His Black Pearl

by Jena Cryer

  I think my submission ought to worry me more than it does, but it’s so hard to think of anything other than my master.

  My head rests against his thigh now. My body is hidden beneath his desk. I’m on my knees. My back reclines against his legs as he sits in his high-back leather chair. I can hear the scratching of his pen and the shuffling of papers above me. His exposed cock lies against my nose, and I kiss it. My tongue runs up and down the shaft. God, I love the taste of him.

  A shiver courses through his body and then the pen goes silent. His hands touch my face. Fingers caress my hair. He guides my head into place. He gives me permission to suckle his cock, and I suck hard and deep. His seed shoots down my throat, and I moan.

  When he’s done, he removes himself from my mouth, and I whimper as his head leaves my lips. He chuckles. He fastens his pants back in place before replacing my gag.

  I sigh.

  He has work to do, I know, but I so want to be a good girl. I want to feel his hands upon me. I want to take his flesh inside me. I want to please him in all the ways he’s pleased me.

  I want to let him know I’m his.

  I should be ashamed of that admission, terrified even, but I’m not. Lord help me, I’m not. His possession of me has become such a surety in my life that I rarely question it. I’m his. I know he’s my master just as surely as I know there’s a God in heaven.

  God.

  The thought of my Lord staring down at me, of Him seeing me naked and debased as I am sends a wave of shame coursing through my insides, and I shiver uncontrollably.

  What have I become?

  Oh, dear God, what have I become?

  Have I submitted to the devil for so long that I’ve finally forgotten who I am?

  I’m not Isa. I’m not a pet or an animal. I’m a woman. I’m Adair Bartlett. I’m the daughter of Morris and Cheryl Bartlett. I’m smart and free and responsible and…and…

  Master’s hand moves back to my head, and strong, steady fingers massage my scalp. I sigh into my gag. Ever so slowly the tremors recede.

  If only the shame would go away so easily.

  I try to convince myself that I’m not bad. I’m just a victim. I didn’t ask for any of this. So what if these men finally broke me? So what if I gave myself up to this man I call Master? It’s only to be expected, right? It’s only natural.

  Master’s hand strays down to my neck, my shoulder, and I moan as his fingers knead away all my underlying tension.

  I’m still me.

  I’m still a good girl.

  I’m still…

  My eyes close.

  My body curves into place at my master’s feet. His legs wrap around my shoulders. One ankle supports my lower back. Only my head and one hand still rest in his lap.

  I force myself not to think or feel anything other than the steady comfort my master gives me. Doubts, shame, disgust, they can all wait for tomorrow. Right now this moment is all that matters. Right now…

  I drift to sleep.

  I’m on my hands and knees—it feels so natural now—but something is different. Master isn’t at my side, nor White Coat. Instead, I’m tied to a familiar trolley line in my backyard. My parent’s white brick house and still-half-completed redwood deck loom in the background while my father, scowling and twitchy, stands over me. He holds a tennis ball in a white-knuckle grip and throws it over my shoulder.

  “Well?” He glares down at me. “Aren’t you going to get it?”

  I stare off into the direction of the ball before turning back at my father. My heart hammers. I want to speak. I want to run up to my dad and hug him and cry and beg for him to rescue me, but I can feel the familiar pressure of my gag tight against my lips. All I can do is whimper as he advances on me.

  “So that’s it then?”

  His whole face is red. Even the bald spot he tries to hide with his comb-over glows crimson as he leans down to grab my lead. I nearly choke when it jerks me forward, and my chest heaves against rocky Texas soil.

  Why, Daddy? My eyes are watery. A sob builds up behind my sealed lips. Why are you doing this? Don’t you love me?

  If he sees my fear, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He just grabs me by the collar and jerks me to my knees.

  “All those years,” he yells into my face. “All that money I wasted on private schools and colleges, all for you to turn yourself into this!”

  I shake my head as his breath hits my face. No, Daddy, this wasn’t my fault! Please, I didn’t ask for this! Don’t be mad at me. I want to be a good girl. I swear I do!

  But he can’t hear my thoughts, so he just shakes me over and over again, until my mom’s voice finally cuts through the air.

  “Oh, just let her go, Morris. Breaking her neck’s not going to do any good.”

  He snorts before giving me one last shake and then tosses me to the ground. Pebbles dig into my skin. I curl into a ball. I’m shivering. I can’t stop shivering. In the distance, I hear Daddy tell Momma that he’s done with me. He won’t have an animal for a daughter. I reach out for him, begging with my eyes, hoping he can somehow see the remorse in them, that it’ll be enough to make him love me again—or at least not hate me—but he doesn’t look back as he turns and marches away.

  My chest is a collapsing black pit of pain. The sobs start. I can barely breathe. I’m sure I’ll start heaving at any second—something I really, really don’t want to do with my gag still in place—but just when I think I can’t possibly stand it any longer, my mother kneels down beside me and gently pulls my head into her lap.

  “There, there, Adair. It’s okay.”

  I slowly relax. She runs her fingers through my hair, and tears dribble down my cheeks uncontrollably. My name. My real name. I haven’t heard it in so, so long. Just to have someone call me that, to feel my mother’s comforting touch, to know that I’m not just an animal, that I’m someone, a daughter, a person… Oh, Lord, the happiness of it all nearly overwhelms me.

  She strokes my forehead gently, and for the first time, I’m aware of my nakedness. I draw my legs together. I fold my arms over my chest. I can’t meet her gaze. I can’t look at my own mother for the shame of what I’ve become.

  But just like always, Momma knows exactly what to do. She pulls me into one tight, double-armed hug, and that’s all it takes.

  I fling my arms around her. Oh, Momma! Momma I missed you so much!

  I don’t want to let go, but at her soft words and gentle nudges, I slowly disentangle myself. I’m still shivering as she wipes away my tears. All it takes is her hand on my cheek, and my lips are curling into a smile beneath my gag.

  Momma, you always know how to make things better.

  “There now. That’s my good girl,” she tells me. “See, Adair, there’s no reason to cry.”

  My body relaxes, and I nod. She’s right. Everything she says is always right.

  “Just don’t listen to your father,” she goes on. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I know you never asked for this.”

  I sniffle, but my smile widens. Oh, Momma, I knew you’d understand.

  “This is just…life. And we’ll deal with it. Your father and I have already had a long discussion, and we’ve both come to a decision. It wasn’t easy, but I really do think it’ll be for the best. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life on a trolley-line after all, do you?”

  I shake my head vigorously. No, no, anything but that.

  She smiles and hugs me again. For the first time in so long, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

  I’m going to be okay.

  And then I see a pair of men walking towards us, and I cock my head to the side. The sight of the old man in front lights an ember of dread in my gut, but I don’t know why. He seems so familiar…

  Momma just waves them over to us. The old man drops a small box—a tool kit, maybe—in front of me, and my gaze darts to his younger associate. He runs his hands gently over my calves. I shiver.

  What in the hell is
going on?

  “Easy, Adair, easy.” The old man rubs his leathery fingers down the curve of my back; he kneads my skin as his touch drifts farther and farther down my body until his palm finally rests on my ass. “You remember your old friend, Dr. Hartfield, don’t you? I used to take care of that collie of yours, the little sable girl you called Honey. Remember?”

  I nod. I remember Honey all right. How could a girl ever forget her first dog? What I don’t understand though is why our old veterinarian is here now. I’m not an animal. I’m a person. Just ask Momma. She understands.

  I turn to my mother then, expecting her to explain to this man that his services aren’t needed, but she just cups my chin in her hand and brushes back my hair.

  “Shh there, Adair. I know you’re confused, sweetie, but your father and I invited Dr. Hartfield out here. He’s going to help you.”

  My gaze darts from the old veterinarian to my mother. What is she talking about? How is some animal doctor going to help me? I’m human.

  “Oh, you still don’t understand, do you?” Momma bites her lip, and her fingers stroke my cheek once more. “You see, Adair, you’re sick. I know it’s not your fault. I swear I do. But still, this…” She waves her hand over my naked body, and I can hear the repulsion in her voice as she struggles to go on. “This happened. And since you’re obviously in no position to deal with it yourself, your father and I had to make a choice.”

  A choice? What choice?

  “We wanted to get the very best person we could,” she goes on. “You’re our little girl, after all. But when your father reminded me of what a good job Dr. Hartfield did when your little Honey got sick, well, we knew he was the perfect man for the job.”

  My eyes dart back to the old vet, and I can hear him rummaging through his now-open kit. What is going on? What does Momma mean he did a good job? I remember when Honey got sick. My parents had neglected to buy her any heartworm medication for nearly a year, and by the time we finally took her to the vet, she’d been so bad off that Dr. Hartfield had to put her down on the spot.

  Put her down on the spot…

  My eyes go wide. In front of me, Dr. Hartfield pulls a syringe from his bag. I can barely breathe. He draws a dose of viscous, yellow liquid from the vial in his hand, and a single drop slides down the needle as he thumps the cylinder with his index finger.

  Then he turns his eyes on me.

  Without thinking, I lash out. I have to get away. I have to run, but the veterinary assistant’s hold on my ankles is too tight to break, and Momma’s arms, now wrapped around my chest and shoulders, refuse to let go.

  I scream into my gag. No! No! Please, Momma, please, don’t do this!

  “Now you stop this right now, Adair.” Her voice is stern even as I thrash against her. “I already told you this has to be done, so you just be still. It’s not like it’s going to hurt—just a little prick that’s all—then you’ll just go off to sleep, and we’ll put you over there beneath that big cedar tree where your daddy buried Honey. See there? He’s already dug a hole just for you.”

  She pivots me onto my side, and I follow her gaze to the fresh grave lying beneath the giant cedar at the edge of our property. I’m shaking. I’m crying. All I can think is No, no, no, no, no, no! over and over again. Not like this. Dear God, not like this.

  I feel a sharp prick in the center of my thigh, and when I look down, there’s Dr. Hartfield, his hand wrapped tightly around the syringe, its needle now buried in my flesh. He strokes my side one last time. His voice is soft, gentle. My mother’s hand moves back to my face as she soothes me, and even the assistant rubs my calves in support.

  And then Dr. Hartfield depresses the plunger.

  ***

  I’m screaming when I wake up. My gag muffles the sound, but it can’t stop my head from slamming into the underside of Master’s desk as I jerk awake. Pain spikes through my skull. My brain feels like it’s bouncing against the bone, and blackness creeps in at the corners of my vision.

  I slump to the floor at Master’s feet.

  There’s a roaring in my ears, and I can barely hear the scrape of Master’s chair as he shoves it backwards and scoops me into his arms. I’m shaking. I don’t know why I’m shaking, but I can’t stop the tremors.

  Looking up, I meet my master’s worried gaze. His hands probe my body. He’s speaking softly, soothingly, but his words can’t quell the fear. When his fingers touch the sore spot on the back of my head, my body arches, and I let out a soft whimper.

  His hand moves quickly to my face, and his palm cups my chin gently as he lays a soft kiss on my forehead.

  His touch is almost as soothing as Momma’s.

  Momma…

  The dream comes back to me, and my eyes go wide. I can still feel the hands holding me down. I can feel their caresses, hear their words, watch as the plunger falls and that deadly yellow liquid seeps into me.

  I can’t breathe.

  I claw frantically at my gag, but my hands are bound into worthless leather paws. Master’s words are more forceful now. He grabs both my wrists in one hand. He fumbles for the strap on the back of my neck with the other. I know I’m not making his task any easier. I’m writhing in his grip, frantic to get away.

  I have to get away.

  I have to escape before I truly become the animal he wants me to be. I can’t just submit. Not anymore. Not after seeing the disgust on my parents’ faces.

  Just remembering their expressions sends tears streaming down my cheeks, and then I’m sobbing. Hard. My chest aches with each contraction, and my gut churns. I’m going to be sick. Oh, God, I’m going to be sick, and I can’t even open my mouth.

  Master rips off my gag as the first heave tears through me, and he flips me onto my stomach only a second before I vomit onto his rug. As if in the distance, I hear him bellowing. His voice echoes through the room. His body leaves mine as he reaches for something behind us, and I expect to feel the bite of his crop, but no. No, there’s only a clatter, and then he’s cleaning my face with something soft and velvety and blue.

  His curtains, I realize. He’s ruining those beautiful curtains just for me.

  For a moment, guilt washes over me. I feel so ashamed to be causing him this much trouble.

  And then I just feel disgust.

  This man isn’t someone I should feel indebted to. He’s the bad guy here. He’s the reason I’m naked and collared and trembling on the floor. I shouldn’t feel grateful for anything he does, and I certainly shouldn’t love him.

  Love.

  My body stiffens.

  How can I even associate that word with my master? Sure, it’s pretty to think he loves me, but how can he? I’m nothing more than a possession to him, just and animal. He’ll keep me around as long as I please him, but once I’m old and boring, he’ll cast me aside and find someone new. He’ll probably even bury me beneath a tree just like my daddy…

  I throw up again.

  Master pulls me closer to him. He rests his cheek against the back of my neck and rocks me gently in his arms. More than anything, I wish I could deny the truth, but I can’t. I’ve lost my control, my humanity, even my sense of self. I’ve let this man turn me into his own four-legged fuck toy, and I’ve liked it. For God’s sake, I liked it.

  Shame steals away my breath. One last tremor runs through my body, and then everything goes limp. Master’s voice whispers into my ear softly at first, and then louder, much louder. He shakes me. My limbs flop against the carpet, but not a muscle moves.

  He must realize I’m beyond hearing, because he flips me over and lifts me into his arms. My cheek rests against the warm hardness of his chest, and I can hear his heart beating fast inside him.

  Oh, Master…

  A part of me still craves to reach out to him and be the good little girl that I once was, but Momma was right. I’m just an animal now, and I really do deserve to be put down.

  We’re outside. The sun is setting. Master runs across the yard, and I bo
unce in his arms. My head lolls to the side. Up ahead, White Coat throws his cigarette to the ground. He yanks open the heavy kennel door, and Master carries me inside.

  Words are exchanged. Master’s tone is clipped, threatening, and no matter how much White Coat paws at me, Master won’t let me go.

  Oh, God, if he’d only let me go.

  His breath tickles my cheek as he leans down and speaks softly now, so softly, and once again I’m back in my dream, back in my mother’s embrace, and the realization of how right she was washes over me fresh and hard, and I turn into a gasping, trembling wretch once more.

  Vaguely I hear him call out, and then White Coat appears, a vial in one hand and a dripping syringe in the other.

  I don’t want to die, but sweet Lord, I can’t live like this any longer. I just…can’t.

  I don’t fight them. The sobs are so strong I can barely breathe, but I hold still while White Coat brushes something wet across my hip. I feel the bite of the needle. I suck in one last breath, take one last look at my Master and for a final time let myself get lost in his sky blue eyes.

  Then the poison enters me, and my whole word goes dark.

  Chapter Twelve

  I’m not dead.

  The realization is more of an after-thought, really.

  Waking up, I recognize the ceiling of my kennel. Across the room, a sunset fills the giant double-paned windows. My muscles are still weak and my vision hazy, but I can feel the warmth of a familiar body cradling me close. Strong fingers give my cunt one last caress. The hand moves to my chin and gently tilts my face towards my master’s.

  I don’t make a sound. I don’t move as his soft, deep words pour over me. When he leans down to kiss my forehead, my eyes remain fixed on a paint chip in the corner.

  I might not be physically dead, but I’m sure as hell not alive either.

  He shifts me slightly. He reaches behind us and holds up a single grape clutched between his fingers. More soft words follow, and then he presses the fruit to my parted lips. Even catatonic as I am, my body can’t seem to bring itself to close my mouth. I guess White Coat’s training was even better than I thought.