Submissive (16 page)

The guard's eyes glittered angrily and Gillian's heart jumped with glee when he grabbed Gina's arm. “It's Sir Mark, and sorry, but I do not care to listen to your bragging, nor do I wish to make an unpleasant situation for you this close to your departure.”

Gina laughed and wrestled her arm from his grip. She opened her mouth as if to speak, when the front door swung open and a man's voice boomed out, “Back off from the girl, Gina!”

Gillian could hardly turn her face to see the man who stepped out onto the porch. But his tone held none of the patience of Sir Mark's. “Stay away from her, slut.”

His voice was familiar. As Gillian pondered where it was exactly she had heard it before, Gina made a semblance of a pout. “Were you spying on us? Afraid I might hurt this delicate little sub?”

“Get in the damned house and go to your room,” he said, and looked at Rose, who sneered like a child at him. “You, too.”

“I don't think so,” Gina declared and flitted past Sir Mark, taking Rose's hand. “Come on.”

Sir Mark reached for them as they rushed down the steps, but only caught a wisp of Gina's hair. Gillian could hear them laughing as they fled through the dark yard.

“It would be best if the other guards were informed they are wandering about,” spoke her defender, “in case the fools run into that Dhjinn. I've been assigned to personally guard this Disciple. Go ahead.”

Sir Mark nodded and tramped down the steps into the yard. Moments later Gillian heard him conferring with the other guards there, though she could not make out the exchange.

Her defender strode toward the rail and watched, his arms still crossed, his legs set widely apart. She could see him better now that he was out of the porch shadows. His hair was short and dark brown, his neck wide and sensually soft at the corners of his jaws. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows and even the deep tan of his skin glowed in the dim light. Again she was struck by the sense she knew him. It wasn't until he turned and Gillian saw his face fully that she recognized him.

Bruce!

She could not believe it and had to blink before daring to look at him again. But as she did, the corrections officer's handsome face was still there. His dark brown eyes, which she had always found particularly sexy, were hard and penetrating now as they surveyed her.

As uncompromising as in my wet dreams!

She blushed painfully, tormented he should see her exposed and ripe with passion. And as the moments passed and he still said nothing, she became afraid that she had fallen asleep on the Pillar and was only dreaming. But then he took two long strides toward her, his unreadable face an icon of self-possessed authority.

Yet, the hair on his forearms had tellingly risen.

“You have been a naughty girl, Gillian.”

A shockwave of humbled emotions swept through her. How many times had she envisioned him looking at her just as he was now—speaking to her so masterfully?

Reaching up, he adjusted the gag in her mouth and wiped the tears from her face with his fingers. As his hands drew away, he scrutinized her body. He skimmed her hips and thighs with his fingertips, touched the crest of her pubic hair. Gillian shivered hotly, using every reserve of self-control to keep her hips from moving. But then, he unfolded her nether lips and touched her throbbing clit. It pulsated lightly. Into her aching vagina he slid a forefinger and started fucking her with it.

A delirium of wanton desire broke Gillian's restraint. She buckled and moaned silently, imploring him with her straining hips to take her down and fuck her with all the fierceness she had envisioned at his command.

Instead, he drew his hand away and sucked her juices from his fingertip. His imposing gaze frightened her. It tempered her passion so that it simmered; a merciless, voiceless frustration beneath her bonds.

“You are not to trust those women, Gillian,” he said quietly, “is that understood?”

She nodded meekly, but her thoughts were only for him and the terrible suspicion that was taking root in her mind that somehow he had forgotten her completely.

What am I to him now, in Nemi? Where he could have any girl prettier than me in a moment's bidding? And who am I to fault him for forgetting, when I chose to leave Earth and all my ties behind?

He paced the porch for a long time. At last he took a seat and lit a cigarette. By this time, she was too tired to keep her eyes open any longer. But even as her regret gave way to sleep, the weight of his gaze did not move from her.

B
ruce welcomed the coffee Domme Camille offered, and tried to savor the rich taste, if just to break up the gnawing questions that wore on his conscience all night.

It was early. Most of the Disciples were still asleep in their rooms, and by what he knew, the Leather Wives, too. He was surprised that Domme Camille was already up. She wore a flowered silk robe and her hair was not yet brushed. She looked younger than he recalled. Then again, he had never seen her during the daytime or without makeup. She sipped on her own cup and smiled at the still-sleeping Gillian. The smile whispered of intimacy with the girl or at least interest. At any other time, the thought of watching the two of them going at one another would have been delightful. But Bruce was still ensnared by conflicting emotions about whether to confirm his identity or not with Gillian.

He still felt guilty about not approaching her the first night he had seen her. Of course, if Gillian ever heard the gossip about him and Gina, she might never look at him the same way.

No one had ever looked at him like that, as if he were the moon and stars and heavens consummate.

The day before he had understood that he had wanted to see that look in Gina's face—hell, every pretty face he had ever laid eyes on—and he had spent the entire night wondering what Gillian had thought back on Earth when he stopped coming around. Had she missed him, had she asked about him? There had to be something more than physical passion for that look to remain with her all this time.

When Madam had requested his services in guarding one of her Disciples, he had eagerly accepted. The trying situation with Rose and Gina had made him realize it was time to take the reins of his manhood, instead of just wielding his dick at random. What had he been thinking when it came to Gina? That she would be so impressed with his lovemaking she would be swept off her dominatrix heels, give up her dominant lifestyle and be the loving sub he had hankered for all his life? It had been a boyish fantasy, impractical and stupid.

And to think, I could have had it all already with Gillian.

The worst part was that he had always been charmed by her, from her demure laugh to her opinions, even the soft way she spoke. It was not just her face or body or even his suspicions about her secret desires. He had liked everything about her from day one. What he discovered while exploring the limits of pleasure-pain with Gillian during the night—a passion that transcended the physical, and was betrayed in the steadfast focus of her lovely eyes—had confirmed his suspicions of her mutual desire. She had probably been too shocked to have known he saw it. Even if she had, there was nothing she could have done to shield herself from her emotions. That was simply against her nature.

He sighed and Domme Camille said kindly, “Why don't you go to the guards' quarters and get some sleep? The Dhjinn are more brazen at night, which is why Madam wanted you here last evening. I will keep a steady eye on her.”

Bruce thought about it, but was hesitant.

“I can catch a nap later,” he said.

“You will need more than a nap before tonight.”

There was reason in that, so he agreed. Eyeing the other guard at the end of the porch, he handed Camille the cup. Gillian did not even rouse as he passed by her, but his cock stiffened to look upon her bound, naked flesh again.

 

Bruce was awakened by a feminine shriek outside the window. Through the fog of half-sleep, he stumbled out of the bed and jerked back the curtain. The window looked out onto the backyard of Madam's property, and there he saw a Leather Wife pulling a Disciple by one braid over to where a prisoner stood by the edge of a shallow, aqua-tiled pool. The Disciple was deposited at the prisoner's feet, and the man watched with a gleam of mixed vindication and lust as the Domme reprimanded the girl. As she handed her paddle over to the prisoner, Bruce let the curtain fall and rubbed his eyes.

He washed up in the bathroom and put on a fresh change of clothes from one of the wardrobes provided for the house guards. Someone had delivered a tray of food while he slept, and now he grabbed a sandwich and ate it quickly. He found his cigarette pack and matches on the floor and stuffed these into the pocket in the lining of his vest. He stepped to the table nearby, where an assortment of punishment devices—whips, wide belts, paddles, and canes—were laid out. He finally chose one of the newer leather belts, strapped it around his waist, and, taking a quick smoke, headed out.

Sir Kennan met him at the gate of the prison grounds and informed him that Gillian had arrived early in the day with several other Disciples.

“She had been yoked to the granary mill for a couple of hours when the Warden had his trustee escort her back to the household.”

Bruce sighed. “Now, why did he do that?”

“One of the Dommes came with the announcement yesterday she'd be commencing a monthlong class on focused attention and deferential display of affection,” the guard explained. “It's usually reserved for the girls of the trustees, but the Warden has taken a special interest in that Disciple, so I am not surprised.”

A heated prong pierced Bruce's stomach, but he managed to hide the jealousy brewing inside. “Really? He's taken with her?”

The gatekeeper nodded. “She's his type, you know—a wildcat desperate for the taming of an experienced handler. I had a drink with him last night and he mentioned her, said he plans on asking Madam to have her belongings sent to his private chambers.”

Bruce tried to forget the angry images that suddenly filled his mind, reminding himself that Gillian was not his to claim now or even ever. He made the trip back to the household and in the foyer asked one of the trustees the directions to the lesson rooms. These were located on the second floor. He passed through without speaking to anyone he met and hiked up the staircase he found beyond the dining hall. Near the landing stood two Leather Wives, talking quietly as they sipped on glasses of tea. The corridor ahead was bright from the light coming through the window at the end. Every door, he saw, had a small window as well.

“Sir Bruce,” one of the Dommes piped. She walked over to him.

“Domme Angela?”

“Yes. Domme Camille was looking for you earlier. She thought you probably did not know that the Disciple Gillian is up here.”

He smiled wearily. “I do now.”

“Yes, and she wanted to apologize. No one was expecting the Warden to enroll the girl.”

The back of Bruce's neck prickled hotly. “Is this common? I mean, for the Warden to enroll a Disciple?”

She shrugged apologetically. “Well, no, these particular classes are usually filled with prisoners' girls and the wives of guards or the girls they are about to wed. But he is the Warden.”

“I suppose they won't need my assistance, then,” he said, his stomach tensing.

“That would be up to Madam, surely. He cannot keep an eye on her here and at the prison, too. I will let Domme Camille know you have come.” She smiled sweetly and headed down the stairs.

Bruce scrutinized the doors ahead, wondering which one led to Gillian, and whether he could or even should enter.

“She's in the third to the left,” he heard the other Leather Wife say. “You can peep in the window to be sure.”

“Thanks.”

He proceeded to the door and looked into the window. The room inside resembled an ordinary schoolroom, with small desks where the Disciples sat and an imposing desk up front for the Leather Wife teacher. She held a ruler in her hand at the moment and was pointing to words written on the blackboard behind her. Beside her desk, a man stood with his arms crossed. He was naked except for the mask with eyeholes on his head, so there was no telling whether he was a prisoner or guard. Bruce watched as the teacher turned to the rows of Disciples, but he could not decipher her words through the door.

But then two girls rose from their seats and trotted to the teacher's desk: a redhead with soft freckles and Gillian. Both wore faux-schoolgirl uniforms of plaid skirts, short-sleeved white blouses, and matching knee-high socks with brown loafers. Madam pointed to Gillian and she approached the man in the mask. Bruce watched with mounting anger as she knelt on the floor and kissed his feet. She straightened then so she was kneeling with her back straight and kissed his knees. As her palms touched his thighs, she spoke, and it seemed his mask moved as if he were answering. Gillian inclined her head and kissed his scrotum: one side, then the other. As she lifted his cock to her mouth, Bruce's hands clenched into shaking fists.

He watched her lick the length of the man's cock and loll her tongue over the head of it so that it thickened and grew stiff in her hands. She rose up a little and swooped down, drawing the head into her mouth. She nursed on it slowly, as with the fingers of one hand she cinched and worked the shaft. But she seemed nervous, and after a time, Bruce saw her giggle. This brought a round of laughter from the other girls. The teacher snapped something in a voice that boomed off the walls. Dashing up, she pinched Gillian's earlobe and hoisted her to her feet so that the man's organ flipped from her grasp. His erection had turned dark pink. Bruce growled under his breath and turned away.

He walked to the end of the corridor and lit a cigarette. The Leather Wife kept him company during the hours that passed, sharing gossip and talking about the new construction Madam had planned for the household for the upcoming year. He tried hard to focus on the conversation, but the sight of Gillian going down on that man was burned into his memory.

At long last, the teacher opened the door and the Disciples filed out. The Leather Wife rounded up most of them and led them downstairs, while the man who had been inside emerged, too, garbed now in the uniform of a kitchen trustee. He led two more of the girls down. Seeing Gillian come out with the teacher, Bruce hugged against the longest shadow in the corridor and watched.

“You are to serve and eat at the pavilion,” the teacher instructed Gillian as she locked the door. “Sir Peter is waiting in the front foyer to escort you, for you are to help set out the food.”

Bruce saw Gillian nod, but he could not determine the nature of the flush in her cheeks. After she had descended the stairway with the teacher, he moved from his vantage point and made his way stealthily to the kitchen and to the door that led out that side of the house. From the eaves, he waited until he saw the majordomo, Sir Peter, leading Gillian across the yard. When they reached the path to the pavilion, Bruce skirted across the grass and followed at a clandestine distance.

He stood about with the outside guards while Sir Peter took Gillian inside. Only when the man had come out again did he approach.

“Hey, can I have a word with you?”

Peter smiled expectantly as Bruce tried to find the best words to bait the man for information. “I wasn't expecting you to wake until later, Sir Bruce.”

“Trouble sleeping in a strange bed,” Bruce answered. He hoped the next words would make an impression that would reach the Warden's ears. “I'll be close to her the rest of the evening.”

“Of course,” Peter answered brightly, “we have all heard what happened at the Temple boundaries yesterday. But you may be relieved of that responsibility soon.”

Bruce grunted and said darkly, “I heard the morning's gossip at the prison. Don't you think it's a little soon for this new Disciple to be staying there?”

The man's innocuous gaze seemed to penetrate his thoughts. He said confidentially, “All ready to cut a filly from the herd, Sir Bruce? I know you watched her diligently last night, my friend. But it was one night overseeing a gagged Disciple, and from his interest, it's evident the Warden obviously knows her a little more intimately than you, my friend.”

Maybe physically, Bruce thought angrily. But then, Sir Peter knew nothing of his acquaintance with Gillian before coming to Nemi.

It is better this way. And better all around if the Warden does keep her to himself, out of my sight and out of my mind.

He realized now it was a gift, really, to get away from the sense of responsibility that wrestled with his guilt. He would absolve himself on some level and be done with regrets forever when Gillian was safely in the Warden's hands. He offered Peter a contrite grin.

“You're right,” he said. “I was rather taken with her, but there are plenty more pretty legs where those came from.”

Sir Peter laughed and clapped his shoulder. “I understand, really. When the woman I eventually married ended up being sent over to be one of the guard's personal house girls, I challenged him for her. But then, I had known her ever since she first arrived.”

Bruce's interest was piqued. “I didn't know you were married. Yet, you live in the household, not the resident's village?”

The man's eyes suddenly grew misty. “She was taken by one of the Dhjinn-E'noch. When we found and laid siege on his lair, the beast had already taken her life. But the Ur'theriems have promised to find her when her soul returns to an earthly life. She'll be returned to me when she is old enough.”

Bruce's skin bristled coldly and he wanted to offer some condolence, but the proper words escaped him.