Surrender's Dance

by Vonna Harper

  Earlier she’d been intimidated by the jungle’s deep shadows, but that was nothing compared to her prison’s gloomy interior. No lights, if there were any, were on. The walls closed in around her and trapped her within her imagination and her dependence on the Tarzan-man who’d roped her.

  Tarzan? Funny how she hadn’t thought about the fictional jungle-god since she was a girl. Young and impressionable with a just-budding sexuality, she’d wondered what living with Tarzan would be like. He’d be the ultimate hunter of course and always provide her with fresh meat. He’d also bring home delicious fruits along with just-picked wildflowers. No dangerous snake, panther, alligator, or other wild animal would dare threaten her, and whatever savages lived in the jungle would leave them alone. They’d live in the ultimate treehouse complete with an awesome view. Her days would be leisurely and peaceful. He’d cater to her, giving her massages and keeping her in comfortable clothing. She didn’t get as far as the nights or what sleeping in the same bed entailed.

  At that thought, her attention went to her prison’s bed, or rather what passed as a bed, in the too-small room’s far corner. It obviously hadn’t been designed primarily for sleep. Not only weren’t there any covers, but what served as a mattress was so thin, she could tell it lay on a metal platform. It stood waist high to a tall man, which her captor was, with enough space between it and the smooth, gray wall that he could easily walk around it. The multitude of metal rings bolted or welded to the frame’s edges, some with chains dangling from them, left no doubt that she wouldn’t be spending much time on her feet.

  Flitting images of what he intended to do to her while she was confined to the bed filled her with an equal mix of fear and anticipation she wasn’t sure she succeeded in keeping from him. Hell, she’d often fantasized about being chained and toyed with and had then rewarded herself with semi-satisfying self-imposed climaxes. Having her dreams about to become reality, having a living, breathing Dom running things felt unreal and yet pre-ordained.

  Her mind shied away from the nerve-wracking thoughts and she returned to a survey of her surroundings. Instead of carpet, she was standing on what felt like a rubber mat. Looking around, she discovered that the entire floor was covered with the dense substance. It had some give to it but not much. There were two small openings to the outside in addition to the door, and they were heavily barred -- just like what she’d seen during her first and only tour of Alcatraz. Not even a small child could squeeze through the bars.

  She didn’t want to think about what she’d find in the large cupboard that had been built into the wall opposite the bed. Neither was she brave enough to contemplate what might be beyond the closed metal interior door. It took all the self-control she could muster to accept the reality of rings, chains, and ropes.

  This was really happening! Fantasy turned into reality -- overwhelming reality.

  “I don’t live here.” His powerful voice interrupted her thoughts, knocking her off balance again. “You’d like my home. By earth reckoning, it’s about a mile from here, not far from the village, although you’ll probably think of that as a compound or fort -- for reasons you’ll understand when you’re ready to be taken there to be sold.”

  Sold?

  “I’ll explain that when I’m ready.” Once again, he seemed to read her mind. “The island boasts a number of training facilities such as this one, each equipped to meet the needs and wishes of individual trainers and subs. Although I’m in the process of designing another more suited for an effective indoctrination, this will do.”

  If she hadn’t known better, she’d believe she was a client being shown what he hoped she would consider adequate office space.

  “I’m going to briefly remove your gag.” His intense gaze never left her. “The pros and cons of allowing a new slave to speak have long been debated, but I’ve learned that the more one knows about her future, the sooner she accepts it.”

  Future? He made it seem dire and desirable all at once.

  He again erased the distance between them. It took all her self-control not to back up. He gently yet possessively stroked her temple, before tugging on the ropes in her mouth which forced her to open it. He made her feel like a horse with a bit in her mouth. He could mount her and crop her buttocks until she broke into a gallop. And when she’d finished the race, he might steer her into a barn and lock her within a stall. Maybe he’d rub her down and feed and water her. Maybe he’d switch from bridle to halter and tie her to a post. What if he brought in a stallion to service her?

  What if he was that stallion?

  “Your ability to comprehend the nuances of my training methods and your position are key to your progress. I deliberately used the word briefly. You need to learn what you are and aren’t allowed to say. One wrong word, and it’s time for a true gag. I have a sizeable collection, each with its own purpose. I prefer not to use them but sometimes they’re more effective than other techniques. All are effective. Highly effective.”

  With that, he grabbed her shoulders and spun her away from him. A moment later the strands in her mouth loosened. She licked her dry lips but didn’t try to look back at him. Neither did she speak. If only she could stop trembling. Despite everything, she loved the feel of his hands on her.

  “You’ve made progress, and you haven’t made the mistake most new slaves do of trying to bargain for their freedom, since I first captured you. I appreciate it. Now, one question. If I find it acceptable, I’ll let you ask another.”

  Her thoughts were already so tangled she didn’t know if she was capable of speech. At the top of her list was the question of what the training would entail, but she was certain he wouldn’t tell her. She wanted to please him. She had to! She could again try to bribe him, maybe throwing in her body this time, but he could take it if he wanted to. Whatever happened, she didn’t want him thinking less of her than he did.

  “Nothing?” He turned her back around. His features remained stern as he closed his fingers over her nipples and squeezed. “So you’re ready for a gag that’ll truly silence you?”

  “No! No.” The second time the word didn’t sound quite so close to panic, and she prided herself on not fighting his intimate hold. “Ah, please, what’s your name?” She refused to look at what he was doing to her breasts.

  Surprise flickered in his deep eyes and his grip slackened. “My name?”

  “Yes. I want to know who you are.”

  “I’m your master.”

  Only in my dreams. “You know so much about me.”

  “Not everything.” The pressure on her nipples returned. “But by the time I’m done with you I will.”

  To her relief, he again backed off on his breast-hold. Although he still held her in place, the pain had receded enough that she was able to think. From his expression she wondered if none of his captives had asked him his name before. Perhaps they’d been too self-absorbed.

  “I’ve become Zemar.”

  “Ze-mar?”

  “The lion.”

  He was a lion, wasn’t he? Proud and confident, strong, afraid of nothing. King of this jungle at least. And maybe hers. “You’ve become?” she blurted. “What were you before?”

  “A man hell-bent on killing himself. Self-destructive. Filled with demons.”

  “Why?” Staring at him, she felt as if she was looking deep into a cave.

  “Too damn many reasons.” He pulled her hard against him.

  You’re hiding yourself from me. Why?

  Perhaps he sensed her questions because he wrapped his arms around her and tilted his pelvis toward her, not that she needed proof of his erection. He repeatedly thrust at her. If not for his loincloth, he might have penetrated her. Would he throw her on the bed or floor and force himself on her? If he did, she’d stop fighting her responsiveness, her compassion for his complexity and simply hate him.

  But no. Instead, breathing hard, he abruptly shoved her away. She managed to keep her balance, but the effort caused the crotch rope
to tease and torment.

  She refused to be distracted. “What reasons, Zemar?”

  He briefly closed his eyes. “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “Why were you trying to kill yourself?”

  “I didn’t say I was.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  The question earned her several sharp slaps on her breasts. Tears stung her eyes. He closed a hand around her jaw and tilted her head up so she had to stare at him.

  See my tears. Know what you’ve done to me.

  As if reading her mind, he wiped them away. “In some respects I was like you, Asia. Driven by my demons.”

  “I don’t have any demons!”

  “Yes, you do. And when I’ve learned everything about them, I’ll turn them into your greatest weakness.”

  “What -- what is your weakness?” Please don’t lock yourself off from me. Be human.

  His mouth twitched. “I don’t have any.”

  “The hell you don’t!” He had to. If he didn’t, there was no hope, nothing to use as leverage.

  Her outburst earned her something she took as a nod of respect. “What you don’t understand is there’s nothing I’m afraid to tackle. I courted death as an adult because I’d already been close to it as a child. There wasn’t anything left to fear.”

  “I don’t understand.” She wanted to. Needed to. It seemed so important, as if it would make this somehow more bearable if she could grasp what made him tick.

  “It doesn’t matter. The man I was then no longer exists.”

  You’re wrong. He wouldn’t have just slipped out if that was true.

  “Before I was brought here, I waited for the Grim Reaper to strike. Hell, I courted him, but he just stood there watching me self-destruct. I stayed as sane as possible by imagining what I’d do if I was the one with power.”

  “With women?”

  “In part, yes.”

  “How? By fucking them?”

  “That and tying them up and doing whatever I wanted. Feeling my strength, making it work. But I was a law-abiding man back then so all I did was dream. Whenever my world felt out of control, I wrapped my fantasy around me. I’m sure you understand. Then one day fantasy became the real thing.”

  “Like you’re saying it is with me?”

  “I wasn’t prey. I was predator. By the time my education was complete, I had a new career. A new mission.”

  “Mission?”

  “Transforming women into slaves.”

  “Why?”

  Even in the dim lighting, his expression left no doubt that she’d gone too far. “Stay there,” he ordered and stepped back. Mouth dry, she studied his every move as he walked over to the cupboard and opened a drawer. There indeed was a great deal of the lion in him, a smooth meshing of muscles, pride and confidence. Power and strength. Something about his back once again caught her attention, but she couldn’t see it well enough to know what that was.

  When he turned around, she noted he was holding an item that resembled a bridle only it was too small for a horse. “No more questions, slave. You’re going to remain silent until I decide otherwise.”

  Even though it might earn her punishment, she couldn’t stop herself from back-pedaling as he approached. Displaying no emotion, he easily caught up to her and grabbed the crotch rope. She struggled to break free. He yanked up.

  “No!” he commanded. Trembling so much it made her breasts jiggle, she widened her stance to keep her legs from buckling. When he shoved a thick wooden bar into her mouth, she meekly accepted it. The bar was connected to two metal rings and lengths of what felt like leather were attached to the rings. He positioned the leather behind her head and tightened the lengths. She heard something click. The rings pressed against her cheeks, the bit held in place by the leather. The rope gag had been bad enough but this contraption had been designed for a single purpose -- silencing the wearer.

  Chapter Seven

  When Zemar returned to the cupboard, Asia warned herself to concentrate on his movements so she could anticipate and maybe formulate a plan, but she couldn’t wrench her mind free of what he’d admitted. Despite letting her know his goal was to tap into something basic and primal about her, to make her his creature, he’d reached out and begun the threads of a conversation between them. But then he’d forcefully severed that connection.

  Finished with whatever he’d been doing, he faced her again. Knowing that he’d named himself for a killing jungle beast should have terrified her. Instead, somehow his choice humanized him. It made him no longer just her powerful captor but a man. A man with substance, weight, and emotional burdens. With an effort, she shifted her gaze from his face’s sharp, dark features and focused on what he was carrying.

  Metal. A single large circular band with two smaller bands attached to it via a metal chain no more than three inches long. The large band was some two inches wide, the outside hard and gleaming, the inside padded with something soft-looking. The same was true of the smaller bands. She had no doubt that these were handcuffs.

  He placed the large band around her waist with the smaller ones behind her and snapped it shut. The contraption hugged her skin, but what felt like fur kept it from hurting her. She supposed she should be grateful for the small consideration, but metal had a permanence missing from rope. She might be able to sever a rope if she could rub it against something. Hard steel, however, would remain around her until her captor chose to free her. Sweat again coated her. What did he need with this building when he had such restraints?

  He freed one hand but only long enough to transfer it to the handcuff. A moment later he’d done the same with her second wrist. True gratitude flooded through her when he removed the crotch rope, but when the pressure against her cunt no longer claimed her attention, helplessness again licked at her nerves. Her arms were secured behind her with her wrists at the small of her back, elbows bent, breasts and pussy exposed.

  “On your knees.”

  She dropped to the ground. Only when she was staring up at him did she acknowledge how easily he’d commanded her. Damn it, she was a thinking, feeling human being with rights.

  What rights?

  “On your back. Legs spread.”

  No, she said with her eyes. I’m not ready for this! “On your back. Now!”

  By way of answer, she pressed her legs together and glared up at him. At the same time, she steeled herself for a slap, maybe a hard blow. Instead, he gave her a long look before he stepped behind her, grabbed her hair, and pulled her down. Grunting into the bit, she struggled to get her feet back under her, but he stood on her hair and kept her on her side on the flooring.

  “We can do this hard or easy.” Leaning down, he stroked the valley between her breasts. Her shock at his rough treatment faded. How easily he switched her from one emotion to another, from wishing he’d die to needing his touch. “But either way, the outcome’s going to be the same.” When he straightened, his stance afforded her her first unobstructed look at his cock. The man was indeed huge, hard, potent. He’d fill her as his fingers never could. With him buried deep in her, she’d share in strong thrusts and her fluids would blend with his, making their movements smooth and natural. Right. How long would it take for her to climax? Maybe she’d come before he did. Over and over again.

  “Today you’re getting your first lesson in being a productive member of the island.” He glanced down at her and shrugged. “If you fight me, it’ll take a little longer, and I’ll enjoy the process more. In fact, I prefer a trainee who battles. But you may as well know, I’ve already won.”

  Won what? She desperately wanted him to tell her but suspected she already knew. Her body’s surrender was the prize. And he was right. Her shackled hands, the gag, and the rope around her neck existed as vivid proof of his superiority.

  Should she simply give up and let him demonstrate what he had in mind for her? Prepare her to be “sold.”

  Surrender her will, her body.

  No! Twice in
her life she’d experienced a man’s ability to reduce her to a sobbing, heartbroken creature. She might dream of being a sub, but it would never happen in the real world.

  If she wanted to beat him, she would have to pick her battles well. She couldn’t win this one, not now when he was at full alert, so she forced her body to relax. Let him believe she was beaten. The only thing she wouldn’t do was cry. She’d rob him of his so-called fun.

  He lifted his foot off her hair but didn’t step away. When she continued to lie there, he nodded what she took as approval. “Legs straight and spread.”

  She complied.

  “Stay like that. Don’t move.”

  Remaining splayed while he returned to the cupboard she already despised, put her in mind of a dog being kept at its master’s side during a training session. Obviously he didn’t give a damn that much of her weight now rested on her tethered hands. This time when he returned, he didn’t let her see what he’d selected.

  “Bend your knees and turn them out so your cunt’s exposed.”

  You can’t be serious! If you think --

  “Now!” He slapped her belly.

  She tried to tell herself that she’d done something close to this during physicals and spreading her legs to invite a man in for sex was part of a heady experience, but neither of those experiences had anything to do with today. She tried to remember to be docile and pick her battles. But this was so --

  He slapped her belly again, forcefully recalling his earlier treatment of her breasts. Cursing behind the gag, she revealed herself. She’d been keeping her head off the rubber mat but could no longer do so. Now she stared at the awful ceiling with implements of imprisonment dangling from it and fought to divorce herself from her body.

  His fingers tugged her labia. Her cunt heated in mindless reaction. Once again her juices flooded her, and the wonderful hot knot signaling the potential and promise of a climax clamped onto her. He’d have to be a fool if he didn’t notice the signals, but he didn’t say anything.