Six Masters Island - The Cinderella Syndrome (8 page)

Secretly, Sloan was very pleased with her sexual response and fight for control.
 
Placing a large palm on her pelvis, he waited for her quivering to stop.
 
He watched her breasts, the pink erect tips quivering while her chest rose and fell rapidly, and when her breathing slowed he said, “Again.
 
You will not climax without permission, Belladonna.”

“Please,” Jenna wailed.
 
“Please don’t do this to me, Master Sloan.”

“Belladonna, you don’t speak without permission,” Sloan reminded her.
 
He smiled when she sobbed, and then he continued the training.
 
Within an hour, her unprepared muscles were exhausted and her clenching responses had become weak.
 
“We need to work on strengthening your pussy, Belladonna.
 
Your stamina is unacceptable.”

“Yes, Master Sloan,” she cried softly.
 
Even her humiliation at climaxing for the stranger had dulled.

Belladonna felt the dildo removed, and a softer, warmer rod took its place.
 
She looked down in surprise to find the man was inside her, his silken stiff cock sliding through the liquid response of her orgasms.
 
Instead of the vibrator, his fingers gently stroked her clit, until a slower building arousal filled her.
 
She was certain she had no more sexual appetite to tap into, and yet she could already feel her exhausted muscles trying to squeeze him and grip his length.

“That’s good, Belladonna.
 
When you think you’re exhausted and that you have nothing left, you will always find resources to please your Master.”
 
Sloan felt the grip shudder and tighten.
 
“You may cum, Belladonna.”

For several days, Sloan led her through different positions and began binding her to different equipment.
 
He noticed her compliance as she began to get slightly more comfortable when he did not try to hurt her, and there was a building anticipation of desire when she knew she had pleased him.
 
Within days, she was looking forward to the reward of the intimate feeling of his cock inside of her.

Sloan’s patient persistence always paid off.
 
He had discovered many years ago, after his mother’s painful indoctrination of the flowers into the garden, the girls were much more compliant to his demands.
 
Although he had no qualms with causing them physical pain… sometimes his desires demanded it… it was the psychological changes that gave him the greatest reward.
 
This one was adjusting well, though on his mother’s warning, he was coaxing his results much more slowly from her.
 
He had recognized her innocence when he had first seen her, but he was surprised that with a whore for a mother, the girl could be so naïve.

Jenna’s confused mind convinced her that she might be all right, if she did as Master Sloan asked… and the woman did not come back.
 
She had no idea how long she had been there, but sometimes she was getting real food if she did not fuss too much about the devices Sloan attached her to.
 
It was one of the rewards he had told her about, and she found that within the confines of the depressing cell, her most important goal was doing what the Master wanted.
 
It had taken a while for her to realize that after the restrictive binding to devices, what the man wanted was for her to orgasm… but, only when he gave her permission.
 
It became a silent game to see if she could accomplish what he desired.

The devices were becoming more painful and the length of time she was secured was becoming longer.
 
All of the strenuous exercises centered on her sexual responses, and she did not realize that it had been several days since she felt her initial humiliation at climaxing in front of him.
 
The few times she had managed to wait for his permission, he had been pleased.
 
One time, he even allowed her wash herself… though she still had to use the freezing water from the hose.

Cynthia questioned Sloan on Belladonna’s training, after suggesting he go slowly with her.
 
She knew that the girl had no idea what the dungeon represented, and if her mind snapped, she would be useless to them… just another weed.
 
Sloan would continue to work Belladonna through positions until it was time for Cynthia to re-evaluate her condition.

* * * * *

Belladonna was bent over forward, with her bound arms raised off her back and chained to the ceiling.
 
Her toes ached and her arms were cramping from being in the position for two hours.
 
Belladonna’s eyes flew to Sloan’s in fear when she heard a painful wail come from deeper in the dungeon garden.

Sloan smiled and said, “Tomorrow, Master Daryl will begin working with you.
 
Do not disappoint me, Belladonna.
 
I do not like wasting time by repeating training.”

“Yes, Master Sloan.”
 
Belladonna barely slept, wondering fearfully what the new Master would expect from her.
 
She wanted to beg Master Sloan to stay with her.
 
She had learned how to please him, and he did not hurt her.
 
Belladonna did not understand that painful responses were also required for stepmother’s Venetia Blossoms.

Chapter III

Daryl listened to classical music, inhaling the leather scent of the interior of the car while he drove north.
 
He ended his trip in a large city, where he rented a room in an extravagant hotel with a view of the busy street below.
 
Daryl had picked this particular lodging because it was directly across the street from a modeling agency.

For a few days, he watched the girls enter and exit the building, noting that a few paid the price to park in the building’s garage, some arrived by taxi or bus, and some parked in an alley that ran between the agency and an office high rise next to it.
 
After a week of tracking the pattern of the women who parked in the alley, he knew that the last of the girls leaving the building made their way back to their cars just after dark.
 
Some had the slightly disheveled look of the possible bribery of willing sex to further their modeling career.

Daryl spent the weekend enjoying the sights of the city and late Monday afternoon, he pulled his luxury car into a spot in the ally.
 
He watched the girls walk to their cars, but none of them struck his fancy.
 
It was Tuesday when Marissa Harrelson made an appearance, gripping her portfolio in one hand while she straightened her top with the other.
 
She had the matt, dulled color to her remaining makeup that had not rubbed off during her quick afternoon fuck with the photographer in exchange for the pictures she was holding.

Marissa was pissed off, because she expected the man would see her obvious alluring presence and forward copies of the photos to the agency across the hall.
 
At nineteen, she was well aware of her physical beauty.
 
The thought of trading her most valuable asset in exchange for what she needed had never bothered her.
 
She had been successfully negotiating her desires for years.
 
In high school, the hand job that she had given her chemistry teacher while allowing him to fondle and suck her tits, had convinced him that the ‘D’ really should have been a ‘B’ on her final exam.
 
It had allowed her to graduate with the rest of her senior class.

Marissa had never been labeled a slut like some of the other girls who had put out.
 
She was so erotically beautiful that it seemed a status symbol for the boys who had conquered her.
 
For Marissa, it meant no boring weekends without dates, and even though the boys nervously fumbled along her body, it was still
way
better than expending the energy to pleasure herself with devices or her hand.

The photographer had laughed while he zipped his jeans, stating that she had the same hopeful plans as every other model.
 
I am not just any other model
, she seethed.
 
The unsatisfying interlude… for her, at least… had left her with a decent array of pictures she would have to pay to have copied to send out to the dozen modeling agencies in the city.
 
It would be an exorbitant amount to spend from her dwindling funds, and her superior ego rattled slightly with a sinking feeling that they would probably be lost among the hundreds of other promising photos of girls hoping to be discovered.

Marissa fumbled angrily for her keys, and she felt the remaining slickness from the condom drip onto the toilet paper she had lined her thong with.
 
“Shit.
 
Bastard.
 
Son of a bitch,” she muttered.
 
Her hand made a quick swipe through her short cropped dark hair that set off the gold flecked mahogany of her slightly slanting eyes.

Her exotic beauty was the result of her Japanese mother, but her height was a gift from her father.
 
His strict military upbringing was one of the reasons Marissa had escaped Huntersville after high school.
 
There was no way that she was going to the damn Junior College five miles from home and spend two more years under the tyrant’s rule.
 
Their clashing domineering natures had caused a fractured battle in the household for years, with her passive little mother trying to keep the peace.
 
Marissa thought her mom almost looked relieved when she had packed her suitcases into her car and left Huntersville behind.

She had called home only once in the six months she had been gone, and the conversation had ended with her father shouting and swearing into the telephone while her mother wailed in the background.
 
That had been over four months ago, and no one had attempted another call.

“Excuse me, can you show me how to get to the museum?”
 
Daryl stood with a map spread on the trunk of his car parked two spaces in front of hers.

“Fuck,” Marissa muttered, and she pulled the key out of her door lock.
 
As she walked towards the tall man, her eyes focused on the expensive car and the clothes he was wearing.
 
Maybe she could save some money and talk the guy into buying her dinner.
 
She let her well-practiced smile soften her disappointed features.
 
“It’s a little late to be headed there.”

“A friend of mine has an art exhibition tonight, so I decided to surprise him by crashing his party.
 
I’ve just come in for the evening,” Daryl explained.

“A showing at the museum?” Marissa asked, and she laid her portfolio next to the map while she leaned over to study it.

“No, in a gallery two doors down from it,” Daryl replied.
 
He ignored the French tipped nail trailing the streets on the map.
 
She had lovely tapered legs and nice curves that were leaned thin to the almost wasted look most models forced themselves to condition their bodies to conform to.
 
There was little doubt that he could talk her into joining him on a date, but Daryl did not want any security cameras inadvertently catching them together.
 
He sighed and slipped the needle into the curve of her neck and shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Marissa gasped, and her legs seemed to turn to jelly while her eyes blurred.
 
The narcotic hit her so quickly that her mouth would not obey her thoughts to scream, and her hands curled into useless claws that arms could not seem to raise.

Daryl pulled her back against his chest with one arm supporting her under her breasts, and he hit the button on the key to pop the trunk while quickly grabbing the map and portfolio in his free hand.
 
He dropped them into the trunk and folded the girl on top of them while she moaned.
 
The rope was lying towards the wheel well and he tied it around her ankles and wrists, hogtying her long limbs into a restrictive position.

Marissa felt a spongy foam ball shoved between her lips and strapped to the back of her head.
 
She was far too drugged to react or protest, and even the fear of her predicament barely registered through her confusion.
 
A rough collar was buckled around her neck, and then the man picked her keys up from the pavement and tossed them into the trunk before slamming the lid.
 
He pulled out of the alley three minutes before Shelly walked around the corner.

The despondent wannabe model remained leaning against her haughty roommate’s car for an hour, with mounting anger that Marissa must have managed an interview at the same agency that had just taken two hours to review her own portfolio before not so politely turning her away.
 
Shelly knew that Marissa had fucked the photographer for the pictures.
 
Hell, Marissa fucked for everything since Shelly had met her.
 
While Shelly busted her ass waitressing between opportunities, Marissa went on ‘dates’ to obtain her share of the bill money.

Daryl drove south on the highway and was back at the estate just as dawn colored the sky.
 
Sloan walked down to the gravel driveway to meet him.
 
“Damn, how do you do that?” Daryl grinned.
 
His brother had an uncanny sense of knowing when his brothers were returning.
 
At first, Daryl had suspected that Sloan simply watched the driveway all the time, instead of just happening to appear when they pulled in.

Sloan winked and chuckled.
 
“Mother has GPS on our cars so that she can rescue us if we get into trouble,” he confided.
 
“She monitors the reports of how long the cars stay parked in one place.”

“Seriously?” Daryl asked.
 
“Shit, part of the thrill was thinking I was out there on my own.”

“She knows that, Daryl, and that’s why she didn’t tell us.
 
I caught her looking at her laptop a couple of years ago when Kyle was late getting in.
 
She was beginning to panic that something might have happened to one of her precocious twins.”

“Well don’t tell her that I know, then.
 
I don’t want her disappointed.”
 
Like his brothers, Daryl had unconditional love for their mother.
 
She pampered them mercilessly, and the thought that she was watching over them even while they traveled was just another indication of how deep her feelings were for her sons.

A muffled thump came from the back of the car.
 
Marissa’s outraged eyes glared into the darkness, closing quickly at the unexpected intrusion of light when the lid popped open.
 
Before she could express her anger, a hand reached underneath her, grabbed her portfolio, and the lid slammed down again.

Daryl and Sloan spread the pictures on the trunk while the woman inside began banging into the carpet.
 
Cynthia had slipped silently up behind them and she wrapped her arms around Daryl’s waist.
 
“Good trip?”

“Yes.
 
I think this one has some Oriental blood,” Daryl replied, and quickly kissed her cheek.

Cynthia lifted up one of the photos showing a slender girl in sheer lingerie with a sensual expression and pouting her lips in a suggestive dare.
 
She stared at the girl’s unusual colored eyes.
 
“Pretty, pretty, Daryl.”
 
She shivered against his back in anticipation.

Daryl put the pictures back in the portfolio and handed it to Sloan before he popped the trunk open again.
 
Marissa’s long legs were aching, and they almost seized up when the rope was unwound from her ankles, freeing her feet but keeping her wrists secured behind her.
 
She had managed to push off her strapped heels with the intention of making a run for it as soon as she was freed.
 
Instead, her cramped long limbs caused her to stumble when Daryl pulled her out of the trunk.

Marissa’s dark golden stare glared into Cynthia’s narrowed green eyes in confrontation.
 
There was no doubt this woman was responsible for her current situation, and Marissa had no intention of backing down from her, even in her disadvantaged, secured state.
 
She shook in anger while Daryl held her arm in a steel grip.

“Oh my.
 
A dangerously erotic flower, aren’t you dear?
 
One that will require demanding attention to flourish and grow, I think.”
 
Cynthia felt her pussy clench and wet at the thought of breaking the girl and training her to her desires.
 
She immediately considered keeping the exotic flower for her personal garden collection.

While she grabbed the young woman’s other arm and Marissa kicked out her stockinged feet in frustration, Sloan followed the trio towards the steps leading to the house.
 
Marissa was on the third step when she quickly came to the conclusion that once behind the heavy oak doors, escape might be impossible.
 
She had not even considered the mad witch’s words about flowers or what these lunatics wanted her for.
 
As with most problems that arose in her life, she focused on the one answer that would bring her the greatest immediate benefit.

Marissa dove sideways and leaned back into Cynthia, causing the woman to lose her footing as she was climbing onto the next step.
 
Daryl immediately released his grip on the girl to grab his mother, and Cynthia’s own hand let go to steady herself.
 
Marissa dodged sideways and glanced at Sloan who was also reaching out to his mother.
 
When he saw she was not going to fall, he tossed the portfolio to the stones, turned, and with long strides he reached the gravel just as Marissa took off running down the driveway.

Cynthia said softly, “Thank you, Daryl.
 
Go with your brother and bring the girl back.”
 
She climbed to the top landing, rubbing the top of her breast where the young woman’s head had slammed into her.
 
Cynthia looked out to her garden and her eyes focused on one particular blossom.
 
It was a cycnoches cooperi orchid she had carefully coaxed through generations of hybrid planting over the past few years.
 
The slender petals were a darker copper color, dotted with remarkable gold flecks that mirrored the new girl’s eyes.
 
She was also an exotic hybrid beauty, and Cynthia was excited at the thought of finally securing the collar with the tiger’s eye jewels on the girl.

Daryl had caught up to Sloan and they jogged behind the girl.
 
Marissa’s feet were bruising on the sharp gravel stones, and by the time the pain registered and she turned onto the grass to head towards the trees, she was practically limping.
 
She had also begun to cry with the realization that the men behind her were toying with her, and letting her continue to exhaust herself trying to run across the unfamiliar terrain.
 
She had no idea where she was… not even which state… and the tree line edging the wide grass lawn looked impossibly far away.