Slave Jade (11 page)

She hurried on, not wanting to imply he had mistreated her. “But like you said, there is no Master John. At least not really. There's you. You knew me as Slave Jade, but I'm Lisa. And I thought you were John. Is that your real name?”

She watched the struggle on his face. She knew then John was not his name. Of course it wasn’t. She waited, suddenly deeply curious what it could be. He took a breath and said, “No. It's Gilbert.”

Gilbert. Not John Anderson, with strong handsome features, but Gilbert Nobody, with a mostly forgettable face on an average body. This young man, not much older than she, really had become her world. But not in the way she hoped to convince him. It was her very hatred that burned now, giving her the courage to pretend to a love she didn't feel and would never feel.

Gilbert Nobody had taken her life. Had stolen her life and violated and tried to destroy it. Lisa, who had always had a gentle and forgiving nature, had been twisted open and was forging herself anew, with a strength she didn't know she possessed—hadn't possessed, until fate forced her to fight for her life.

“Gilbert,” she echoed. “What a wonderful name. So unique. Really much better than John. But I'm glad you saved it for me. Let the Internet have Master John, but Gilbert is just for me.”

God. There was no way he would buy this crap. But he seemed to. With the huge ego of the dangerously insecure, Gilbert seemed to be buying what Lisa was hoping so desperately to sell.

~*~

Gilbert watched the TV in the little living room. He was drinking a beer and staring at the screen, but his mind's eye was full of Lisa. It had been a week. It looked like he'd gotten away with it. The news reports of the missing girl had dominated the local newspapers and TV news for several days, but now there were just sporadic reports that the police were continuing to investigate.

He'd been careful. He'd retrieved the car he'd left parked in her lot the night of the abduction right after he'd secured his prey, leaving her unconscious in her bedroom. He'd taken the bus the few short miles to her apartment, and driven his old car safely home, parking it in front of the garage that now held Lisa's Toyota. The only person in Middletown who even knew his real name thought he was back in New Jersey visiting his sick brother. It was as though he didn't exist.

And his whole world was waiting in the other room. It was hard to believe she'd come around so quickly. Not that he necessarily believed she was truly resigned to her fate, but she seemed to be compliant at least. She seemed to understand his inherent superiority and she was gracefully giving in to it.

In time she would come to love him, as he loved her. He would continue to use her harshly, but that was the nature of their relationship. It was what she needed.

Maybe he should let her out of there. At least a little bit. Begin the transition from prisoner and jailer to Master and slave. Give her a chance to show some of her professed submission. Yes, perhaps he'd make some dinner, and have her to the table.

Like a date! Gilbert was excited at the prospect. He would let her shower and then she could join him for pizza and beer. Not exactly a feast, but fine for two lovers just sharing a meal.

He jumped up and went to her door, unlocking it quietly, hoping to surprise her. She stirred in the dark as he entered. He turned on the light and saw her face was flushed with sleep. Really, she didn't have much else to do in there, did she? Maybe he would let her sleep in his room tonight. Not in the bed, of course. She hadn't earned that yet. But perhaps on the floor next to him, or tied and bound at his feet.

“Lisa. Are you hungry?” Had he allowed her to eat today? He couldn't recall. He thought perhaps not.

“Yes, sir,” came a weak voice. He really must be more vigilant about feeding her. He didn’t want her too weak to respond to her training.

“Well, I think you’ve earned a chance to come out today. To eat with me at the table. Would you like that?”

“Oh! Yes, sir! That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She stood, and Gilbert pointed to the floor imperiously, indicating that she should kneel at his feet.

“First, my cock. That can be your appetizer. Suck my cock and if you please me, you can come have some pizza with me, and maybe we'll watch TV.” Lisa knelt, and opened her mouth, running her tongue over her lips in a provocative manner. Gilbert unbuckled his pants and let her take his cock from his underwear with her soft hands.

He moaned with pleasure as she suckled and licked along the shaft, then pulled back and teased the head, circling it with her tongue until he plunged forward, forcing himself down her throat. He held her head and pumped himself in and out of her mouth, gagging her as he held her tight, great handfuls of hair in each fist.

With a cry he ejaculated down her throat, and then held her head close until the shudders of pleasure subsided. He pulled her to her feet and led her out of the room. Pointing toward the bathroom he said, “Five minutes. Have yourself a quick shower.” She hurried to obey him. He entered the bathroom with her, waiting until she was done. He watched her dry her body and towel her hair. He even permitted her to wrap a towel around her slender body as she followed him down the hall and into the living room.

He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but something held him back. She wasn't ready yet for a lover's kiss. She didn't deserve it yet. Instead, he said, “Drop the towel. You know the rules. Naked at all times. Slaves don't deserve clothing, even towels.”

Lisa let the towel fall and goose bumps rose on her damp skin. Gilbert watched her as she looked around, taking in the bulky, dusty furniture, crammed together in the small living room. The rug was worn and stained, the walls covered with peeling wood veneer paneling. Already newspapers and clothing were scattered here and there. The effect was dirty, drab and claustrophobic. For the first time Gilbert suddenly saw his living space through the eyes of someone else, and he was embarrassed.

“This isn’t my stuff,” he blurted, not that his things back in his old apartment had been any better. His embarrassment made him angry, and he pulled roughly on Lisa's arm. “Make yourself useful. Clean this up while I get dinner.” The poor naked girl set to trying to straighten the place. As she picked up some trash near the front door she glanced furtively at Gilbert. He was watching her and she looked quickly down.

If she was thinking about making a run for it, she could think again. The door was chained, bolted and locked. He watched from the corner of his eye as Lisa eased herself nearer the door, pretending to pick up something from the rug. In a moment Gilbert was in the room. “Don't even think about it. It's triple-locked.”

Lisa looked at him and bent quickly. She held up some dirty clothes. “What should I do with these, sir?”

“You can put them by that door there. But you aren't to go in there. You haven't earned the right to see your Master's bedroom yet.” He'd be damned if he'd let her make faces at his unmade bed.

“This is a nice place you have, Gilbert. Have you been here long?” He could hear the saccharine in her tone. He wanted to strike her.

“No questions. I'm already reconsidering about letting you out here, so just keep a lid on it, all right?” Lisa bit her lip and turned away.

Dinner was a silent affair. Gilbert seemed disgruntled and out of sorts. Lisa didn’t dare to say a word. She ate as much as she could, not knowing when her next meal would come. The only beverage offered was beer, and she had two cans, which went straight to her head.

Too full, and dizzy, she wanted to crawl back to her own bed and go back to sleep. She'd taken to sleeping a lot, since there was nothing else to do when she was locked away in the dark. And it saved her from thinking too much. From missing her family and feeling so afraid she sometimes thought she would literally lose her mind.

She thought she should be doing exercises or something, to pass the time and stay in shape, but meals were so sporadic, and she was always so hungry, she decided instead to conserve what energy she could.

But now she was out of the room! That had been her focus for several days. To convince him of her trustworthiness. To make him think she was falling for his sadistic, fucked-up training techniques, and coming to revel in her own submission. Each little ounce of additional freedom was a tiny step, she prayed, toward escape.

It helped that she had corresponded so much with Master John. She had some insight into his mindset, into his sensibility regarding submission and sexual slavery. She tried to remember and to play into that romantic ideal with him, even though the real man, Gilbert Whoever, was so far from that ideal it was pathetic.

She obsessed endlessly over her online affair with the nonexistent John Anderson. How could he have reeled her in so completely? She'd bought it all – the photo of the handsome man, his modest insistence that they explore her sensuality together, that they never speak of meeting, since that might hinder her free exploration. What a crock. What a bastard.

What hurt even more was realizing how misguided she had been to imagine she had really been in love with Master John. Now she knew she'd been in love with an illusion. With an amalgamation of stolen chapters out of D/s books, stolen photos and stolen dreams.

Gilbert Fuckwad was a thief, not only of her body, but of her heart. She had it back, though, make no mistake. She'd buried Master John and though she mourned the passing in a wistful sort of way, it was foolish to rue the loss of what she now realized had never existed. Gilbert hadn't been lying when he'd said Master John was a dream.

And Gilbert was the nightmare.

They finished the last of the pizza and Gilbert said, “Let's watch some TV. I think there's a game on.” He stood and she did too, following him into the living room. He sat on the couch. Lisa started to sit next to him, keenly aware of her own nakedness, wishing she were clothed. Gilbert hardly seemed to notice her. He was turning the channels on the old TV and then he sat back, satisfied with the football game he'd discovered.

“No.” He held his hand palm up toward Lisa as she moved to join him. “You don't sit on the couch. You've had quite enough privilege for one day! You will be my footstool. That will help send you back to that submissive space where you belong, my love. Go on, that's it. Get down on your hands and knees and stay very still. I want a steady footrest.”

Lisa stared at him, trying to force her face into neutral acceptance. Damn, she had thought it was going so well. He had let her out. He had let her eat at the table with him, instead of at his feet. But now he was ordering her to crouch in front of his nasty old couch so he could put his feet on her bare back.

Feeling full for the first time in a while, and out of the little prison, Lisa felt some of her old natural fire coming back to her. She didn't have to put up with this shit. She could probably take this bastard, if she weren't always at such a keen disadvantage

Gilbert was watching her and she had the sudden uneasy feeling he could see into her head. He leaned forward and opened a little drawer that was hidden on the side of the coffee table. With exaggerated care he slowly withdrew a small pistol and held it up, inspecting it, turning it this way and that in the dim light of the room. Terrified, Lisa dropped to the floor and crawled beneath his legs.

“I told you I had a gun, Lisa. So now you know you'd better watch your step, fair one. I don't want to shoot my darling girl, but maybe just in the foot would be a good reminder, without doing too much damage to my property.” Lisa stifled a gasp of fear as she knelt on hands and knees, naked on the pale green carpet that covered the floor.

Gilbert lifted his feet and set them heavily against Lisa's bare back. She felt her face burning with shame. The humiliation of the act was in some ways worse than being tied down and beaten. She was being treated like a piece of furniture.

Hatred rose in a slow burn, coursing up from her gut and rising in her throat like acid. Surreptitiously she watched while he slid the gun back into the table drawer. If she could have gotten a hold of that thing, she knew she'd shoot him dead. No hesitation. She'd never handled a gun before, or even seen one up close. But if she had the chance, she'd kill him.

After several minutes her arms and legs began to tire. Her knees ached with the weight of her body concentrated upon them. She sighed, wondering if she dared ask to be let up. She sensed that Gilbert had retreated somewhat. He seemed emotionally distant, instead of effusive and gushing, as he sometimes was. She wasn't sure which was worse.

Perhaps he was reconsidering having let her out and letting her eat at his table. He wasn't comfortable with that degree of equality. It was clear he’d been embarrassed about the dump he lived in. But she would be the one to pay for his shame. She was paying now.

After perhaps thirty minutes Lisa's muscles would no longer cooperate and she began to tremble, her arms close to giving out. Gilbert shifted his legs heavily against her. “Stay still, slave. You made me spill my beer.”