Slave Jade (6 page)

She was still out cold when he pulled into his driveway, cutting the engine and the lights as he rolled to a stop. The landlord’s house was dark and silent, as was the rest of the neighborhood.

As quietly as he could, he hoisted the unconscious woman into his arms and carried her into the cottage. He’d thought of everything, even leaving the door slightly ajar when he left so he could get in easily without fumbling for a key.

He lay her down on the mattress in the room that would be her world for the next few weeks. She stirred and moaned as he pushed her to her side so he could get at the zipper at the back of her dress. He managed to get the dress off her shoulders so he could pull it down her legs.

He rolled her onto her back. Her breasts were pressed alluringly together in yellow satin pushup bra, which matched bikini panties barely covering her sex. Who had she been dressing for? He pushed the thought from his mind. She belonged to him now, and him alone.

He touched her thigh. Her skin was so lovely and soft. He'd never touched someone so soft. She was at the peak of her youthful perfection, with long lean muscles under silky fair skin. He had plucked a rose just as the bud was starting to flower.

Eagerly he removed her panties and bra, drinking in the sight of her gorgeous naked body. She began to stir but a second dose of chloroform quieted her nicely, giving him time to secure her wrists to the ringbolt in the wall over her head, and cuff her ankles together with the sexy manacles he’d purchased online just for her.

He’d toyed with fucking her then and there, but decided he wanted her conscious for the gift of his cock. When he first entered her, he wanted to see her face, to hear her breathy cries, to taste her sweet lips.

Instead he contented himself with kneeling between her legs to inhale the perfume of her cunt, its heady light musk scent making his cock strain in his jeans. Unzipping his fly, he took his cock in his hand as he bent forward to lick her nipples.

After a moment he tucked himself away. He would wait until she woke up. No more masturbation for Gilbert Johnson. Not now that he had his own personal slave girl to serve him.

Instead, satisfied she was properly bound, he left her. How smoothly the deadbolt slid home, imprisoning her on the other side of the door. It was hard to believe, after all the weeks of planning and working toward this moment, he had her at last, imprisoned in her own private dungeon, with Gilbert, the master jailer on the other side.

He picked up her red leather purse from the floor where he’d dropped it when carrying her inside. Taking it to the sofa, he sat and dumped its contents beside him. Wallet, cell phone, makeup bag, pens, checkbook. He opened the wallet, inspecting her driver’s license. It also contained two credit cards and a bank card, as well as various receipts and scraps of paper with notes scrawled on them. In the money pocket she had a little over forty dollars. She could keep her money, for now.

He set the wallet down and opened the makeup bag. In addition to the usual lipstick, rouge, tampons and tissues was a compact of some kind. Curious, he flipped it open. Inside was a circle of tiny white pills, each in its own slot. Three of the slots were empty. Birth control.

Anger flared as jealousy hurtled through Gilbert’s brain. Who was she fucking, the lying, two-faced bitch? Slave Jade had told Master John she wasn’t seeing anyone since she’d broken up with the last guy.

Taking a deep breath, Gilbert willed himself to be calm. She had admitted she’d been serious with the last guy. Probably you couldn’t just stop and start birth control. It might be bad for your hormones or something. He’d do some research.

He turned the small container over in his hands. Though the thought of her someday having his child was a seductive one, he certainly didn’t want a baby gumming up the works while they were still laying the foundation of their new relationship.

These pills would come in very handy indeed. He’d have to make sure she took one each morning. He set the container down and reached for her checkbook.

Her writing was neat and precise, as he’d expect for a banker. He flipped to the last entry, which showed a balance of six-hundred and eight dollars. Not exactly a fortune. Hopefully she had a savings account, where the real money was socked away.

He examined the entries more carefully, discovering the twice monthly automatic payroll deposits. She earned easily three times what he did. He noted the entry, always made the next day—a withdrawal of nearly one-third her paycheck, with the notation—savings account.

Excellent. His slave girl was thrifty. Hopefully she’d put aside enough for their island adventure. He would have to find out, but that was for a future day, when he’d captured not only her body but her heart.

~*~

“Oh, my head,” Lisa moaned. Her mouth felt cottony and bitter, and her head pounded. The room was dark. She tried to move and realized she was bound, her wrists pulled up over her head and secured with clinking chain. Her ankles were also shackled together. She seemed to be lying on a mattress on the floor.

The images came rushing into her head like a black whirlwind—the strange man approaching her, the struggle at her car, panic rising and bursting from her in a scream that was muffled by a large hand clamped over her mouth and nose, choking her, suffocating her...

And that smell. That sickly sweet smell, and then the nauseating dizziness. She tried to pull her wrists free but only succeeded in tightening the metal cuffs. Who could have done this and why? Where was she? She had to get out of here! She was going to die!

Lisa began to cry. Panic washed over her, clinging to her body, suffusing her pores, making it impossible to catch her breath. She tensed in her chains, ready for someone to burst in at any moment and shoot her.

Several minutes passed, but the room stayed dark. She was, at least for the time being, alone and alive. She shook her legs and arms cautiously, making sure nothing was broken or hurt. Aside from the headache and the cinching handcuffs, everything seemed to be okay.

Slowly the raging, blinding panic subsided and she was able to breathe more normally. Her nose was running from her tears, but she couldn't move her arms. She turned her head against the mattress, trying to wipe her face against it. She felt a draft on her bare skin and realized, with a dawning horror, that she was naked.

Lisa began to cry again, this time more noisily. Finally she stopped and called out in a tentative, croaking voice, “Hello?” She realized this was stupid, even as she called. She cleared her throat and swallowed, listening hard for any sound. Someone was out there, no doubt waiting to rape and kill her, and she was calling out greetings.

But maybe not. Maybe whoever had done this had been caught, or almost caught, and had fled. Maybe there was someone out there who could help her! Set her free!

“Hello!” she called again, her voice wavering, but louder.

This time she heard something and strained toward it. It was the sound of a key scraping in the lock. The door opened and she could see the silhouette of a man against the bright light of the hallway behind him.

Suddenly the overhead light switched on, blinding her. Lisa squinted while her eyes adjusted.

Standing before her was a young man with dark blond hair, wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans. He didn’t look much older than she was. He was medium height and slender, though his arms were muscular. He didn’t look like a killer. He smiled at her.

“Hello there, Lisa. Sleep well?”

The incongruity of his mild greeting was somehow more frightening than if he had come in waving a gun and threatening her. He knew her name. How did he know her name? Before she realized she was speaking she demanded, “How do you know my name?”

Smiling, he held up her purse.

“Please,” she begged, “Please, whoever you are. Please don't do this. Please let me go. Please.” She started to cry again, and the man approached her, kneeling down next to her.

“Don't cry, Lisa. Don't cry.” He reached toward her and Lisa gasped with terror, trying desperately to avoid his touch. All she could do was twist her head away. With a firm hand, he forced her to look at him. Still smiling, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue. He wiped at her cheeks and nose with it. Lisa was again discomfited by the gentle treatment when she had expected him to hit her, rape her or shoot her outright.

The man smoothed her tangled hair back from her face. Greenish brown eyes. Small nose, thin lips, a small scar on his chin. Details she might need to identify him at a later date.

“Lisa, I know you're frightened right now. But you'll get used to your situation soon enough. Are you thirsty?”

Lisa hiccupped and tried to get control of herself. Identify him at a later date? Was she nuts? This man was letting her see his face. He had no intention of being identified later. He was going to kill her. Oh Jesus god, he was going to kill her.

She was going to die.

“Please,” she begged, her voice rising with hysteria. “Don’t kill me. Please.”

“I don’t want to kill you, silly girl. I won’t have to—not if you behave.” He watched her with a strangely mild expression as she tried to absorb what he’d said. Then, his eyebrows knitting together as he frowned, he said in a stern voice, “I asked you a direct question. When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer. Is that understood?” As he spoke, the man gripped her throat, squeezing until she coughed and spluttered, helpless in his grasp.

“Please, don’t choke me.” Lisa gasped and gulped for air. He was still staring at her, waiting for a response. “Yes, I'm thirsty,” she managed to gasp. At once he released her throat and sat back on his haunches.

He took a bottle of water from a tray on the floor near the mattress. Unscrewing the cap, he held it to her mouth. It was difficult for her to drink from her position, straining to lift her head as he tilted the bottle toward her mouth. Some of the liquid spilled down her chin and onto her bare breast.

The man's eye followed the path of the water. Lisa felt the heat of a blush wash over her as he raked her body with his insolent gaze. Again she dared, “Please. Whoever you are. Please let me go. I won't tell anyone about this. Just let me go. Please. If it's money you're after, my parents don't live far–”

He cut her off. “I’m not going to let you go. You need to get that idea out of your head right away. You belong to me now. The sooner you accept your situation, the sooner you'll adjust, and come to realize this is where you belong.”

Lisa started to cry again. The enormity of her situation left her weak with terror. He wasn’t going to let her go. “Say it!” When she still didn't respond, he slapped her cheek, once, very hard. The shock of what he’d done stopped her tears as she stared in disbelief at the cruel, strange young man who now stood before her.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room, locking the door behind him. A moment later the light flicked out, sending her back into darkness.

Lisa's cheek stung. She pulled at the metal cuffs now ratcheted tight on her wrists, to no avail. She cried softly for some minutes, until exhaustion stayed her tears. Her arms were aching, and her wrists chafed and burned where the cuffs bit into her flesh.

She felt chilled though it was mid-July. She needed to pee, and shifted herself as best she could to ease the pressure on her bladder. The sip of water had done little to slack her thirst, and her stomach was churning, knotted with fear.

Stay calm. You aren’t dead. You aren’t hurt. It’s one guy. One crazy guy. Keep your head.
Lisa closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths. Though she wasn’t religious by any stretch, she began to pray.

She must have dozed a while, because she came awake suddenly when she again heard the key in the lock. Instantly her eyes opened wide as she waited, her heart hammering in her chest. Light flooded the room and the man entered. He was dressed now only in black boxers.

Lisa tensed with fear, instinctively pressing her legs tight together. Without speaking, he approached the foot of the mattress and knelt. Leaning over the trembling girl, he unlocked the manacles that held her ankles. With strong but gentle fingers he massaged her feet and legs, as if he were some benign physical therapist, instead of a crazed kidnapper.

“Lisa. Stop squeezing your eyes shut like that. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hands slid up her calves, over her thighs. Lisa mewled with terror, trying to close her legs against him.

He easily overpowered her, pressing her thighs apart. “Don't tremble, darling,” he said gently, as if to a virgin lover on her wedding night. “I want you so much.” Climbing up over her, he lay himself across her, and tried to kiss her mouth. Involuntarily she jerked her head away, desperately trying to avoid his mouth on hers.

Grabbing her head in his hands, he forced her face to his and leaned in again, kissing her roughly. Lisa could feel his bone-hard erection pressing into her thigh. As she jerked, the metal cuffs cut into skin already rubbed raw.

She forget her wrists, though, as the man pushed himself between her legs. He pulled his shorts down and repositioned himself on top of her, the head of his cock pushing insistently at her opening.

Lisa screamed as he pressed himself against her and then into her. Her cries were muffled by his mouth on hers as he entered her, tearing flesh rigid with fear.
This can’t be happening. Oh god, please don’t let this happen. He’s hurting me. Oh, it hurts. Please, no. No, no, no…

Mercifully he came fast, jerking spasmodically against her, moaning loudly. He flopped against her, his head now between her breasts, where he could no doubt hear the pounding of her heart.