Marked for Surrender
Loose Id, LLC
www.loose-id.com
Copyright ©2011
First published in 2011
Loose Id Titles by Jennifer Leeland
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"Do you want me?” Andia's lips brushed the shell of her slave's ear. He would beg. She could tell by the desperate sheen that covered his watery blue eyes. What a difference a few months made. The confident, demanding man who had defied her at first now groveled, his fingers clutching air.
"Yes, yes!” he screamed and strained at the restraints on his wrists.
He was naked, his once proud, muscular body leaner and less impressive. His silver gray hair was long and stringy. The process of being at the mercy of Andia Cyrus had changed him inside and out. He had been a dominant, a man who abused his power over others and ended up at the conclave to become a mistress's toy.
Step by step, Andia had brought him to the brink of insanity, always testing him, always breaking him. Now he was no longer a dominant, sexually or otherwise. He was neutered, controlled by her.
This moment should have been her triumph, a rush. Instead, it fell flat. But she had to break the man, emasculate him for the good of society. “Then make the promise."
He whimpered. She crowded him, and he shrank away as far as the restraints would allow, but his cock strained toward her. Helpless against the wall, he had nowhere to hide when she pressed closer. The heat from his body brushed over her skin, but she wouldn't touch him. Not until it was time.
"Say it. Say the words. ‘I will never endanger another human being again. If I do, I will slit my throat.’”
"I will never endanger another human being again. If I do, I will slit my throat.” Suicide was something this man viewed as a weakness. Using that as leverage, she'd caught him in a web of need versus resistance. Over and over, they had covered this ground and she'd hammered away at him, demanding his admission. Once he'd fought, resisted. But all his fight was long gone.
An agonized groan tore from the man's throat. “I promise. Please. Let me come."
"Say the words,” she snapped, her voice hard. Sympathy? She had none.
"I promise I will never endanger another human being again,” he said and then swallowed. “If I do, I will slit my throat.” He slumped in his restraints, and she stroked his dick with her fingers. His cock was a beast that was tamed, primed by her. He sobbed, a pathetic sound that didn't even touch her. “Please, Mistress. Let me come."
She pressed a button, and a high-pitched sound reverberated off the stone walls. Her slave froze. She nodded. He would be no problem now. The process had worked, the new sound a weapon to keep the man in line. Like the ancient Pavlov's dogs from Old Earth, this man would crumble when that certain tone was used within his hearing.
Saliva slid from his mouth, and she took pity on him. “You may come."
She stepped away, removing her touch, and his release dribbled down his thighs. By the time she turned toward the door, his orgasm was spent, and he sobbed, hanging in his restraints. She spared him a backward glance. His crime had been heinous, the betrayal of planetary secrets to the Blueshift Brotherhood, and he'd taken her over a year to finally break.
But now he was broken.
"You're going to replace me now, aren't you?” He whined as she opened the heavy door with her key.
Why did they always whine?
When the prisoners arrived, the criminals all knew why they were there and what would happen. There were no secrets in the conclave. A man arrived a dominant and left broken, punished. That was the process. Yet at the end, each man thought he was special.
She turned and stared at him. When he cringed, she curled her lip. “I won't even remember your name."
His sobs followed her through the door and into the corridor. She gritted her teeth. The job was getting to her. Of course, she hadn't left Muan Conclave in three years. Every Mistress was allowed two weeks every year to visit the outside world. A vacation from the stress of the job.
But the loneliness Andia felt was exacerbated by her “vacations,” so she stopped taking them. Now, even her job felt lonely. There had once been satisfaction in meting out justice to those who abused their power. There had been a sense of connection to her slaves based entirely on the adrenaline of a good session.
That was all gone now.
Perhaps it was the time of year, but her mind immediately rejected that thought. This feeling of loneliness had been going on for much longer. Most Mistresses took lovers, sometimes with each other, but Andia seemed incapable of that sort of commitment.
She sighed and entered her quarters. Other than her brief, businesslike visits to the council, her contact with the outside world was her elaborate computer system. Her fingers shook, a sure sign she needed some downtime, as she placed her earpiece in. She booted up her computer, and the actions of accessing her favorite news sites calmed her lacerated nerves.
A notification message pinged on the screen.
It was impossible to believe. However, there it was. Notification that her cousin, Kent Cyrus, had passed away with no children. She was the last of her line. Her stomach rolled, and her heart sank.
The last.
It shouldn't bother her. She was content, wasn't she? She glanced around her quarters. A Mistress was allowed anything she wanted at the conclave. Anything but freedom. Muan Conclave was isolated, as many of the conclaves were, but Andia had always liked the solitude. Lately though, she'd been lonely and restless. The other two Mistresses who were employed here were gone for the holidays, which exacerbated Andia's sense of emptiness.
She had no family to visit, no friends to spend the holiday with, and no one she belonged to. She shifted in her chair and focused on the screen again. Perhaps her cousin's death wouldn't have shocked her if her family hadn't been wiped out by the Blueshift Brotherhood. Kent's death meant she had no one at all who cared whether she lived or died.
Abruptly she exited the program and rose from her desk. The window offered no comfort either. Snow covered every inch of the mountainside where the conclave perched on a cliff. The tree line, several miles down the steep slope, showed only glimpses of green.
And it was Christmas.
Memories of good times with her family always bothered her this time of year. Before the Brotherhood had killed them, her parents and two brothers had been a circle of love for her. Their Christmases were traditional, complete with an evergreen tree and silly, red stockings. Presents were exchanged, and laughter and music filled the rooms of their home.
When was the last time Andia had celebrated anything? Her job was her life, as it was for any good Mistress. What did she want? To be in normal Nyral society, where female dominance was an aberration? At least here, she could exercise the full extent of her power. Here she was Mistress Andia, the “Ball Breaker."
Andia closed her eyes and touched her forehead to the cold glass of her window. It had been twenty-three years since the senseless slaughter of her family as they slumbered on a happy Christmas Eve. When the Blueshift Brotherhood murdered her parents and her brothers, Andia's whole world had shattered.
She should have died too, except that she'd been at a weekend Christmas party at a girlfriend's house. Parties still made her nauseous. Notified by a soldier, Andia would forever associate that moment with the smell of apple cider and cinnamon. Much of the time after her family's death was a blur. She'd stayed with her aunt and cousin, but they had never accepted her or loved her. Why should they? They didn't know her.
The following year, she had reached puberty, and the Nyral council ordered her tested. Was her dominance a result of the tragedy? Or had she always been that way? She shook her head. It didn't matter. The conclaves gave her something she'd lost: home and family. Or at least something warmer than her aunt had offered her.
The rest of her life was filled with loneliness and work. Other Mistresses were able to find connections with each other. Some were just cruel and enjoyed the torment they inflicted. But Andia had been special.
As she contemplated the snow, its pristine surface smooth and unmarred, she realized she was like that layer of ice. On the surface, Andia Cyrus was an unwritten page, and beneath the blanket of snow was a teaming flurry of life in stasis, just waiting for the ice to thaw to break out and live.
Her specialty as a Mistress was as a chameleon, changing her method to suit the criminal. There were the men who had grasped power through manipulation. She broke them by playing their game but by her rules. Most of them hadn't even realized they weren't in control until it was too late.
Then there were the violent men, the aggressors who pushed and bullied their way through life. These prisoners, she stripped them psychologically until they were completely exposed. Men like the general, who had betrayed so many, who had used people to work hand in hand with the Blueshift Brotherhood, were tougher. Those men believed in their mistaken cause and hated anyone who obstructed them.
Yet Andia had broken them all. Some had left the conclave better men. Some never left, preferring to take their own lives rather than live with their brokenness.
Maybe it was this last batch of clients. She snorted. Clients. They were traitors. Andia knew she was sent these men for two reasons: she was the most effective Mistress in the southern region of Nylar, and she hated the Blueshift Brotherhood.
Politics had required her to be circumspect with her opinions. Her vigorous work had made many believe she hated men, hated weakness, and tormented for her own gratification.
Andia didn't dispute the charges. It made those sent to her break quicker if they believed the lies about her. Let them think she would prefer the soft brush of a woman's pussy than a man's dick.
The truth was more complex and less appealing. What she wanted was unattainable. Though she knew there were men who loved to submit, she knew they would never love her, never find her. The men sent to her were men who grasped power for themselves. The men she met on her infrequent forays out in the world were all too familiar with her name and her reputation.
She pushed away from the window. Acceptance was the only way to survive, and she had to accept her fate. She would live and die alone as a Mistress and an asset to the council. When the time came and she could no longer do her job, she would serve as a Mistress Elder to test young Nylar girls.
Then death would come, and she'd welcome it.
Nice thoughts to have around the holidays.
