Slave Jade (9 page)

“Yes, please, sir.” She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “That would be wonderful.”

“Do I need to cuff you while we walk down the hall or can you be trusted? I don't want to hurt you, but if I have to, I will.”

Lisa believed him, quietly hating him with every fiber of her being. But she was learning that to behave submissively was so much easier than to continue to fight him. And she knew he was intent on keeping her there, god only knew how long.

Swallowing the retort that welled up in her throat that he didn't seem to mind hurting her at all, she only said in a quiet and she hoped submissive way, “Oh, no, sir, you can trust me. I'll behave, I promise.”

Satisfied, he took her by both wrists, leading her out of the room and down a small hall to a bathroom. She stumbled slightly, dizzy from lack of food. He caught her, bringing his arm solicitously around her shoulders.

The bathroom wasn't an impressive facility, not much more than a sink, toilet and a little bathtub with a shower head, crammed together in a space even smaller than Lisa's room. There was a small window over the toilet. Sunshine streamed in and Lisa stared longingly at the daylight. How long had she been here? How many times had the sun risen and set since he’d abducted her?

Her attention was diverted when he turned on the water and a lovely steam filled the room. To her dismay, he pulled off his shirt and jeans, kicking his clothing aside, making it clear he intended to join Lisa in the tub.

He pushed her in first and then stepped in behind her. “Just relax. I’ll wash your body.” Aware she had no say in the matter, Lisa stood still, closing her eyes and letting the hot water sluice over her. It was better than being whipped at any rate.

He lathered the soap against her body, running his hands down and up each leg, stopping for a long time at her pussy and ass, soaping her up repeatedly and then rinsing her in the spray. He rolled her nipples between finger and thumb. His touch was surprisingly gentle. It might even have been erotic if it had been a lover, instead of her hated jailer.

As it was, it took all her self-control not to smack his hands away. Still, she was grateful to feel clean at last. He removed the soggy bandages from her wrists. The abrasions were mostly healed, though the skin remained tender.

Tossing her the shampoo bottle he said, “Here, you can wash your own hair, and then come out and get dry.” He stepped out, allowing her to pull the plastic curtain closed.

Lisa stood under the hot spray with her head back, the water streaming over her hair and face. She took as long as she dared, washing and rinsing her hair three times, as if she could somehow wash out the stench and horror of what had been done to her.

“Hurry it up. Water goes off in fifteen seconds whether you're done or not.”

When Lisa stepped out of the shower, she reached for a towel that was hanging on the rack.

“Wait,” he commanded. “Let me look at you.” Lisa stood, goose bumps rising on her wet flesh. She crossed her arms over herself but he barked, “Hands behind your head! And spread your legs. Do it!”

Taking a deep breath, Lisa assumed the commanded position. Her heavy round breasts were lifted by her raised arms, the nipples erect and distended from the cold.

He stood very close in front of her and cupped her breasts, lifting them and letting them fall. He dropped a hand to her sex, running his fingers between her cleft, and pressing one inside of her. Involuntarily Lisa shuddered and moved back from him.

“Move again and you won't eat for a week,” he threatened. He slid the finger slick with her juices across her cheek. Lisa stood still, trembling slightly, letting her eyes close. She was cold and frightened, but at least she was clean.

Again his fingers invaded her pussy, but she managed to resist the urge to pull away. “Oh Lisa, you are so right for me,” he murmured, his voice loving.

Lisa was repulsed, again not sure which was worse—his rough treatment or the incongruous sweet words. It was as if, on some level, he really did love her. And yet, how could that be, when he treated her like an animal and abused her like a prisoner of war in some dark land with no laws. Did he think, in his twisted way, that she somehow would reciprocate these feelings?

He had lectured her about her supposed submissive nature and how, if only she would give in to him completely, she would come to a new and higher plane of existence, where he was the center of her universe.

His words actually reminded her of Master John's, though not as eloquent. But Master John had meant it in a loving way—not this forced and violent way. Master John would have rescued her from this torment, if only he knew where she was.

But Master John was somewhere in New Jersey, while she was prisoner in a little bathroom god only knew where, at the mercy of a madman.

His hands roamed over her, touching her body, squeezing her legs and ass, patting her belly, as if she were an object or an animal. She could feel his desire emanating from him like a force field.

If only she could find a way to return that bizarre affection. Would it make her life easier? Would it at least allow her more privileges? Like regular food and water, and the chance to be clean and sleep without shackles? Had her life really been reduced to this, in so short a time?

Finally he said, “Get dry. You have twenty seconds.” He tossed a towel at her and Lisa scrambled to obey. He counted as she hurriedly dried herself. At the count of twenty he said, “Drop it.”

She stood, dizzy with hunger, longing to lie down. Surprising her, he said, “Lie down. Right there on the bath rug.” And then, not surprisingly, “And spread your legs.” She lay on her back, closing her eyes, barely even wondering what was next. She was startled to feel his tongue, soft and wet, against her pussy.

She tried to sit up and close her legs, but he barked, “Lie down! I want to taste you. I want to make you come. With a lover's kiss. I am your lover, darling. The sooner you know this, the happier you'll be. Let me claim you now, in this lover's way.”

She lay back down, feeling his tongue weave its way across her labia, lapping at her, using too much pressure. It was clear he didn't really know what he was doing and probably had never done this before. He wanted her to come, but she knew she wouldn't come like this, with his tongue so insistent, the pressure too marked and focused against her clit.

And yet she didn't want to anger him. This unexpected turn of events could fit in with her plans of convincing him she was falling under his spell. She shifted, trying to guide him with her movements, but he wasn't sensitive to what she was doing. He just kept lapping away, and rather than arousing her, it was actually irritating the delicate folds.

Still, she moaned in what she hoped was a sexy way and arched up toward his mouth, pretending to want what he was offering. He responded by lapping even harder against her, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her. She moaned and wriggled, breathing in short staccato breaths meant to imitate impending orgasm.

After what she hoped was a reasonable interval, she bucked and cried out, grabbing his head. “Oh, oh, oh, oh!” she cried, in a breathless little Marilyn Monroe voice. Eventually she stilled, hoping her act was convincing.

He sat up and she could see the triumph on his face, along with his own saliva, smeared there while he had pushed and lapped at her like some rabid dog. Lisa tried to assume a dreamy look of sexual satisfaction. He seemed to have bought the performance, and looked quite pleased with himself.

Gently he pulled her up and into his arms. He kissed her and then stood, offering her a hand to help her up.

He led her, still naked, back to her little prison. On an impulse she turned to him and dropped to her knees, there in the hall before he had a chance to force her back in the tiny room. “Please, sir.” She looked at the floor, her voice quiet but pleading. “May I speak, sir?”

“You may, slave.”

It was working! “Would it be possible, do you think, for me to be allowed out of that room? Maybe just a little? It's so hot in there. And I hate the dark. Please, sir? And I am very, very hungry, sir, if you think perhaps I could eat something now?”

She waited, tensed, her face to the ground. Master John had impressed upon her in chats the importance of not looking your master in the face. It was a sign of respect, he had explained.

“Nice try,” he said, as her heart sank. “Now get into the room.”

Damn! She had thought he was going to give in. He did, however, allow her food. It wouldn't do to starve her, she supposed, because then he wouldn't have a slave toy to abuse and torture.

If she could just get out of that room it might change the dynamic between them from prisoner and jailer. Shift it more toward lovers, however repugnant the notion, so she would begin to gain more of an upper hand. A fighting chance. As it was she had no leverage. Nothing to offer or withhold.

Well, she would just have to try again. And go more slowly. Not ask for too much at once. And not act as if it mattered. Slowly she would gain his trust. Slowly she would somehow convince him that she bought into his horrid and fiendish plans of brainwashing her into becoming his willing sex slave.

He brought her a bologna sandwich on white bread—something she would have tossed into the garbage back in her old life. But now real tears of gratitude sprang to her eyes as she thanked him. She tried not to wolf the food down, aware her stomach would cramp, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Get some rest, slave. Tomorrow your real training begins.”

“Today we’ll focus on cock sucking. Every sex slave should be skilled at the art of pleasuring her Master. I’ll bet that guy you broke up with enjoyed your slutty mouth on his cock, huh?” His tone was bitter.

Disquiet ran through Lisa’s blood like ice. Had that been a guess? How did he know she'd broken up with her boyfriend? Who the fuck was this guy?

Pushing her thoughts aside, saving them for later when she would have way too much time to think, she scrambled to her knees in front of him, pretending eagerness to do his bidding.

At his orders, she locked her arms behind her back, a hand on each elbow. She knelt up, still keeping her eyes down, waiting for his nasty erect dick to come sliding against her mouth. She tried to keep her face blank, aware her emotions were too often transparent in her expression.

“I see you’re coming around, my little slave. The first step to freedom is complete submission.” Where had she heard that? Had she read that somewhere? It seemed familiar. The turgid cock being pressed against her mouth distracted her, and forcing herself to move with grace, she parted her lips to receive his offering.

He moved in and out for a few minutes, gagging her slightly with his partial erection. Lisa tried to empty her mind. She wouldn't focus on this stranger forcing her into this most intimate of acts. And she would resist the impulse to bite him, an impulse that kept her jaws twitching. She didn't want to think about the consequences of giving in to that!

His cock remained only half erect, despite his repeated thrusting. She dared to bring her hands around to help him. Gently she cupped his balls and the base of his shaft, hoping to stimulate him quickly so she could get away from him all the sooner. He moaned. He seemed to like her hands on him, but still he wasn't hard.

Exasperated, he pulled out. “You're useless. I can't come like this. I need something more. I know.” He paused, squinting up at the ceiling. “A good whipping would turn me on. I haven't whipped you properly. We’ll use the cane. Yes, the cane.”

He pushed her back, pulling away from her open mouth. His semi-erect cock glistened with her stolen kisses as he walked to the footlocker and unlocked it, taking out a long thin rod of bamboo, which was painted a bright red.

“Stand up.”

Lisa stood, clasping her arms around herself protectively. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it.

“Hold out your arms.” He attached the leather cuffs to her wrists, adding several feet of chain between them, which he slipped through the rings of the cuffs. Pulling her toward the open door, he lifted the chain and slung it over the top, forcing her arms up high in the process.

Her body was pressed against the side of the open door, bared for the cane. “It's about time I marked you properly,” he said in a low voice. He swished the cane through the air beside her. It made a slicing, whistling sound. Lisa emitted a little cry of terror. “Please,” she began but he cut her off.

“I’ll gag you if you say one more word. I’m going to cane you and you might as well deal with that fact. I'm going to mark your ass with welts, to remind you of your place even when I'm not in the room with you. You should be marked every day, you know. A slave should always be marked. I think you're ready for that new step in your training, don't you, Lisa?”

Lisa started to protest, but recognized it was useless. Instead, she silently vowed to continue with her new plan to convince Gilbert of her change of heart—of her coming to terms with her lot.