His Black Pearl

by Jena Cryer

  The days blur together.

  I think this must be at least my sixth day here, possibly even my seventh. I don’t want to lose track of time, but it’s so hard to keep up with its passage. Every morning, I’m bathed, fed, and told to relieve myself outside. Afterwards, the training begins.

  I’m forced to crawl, even trot on all fours, for hours on end. I learn to sit and stay and fetch on command. I keep expecting something more…intimate than the continuous drudgery White Coat puts me through, but other than a steady bit of fondling, no man has ever tried to force himself on me.

  I appreciate that.

  Ever since that afternoon beneath the apple tree, I know Master has been trying to go slow with me. I hardly ever jump when he touches me now, and I really do try to be good. I need him to take my obedience for granted, but sometimes…sometimes it’s just so hard. If I let my thoughts fade away, if I just let myself pretend that crawling and begging for a fingered cunt are typical everyday activities, then I can sometimes manage. But when I actually think about what I’m doing, what I’m becoming, then the shakes start all over again and it’s all I can do to push myself back into action before White Coat’s crop bites my rear.

  God, I hate that crop.

  Only a few lingering welts remain, but they’re enough to remind me of what’s to come if I don’t obey. I suppose I’m lucky that disobedience doesn’t come naturally. I generally do like to please, but to be expected to obey every act of depravity White Coat sets before me…

  I shudder.

  I’ve had it easy so far. God only knows how I’ll react when the really hard stuff begins. But of course I can’t think about that right now. No, now I have to watch White Coat. He beckons Miss Priss to the center of the yard, and she crawls easily to him, her breasts swaying gently along with her hips. When she glances back in my direction, a shimmer of amusement colors her eyes, and she wiggles her ass my way.

  God, I really, really hate that smug bitch.

  White Coat snaps his fingers above me, and I turn my attention back to him. He points down to Miss Priss.

  “Voro.”

  Watch. Okay, I can watch.

  I sit back on my knees. All week we’ve gone through this. Miss Priss will demonstrate each command, and then I’ll be expected to do the same. It’s become pretty monotonous by now, but I don’t dare let my attention wander. Lord knows I don’t want any more marks on my ass.

  “Nita!” he says, and Miss Priss sits back on her knees just as I’m sitting now.

  He’s drilled this command into me for so long that by now I do it almost on reflex. Just like Miss Priss, I spread my knees open in a wide V while resting my ass against my own upturned heals. The big toe of each foot touches the tip of the other. My chin is up, shoulders back, and each arm bent at the sides so that my breasts are fully exposed while my hands hang aloft like the paws of a begging dog.

  Miss Priss and I are mirror images of each other, and White Coat nods to us both before moving to the next order.

  “Dinsi.”

  I don’t know dinsi.

  Miss Priss drops back to her hands and knees before lowering her chest to the ground. With one side of her face pressed against the grass, she looks up at White Coat and parts her legs.

  My stomach lurches.

  He strokes her cunt before turning to retrieve something from the black case he’d brought with him this morning.

  God only knows what he has locked inside that case.

  I see its tip first. Silver and long, an ungodly-sized dildo rises up from White Coat’s supplies. My mouth goes dry.

  Sweet Lord, that thing has to be nearly as thick as my wrist. There’s no way any woman could ever take something that size. There’s just no—

  He thrusts the massive phallus up Miss Priss’s cunt, and I gasp. I expect her to cry out, maybe even fight to get away, but instead she grinds her hips into each thrust of the giant silicone cock. White Coat pounds it into her again and again and again.

  Not even her gag can mute the sheer ecstasy bubbling up from her throat.

  Oh, Sweet Lord.

  I can barely hold myself up when he finally pulls that thing out of her and turns back to me.

  “Isa! Alore.”

  My breath hitches.

  He wants me to come. He wants to shove that giant abomination up me next, but he can’t. He just…can’t. It’s too big. All I’ve ever had are fingers inside me, and that thing, that monster, it’s—

  “Alore.”

  I crawl forward as slowly as I dare. I’m shaking hard when I reach his feet, but if he notices, he obviously doesn’t care. He removes my gag. He dangles the huge phallus in front of my face, and I stiffen as soon as I see its girth.

  Oh, God, it’s just too big.

  I keep waiting for him to stick it up me, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are on me, and when I meet his gaze, he says the last word I ever expect.

  “Pela.”

  I stare from the dildo to him and back again.

  Does he really want me to…to…

  I almost gag just thinking about it. Sure, I’ve licked my own juices off these men’s hands, but this is different. That toy was shoved up Miss Priss’s cunt, not mine. It’s her mess. White Coat shouldn’t ask me to clean it up. He’s supposed to be fair. He’s supposed to take care of me. He can’t just—

  He lifts up his crop, and I open my mouth without thinking. White Coat shoves the cock between my lips. Behind me, Miss Priss giggles into her gag.

  God, I hate her. I really, really hate her.

  I want to cry so badly, but I don’t dare. I’m supposed to be the good girl. I’m supposed to want whatever they want me to want. My body still shivers, but I force myself to lick and suck and clean every inch of the dildo’s elastic silicone flesh.

  White Coat strokes my cunt when I’m done. “Sona.”

  Oh, thank God for sona.

  I smile, so relieved that I’ve completed at least one more skill in this pervert’s training manual, but just when I think I’m done, he grabs my collar and thrusts my face between Miss Priss’s parted legs.

  “Pela.”

  Oh, please God, no.

  The bitch’s cunt still throbs. A tiny trail of wetness drips down her inner thigh. I want to pull away, I even try to, but the smack of White Coat’s crop breaks down any further thoughts of resistance.

  “Pela.”

  What do I do?

  My parents are devout Baptists. All my life they’ve preached against the evils of homosexuality, and though I never really took their teachings to heart, I still can’t bear the thought of putting my mouth on this woman’s pussy. It’s sick. It’s disgusting. It’s…

  White Coat smacks my ass again.

  It’s something I just have to do.

  I take a deep breath.

  I can’t fight this man. All I can do is be obedient, and I’m very, very good at being obedient. My tongue laps up a stray drop of moisture running down the inside of Miss Priss’s leg, and I trace its course all the way back to her inner folds.

  I can do this.

  I have to do this.

  I just need to change my perspective, that’s all.

  My mouth touches the warm lips of her cunt, and I tell myself once more I’m not being bad. No, this is nothing more than an erotic game of Simon Says, and if I want to win, I have to do everything White Coat tells me, no matter how degrading.

  I close my eyes.

  Miss Priss’s skin is soft and light. Rich honey perfumes her flesh, and I swear I can almost taste an underlying sweetness somehow mixed into the saltiness of her juices.

  This isn’t so bad.

  Her muscles quiver beneath me. I thrust my tongue in higher, deeper, farther inside her, and she gasps. Soft moans build up beneath her gag. Her legs stiffen. My own pussy gets wet just hearing the sounds of her arousal, and I press my mouth harder against her flesh, hungry for more.

  Oh, God, I need more.

  Strong fingers ca
ress my cunt, and when something hard slips between my pussy’s open lips, I jerk up in surprise. What’s going on? I thought I was being good. I thought—

  White Coat pushes my head back into place before I can even turn around. Whatever he’s doing, it’s clear I still have a job to do, and he’s not letting me up until every inch of this bitch’s cunt is sparkling clean.

  Well, fine, I can do that. I want to do that. I lap at Miss Priss’s trembling sex with renewed passion, and within seconds I have the bitch crooning and gasping beneath that heavy ball gag. Her back arches, and I go at her harder, faster, and then…then…

  Then the vibrations hit me.

  Oh, dear lord, the vibrations.

  I’ve heard of vibrators before, but I’ve never tried one. I’ve never before had the desire. But to feel that thing inside me now, to feel it pulse and thrust as White Coat works it in and out of me over and over again.

  I gasp.

  If this is the praise I get for being good, then dear Lord, I never want to be bad.

  With a hunger I never knew I had, I turn all my attentions on Miss Priss. I have a job to do, and I want to be good. I so, so want to be good.

  Muffled gasps and moans sift through Miss Priss’s gag, and the thrill of her pleasure is almost better than my own. I’m intoxicated. I push myself farther. Every bit of hesitation, revulsion, and shame is gone as I lose myself inside this woman’s throbbing pussy.

  I’m no longer Adair Bartlett. I’m Isa now. I’m an animal, and I love it.

  She comes not once but three times as I lick and nibble her inner folds, and I can’t even count the number of orgasms I experience. When White Coat finally pulls me away, I struggle for one last taste of the blonde’s juices. I’m still so hungry, so very hungry, and the taste of her, of this…it’s all so…so…

  His chuckle pulls me back to my senses.

  In all the days I’ve spent with White Coat, I’ve never once heard him laugh. Even a smile from my stoic trainer is a precious rarity. So when I look up behind me now, it comes as no surprise to see not White Coat but Master. He pulls the still-pulsing vibrator from my dripping pussy, and that’s when the shame hits.

  Oh, God, what have I done?

  I’ve soiled myself. I’ve done something hideous, and I liked it. Dear God, I liked it.

  I tremble as his hand reaches for my face, but when I look up at him, there’s no revulsion in his eyes, not even any ridicule. All I see is the same pride he’s always shown me. This depravity, it pleases him, and for the life of me I can’t understand why.

  When he holds the soiled vibrator up to my lips, I lick it clean automatically, and he strokes my face with complete tenderness.

  “Sona, Isa.” He strokes back my hair. “Sona, sona, sona.”

  My cheeks burn, and my heart’s beating so fast I can barely breathe. Oh, God, I shouldn’t feel like this. The man holding me is a monster, a sociopath. His every caress should make want to vomit, not… not…

  He pulls away from me, and a sigh breaks through my lips before I can stop it. Already it feels like I’m losing a piece of something I never knew was missing. I need his touch, his approval, his desire, and if he goes away again, I—

  I shake my head quickly. That is not a thought I need to follow.

  I’m Melissa Adair Bartlett, damnit. I’m a free woman, and I can’t let this bastard break me so easily. I have to be strong. I have to be tough. I have to wrap myself in the very dream of my independence, and only then will I have the power to go on.

  He takes my leash, and I crawl beside him while he leads me across the grounds of his estate. My heart pounds. My body still craves his touch, but my mind… I keep a tight hold on my thoughts. As long as I control them, they can’t control me, and in the face of what this bastard has already done to me, I need every last bit of control I can manage.

  Thunderous footsteps approach us from the left, and when I look up, the giant gray horse I’ve come to call Samson trots over to Master’s side. The beast regards me with little more than a snort before rubbing his massive forehead against Master’s shoulder and rooting through the man’s pockets.

  I half-expect Master to shoo the animal away, but instead he just laughs. His hands reach up to pet the horse’s broad, flat cheeks, and when he reaches into his back pocket, he pulls out a single peppermint stick that the beast slurps up greedily.

  My eyes never leave the pair of them, and the scene is almost…endearing.

  Within seconds, though, a pair of out-of-breath groomsmen crest the hill. A slurry of hastily spoken words rush past their lips, and when they hold up a chewed-through halter rope, Master just waves away any further excuses. He should be furious at their incompetence. God only knows what a thoroughbred like Samson is worth. But instead, he just hands the horse’s bridle back to his men and calmly leads me away.

  At least I can be thankful my master doesn’t have a temper.

  We travel past stone outbuildings and marble fountains. Any minute now I expect to hear the word dinsi, to feel his cock thrusting inside me over and over again while I cry silently into the grass. It’s his right after all. In his eyes, I’m his property, and he can have me whenever he wants. I should be grateful for the patience he’s shown me so far, but after the show I just put on with Miss Priss, I know better than to hope for any further special treatment.

  God, I wonder how much it’s going to hurt.

  Momma always said sex hurt, and I guess she should know. Sure, the fingerings have been nice, and the vibrator, well, there are hardly enough words to describe the vibrator, but a real live cock is different. I still remember the massive bulge in Master’s pants when he pleasured me beneath the apple tree, and I can’t imagine anything that large going inside me. God, he’ll probably split me right open. He’ll…he’ll…

  He strokes my back, and I don’t even realize I’m crying until he reaches down to wipe the tears from my eyes. What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to keep it together. He needs to trust me, and if I’m breaking down into a sobbing mess every five minutes, I highly doubt he’ll have much faith in my loyalty.

  His eyes are on mine. He watches while I choke back my fear and thrust out my chest like the obedient slave White Coat has trained me to be. I stand on all fours and await my orders. I can do this. I have to do this. Going down on Miss Priss seemed impossible at first, but in the end it wasn’t all that bad. No, in all honesty, it wasn’t one bit bad at all. Maybe I’ll even like being used by Master. Or at least maybe I can learn to like it. He really has treated me well, and he hasn’t hurt me. Maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.

  I’m still shaking, but I’m no longer crying when he gives my leash a tug and leads me further. The grass grows thicker, taller with our every step. Ahead of us, a hill rises. I shiver when a breeze touches my skin, but my hair is too tightly woven to even stir. Only the grass bows before it, and I wonder just how much longer it will be before I follow those blades into a similar pose of submission.

  We climb higher up the hill.

  My gut churns, and my breaths come out in quick pants. What is he waiting for? Does he really need the perfect setting to steal my virginity? God forbid he should take me in private. No, he wants the whole world to see his crowning achievement. He’ll take me to the very peak of this bluff and strip away every last bit of my humanity, and then—

  The creak of a rusty metal jerks me back to the present, and when I look up I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing. It’s a swing. A simple, wrought iron swing.

  Corroded black poles rise from the ground, and a long, padded bench hangs from chains that continually clank and groan in the wind. I watch it sway back and forth for several minutes and already I’m in love. It’s old and beaten, but still strong. The wind may strike it, the rain may pelt it, and even God might occasionally curse it for what it is, but still it endures, and all for just one simple purpose: pleasure.

  My breath catches.

  Master lifts me into his arms, and I d
on’t fight him. I stare up at those blue eyes, each one as bright and clear as the sky above them, and when he lays me across his lap, I just bask in the warmth of the sun-baked canvas beneath us.

  Oh, God, I really do love a swing.

  His arms encircle me. His fingers caress my cheek, my breasts, and as we rock back and forth, all of my worries roll away. He strokes my hair. He says a hundred words I can’t possibly understand, and when he points to something far off in the distance, I follow his gaze.

  Sweet Lord, this view alone could make me want to be his prisoner.

  Below us, the rolling Tuscan countryside rises and falls from my view. Olive fields and vineyards weave a tapestry of color no Texas land could ever share. Cottages and barns spot the earth, while a twisting river snakes through the sunlight and shadows.

  Far away though, miles and miles from where we sit, another hill rises almost as tall as ours, and straddled upon it are the watchtowers and walls of a crumbling Italian hill town.

  My eyes widen.

  I almost expect it to be deserted, but no, those ant-like specks in the distance have to be cars, trucks, and isn’t that smoke rising up from those pillars? People live there, real people, free people, and if I could just get to them…

  Master tilts back my chin, and when I look up, his eyes are forceful if not a little sad.

  “Ki, Isa.” He points out to the city once more. “Ki.”

  Tears well up in my eyes, and I want to scream. I want to bite and kick and cry and just make him pay for ever bringing me up here. What in the hell is the point in showing me how close freedom is if he never intends to let me go? How sadistic can this man get? Bad enough I have to prance around naked and shamed every minute of my life, but to be taunted by even the slimmest hope of escape is almost unbearable.

  My breaths come out hot and angry, and Master pulls me closer. He rests his cheek on the crown of my head. He speaks more of his incomprehensible foreign words, and his voice sound almost…regretful.

  I can’t understand it.

  One minute I expect this man to fuck me, the next torture me, and now comfort me? None of this makes any sense. Is he deliberately trying to keep me off balance? If so, I guess it’s working. I can’t decipher anything that’s going on, least of all my master’s true nature.