A Calling to Thrall

A Calling to Thrall

A Thrall Series Short Story

Jena Cryer

A CALLING TO THRALL

Copyright 2013 by Jena Cryer

Smashwords Edition

Cover design by Jena Cryer

Cover art stolbik84

The characters and events in this work are
fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
coincidental and not intended by the author.

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Copyright

One

Two

Three

Four

Author’s
Note

An excerpt from HIS BLACK
PEARL

About the
Author

His hands are rough.

He holds me like he owns me. With his every thrust
he digs deeper, farther inside me, and all I want to do is beg for
more, but my gag keeps me mute.

Don't stop. Please don't stop
.

I'm on knees. His fingers dig into my thighs. He
spreads my legs wider and plows into me almost harder than even I
can bear. My back arches. I gasp for breath. Every nerve in my body
is overloaded. Electric heat rolls through my innards as I pant
harder, faster.

“She's a good fit, isn't she?”

My master stands in front of me. He strokes my cheek
while his guest takes me from behind.

“She's not bad,” the stranger says. “How old is she?
Twenty-three? Twenty-five?”

“She'll be twenty-eight this March,” Master tells
him. “I bought her nearly ten years ago, but she's held up
remarkably well.”

Master slips off my gag, and my breaths come out
loud and lustful. The stranger quickens his tempo. Master's hands
caress my breasts. His fingers pinch my hardened nipples. Pain and
pleasure mix into the sweetest cocktail I've ever tasted, and I
scream to the heavens as I feel the stranger's seed shoot through
me.

“Good girl,” the stranger gives my rump a playful
swat, and I quickly turn to clean his cock while my master offers
to make him a drink.

“You could have one just like her, you know,” Master
tells him. “If you have what we're looking for, that is.”

I latch my mouth around the stranger's cock. It
twitches as my tongue slowly circles his head.

“And just what are you looking for?”

My master chuckles. “An artist's touch, Mr. Mason.
Make no mistake, it wasn't luck that brought you to our attention.
I've seen your work. You're very good at what you do.”

I suckle Mr. Mason's cock harder. His seed is
strong, salty, and I can already feel more building as I slip my
lips up and down his shaft over and over and over...

“I'm just a psychologist,” Mr. Mason says. “My kind
is a dime a dozen.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Master tells
him. “I've read your theories on behavioral modification, and
they're quite fascinating. I'd love to see them put into
practice.”
Mr. Mason tenses. His cock slides down the back of my throat, and
slowly he loosens up.

“No one back home approves of my methods,” he
says.

I can practically hear the smile in my master's
voice. “But we aren't in the states, Mr. Mason. Thrall is an
isolated and independent nation. We refuse to restrain any
independent thought...at least by our citizens.”

“And I take it this isn't a citizen?”

Mr. Mason's hand falls on my head, and I lean into
his touch.

“Thrall was founded on the principle of male
dominance. Our women are here for our pleasure and our pleasure
alone. They have no rights, no voice, and no power. If you're
offended by that notion, I'm afraid our business is over.”

“I never said I had a problem with the arrangement.
I just wanted to get it straight first.”

Mr. Mason's fingers twine through my hair. He pulls
me closer. His shaft slides smoothly inside me until my lips press
against his balls.

“I didn't think you would,” Master tells him. “I
like to think of myself as a good judge of character, and I can
tell you'll fit in well here.”

Mr. Mason pumps harder into my mouth. His balls slap
my chin. He comes in an explosion of heat that sweeps down my
throat, straight through to the core of my being, and I lean back
to lap at his cock just as I’ve been trained.

“Would you believe she was a virgin when she first
came here?” Master asks Mr. Mason. “My little Leeta used to shiver
every time she saw a cock, and now she's the best pet I've ever
owned.”

“She's very well trained,” Mr. Mason says. “Quite
enthusiastic.”

“As any good house pet should be.” Master strokes my
hair, and I moan. “Make no mistake, Mr. Mason, I'm not asking you
to break these girls. I merely want you to reform them. Society has
corrupted their minds. They need to be shown what their true place
is. Only then can they find peace like my Leeta has.”

Mr. Mason's lips quirk into a half-smile. “So I
should consider this a humanitarian effort?”

“You can think of it however you like as long as you
get results.”

“My results will depend on what I'm given to work
with. I don't expect you'd have invited me here if all your women
behaved like this one.”

Master chuckles. “I do believe I’m beginning to like
you, Mr. Mason.”

He snaps his fingers, and I’m at his side in an
instant. With practiced ease, he clips the leash to my collar and
orders me to heel.

“Now if you’ll follow me.” Master rises to his feet.
“I’ll introduce you to your first project.”

Her tanned legs glisten with sweat. Perfectly
pendulous breasts sway as she prowls the corral. The tiny hoops
hanging from her dark, round nipple sparkle in the sunlight.

I crawl beside my master. He keeps me on a leash
mainly out of habit now. He knows I won't run from him. He knows I
can't. I haven't walked on two legs in so many years I don't think
I can even remember how. Still, my leash is a symbol of his control
over me, of his domination, and I've long since stopped questioning
any of his methods.

Ten years, he said. I've been here ten years, but it
might as well have been a lifetime. My collar is practically a
second skin now, and the thought of wearing clothing—did I ever
really wear clothes, or was that just some abominable dream?—sends
shivers coursing down my spine.

Master orders me to sit beside the gate, and I watch
as he and Mr. Mason approach the girl inside.

“She's what we refer to as a ponygirl,” Master says.
“Only she's a bit reluctant to accept the role.”

The girl's arms are strapped behind her back. She
chews at her bit and whines as she dances around the paddock in her
thin, hoof-shaped boots. With every step Master takes towards her,
she takes two more back until finally her bare ass is pressed
against the gate in front of me.

Between her cheeks hangs a long, brown horse hair
tail.

“Easy,” Master says. “Easy.”

But this girl is stupid. She lunges to the side,
completely ignorant of the other man trying to catch her, and plows
straight into Mr. Mason's arms. He tightens his grip as she
thrashes against him, and within minutes, the once beautiful woman
dissolves into a mess of tears and sobs.

What is wrong with her? Doesn't she understand her
place? Master will be good to her if she submits. All she has to do
is forget about the time before, and—

Memories of muddy water and thick cypress groves
return to me. I'm eighteen again. I just graduated from Oak Ridge
Academy. I'll be attending Ole Miss in less than two months, but
right now I'm partying on Moon Lake with my friends. We're by
ourselves. David brought his jet ski, and I'm riding double. We've
just left the barge anchored by Deacon's Pointe, and we pick our
way through the cypresses as David drives us to a secluded spot
lost in the center of the grove.

He cuts off the jet ski.

“Come here,” he tells me.

He turns and his breath trickles down my neck. His
fingers graze my breast. I shiver. When I look down, my nipples are
hard and pointed beneath my bathing suit. He pinches one and then
the other. Jolts of electricity roll down my spine.

“David,” I say, but he presses his lips against mine
to silence me.

I feel one strap slide off, then the other. Slowly
he peels down my swimsuit. Warm, moist air hits my breasts. He digs
his fingers into their milky flesh, and they more than fill his
hands.

“God, you're hot,” he says, and I giggle.

His hands move down my sides, my hips, and then back
up between my legs. He slips his fingers beneath the crotch of my
swimsuit and strokes my clit until I'm nothing more than a
heat-stricken animal grinding against his palm.

“Please,” I whisper, and he slips the rest of my
bathing suit off before tossing it over a nearby tree branch.

“Hell of a way to lose your virginity,” he says.
“You sure you want to do this?”

I don't speak. I just tug at his trunks. His cock
bulges at the water-logged material, and when he finally tosses his
pants on the same branch as mine, I'm just as floored as
always.

“I always forget how huge you are,” I say, and he
smiles before kissing me hard.

“You're not scared, are you?”

“If it can fit in my mouth, I'm sure it can squeeze
in down here.”

I press his hand harder against my cunt. He reaches
inside me before crooking his finger and stroking me on that one
oh-so-special spot. I gasp. My back arches. The Jet Ski bobs
beneath us, and David loops one arm around my back before pulling
me closer.

“Come here, baby. Just climb on.”

His cock stands hard and strong in front of me. My
pussy is so hot I can barely stand it. I need him inside me. I have
to have him inside me.

I should be more careful. Jet Ski’s aren't very
stable under normal conditions, but when you pair that with two
horny teenagers desperate for their first fuck, accidents are bound
to ensue. We both shift our weight to the left at the same time.
The Jet Ski tips dangerously to the side. I try to regain my
balance, but I can't. David and I hit the water at the same time. I
spit out mouthfuls of dirt while trying to get the grime out of my
eyes. Hardly a foot beneath me, muddy silt engulfs my knees.

“Shit, I didn't know it was so shallow here. Come
on, David, we need to—”

Then I see David, and my heart stops.

“Oh, God. Oh, God, David, are you okay?”

He doesn't answer me. His eyes are open, but they
don't move. Blood flows down his face. A hardened cypress knee juts
from the water, and its bark is stained red from where his temple
struck.

He slips under the water, and I grab him.

“No, David, come on. Wake up. Wake up. Please, wake
up!”

I slap his face, but he doesn't even blink. I can't
even tell if he's breathing.

“It's okay,” I say more for my benefit than his.
“You're going to be okay. Just sit right here. I'll go get
help.”

I climb back on the Jet Ski—thank God it didn't flip
all the way over—but when I try to rev the motor, all I hear is a
sputter, then a gurgle, then nothing at all.

What the hell?

I try it again, and the same thing happens. Only on
the fourth try do I realize what's wrong. Silt must have clogged
the intake. Jet skis do fine in open water, but if you try to run
them through mud, of course they'll fuck up.

I turn back to David. I can’t tell if he’s
breathing. Oh, God, is he even alive? My heart pounds against my
breastbone. There's so much blood, way too much. I grab our
swimsuits off the branch above me before splashing down in the
rust-colored water beside my boyfriend. He doesn't move when I
press his trunks against the freely-bleeding wound and tie my own
swimsuit tightly around his head to keep the make-shift bandage in
place.