White Silk & I Belong to You

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a garbled croak.

  “No! I don’t expect you to answer me, Michelle. Just listen. Just use your ears and get out of yourself and your trials long enough to focus on me. Hear me clearly. I don’t think people choose each other for obvious reasons. I think the attraction comes from a psychic chemistry they sometimes know nothing about. A subconscious knowing. I believe in that chemistry and getting below the surface of the obvious. That’s what we were doing. But you got scared of where we were headed. We were going exactly where you wanted to and you got scared.

  “I also believe that once, your need to submit got so strong in you that your abduction from the Orient Express was a forgone conclusion. You needed it hard and shocking to get you out of the pretty life you were in … the world around you simply said yes.” He stops, looking at my bewildered expression. “Does that shock you?”

  “I-uh-yes.”

  “I know you loved it, in fact, I suspected long before you confessed it to me, that your imprisonment had a sexual purpose. It only stands to reason that ruthless men would want you. You need it… thrive on it. I may not have all the fancy techniques of the dungeon crowd, or the meanness of your belligerent moral outlaw here, but you might just be surprised how in control I can be… and just as importantly, how easily you could fall under my control. You were lucky to have found Kovac. He was exactly the kind of man you needed, and sure, your life would have been perfect if he hadn’t died. But the truth is, he did die and oddly enough you met another man as capable of taking you to the places you need to go as he was… Coincidence? I don’t think so. You can’t escape what you need, no matter how hard you try. My question for you, Michelle Monroe, are you willing to let me get under your skin? Are you that brave or that submissive? Or do you just want to look for cowardly men who’ll give you a kinky time and walk away so you don’t have to face how dark you really want to go? Tell me.”

  Daniel chuckles under his breath at my distress. This doesn’t startle Steven, but it certainly does me. “What did the two of you do, set me up?”

  Steven shrugs and sits back, while Daniel strolls my way.

  “You know, this is even better than I could have planned,” he states smugly. “And I’m just dying to find out how you’re going to answer, Michelle. Because if you don’t get it right, I’ll beat you till you do.”

  This feels like an interrogation—I can almost envision a dank, gray, concrete room with a single light-bulb and the eyes of ruthless men bearing down on me with imperious authority. I want to wither away and slither under the door—but there’s no doing that. I have to face this. I brush Daniel aside and focus on Steven instead. “You mean my infidelity doesn’t matter to you?”

  “No. None of it matters,” he tersely answers.

  “But I’m… Why not?”

  “You expected me to reject you, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not rejecting you. As long as you face the truth now, that is all I care about.” He gives me a moment to think. “Ball’s right back in your court, Shelly. What’s it going to be?”

  Tears suddenly pour from my eyes. “I just don’t know…”

  As Steven watches me cry, I see the tenderness return to his face. “Yes, you do, Shelly, come here.” He opens his arms, and though I hesitate for a moment, I finally rise and stumble into his embrace…where I open up and cry my heart out.

  He lets my tears rain down, brushes back my hair. I can’t recall being more scared at any time in my life. I’ve given myself so easily to so many men, but never one I loved. Not like this. Not this much, this deeply.

  “Colonel Broc,” I hear Steven’s voice finally rises above my dwindling sobs.

  “Yes, Sir,” he answers like a military man.

  “I need to ask you a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Since I seem to be the only man around who hasn’t seen my slut it action, I’d like you to show me what you do. If you’re willing, she’s yours for the next hour, or however long you need. I want her in subspace at the dead ends of her pain. I want to know what she can take, what she sounds like, how she screams, how she responds to the brutality she can’t seem to put aside. Can you do that? As her trainer again?”

  I sit up dazed.

  Daniel stares at me from out of his darkness and his eyes evolve from passive to beastly the longer he fixates on me. My tummy burns, my ass already stings, my crotch is about to explode in an inferno of orgasm.

  Then Daniel turns to Steven. “I’ve seen a good deal in my time. I’ve often traded slaves with friends, but this…”

  “You have a problem?”

  “No, man, in fact, it might just settle the score between my Silk and me.”

  Steven nods as he pushes me off his lap and I’m given back to the man who trained me.

  ***

  Daniel moves forward brusquely. He grabs me by the hair and pushes me to the wooden floor, his hand tangled in my blonde tresses.

  “Take off your clothes,” he rifles the order like he’s calling cadence.

  I tear at the buttons of my blouse, but not quickly enough.

  “Faster, bitch,” he slaps my face. His suppressed anger rises, and though it will stay within rightful boundaries, I know that the next hour will not be easy for me.

  My nervous fingers work hard to remove my clothes, while every few seconds of waiting Broc slaps a cheek again to inspire me. I can feel Steven internally cringing behind me, and I must sever our connection if I’m to successfully get though this scene. But how can I when my heart is with him every second?

  When I’m finally stripped and naked, I kneel before Daniel with my head slightly bowed and my knees open.

  “Hands behind your head,” he snaps.

  I attack the pose in perfect form.

  “Look up at me,” he reaches for my chin.

  “What master do you serve?”

  I’m momentarily confused.

  “Who do you serve?” he barks coldly.

  “I serve you, sir.”

  “Repeat!”

  “I serve you, sir.”

  “Again!”

  “I serve you, sir.”

  “Then do it now!” He takes a seat in the chair behind him.

  I hesitate for a second, the thought of Steven creating the hesitation. I know that I can serve only one master, but I can’t stop thinking of him.

  “Forget him, slut,” I hear Daniel snap. “You’re mine. Remember? You don’t put every bit of your body, mind and soul into me, and me alone right now, I’ll get permission to train you all over again. I don’t want the man disappointed in the goods he’s purchased with his devotion to you. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.” This time I mean it.

  “You behave as if he’s not in the room, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, who do you serve?”

  “I serve you, sir.”

  “Again.”

  “I serve you, sir.”

  “Then you know what you have to do.”

  My fingers dive into his crotch, into the belt buckle and the zipper on his jeans, tearing the belt apart, the button loose, and then tugging the zipper down to extract his penis from his pants. My head moves down, my mouth open to swallow his organ, while Daniel’s hand grasps the back of my head and he pushes his groin into my face. He fucks me hard, until I think he’s going to spurt, but then pulls out and stuffs his member back into his jeans.

  “You have any rope here?” he asks Steven.

  Steven jumps to his feet and searches through the kitchen broom closet, hauling out several sizes of rope, from twine to thick sailing rope.

  Daniel finds the one he wants—a scratchy thick sisal that is sure to burn my skin, and that is his point.

  He makes a slipknot that goes around my neck, fashioning a collar and leash to lead me around. Grabbing for a kitchen knife, he cuts enough to suffice and begins to bi
nd my body with the rest, cutting across my breasts and down through my crotch, then tying the loose ends off behind me for a crude rope-dress. With another piece of sisal, he sharply pulls my wrists behind my back and roughly wraps them several times.

  In seconds, the coffee table between the sofa and chairs is swept clear of books and magazines, and I become the center of attraction, roughly lifted to the surface and plopped face down. Daniel pulls my legs to either side forcing them painfully wide in order for my crotch to straddle the wooden table. My ankles are tied to the back legs, so I’m effectively bound in place. He moves about the room for several minutes, gathering items he needs. He shoves a beer bottle in my ass, while clothespins nip the edges of my exposed labia, and the real pain begins. He has to tie the beer bottle in for it to stay in place, and accomplishes that with another length of Steven’s rope that ties into the bondage dress.

  The first blow that tears across my ass cheeks comes from a leather belt. Strike after strike pelts my buttocks until I’m squirming from the pain. He pauses long enough for my body to engage the pleasure—it’s very small to start, though the sensation soon widens from the center of my ass to the whole of it, to my thighs and my tummy below. I even feel the aching of desire in my breasts.

  The beating continues in a rapid-fire commotion of strikes that hit my flesh from my shoulders to my buttocks and thighs. I cry in anguish and groan with lust. My female juices pour from my cunt leaving a puddle of liquid below me on the table.

  Daniel stops the beating long enough to fuck my ass with the beer bottle, twisting and turning as he shoves it deeper and deeper inside. I cringe in fear of its breaking, but the arousal this generates takes me far beyond my worries. He sets off an internal orgasm that sweeps through me in a rage. By the time he backs away again, I’m clearly beyond thinking, in subspace, flying to the tips my fingers, to the ends of my toes, to the edges of my conscious universe, thoughtless, humble, squelched, used up, beaten up… blessed.

  “My, God, Sir, please, I’m cumming,” I cry.

  “Then you stop right now!” He rips off the cruel command.

  My entire body groans in argument. How can I?

  Some dreadful, punishing implement tears across my ass and then my back, delivering me from the pleasure back into the pain. I hate him for this!

  “You don’t cum until you have permission, slut,” he barks. He drops to one knee by the side of my face, and forces me to open my eyes. “You hear me?”

  “I hear you, sir.”

  He lays his fingers over my mouth and I suck them with a voracious wanting.

  Daniel removes the ropes that bind my feet, removes the beer bottle, to my relief, but leaves the clothespins intact. Then he grabs the rope that rings my throat, and pulls me up and off the table. “You’ve spoiled your master’s table with your juices! Lick them up, bitch!”

  I accomplish the humiliating act in a thoughtless stupor, bending over the table and slurping the pool of liquid as if it’s sweet ice cream. I am suddenly self-conscious about the way I must look, aware that Steven is watching with a fixed expression. His presence drains my sexual longing of energy, as I wonder what he thinks of me now. Would he want me still, as I lap my juices with the efficiency of a dog? As I grovel like a beast. As the ugly lust my being demands takes these crude turns? I am no longer his blonde beauty, but a caricature, like a Japanese porn comic.

  When I finish licking up my mess to Daniel’s satisfaction, he pulls me back on the table, this time so that I’m lying on my back. My bound hands rest uncomfortably at my butt, at the same time, they lift my crotch high for the next abuse. Again, he pulls my legs to either side of the table and secures my ankles to the table legs.

  The beating begins one more time, though with a cruel twist as my pussy becomes the target for the wooden spoon, the doubled leather belt, and the braided leather whip that is one of Daniel’s regular companions.

  It takes another level of submission to explore the pain administered to the tenderest part of my body. I may be there mentally, but the physical steps take time, and the brutal man who uses me doesn’t wait for me to play catch-up, he starts right in with the hard stuff and expects me to adjust. Slaps from the wooden spoon come in a regular cadence; he keeps the same time when he changes to the belt and the whip tears at my skin, making me scream each time it lands on my naked pubis. I fear that he’s etching permanent marks in my flesh. Worse yet, is the way the biting pinch of the clothespins make every strike mortal terror.

  There seems nothing in this abuse to enjoy. This is the territory of the sadist who seeks the pain in others to find his pleasure. Yet, when Daniel rips away the clothespins one by one, the act jumpstarts my body back into its sexual response. I return to that plateau of arousal moments later, traveling through the stratosphere of subspace. My pussy now rises to greet the strikes that take me to another level of painful bliss.

  “Cum, sir, may I cum sir?” I cry aloud, as the orgasmic moment comes on me as suddenly as a bolt of lightning strikes from a clear sky.

  “Cum, why should I allow you pleasure, slut?”

  “Sir, I am your lowly servant. You should only do what pleases you,” I rattle off the words as if I’m back in his training compound.

  “That is so, girl. But I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

  “Oh, please,” I’m about to cry.

  I think he’s going to leave me like this, waiting, wanting but denied.

  He continues the torture a few minutes longer, driving my body to another edgy high, then with a move so swift that I think he has just dematerialized, he stops, tossing his instrument of the moment—the belt—to the floor. He sits in the chair at the foot of the coffee table and speaks to Steven, “She’s your slut, Mr. Vandenberg. It’s up to you.”

  Steven remains silent for several minutes. He’s above my head, so I can’t see his expression. I have no clue what he’s thinking as he watches my body writhe, and my belly contract. I concentrate to maintain the orgasmic feeling, though as the seconds tick by, I feel the sensations slowly, sadly, painfully retreat.

  “I want her to cum,” Steven finally says.

  Ah! Heaven! Thank you!

  “Then she will,” Daniel replies. He leans forward briefly, reaching into my crotch and fondling the wet folds of my femininity. All I need is a reminder. “Cum, slut,” he says, and then he sits back.

  The roar of climax breaks across my flesh, it clenches my belly, makes my thighs quiver with sensation, then it glides haplessly away, hardly as ferocious as I expected…

  But then, I can expect no more with half my heart and mind and energy focused on Steven.

  The room seems to settle around me with the tempest of my frantic scene over. I hear Daniel tell Steven, “So, kind Sir, I yield the floor to you.” He rarely calls any man ‘Sir’. It’s a form of high regard he saves for men he honestly respects.

  I hear Steven shift in his chair behind my head, and I wish that I could see his face or know how this scene affects him.

  “I think you should thank the man, Michelle,” I finally hear his voice. “You’ve been given far more than you earned. Get up and thank him.”

  When he makes no move to help me rise, I make the effort myself. It’s highly awkward with my hands trapped beneath me, made even more difficult because they are now practically numb. I expect that my struggle will finally garner some sympathy, but in fact, I do manage to pull up so I’m sitting on the edge of the table in front of Daniel.

  Steven moves in from behind and unties the rope that circle my wrists, then with several tugs of the rope at my ankles frees my feet. I fall forward between Daniel’s spread legs and continue where I left off at the beginning of the scene.

  His arousal leads us to a quick finish as I swallow his cum—his servant one last time. Then I sit back afterwards, assuming a pose of submission with my head bowed and my hands folded behind me, in waiting.

  All should be peaceful now, but I detect a rumble of disquiet distu
rbing the mood.

  “You saw what you needed to see?” Daniel asks my Steven.

  “I did. That’s all I need. You can cuckold me once, but not again.”

  My whole body quakes as his voice takes on a whole new timbre and seems to rise in firmness far above the power of my former trainer. I peek, seeing the two men facing off. I know now that this will be the last time they meet.

  There’s a look of respect on Daniel’s face. “Wise move,” he tells Steven. “Not many men would be brave or secure enough to let their property be used so thoroughly while they observe. But it’s better that you know who she is.” He nods. “You’re a good man, Vandenberg, better than me. You take care of her. Take her out of harm’s way, away from the city. Cloister her like a nun but use her like the whore she is. And love her. That’s what Michelle needs and what White Silk can’t live without.”

  “I won’t have any difficulty with that. Loving Michelle has never been a problem, which means I’ll master her better than any other man could.”

  Daniel nods his head agreeing. His face is strangely soft, not defeated, but acquiescent as he knows he no longer belongs in the room. He rises to his feet. “Perhaps if I’d known there were women in the world like Michelle Monroe before I started my moral decline, I never would have become the man I am now.”

  “You objectify women as you do, that’s what happens.”

  I hear them continue a brief conversation as they move toward the door. But their voices are too low for me to hear.

  Once Daniel is gone and the door shuts on this rough night, Steven turns toward me.

  “Hey, beautiful, you don’t need to sit there the rest of the night. Come here.”Epilogue

  Six Weeks Later…

  Steven keeps me at the beach house, having decided that this is the best place to insure my safety—at least until he finds another place he likes better—although I don’t think he’s actually looking. The beach house is small, but we need little more than what we have here.

  It’s clear I won’t be returning to the city any time soon, under any circumstances. Steven will be overly cautious taking Daniel’s words of warning at face value. My well-being is his responsibility, he’s quick to remind me. As quick to remind me of the terrible way I managed my life after Kovac died.