by John Ringo
"And where is your home?" Daria asked.
Mike stopped and blinked. Home still meant the U.S. to him. His parents were dead; he hadn't talked to his sister in ... years.
"Thanks for asking," Mike said, frowning. "The answer is, I don't have one."
"You should have a home," Daria said, frowning in turn. "You are a good man, you should have a good home."
"I suppose it's with the Keldara," Mike replied, still frowning. "They are the closest thing to family I have. For years, home was the Navy, the Teams and BUD/S. I was married, but that came apart after I got out. Now ... I don't know."
"You should marry again," Daria said definitely.
"When I find the right girl, maybe," Mike replied. The sun was slowly descending to the west and the temperature was dropping steadily. He wasn't bothered by it, he'd gotten used to far worse on beaches all over the world, but the girls were getting out of the water and shivering. "Looks like time for dinner," he added, standing up.
Daria followed him as he headed back to the hotel and he turned to look at her, quirking an eyebrow.
"I was wondering ..." the girl said, then shrugged. "It is nothing."
"Tell you what," Mike said, quirking one cheek up. "Let's talk about it upstairs."
When they got to his room, Mike waved her to a chair and flopped on the bed, propping up some pillows behind him.
"One of the things we haven't done on this op is introduce a consistent rape counselling program," Mike said. "Or an abuse counselling program. Why? Because we're on a combat op and it's not important to the operation. And, frankly, we don't have any counselors. Maybe we should bring in some touchy-feely types to cover the bases, but we haven't. I haven't. Comments?"
"Why should you care?" Daria asked, shrugging one shoulder.
"If it's affecting the mission," Mike said. "We're stuck with you girls for the time being. If you're not functional, it affects the mission."
"We're functional," Daria said, angrily. "And you're not stuck with us."
"Yes, I am," Mike replied. "You're aware of who we are and what we're doing. If we just dropped you off on the street, the news would get around. Besides, as part of my not being a nice guy, but trying to act like one, I can't just drop you on a street corner. So I'm stuck with you. And if you're getting huffy about that and decide you're going to storm out, you'll discover we've got plenty of rigger tape."
"Rigger tape?" Daria asked, confused.
"Duct tape, then," Mike said, rolling over and pulling a roll out of his jump bag.
"We're still prisoners, then," Daria said.
"Yep," Mike replied. "Just like before. But we're not planning on killing you as part of sexual funs and games. Only real difference. Oh, and you're not going to get raped. And we'll try really hard not to raise a hand to you. But, yeah, you're still prisoners. It's just a more comfortable jail."
"Then why don't you rape me?" Daria said, breathing hard.
"Don't tempt me," Mike said. "Seriously. Don't. You're a real looker. And the reason is, I try to act like a nice guy."
"What if I told you I wanted you to?" Daria said, looking down at the floor and blushing. "What if I told you that as much as I hated what happened to me ... I liked it as well?"
"Then I'd tell you that I'm not a rape counsellor," Mike replied with a dismissive shrug. "I'd also tell you that you're not alone. Bum magnets tend to end up in abusive relationships. I would guess that your bum boyfriend occasionally slapped you around, right?"
"Yes," Daria said, looking up. "I should have stopped him, but ..."
"You loved him and he loved you," Mike finished for her, shrugging. "It ain't love, honey, it's abuse syndrome. Hell, it's being a submissive. Not necessarily sexually, but in general. You probably felt like you deserved it, that it was all your fault."
"Are you in my head?" Daria asked angrily. "Is this some sort of mind thing?"
"No, it's being old enough and experienced enough to have had the conversation before," Mike said, shrugging again. "You're hardly alone. Abuse like that happens all over, honey, even in the United States. You never had sex with your boyfriend?"
"No," Daria said, blushing again. "I drew the line there, even when he became angry. And he only hit me when he was drunk. One time he tried to ..."
"Rape you," Mike said.
"I was going to say force me," Daria replied. "It was not really rape—"
"Yeah, it is," Mike snapped. "Date rape is rape. Period fucking dot. So you drew the line there, now what?"
"Now ..." Daria said and stopped.
"You said that some of the abuse you enjoyed?" Mike asked calmly.
"I should not," Daria said, dropping her face in her hands. "I think I am a very bad person."
"Item number sixty-two of the checklist," Mike said, chuckling.
"What is so funny?" Daria snapped, glaring at him.
"You were brought up to be a very good girl," Mike said, still smiling. "To not have sex until you are married. But you feel the want of it?"
"Yes," Daria admitted. "Very much."
"I won't ask if that's an 'especially now' answer," Mike said. "But the point is, if you're forced ,then it's not your fault. If a man makes you do it, you are not so bad a person. It is one of the reasons that you want to be forced, to be made to have sex. Yes?"
"I ... hadn't thought of it that way," Daria admitted.
"If you are tied, how can it be your fault?" Mike asked. "But if you still like it, that still makes you a bad person inside. So you want to be hurt for being a bad girl. Am I close?"
"Yes," Daria answered quietly.
"All right," Mike said, shrugging. "Let's talk about that. Part of it might be because of the rape. But ... did you ever think that way before the rape? I mean, did you fantasize about things like that when you masturbated?"
"That's a very personal question!" Daria snapped.
"This is a personal conversation," Mike replied. "The question is, did these feelings come about as a result of the rape, or did you have them before?"
"Some of them ..." Daria said, softly. "Some of them before."
"There are books and books written about what you're feeling," Mike said. "The term is sexual submission. Lucky for me, I tend to run into them a lot since I'm a sexual dominant. Opposites attract and all that. The point is, you're not bad for feeling that way. It's a normal, hell probably a majority, feeling in women. It's even a desire in some men. So the first thing to get into your noggin is that you're not evil for feeling that way."
"It feels ... wrong," Daria said. "Bad."
"And some women enjoy being told how bad they are," Mike said. "That's all fine and dandy, as long as it's really a consensual thing between two rational adults. Or more, sometimes. The point is, it's okay to feel that way, okay to play out those fantasies. As long as you know where to draw the line. The term is 'the bedroom door.' As long as your fantasies are play, whether it's in a bedroom or a living room or the kitchen, the whole house or on a mountainside, as long as the play ends at an agreed upon point, it's just fun."
"Fun," Daria snorted. "I want ... I want to be told I'm bad."
"And as long as that's in the bedroom, metaphorically, that's all fine and good," Mike replied. "Daria, look at me."
He waited until the girl looked up and met his eyes.
"You're a good girl, a fine woman," Mike said, holding her eyes with his. "You just have the need to be told otherwise. Do you want to be spanked? To be abused?"
"Yes," she admitted, still looking him in the eye.
"But you don't want that to be your life, right?" Mike said. "Tied up and hit, carefully, and told you're a bad girl in bed, sure. But not hit in the face because supper's late."
"No," Daria said, shocked. "I mean, yes, the first but not the second."
"You're a sexual sub," Mike said, shrugging and leaning back. "My favorite kind of girl. But the point is, at the end of the play you go back to being your own person. Owning yourself. Loving you
rself and knowing that you are not a bad person. If you can't do that, you're never going to be the person you can be."
"But now I feel as if I really need it," Daria practically wailed. "I want it all the time—"
"Item twenty something on the post-rape checklist," Mike said. "Nymphomania. The female in the situation shifts to desiring sex. If it's going to happen, anyway, they might as well learn to enjoy it. A lot. And do it. A lot. Even when they aren't forced to."
"You're saying I'm sick?" Daria asked carefully. "Nymphomania is being sick."
"Not really," Mike replied, shrugging. "You're just having a standard reaction to your form of trauma. Sorry if it makes you feel less special. Not sorry if it makes you feel less bad. Because you're not. You're a fine young lady. You've just been through a traumatic experience and you're reacting to it in fairly well recognized ways."
"So what do I do about it?" Daria asked, sitting up.
"That's where my knowledge sort of breaks down," Mike admitted. "The thing about rape, especially when it happens to a person with little or no experience of sex, is that it changes the wiring for what is positive and negative sexual experiences. You can't really know what your sexual interests, your needs, are. Look, my ex-wife did some rape counselling. Most of the stuff I know comes from her and girlfriends who have been abused. I'm not an expert. Okay?"
"Okay," Daria said, carefully. "But you're as close as I can get right now."
"Right," Mike admitted. "Especially since you're still, effectively, a prisoner. Even if I went out and found a counselor, he or she would be sucked into the same void. So I'll just tell you what I know. The thing about rape is that it sort of changes the wiring. There was a boy that my wife counselled. He'd been homosexually raped when he was thirteen or so. And he'd been homosexually oriented ever since. So he was in his mid-twenties or so and all of a sudden he starts getting interested in girls. He's not sure what's happening, so he goes back into counselling. Turned out, he wasn't really homosexual at all. His orientation was as a result of the rape, period. So right now, it would be hard to tell what your real orientation is."
"So what do I do?" Daria asked. "What do I do about the ... the nightmares? About the feelings?"
"Well, one thing is you talk about them," Mike said. "This is a good start. And if you're fixated on certain kinds of sex, try them. You're not a virgin anymore. If you want to have sex, have sex. Over time, your real orientation will probably, I dunno, realign? Talk to some of the other girls about the feelings they have, the nightmares they're having. Talking about it hurts when you do it, but it will help."
"I'll tell you one nightmare," Daria said. "It's that this is all an elaborate joke to break us down again. That we're going to go right back into being whores. That's not even a nightmare; it's something I worry about all the time."
Mike opened his mouth to reply and then paused.
"You know, there's an aspect of this I hadn't considered," he admitted. "If we bungle one of the upcoming ops, you might just end up that way. Back in slavery, that is. Hell, the Keldara women would. Although I think the rest of the militia would turn up pretty quick with Nielson leading them. I probably ought to figure out a way to get you all back to Georgia. You'd be safer there. Not safe, exactly, but safer."
"To be part of your harem?" Daria asked bitterly.
"Like I said, I'm not sure what to do with you," Mike replied.
"Can I just go home?" the girl asked softly.
"Not until the op is over," Mike said. "You understand why."
"Understand, yes," Daria said. "Happy about, no."
"Not much I can do about your happiness," Mike replied with a shrug.
"You can do one thing," Daria said.
"And that is?"
"I need ..." She paused and looked at the floor. "I want ..."
"You know that this is probably just your reaction to what you went through, right?" Mike asked.
"Yes," she admitted. "That doesn't relieve the need."
Mike cocked his head to the side and really looked at her for a moment.
"Daria?"
"Yes?" she asked, looking up.
"Take your clothes off."
"What?" the girl asked.
"I'm going to relieve both our needs," Mike replied, standing up and walking over to her. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but it's the best one I can come up with right now. The bedroom door is, metaphorically and really, shut. You can choose to not play the game if you wish."
"I choose ..." Daria said then paused. "I think I choose to play."
"Fine," Mike said, walking over to one of the other chairs and sitting down. "Then stand up and take off all of your clothes."
The girl looked at him for a moment and then stood up and started to slowly undress. She started off looking at him but when she started to slip her dress off she had to look away.
When she started to sit down and remove her shoes, Mike waved at her to stop.
"Keep the shoes on," Mike said gruffly. "I like high heels. Here is the deal. You've been an actual sex-slave. Some of the play is based around that sort of situation. Are you going to be able to take that?"
"Yes," Daria said, softly, still looking at the floor. "As long as I'm sure it's play."
"Are you?" Mike asked.
"Yes," Daria admitted. "I trust you. I don't know why I do, but I do."
"It might have something to do with my rescuing you from durance vile," Mike told the naked girl. "Or my winning smile. But we're going to have to establish the parameters. That is, we're going to have to find out what I can and cannot do. And you're going to have to know how to end the play. Are you listening?"
"Yes," Daria replied. "Can I put my clothes back on?"
"Not unless you want the play to end," Mike said. "Do you?"
"Not yet," Daria admitted. "I am very confused. I want to do this, but I am frightened. I was stripped like this to be sold to Ahmed Pasha. It was very humiliating. This is very humiliating. But ..."
"You like it," Mike said.
"Yes."
"Go over to the bed and get a pillow," Mike ordered. "Put it on the floor and kneel on it. There," he added, pointing to a spot a few feet away from his chair. "Keep your head down when you are kneeling. You will only look at me when I order you to do so. The response to that is 'Yes, master.' "
"Yes ..." Daria said, pausing with a catch in her voice. "Yes, master."
When the girl was kneeling, Mike leaned forward.
"From now until the end of play, you are my slave," Mike said. "I will order you to do things, I will force you to do things. You will obey my orders. Do you agree to this?"
"Yes, master," Daria said, her head bent in submission.
"Before we begin, we have to know what you will accept and what is not acceptable," Mike said. "Is there anything that you will not accept? Answer truthfully."
"I don't want to be hit in the face," Daria replied, shivering. "And I don't want to be burned."
"I will not hit you in the face," Mike replied. "What about anal sex?"
"I don't like it," Daria admitted. "But ..."
"It's humiliating?" Mike asked.
"Yes," the girl answered, softly.
"And you like to be humiliated," Mike said. "You like to be shown what a bad girl you are."
"Yes," Daria said, her face working against the tears.
"Time out," Mike said, sitting up. "When I say that, we're out of play and it's time to talk. How are you feeling?"
"Strange," Daria admitted. "Very weird. Like I'm not really here."
"Detached?" Mike asked. "Floating? Almost like you're not in your body?"
"Yes."
"A normal reaction," Mike said. "Do you like it?"
"Yes," Daria admitted.
"Am I causing bad flashbacks?"
"No," she said, blinking. "Strippping sort of did. But this ... no."
"Okay, we'll continue," Mike said. "If at any time, you have to stop, you can say 'time out' o
r 'yellow' or any odd word. But if you say 'no,' or 'stop,' or 'please' or anything else along the lines, it means 'You're doing great, do it harder and meaner.' Understood?"
"Yes," Daria said, half laughing.
It was the first time Mike had heard her so much as chuckle and he took it as a good sign.
"What are you laughing about, slave?" Mike snapped. "Drop your eyes to the floor where they belong!" He stood up and walked over to her, circling her predatorially.
"You have been a very bad girl, Daria. You defied your parents, had sex out of wedlock and admitted that you enjoyed it. You are a bad girl and you must be punished."
"Yes, master," Daria said softly.
Mike dipped into a bag and came out with a couple of lengths of soft rope and a cloth. He tied her hands and ankles and looped the two ropes together to hogtie her on her knees then blindfolded her with the cloth. He carefully pulled most of her long, blonde hair out from under the blindfold and then grabbed it, hard, pulling her head back and making her gasp in pain.
"You've been a bad girl, little bitch," Mike rasped. "And you're going to be punished for it." He slipped his bathing suit off and slapped her on the face with his cock. "Say 'I'm a bad girl.' "
"I'm a bad girl," the girl sobbed.
"Whatever punishment my master gives me, I deserve," he said, slapping her on the face again.
"Whatever punishment my master gives me, I deserve."
"Take it in your mouth, bitch," Mike said, shoving his dick in her mouth. "Suck it like I know you do. Suck it hard or you'll be punished."
He wasn't sure if it was natural talent or the training she'd gotten since being kidnapped, but Daria truly knew how to give a blowjob. She could have sucked a golf ball through forty feet of steel hose. He felt like his dick was being hickeyed. She might be the best blower he'd ever had, which was saying something. He hadn't planned on blowing a load in her mouth, but the blowjob was too good to pass up. When he felt himself starting to orgasm, he blew most of it in her mouth, then pulled out and pumped the rest onto her face and gorgeous tits. And she swallowed automatically after barely a choke. Damn she was good.
"Slutty little bitch," he growled into her ear, rubbing the cum onto her face and breasts. "You're nothing but a slut, a little bad girl. Say you're a slut."