A New Year
"Whoa, hello!" George yanks the wheel of his van, pulls over hard to the curb.
Digging into his pocket, he pulls out the list, eyes scanning. He looks up,
eyes widening-he's lost her. "Shit, shit!" He turns in his seat, yanks at the
seatbelt as it tightens across his throat. Craning around, he scans the busy
sidewalk, sighing relief as he catches a glimpse of her red sweater, her long,
blonde hair. He watches, nodding as she balances her packages, pushes into the
bookstore. Easing away from the curb smoothly, he pulls a U-turn, slides up in
front to wait.
Alicia approaches the clerk, smiling hopefully. "Excuse me?"
The clerk looks up, harried, impatient, "Yeah?"
"Ahh . . .Hi, I was wondering if I could put my packages behind your desk
there?"
"I don't care-but I'm not going to be responsible for 'em, understand?"
Alicia scans the titles, squinting. She spies the book-the perfect book for
Michael. She smiles softly-she misses him terribly. He'll be home by New
Years, and she can hardly wait. Stretching, she strains to reach the book,
oblivious to the appreciative stares of the male customers nearby. Her D cup
breasts straining against the soft, tight angora, her long legs trembling as she
stands on tip-toe, her skirt hiking provocatively. At 19, Alicia still seems
oblivious to the effect she has on men. Except Michael-and she loves the effect
she has on him.
George slides into traffic, chewing his gum furiously. He's done with being an
ex-smoker-just as soon as he gets an address on the girl, he's picking up a
carton--hell, a crate load--of Camels. He hits the gas, rolls through the
intersection on yellow, keeping her red Miata in sight. He smiles--this should
get that shrew of a wife off his back. It's all about money with her. Well,
this one would definitely keep the collectors at bay for a while.
Alicia skips up the stairs, fumbling with her keys, balancing the packages on
her knee. Pushing the door open, she lets out a squeal as her packages are sent
flying by an over eager flash of golden fur. She laughs, bends to pet the
wiggling mass of yellow lab. "That's a good boy, Dino, good boy."
George watches, his eyes sharp, practiced. No other cars. No signs of
children, toys in the yard, stickers in the windows. The dog could be a
problem, but he never met a dog that couldn't be bribed-or killed. He jots down
her address on the list, nods, then pulls away.
Alicia sighs, puts her plate in the dishwasher. She jumps hard, then
laughs-since Michael left on assignment, she's been jumping at every noise. She
looks out the window, watches the leaves dancing in the rising wind. The wires
slap the siding, branches scrape the roof. It's going to be a long night.
George ducks down-she looked right out the window, right at him, he's sure. But
her blue eyes remain undisturbed; he breathes a sigh of relief as she turns away
from the streaked glass. She's down to tank top and sweats, her nipples visible
even from here. He laughs shakily-she's going to be a joy to deliver.
"Scoot!" Alicia leans back as Dino streaks past her into the night. She closes
the door behind him, smiling. Dino is the only thing that's kept her sane since
Michael left-she can't imagine how utterly lonely life would have been without
him. She opens the fridge, puts her leftovers in. Once Michael comes home
she'll have to start eating right again.
George stares at the cedar fence, begins whistling softly. He smiles at Dino's
snuffling-the dog can smell the meat already. Closing his eyes, he tosses the
steaks over, hoping Dino won't turn his nose up over the sedative powder
sprinkled on it. He sighs in relief as he hears the dog devouring the London
broils. Good doggie, he exhales deeply. Turning, he walks back around the
house, climbs into the van to wait.
Alicia walks out of the bathroom, her bare skin glistening, still damp from her
bath. Toweling her wet hair, she grins at Dino's sprawled form at the foot of
the bed. "Lazy-head." She bends, pats his head before climbing onto her bed.
She picks up a dog-eared paperback, settles in under the glow of her bedside
lamp. She sighs, puts the book back down, spreads her golden thighs just
slightly. Smiling, she runs a hand over her breasts, her fingers light,
tickling as they cross her flat belly. Closing her eyes, she moans, thinks of
Michael. He's going to be floored when he comes home-literally. He may not
even make it to the bedroom before she ravishes him.
George jimmies the lock deftly, pushing the door open slowly. He steps into the
dark kitchen, stands still, listening for signs of detection. He lets out a
shallow breath, steps through the kitchen to the living room. He pauses, his
head cocking to better catch-what is that? TV? No, no. He begins to
smile-it's her. It's her, and she's having a very good time, by the sound of
things.
Alicia's moans are short, breathy, her hips moving to the rhythm of her plunging
finger. Thumb on her clit, finger sliding in and out of her wet pussy as her
other hand works her breasts. Her mouth is open, slack, her tongue working her
lower lip as her breathing becomes shallow, irregular. She holds her breath,
her back arching as her climax crashes. She lets out a sharp cry, followed by
deep, moaning breaths.
George stands at the end of the bed, his cock painfully rigid as she cries out,
her hips spasming, back lifting from the bed. She's perfect, fucking
perfect-her stares at her heaving, round breasts, her trembling thighs, her
fingers still working her soaking pussy. He swallows hard as she withdraws her
hand, brings it to her mouth to suck on her fingers, her breath still coming in
short, sated moans. Stepping over the drugged dog, he moved silently to the
edge of the bed, waits for her eyes to open.
Alicia gasps, her eyes flying wide as his shadow blocks the light. His face is
hidden, obscured by the backlighting of the bedside lamp. She twists on her
side, a short, breathless squeal all she can manage before he throws his weight
on her, pinning her to the bed, forcing the air from her lungs. He grasps her
wrists, wrenches them down painfully as she thrashes beneath him. Pulling back,
he straddles her waist, ignoring her desperately flailing legs. Clenching her
wrists together tightly with one large hand, he begins drawing the duct tape
tightly around them, binding them securely behind her. Leaning forward, he
grasps her hair, holds it steady as he begins winding the tape over her gasping
face. Around and around, he twists the tape tightly until only her nose shows.
Alicia screams weakly through her nose, her legs kicking desperately,
ineffectually. She twists, writhing as he scoots back over her waist, her ass,
his knees grinding her thighs apart. She jerks wildly, attempts to dislodge him
as his clothed hips begin dry humping her grotesquely. The sound of his zipper
and she explodes, sobbing sickly through her nose as his cock is unleashed,
begins prodding her wet, already parted pussy lips.
George moans, one hand planted between her shoulder blades to hold her fast as
his other guides his swollen cock into her wet, warm pussy. He gasps as she
clenches down, groans at how tight, how very ready she is. He lowers himself,
his full weight on her as he begins thrusting excitedly. Her muffled cries,
kicking legs, helpless squirming under him thrills him. He begins licking her
neck, sucking her shoulders as his cock slides in and out, her pussy juice
slicking his tool.
Alicia cries helplessly, her hearing impaired by the tape, her world dark. She
whines, devastated, her body shaken by his eager plunging into her sweet pussy.
How is she going to tell Michael? What is she going to tell him? Wracked by
sobs, she goes limp, endures the awful thrusting, the slobbering kisses on her
back. It will be over soon, she tells herself. Over soon.
George begins groaning loudly, panting, his strokes harder, faster as his orgasm
approaches. He draws back to his knees, pulling her back hard, burying himself
completely in her soft hole. His fingers dig cruelly into her sweetly curved
hips, yanking her back again and again as she sobs. His cock swells, begins
jerking inside her as her struggles renew. "I'm going to fill you up, bitch,"
his voice is low, strained, "I'm going to cum inside your pretty little cunt."
He laughs at her desperate thrashing, her shrill, muffled squeals. Shouting, he
rams in hard, grinds his hips from side to side as his cock explodes, a rush of
thick, hot spunk filling her.
Alicia sobs, sickened. She hasn't been on the pill since Michael left, she is
horrified by the possibility of pregnancy. She moans low as he pulls out,
releasing a flood of cum running over her clit, soaking the quilt below her.
She lies still, trembling, thankful that at least he is done with her. The
phone is on the bedstand, she can manage 911, even in this state, once he's
gone. She stiffens as he grasps her ankles, pulls them together. By the time
she realizes what's he's doing, thinks to fight, it's too late-he's already
wound duct tape around, secured her legs. She begins whining, her mind suddenly
aware that the rape may only be the beginning of her troubles.
George nods, looks at Alicia's squirming form, wrapped tightly in her own
quilts. Kneeling over her, he begins winding tape around her, leaving her a
patchwork mummy. Hauling her over his shoulder, he takes the stairs
confidently, seemingly oblivious to her struggles. He slips out the back door,
closing it quietly behind him. He shouldn't have fucked her, he knows, but
Gregory will deal-once he sees this one, he won't give a damn what may have been
done. Humming happily, George dumps Alicia on the van floor, climbs in after,
sliding the door shut behind them.
Gregory smiles slightly, nods appreciatively at Alicia's whining. "Lovely," he
murmurs, his hands traveling over her, squeezing her breasts as she strains
helplessly, "and real. Nice, very nice." The scummy bastard who brought her
fucked on her, but he can forgive that-she is perfect, a spectacular blend of
sultriness and innocence. And her body-a woman's body, none of the angular
boyishness so many of the recent finds have had. A generous curve to the hips,
ample, amazing breasts. He can work her past the rape, he feels confident. He
motions to George, pulls out his wallet. He grimaces in distaste at George's
enthusiastic hand shake, his near slobbering over the cash. He waves
dismissively toward the door, turning his back as George skips happily up the
stairs.
Alicia shakes her head wildly, her heels digging into the hard floor, scooting
desperately back. Her eyes are wide, the duct tape yanked off all but her mouth
to give Gregory a look at her face. She squeals, sobbing through her nose, her
naked flesh goose pimpled from the chill of the dank basement.
Gregory captures her easily, laughing. "Training you is going to be a
particular pleasure!" He grabs her taped ankles, flips her easily onto her
belly. Pressing her head down with his knee, he sets to work sawing away the
remnants of the duct tape, stroking her forehead with his other hand. "Shhh,
shhhh," he soothes, resembling a trainer with a spooked horse, "Hush, hush." He
works the tape free of her mouth, places a hand over her lips as she draws a
breath to scream. "Easy or hard, your choice," he twists her head painfully,
slowly, relishing in the dawning terror in her eyes, "but no matter how you
decide to do it, you'll submit, I promise you-now, would you like your mouth
free, or shall I find some way to keep you quiet?" He smiles as she goes limp,
her eyes wide, stunned.
Alicia sobs, her eyes wide in the blackness of the box. She strains helplessly
against the restraints holding her curled, fetal. She can still taste Gregory's
blood, her tongue works frantically over the harsh metal holding her jaws wide.
She may not be able to escape him, but she's determined to make him bleed, make
his life as hard as possible. She's read about people like him-they snatch
girls from the street, abuse them, torture them, finally killing them once the
poor women submit, tire of the fight. That he hasn't actually tortured her,
raped her, is confusing, but it doesn't change things-she's been taken from her
home, held against her will. If she's going to die, she vows to die fighting.
Gregory runs his torn fingers under cold water, smiling even as he flinches.
She's a scrappy one, that's for sure. Hunger and sensory deprivation will worm
away at her will far more effectively than any force he could apply, he knows.
Unlike many, he doesn't push, doesn't rush things along. His goal is not a
zombie, but rather a perfect blend of submission and desire, a girl who will
yield, serve when commanded, yet still tremble, clench around whatever tool is
inside her. Being broken means being dead inside, but being trained leaves
awareness, that spark in the eyes that is so very beautiful. He turns off the
water, blots his bleeding digits dry. Give her twelve hours, he thinks. Twelve
should give him the foot in the door he needs.
Alicia sleeps fitfully, her body cramped, limbs tingling. She dreams of
Michael, their first date, first time making love. She'd been a virgin, and
he'd been so gentle, patient. But in her dreams his touch turns rough, his face
changes, becomes the leering, sour breathed creature who brought her to this
place. She whines, strains uncomfortably, trapped in a looping nightmare full
of cruel touches, falling darkness, and she's helpless to evade them.
Gregory smiles down into the box, her fearful, squinting eyes blinking up at
him. He begins to lift her, but her immediate struggling brings a frown to his
face. He drops her back down, reaches for the lid as she begins to whine
loudly, wordlessly, her head shaking desperately. "You can't have it both
ways," his voice is flat, low, "either you want to be in the box or you don't-if
you fight, if you struggle, it tells me you want to be in there, in the dark."
He begins closing the lid, pauses, "Do you want out?" He smiles slightly at her
frantic nodding, braying sobs.
Alicia cries, her legs spread wide, secured to posts in the floor, wrists
secured to a thick leather belt at her waist. Gregory kneels before her, the
razor buzzing along her labia, his hands steady, expression detached as he
shaves her smooth. He parts her pussy lips, removes the stray hairs from
inside. He leans back, inspects his work, his hand gently working her inner
thigh.
"You're perfect," Gregory smiles, fingers testing the closeness of the shave,
"you are going to make someone very happy-and make me a lot of money." Putting
the razor back in its case, he leans over her, strokes her trembling cheek.
"Are you hungry?" Alicia nods tentatively, her eyes sickly hopeful. Her
expression falls as he stands, unzips his trousers. "Please me and you eat."
She shakes her head, horrified, her trapped open lips straining over the metal
as she cries.
Alicia screams as the lid slams shut, her bound legs thumping desperately as the
lock clicks home. She won't do it, she won't-if he wants that, he'll have to
force her, because she's not ever going to do it willingly. Her stomach growls
loudly, she sobs, miserable. She's got to get out, somehow she's got to get out
of here, she can't take another stretch in the tight dark of the box.
Gregory yawns, sitting up slowly. Awareness comes quickly, his eyes dart to the
box. He relaxes at the still in place locks, smiles. Rising he walks to the
stove, fires it up. He hums softly as the smells of breakfast fill the room.
She'll be more willing this morning, he knows.
Alicia moans, the aroma of food wafting into the box, filling it, driving her
mad. Her belly groans, cramps, the pangs painful. She whimpers, her resolve
crumbling in the face of her hunger. It's only a blow job, she tells herself.
It's only a blow job, fast, painless, and then she can eat. She stares into the
darkness of the box, begins to sob.
Gregory sets her on her knees, his eyes kind, almost commiserating as he unzips
his pants, pulls his semi-erect cock out. He taps Alicia's cheek as she closes
her eyes, shakes his head. "No, eyes open." She whines, stares up at him, her
eyes full of tired loathing. He slaps her, not hard, but stingingly. "Never,
never look at a man who has not told you to do so-and never with that
expression, do you understand?" He smiles as she nods, her gaze dropping to the
floor. "Good girl-I will give you another chance. Come here, suck my cock."
He laughs softly at her horrified expression. "Did you think I was just going
to fuck your face? No, no-you will suck me, you will use your tongue, your
throat, to pleasure me." He pauses, waits for her to reach a decision, decides
to help. "If you don't feel you can obey me, that's fine-everything is up to
you, the box is your other option."
Alicia walks on her knees, whining, crying through her trapped open mouth as she
approaches. Her hands clench into fists at her waist as she nuzzles under his
cock, brings it into her mouth. Her tongue flicks across the head, traces the
underside as she sobs sickly. He presses lightly on her head, encouraging
without forcing. She groans, her head beginning to move up and down, taking his
full, hardening length into her mouth as her tongue presses hard, swirling. She
begins to gag as he stiffens completely, the head pressing against the back of
her throat. She pulls back, shaking her head as she retches dryly. He bends,
lifts her wordlessly, carries her back toward the box as she begins struggling
in his grasp. She begs, her pleas desperate, wordless around the cruel metal
device holding her mouth open.
"All of it." Gregory pushes his cock against the back of her throat, shaking his
head as she begins to gag violently. "Swallow it, swallow, stop fighting it."
He grasps her jaw, tilts her head back, presses harder. Her throat protests,
resists, and then with a hard gulp opens, giving passage to his rigid tool. He
sighs, smiles as he enters her throat. "That's a good girl, good girl." he
strokes her cheek gently, other hand curled behind her neck, "See? See how much
better that is? Breathe through your nose, now, that's good."
Alicia whines, gasping through her nose between strokes. Her head moves, tongue
continuing to work his cock. She feels a sick sense of accomplishment-she's
never been able to deep-throat before, though she did try a few times with
Michael. Miserable experiences, all-embarrassing, the last time messy. But now
she's doing it. She bobs her head up and down, her throat opening each time,
allowing Gregory's cock to slide in and out. She feels his tool swell, twitch
in her face, and squeezes her eyes shut. He pinches her cheek painfully,
bringing her eyes open again.
Gregory sighs, his legs trembling as his cock explodes in her face. He pulls
her head down, burying himself in her working throat as his cum, thick, sour,
rushes out in spurts. He nods as she swallows hard, over and over, each violent
constriction of her throat sending chills down his thighs, up his back. He
holds her head, waits, keeping her there until his tool has softened in her
mouth. Pulling out, he tucks in, then gently wipes the sides of her mouth with
his thumbs. "Good girl. That was very good, I'm proud of you." He pats her on
the head, smiling, "See how easy that was, how much nicer than that awful box?"
Leading her on her knees, he brings her to the table, laughs as she tries to
rise, to sit in a chair. "No, no-chairs are for people. You stay on the
floor."
Alicia moans, her jaws aching as the metal spreader is removed. She strains to
close her mouth, whining at the sharp pains. How long has she worn that thing?
She's not sure, she's losing track of days. She watches Gregory, her eyes
tracking every trip of his fork from plate to mouth. Her stomach growls loudly,
her guts twisting, aching as he feasts before her. It smells so good, so very
good, her mouth waters wildly, small rivulets of spittle running down her chin,
though she is unaware. She begins whimpering in frustration, hunger as his fork
begins scraping the plate, gathering the dregs of the meal. He brings the last
forkful toward his mouth, then stops, considers her cramped, desperate
expression. She sighs, opens her mouth expectantly as he brings the fork toward
her, pausing just inches from her face. "Oh, God!" Alicia cries thickly,
leaning in toward the fork. "Please, please!"
Gregory jerks the fork back, pops its contents into his mouth as she squeals in
frustration, horror. He rises, grabs her by the hair, dragging her to low,
raised platform. The smooth wood is covered with small, raised metal bumps-well
rounded, polished, not at all sharp or rough. Each side has three padded
straps, metal clasps. She sobs, twisting violently as he lifts her up. "Did I
tell you to speak, did I give you leave? No?" He presses her down on the
platform, kneels to straddle her as he runs one set of straps over her chest,
right below her trembling breasts. The second across her hips, holding her firm
to the platform. "No. I did not-you never speak unless told to do so."
Grasping her bound ankles, he pushes up, back, until her feet are over her head,
shins just an inch away from her face. He sits on the backs of her thighs,
secures her legs with the last set of straps. Stepping back, he smiles, knows
that what seems like minor discomfort now will soon have her sobbing in pain,
yet leave her body undamaged. "Everything I do is dictated by you-understand
that. If you comply, submit, you are rewarded. If you disobey, if you fight or
defy me, I am forced to correct you." Turning, he returns to the table, gathers
his dishes for washing.
Alicia squirms uncomfortably-the barely noticeable bumps on the platform are
beginning to press into her flesh, her spine. She shifts as far as the straps
will allow, trying to redistribute her weight, find some relief, but no amount
of twisting relieves the increasingly painful pressure along her spine. She
closes her eyes, tries to think of something, anything that might distract her
from the pain.
Gregory sits at the table, picks up his newspaper, sparing Alicia a glance. Her
breathing is becoming shallow, he knows that each inhalation has become
agonizing. Her legs tremble, her face is streaked with tears. He considers her
sweet, bare pussy lips, her tight rosebud of a rectum. He smiles, lights a
cigarette before opening his paper, settling in.
Alicia's breaths come in small, shuddering gasps, her eyes wide, bright with
pain. Every move, every breath is painful, so she lies still, struggling not to
cry. She doesn't dare beg, knows that speaking could bring even more pain upon
her. Her eyes keep darting toward Gregory, then sliding away quickly. She
keeps telling herself not to look, not to make any noise. Just be good, be good
and he'll release her from this torture.
Gregory stands over her, nods, pleased when her eyes rise halfway, then fall
again. Her body is shiny with sweat, she shakes violently, uncontrollably. His
hand traces over her trembling flesh, fingers exploring as she endures,
unresisting. "Do you want me to get you off this thing? You may speak."
"P-please, yes, please I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"Very good, but there is a problem," He smiles at her tortured expression, the
pained downturn of her pretty lips, "you see, I can't really just let you loose
from this-you must earn your freedom from pain." He strokes her sweating brow,
smoothes her hair back. "What are you willing to do?"
"A-anything, please, anything!"
Gregory nods, satisfied as his hands begin working the straps loose.
Alicia stares up at the ceiling, the soft bedding beneath her a welcome relief.
Her legs are spread wide, ankles finally freed. One unbound hand covers her
pussy, thumb on her clit as a finger prods between her dry lips. Her cheeks
burn, she whimpers in shame as she begins working her clit, tight, firm circles
as her finger pushes into her hole. She cries softly as her hips begin to move,
her practiced hand arousing a response despite her humiliation, fear-or even
because of it. She starts to close her eyes, then remembers, lids flying wide
again. She whimpers, her hips picking up the rhythm, thighs trembling as she
brings herself closer, closer.
"Stop!" Gregory's voice is sharp, his hand pulling her straining wrist back,
resecuring it at her waist. She whines desperately, her hips still moving, eyes
cloudy with arousal, frustration. "Do you want to cum?" He leans, his lips
nearly brushing hers, "Do you want me to bring you there?" He smiles at her
sick, desperate nods, her whines. He moves down, his face a half inch from her
wet, aching pussy. He exhales deeply, knowing what the warmth of his breath is
doing to her. His tongue traces her open pussy lips, tasting her, then slides
up, around the top, just missing her clit. Her hips jerk up, seeking his
tongue, but he withdraws. "It doesn't matter what you want, you have no desire
other than to please." He stands, pulls her ankles wide, secures them to the
bedposts. Past experience has taught him that binding a slave's legs together
gives her all she needs to bring herself off through thrusting of the hips,
working of the thighs. She sobs, sick with shame, her hips still straining
helplessly.
Alicia kneels before the table, ankles secured to thighs, one hand free, working
her clit as Gregory dangles another bite before her. She is trembling
violently, each small bite awakening her ravenous hunger further, stoking the
pangs. She opens her mouth, her eyes open, down as he drops the food in. Her
mouth waters heavily as she waits, her mouth open, morsel laying on her tongue.
Her hips move, large, firm breasts swaying, breath shallow. She sighs as he
reaches, closes her mouth, allowing her to chew, swallow.
"Such a good girl," Gregory murmurs, holding another bite before her, "open."
He nods as her jaw drops, saliva trickling down her chin as she waits, her hand
still working her pussy mindlessly. Basic needs, they are always the
key-control their water, food, even air, and they come around quickly.
Unscarred, sickly grateful for every small bit granted. That gratitude is the
killing stroke, the will-breaker. Gratitude turns to dependence, and dependence
to devotion, a driving need to please. Soon she'll do anything, debase herself
in any way, he knows. He closes her mouth, watches as she chews desperately,
swallows.
Alicia whimpers as her hand is pulled away from her pussy, held firmly. She is
on her back, her legs folded under her, ankles bound to thighs. For days she's
been brought to the brink again and again, left trembling in frustration,
thwarted arousal. She blinks as her fingers are wrapped around Gregory's rigid
cock, but she doesn't pull away. Her hand is pushed back down, the head of his
cock presses against her clit. Her hips jerk up, she begins rubbing his tool
against her clit, moaning thickly at the warmth of his cock, the hot wet of
precum. Her eyes fill with tears, cheeks red with shame as she moves her hips
faster, bringing herself to the edge . . . and over. She screams, her hips
bucking hard, bound ankles straining, pulling at her thighs. She bites her lip
hard, sobbing with the shattering climax, her hand squeezing him hard, pressing
his cock against her clit, still working it jerkingly.
Gregory watches her face carefully, allows her to continue, bringing herself
toward another climax. The sick, stunned relief on her face is exactly what he
wants-she is lost, it's over, whether she knows it or not. He grasps her wrist,
stops her as her deep breaths begin to turn shallow again, her hips halting
motions returning to a more rhythmic pace. "Do you want to cum again?"
Alicia starts to nod, then stops, her eyes wide, glazed with arousal. "I-I want
to please you," she whispers, her voice hoarse, raspy, "I-I want what you want."
She takes a shuddering breath, praying that she caught her mistake in time.
Gregory considers, leaning forward. "Next lesson-there is no 'I'-you are a
slave, a pet, your only awareness of self is that which your owner gives you."
He smiles at her pained expression, watches the very last of her resistance melt
away as he traces a finger over her dripping pussy lips. "You will call
yourself Abdah, and when asked a question, you will answer using only that-you
will never use the word 'I' again, do you understand?" He slips a finger into
her soaked pussy as she nods. "Say it."
Alicia whimpers, her last shred of will flashing for a split second in her blue
eyes before fading. "A-Abdah wants to please you, Abdah wants what you want . .
."
"Excellent-I want to fuck you, Abdah, I want to slide my cock inside you, use
that body for my pleasure, for it is not your body anymore." He strokes her
pussy lips teasingly, finger moving in and out slowly, tantalizing. "Do you
want that?"
"If-if it pleases you, Abdah wants it." Alicia begins sobbing, overwhelmed at
the crashing realization that she means it-she isn't just acting to keep herself
out of the box, she truly wants him to fuck her, she wants to please him. She
is devastated, heartbroken even as she yearns for him to enter her. She
struggles to find her will, her desire to escape, return to her wonderful life,
but it is utterly gone. She tries to remember Michael's handsome face, but can
only see Gregory's patient, knowing smile.
Gregory lowers himself over her, his cock pushing past her slick pussy lips,
into her tight, receptive hole. He smiles as her hips rise to meet him, her
warm, welcoming pussy clenching around his tool. "Fuck me, Abdah," he murmurs,
his voice soft, hands stroking her still crying face, "please me." He sighs as
her hips work, muscles draw down, milking him. He sucks her already erect
nipples, smiling softly as they stiffen further under the flicking of his
tongue. "Do not cum yet, slave," he rises, his voice stern, "you cum only when
given permission." He returns to her breasts, his hips motionless, letting her
thrust up desperately under him.
Alicia bites her lip, still sobbing weakly, her hips moving rhythmically,
fucking Gregory. Her belly flutters, her pussy tense. She trembles, struggles
to stave off her climax as his breathing becomes labored, his lips tracing up
her chest, her throat, settling on hers. She moans, her mouth opening
compliantly as his tongue slides into her mouth. She returns the kiss, whining
through her nose with mindless passion. She moans as his cock swells inside
her, begins clenching her muscles down hard around him, bringing him to orgasm.
She sighs with relief as he fills her, the warmth of his cum working deep
inside. Confusion floods her, her are eyes smoky, dark-she's never liked the
feeling of cum inside her, yet she wants this, needs this. She moans as his
hands grasp her hips, stopping her motions. Pulling his still hard cock from
her, he begins thrusting against her clit, bringing her to orgasm in seconds.
Gregory pets her forehead gently as she sighs, lies still before him. A light
sheen of sweat covers her still trembling body, her long legs are splayed wide,
his cum trickling slowly from her open, pink pussy. He pulls her gently to her
knees, holds her in his arms for a moment before pushing her back. "Clean me."
He smiles as she bends, her mouth enveloping his softening cock with no protest.
"So pretty, so lovely." Gregory runs the brush through her long, shiny hair.
"I have so enjoyed training you." He turns her head toward him, brushes the
tears from her open, fearful face. "I know, I know-do you have any questions?
Maybe I can ease your fear."
"W-where will he take Abdah?"
"Back to his country, though I know only that he is from the Middle East."
"Will Abdah ever see you again?" She begins to sob, her head resting against
his chest.
"No, sweet-never. Our time together is over, you are ready for the next stage
of your new life."
"Will-will he hurt Abdah?" She cries harder, her hands stroking his arms,
clinging to him desperately.
"He may, I do not know." He lifts her hands from him, folds them in her lap.
"But it doesn't matter-you are nothing to me, you are nothing to him. Fear is
silly, why fear what you cannot change? This body is his now, and anything he
does to it is what you desire . . ."
"Because Abdah wants what HE wants, Abdah desires only to please HIM." She
takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, her down turned eyes clearing.
"Such a good slave," Gregory kisses her forehead, pulls her to her feet. She
stands, unresisting, arms in the air as he pulls the red dress over her. He
stands behind her, zips it, his hands caressing her hips one last time. "Bend,
Abdah." He smiles as she complies, his hand slipping under the hem, fingers
settling on her clit. He rubs, small, firm circles, her moans arousing him. He
takes her to the edge, then pauses. She whines, her hands trembling at her
ankles, bright eyes hopeful even as she stares at the floor. He closes his
eyes, begins his ministrations once more, bringing her to climax as her legs
tremble under her. He pulls her back up, steadies her, his eyes moving to the
box across the room, the faint, muffled cries reminding him that there is always
more work to be done. Taking her arm, he leads her up the stairs, into the long
missed sunlight. He guides her to the back of the car, holds her door as she
climbs in, her long legs folding under her gracefully.
Michael stands at the luggage carousel, his eyes scanning the crowd. Where is
she? She hasn't answered the phone for weeks, hasn't responded to his
increasingly desperate messages. It's not like Alicia-if she were going to
break it off, she wouldn't do it this way, yet what else could her refusal to
speak to him mean? He runs a hand through his hair, pulls out his cell, begins
dialing again-then stops. Alicia? His eyes settle on the lovely blond sliding
up the escalator. "ALICIA!" He breaks into a run, luggage forgotten, heart
leaping. She's here, she came for him! "ALICIA!" He leaps onto the escalator,
pushing past people, elbowing his way up. The man with her-dark, tall-who is
he? He notes the hand on her arm, shakes his head-it doesn't matter. "ALICIA!"
He runs after her, tries to push through security to catch up.
"Hold it here, sir!" Two guards block his way, pushing him back through the
gate. "Please, sir, do you have a ticket?"
"No-NO, I just got off a flight, my fiance-" he twists hard, tries to dodge past
them. "ALICIA?" He breathes hard, eyes widening in relief as she turns toward
him, her sparkling blue eyes settling on him for a moment, then sliding down,
away. He sags, then shoves the guards hard, leaping through the security gate
only to be caught a few short yards down the corridor, slammed hard to the rough
carpet. "ALICIA!"
Alicia walks steadily, her eyes down. She blinks hard as she hears Michael's
confused calls, the shouts of security. That is over now, the woman he thinks
she is doesn't exist anymore. She takes a deep breath as she is led up the
gangway, pushed roughly into a seat in first class. The curtain is pulled shut,
barring them from prying eyes. Sighing, she opens her legs willingly to the
prodding, the rough probes, her eyes staring out the small window at her
hometown.
Gregory descends into the basement, locks the door behind him before striding to
the box. He opens it, leans down, stares into the wide, dark eyes. "Do you
want out?" He smiles at the desperate nodding, the wordless pleas around the
harsh metal device in the wide, lovely mouth. "You can't have it both ways-if
you want out, you will please me, otherwise, you will stay here. The choice is
yours, one of the few choices you have in your new life." He nods, satisfied,
as she lies limp in his arms.
