“Michelle.”
A voice in my dreams calls to me. I’m running along the beach, chased by a presence I cannot name.
“Michelle.”
A hand on my shoulder…
I jerk, sit up straight and gaze up into Daniel’s eyes.
“Oh, my God!”
“You okay?”
“Yes. You just startled me.”
“Am I not the reason you’re here?”
“Yes, you’re the reason I’m here.”
“Then come up to my room.”
He turns and walks toward the elevator without checking to see if I’m following.
I can’t stand the silence in the elevator or as we walk along the hotel corridor to his room, but he seems perfectly at ease. I do marvel at his attire, so very different from the tuxedo of a week ago, but nonetheless so civil in comparison to the dusty military fatigues and heavy boots I remember from the past. He now wears jeans, a white T-shirt and a leather bomber jacket, which accentuates the broad shoulders that carry his muscled weight with great ease. He’s shorter than Steven, but they share the same forceful presence, the self-assurance of their size and confidence. Daniel is more edgy, more immediate, while Steven is laidback and serene. Whereas Daniel exudes danger even in this civilized place, Steven generates a feeling of safety I’ve come to trust.
I follow Daniel into his suite and stand in the living room while he fishes through the wet bar for glasses and liquor.
“Scotch okay?”
“Anything would be fine.”
He pours the drink. “Why so scared?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Yes, you are. You look petrified, Michelle.” He hands me the glass and motions to the sofa. “Sit down.”
I take a seat, my ass precariously perched on the edge of the couch, while I sip the drink. Though I may hate the taste, it will soothe me in time. I watch him as he moves around the room, letting my question cut through the smoldering silence. “Why are you here in New York?”
He turns, walking my way. “That’s what you came to ask me?”
“One of several things.”
“I’m here on business.”
“What kind of business?”
He sits down, leaning back in the comfortable easy chair with his legs crossed and his arms resting on the wide armrests, his bulk settling in as if he owns it. He cocks his head; his expression like hardening concrete. “What you really want to know is whether my business concerns you.”
I smile weakly. “Well, does it?”
“No,” he states flatly.
Immediately, my energy slumps like a sad clown; I feel foolish.
“You expected it was?”
I find I can’t say.
“You have a reason to want me here?”
He guesses well, while I remain silent.
“What’s the matter, Michelle?”
I fidget with my glass and finally take a long wincing gulp of scotch, then set it down. “I…I thought maybe there was some connection…” I stop before I finish. An alarming degree of sexual arousal has crept up through my loins. I clear my throat hoping to continue.
“Connection between me and what? You’re in danger?”
“You think I might be?”
“I think something’s got you scared stiff, but I’m not about to play guessing games with you. Spit it out and get it over with.” The commanding tone reminds me of my years with him as his trainee. No wonder I feel the emotion and lust that drove that time come at me like a brick flung directly at my gut. Desire swirls around me so strong I want to give myself to him again.
“So, you’re no longer associated with the organization that kidnapped me?”
“Did I say that?”
“No, but you’re being as evasive as I am.”
He smiles. “A stalemate,” he suggests. “And if no one puts their cards on the table, we get nowhere.” He raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“Okay, I want to know if I made a difference in your life…” I finally blurt out. I know that this has little to do with my real reason for being here, and yet, I have often wondered. “…if you gave up the slave trade because of me. That is…if you gave it up?” I suppose this is the real reason for my question; I want to know if it’s even safe to be talking to this man.
The question takes him by surprise.
“Yes. I have quit the trade. And was that because of you? I can’t say. You might well have been a contributing factor, but there’s no one reason. Fact was, I got tired of the constant danger. I sleep a whole lot better now. But that is only half the answer. Do I still deal with slaves? All the time. It’s in my blood to seek out women needing submission—women like you. I own several now, in a more consensual arrangement, but their service to me is a form of slavery, there’s no getting around that.”
“Where are they?”
“Amsterdam, London and Brazil.”
“Really? None here in the U.S.?”
“None. I’m hardly ever here. There’s a ranch in Brazil where I spend most of my time. I keep an apartment in Amsterdam mainly for business…and my slave in London is a more casual arrangement on the rare occasions when I’m there, maybe twice a year. She was another one from the Middle Eastern brothels that I smuggled out.”
He rescued another slave? The very idea blows apart a long-held fantasy. I find myself intensely jealous to know that there was another slave significant enough to rescue.
“And you love them?” I ask.
He laughs. “If you want to call it that. I’m not sure you could describe my feelings for women as ‘love’ in the traditional sense.”
“Why, because you beat them?”
“I beat them because it satisfies a need in us both. More to the point of love, I’m a remote and guarded man. I won’t allow anyone inside me. You should know that as well as anyone.”
“I once felt very much inside you.”
“Perhaps. But that was over quickly, was it not?” He peers at my sad face, wonderingly. “So why are you here, Michelle? And let’s try a little harder this time.”
Anguished pangs of regret return to me as if it was just days ago that we were together in that safe house. I loved him deeply. I let him go, but a part of that love remained inside, which has reawakened now with overpowering strength. At this moment, I’d easily toss aside my entire life to have him, even just a piece of him, to be his slave again.
“I saw you here at the reception, and ever since I haven’t been able to let you go. I needed to see you, to dispel the fascination.”
“You have a good man and you’re willing to risk him in order to see me?”
“He won’t know.”
“But you will.”
“It won’t matter; trust me.”
“You want me now?”
I am tongue-tied knowing that my wanting swarms around me like angry bees.
“Say it, Michelle.” He sips his drink so causally, while my mind works fast.
He leans forward, pushing me for my answer. “Say it,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I lower my eyes, feeling like a feeble child.
“Don’t stop there,” he presses.
“Yes, I want you now.” I wince. My gut clenches.
He sits back.
“Then, you be what I need for you to be, slave,” he scowls as he did so many times, twisting the word ‘slave’ into something evil. I feel his passion surface, the darkness, the great need to strip me down to the base essence of my sex. The expression on his face darkens and I tremble. He views me critically, appraising me like a jackal appraising his prey. “Take off your clothes,” he finally says.
I shudder at this command, sparks trickle down my shoulders, while thrill breeds below the surface. I begin to strip as he orders. My face reddens with the humiliation I love as I discard my sweater on the floor, and my lacy bra follows. His eyes fix on my bare breasts as they once did years ago. Hardly able to rise to my feet, I shakily lean on th
e arm of the couch as I kick off my shoes and struggle from my skirt and stockings. Naked before Daniel Broc, I drop to my knees, assume the pose of submission and wait.
The air of arrogant authority exuding from his bold presence makes my juices collect at the doorway of my crotch. A layer of perspiration rises on my skin, while goosebumps rise across the draft-chilled surface. I feel faint and flushed and orgasmic.
“Get on my bed, slut!” Daniel orders in a tone of disgust. “And crawl like the lowly beast you are.”
I make my way on hands and knees into the bedroom behind us. When I don’t move fast enough, he stands and nudges me with the toe of his boot. Thus I move faster, putting distance between us as he watches me from the living room. Climbing onto the unmade bed, I remain on all fours and wait, peeking occasionally to see where he is.
Daniel takes his time meandering into the room. Though I sense his sexual arousal, I know he can keep it squelched for hours if he chooses. He’s not like most men driven to sex by a throbbing erection, who gallop at high speed to satisfy their urge to fuck. A quieter, darker passion brews inside him, fed by a hunger for dominion, not the brief moment of climax. Power, anger, manipulation, and cruelty all play their part. He’s a man of epic battles, not small victories. What he can control defines him. That he can control me now, after all this time will satisfy his lewd hungers as much as any physical climax.
I wait, recalling this truth and know I have reason to anticipate and fear the next hour.
He approaches me quietly with the stealth of a cat. My eyes are closed, so the feel of his hand on my ass takes me by surprise. He mauls my flesh with vigor before he starts to smack my cheeks with his open palm. The blows come hard and fast and my ass stings from the dreadful heat. I feel punished, like an errant child punished for wrongdoings, as if I need this to wipe clean the slate of my crimes. There is freedom in this pain.
I gaze to my side, looking directly into the mirror, watching our fiery tableau, seeing his large hand connect with my flesh and my cheeks redden. Even more shocking to me is the image of Daniel Broc’s dominance pouring out over my submissiveness. My body comes alive, shaking with desire, while the furnace between my thighs blows hot.
Daniel stops the spanking and backs off, rummaging through the chest of drawers, returning with a length of rope that he uses to tie my wrists together and then to the slatted wooden headboard. He pulls me forward with a harsh tug and I feel the natural need to resist create a familiar tension in the air that arouses us both. Overcoming my resistance with his brawny strength, he has me easily tethered, and mentally careening deeper into submission.
Pulling a steel bar from the closet—how handy to have the equipment so available—Daniel binds my ankles to either end, keeping my legs widely spread and my pussy vulnerably spread. Once I’m secured to suit him, he begins spanking my pussy with the same thundering blows he used on my behind. I shriek as the sudden pain sends stinging shocks to the ends of my frayed nerves.
He stops, taking my chin firmly in his hand as if to crush it and drives his blue eyes into my mine, admonishing cruelly, “Don’t make me gag you.”
I’m locked to his fixed gaze and clamp my mouth shut tight. Yes, sir, I’ll take the pain, my frightened eyes communicate.
At first, the waves of sensation make me twist in my uncomfortable bondage, but then the fire transforms into a yearning need and my body becomes lost in Broc’s fury. He strips off his clothes and mounts my face, pressing his cock to my lips, which open for the hard erection. As he rides my mouth, he slaps my pussy with a riding crop. I may gag and sputter, but there’s no stopping his depraved need to use me as the pain-slut slave I was to him once—and will always be. I slurp and suck, thoughtlessly, as I’ve been trained. I think this rhythm will take us both to a rollicking climax, but he pulls out of my face, and turns around, stuffing his erection into my cunt. He grabs my breasts, attacks my mouth with brutal kisses and uses the pulsating snatch at my center until he finally explodes deep in my belly.
A surprisingly swift finish. I’m still cumming softly as Daniel pulls dripping from my vagina.
There’s no tender aftermath, no loving caress. He lets me grovel in a puddle of our juices while he moves to the bathroom and showers. Nearly an hour later he returns to me smelling as fresh and crisp as morning air.
I dozed while he was gone, but come back to life when I hear his voice.
“You’ll be okay here for a while, slut,” he says. “I’ve got work to do.”
Leaving me aghast, Daniel retreats to the living room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
I listen intently to the sounds from the other room. While I lie captive, he makes a slew of phone calls. I hear his voice, but not what he says, though the serious businesslike tone characterizes what little I can make out. It’s obvious to me that he’s in control, making his points succinctly before moving on. I suspect he has a certain agenda, which he will efficiently complete before he returns. He’s not unlike dozens of businessmen I’ve known.
With nothing else to do, I doze again, still tied to the headboard, legs still splayed open.
By the time Daniel returns, the sun is setting on the city. An eerie grey light filters into the room giving it a murky afternoon glow. I wake, hearing him rustle on the other side of the door. There are voices. The door opens and Daniel enters the room with a man following close behind him.
His associate is a smartly dressed black man wearing a slick grey suit and a tie that looks like a purple watercolor painting. He reminds me of male models in fashion magazines, the kind women drool on. I figure most men as impeccably handsome are gay but not this one.
He sees me and his hand goes immediately to his throat to loosen his tie. He continues disrobing with his eyes fixated on the vision he sees. Long before he removes his jockey shorts its apparent that the sight of me arouses him and he’ll take advantage of the opportunity given.
“A slave I rescued several years ago,” Daniel says dismissively as an introduction.
“And she’s gratefully paying you back?” the man wonders.
“In a manner of speaking. You can use whatever hole you want, just grease the ass if that’s your pick. I don’t want to send her back to her boyfriend bleeding.”
“Ass it is, man,” the black man smiles. He moves in close and reaches out, stroking my feverish skin with his fingertips. “Ooo, and such a smooth pussy.” He dives into the bed going directly to my naked pubic mound, where he relishes the feel of baby-soft skin that never grows a speck of hair. His tongue glides over the skin as if he’s eating ice cream, tasting the flavors of sweat and spent juices that have dried there. Even I can smell the thick aroma of sexual excitement that pours from my cunt.
The black man fingers my slit and my pussy jerks with life. I’m absorbed by the way he thrums my clitoris, the way his tongue eases about my inner labia, the way he sucks them til I seethe with the sibilant sounds of pleasure.
“Good reactions,” he gazes briefly at Daniel who stands watching. “You wouldn’t want to sell the slut?”
“If she were for sale, she’d bring a steep price, but I have a policy never to reclaim a freed slave. I doubt it’s worth my time to deal with their issues. And they do have issues. If you take them away from the conventions that rule their behavior, they fall into the traps most modern women do, reverting to the foolishness freedom breeds. This one is a prime case. But…” he smiles with a familiar and brutal glint in his eyes, “she’s still good for sex.”
I’m utterly wounded by his low opinion of me, and despite my mounting arousal, the resentment grabs at my gut. What am I now? A trophy fuck for his friends? How dare he?
But as Daniel ambles from the room I turn my attention to his horny friend and feel the sexual heat rise up. Maybe Daniel’s right… maybe this is all I’m good for. My body, motivated by its continuing desire focuses on the artful black man with his slick moves and talented tongue.
Though he finds my cun
t a delightful diversion, it’s my ass he wants. I realize this for certain when two fingers slip deep into my anal crevice and locate the unused opening. He lubricates the place with my pussy juices, finding them enough to grease the path his cock will soon explore.
My insides shudder nervously as he works the place with ever increasing fervor, until he’s fucking my ass with at least three fingers. I widen for him easily. His other hand massages tit and nipples, while his mouth continues its journey around my clitoris and pussy. I’m cresting fast and about to burst when he suddenly pulls backs and flips me over.
He pulls my ass cheeks wide. “You want this, baby,” he purrs.
“Ah… unnnnnnnn.”
“You want this; tell me, girl,” he gasps.
“Ooo, yes, God yes… take my ass,” I pant back.
“Yeah, baby, you randy bitch.”
He runs his hands over my skin, his touch like velvet, like his tongue. I’m carried away by the subtlety, the pleasure of having his whole attention focused so devotedly on my entire body… not just the convenient body openings where he’d stash his cock, but the skin under my arms, along my side, down the curve of my belly and the back of my legs, where every touch teases.
He returns to my ass cheeks a half-dozen times before he finally spreads them wide and enters my anus with one swift and definitive thrust that makes me his—at least for these few copulating moments.
“That’s it, bitch,” he says when I squeeze my inner muscles around his shaft. It’s not as thick as some I’ve known, but it drives so deeply that I think he’ll dissolve inside me and we’ll never separate. “Oooumm, yeah baby,” he purrs at my ear. “You like your man, Jaz.” His tongue traces the line of my neck and I tremble, scared.
The fucking gets harder and I’m overloaded with stimulation. I swear I must pass out for a minute overcome by the intensity, but then I’m awake again with my body alive and cumming in great long spasms.
“Gawwwwwwd! Yessssssssssss. More, hurt me more!” I scream
“Oh, yeah, baby likes it hard.”
He smashes his hot groin into my ass, into my body, into my brains, my blood, my soul until my whole insides faint away. Too much! No! I can’t take more!
White Silk & I Belong to You Page 25