His Black Pearl

by Jena Cryer

  I feel the fabric skim across my chin, my jaw, all the way down my neck, but I can’t focus on anything but those gorgeous blue eyes staring down at me. They’re gentle and firm, kind and commanding, serene and yet still passionate.

  So, so passionate.

  His hand trails to my breasts, and his fingers toy with nipples. A moan builds up in my throat, but no… No, I can’t give in. I’m Adair Bartlett. I’m a good girl. I have to at least try to do the right thing.

  I rest my gloved hand on his forearm, and he goes still.

  “Please,” I say. “Please, I—“

  The crop smacks across my thigh.

  I cry out. The man in the white coat raises his weapon again, but my master just holds up his hand. He pulls me tighter into his arms, and I cry against his shoulder as he strokes my hair.

  What was that even for?

  I hadn’t been bad. I just said please, that’s all. My skin still burns from my whipping, and I’m sobbing at the complete unfairness of my life when the shopkeeper puts a gloved hand on my shoulder and whispers into my ear.

  “Is only little pain, bella. Master no hurt you much, and only then to make you learn. Just be good. No speak. No ever speak. If want to be happy, just obey. That all it take. Old Pietro already know you good girl. Now just show master how sweet you are.”

  My cries turn into hiccupping sobs. Show Master how sweet I am? What does that even mean?

  My master rocks me in his arms, but I can’t calm down. This man is a monster—a hypnotizingly beautiful monster, but a monster nonetheless. I can’t just submit to him. He’s asking me to give up my words, my freedom, my entire humanity, and in exchange for what? The illusion of happiness?

  I snort.

  No amount of joy is worth the sacrifice of independence. Even the founding fathers knew that. My life back home might have been miserable, but at least it was my own, and no matter how much this crazy old shopkeeper might think otherwise, giving up my free will couldn’t possibly bring me any pleasure.

  Or could it?

  I shiver at the thought.

  No, I’m just scared, that’s all, and fear leads to doubting, and doubting leads to mistakes, and I can’t afford to make any more mistakes. Not now.

  I look up at the men surrounding me.

  They’re all watching, waiting. More than anything I want to run away, but the crop in the white-coated man’s hand keeps me still. I have to be smart. I can’t handle pain—I already know that. If I try to fight them, they’ll just break me faster. No, my best strategy is to wait for the right moment. If I pretend to go along with what they’re doing, maybe they’ll start to trust me. They’ll have to let their guard down sometime, and then I can escape.

  I smile just thinking about my salvation.

  “Oh, now there my good bella.” The shopkeeper pets my head. “No more sad thoughts. Old Pietro find good home for you, now you be happy.”

  He says more words in that strange dialect to the other two men, and he shakes each of their hands before climbing to his feet. He strides towards the door.

  He’s already outside before I realize I’ll probably never see him again, and for some reason, I almost miss him. He kidnapped me, sure, but at least he was the devil I knew. I don’t even have names for these other two men aside from Master and White Coat, and I highly doubt either of those would appear on their birth certificates.

  I take a deep breath.

  My master’s blue eyes are on me, and I do my best to smile. I have a part to play, and I have a plan. I just have to stay in character until I finally get my big break, and then…then…

  Then I guess I’ll just have to wing it from there.

  Chapter Five

  I never thought of myself as much of an actor, but performing comes more easily than I’d ever imagined.

  I moan and sigh in all the right places, and my master’s lips twitch at the corners ever so slightly. If he wants a happy slave, then I’ll give him a happy slave. All he has to do is keep that crop away from me and I’ll be the happiest girl he ever did see.

  White Coat places a bowl of fruit in front of us, and when Master lifts a dark grape up to my mouth, I swallow it eagerly.

  I’m so hungry.

  My stomach rumbles, and Master feeds me bite after bite of some of the most delicious fruit I’ve ever tasted. He says the word pela every time he presses a piece of food to my lips, and slowly I begin to realize that he must be saying eat in his language.

  Well, if that’s the kind of order he wants to give me, then I’m only too happy to obey.

  I savor every delicacy that touches my tongue, and when his hands roam down my hips, my thighs, all the way up to the slit between my legs, I force myself to stay calm.

  What should I do?

  Oh, God, what should I do?

  It was easy enough to call it an act when all he did was feed me, but just how far do I plan to let this go? I’m still a virgin for Christ’s sake. I can’t just sit back and let myself be raped.

  His fingers travel farther inside me, and my breath hitches.

  Oh God…

  The shopkeeper’s leathery caresses had been the first time anyone had ever touched me down there, but this…this is just so… so…

  I moan low and deep.

  Master’s left arm pulls me tighter to his chest. His free hand kneads my breast while his right digs deeper inside me.

  I gasp.

  I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t want this, but I do. Oh, sweet Lord, I do.

  My hips grind into his touch.

  He strokes me harder, deeper, and pulsing heat blossoms between my legs. I’m so wet. My muscles quiver. My back arches. Master leans forward and lifts my breast up to his lips. His tongue teases the tip of my nipple, and when he finally latches his mouth upon me, I explode.

  Oh sweet mother of God!

  I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s ecstasy. It’s bliss. It’s…

  Heaven.

  My whole body tingles.

  Waves of dark pleasure roll over me, through me. He nibbles my flesh. He rubs unending circles into my cunt, and I never want it to stop. Please, Lord, don’t let it stop.

  I climax a second time and then a third, but Master doesn’t stop there. He pushes me harder, further, deeper, and it’s all I can do to keep up.

  I cry out like an animal.

  My head slumps against his shoulder. My whole body melts into his. I suck in one delicious breath after the next, and when my master finally looks down at me, I’m limp and pliant in his arms.

  He gives my breast one last tender kiss

  “Sona, Isa,” he says. “Sona.”

  I shiver.

  What in God’s name was that?

  I’ve heard of orgasms before, but I’ve never felt one. I’ve never even masturbated. Why would I? I was always the good girl. Sure, I might cuss a little bit here and there, but when Friday night comes around, I’m always the one at home studying while everyone else is out combing Sixth Street for a hook-up.

  My eyes cloud over.

  I shouldn’t be here. I should be eating barbecue with my mom and dad back in Texas, not moaning like a wild animal while some stranger fingers me. I should be ashamed. I should want to die rather than let this man touch me. I should—

  Master brushes the hair out of my eyes, and when I look up at him, those terrifyingly beautiful eyes meet mine.

  Oh, Lord, why do they have to be so perfect?

  He smiles down at me and strokes my clit one last time before pulling his hand away from my pussy.

  “Pela.”

  He holds one dripping finger up to me, and my eyes go wide.

  He can’t mean…

  His knuckles brush my lip.

  “Pela,” he says again, and in the background, White Coat raises his crop.

  My heart races. I open my mouth. His finger grazes my tongue, and I expect instant disgust, but instead…

  Instead my own juices taste almost…nice.r />
  I clean his fingers one by one. The salty flavor is a perfect contrast to the sweet fruits I’d eaten earlier, and the feel of his flesh between my teeth is almost intoxicating.

  He strokes my cheek when I’m done.

  “Sona.”

  I smile.

  God help me, but for some reason I actually smile.

  I have to remind myself that I’m just playing this man. It’s an act, nothing more. So what if I fall a little too easily into character? That’ll just make my escape all that much easier in the end.

  Won’t it?

  He lifts me onto my hands and knees, and when he pushes the bowl of fruit in front of me, I lower my face to the bowl and eat like the obedient pet I am.

  He strokes my cunt. “Sona, Isa.”

  I eat while he fondles me. When I’m done, he puts the gag back in my mouth before handing my leash to White Coat. Words are spoken. Master goes one way, and White Coat leads me in the next.

  I have no choice but to follow.

  My heart pounds and my arms shake, but I can’t give in now. I have to be brave. I have to be strong. I’m Adair Bartlett, and I can get through this. All I have to do is remember who I am, and nothing these monsters can do will ever change me.

  God, I just wish I could believe that lie.

  Chapter Six

  I crawl quickly behind White Coat.

  I don’t dare fight him. Those giant arms could crush me if he wanted to, and that crop…

  I shudder just thinking about that crop.

  He leads me through one ornate room after the next. Marble floors turns to carpet and carpet turns back to marble. We pass through a long corridor with tall windows on one side and floor to ceiling mirrors on the other. The sun is out. The whole room glows. I steal a glance at the mirrored wall beside me and there I am: naked, gagged, and chained.

  My breasts sway between my arms, and the red welts on my ass and thighs burn brightly against my pale skin. My matted brown hair is bad enough, but when I see my eyes…

  God, they might as well belong to an animal.

  I can’t look at myself for long. That reflection, it’s not me. I can’t let it be me. I need to remember who I am, what I am. That’s the only way I’ll ever get out of that madness. If I forget…

  My thoughts slip away as I pass a group of towering marble statues at the end of the corridor. They’re women. Naked women. Each one is collared and kneeling beneath an armored man who holds her chain in one hand and a coiled whip in the other.

  I stare at their faces, each submissive and blissful as she stares up at the man holding her captive, and for the tiniest fraction of a moment, all I feel is envy.

  I suck in a quick breath and shake the thought from my head. No. No, that is no way to think. It’s just the trauma, that’s all. This…this…whatever this is, it’s fucked up and sick and in no way anything I ever wanted to be a part of.

  You’re Adair Bartlett. You’re a woman. You’re your own woman. You’re meant to be free. You want to be free. It’s the only right way to be.

  Isn’t it?

  I’m so lost in my own inner turmoil that I don’t even notice I’m outside until I smell the fragrance of freshly cut grass. I want to bolt. I want to run down that rolling hill I see ahead of me and not stop until I’m all the way back in Florence.

  But of course I can’t.

  I’m hobbled. All I can do is crawl as I’m led down a long, stone walkway. A giant gray horse grazes in the field to my left while on my right several men in black uniforms weed the massive flowerbeds surrounding my master’s villa.

  One of them looks up at me, and I dare to hope for a quick rescue, but no. He hardly even gives me a passing glance before turning back to the daffodils.

  Bastard.

  I follow White Coat into a small building on the edge of the hill. Inside the air is cool. Plain white tiles cover the floor while stainless steel cabinets rise up against pale blue walls.

  I’d become so accustomed to the elegance of the mansion that this almost aseptic atmosphere seems foreign. Behind me, the door closes. Only then do I notice the cages.

  Oh, God, the cages.

  There are two of them. Each one is the same shiny, stainless steel as the cabinets beneath them, and they’re big, too big to house any pet other than the human variety.

  Warm urine runs down my legs.

  White coat looks down at me, and when I realize what I’ve done, I cower against the floor. He’s going to kill me. Oh, sweet Lord, he’s going to kill me.

  I’m shaking hard when his hands wrap around my waist, but instead of a throttling, he just carries me to a large steel tub in the back of the room.

  I don’t fight him.

  I stay in the position he places me. On hands and knees I watch him unclip my leash before fastening my collar to a two-foot tall pole at the end of the tub. He removes the straps from my thighs and the greaves from my legs. He even takes off my gloves.

  My heart pounds.

  I want to tear off my collar. I want to jump out of this tub. I want to fight my way past him and run screaming across the hillside.

  But I don’t.

  He’s too big, too strong. I could never get past him. And if the front door is locked…

  My gaze travels back to his crop, and I tremble again. He grabs my wrist.

  My breath catches when he lifts up my hand, but he doesn’t hurt me. He just inspects my fingers one by one. Each one tingles and burns when he wiggles it, but he’s careful not to bend it too far.

  Maybe he won’t hurt me anymore.

  He reaches inside the cabinet above me, and when he pulls out something heavy and silver, I squeeze my eyes shut. Playtime is over. He’s going to yank out my fingernails. He’s going to cut off my fingers. He’s going to—

  A sharp snap echoes through the room.

  I keep waiting for the pain, but when I finally steal a peak at my hands, no blood or mutilation awaits me. Fingernail clippings fall to the bottom of my tub. White Coat carefully trims each nail down to a nub, and when he’s finally satisfied with his work, he moves on to do the same to my feet.

  After he’s done, he rubs my cunt.

  “Sona,” he says with each stroke. “Sona.”

  By the time my bath begins, I don’t know if I’m crying out of shame or relief.

  He fills my tub with only a few inches of water. He spreads soap across my breasts, my crotch, my ass. He parts my thighs as he shaves every inch of my legs and pussy.

  My whole body belongs to him now, and I keep waiting for him to take it.

  But he doesn’t.

  He hesitates for a moment before removing my gag. His eyes are on me. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, but I don’t. I just flex my jaw and keep quiet until those scowling lips curve up into something almost resembling a smile.

  “Sona,” he says once more, and as I let him inspect my teeth and gums, I try to tell myself I’m still in control.

  You’re Adair Bartlett, I repeat over and over again. These people have taken your body, but your mind is still your own. All you have to do is keep it, and you’ll figure a way out of this eventually.

  Once he finishes with my mouth, he moves back to my body. His fingers massage whole rivers of oils and lotions into my skin. The scent of lavender drips from my hair as he snips away the dead ends and combs out any remaining tangles. When he’s done, he braids my locks into a twisting brown coil that wraps tightly around my head.

  God forbid even my hair should have any freedom.

  He drains the tub and dries me off.

  Something cool touches my backside, and when I jerk away, he merely places a hand on my back. I go still.

  “Sona.”

  My pulse races.

  He spreads soothing ointment across the welts on my ass and thigh, and slowly I relax. God, that helps. It helps a whole lot.

  When he’s done, I feel almost indebted.

  Almost.

  He straps my greaves and glo
ves back in place and unhooks my collar from the tub. He doesn’t replace the gag, though. I’m grateful for the small reprieve, and when he carries me to the heavy steel cage I’d seen earlier, I don’t even struggle as he lowers me inside.

  This could have been worse.

  So much worse.

  He closes the lid. He snaps a heavy padlock between the bars. He reaches inside and strokes my back while I lie there in compliant shock.

  Why are these people doing this to me?

  Firsts they abduct me, violate me, hit me… and now they comfort me?

  It doesn’t make any sense.

  I could spend my whole life trying to analyze their behavior, but in the end it all comes back to one easily drawn conclusion: they’re monsters. They get their kicks out of dominating defenseless women, and in their perverted little minds, they probably even think their conquests like it.

  I roll my eyes just thinking about that deranged delusion. No woman would ever want this. It’s slavery. It’s vile. It’s evil. It’s the complete opposite of everything precious and wholesome in life. It’s—

  Movement from the cage across the room catches my eye, and I gasp when I see what’s inside.

  There’s a girl…no, a woman.

  She looks like she might be a few years older than me—maybe even older than my master—but she’s beyond beautiful. Thick blonde hair hangs in a long braid down her back, and heavily-lashed green eyes stare at me from behind narrow bars.

  She blows me a kiss.

  I’m shocked at first. My pulse quickens for some reason I don’t understand, and when she rubs her tongue across those soft, pouty lips, I can’t turn away.

  I’m wet.

  Sweet Lord, why is my pussy wet?

  I’m not gay. I’m a Baptist. I’ve never even thought of a woman that way before, but when I watch this being, this…goddess thrust her moist pussy against the bars of her cage, I’m…I’m…

  I’m supposed to be sickened, but I’m not. Lord help me, I’m not.

  She wiggles her breasts in my direction, and my face turns hot. She smirks.

  Is this… Is this bitch toying with me?

  Her deep-throated laugh confirms my suspicions.

  White Coat’s hand leaves my back, and he turns toward the woman now mewling up at him. Gloves cover her hands and familiar greaves encircle her legs, but her body, her face, her whole attitude is so much different from mine.