“You have a good whore I can use?” he asks the General. They stare at me: Broc with lust, Jorges with interest and nothing more.
“You can take your pick, but I think you’d like Daisy. She’s new, but very good. White skinned beauty—not unlike Silk, but more amenable to submission. Sultan picked her up on an airplane, fell right into our hands. Hardy the trouble you’re having here.”
“Good. I want someone without her bite. It’s been a long day; I need a good fuck and a long night’s sleep.”
“You’ll be out in the morning?”
“More than likely. I have a shipment from Istanbul to hijack.” He smirks so the General understands. “I’ll leave her for you, gentlemen.” He nods at the six men; and clicking his heels on the hard wood floor, he leaves the room, and me with my burning, anxious behind to inspire these lechers’ fantasies.
My night is hardly over, though my hot ass defines how I get used. If I’d only behaved myself, I might be the whore in Broc’s bed—not the target of a major rape.
In six months, I haven’t had much anal sex, but all that changes in the next few hours.
Once the General’s guests have finished their meal, I’m taken down and to one of the parlors that has been specifically designed for orgies.
“I want her ass,” the South African starts right off with my worst fear.
“By all means,” Jorges oozes sexual desire with his eyes, his lips, and every gesture of his hands. “Silk, clean yourself, you know how?”
“In the lavatory?” I question him.
“No, right here. The equipment is in the cabinet.”
This seems so vile, but that is what he wants—my complete humiliation. I’ve only seen this move accomplished once before; that time by a whimpering young Englishwoman who’d been captured just three weeks. The poor girl suffered every minute, while she washed her channel with a squeeze tube of soapy water, and let out the remains in a large chamber pot before the eyes of several men. That’s what I’ll be doing in the next ten minutes. But I’ll do it without the tears she shed.
With Broc gone, I can gather my wits more easily. I don’t have his eyes on me, or his cunning, or the smoldering fire between us to get in the way of my concentration.
I pull out the quart container, which seems to be enough for Jorges. Then, in a conveniently placed sink, hidden behind another cabinet door, I fill it full of liquid.
“Here,” the General says as he sees I’m about to administer the potion. “I think you’ll need this.” He pours the liquid contents of a vial into the opening before I seal in the plug. “You know the fire on the outside, this will get within, Silk, and punish your insides with a little real pain. Harmless, but effective.” He pushes me to a low settee, where he motions me over the back. The wood trim at the top hits me hard on my pubic bone. This won’t be a comfortable ride.
My admiring South African, binds my cuffed wrists to the forelegs of the settee, spreading them wide, while one of his friends binds my ankles to the settee’s back legs. My ass is high, my pink cheeks spread and my anus fully exposed. I ache already, but that is not a consideration of my captors.
Though the General starts the enema, he leaves it for the others to finish. Two men squeeze the liquid into my ass, another massages my belly, and a fourth fondles my dangling breasts, taking a thumb and index finger to pinch my nipples so that more jolts of pain drive my discomfort.
As my belly fills, the sensation of urgency becomes acute. But when I try to twist atop the hard back of the settee, I only make the discomfort worse. The searing heat begins as the General’s little addition to my bag of waters starts to take effect. The heat starts deep, soon searing everything in me and spreading outward until I think that my entire body is going to explode. Just when I’m sure I cannot take anymore… when the soapy water is about to burst from me… and the pain from my awkward position becomes unbearable, I’m untied and lifted from the settee, pushed into a crouch where I void my back channel into a brass pot.
Though some of my agony disappears, the intensity of this infernal heat does not. It grows more, and continues to build once I’m free of the water. It’s all oblivion now. I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can only let them use me. They work me first with their fingers, then with a studded leather dildo, and finally I’m assaulted by each erection.
I see each proud penis before it enters me. Some, I take in my mouth to bring them to their full size. I’m sure that my body will refuse the largest one, or get stung brutally by the one with the rather radical arch in the stalk. Thankfully, I’m greased enough to make the fucking work. And after the second cock, I’m so wide open that size and shape no longer seem to matter. In time, even the General’s spices have little effect. Though I can still feel them warming me deep inside, the fire is less intense.
My belly begins to spasm. My anal regions reach a strange orgasmic clenching that could be called a climax, but it’s unlike any vaginal climax I’ve ever had. Having been lifted to a plane of feeling far beyond my physical self, I float, from one cock to the next, one sensation to another as the violation exhausts me, agreeably so.
The customers in my back door are amazed. Apparently, I’ve become the whore they’ve wanted.
What they don’t realize is that I did this for me, not them. If they are going to abuse me so, I will take every bit of pleasure in the act. And I do. I’m proud of this—although these unslave-like thoughts are not ones I plan to share with anyone. For now, though, they’ll keep me sane.
Chapter Six
I’ve been in solitary confinement since my breach in slave etiquette at General Hanan’s party. Two days so far. I really don’t mind, since it will take these two and a few more to heal my body from that wild night. It’s strange how I think of it now as I soothe my ass and rub the ointment Jorges gave me into my sore anus. The inner burning has long past. Only the memory lingers. And in my memory, it’s not as painful as it was when it was happening. I remember the effect more—the way it helped me toward the finest sexual oblivion of my life.
I nurse these thoughts at the same time wondering about Colonel Broc. I’m sure he’s left the compound. If I have any remaining regret it is that I missed the chance to be with him. I’m not sure why I care, but I do. Maybe it’s the romantic woman still residing in my heart, the one who, even in these horrible circumstances, looks for tenderness from thugs and savages. The way Broc cared for me my first days I was in the compound is the closest thing to real affection I’ve experienced so far. I’m probably foolish to expect more.
It’s been weeks since I thought of Jordan and I do now. Although it’s pretty much fact that I screwed up that relationship. If anything has been made clear to me since my kidnapping, it is that. If I could live my life again, I’d never treat him so badly. Never. Of course, that doesn’t really matter now since my life has taken this bizarre turn and being with Jordan is a pipe dream fantasy as silly as a child’s game of pretend.
The worst part about solitary confinement is all these thoughts breeding like maggots in my head. I hate them, but can’t seem to ignore the constant babble that continues even when I sleep.
Days after the anal rape, as I mull my unfortunate circumstances, I look up from the pallet where I sleep in the old dank cellar cell and gaze toward the door. Colonel Broc is standing by the bars. At first, I think I’m dreaming. But when he speaks, I know he’s real.
***
The General has given Colonel Broc one of the nicest rooms in the compound. It’s the sunny one on the west side. I’ve only been there once before. The furniture is antique like the furnishings in the General’s rooms; and the linens aren’t as shabby as the ones in the rest of the house.
I can hardly look at him, so I avert my gaze. Broc sits in an overstuffed chair, which is a faded but pleasant shade of green, a green that a woman would pick. The brocade material was cut in a pattern of roses, which still faintly appear out of the worn fabric.
“You prefer going
naked, or would you like another dress?” he asks.
I wonder if this is a trick question? “A dress would be fine,” I reply.
“Then you’ll have to earn it,” he says coldly.
“I made a mistake,” I tell him as submissively as I know how.
“That you did,” he agrees. He says that with his deep voice reverberating—it feels like a train beneath my skin. He breaks the tension tossing me the silk he’s been holding in his lap. “Use this one for now. But you leave it when I’m finished with you.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer respectfully.
With the silk to cover me, I feel less exposed, although we both know that it’s just a game. I can hide nothing from Broc.
I divert my anxiety, noticing the details rather than the substance of the room—the grungy walls, the spotted carpet—the threadbare drapes. The chair fits his body well, his broad shoulders square with the back, his bare forearms rest on the arms with his palms casually cupping the ends. I stare at his hands for awhile. Then his blue eyes zap me, snapping at me with such force that once I catch his gaze, I have to look. That’s what he wants.
“And you like being hairless?” he asks as he remembers the look of my smooth and very naked crotch.
“I don’t think it matters what I like.”
“How true,” he nods with respect. Maybe I am getting the message of surrender. That is what they are teaching here. It’s a kind of thoughtlessness I can enjoy. But it’s a matter of choice. I didn’t choose this, although I often find that yielding is exactly what I need.
My eyes revert to his thighs when his gaze gets too intense. They are as hard and muscled as his chest and his powerful arms—which could crush me if he chose to.
“Drop to your knees,” he orders.
I obey him quickly, but this hurts. My kneecaps grind against the wooden floor, though I keep the pose until he says, “Sit back.”
I do that, too, feeling grateful for some small relief.
My heart is beating as fast as my pulsing crotch. My head spins. I’m lightheaded and almost dizzy. When he leans forward, I shudder from head to toe, and my face begins to brighten with a blush of embarrassment. I’m sure he can sense my arousal and that scares me. With any other man, the act of surrender is easy. I’m immune to them, but not to the handsome Colonel Broc. He takes my chin in his hand and lifts it so I can’t help but stare at those azure irises and wilt.
“Closer, Monroe.” He calls me Monroe—I’ve almost forgotten what that means.
I rise off my heels and wiggle my way between his thighs, so that our faces are so close that we can feel each other’s breath.
He kisses me. Lips first, lightly. Then his mouth opens, and mine follows. My lips seem to tremble as badly as my limbs. His tongue begins a slow massage—I’m starting to melt. He treats me like candy, tasting me carefully as though he’s savoring the promise of that first bite. I can’t forget the fact that he’s made me cum twice—with just his fingers. Perhaps this time, he’ll make me cum with his tongue alone.
Broc brings me closer, into his lap where I sit like a child and cuddle him with my arms around his neck, making out.
The lovemaking is so silent that we can hear the little noises of our mouths and the sound of his fatigues against my silk. His warm body has me caught inside its steeled grip. I’m here to stay.
He takes one breast inside his hand and rolls it in his palm. He could have had me naked, but he prefers to feel the silk first—at least that seems to be his plan. It’s a good plan, for the silk soothes me inside of his powerful manliness.
As we kiss, we become more aroused. We press our chests against each other; and our hearts appear to clench as firmly as our arms and mouths. Still in his lap, he has my ass inside his grip. My sore ass, the ass he flailed two days ago, the ass he tortured once before. He loves it now so passionately, I know he could beat it a hundred times over and I’d still want more.
As Broc rises from the chair, he lifts me into his arms. My feet don’t touch the floor, but follow my body on the bed. His hands cover my hair, holding my face carefully as he kisses me more. Then he moves one hand down along the sensuous fabric, until it skirts the hem of my dress. Reaching underneath, he beings to burrow deep to feel real skin. The pulsing portal at the crest of my crotch opens naturally. Yet, he teases it, giving my swollen sex-soaked skin only a cursory massage. I search for his erection knowing that it has grown in size. I’ve felt it firm against my belly, pulsing on my thighs like a throbbing heart.
In several seconds, my fingers have his belt unbuckled. Even with all the heavy clothes he wears, he’s still undressed as quickly as I am… and I wear nothing but my new white silk.
His penis dives for my cunt like a heat-seeking missile aiming for its target. I bear down to milk it with each thrust it makes toward my hungering womb.
My back arches as he kisses my neck. Then drawing a line of kisses downward, he’s almost at my nipple before his lips glide back up my throat. As my steamy portal and his cock collide, my cum begins from deep within me, from the Jordan place I’ve been denying, that place where my real lovers go, the place only the special ones are allowed. I don’t know whether Broc has taken this from me, or I have freely given him the intimate Shelly. I only know that in the moment of climax that I love him as much as I’ve loved any man. Even when we’re finished, it is impossible to pull away. Sweaty and exhausted, we stay in the same place on the messy bed for a long while.
An hour passes. We finally break away.
I fix Colonel Broc a drink while he sits in the brocade chair watching me move. He wears boxer shorts to cover his crotch and nothing more, which is rather disappointing since I was enjoying the look of his cock. Yet, he is power and muscle enough to keep my arousal brewing at a low sonorous rumble. Unfortunately, the very fact of who he is and where we are now is so disturbing that my other, less forgiving nature can’t let that truth go.
“How can you do this?” I finally blurt out when I hand him the glass.
He looks up, sips his drink and snickers. “Really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t it bother every decent human being that you kidnap women and turn them into sex slaves?”
“Just the ones that want it.”
“Right,” I bite off sarcastically.
“Don’t lie to me, Monroe. You love what you’re doing. You loved what we just did and you want me more.”
I seethe, stare at him and seethe more. “My body speaks one way, Colonel, because it’s feeling primal, animal things. But I am a human being, not an animal.”
“You sound foolish saying that. What we did was more than animal. Yes, it was primal, but it was more than that and you know it.”
“Maybe. But that is only because you’ve twisted my life.”
“You felt something for me, don’t say you didn’t.”
“And what if I did? What would it matter now? You’re a ruthless bastard who can’t afford to care for anyone.”
“You’re wrong about that. I can be very loyal to those who are loyal to me.”
“No. That’s not true. You’re an abomination. This whole place is an abomination. And I can’t believe that anyone who appears as humane, as civil as you, could be behind this scheme and loving it so. It’s insane.”
“I’m not a civil man,” he grimaces darkly. “I have a life you don’t want to look at. Whether it’s a sane or an insane choice really doesn’t matter; it’s who I am and how I want to live my life. The fact that I brought you along with me, pleases me.”
As much as I should hate him, it does matter to me that he’s made these choices. It matters to me that he’s become so cruelly cold—that he’s lost his soul. I wonder why. I want to climb inside his life, his mind, his psyche, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just survival, and through Broc, I’m looking for my way out.
“Tell me, how does a man, apparently raised in a reasonable American life turn out like you? How did yo
u lose your morality?”
He scowls, “I wasn’t raised to be a reasonable American, and I didn’t lose my moral compass. I never had one. And you know what? Everyone else in this goddam world is the same. If they tell you otherwise, they’re lying.” His bitterness makes my whole being turn sour.
“Then I find you very sad, Colonel Broc.”
“Don’t mourn for me, Monroe, mourn for yourself. You’re the one who has no choices left but to serve me and whoever buys you for your body.”
His cold is stunning. Must have hit a hot button. He’s beyond mocking me gently, and has turned to ice.
I move in front of him, suddenly feeling so naked and unhappy that I snatch the white dress off the floor and put in on before he can tell me not to.
“Truth does that, doesn’t it? Turns you scared.”
“Obviously, you want me scared. But then,” I look at him smugly, “what if I give up?”
He looks puzzled.
“Yes, give up. If living or dying doesn’t matter to me anymore, then you lose the game.”
“Don’t give me that shit, Monroe. You want to live as much as I do.”
“Why would I? After you’ve made me into this?”
“I didn’t make you into anything. That is your doing. Strange as it may seem to you, I believe that you’re as responsible for being here as I am, or General Hanan, or Captain Tahli. Life is lessons, lessons we choose whether it’s up here,” he points to his head, “or in here,” he points to his gut. “Bottom line, the choices are ours. You brought this on yourself.”
“Oh, that is a convenient way to sidestep your kind of evil.”
“It works well for me. The fact remains, Monroe, you’re not really suffering. You’re perfectly suited to this job. The General and I have just given you permission to be the reckless slut you’ve always been.”
I’m standing close enough to catch his cheek with a sturdy smack, but he has his hand on my wrist before the blow connects.
White Silk & I Belong to You Page 7