were rich and fragrant, rushing into her nostrils. But too much all at once and her senses were quickly overloaded.
She wanted it all and her famished belly was growling like a hungry bear.
Though she was ravenous for the beer and she’d made that clear, she was more careful eating the food. An olive at first, then a slice of smoked Gouda, then a small cluster of plump red grapes. Her stomach craved more, but she managed to keep her distance from the food, wary of what it might contain. More drugs, no doubt, and she didn’t want to be drugged.
Her mind shuffled through a dozen questions that naturally popped up in her brain…most of them centered on ‘why?’ Why this? Why now? What are you going to want next?
Maybe the food was drugged, or maybe it was just its natural essence that turned her ravenous hunger into ravenous desire. But the throbbing for cock was nearly as painful as her hunger; and suddenly the fear of losing a precious moment of physical intimacy made her more careful of how she spoke to her host. She could not afford to offend the man who’d given her beer and food, a clean dress and a clean body. A man who routinely promised her body the sexual release it craved was not one to piss off if the alternative awaiting her was a cold damp cell.
While Shelby ate, Jessup viewed her with the same cruel stare as when he tortured her. But this time was different. This time he wouldn’t dare demand she suffer another session of pain. Or was he just playing her for a fool?
When it appeared that she was finished eating, he spoke again. “Come sit on my lap.”
Her eyes got big with question marks, but her body was unable to budge from the sofa and he spoke again, “Come here, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Would it have mattered if that was his plan? Would it have made any difference as to whether she obeyed or disobeyed? He held her life in his hands. She was his to control, what good would hesitating do her?
While moving from the sofa to Jessup’s lap, she found the tall heels awkward, almost tripping her up again. She was unused to them; and frankly unused to walking after so many hours on her knees.
What Jessup wanted was for her to straddle his legs, and for her open pussy to rest against the fabric stretching across his crotch. The scene was wildly erotic with the callous Jessup crushing his palms into her breasts, taking her mouth with his, inserting his tongue like a lover and kissing her hard until her face hurt and her pussy was throbbing for more than just the feel of cock through a layer of heavy fabric. She felt the hard erection beat against her wet snatch. And soon she felt herself reaching out to have him with the same vigorous zeal he used to win her cooperation.
He’d hurt her so many times, been the author of her worst nightmares, and still she could lust for him. This only proved the nature of depravity as a place where there are no rules, no values, no right behavior or wrong act. In that delicious place another plane of reality exists and sound judgment is suspended in favor unbridled pleasure. God is a hard cock, a wet pussy and the time to explode the one inside the other. Nothing else in the world has any meaning until that very basic need is satisfied.
But who would have guessed that a cruel brute like Col. Jessup would be such an accomplished tease? His hand gently pushed the hair from her face, then his thumb slowly grazed her lips with tender affection. A moment later, he brought his mouth to hers for the second kiss.
She didn’t worry anymore about understanding why. She didn’t worry about being hurt again. When he told her to back off so he could strip away his pants, he was actually a little awkward, like a naïve schoolboy doing the dirty deed for the first time. Once he was back in the chair, she beheld his stiff erection and a glimmer of heat emanated from her smoldering eyes.
“Come here, slut,” he said, a gentle snicker across his face.
She straddled his lap again. This time, his thick pulsating organ sank inside her love hole, and dove deep to the darkest reaches of her sexual body. She fell into his chest wiggling her crotch against him and closing her eyes to savor the sensation.
“Ooooooooo, yess!” she hissed, drawn away by the powerful force. Her lips went to his ears where she blew hot breath along the skin. She felt his teeth sinking into the side of her neck. “What? You just turned into a vampire?” she giggled because the biting tickled.
“That’s right, I’m a vampire here to drain your blood,” he laughed darkly.
After that, she fucked him. Bouncing on his lap, her first orgasm rifled off within minutes of her being impaled. Jessup took much longer to come, building up steam while his raunchy date worked herself to at least three orgasms before he ejaculated into her steamy hole. After the first wounding copulation, she wanted him even more; she wanted him hard again and for the fuck to keep on forever. If she kept him happy, he wouldn’t hurt her, she surmised – although she couldn’t count on anything with this man.
When he pushed her off, she fell to the floor. Ah, yes, it’s back to the floor again, she thought as she hit the hard concrete on the edge of her hip. The carpet did little to cushion the blow.
While waiting for her next order, he lit his cigar again – such a sensuous cliché. She almost asked for a cigarette, but then she remembered that she didn’t smoke.
“You know, you don’t have to sit there, slut,” he finally said. He looked sated and softer than she’d ever seen him. “I imagine the couch is much more comfortable than the floor, but then I really wouldn’t know.”
Shelby didn’t wait for a second invitation. She scrambled to the couch and waited there for him to speak again. While he collected his thoughts, he sipped his drink and lit the cigar again.
Finally, after several long soothing drags on his smoke, he said, “You know, the way I see it, you’re not going to tell anyone a damn thing about that silly disk.”
She gazed at him shocked. “You mean you believe me?”
He shrugged. “I probably do, though it’s real
ly not my place to make decisions like that. I just do what I’m ordered to do. I’ve told you that before.” He smiled scornfully as he often did, not with his full mouth, but with one corner lifting up just enough to suggest that he was mildly amused. “But you know what else I believe?” he puffed away on his cigar like he was proud of the cloud of smoke that blanketed the room. “I believe that you are a bonafide masochist. A well-trained one at that. And that, Ms. Shelby Ryan, makes you quite a commodity on the slave market. I suppose by now you’ve figured out that you won’t be released from the hell hole of captivity regardless of what you do or say. But where you go next, that is where I have some influence. The way you take pain, well, you’ll be useful to my personal cause. There’s a big black market where women are bought and sold and sold again. Yes, you will make a useful addition to my bottom line.”
Of course, she could have guessed the possibilities for her future, but she’d been too afraid to speculate. “Useful?” Her voice was weak and tired, and the way she bit her lip made her look like a naïve teenager.
“Why not? A cunt like yours shouldn’t go to waste. There are men who will pay bundles to have a pretty American like you ready for cock with a horny snatch. It’s even better if they have an inclination for pain.” He smiled, a very happy man. “Men are such sadists at heart; I guess you’ve seen that here. Although some men get off on delivering pain to women who can’t stand it, I find it more interesting to take on women like you who’ve learned to derive pleasure in the roughest of circumstances. Whoever trained you did a first rate job.”
“And what? That’s supposed to make me what…?”
“You don’t have to feel a thing. What all this means is that tonight is your swan song in my detention center, honey. That’s why the big send off with all the amenities. I wasn’t going to let prime meat like you go without a little fucking from the man in charge. I mean everyone else around here has had the pleasure of fucking you at will. I was beginning to think your cunt would fall off.” He stared her down, just like he had so many times. “Don’t look so scared. I promise you, where you’re going, you’ll be treated far better than I’ve treated you here. It will be a lot more comfortable. The brothel actually has some nice soft beds. I’ve been there enough times, I should know.” He laughed, expelling more smoke.
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