“Turn around,” he orders.
Broc searches my face as I wait for him so say something. “Go to my quarters and wait for me,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I answer.
“On the floor, Silk,” he adds.
I nod at him and I’m off.
By the time Broc finally enters the room, the heat from my punishment has faded. What remains is a simple ache that might well last a few days.
Though I look forward to this moment, he is as unfeeling as he was while he laid on the rod. This will not be the intimate exchange I hoped for. Broc can easily assuage his day’s worries with a good fuck, and I will be the object of that physical release. I play the role well, even when it has no meaning for me. I suppose it shows how starved I am for real affection that I would seek it from this man, this Texas cowboy with all the grit and looks of a movie star, and the ruthless immovability of a barbarian. To have him, I need to forget the woman I used to be, who sought romance and love and genuine tenderness.
I kneel in the corner on the floor, staring into Broc’s eyes as he removes his heavy belt. The guns, the club and heavy leather hit the floor with a soft clatter. Moving to his chair, he sits, saying, “Remove my boots.”
The manly aroma of his body is my aphrodisiac. My poor cunt quivers wildly as I carefully undo the laces, my fingers flying to free him of the leather. I proceed from there, thoughtlessly pursuing his body even though he’s given me no right to continue. Rising between his open thighs, I unbutton his shirt, loosening each button until the sides open and he moves in his chair to free his arms. He makes no comment, except what he suggests with his eyes. That fixed gaze becomes unnerving as it showers over me. I can’t figure his thoughts—anger, lust and concern get confused in his uncertain grimace.
I’m not discouraged. My hands seek more, running along his smooth T-shirt, over his chest to the bottom where I slide them under and push his shirt upwards with my fingers spreading through his wiry sand-colored hair. Broc finishes for me, tossing his shirt to the floor.
We start to kiss, Broc reluctantly, but I force my mouth on him and he can’t help but respond. When I feel his rough hand in my hair, I know I have him won. Desire blooms in both of us; and with my hand at his crotch, I feel that desire making his cock swell. I pull up further into his lap where my bare breasts graze across his naked chest. Like two bolts of fire, my nipples press his skin. His need begins to take hold more firmly.
I take the snap at his pants with a tearing rip, and push my hand inside to find the object of my current affection. When I feel the pulse, I slide from his grip to the floor and work to set his growing erection free. The taste of him is like a drug that turns me into a ravenous creature. With Broc’s thick penis gliding down my throat, I move it in and out of my mouth as my muscles suck the firm steel to its proud magnificence. He toys with my hair, places a kind hand on my cheek, and penetrates my eyes with the look of taking in his.
As he gathers me into his chest, we rise together to copulate on the bed. Lying on my back, he plants his erection in my steamy cunt while I stare in wonder at his powerful face.
I clutch the headboard above me as if my hands are tied, and scream my pleasure in groaning, gasping bursts of delight as my orgasm starts to fire. Our hips lock in battle as we find a mutual finish that seems easier to enjoy each time we are together. At the moment of climax, I’m in love, forgetting that I’m nothing but a whore to him. Afterwards, as I lie panting, my back to him, with his arms around me and his crotch pressed sensuously to my ass, I fantasize in pictures best left for other lifetimes, where the reality of who we are and how we live is not so at odds with love. If only he were someone else… if only we were lying on a warm beach with a gentle sun and the crashing sound of the ocean waves playing softly in our ears.
“Why did you choose me?” My voice seems so small.
“Choose you for what?”
“You’re going to deny that I’m your favorite whore?” I turn over inside his arms.
“Maybe you remind me of something I once had.”
“Or someone maybe?”
“You want to pry, you’ll get yourself punished.”
“That’s a handy device to have in your back pocket,” I say smugly.
“It works.” He smiles with the scorn and weariness that are often there.
“Keeps you from caring too much.”
He leans back studying me a while. “You really want to press, don’t you? Maybe you like getting punished.”
“Humm. It has its merits.”
“You confess that much, Silk, you’ll have to answer to me. You’re a woman after my own needs. While you’re here, we fit.”
“But you’d just as soon sell me.”
“I have to sell you. The price on your body has already reached quite an amount. One I can’t afford to pay.”
“It has?”
“Of course.”
I must look surprised since he continues to explain.
“Didn’t you suspect that all the taping has its reasons? The videos are beamed to private sites on the Internet, which generate interest in our merchandise. The better you screw for the camera, the more you’re wanted. The more you’re wanted the better for you. The best placed whores usually last the longest.”
“Then tonight was filmed?” I ask.
“No,” he practically snaps that rejoinder. “Nothing in my quarters is filmed.”
I’d like to know why, but he closed the door on further comments with the force of that remark. I return to the subject of me. “Am I so different from the others?”
“Every whore has her moments and you have yours. I like you because you know what I’m about.”
“I do?”
“Yes, Monroe, you do.”
He’s running his fingers through my hair in an effortless display of affection. This is what I want, what I miss, and what seems completely bizarre. I don’t like the man, but I might well love him. “How?”
“There is power in the darkness I live inside, and I can’t live without it. I live for the thrill, the way it makes me feel. True, it makes me immoral; but immorality is only in one’s perception of rules that have very little meaning if you believe the way I do. You’re hardly far behind me, Monroe. You may call me the devil, you may despise what I do, but there is part of you that relishes the flip side of the enlightened life and basks in these shadows as much as I do.”
“You want me to admit that?”
“You don’t have to.”
He kisses me more tenderly than Jordan, more evenly than the fresh young boys in college—with the devotion of a good friend.
“Well, I’m not going to quarrel with you about morality or anything else,” I tell him. “It would be a waste of my time to try changing your feelings.”
“See? You prove my point. You’re as much a situationalist as I am.”
“Maybe so.”
Has he turned me into a female reflection of him? Am I so far away from my former life that I can’t remember what the real world was like? What real people do with their time? Which is not kidnap unsuspecting and innocent women and sell them into slavery.
“When will you sell me?”
“When you’re ready.”
“How soon do you think that will be?”
“I can’t say.”
“Have you ever killed a woman for noncompliance?” It is the rumor no slave can avoid—perhaps it’s planted just to keep us obedient.
“No. But I might as well have considering what I force them to suffer.” He’s startlingly cold again. “If what you’re asking is: would I have the guts to really make you suffer? My advice to you is don’t find out. When you’re out of my bed, you’re the same as all the others. And because I deign to have you with me when I want a whore to screw, I’d be more likely to wreak havoc on you if you fuck up out there.”
“I have to be a better slave than the others?”
“Yes, the perfect slave, Monroe.”
/> He grabs my ass to emphasize his point, which only stirs my body to sex again.
This time we fuck with merciless ferocity as if we’re trying to prove something to each other. It’s fast, intense. Our bodies scratch, dig and claw. I bite his shoulder; he pulls my hair. Then he smacks my butt, while I attempt to squeeze the life out of his cock. Neither of us wins, but we tap that darkness one more time; and when we finish, the frenzy of emotion we release has made us limp and able to sleep.
“If you had the money to buy me, would you?”
“I might,” he replies, “now go to sleep.”
Good idea. I have no more questions to ask. Maybe I’ve made my peace with him—at least for today.
The following morning, Broc pushes me out of bed, sending me to Carlotta before I’m completely awake. She’s particularly brusque when I don’t pay close enough attention to her orders. She slaps my face when I don’t stand straight enough to please her, and she marks my breasts with her baton until I’m sure they’ll bleed. I’m in tears, though I’m advised not to cry.
“You’re on the fast track to the auction block, White Silk, but I’d suggest that you mind yourself, or all your punishment will turn you into a kitchen slave or whipping girl. An owner will treat you well if your flesh is flawless. If not…” She doesn’t finish, but I understand what she means. So far, my wounds have been superficial, but she seems intent on making a few permanent marks. I wonder if she hates me.
Two other slaves and I spend some time posing for her. We bend over, legs straight, palms on the floor, breasts dangling like cow’s udders. She’s like a cat, prowling around us haughtily with that damned baton. Any slight imperfection in form, just the slightest tremor of an exhausted muscle, and we feel the implement cutting a thigh or a plump, exposed rear cheek.
“You think this is tough, you haven’t seen what kind of gymnastics your masters will expect of you. Concentration!” she thwacks my ass because I break form. “When you’re pulling pony carts or pretending to be furniture for the amusement of your owners, you can’t afford to make such goofs.”
I’m even more embarrassed as I look to my left seeing Broc attentively watching the proceedings. He only makes it worse; it’s a matter of pride to do well in his presence.
The sadistic Carlotta is even more inspired by his presence. She’s showing off, stretching our endurance beyond what is humanly possible—from my humble, slavish point of view. After a brief rest, while she confers with the Colonel, I’m returned to the straight-leg position with my palms on the floor. The ache in all my limbs is instantaneous as I follow her order. I do hold on, but only until she starts to grease my rear. When she shoves a dildo in my ass, I shriek, and break the pose.
“Get up!” she shouts.
I scramble back, only to have her fuck my ass so vigorously that I think she’s trying to kill me. Broc views the scene passively, seeing all my struggles: the tears, the fright, and the determination with which I manage to hold on until the vicious shrew is finally finished with me and moves on to the next slave. While she puts her second victim through the same tortuous trial, I’m made to hug the floor, my knees wide tucked under my torso, my hands clasped behind my back. As her attention is elsewhere, I zone out, forcing her jeers and commands to the back of my mind, while I simply float, feeling the pleasurable fire in my bottom.
I’m jarred back to reality with a brisk strike of the baton on my ass.
“Yeeeeeouch!”
“Silence!” she shouts, then she turns to the Colonel. “Their form is improving.”
“Slowly,” he agrees.
“I plan to work them this way for the next two weeks until it’s perfect.”
“Wise move,” he adds.
“Would you do the honors of punishment, sir?”
“No, Carlotta, I’d rather see you take care of them. Though I’d like you to use the wooden paddle.”
My body instantly reacts; and I feel the two slaves beside me respond the same. This won’t be the first time I’ve felt that horrible impact, but it’s not something I’ll ever get used to.
I think it’s worse being punished before Broc, than by him. He remains remote, almost inhuman; so callous that it’s hard to believe we spent the night in the normalcy of a bed, like lovers making love, like friends talking.
I expect to be punished immediately. But Carlotta and Broc decide to make a ceremony of our ordeal. We’re dismissed for the moment, then later in the evening, the woman takes us into the lounge room where the Colonel, General Hanan and several officers and staff watch our fannies getting paddled until they are blistering hot and our feet are dancing furiously to get away.
When I get to Broc’s room an hour later with a red-hot heinie, he laughs as he squeezes the scorched flesh.
“I hate your looking,” I tell him feeling very petulant—even if it’s not the wisest thing to do.
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“You’d rather I did the honors of correcting your egregious faults?”
“No, I’d rather not be corrected at all. The whole thing is absurd!”
“Of course it is. No one said this life is sane.”
“I hate it.”
“I imagine so.”
“And I hate you.” I’m storming in front of him thinking up a thousand miserable things to say and he lets me keep talking. “How am I suppose to feel with such humiliation? You are a villain… an evil man, Daniel Broc… “ I’ve never used his first name. But it comes out now as though I’m his ranting wife having another of many angry donnybrooks with my miserable husband.
“Yes, I’m sure I am your evil villain.”
“This is not right! It goes against everything that is decent in this world.”
“For those who believe in decency, it does. But I don’t believe in anything but what I do.”
He rises from his chair and grabs my wrists pulling me toward him in a violent clash. The kisses begin; but they are not tender, nor sweet, nor made for lovers. Broc pins me to him in his steely grasp. I can’t get away. His mouth moves down to devour mine. Then with his lips pressed in ardent concentration, he slowly moves my hands behind my back, and holding them in one tight fist, grabs for a length of rope with the other hand.
I’m captured once again. Once again vulnerable to Broc’s whims. At the moment of capture, I may fight, but when it’s over and my will no longer matters, I’ll yield. The feel of surrender rains through my body like a spring shower. I soften and relent.
Shoved to the bed, I crouch for him with my ass exposed, allowing him to rape my anal cleft with his hands. He moves with the dexterity of a master, from my dampening cunt to my ass, back and forth.
I moan from deep within as my desire builds.
“Darkness, Silk. Don’t tell me you don’t thrive on this feeling of danger, on the element of risk, on the unknown. This is no travelogue you’re living… it’s more than that. It’s about insecurity, peril, all the things in life that make your psyche dance, and stretching it to its sexual limit.” He turns away from me just when I think he’s about to screw my ass—that’s what he’s been priming me for.
“General,” he speaks again; but I’m so thoughtless now, I hardly realize that it’s not the Colonel fucking me, but a string of other men who enter Broc’s room to thrust their erections into my entrails.
While they take me, he speaks of danger, whispering in my ear as the men prod my asshole—one brute after another getting satisfied by me. The opening should be raw by now, but I’ve opened so wide and yielded so much of myself, that it doesn’t matter if this goes on all night—it likely will.
Some rough up my behind before they enter, whacking it with their hands until the burning returns. I want this, too, and harder. I can’t cum; it’s not like cumming at all. It’s something better than orgasm. It’s reveling in the depravity, relishing the far ends of my status as a sexual slave.
This must be an object lesson. Broc knows how to make his
point, graphically.
When the General and his friends retreat, I remain with my ass vulnerable to the empty air.
Broc lies on the bed in front of me, his brawny form reminds me of a massive river boulder—immovable.
“Come here,” he motions me forward.
“You didn’t lie,” I whisper as my head tucks into his chest.
“I know. I know I’m right about you, Monroe. The pleasant world can barely keep you happy. Perhaps, that’s why you’re with me.”
“You believe in that kind of fate?”
“No,” he scowls. “I told you. I don’t believe in anything. Maybe coincidence and certainly chaos. Anything more than that is pointless.”
“And I don’t believe anything you say about yourself,” I answer him with a defiant grin on my face.
He “humphs” to himself and then smiles at me, as though he’s amused.
He’s a more complicated man than he lets on. With all this said, we sleep comfortably in each other’s arms.Chapter Nine
I’ve been in the compound for nearly a year now. Every day, I lose more of the woman I used to be and become more of the slave. Broc’s logic is gaining on the ‘better angels’ of my nature. It’s a better system to think the way he does, and better for my sanity. Maybe this is why these mavens of slavery have their one-year rule. Maybe it’s a given that by the time the year is over every woman is broken, and slavery becomes natural.
Even Red has succumbed. Though, I’ve seen her little these last few months, I know that her indoctrination has been as severe as mine has. She takes her training from Tahli, personally. She’s a special case—maybe, it’s just that Tahli is in love with her. Love or not, she’ll be sold to the highest bidder at the next auction.
White Silk & I Belong to You Page 10