Enslaved (14 page)

Sam showed her the clamps. “These are called clover clamps,” he explained, assuming she’d never seen a pair, BDSM virgin that she claimed to be. He pushed one end together to show how it opened and then let it close. “These go on your nipples. The cool thing about these clamps, versus the screw-on type, is they won’t fall off if the chain between them is tugged.” He smiled, his cock hardening at the fear in her eyes. “On the contrary, they just clamp tighter.”

He reached for her right nipple. Rae tried to shrink back, but cuffed as she was, she wasn’t going anywhere. Pulling the nipple taut, he let the clamp close over it. He’d chosen his loosest pair but knew the pinch would still register.

Rae squealed and stared down at her ensnared nipple while Sam calmly subjected the second one to the same treatment.

“Please, sir, may I speak?” she gasped.

“Yes.”

“It hurts! Ow, it hurts, please take them off. Please, please, please!”

Sam smiled, shaking his head. “You’ll get used to it. In fact, after a while the compression creates a numbing effect. That’s why I have these.” He held up two lead teardrop-shaped weights with small clips attached at the tops. These he proceeded to attach to the chain between the clamps, drawing an anguished cry of “Ah!” from Rae’s lips.

“Today’s training,” Sam said, pretending to ignore her suffering, “will be orgasm control. Your task is to focus on your cunt, not your nipples,
but
,” he paused and then repeated for emphasis, “but you are
not
to come. Not until I say so. You are not to ask permission, you are not to tell me you can’t help it. You are simply
not to come
until I say so.” He took her chin between forefinger and thumb, forcing her face up as he looked down into her eyes. “Do I make myself crystal clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Rae whispered, her face still twisted with pain from the clamps. She would soon forget all about them—he’d make sure of that.

Sam retrieved the Hitachi stand, setting it up between Rae’s legs. “Keep your legs open wide until I tell you otherwise. No matter what, you are not to close your legs to me.” Obediently, Rae spread her legs wider, her sweet, bare pussy spread for him.

Sam squirted lubricant over the head of the vibrating wand and then rubbed the excess from his fingers along Rae’s spread cleft. She drew in her breath but knew better than to close her legs. He positioned the stand until the head of the vibrator was at her cunt.

He flicked the switch and watched her.

The vibrations made the chain between her breasts sway, the heavy lead weights bumping together. Rae’s eyes were closed, her brow furrowed, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Sam let the pressure build a while and then flicked the switch again, increasing the speed of its vibration.

Rae shuddered and grunted, leaning back and letting her wrists hold her weight. It wasn’t long before he recognized the trembling in her limbs and the flush on her chest that signaled an impending orgasm. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him though, to her credit, she didn’t speak.

But he knew what she was asking with her eyes. “No,” he said. He lowered the speed on the vibrator and shifted it slightly, allowing her some recovery time. He lifted the weighted chain between her breasts and tugged lightly, drawing a ragged cry of pain from her lips as the tension tightened on her tortured nipples.

He dropped the chain and turned up the vibrator again, which whirred between her legs. “Oh, oh, oh!” she began to chant, as the vibrator relentlessly teased and tickled her clit.

“Hold it,” Sam ordered. “Show some control. You
will not
come until I say so.” He pulled the vibrator away, giving her a chance to catch her breath. Reaching for the lubricant bottle, he squeezed a little more over the head. Her cunt was red and swollen, the labia glistening.

He pushed the Hitachi back into place and Rae almost immediately began to shudder, her labia hyper-sensitized from the constant stimulation. Again and again he brought her just to the edge, ordering her to hold it, to control herself. She did remarkably well, lasting longer than he’d expected. But she would fail. By definition she would fail. There was only so long will power could win over the onslaught of the Hitachi’s relentless vibrations.

Damp tendrils of hair curled along her flushed cheeks and rivulets of sweat rolled down her sides and between her breasts. A low, feral moan rose in her throat and erupted in a keening cry as she climaxed, her body wracked with shuddering spasms.

Sam pulled the Hitachi stand away and crouched in front of Rae as her shuddering eventually subsided. She sagged hard against her cuffs, her head lolling forward. Gently, Sam lifted her chin and pushed the damp hair out of her face.

“Dear, dear, dear,” he said with mock dismay. He shook his head, though he couldn’t quite hide the small smile pushing its way onto his lips. “You came before I said you could. I guess we’ll just have to keep working on this particular exercise until we get it right.”

He watched the play of emotions move over Rae’s face like a storm. She wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t fair—that she couldn’t help it, that he’d tricked her, but then, as quickly as it had washed over her features, it was gone. She gazed at him impassively, almost serenely.

Sam nodded his silent approval, but there was no getting around what must come next. “You do know, slave girl, what happens when you disobey?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“Tell me.”

“I get punished.”

“That’s correct. And this—” Sam released the clamps without warning, pulling them roughly from her tortured nipples. As the blood raced back, reawakening the compressed nerve endings with a vengeance, Rae screamed with pain. “—is your punishment.”

Rae opened the drawer of the nightstand and felt inside for the little balls of tissue, counting them with her fingers. After the fourth day holed up in Sam’s dungeon, she’d decided to keep track of her incarceration and had come up with this method. She had managed to secret a few squares of toilet paper in her hand that day after her shower. She had hid it beneath her pillow and now, each morning when she woke up she tore off a tiny piece, rolled it into a ball and slipped it into the drawer. If Sam had observed her doing this, he hadn’t said anything about it.

Turning onto her back, Rae stretched her legs, which were a little stiff from yesterday’s cycling. Sam had decided a week into her captivity that Rae needed to exercise each day. He’d brought in an old stationary exercise bike he kept in a storage room just off the dungeon, along with a yoga mat. He had her cycle and stretch every day for at least thirty minutes. Though she wished he didn’t have to watch her, she was grateful for the chance to use her muscles.

One, two, three…Rae pushed each little ball in the otherwise empty drawer aside as she counted. There were fourteen balls. She dropped in the fifteenth and pushed the drawer closed. Halfway done with her sentence.

Halfway to…to what really?

She would have no job with
Ryker Solutions
when he let her out—that was understood. Sam would never let Rae work for him again, nor would she want to. She could go back to commercial banking, she thought with a shudder, but knew she wouldn’t. She had enjoyed the freedom of working as a freelance financial consultant too much to go back to some cubicle and clock in nine to five.

She would have to move. Manhattan was too expensive anyway and besides, it would always remind her of Sam. She’d move somewhere she could afford, set out her shingle and get to work earning enough to both support herself and to pay Sam back. Even if she never saw him again, she’d promised herself he’d get back every penny she’d borrowed.

Okay, every penny she’d
stolen
.

Then, somehow, she’d face the rest of her life.

Rae had taken to waking several minutes before Sam did his wakeup call through the monitor. The room was softly illuminated by two nightlights plugged in along the walls. While waiting, she would stare at the ceiling, letting thoughts drift idly through her mind.

I wonder if we’ll have scrambled eggs this morning. I hope there’s orange juice. I wish the chain was a little longer so I could scratch my ankle without contorting. I hope I get to come today. I wonder what it will be like when I see sunshine and grass again. I miss wearing clothes. I wonder if I’ll get to suck his cock today.

She would think back over the latest training or punishment, pondering how she could have done better, or what had pleased Sam or, though she was getting much better at avoiding this, what had angered him.

Intellectually she knew she should hold on to the rage that had peppered and shaped her first week, but it took too much energy. And what was the point? When she was a good girl, Sam rewarded her with delicious food and other nice things. He let her come almost every day, though admittedly she earned it in one way or another.

She had learned to work through the pain to get to the pleasure awaiting her. Sometimes they were all mixed up—just as she felt the delicious release of a powerful orgasm, it would be tempered by the sting of a whip or the hard smack of a wooden paddle that would leave bruises on her ass for several days. Her body understood even when her mind rejected the notion, that in order for her to take her pleasure, she had to also endure the pain.

As the days edged into weeks, she no longer questioned this. She accepted it. Lately though it had gone beyond acceptance. Though she was scarcely able to admit it to herself, she
wanted
the pain. No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t want it! That was sick! And yet… And yet, somehow, she needed it in order to give power and meaning to the pleasure.

How could that be correct? Did she really crave the cut of the single tail? Did she revel in the viselike pressure of the clamps painfully compressing her nipples or tugging at her labia? Did she want to be tied down and subjected to Sam’s bizarre humiliations, just so she could come at his command?

It was too complicated and unsettling to think about. Better to focus on what she could control. Such as how many times he’d let her come today. With his permission, of course.

She’d learned her lesson on day nine. She certainly didn’t want a repeat of that day! At the time she’d been furious because she felt like he’d tricked her by yet again forcing her into coming with that damn vibrating wand, even while he was commanding her not to.

Truth be told, she probably could have held out longer—he’d been training her in what he called orgasm control—but she’d been tired and very aroused by the extended nipple play from earlier that morning. She’d earned that orgasm, damn it, or so she had told herself when she let go and rode the sweet climax to its shuddering conclusion.

Afterwards, she was punished with orgasm denial. Worse, he’d left her alone for such a long time. She’d found, to her confusion, that she missed him. Even being tied up and tortured was better than being left alone. But after the stolen orgasm, he’d chained her to the bed and left her there.

It had felt more like a week than a day, the hours trickling by like thick sap dripping down a tree trunk, and just about as exciting. With nothing else to distract her, she’d focused on the cunt she wasn’t allowed to touch, her mind racing with images of Sam, naked with his hard cock in his hand, guiding it to her mouth, or Sam, his eyes blazing as he cuffed her to the St. Andrew’s Cross for an extended flogging session that invariably ended with a mind-numbing orgasm as he finger-fucked her until she begged for release.

After being not only permitted, but ordered to come sometimes as often as ten or fifteen times over a twenty-four hour period, and then being denied for so many hours—it had been like withdrawing from a particularly addictive drug.

He had stripped away the bedding so she couldn’t do anything sneaky. He’d said he’d be watching and if he saw her hands get anywhere near her cunt, he’d deny her for
another
twenty-four hours. She drifted in and out of restless, agitated sleep during the enforced captivity on her bed, her nipples aching for attention, her cunt swollen and wet with need.

Yes, she’d learned her lesson, all right. Since then she never came without permission and she never touched her body (
his
body, he would remind her) when she was alone.

“Good morning, slave girl.” Sam’s rich, deep voice shook Rae at once from her reverie.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said to the empty room as she tumbled from the bed to the floor, lifting the long chain that extended from her collar to the headboard with practiced ease so it wouldn’t tangle. She knelt up, placing her hands behind her neck and spreading her knees wide.

Maybe he’ll have strawberries for me this morning. I like when he pops them into my mouth, one by one, his eyes never leaving mine…

After grooming and breakfast (no strawberries, but chocolate croissants, even better) Sam brought a large duffel bag from the cabinet and took it to the eyebolts embedded in the ceiling. The eyebolts usually meant suspension and intense whipping or flogging sessions. Rae’s ass was still sore and marked from yesterday’s caning. Was he planning to mark her again so soon?