Slave Jade (10 page)

Trying to keep the waver from her voice, she answered, “Yes, sir. I'll try to be ready, sir. I know this is what I need.”

He stared at her a moment, his gaze piercing. There was a curious expression on his face, almost loving, she would have thought. If such a man is capable of love. She thought for one aching moment he might let her down.

Instead, he said, “Today we move to a new level, my darling. Where pain isn’t merely a means to an end, but the end itself. I'm going to transport you to that special place where submissives can go, when they truly relinquish control and release themselves to their Master.”

Lisa froze, horror falling over her like a shroud.

Master John.

Those were his words. Not just similar, or familiar. Those were his exact words, written to her in an email once after an intense online game they had played. She had thought about it a lot, and he had even referred her to several testimonials on blogs written by submissives who had entered a kind of trance state during especially heated sessions, transported by the heady mixture of pleasure and pain, administered by a loving Dom.

She didn't dare to move, though her mind was reeling. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe this guy and Master John read the same books on the
Art of Dominance
, or some such thing? Now that she was focused in this direction, she remembered several times when words he'd said seemed familiar somehow, when ideas he'd presented seemed to strike a familiar chord.

And his knowledge of her had seemed to exceed anything he could have gathered from stalking her or going through her purse. Still her mind rejected the premise forming inexorably there.

Master John? Her beloved but elusive Master John? What they had was so special, so unique. Could this monstrous man really be he? John Anderson was a professor in New Jersey. He was so private he wouldn’t even talk on the phone. He was older and looked nothing like this pasty-faced boy.

Or did he? Who really knew the first thing about anyone online? What was to stop the person who called himself Master John from really being a younger man, who had downloaded some model's picture off the web? Didn't women do that all that time? Why not men?

But Master John was so different from this creep. Lisa felt an actual ache in her heart. The sheer betrayal was more than she could bear. More memories flooded into her mind. Master John’s seemingly innocent inquiry as to where she lived. Even having her call him, and then conveniently not being there.
Of course
he’d had Caller ID, the lying fuck.

Jesus
, she’d given him her name, her phone number and where she lived. She might as well have sent him the key to her apartment while she was at it.

Tears of shame and loss pricked her eyelids. Master John was dying in her mind, and it was as painful as if her real lover had been ripped from her arms and murdered in cold blood while she watched.

A sinister certainty flooded through Lisa like an intravenous infusion. She felt sick with it, as if she would fall to the floor and convulse with her new knowledge.

The chains held her up. Whoever the man was behind her, he still had her under his control. Thought flew from her head as the supple rod sliced through the air and landed on her ass, cutting her flesh. She screamed. Any poetic longing for a man who had probably never existed was wiped out in that instant of blinding heat.

Again a stroke of fire seared her flesh, the blow delivered just above the first cut. Lisa sagged heavily against the door. She felt sick and her ears were ringing. She knew she was fainting and she was glad of it. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness take her.

She came to on the mattress. She was lying on her stomach. Master John or whoever in hell he was, sat beside her. She felt his fingers moving along the welts he'd raised with the cane.

“You passed out. It was too much for you, poor girl. We’ll have to practice every day so you can get used to it. You have two beautiful welts. I only drew a little blood. Next time I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Lisa lay still, hiding her head in the crook of her arm.

He stroked her back. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “It was our first time. You’ll learn grace. I'll teach you to take the cane for me. Would you like that, darling? To take it for me?”

Forcing herself to look at him, hiding the murderous rage in her heart, Lisa nodded, biting her lips, biding her time.

He didn’t trust her. Not yet. Yes, they were making headway, but her docility could just be a ruse, a way to make him lower his guard. He was nobody’s fool. Still, it was thrilling to hear her say, “Yes, sir,” in that deep, smooth sexy voice of hers.

He wanted to reward her for her newfound obedience. After her morning birth control pill, he made her a nice breakfast of bacon and toast. He liked feeding her with his fingers, feeling her warm, soft lips and tongue as she took the food.

Now he had decided to give her a bath. She knelt on the floor while he filled the tub with hot water, pouring in two capfuls of bath oil.

When the tub was full, he held her arm as she climbed into the bathtub. She sank back into the warm water, wincing slightly, no doubt from the welts he’d raised. His cock hardened at the beautiful sight of her, her breasts jutting just above the waterline, the nipples rising in the cool air.

He didn’t let her wash herself. He liked the feeling of taking care of her. “Wet your hair,” he ordered. “I’ll wash it for you.” Lisa obeyed, dipping her head back into the water. Gilbert squirted shampoo into his hand and lathered her thick, soft hair. He would have to buy her conditioner. Girls liked that sort of thing. He made a mental note for next time he went shopping.

He turned on the faucet, using the clear water to rinse her hair. Lisa remained silent and compliant as he bathed her. Using a washcloth, he soaped her underarms and pussy. She actually blushed as he rubbed her cunt, which he found delightful.

She pressed her lips together and looked away. Good. She was learning. He had her put her hands on the top of her head. Carefully he drew the razor under her arms until they were smooth. She stayed very still while he did this, and happily he didn’t nick her.

Next he focused on her legs. He had her lift them one at a time onto the edge of the tub. He squirted some of the bath oil over them to make them slick for the razor. In long, smooth strokes he scraped the stubble from her shapely calves. Jesus, she was lovely.

He realized his cock was cramping painfully in his jeans. “Get out. Bath’s over,” he informed her. As she climbed out, he shucked his clothing and pushed her roughly to the floor. “Get on your hands and knees. Reach back and open your cunt for me.”

He knelt behind her, admiring the two welts he’d raised, still a dark, angry pink against her soft, pale flesh. He spit on his cock to lubricate it before entering her. Someday his slave girl would always be wet for him. Maybe someday soon.

He groaned with pleasure as he entered her silky heat. Grabbing her hips, he thrust hard against her. “Move,” he ordered. “Fuck my cock. Come on, slut. Do it.” She began to move against him, her wet body slippery beneath his fingers.

All too quickly he shot his load, grunting as he collapsed against her, pinning her beneath him as they fell. He pulled away from her, wiping his cock on a towel. She lay where she’d fallen, her dark wet hair spilling around her.

He knew as he stared down at her he would never let her go.

~*~

This time he chained her to the wall above her mattress. Instead of standing, he forced her to kneel on the bed, her ass thrust out, her legs spread. The welts were still there from the last caning, but they had faded and mostly healed, leaving pale purple marks.

He stood to the side of her, smoothing her ass and thighs with his hands. “Count for me,” he said.

She knew it was no use to beg for mercy. This was going to happen. There was no way around it. “One!” she screamed, as the cane found its mark. “Two!” Pain bloomed through her nerve endings. She jerked uselessly against her chains. “Three!” This one landed across the backs of both thighs, the tip wrapping slightly around her leg with the force of the blow.

“Give into the pain. Take it. You need it. If you could see yourself, slave girl. You look incredible with those marks. My marks.” He slid a hand between her spread legs, reaching from behind to fondle her sex. He rubbed against her clit, then spit on his fingers and rubbed again. Desperate to stave off another blow, Lisa pressed against his fingers, encouraging him.

He laughed softly. “My little slut. You want it, huh? You want my cock.”

“Yes, sir,” she lied. Though if she had to choose cock or the cane, she’d take cock.

He wasn’t done, though. She heard the slice of the cane the split second before it cut into her. He struck her several more times in succession. She was breathing heavily, too far into the pain even to cry out. Sweat was pouring down her sides and she didn't hear the man's words, though she was dimly aware he was talking. Her entire world was focused on where the next searing line of fire would strike. She was beyond counting, and he didn't seem to care.

The air felt cold against her flesh as the sweat dried. Lisa was still chained to the wall, and her back, ass and thighs were crisscrossed with lines of fire. Her head was down on her chest, but she could feel him fumbling at her wrists. She fell forward as he released the cuffs from the chain. He caught her and lay her down on the mattress.

Lisa was limp as a rag doll while he smoothed a salve into the welts he himself had raised. She found herself grateful for his gentle and soothing touch. Wait a minute—how could she be grateful to the very man who had inflicted the wounds in the first place? What was happening to her? Was she losing her mind? Would he overcome her at last—turning her into a compliant and willing slave, not out of love, but out of sheer exhaustion?

Even with these thoughts, barely articulated, swirling through her consciousness, another thought, a tiny voice but an insistent one, shouted, no! This man would not break her down. This man would not control her spirit, even if he could force her body to obey. She would get out of this somehow. Or she would die trying.

For now though, all she wanted was to be left alone.

~*~

“Don't go,” Lisa entreated. She held his arm, her eyes imploring. He had just fucked her, doggie style, and then spanked her ass till it was rosy red, his hands alternately hitting and smoothing her as she lay prostrate across his lap, his semen dripping from her pussy.

He stopped, waiting with a raised eyebrow. She had spoken out of turn and afraid he'd realize it, she rushed on, “I mean, sir, with your permission, I wish you could stay with me a little longer. I miss you when you're gone. You’re my world now. My entire world. When you're gone, it's so empty for me.”

There. She'd practiced that speech, and now she'd delivered it. He hadn't interrupted her, as she'd been afraid he might, or forbidden her to speak at all.

He stared at her. She was counting on his sizable ego to aid him in believing that the transformation was complete. He had his slave girl, humble and in love, craving his attentions, however cruel or demeaning.

“You want me to stay?”

She nodded. “Jade,” he whispered, nuzzling her hair.

She didn't move or indicate she'd even heard him. Was he aware of the slip? Perhaps he didn't care at this point. He had what he wanted. Who cared if she had figured it out? But if nothing else her suspicions were now confirmed, and her resolve was that much stronger.

He wouldn't get away with this.

“You know, we never really talk, you and me. Do you think we could ever talk? Maybe you could tell me your name? So I could have a name to dream about at night when you're not here?”

“You want to talk? About what?”

“Well,” she went on, charm cranked on high, “back in my other life, before you found me,” she almost stumbled over the false words, but kept going, knowing her life depended on it, “I used to go online.”

He was still, listening. “And there was this guy? Well, I didn't know his real name, but he was the most amazing man. I mean, he was a lot like you, actually. His online name was Master John.”

“Go on.” His expression was flat, unreadable.

“He was so amazing. He taught me so much about submission, and D/s. But I had no idea it could be so exciting in real life! I had no idea that my own submissive nature could have been brought out like this. By you.”

She stopped, not sure where to go with this, or if she was laying it on too thick. Now she'd brought up Master John. How would he react?

“Online has nothing to do with real life,” he retorted. “Master John doesn't exist. Master John is a dream. But you know that, don't you. You've figured it out. Haven't you, Slave Jade?”

Lisa's stomach dropped. Shit! How did he know? She paused, a dozen scenarios flitting by her brain as she desperately tried to determine how to play this. Was it a good or a bad thing that he was on to her? How could she turn it to her advantage? How could she continue to sway him, to convince him she was submitting to his will?

Not sure what would happen next, working off sheer instinct, she dared to wrap her arms around his neck. He didn’t push her away, nor did he embrace her.

Nuzzling against it, she breathed, “Then it’s true! I was hoping! I was hoping you and Master John were one and the same. That would make me so happy!”

He pursed his lips and looked at her hard and long. Lisa looked back at him, opening her eyes wide, hoping she was projecting an image of innocence and longing. Slowly the man smiled. “When did it come to you?”

“It was your words. The turn of phrase.” This was true enough. If only she could successfully embellish the truth and convince the beast he was her beauty. “You’re so masterful with your words. You reminded me of him, and then I started thinking about it. I've had a lot of time to think, you know.” Her words, with just a hint of reproach, were punctuated by her looking around the tiny room that had been her life for these past days, with only the occasional visit to the bathroom for a quick shower or bath.