Slave Jade

Romance Unbound Publishing

Presents

Slave Jade

(Formerly titled Kidnapped – Revised & Expanded)

by

Claire Thompson

Cover Design by Kelly Shorten

ISBN 978-1439200728

Copyright 2009 Claire Thompson

Master John:
You deserve to be punished.

Sub Angel:
(breathlessly) Yes, sir.

Master John:
Bare your ass for my cane. Ten stripes for your disobedience.

Sub Angel:
Please, sir, I’m frightened of the cane.

Master John:
You should have thought of that when I found your hands in your panties. You know your body is my property. You belong to me. Your ass, your cunt, your mouth, your breasts—all of you is mine. I own you. You took what was mine. Now you’ll pay the price.

Sub Angel:
I love you, Master John.

Master John:
Then suffer for me.

Gilbert’s cock hardened nicely during the exchange with one of his online slave girls. He unzipped his jeans, slipping his hand into his underwear for a quick squeeze while Sub Angel typed about how hot he was making her.

He closed his eyes, imagining her bent and naked, her ass offered up to his rattan rod. He could almost hear the whistle of the cane as it landed, and her pleading sobs for him to stop. But he wouldn’t stop, not until he’d marked her properly, leaving ten perfectly straight horizontal lines across her ass and thighs.

Then she’d spread her legs for him and he’d slip his fingers into her sopping wet cunt. She would be soaked with desire, on fire from the cane, desperate for the feel of his huge cock thrust inside her. He would fuck her until she screamed, this time from pleasure. Women couldn’t get enough of Master John.

When Gilbert logged onto the BDSM chat site, he didn’t just pretend to be Master John, he became him. Master John was tall, with strong manly features. He had brown hair that fell in a sexy way over his forehead. His dark blue eyes looked kind, but his mouth was cruel, slightly curled in an ironic smile. It was the kind of picture women went nuts over. Master John’s picture was uploaded in the site’s profile section. Gilbert had found it in a magazine and claimed it as his own. He had received many unsolicited emails just from that picture alone.

Master John was selective. He demanded a lot from his online women. They had to be attentive and properly respectful. They had to be open and completely honest. They had to share and reveal their innermost secrets with him.

He opened his email, scrolling through the junk in search of correspondence from his slave girls. Girls he'd taken the time to cultivate, first just through easy banter and casual conversation, then slowly, once he'd gained their interest and confidence, through sexy talk and long, heartfelt emails.

Slave Jade was his latest obsession. He didn't know her real name yet, but he would. He had a way about him. He could enlist the trust of women who had never met him. He knew just how far to press, and when to back off. He took a real interest in their lives, and most especially their secrets and fantasies. He never tried to sell himself, preferring instead to draw out the woman, taking his time with her and showing he cared, but most definitely wasn't desperate.

He was, in a word, cool.

Slave Jade had promised a jpeg, and he had been anticipating her email all day, while he fit tired women and fidgety children with new shoes that four times out of five they didn’t even buy, cheating him out of the crummy commission he’d earned.

He scrolled through the inbox. Nothing from Slave Jade.

“Fuck.”

Master John slid away as Gilbert stared morosely at the walls of his empty efficiency apartment. The floor was littered with old food containers, dirty clothes and magazines. The twin bed in the corner was unmade. On it the rumpled sheets were a dismal gray. The kitchen table was covered in old junk mail and bills, but Gilbert didn't care. He never had people to the apartment, and he didn't eat at the table.

If he did eat at home, it was takeout, which he would prop next to his computer, taking bites of the pizza or Chinese food when it occurred to him. His refrigerator contained a bottle of ketchup and some bottled water. When he used a plate it was paper.

His surroundings were a matter of indifference to him. He didn't read books and he didn't listen to music. But there was one thing he cared about, more than anything in the world. His computer.

Ah, that computer. It was state of the art. He especially loved his new 30 inch flat screen monitor, excellent for viewing the photos of his slave girls. Gilbert's computer was worth more than his car. But it was worth every penny.

It was, quite literally, his life.

He was reasonably content to work as a shoe salesman by day. But at night, Gilbert was transformed. When his computer clicked out of hibernation, he actually felt himself changing. His face lost that polite vacuous expression it wore during the workday. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted and his eye got a curious gleam.

Gilbert was 5'8”, age twenty-four, with sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. He worked out with light weights every night before bed and could do a hundred pushups. It was a decent body and he kept it in good shape for someday…someday when he found the girl of his dreams.

There was Slut Girl, a student and part-time waitress in real life who had submissive yearnings. Master John would guide her on virtual adventures in submission, always culminating with her climaxing at her keyboard, at his command.

Then there was Sub Angel. She loved to engage in complex scenes with him during chats. They would type back and forth until each was so aroused they had to take a break to jerk off. She would claim to be typing with one hand, the other buried in her pussy as Master John ordered her to come for him.

Gilbert liked to imagine one day he would meet one of these women. She would be so totally under his control by that point she wouldn't mind that he'd lied about most every aspect of himself.

Online the world opened up to him. He had dozens of opportunities to seek women worthy of his attentions, whom he could control and use to his heart’s, or rather his cock’s, content.

If only real life were so easy. Gilbert tried his luck at bars a few times, but it hadn't panned out. Occasionally he’d tried to strike up a pleasant conversation with a woman he'd fitted for shoes but generally he was met with indifference or even open hostility.

For some reason there was something about Gilbert women seemed to find off-putting. The frustrating thing was he didn't know what it was. He wasn't bad looking. He didn't have bad breath. He knew how to form a coherent sentence and he had a sense of humor, albeit a rather acerbic one.

Maybe it was the desperate vibe.

Someone in high school had once said that to him and it had stuck in his craw ever since. Brandy Jenkins. The girl he'd spent over a month working up the nerve to ask to the prom. She wasn't the most popular girl, or the nicest. Gilbert was a realist, and thought at least with her he might have a fighting chance.

“No thanks,” Brandy said in an offhand way, after he'd delivered his carefully prepared invitation speech. He remembered he was almost sick from nervousness and his voice shook but he'd gotten through the speech.

They were standing at their lockers, and she barely looked at him as he spoke, shoving her books in her locker and checking her face in the small mirror she had hung on the inside of her locker door.

After the casual refusal, she started to walk away. On an impulse he grabbed her arm. “But why!” he'd almost shouted. And again, more quietly, but no less urgent, “Why? I'm not a leper. What's the deal? I know no one else has asked you yet. Why not me?”

“If you really want to know,” she said, as she shook her arm free from his grasp. “You give off that desperate vibe. No girl wants to be seen with a desperate guy. Unless, of course, it’s a pity date. I don't do pity dates.”

With a flounce of her rather mousy brown hair, she was gone, hailing some girlfriends down the hall, no doubt rushing to giggle with them over Gilbert’s pathetic bid for her attentions.

He had plotted his revenge for weeks. He would kidnap Brandy and keep her hostage in his room. He'd keep her tied and gagged in his closet while he was at school, and take her out at night to fuck until she begged for mercy. Of course, in his fantasy, she ended up falling in love with him, because he fucked her so good she couldn't get enough.

He’d dated over the years since high school, but his heart had never been truly engaged. Perhaps it was fear, or just that he’d never met the right woman. For whatever reason, he kept himself aloof and under control. He was damned if he’d let another woman reject him. Mostly he kept to himself.

Master John, on the other hand, was open and vulnerable, though still strong and secure. He would drop details of a made-up life that included a mother who had died of cancer when he was fourteen. A difficult age for a boy to lose his mother. In fact, Gilbert's mother lived in Connecticut, but he hadn't seen her since he'd dropped out of college, and rarely thought about her.

Master John loved his mother, and when she'd died, he'd taken it hard, acting out in school and experimenting with marijuana and sex. His dad had begun dating a number of women much younger than himself, one of whom seduced young John, exposing him to the pleasure of women at an early age.

Details like his summer home in Florida, his Lexus, paying for the summer camp and music lessons for his nephew, would occasionally accidentally slip into his conversation. When the interested girl he was cultivating would try to pursue it, he would modestly change the subject, skillfully bringing it back around to her.

One of his favorite exercises was to have his online girl write to him at length about her childhood and teenage sexual fantasies. Some of them claimed not to have any, but Master John was patient and slowly he would tease it out of them.