The Slave (2 page)

Robin laughed nervously. People passing
them raised their heads to follow the sound and saw a really cute
couple. Greg was tall, with raggedly cut blond hair and a tight
T-shirt that displayed his team number. Robin always looked like
she stepped out of a soap commercial, her face bright and slightly
pointy, her burnt mahogany hair swinging free around her shoulders
in soft curls. Neither one would ever be picked out as a beauty,
but they were young and healthy and seemingly happy, and that made
up for all their minor imperfections. They complemented each other,
tall and slight, massive and elfin, fair and dark. Even their
eyes―Greg’s an uncomplicated bright blue and Robin’s a deep
amber-brown―were as different as possible.

“
We’ll just have to make do,” Robin
replied, eyeing her boyfriend’s pocket.

Oh no
, was her real
thought
. I
don’t believe it. He just brought condoms, the idiot! What the hell
did he think I was writing about?

As she followed him to the
parking lot, she tried to remember everything she had written about
in that oh-so-hard-to-write letter.
I was as clear as I could
get
, she
thought desperately.
What do I have to do, scream it out? Serves me
right for going out with a jock.
She bit her lip, trying to figure out what
to do. Damn
it! I shouldn’t have to do all this! Doesn’t he get
it?

They had been dating for about two months.
They had met in the gym, where they had been eyeing the same karate
class. In the end, he didn’t have time to take it, but Robin
enrolled. And since she was in the gym so much anyway, she came to
watch him shoot baskets and drill with the coach. Soon, they were
going for lunch together, and then, wham, they were dating.

And of course, everyone knows what
eventually happens when you date someone. What Greg was absolutely
oblivious to was the fact that Robin had never gotten to that
“eventuality” before. Nor, apparently, after all of her careful
hints and coaching, had he gotten around to understanding her more
specific desires.

A terrible, nervous weight
settled in her stomach.
Oh God, why am I doing this?
was the thought that rustled
through her consciousness as she followed Greg silently to the car,
smiled blankly when he sang along with a love song on the radio,
and then nodded when he pulled into a parking space near the off
campus frat house where his friend was going to let him borrow his
bedroom.

In the end, all that Greg had brought was
the condom in his pocket. No scarves, nothing to bind her or to
blindfold her, or anything. And if he’d seen any of the movies she
had suggested he rent and watch or bring with him, his style
certainly didn’t show it.

Because the minute he closed the door behind
him, he was all over her. His big hands encircled her body in a
rush, and he kissed her hard and long, the way they kissed after at
least twenty minutes of warm-up stroking, nibbling and licking. As
he slid his fingers up inside her sweater, his sole concession to
romance was whispering “Oh, babe, I’ve wanted this forever.”
Followed immediately by, “But we gotta get outta here by
eight.”

Robin tried to think of what she was doing
as submitting to his desires. She allowed him to lead her to the
bed, passively standing and turning for him as he pulled her
clothing open, up, down, off. She closed her eyes to his kisses, to
his glee as he fingered and then gently kneaded her breasts, but it
just didn’t work. Her disappointment over his lack of attention to
her careful hints was so overwhelming, and his eagerness was so
clean-cut and so achingly stereotypical!

His own body was as handsome as his face, a
strong chest and beautiful long legs. And her first sight of an
erect male organ wasn’t disappointing; it was about the size she
had expected, and Greg was fresh from showering after practice. She
reached out to touch it, and he fairly purred.

Her imagination switched on,
and she heard his purr change to a growl.
“Do you like it, baby? Tell me you
like it, slut. Tell me how much you want to kiss it. Get down there
and make me believe that you love this cock. ’Cause I’m gonna slam
it right down your throat, baby, and you’re gonna take it. You’re
gonna take this cock any way I give it to you, aren’t
you?”

Instead, in cold reality, he quickly guided
her backwards to the bed and practically fell on top of her. He
shifted to find a good position, trying not to lean an elbow on
her, kissing her when he could, trying to keep at least one hand on
her tits. And then, he remembered the rubber in his pocket and had
to go back to get it, leaving her lying on her back, staring up at
the ceiling. She looked over to one side of the room, where the
frat boy had pinned up about a dozen overlapping beer posters, all
featuring big-chested girls in skimpy bikinis, running around at
the beach, their hands full of dark, sweaty bottles. She looked
back down at her own body, with her small breasts and her short
legs, and felt a sudden wave of inadequacy.

By the time Greg got back, fumbled around in
his idea of foreplay for a little while longer and then heaved
himself up to put the condom on, she found herself wishing that the
experience would be as painful as some of her romance novels
suggested it was; instead, it felt a little like a lightning-fast
cramp.

She then tried to imagine that he was
someone else. Her very distant and cold Italian teacher, for
example. Or maybe, if she squeezed her eyes really tight, she could
believe that he was a pirate, a dashing serial villain, holding her
maiden’s body in his rough, churlish hands, breathing the scent of
rum into her face, growling curses and taunts.

Yes, that was it! Or, maybe, when Greg was
done, he would leap off of her, pull a pair of handcuffs out of his
knapsack, and snap them on her while she lay back in an exhausted
swoon. Then, with a leer, he would tell her that the price for the
room was her body―and that all the boys in the house would be by to
sample her charms. And they would come, first to ogle, and then to
paw at her, and then to finally thrust their way into her body,
again and again...Yes... yes....

But before she could work that fantasy into
a proper orgasm, he was done, his body heavy and sweaty over hers,
his breath as stale as any pirate’s, a wet, limp bag of latex
dripping across her thigh and onto the musty sheets.

And to make matters so much worse, he
nuzzled her throat gently, whispered, “Oh, baby, baby, that was
great! Was it good for you, too?”

* * * *

“
And it took every ounce of strength I
had not to laugh in his face,” Robin remembered, her own face
finally showing her amusement. “I went to bed that night thinking
that if I couldn’t get this all-American jock to tie me up and
spank me, then I wasn’t going to get anywhere. It was such a
letdown!”

“
It was better than what many people
have,” Chris commented. “You did choose him, and he did not harm
you.”

Robin blushed, but nodded. “I know. But I
still feel like I really messed that up. I should have waited... I
should have been clearer about what I needed. I mean, I wrote these
little coy phrases in this love letter, about wanting to be swept
away, and be made powerless―but I never really said, ‘Hey, Greg, I
want you to tie me up and pretend you’re a pirate, OK?’” When Chris
didn’t respond right away, she leaned forward a little and
continued. “If I had waited, I might have been able to give it to
someone―maybe to Maria, or Troy. It should have been special. And I
threw it away.”

“
Having mediocre sex is hardly
something to mourn several years later,” Chris said.

“
It’s just that now, with this chance
to really live it, I feel like I made this incredible mistake.
Wouldn’t I be more... valuable if I were still a
virgin?”

“
Certainly not. An oddity, perhaps,
but not especially valued. Experience is what counts, Robin, and
you should know that. You’re allowing your fear and anxiety to
distract you. You’re over-compensating. You don’t have to do that
with me.”

“
I’m sorry, sir.” She looked genuinely
ashamed. “I’m really very nervous. I talk a lot when I get
nervous.”

“
I can see that. And you’ll speak a
lot more before we’re through. Just keep in mind that I’m not
interested in hearing excuses or explanations. By the end of our
time together, I want to know all about your past experiences and
dreams and how you felt about them.”

“
All of them? My entire
history?”

Chris Parker nodded. “As much as is
relevant. I’ll let you know when you’re telling me something I
don’t need to know.”

Robin glanced up and looked out
the window. The late evening darkness was cool, enveloping.
I could still walk
out now
, she
thought, catching the shadow of her reflection in the glass.
I could just tell
him that I must have been mistaken, insane, I have a job to do. I
have to go to Italy in two months. I can leave and just go on like
I was. I was happy. I am happy. I can find someone new.

But if I leave, I’ll never know. Never know
if I was really ready for this. If I could have been....

Robin turned back to Chris and lowered her
head. “I’ve always been strong,” she said, her tone a sharp
contrast to her words. “I did what I wanted to, and never let
someone run my life. And I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want
to be a slave.”

“
Good,” Chris said smoothly. He rose,
and with a speed she could have never suspected, pulled her up off
the couch by the front of her jacket. She gasped at his strength,
and rose to her toes, her eyes just barely above his. His fist was
tight against her throat, his body terrifyingly close.

“
Maybe I can make you into one, girl,”
he said softly. “What do you have to say to that?”

Robin gasped in another
breath.
Oh
God! Oh, I want this! What do I say? What does he want me to
say?

“
That was a question!” he barked.
“When I ask you a question, I expect an immediate, honest
reply!”

“
Yes! I mean, thank you, sir, yes, I
want you to make me a slave!” Robin gasped again, her heart
pounding, and her throat pressing against Chris’s
knuckles.

He let her go, and she fell back onto her
heels, but kept herself erect. She tried to control the urge to
pant; her breath returned in short gasps.

“
Strip.”

Robin took her jacket off immediately and
cursed her trembling fingers. She laid it on the couch and tried to
be graceful as she unbuttoned the silk blouse. She was glad she had
decided to wear the garter belt and stockings rig instead of
pantyhose, but Chris wasn’t even watching as she took her skirt
off. He had gone into the adjoining bedroom without a word.

Robin looked down. He hadn’t said strip to
your lingerie. So she unclipped the expensive stockings and rolled
them off, and then wiggled out of everything else. Almost as an
afterthought, she unclipped the gold necklace and dropped it and
her watch and earrings on top of her clothing.

Now she was as naked as the day
she had entered this world. She drew herself up into a standing
posture that seemed appropriate, with her hands behind her back,
and then fretted about whether she should kneel.
He didn’t tell me
to
, she
reminded herself.

He kept her waiting for what seemed to be a
long time. She jumped a little when she heard his voice in the
bedroom, but it was clear that he wasn’t talking to her. She could
hear pauses, and the sound of his light laughter. He had to be on
the phone.

I wonder who he called. Maybe
he’s calling someone else to come and... look at me. Or maybe to
try me out. Oh, get a grip, Robin, you should be over those
fantasies! It’s just a phone call. He’ll be back in a
minute.
A
slight chill built in her upper arms and spread across her
shoulders, raising goosebumps. As the first shiver ran through her,
a tightness settled around her nipples and drew them achingly
up.

This is only a
test
, she
thought, trying to calm herself.
I am being good. I am being
patient.

I am patience.

When Chris Parker returned, he paused to
examine her. He had taken his tie off, and unfastened the top
button of his shirt, but that was the only change. His eyes
registered neither interest nor appreciation.

Well, of course
not
, Robin
thought.
Think of where you met him, girl. This is one man who is
just not interested in the temptations of the female form. And
besides, if what they say is true, he’s seen hundreds of slaves.
Amazingly beautiful ones, men and women. So there’s not much to be
impressed by here.

He walked around her slowly, not touching
her. When his finger finally did land on her shoulder, she jerked a
little more upright, and a faint shuddering ran down her arm. He
didn’t comment, but slowly ran that finger along her collarbone and
down her spine.

She couldn’t help it. She freed a slight
moan, an exhalation of pleasure and tension.

“
You’re very sensitive,” Chris said,
drawing his hand away. “Turn to face me.”

She did, and met his eyes. She instantly
dropped her eyes down, but kept her shoulders back.