Little Savage

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “But if you want to watch something,” she quickly interjected, “I’ll be glad to go upstairs.”

  “I know that. But I’m reading tonight. The TV’s yours.”

  “Thank you.”

  She dashed off. It was nearly eight o’clock. Two hours later, the downstairs seemed unusually silent; the occasional sounds from TV he’d heard from time to time over the evening had ended. When he left his office to check on things, Lisle was padding up the stairs. By then his sexual arousal was already obvious to him. He didn’t need to concentrate on it to know that his cock was throbbing, painfully so. Seeing her pretty ass swaying as she mounted the stairs, his cock gave him another jolt, and when she turned back and their eyes met, he communicated nothing but lust.

  She didn’t say a word, but if he weren’t mistaken, the curious glint in her eye was intended to seduce him—and if not deliberate, then it was an instinctive response, and entirely in character for this mischievous female. She didn’t bother saying goodnight; and with the provocative smile on her lips communicating her desire—as if she were dropping a trail of sexual breadcrumbs for him to follow—she turned and continued up the stairs, her ass still swaying with a lurid jiggle. He watched until she was out of sight then he returned to his office for a short while and followed her up a half hour later.

  By the time he mounted the stairs, she was in her room with the door ajar—she never closed it tight. Probably a leftover habit from the years with Brauer; open bedroom and bathroom doors are standard protocol for subs and slave quarters to prevent private conversations and possible insurrections among unhappy properties. They had no personal rights, no need for privacy.

  When Daniel pushed the door a little wider, he could barely see Lisle resting on the bed with the bureau he’d brought down from the third floor still pressed up tightly to its side and blocking his view. Stepping into the room so he could see around the dresser, he found her tucked into the corner, propped up on pillows with her eyes glued to the pages of a romantic novel—the lurid cover gave it away. He nearly smiled. More than once, she’d thrown a book like that against the wall in disgust. He’d heard the distinctive thud coming from her room just days before. When he went to investigate the noise, she looked up unapologetically and announced in a voice thickly laced with scorn: “That’s the worst rubbish I’ve read in a decade!”

  He was mildly amused by her declaration. “Then maybe you should read something else,” he’d said.

  She replied with an emphatic, “I will!” Currently, she had two neatly arranged stacks of paperback novels she inherited from Alice sitting on the floor and rising nearly half way up the wall opposite the bed. She was reading a new one now and already over half way through. When she saw Daniel standing in her room, she looked up in alarm and let the open book slide to the floor.

  “Yes, sir?” Her expression was filled with hopeful expectation.

  Dressed in a thin t-shirt and nothing else, her nipples poked through the fabric like hard little knots and the sight of her made his rising cock stiffen nearly to its full size. Any fear she might have shown during his after-dinner revelations seemed to be gone and the Lisle that greeted him now was a sexual siren to rival any woman he’d fucked in years, exuding a strange mix of childlike innocence and savvy temptress in her appealing eyes. At some point, a colorful brocade paisley bedspread had been added to the bed—from Alice no doubt. The lustrous velveteen was fringed with gold and draped to the floor, all of which added to her beguiling appearance.

  When she pulled back the covers to show her legs and a peek of her naked pussy, she delivered an invitation he didn’t require in order to have her. He could fuck her when he wanted as that would be his right as her self-proclaimed master. However for this occasion, he appreciated the message those bared legs and bared pussy conveyed. If anything about their mealtime conversation changed her feelings toward him, in particular her trust in him as a man and a master, it didn’t show in the deliberate display.

  Accepting this, he gave the small room a quick once over and scowled. Stalking forward he roughly pulled the dresser away from the bed and shoved it back against the wall where it had previously been, effectively destroying her private sanctuary.

  “You need confinement when you sleep, sleep under the stairs. I’ve given you that option, use it, and don’t go changing furniture so I can’t get to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied meekly, though as meek as her response was, he felt a rush of excitement from her feeding his own need.

  Still annoyed by the room’s arrangement, he pulled the bed away from the wall several inches—he needed the space. She watched him carefully, looking like a dazed genie on a magic carpet, as he shoved and tugged the bed until it suited him. Finally satisfied with the arrangement, he opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and was grateful to see that the ropes he put there some time ago were still inside, along with a few other items he might need should the occasion arise—a gag, cuffs, clothespins and a bleached muslin bag with a drawstring tie. Inside it would be a set of three anal dildos of different sizes.

  He squatted down and rummaged through the items, which were not as he left them. “You’ve been through these things?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply right away.

  “Have you?” He persisted.

  “Yes, sir,” she admitted, starting to blush.

  “Yes, I suspect you would,” he responded, not all that kindly.

  He closed the drawer without removing a thing and rose to his feet, still annoyed, his restless energy growing more strident with every second that passed.

  He doused the light, preferring shadows to the bright overhead beaming down on the room, then he moved to the side of the bed and looked down on his trembling victim with his eyes as remote as the stars. She played her part well, had every shivering move, every soulful and wanting expression memorized like lines in a play. She’d been trained for this, and for just one second the brutal mercenary was consumed by a fit of jealous rage toward every man who’d used her nubile body.

  He threw the feeling off as quickly as it arose. “Take off the t-shirt.”

  She stared at him, the heat in her ratcheted up a degree or two. He saw that in the way her wide and inquisitive eyes darkened. They’d fucked before but this was new—inside her room, a place no longer private and sacred to her. The room was his and so was she.

  Though she hesitated with the t-shirt, there was not a lick of rebellion in her mood, just fear—the good kind of fear that excites the brain and sends adrenalin soaring through a body hungry for sex. Lust and instinct at last kicked in and she threw off the t-shirt and reclined back against the pillows. Her large eyes drilled him to his core; his eyes did the same to her, though hard and imperious, and enough to make her shiver anew. Her subtle strength impressed him and he watched her longer than he might have a less intriguing female, making metal notes of every subtle shift in her mood.

  His silence and unmoving stance made her doubt herself. He could almost hear her thoughts scream out to him—take me, take me, please take me now! In the midst of that terrible moment, she reflexively reached back and grabbed the metal bedrail above her and opened her thighs. Her breaths were short, her lips parted and he could feel her want attack him, not just in his crotch but in every corner of his horny body. With his eyes turning savage and almost crazed he let the sadist in him rise: the Colonel, the mercenary, the bastard he loved. He unbuckled his pants and let them drop, threw off his shirt, and stepped from the puddle of denim, naked, his muscled body driven by the compelling need to use her hard and leave wasted. Lisle’s eyes went instantly to his teeming erection with her longing glance giving his cock another serious jolt. On another night she’d be sucking his penis by now, but not this night.

  He fell to her body with his rock hard penis spearing her sex like the blade of a knife. Her cry was pained, but strangely musical in quality and she seemed to adjust her entire body to conform to his. He felt her beneath him,
so slight, so small; he could tear her apart in seconds, but that certainly was not his aim. He only wanted to use her. Her surrender was a given, and now with every forceful thrust into her steamy cunt he made clear that his domination of her was indisputable.

  But she was more than passive, more than surrendering. Rather than limply take the drilling he forced on her, she begged for it with every obvious and nuanced response. Her body ignited the instant he impaled her, and she grabbed for him with almost frantic need, kissing him wherever her lips found flesh to kiss—mostly his shoulders and neck, but the frenzy of small kisses also extended to his face and his lips and his chest. Emboldened by her zealous response, he tore at her, groping her body like a madman until the two finally settled into a steady fucking rhythm. Their savage sexual dance rocked her small twin bed until the sound of the groaning springs filled the room with the awful screech. His explosion came quickly, while hers had been ongoing. For several moments locked tight in a violent embrace the two felt like one throbbing orgasm, but then as soon as he filled her grabbing snatch with his cum, he pulled away from her and climbed from the bed.

  “Come lick me clean,” he ordered, as he stood beside her. She popped up quickly and as she expertly licked her pussy juice from his organ, she almost suckled the flagging thing back to life.

  By then, he’d had enough of her. He’d had enough of subs and slaves, and women in general, along with all their complications. The girl brought more complications than most, which continued to trouble him. But he could now use her in the rough way he used women and feel no remorse. That knowledge pleased him.

  For the rest of the night, however, he’d be glad to be by himself in his lonely bed without the thought of complicating females to disturb his sleep.

  “Sleep nude tonight,” he ordered as he was leaving, “I don’t want clothes in the way if I need you later.”

  He knew he wouldn’t be back that night. He was more tired than horny. But she didn’t need to know that. It gave him some satisfaction to know that she’d be sleeping with one ear open just in case he came for her again. Standard form for slaves.

  Chapter Seven

  Inside Brauer’s Computer

  The following week required a change in his schedule and a new routine was set. Daniel’s daytime hours were taken up by meetings at the Pentagon, and he needed to let Lisle fend for herself. He trusted her enough to leave her unsupervised for a few hours, however, he laid out a few strict rules with a steely delivery that left the girl shuddering. His demands were simple: She’d stay inside, fully clothed, do her chores, and not do anything crazy like spreading a sack of flour all over his kitchen or running outside in the nude. He also made sure that Alice showed up every day by noon to check on things, and added an incentive for Lisle’s good behavior. If she finished the tasks he assigned by the time Alice finished her work, the housekeeper could take her for short trips out of the house. They went to the grocery store, to Alice’s favorite thrift stores, and to the library where Lisle checked out several literary novels that would never have made it on Alice’s top ten list. Daniel left them money in a cookie jar for any reasonable purchase. He asked only that Lisle provide him with receipts and an accurate tally of her purchases. He hit on the scheme, thinking it would get her use to money, public transportation and a world she hardly knew.

  On Thursday the two went to a movie theatre, Lisle’s treat, and saw an obscure drama that had earned its male star an Oscar nomination. Lisle had seen a review of the Indie film in the newspaper and while normally she and Alice had different tastes in movies, this one turned out perfect for them both—a well-written drama for Lisle, bohemian enough to please Alice.

  To Alice, Lisle’s choices in entertainment often seemed odd for a woman so young. However, as one of Brauer’s slaves, they were perfectly logical. Her world had revolved exclusively around her master and his high-brow choices in opera, fine art, theater and classical music. He might listen to a little jazz as a nod to 20th century music. Robert’s tastes had been much the same, and having been raised by Robert, Lisle naturally gravitated toward the same things. Under Alice’s influence she slowly picked up some 21st century culture especially when the housekeeper played her Top 40’s station at high volume—when Daniel was nowhere around. Lisle would dance like a slut once the beat got inside her, almost as if the music wasn’t foreign to her at all. Her world was changing. At times she seemed to hunger for anything that was new, fresh and young. However in moments of stress, she returned to the somber quiet of what she’d been raised to love and spent hours alone, lost inside her own inner thoughts.

  At night when Daniel came home, Lisle had dinner waiting—sometimes one of Alice’s concoctions, sometimes something she tried herself. Apparently she’d been allowed to bake and was familiar with the steps for cakes and cookies. But she’d never been allowed to cook an entire dinner and what she didn’t know about this very basic task amazed her mentor. Though Lisle diligently followed the recipes, she often chose something far beyond her skill and ended up making mistakes that turned sauces into glue and burned the bottoms of Daniel’s cookware. She was too scared of the garbage disposal to use it, and too afraid that Daniel might stumble on her disasters if she discarded them in the dumpster. Thus, several of her failures were buried in the backyard. The scraggly patch of overgrown shrubs made a perfect graveyard for her cooking mishaps, especially since Daniel never bothered with the garden, so he would never know what lay rotting beneath the soil. Though Alice assured her that the man wasn’t picky about what he ate, Lisle’s strong need to please him made it imperative that she not serve him anything that was imperfect. Her worries over preparing a meal went on with Daniel completely oblivious to the grueling ordeal it became. He rarely commented on anything that he ate, he didn’t know that he should, and Lisle was too timid to ask his opinion so she suffered through many evenings unsure if she pleased him at all.

  In the evenings, Daniel often worked in his office while Lisle watched TV. However, with him gone so many hours, she asked for permission to spend her evenings in the office when he was there. She didn’t need conversation, she assured him.

  “I won’t bother you, I promise.” Her doe-eyed looks were getting inside him more frequently, much to his annoyance. Since he couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse to keep her out he consented to her request.

  “You get noisy, or I need to take a call in private, you’re out of here,” he told her.

  “Yes, sir.” She beamed as if this were a significant triumph.

  While Daniel worked, or even if he were just reading, Lisle sat quietly on the floor and drew in a small 5 x 8” inch tablet with pen, ink and colored pencils. While she could have used a chair, she stuck with the floor, just happy to be there. Sometimes she propped herself against the wall, sometimes she stretched out and propped her elbows on the wood as she drew. After watching her work like this for a couple days, Daniel was sure that she couldn’t possibly be comfortable so he found a pillow she could use to cushion her against the hard floor.

  She seemed pleased with the gift. Over the next few weeks a few more pillows joined that one, although every night when it was time for bed, she made sure they were neatly stacked in the corner. Daniel didn’t mind; he found her oddities amusing.

  What she drew in her sketchbook was a mystery to him. Either by accident, or deliberately, she always positioned herself so he couldn’t see the tablet. Several times, she quickly closed it if he came too close. He could only assume she was shy about her art. But the secrecy only piqued his curiosity.

  “You mind if I look?” he finally asked one evening.

  She stared up at him in horror. Obviously, she did mind.

  “You keep hiding your drawings you’re going to make me think you’re coloring naughty pictures.”

  “Oh, they’re nothing like that!” she raced to explain.

  “Then let me see them.”

  He’d never seen her hesitate so long or take such tentativ
e steps when he gave her a direct order. There was obviously a war going on inside that puzzling brain, and obviously something about her drawing she didn’t want him to see. He could have let her off the hook just to be nice, maybe make a joke about it that would quell her angst and then forget about the whole thing, but those weren’t his natural reactions to a hesitant female. Once he gave the command he waited for Lisle to obey and though she himmed and hawed for nearly a minute, he didn’t waver and he didn’t say another thing until she finally pulled herself up, walked to his side and handed him the tablet.

  Daniel expected to find something amateurish inside the pages of the sketchbook. He’d make a suitable comment and that would be the end of it. But as he slowly paged through the tablet he found himself intrigued by what he saw, and found himself studying each small drawing and its profound detail. None of the drawings filled up the page. Each one was a tiny and intricate miniature rendered in colors much brighter than he expected. They stunned his eyes and the subject matter seemed quite strange to him but perfectly recognizable. Most were of small insects and bugs—ants, beetles, spiders and some small animals—all delicately interwoven with bright green grass, dandelions, weeds and woody garden brambles. Although he wasn’t a man of art he could recognize that she had considerable talent. Some mysterious force seemed inherent in the drawings which left him curiously moved, even a little stunned. Beneath each one she’d written in her small cursive script a few identifying words. Beneath the waterfall. Under the rock. Lenten roses. By the purple vine. Grubs on master’s roses.

  He looked up at Lisle’s anxious face; her discomfort with his lengthy perusal of the sketches showed clearly in her expression. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about showing these. I’m not into art in the slightest but even I can tell these are good.”

  “I never thought of them as good or bad,” she came back.

  “No, I don’t suppose you would.” He was traveling in unknown territory and would just as soon hand back the tablet with no further comment but he was curious enough about the subject matter to ask why she chose bugs and grass.