Forced Submission (18 page)

“What is it, Zahara?” Jira said suddenly. Kamau turned his
head in surprise. The girls knew better than to interrupt the prince in his
private chambers.

“Please forgive this girl for coming to see you without
permission.” Zahara dropped into a graceful curtsy. “But I felt I had to come
at once.”

Kamau lifted himself and swung his legs over the side of the
massage table. Zahara was deeply submissive and had never once, at least not
wittingly, broken the harem rules. To do so now meant she was deeply troubled.

The girl curtsied so low that her head nearly touched the
floor. Kamau could see that she was trembling. He felt his gut clench with
apprehension, certain Zahara’s unusual behavior had something to do with the
Americans.

“Rise, Zahara,” he said, keeping his voice even and calm for
her sake, “and tell us what has happened.”

Zahara lifted her head and sat back on her heels, her arms
behind her back. “Thank you, dear Prince.” She blew out a breath and Kamau knew
she was gathering her courage. He waited.

Finally, again looking down, she said, “While you were
speaking with the Americans I did something. Something I should not have done. I
did it because I am afraid for the American girl. I don’t like that man, that
handsome Ellis Hughes.” She looked up now, meeting the prince’s gaze with a
look that was almost defiant. “You have told us that it is better to be loved
than feared. Yet I saw the fear in M’s eyes. I heard her say the words of love,
but I did not feel them in my heart.”

Jira, who normally would have shooed anyone out of the room
who interrupted one of her massages, must also have realized the import of the
situation, because she simply moved to stand beside Kamau, placing her hand
lightly on his arm. “Tell us, dear one,” Jira said gently, “what you did.”

“While you were talking to the Americans in your study, I
went into their rooms.” Zahara tugged nervously at her lower lip with her
teeth.

 “Go on,” the prince said, keeping the shock he felt at
her behavior locked behind a mask of calm. “We are listening.”

Zahara took a breath and continued, “Jira and I were worried
by the way M seemed to be at once there and not there, if you understand me.
You have always taught us, dear Prince, that submission is a gift, freely
given, lovingly accepted. I know the American ways might be different in some
things, but in matters such as this, matters of trust, there is only one way.”

Kamau nodded. “I agree. Though he seemed otherwise online,
in person Ellis Hughes does not appear to practice a loving kind of dominance.
But it is not for us to judge what others choose. There are many, as you well
know, who would condemn what I do here, and who would see me jailed and all of
you scattered to the winds for the kind of training we practice. In fact, in
sending the Americans away empty handed, I am already taking a sizable risk
that he will attempt to make things difficult for me.”

“Oh!” Zahara said, her cheeks suffusing with color. “But I
couldn’t—”

“No,” Kamau agreed firmly. “Of course you couldn’t go with
them. I wouldn’t have permitted it. But I don’t dare interfere in the affairs
of our foreign guests. M is a grown woman in a consensual relationship. It is
not our choice to make.”

Jira spoke as she lightly stroked Kamau’s forearm with cool
fingers. “Are you sure, my love? The words she spoke to you are the same words
she said to us women when we were alone, as if she had memorized the lines. And
it is not right that a slave girl does not know her own name, even if the
relationship is consensual. This is deeply troubling to me.”

Zahara brought her hands from behind her back at last and
held up a small dark blue booklet. On the cover was an engraving of a stylized
eagle, the word
PASSPORT
imprinted above it in English. “That’s why I
went to their rooms,” she said earnestly. “I went to find her name.”

~*~

Ellis sat at the small lacquered table in their suite
drinking the very expensive single malt scotch he’d been planning to give
Prince Kamau on their departure as a thank you gift. Fuck that. The only thing
that bastard was going to get was a bill for the chartered jet.

Ellis took a long swallow of the liquor, which he was
drinking straight up from a blue water glass. It felt good going down, a slow
burn that matched the fury stoking in his gut. He glanced over at M, who
appeared to be asleep in the bed. It had taken every ounce of restraint to keep
from taking out his rage on the girl. But that would have to wait until he got
her home.

He never should have agreed to let her be alone with those
other women. Obviously she’d done something to queer the deal. God only knew
what she’d said to them. Stupid little bitch. She would pay. And since he
couldn’t make that snotty little cunt Zahara pay, M would pay for that, too.

He poured another several ounces of scotch and drank it more
slowly, as he imagined all the things he was going to do to M when they got
home. He would make her wear her highest heels, the shiny red ones. He would
put a matching red ball gag in her mouth. Then he would suspend her by the
wrists from the dungeon ceiling, ratcheting the chains until she was pulled
taut. He would start with a single tail, snapping it over every inch of skin until
she was marked from torso to ankle with lovely little welts. Then he’d use the
cane on her ass and breasts, the thin, whippy bamboo cane that cut the skin if
you weren’t careful. And he didn’t plan to be careful.

He would whip her until she bled. Then he’d leave her there
awhile to ponder her sins. When he finally let her down, he’d make her suck his
cock, and he’d spurt over her face and chest. He wouldn’t let her wipe it off.
It would dry there, a reminder that she was just a fuck toy, an object to be
used and debased.

No toilet privileges until she’d atoned for her sins. No,
she could use newspaper on the kitchen floor, like a dog. No hot water, either.
And she would sleep in the punishment cage, curled up like an animal in the
dark. He would only take her out to fuck her or torture her, then back in she
would go, until he was good and ready to let her out.

Maybe he would brand her. Yes, he would have a branding iron
custom made with his initials, and he’d burn them into her ass as further
testament that she was nothing more than property—his property.

Ellis’ cock tented his pajama bottoms as he contemplated the
delicious tortures he would inflict on M for ruining his chances to take home
the lovely Zahara. He slipped his hand into his fly and stroked his shaft. He
glanced again at the sleeping girl whom he’d allowed into his bed so as not to
arouse the suspicions of the nosy, judgmental prince and his entourage.

It was a shame to waste a good erection. He set down his
glass with a clunk and stood. He moved toward the bed. Reaching for the
coverlet, he jerked it away from M’s body and grabbed her shoulder. Her eyes
flew open, the surprise and fear in them making his cock harder.

“Get on the floor and suck my cock, bitch.
Now
.”

“Oh!” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. But she
obeyed, sliding from the mattress and kneeling up in front of him like the good
little whore he’d taught her to be. She took his cock, gripping the base with
one hand and cradling his balls with the other as she slid her hot, perfect
little mouth over the head.

Ellis groaned with satisfaction, bringing his hand to the
back of her bald head to press her down onto his shaft. He didn’t stop until he
felt the crown of his cock lodge against the back of her throat. “Hands behind
your back,” he ordered. “I’m going to fuck your face. Make sure you swallow
every drop.”

She dropped her hands and Ellis took hold of either side of
her head as he began to move, thrusting roughly in and out of her open mouth,
the alcohol fueling both his lust and his rage. He came quickly, and then
pushed her away. Staggering toward the bed, Ellis sat heavily upon it. He
looked down at M, who was cowering on the floor, her eyes flooded with tears,
her body trembling.

Shit
.

What he’d just done was stupid. For all he knew, that
fucking prince had his rooms monitored. He realized he was drunk, but that was
no excuse. Bringing M along for this trip had been a mistake. As obedient and
docile as she was at home, too many unknowns had been added into the mix by bringing
her here. Until he had M safely home, the bitch still might turn on him. All
his months of 24/7 slave training might go up in smoke, now that she’d been
contaminated by those harem whores.

Time to do a little damage control.

Ellis reached down and gathered the trembling girl into her
arms, lifting her onto the bed beside him. He kissed her wet cheek. “Shh, don’t
cry, M. You have pleased me.” He lay down, pulling her into his arms and gently
pressing her head so it rested on his chest. Tenderly he stroked her narrow
back until her trembling subsided.

He held her close, speaking in a soothing tone. “I’m sorry
things didn’t work out here,” he said softly. “But maybe it’s for the best. We have
each other. It’s all we need. You were born for me. And I—” He stumbled a
little over the words, but got them out for good measure, in case anyone was
listening. “I love you.”

M stiffened at this pronouncement, emitting a small gasp.
“Yes,” Ellis repeated, pulling her closer, and realizing with a small shock
that he meant it. He had never said those words before to M. Or to anyone. But
yes, he did love M. At least, he loved the fact of her, the fact of owning
another person, truly owning them, having their very life in his hands. He
loved that he had become M’s world. She lived for nothing but to please him. He
loved that he had been able to mold her into his perfect possession. She was
his, in every sense of the word. Wasn’t that, in itself, a kind of love?

“Tell me,” he said, as he’d said a thousand times before.
“Tell me the words you keep in your heart.”

She didn’t speak right away, so Ellis placed his hand on the
back of her neck, squeezing gently but firmly. “Tell me.”

“I belong to you, Sir,” she began haltingly but then her
voice strengthened, filling with resolve. “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.”

~*~

Sir had his arm around M’s shoulders as they walked out of
the lovely cool of the marbled palace into the bright and already hot morning
sun. M was again dressed in her travel dress and matching turban, and the shoes
she was wearing pinched her feet. She almost wished she could just run back
into the palace and head straight for the harem. She would hide there among the
plump cushions until Sir left without her. As if privy to these mutinous
thoughts, Sir’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

The jeep was in the driveway, the driver standing at
attention beside it. Prince Kamau and Jira waited by the door. M realized she
didn’t want to leave. She wanted to return to the warmth and easiness of the
harem, with its soft silks and laughing girls.

But Sir was ready to go, and M knew she had to go with him.
She didn’t belong in this strange world of spicy scents and flowing silks and
lovely, dark-skinned beauties. She belonged with Sir. He loved her! He had said
so.

She’d lain awake a long time, still locked in his embrace as
he snored gently in her ear. He had never said that before. It had taken her
breath away to hear it, and she’d pondered what it could mean, turning the
words every which way in her mind.

She knew Sir was angry over what had happened, and she knew
that in some way she would be made to pay for his anger, as she always did. She
realized Zahara wasn’t going to be coming home with them, and this both
saddened and pleased her. The idea of having someone else to talk to and share
things with had been deeply appealing, especially after her few hours in the
harem, which had reawakened a part of her that had been dormant under Sir’s
watchful eye. Yet at the same time, Zahara was so beautiful and Sir was clearly
so captivated with her that M had to admit she was a little jealous. Okay, a
lot jealous. Sir might set M aside, in his passion for his new girl, and then
what would happen to her? She had no life but Sir. Without him she would—

Her musings were interrupted as Zahara came suddenly rushing
through the front door, as if M’s thoughts had conjured her into being. “Oh! I
am so glad I did not miss you. I—I wanted to say goodbye.”

Sir dropped his arm and turned expectantly toward Zahara.
But instead of approaching him, Zahara moved to M. She put her arms around M,
holding her tight for a moment, while M stood like a block of wood, too stunned
to react. Zahara pressed her cheek to M’s and whispered rapidly, “Take this
piece of paper. Hide it until you can read it when you are alone.”

M felt something being pushed into her hand, and she closed
her fingers around it. Zahara stepped back. M’s heart was beating so hard she
was sure everyone around her could hear it.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Prince Kamau said, stepping forward
now. “This was found in your rooms while you were having your coffee. You
wouldn’t want to leave without it.” Sir and M turned to see what it was. The
prince was holding out what M realized was a passport. She hadn’t even thought
about her own passport since…since when exactly?

Sir stepped forward and said in a brusque voice, “I’ll take
that.” He grabbed it from the prince’s hand and shoved it into his jacket
pocket. M could feel his anger, though she didn’t understand its source. He
should have been grateful to the prince for finding it before they had to fly.

The prince turned toward M with a smile.

“Mia,” he said. “Such a lovely name.”

Chapter 13

Mia!

Her name was Mia. Mia Roberts, daughter of Bill and Donna
Roberts. All at once, like a blinding flash of light flooding her mind, the
prince’s parting words had illuminated that single, remarkable fact.