Slave Jade (12 page)

“You're not strong enough to support your lord and master for as long as he would like? I want you to be my footstool, and obviously you have a problem with that, is that what you're telling me?”

“Oh, no sir! I mean, yes, sir. That is, I don't mean to disobey. I just don't think my body will handle it. And sir,” she hated herself now for drinking all that beer, “I really do need to use the bathroom.”

Gilbert lifted his feet from her back and stood up. Lisa fell back, collapsing against the floor in a crouched position, grateful for the reprieve. “You need to pee. Fine. I need to pee too. We'll do it in the bathroom. Would you like to pee in the toilet?”

What a stupid question, asshole
. Aloud she said, “Yes, please, sir.”

“Okay but me first. And you’ll help me.”

Lisa’s stomach sank. She knew where this was going. Master John had described just such a scenario, but, while it was kind of sexy in theory, when it came down to it, with a man she abhorred and feared, it was something else again. She knew she would have no choice in the matter. Meekly she followed her tormentor.

He stood in front of the toilet. “Open my jeans and pull out my cock.” She obeyed, averting her eyes as she reached into the fly of his boxers to pull out his flaccid cock.

“Kneel down and cup your hands over the toilet.
You
know the drill, don't you, Slave Jade?”

So he remembered too. Of course he did. He had probably invented half those scenarios, knowing some day he would perpetrate them on an unwilling victim.

Hands trembling slightly, Lisa forced herself to cup her hands over the toilet, while Gilbert's cock dangled just above her. The hot stream of pungent urine sprayed down into her hands, splashing her face and chest.

Lisa shuddered but held herself still, though she was desperately longing to recoil. For a second she actually considered flinging his disgusting urine up into his face, running from the room and grabbing the gun so she could shoot the bastard.

Yet the moment passed and still she knelt there, trembling, not daring to move. Coward! She cursed herself as he continued to pee till the cup made by her hands was overflowing. While he tucked his cock back into his pants, she parted her hands, letting the urine spill into the toilet.

“Go ahead, now you can piss, slut.”

“May I wash my hands, please, sir?”

“Nope. Just piss. Hurry up, before I change my mind.” Lisa sat on the toilet, her hands dripping with Gilbert's urine, concentrating to remain impassive as she strove to conceal her rage and disgust.

“Lisa. You're pathetic. You are no more submissive than I am. You've done a reasonable job of pretending, but I'm not an idiot. All that crap you spouted online, about wanting to explore your submissive nature—it was just the immature searching of an adolescent girl. You're a wannabe. A pretender. Admit it.”

Lisa didn’t know how to respond. The man was baiting her. All progress she had thought she was making in earning his trust seemed to have not only been halted, but regressed. What had happened? Why couldn't she control her face! Her emotions were so raw, and her defenses so eroded she felt she would burst into tears, and admit that everything he said was true

How could he even ask? Of course she wasn't submissive to him. He should take a lesson from his own Master John, and recognize that power taken without permission wasn't submission. It was violation. It was rape. Not only of the body, but of the spirit. How could he possibly expect her to submit with grace, when he never gave her a chance.

“I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to you, sir,” she finally said. He nodded in agreement, his eyebrows knitting. Tears sprang to her eyes and his expression softened.

“You’ll learn, fair one. I’ll teach you.”

The unfairness of the situation—his mind games and constant shift of behavior and demeanor were wearing on her as surely as the constant deprivation and whippings. She couldn't take much more.

She wiped herself, also using the toilet paper to try and wipe the man's urine from her hands, face and breasts. He watched her, smiling slightly, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh go on,” he said irritably. “Wash in the sink. Cold water only. Then get your ass back in your room. I've had enough of you for a while. I'll be in later.”

Lisa obeyed, allowing him to lead her back to her room. He shut the door and slid the bolt home. Thank God. She was alone. She fell onto the mattress and pulled the sheet over her body, curling herself into a little ball.

Her mother's face floated into her mind but she pushed it away. It was too painful to contemplate her family. Her parents must be hysterical. They probably thought she was dead.

If only she could contact them. Let them know somehow that she was alive, and if not well, at least relatively unharmed. How long could he expect to keep her? How long did he expect to get away with this? Obviously the guy wasn’t rich. Whatever money he’d stockpiled for this sick adventure had to run out sometime.

She doubted he owned this cottage. Where was the landlord? Someone had to stop by at some point, didn’t they? Meanwhile she had to bide her time. She needed to be more passive, more submissive. She had to try and obey everything, and do it with grace, though she no longer knew what this meant. Master John had described it so poetically, but all that was a dim blur, blotted out by the cruel reality of her situation as captive of a madman.

Wishing, as she always did on this lumpy old mattress, that she had her favorite pillow under her head and her own soft cotton sheets, she clutched the cover she did have, rolled even tighter against herself and somehow fell asleep.

~*~

Gilbert sat at his computer. He was at one of his favorite porn sites, scrolling past women's pussies, close-ups with piercings, and heavy jewelry dangling from disembodied labia. He liked to look at these pictures. Leave out the whole woman, just show him her cunt. That's all they were, anyway. Cunts.

Except Lisa, of course. She was his beloved. And so why had he been so cruel tonight? So derisive and dismissive? He knew why, though it pained him to admit it. He was inadequate and she knew it.

While he had her in chains in her little prison, he felt superior. He was superior, without a doubt. He was the lord and master, and she was the helpless slave girl, completely at his mercy. He felt all-powerful then. He could whip her, fuck her, or do nothing at all. She slept when he let her, she ate when he decided she could, she performed for him at his command.

So what had changed tonight? Clearly, it had been a mistake to let her out into the rest of the cottage. Could he help it if the owner had too much crap jammed into his house? He flashed back to his by comparison nearly empty efficiency apartment back in New Jersey. It had been even drearier than this place, and certainly dirtier. How Lisa would have sneered at it, the bitch.

He'd seen the dismay, even the contempt, as she glanced around the place, judging and finding
him
lacking. That had infuriated him, and more disturbing, embarrassed him. How
dare
she, a worthless, naked slave, have the audacity to stand there and judge
him
?

He’d wipe that arrogant, superior expression off her pretty face. He’d wipe her out entirely, breaking her down and reforming her into his slavish ideal. That slave would have no opinions and no desires, other than the desire to please and suffer for her master, for him. Then it wouldn’t occur to her to care how they lived, or where. All that would matter was him. She would be his possession, his object, his cunt.

God, she was so beautiful, with her dark shiny hair and fair lustrous skin. With that nice ass, those long legs and perfect breasts. It was almost as if her beauty were an affront to his own bland looks and dull surroundings. She was so bright and lovely that she offended. She needed to be brought down a peg or two. She needed to be put in her place.

Yes, that was it. He would put the bitch in her place. Her breasts were definitely her best feature. So they should be made to suffer the consequences of her arrogant beauty. He would punish those breasts. He would do it tonight.

She
claimed
she was submissive. She claimed she preferred the “real Gilbert” to the online Master John. Let her prove it then. Let her submit to her punishment with grace.

Gilbert felt his rage and lust coursing in a potent cocktail through his blood. Aroused, he leapt from his chair, gripping the keys on the chain around his neck as he hurried to her door. Unlocking it, he flipped on the switch and shouted, “Get up, cunt. It's time for your punishment.”

He didn't wait for her to respond, but marched over to the chest, unlocked it and drew out the cane. It whipped and whistled through the air as he barked, “Get on your knees. Kneel up. Hold your breasts in your hands.”

Scrambling to obey, Lisa knelt, offering those beautiful breasts, the nipples a pretty dark pink against soft pale flesh. She was looking with fear at the cane, as he casually swished it through the air.

“Hold up those tits and count. I'm going to cane your tits, you bitch. You think you're so fucking gorgeous, and that your tits are so fucking hot! Well, I'll make them hot, all right. Like this!”

With a sudden flick of his wrist, Gilbert let the cane strike across the tops of Lisa's upheld breasts. She screamed and dropped them, bending down to cover herself, rocking and moaning from the pain.

Like a little mouse she was off, scuttling out of the room, running as fast as she could toward the coffee table. Gilbert was hot behind her, bellowing for her to come back and kneel. Lisa stumbled as she hurried toward the table. Her hand was on the drawer when he reached her.

Yanking her by the hair, Gilbert jerked hard, pulling her up and away from the table. The drawer came with her, the gun clattering against the table and to the carpet.

“You cunt!” Gilbert screamed, smashing her down onto the rug. He put his foot on her neck as he leaned forward and retrieved the gun. “You fucking bitch! So much for your submission, huh? So much for your obedience!”

Gilbert's could feel his face heat with rage. He struggled to catch his breath. Roughly he hauled her to her feet. Lifting her with strong arms around her waist, he carried her down the hallway and thrust her into her room.

Slamming the door, he locked it and turned off the light, leaving her sobbing where she fell, in the pitch black of what for her would be an endless night.

Lisa lay where she fell, shaking as she rocked herself. After a while her heart slowed its pounding beat and her mind flicked back on, images of what had just happened reeling in her brain.

What had she done?

She hadn't planned it. It had just happened. Being forced to offer her breasts for him to viciously slice with his cane was just beyond bearing. Something had snapped, and she had lunged.

If only she'd been able to move just a little bit faster. If only she'd gotten to that gun two seconds sooner! She'd have shot the bastard, no question about it. But when she'd felt him on her, pulling her down—when she felt the rough carpet scraping her face, she'd known it was over. The attempt had failed, and now she was going to pay double- and triple-fold. She might, she thought with a rising terror, pay with her life.

Tears trickled down her cheeks and she wiped them away. Slowly she pulled herself up and moved toward the bed, gliding in the dark with the confidence of the blind. She fell onto the mattress and lay still, staring at a ceiling she couldn't see, lightly touching the burning welts on her breasts.

What would happen now? Whatever fledgling trust she’d managed to created was now clearly revealed as a lie. She doubted he'd fall for it again, no matter how submissive and docile she pretended to be.

How could she have been so stupid? It was almost as if her mind had shorted out for a second and her body took over, deciding it was time to fight back at last. “I can't stay here. I can't do this,” she whispered. “He's going to kill me. I'm not going down without a fight. But I have to use my head! I have to bide my time. No more outbursts. I'll find a way. I have to. I will.”

Her whispers seemed to comfort her somehow. As if it were someone else offering her solace and support. She was totally on her own now. There was no one to help, and obviously no one was coming to her rescue. She was at the mercy of a crazy sadistic man, but she wasn't beaten yet. There was fight in her—fight she hadn't even known she possessed. She would get out of there if it was the last thing she did.