Forced Submission (11 page)

“It’s time for a haircut, M. If you know what’s good for
you, you won’t move a muscle or make a sound. Once I’ve cut off your hair, I’m
going to shave your scalp. Make sure you stay very still so I don’t nick the
skin. I would hate to draw blood without meaning to, but if it happens”—he
shrugged, his eyes glittering—“it will be entirely your fault, and you’ll be
punished for damaging my property.”

The thought of those pointy scissors piercing her scalp and
drawing her blood was more than Mia, nearly starved with hunger and wiped out
with fear, could tolerate. A whirring sound whistled in her ears, blocking
Ellis’ voice as black spots danced before her eyes and the bathroom countertop
rose to meet her.

~*~

Ellis moved quickly when he saw M’s eyes rolling back, her
mouth going slack as the color drained from her face. He caught her shoulders
as she was falling forward. Holding her upright with one hand, he used the
other to release the clip that held her cuffs behind her back.

Maybe he should feed her before he cut her hair. True, she
needed to shed about thirty pounds, but he didn’t want to starve her to death
in the process.

As he lifted the inert girl into his arms, she moaned, her
eyelids fluttering. He carried her to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He
reached for the hobble chain between her ankles and removed it.

After a few seconds she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly
several times. “What—” she began, confusion on her face.

Ellis cut her off. If she continued speaking out of turn, he
would gag her. “You fainted. Lucky for you, I hadn’t started using the scissors
yet.” Her hands moved suddenly to her head, the relief evident on her face when
she felt her hair. The relief would be short-lived, of course, but Ellis
allowed her that moment of false hope.

“I’m going to give you something to eat. Would you like
that, M?”

Her eyes met his, longing suffusing her features. “Yes,
please
,
Sir.”

He nodded. “Lie there and rest. I’ll be back in a few
minutes with something for you.”

Ellis went from the room and took the stairs two at a time.
It was another warm summer day, and though the house had central air, he didn’t
keep it so cool that he wouldn’t be comfortable in just his shorts and a
T-shirt, his feet bare. It was a nice change from the daily grind of going into
the city, dressed in a suit and tie.

For a moment he imagined what his employees would think if
they knew he had a naked woman captive in his home, a woman he planned to train
and mold into a sexualized, submissive Stepford wife, one who obeyed his every
whim and dictate without regard to her own comfort or safety. Wouldn’t any man,
given his druthers, love to find himself in such a situation? The difference
was, Ellis Hughes
took
what he wanted. Even better, he got away with it.

While he prepared a tray of food for his slave, Ellis
propped his smart phone on the counter, turning it to the surveillance setting
and selecting M’s bedroom for the view. M lay docilely on her bed, her eyes
closed. Good girl. No doubt she’d noticed all the mini surveillance cameras
when she’d been cleaning. Those, coupled with the automatic remote locking
system, served as well as an armed guard to keep her in line, Ellis thought
with satisfaction.

He returned to M’s bedroom with the tray, which he set on
the night table. M opened her eyes, her head swiveling toward the food. Ellis
sat beside her on the bed and reached for a slice of banana. “Open your mouth.”
He placed the fruit on her tongue and let her chew and swallow. He selected a
chunk of hardboiled egg.

He fed her what amounted to a whole banana, an egg and half
an orange. He let her sip from a bottle of water. Just for fun, he let some
spill over her pretty breasts, leaving her nipples shiny with it. She gasped as
the cold water touched her skin. She was so responsive. He did love that about
her.

He reached for one of her nipples and pulled it taut between
his fingers. Just imagine sliding a needle through the nubbin and then
threading in the gold jewelry through the piercing. He’d never actually pierced
anyone, but he’d seen it done a number of times and was certain he could do it
himself.

Not yet, though. Maybe in a few weeks, when he’d broken down
her resistance. In fact, he would have her hold the nipple for him while he
pressed the sharp point of the needle through her flesh. Yes, it would be a
good test of her obedience.

But first things first, he reminded himself. He reached for
the leash and tugged at it. “Come on. Time for your haircut. No more excuses.”

He led her into the bathroom. This time he placed a wooden desk
chair in front of the sinks, on which he had her sit. Using rope, he tied her
securely to the chair, winding the rope over and beneath her breasts and tying
it in slip knots behind her back. Next he cuffed her wrists together behind the
chair.

She looked incredibly sexy like that, her breasts jutting
from between the rope, thrust out by her position. Even if she fainted, she
wouldn’t budge an inch the way he’d bound her. He reached for the scissors and
picked up a section of her long, silky hair. In a way it was a shame to cut off
such lovely hair, but at the same time the idea ignited something dark and
powerful inside him.

As he opened the scissors, M closed her eyes, her head
bowing. “Head up, eyes open,” Ellis snapped. “You will watch as I cut your hair
and shave your head.”

M’s eyes flew open, the color draining from her face as she
took in what he had just said. “That’s right.” Ellis nodded. “I’m going to
shave it all off. It’s a good lesson in humility, M. It brings home that I can
do whatever I want to you, and you will thank me for it, as you must thank me
for all things. I am your Master. I give you food and water. I keep you safe. I
allow you to serve me. I allow you to live. Without me to take care of you, you
would die. Remember that. Let it be the first thing you think of when you wake,
and the last thing you recall as you drift to sleep.”

The sharp silver scissors glinted against her dark hair.
Ellis closed them with a snick and let the first long lock drop to the floor.
There was no going back now—only forward.

Slave M

Chapter 8

“I belong to you, Sir. You are the Master of my body and
soul. You allow me to serve you. I live for you, Sir. Without you, I would
die.”

“Again.”

M shuddered as Sir moved his oiled fingertip lightly over
her clit. The vibrator he had inserted into her cunt pulsed in a steady rhythm.
It felt so good she almost forgot the pinch of the nipple clamps or the aching
hunger that was a constant in her belly.

She was lying on her bed beside him, her wrists tied together
with rope, her arms resting over her head on the pillow, her legs spread wide.
Her body was slick with sweat, her limbs trembling from the effort of staving
off orgasm for the past hour. She knew she was nearly at the end of her ability
to resist. Soon her body would betray her, and she would pay the price.

Sir was naked beside her, his cock hard against her leg. The
salty, slightly bitter taste of his come still lingered in her mouth from her
morning worship. She loved when he came in her mouth and she made sure to
swallow every drop. On days when she’d been a disobedient slave girl, sometimes
it was the only sustenance she got.

“I belong to you, Sir,” she repeated, the words flowing
easily. They were the first words she said when she woke, and the last words
she recited when she went to sleep. “You are the Master of my body and soul.
You allow me to serve you. I live for you, Sir. Without you, I would die.”

His fingers moved in a rapid patter of pure perfection over
her labia while the vibrator sent spirals of pleasure radiating outward from
her core. Sir knew just how to touch her. M moaned softly, arching into his
hand.

“Don’t you dare,” Sir said sharply. “You remember what
happened last time.” Sir reiterated his reminder with a sharp, painful smack of
his open palm against her spread labia. M hissed in pain but didn’t close her
legs. She knew better than that. She must never close her legs to Sir, no
matter how much it hurt. To do so was to deny him, and to deny him was to
disobey.

Last time she had come without permission, he’d given her a
choice. “You can take ten strokes of the cane on the bottom of each foot,” he’d
said. “Or you can forego food and water for twenty-four hours.”

The caning had been excruciating, and the soles of her feet
were tender for a week afterward, but the apple he’d given her had been juicy
and tart, and he’d let her eat the whole thing.

His fingers were moving in teasing circles over her clit.
The vibrator thrummed inside her and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to
hold out much longer.

Don’t come, don’t come.

M focused on the throb of pain in her nipples, letting it
radiate through her body. Sir said pain was good for her—it cleansed her and
helped her to focus. That was why she must thank him after each discipline session,
even through her tears.

If she could stave off the orgasm just a little longer, he
would reward her. She began to whisper the mantra rapidly under her breath. “I
belong to you, Sir. You are the Master of my body and soul. You allow me to
serve you. I live for you, Sir. Without you, I would die. I belong to you,
Sir—oh, oh, oh…”

“Do it. Come, M. Give me all you’ve got.”

Tears of gratitude filled her eyes as M let the crashing
wave of her orgasm crest over her. In the midst of the pleasure came the sudden,
searing pain at her nipples as Sir released the clamps.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you!” M cried, gasping as pleasure
and pain weaved together, tightening around her senses like silken rope.

“You’re welcome,” Sir said.

M watched as Sir filled the Jacuzzi, excited to see he was
adding hot water. Those first few weeks—or were they months?—she hadn’t been
permitted hot water, and she still shivered at the memory. That was back before
she’d earned the right, before she’d understood her place was at his feet.
She’d had a different name then. She could almost remember it, but it was
easier not to try. She was M now. She belonged to Sir. That was all she needed
to know.

When the tub was half full, Sir surprised M by climbing in
himself. For a moment her heart sank with disappointment. She had been so
looking forward to slipping into the hot, lovely water. Actual baths were
rarely permitted—usually Sir sprayed her with the handheld showerhead while he
used the scrub brush to soap her clean.  

He had certainly never climbed in himself! What was expected
of her?

Stop anticipating
.
Sir will let you know what to
do.

Sure enough, a moment later Sir held out a hand. “Get in.
We’re going to try something new today.”

Those words sent ice squirting into her veins and in spite
of herself, M hesitated, her gut clenching with fear. The last time they had
“tried something new” Sir had bound her breasts so tightly with rope they’d
turned purple and then he’d dripped melted wax over them while she knelt before
him, her arms behind her back. When her bound breasts were covered in hardened
wax, he’d whipped it off with a single tail. Her breasts had ached for days
afterward.

She realized Sir was staring at her, his expression
darkening. M moved quickly, praying her delay wouldn’t result in punishment.
She stepped gingerly into the deliciously warm water. Sir reached for her,
positioning her so she was leaning against him, his legs on either side of
hers, his strong arms circling her. He’d left the water running, and it slowly
filled the tub, surrounding M in luxuriating heat.

M sighed, closing her eyes as she let her head fall back
against Sir’s broad, strong chest. It felt so good to be held like this. Even
though she knew it wouldn’t last—with the pleasure always came the pain—she
savored the rare feeling of pure comfort.

Sir began to fondle her breasts, cupping them, kneading
them, pulling the nipples taut and pinching them. Keeping them tight between
his fingers, he gave each nipple a savage twist. M drew in a sharp breath at
the sudden pain. She let it out slowly and focused on processing the pain
without reacting. Sir liked it when she could remain perfectly still and
silent. It was proof, he often told her, of her devotion to her Master.

Finally he let her go. “Thank you, Sir,” she whispered with
relief.

His strong arms encircled her again and she felt his warm
breath as he dipped his head to speak softly into her ear. “Who do you belong
to, M?”

“You, Sir.”

“What are you?”

“Your slave, Sir.”

“That’s correct. And what may a Master do to his slave?”

“Anything he wants, Sir.” Something about this concept
troubled M, but she said it automatically, as Sir had taught her. She didn’t
like to follow the implications of the statement too far. She had to trust that
Sir would keep her safe. She belonged to Sir. He was the Master of her body and
soul. She lived for him. Without him, she would die.

She felt his hands on her shoulders. She was unpleasantly
startled when he pushed against them, causing her to slip down in the water. In
spite of her training, she pushed back.

“Don’t resist.” Sir’s voice was stern. “Or have you already
forgotten what you just told me?”

M went limp. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll do better.” Her voice
sounded calm, even to her own ears, but she couldn’t dispel the tendril of
panic that was curling around her heart as he began again to push her down into
the water.

As the warm water closed over her head, M closed her eyes
and held her breath, trying to will away the panic that was threatening to
engulf her. Her heart was pounding. She imagined the water filling her mouth
and nose and spilling into her lungs. A burning sensation bloomed in her chest
and she felt a scream rising in her throat.