Forced Submission (19 page)

She had a name.

It was hours before M, no, before
Mia
, dared to look
at the scrap of paper she had kept clutched tightly in her hand during the
brief drive to the dock, the boat ride to the mainland and the taxi ride to the
airport. She could feel Sir’s anger radiating from his body beside her, and she
stayed as still and silent as she could, hoping to avoid stoking that anger any
further. All the while the unread message burned in her palm with a secret,
urgent heat.

Finally they boarded the small jet that would return them to
New York and the confines of Sir’s home, with its locked doors, its cameras and
its cages. M was silently grateful when the flight attendant asked her if she’d
like to use the facilities before buckling in for takeoff.

Mia glanced toward Sir for approval, praying he wouldn’t
make her go directly to her seat. He nodded curtly, and she hurried into the
little bathroom, sliding the lock home. Lifting her dress, she sat on the
toilet and uncurled her fingers slowly, revealing the now crumpled, sweaty bit
of paper on the palm of her hand.

You are not alone. You have but to reach out your hand
and the prince will come for you.
[email protected]
. We will be
waiting for you, Mia, sister of my heart. Zahara

Mia read the words several times over, though from the first
read they had been instantly and permanently inscribed in her heart. Then she
dropped the paper into the toilet and flushed it away.

Once they were airborne the flight attendant, this one named
Oliver, bustled around them, bringing fresh fruit and croissants and little
sandwiches in an assorted variety, along with sparkling water and champagne.
M’s appetite, which had been dulled by the months of deprivation in Sir’s care,
had been reawakened on the prince’s island, and she ate eagerly of everything
offered, enjoying the still-novel sensation of feeding herself.

Sir was quiet through the long hours of the flight. Keenly
attuned to his every mood as she was, Mia understood he was still furious over
leaving without Zahara, and she knew she would be made to pay for this when
they returned home.

At one point when Ellis was dozing beside her, Oliver
approached to see if they needed more pillows, and for a crazy moment Mia
almost pleaded, “Help me.” But as the words bubbled up, Sir stirred and
muttered in his sleep, and the bubbles popped, leaving her mute, her heart
smashing against her ribs.

What was she even thinking? She belonged to Sir. She was his
possession, to be used in whatever way pleased him. Her duty was to submit with
grace and without hesitation. To deny him was to disobey, and to disobey was to
suffer. Sir had told her many, many times that slaves don’t have or deserve a
name. As Mia struggled to calm her racing heart, her mantra ran through her
mind, the words as familiar and comforting as a prayer:
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.

Mia was the name she
used
to have, before Sir had
claimed her body and soul.

But not her heart.

Mia, sister of my heart.

To Zahara and to the prince, she still had a name. Mia. Her
name was Mia.

Mia glanced at Sir, who was awake now, and watching something
on the small TV console in front of him. She realized she was gripping the arms
of her seat so hard her knuckles were white. The dangerous, disloyal thoughts
whirling through her brain were at once terrifying and exhilarating. She felt
as if she were poised on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall…

Or to fly?

~*~

The morning after their return Ellis lay in his bed, hands
behind his head, pondering the disastrous trip to Africa. He picked up his
smart phone and clicked on the surveillance program, scrolling to the camera
view of the dungeon, where M had spent the night. She lay on her side on the
floor, a strip of duct tape over her mouth, her hands cuffed behind her back,
her ankles bound together with rope.

When they’d arrived home late last night, he’d hauled her
directly to the dungeon. There he’d ripped that stupid turban from her head and
cut the dress from her otherwise naked body with his pocket knife while she
stood trembling, her eyes wide with fear. He’d forced her into the stocks and
given her several sharp whacks with the cane, two of which drew blood. After
fucking her hard and fast from behind to relieve his tension, he’d left the
girl in the stocks for an hour while he’d gotten himself something to eat and
taken a quick shower.

It was good to be home. So good.

Never again would Ellis make the mistake of taking M out of
the house, much less out of the country. They’d been gone less than a week, but
he had no way of gauging the extent of the damage those damn foreigners had
done to the delicate psyche of his slave. He’d seethed over the whole mess all
the way home, doubly frustrated that he couldn’t do a thing to M with that
fucking flight attendant breathing down their necks.

It had been bad enough that M had to sit beside him as if
she were his equal, instead of kneeling on the floor beside him as suited a
proper slave. At least on the flight to Africa she’d been silent and still—the
docile, obedient slave girl he’d worked so hard to train.

But on the flight home something was definitely not right.
He’d felt her agitation and it had infuriated him. She kept stealing glances at
him and fidgeting in her seat. This time there was no hesitation or silent plea
for permission when their meals were served. She’d used the utensils as if they
belonged in her hands, shoveling food in her mouth like a greedy little pig.
She’d even looked boldly in the flight attendant’s face when he’d spoken to
her. Ellis had had to clench his hands in his lap to keep from backhanding the
little cunt for such insolence.

It was quite obvious her serene acceptance of her place as
his slave girl had been badly ruffled by the experience of traveling and most
especially by interacting with those damn women while not in his presence. He
would have to dramatically step up the training, now that they were home again.
He would take her even deeper this time. He would make absolutely sure the girl
forgot all about the world outside the confines of the only place she belonged.
He would snuff out for good the spark of light he’d seen flare in M’s eyes when
that arrogant prick of a prince had so casually dropped her name.

Mia. What a lovely name.

Asshole.

During the flight Ellis had grilled M endlessly on every
detail of her time away from him while they were on the island, and while she
swore upside down and sideways that she’d kept to the script they’d rehearsed,
it was clear she’d done
something
that made the fucking holier-than-thou
prince asshole refuse to sell that hot little piece of ass Ellis had so
coveted.

And for that M would be punished.

Ellis rose from the bed. He started to head into the
bathroom to piss, but suddenly had a better idea. He strode into the dungeon to
where M lay like a trussed up pig and kicked her sharply in the side with his
toe. “Wake up.”

Her eyes flew open. Ellis knelt beside her and unknotted the
rope from her ankles. He pulled her upright without removing the cuffs that
kept her arms bound behind her back. He hauled her to her feet and slipped the
choke collar around her neck, pulling it tight as he jerked her forward.

She was breathing hard through her nose, her mouth still
covered in silver tape. She stumbled after him as he strode through the hall
toward his bedroom. He pulled her along to the bathroom and lifted her into the
empty bathtub. He removed the choke collar from around her neck and dropped it
and the leash to the floor beside the tub.

Without preamble, he grabbed one corner of the sticky tape
and jerked it away, leaving an angry red rectangle around her mouth. M
screamed, tears filling her eyes. Ellis slapped her face. “Silence,” he roared.
“Not a fucking sound.”

Her cries subsided into whimpers as he pushed her shoulder,
forcing her to her knees. “Open your mouth wide and keep it open.” Ellis took
hold of his cock, which was hard, not only because it was morning and he had to
piss, but because of how hot M looked, naked and trembling, her eyes filled
with tears and terror. Power-lust exploded in his loins, and he felt like a
god.

It took a moment and some angling for the stream to flow, but
when it did, it arced in a hot, golden shower, splashing into his slave girl’s
open mouth. Ha! Ellis bet that little cunt, Zahara, wouldn’t be able to handle
her Master’s piss. Whatever damage had been done, it appeared M was still his
obedient slave girl, and this realization thrilled Ellis to his bones.

As the urine poured into her mouth M began to choke, but to
her credit she maintained her position, mouth opened wide, until he was done.
Leaning down, Ellis turned on the cold water, picked up the handheld showerhead
and aimed the spray at M’s face and body. When he had drenched her, he said,
“Get up and turn around.”

The shivering girl rose awkwardly without the use of her
hands, but managed to do as he ordered. There were five stripes on her ass from
last night’s caning, two of them crusted with a thin line of blood. He aimed
the water at her ass and she jerked, crying out as the icy water made contact
with the welts.

Satisfied M was clean enough for his purposes, Ellis shut
off the water. He released M’s cuffs and tossed a towel in her direction. “Dry
off. Hurry up.” He waited impatiently while she rubbed at her body with the
towel. After a moment he reached down for the choke collar. He slipped it over
her head and pulled it tight.

He jerked her along to the dungeon and had her stand in the
center of the room beneath the sturdy suspension rack that hung from the
ceiling. “Arms over your head,” he ordered. He attached her wrist cuffs to the
chains and ratcheted them until she was nearly on tiptoe. Going to the
wardrobe, he returned with a pair of six-inch heels, which he forced onto her
feet.

The gold hoops glinted at her nipples. She should be
sufficiently healed now from the piercings to handle what he planned for her.

“Please, Sir,” M ventured, her voice timid, “may I speak?”

“You may,” Ellis replied, feeling magnanimous.

“I’m so thirsty, Sir. May I please have some water?
Something to eat?” Her huge eyes were pleading in her narrow face.

“You just had my piss, M. Surely that’s enough for an obedient
slave girl. And you’ll have my come later. Plenty of protein there.” Ellis
smiled cruelly. “Meanwhile, you need to be put on a strict diet. We have to
work off all that fat you put back on during our trip.” In truth, she was as
thin as she ever was, her collarbone and hip bones jutting against her pale
skin, but the memory of her stuffing her face on the plane still rankled.

A single tear rolled down’s M’s cheek, but she wisely said
no more.

Ellis moved toward the toy cabinet and selected two long thin
chains with clips on both ends, and the long-handled single tail with which he
would cover her body in lovely red welts. He planned to pay special attention
to her breasts.

Grabbing the stepstool, he returned to M. He clipped the
chains to her nipple rings, her startled, fearful cries as he pulled the chains
taut going straight to his cock, which was already hard as a rock. He stepped
onto the stool, lifting both nipple chains and securing their other ends to the
suspension bar.

He climbed down from the stool and moved it aside. Stepping
back, he admired his handiwork and sighed with pleasure. M was sheer perfection
in her stiletto heels, shapely legs spread wide to reveal the sweet cleft of
her waxed cunt, her nipples tugged upward by the hoops attached to the chains,
her shaved head a constant testament to his absolute power.

Ellis stroked his erection, wondering how long he could hold
out before he had to fuck her. He felt a rush of something almost like love as
he regarded the girl who stood before him, chained and utterly at his mercy.
“Tell me,” he breathed, moving closer to stroke her cheek tenderly. “Who do you
belong to?”

“You, Sir,” M murmured faintly.

“And what am I?”

“You are the Master of my body and soul.”

“What do I allow you?”

“You allow me to serve you.”

“And who do you live for?”

“I live for you, Sir.”

“And without me, M—without me, what would happen to you?”

“Without you, Sir, I would die.”

“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.” He raised the whip
and flicked his wrist, his cock pulsing in time to M’s throaty cries.

~*~

M opened her eyes, trying to see in the pitch dark. She was
curled inside the punishment cage, locked in the closet. The air was hot and
close, and she thought she heard something small skittering away into a corner.
Shuddering, she curled tighter into herself and rocked slowly in an effort to
calm herself.

As she came fully awake, the dozens of small welts that
covered her ass, stomach, thighs and breasts came awake as well, stinging and
throbbing. Sir had kept her chained and standing in those awful shoes for what
seemed like hours, whipping, caning and paddling her until she sagged in her
chains, her body bathed in sweat. Each time she jerked, the hoops through her
nipples pulled and twisted, and she’d been terrified they might be torn all the
way out if she moved too suddenly. She’d tried her best to remain still, no
matter how hard the paddle crashed into her, or how much the stingy whips
lashed her skin.

When he’d finally let her down, he’d forced her to kneel as
he held her face in his hard hands and slid his huge erection roughly in and
out of her mouth. At least all she’d had to do then was stay still, her jaws
opened wide. She’d been too exhausted and frightened to slip away in her mind
to that calm, peaceful place she’d used to go to so easily during the worst of
the torture. Instead she’d remained staunchly in the present while Sir fucked
her face, every inch of her flesh on fire from the protracted whipping. When
he’d finally come, she’d made sure to swallow every drop, aware it might be the
only sustenance she got until Sir was satisfied she’d suffered enough.