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Chapter Two - The Training
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At first he sat back in disbelief against his calves as he was plunged into the
pitch blackness of the room. Then his fury reared it's ugly head and he began
to struggle in earnest against the bonds into which she'd placed him. He lifted
his stilted arms, encased in the hard leather and bound to the two long boards
of the chair, and tried to push the leather off with his chin.
He struggled with the action, quickly realizing with dread how useless his arms
had become held straight by the heavy boards away from his body. Even with his
considerable strength, he failed at bending his hands toward him. Not that it
would have mattered, he realized with a groan of dismay. Even if he 'could' get
his hands to his face, the heavy leather over the boards held his hands
completely immobile.
He focused then, in the pitch blackness, at getting the offensive, hard rubber
ball out of his mouth. Or at least attempting too. He lifted both arms as far as
he could to his face, and began to pull, push, or somehow grab the leather
holding it in his mouth and free it from his head.
But she'd been ingenious in her bondage of him, and he quickly realized it was
useless. He gave up without even 'starting' on his legs. The long, semi-flexible
leather of the leggings was laced tightly to his skin, zippered over the lacing
and locked into place about three quarters of the way up his muscular thigh.
The metal in the bottom part of the long piece, kept his feet painfully pointed
and completely useless as his arms. He couldn't stand, rise, walk, or even get
higher than his knees, which would constantly keep him on a lower level than the
surprisingly 'tall' woman whom had abducted him that night.
Sometime later, he sat back in the absolute darkness, his whimper of despair
echoing in the maddening silence of the rooms stone interior. He could tell that
any sound he 'happened' to make would be caught and held by the heavy stone
around him, it's thickness absorbing the noise.
His raging erection, still present, though it had dimmed in his struggles rose
to the forefront of his mind, picked the moment that he stilled to remind him of
it's hard presence in the metal underwear in which 'she' had encased it. As he
had when she led him across the room like an animal on all fours by a leash, he
sat back and tried to touch himself.
And as before hard leather and wood met with even harder metal, ceasing 'any'
type of relief he might of gained if his genitals were free. His erection turned
painfully engorged in that moment, filling the small shadowed area in the front
of the device almost completely.
He flopped onto his side then, in the darkness, and after several attempts
managed to roll over on his flat, washboard stomach. Stretching his long legs
out behind him in an effort to gain some relief and get comfortable in some
form, he lifted his hips slightly then pressed them back against the thick
carpet of the floor.
For just a brief moment, he felt the metal encasing him shift slightly, rubbing
ever so briefly against his filling erection. The soft groan that escaped around
the hard rubber ball in his mouth was short lived though as the metal settled
once more, not touching him in the slightest.
He tried to repeat the action, but the tight fitting metal wasn't budging and
all he could do was lay there in torment, agony and frustration. He groaned
again, rubbing his face against the heavy, plush carpet to try and get the gag
out.
What this would accomplish he knew not, but he had to try. He couldn't lay there
helplessly until she came back to free him. His mind turned inward then, trying
to piece together her intent in this nightmare. She was 'obviously' some sick
pervert that got her jollies by kidnapping men and torturing them sexually. Or
worse, if the diminishing fire from her blows
were any indication.
But the other man with her that night, the man bound hand and foot, wearing
similar 'underwear' as he, had seemed perfectly healthy. Besides being chained
like an animal, a bright blue ball in his mouth similar to the one Dillon now
wore.
The image of him rooting around in her vagina as she'd read his 'history' from
the couch came to his mind, and he gulped heavily in the darkness, remembering
well his own reactions to the scene. He'd always 'loved' to eat out women. He
couldn't explain it, or the intense sexual reaction it always brought him, but
it was there.
Each of the nameless, faceless women he'd slept with in the last years of his
young life, had always complimented him on the skill of his tongue and fingers.
He rolled to his side then, his heavily bound arms stretching out from his body
and whimpered softly in the darkness.
It 'couldn't' be as simple as that 'could' it? his mind wondered as he lay
there. Could 'that' be all she wanted? A sexual partner to eat her out? he
wondered crudely. If 'that' was the case, he'd be 'happy' to oblige, without all
the need for the restraints in which he now lay.
But that was 'not' it, otherwise she would have merely stayed at his apartment
earlier that night, letting him have his way with her...then leaving like all
the others.
He sighed softly, gulping around the hard ball in his mouth, and merely waited
for her return. After all, what else could he do in that moment? his mind
queried as his eyes drooped slowly closed.
The last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of his life. No one would even
'begin' to look for him for at least several weeks and he cursed himself for
taking all those 'unexpected' business trips in the years since he'd inherited
the business. It was not uncommon for him to just 'take off' then reappear
several weeks later, happy, tanned, and none the worse for wear.
His business manager, Marcus, wouldn't worry if he didn't hear from him for a
few days, he sighed regretfully, and even then he may not become 'seriously'
concerned for at least a month.
As he lay there, he wondered what was in store for him. Would she 'kill' him?
Mutilate his body beyond recognition and dump him somewhere when she was
finished? Would she rape, torture, and abuse him, then let him go? He knew full
well there were 'male' serial killers that kidnapped women, raped and mutilated
them from some sick perversion, but he'd never heard of a female one. Though he
was sure they quite possible existed.
But again, his thoughts came back to the other man that had been with and helped
her. Was he her 'husband'? he wondered there in the dark. Were they some 'sick'
couple that kidnapped younger men to rape and abuse then dumped them somewhere
left for dead?
As all the possibilities ran threw his mind they brought a violent shiver of
fear to his long, bound body and he sat up again in the dark, renewing his
efforts to free himself out of sheer fear and adrenaline.
__________________________________________________________
She sat at the bank of monitors, watching him in the green light of the infrared
camera. A smile lit her face in those moments as he went threw the invariable
emotions of his captivity. It was 'mostly' the same with each one.
First came the effort to free themselves. Then the quite introspection in the
pitch blackness of the room, then another effort of fear and adrenaline to gain
their freedom again. Eventually, they fell into an exhausted stupor, which is
where she would re-enter the picture.
Easing their fears, gently explaining what was going to happen from that point
forward. Giving them reassurances...setting in motion that final piece of her
trap.
Some took a long time to wind down. Others shorter. She turned slightly in the
high backed chair and looked at Jarron at her feet. He had taken weeks to accept
his fate, his mind and will extremely strong, and she reached out now to gently
caress his leather clad cheek.
She'd seen the pleading in his eyes when she'd mentioned his sale earlier. She
couldn't miss it, and feared for a moment that the poor man was in love with
her. She sighed softly and asked quietly. "You love me don't you?"
He lifted his head, per his training, meeting her eyes with his own soft gray
ones, nodding vigorously and grunting behind the bright blue gag in his mouth.
He jutted his chin forward twice, his signal that he wished to speak as per his
training of the last year, and she nodded feeling generous tonight. Reaching
out, she unlocked the gag from behind his head and he dropped it into her
outstretched hand.
"May I speak Mistress?" he asked softly, his eyes downcast once more.
"You may Jarron." she said softly, caressing her long nailed fingers through his
hair.
His eyes rose, locking with hers, pleadingly as he spoke. "Please Mistress....do
not sell me....." he begged softly, his expressive gray eyes tearing at the
prospect. "i....i...know that you sell the others soon...but please
Mistress...not me...." he begged again on a soft whimper. "i...i couldn't stand
to be without you...." he said dropping his eyes again, his hands clenching and
unclenching at his waist where they were still bound as if aching for her.
"Please Mistress....." he whispered tearfully, not daring to look at her.
"Please Mistress....i love you....."
She sat back for a moment, her hand dropping to the chair arm to hang loosely
over it's padding. Jarron scooted forward on his knees, his chains rattling
softly with his movement, and pushed his bent head beneath her loose, limp
fingers with a soft whimpering sound deep in the back of his throat. He managed
to turn her hand over, and laid his cheek there, his gray, tearful eyes rising
slowly to hers and she saw the truth of it there as he whimpered softly.
"Please...." he begged out the one word on a choking sob. She rose then, pulling
back from him, the ball hanging loosely from her hand for a moment. She
shuttered off her own eyes, bending slightly to replace the ball in his mouth.
He accepted it readily, opening his mouth wide to accommodate her as always,
having said his peace turning hopeful eyes up at her as he sat back on his
calves.
She lifted him then, pulling his considerable weight upwards easily and against
her flat belly, still in it's corset from earlier. He rubbed his face longingly
against her, a whimper bubbling up from deep within his wide chest as she
stroked his head in a hug.
His hands, of their own violation, reached out as far as his bonds would allow
to gently caress her inner thigh for a moment. Realizing his mistake almost
immediately, he dropped them away until she gave consent to touch her.
She smiled softly, pulling him back slightly to stare down into his eyes for a
moment. One long nail came up to caress his strong cheek and she smiled slowly.
"I'll let that slide." she said by way of soft command and she immediately saw
the relief in his eyes. "But not again." she added with a slightly dark grin.
He nodded vigorously, gulping around the gag in his relief that she wouldn't
punish him for the one, slight oversight about her touching rule.
"Now...off to bed with you...." she stated softly. "There's much to do
tomorrow...." she added as she turned away leaving him in the room alone.
He waited a moment, hearing her footsteps click away down the hall of stone,
then rose gracefully to his feet to shuffle away to his own room. He'd become so
used to the position that he was now bound in, that he had no trouble
maneuvering through the great halls of her mansion and back down into the cellar
where the newest slave was being kept, and into his own room of stone.
He'd earned the right to sleep on at cot now, after many months of work and
training, and he sat slowly in the dark. The only light spilling into the room
was that from the hallway and he sat waiting for her to come to him. As always,
the Mistress personally tucked each of her slaves into bed at night, no matter
the hour or the 'play' that had gone on that night. Only Jarron was awake now,
out of the ten that she currently had in residence, the others having been put
to bed in the hours before she'd gone 'clubbing' as she called it.
Only Jarron had been allowed to stay awake, patiently waiting for her call that
she'd acquired a new trainee. Which had come around 4am he figured. He was one
of the few that was allowed the luxury of self release from bondage, as he'd
become her 'helper' when bringing in newbies, as 'he' called them.
This night though, as he'd helped her carry the young man from his home he'd
felt an overwhelming pang of jealously as he placed the man over his own wide
shoulder. He couldn't 'miss' the look of appraisal she'd given the one called
Dillon, and he feared for a moment that his place in her world was rapidly
diminishing.
He sat back against the rough stone of the wall, and his gray eyes burned in the
darkness with a jealousy he'd never felt before. For just one brief moment, he
felt dark thoughts consume his mind at what he'd like to 'do' to the newbie. But
he was no longer that man. No longer the jealous, almost maniacal lunatic she'd
captured in the year before.
Had it 'only' been a year since she'd brought him here, he wondered for a
moment. Yes, it had. In that time, she'd completely turned his life around. He
was no longer the raving, jealous, lunatic he'd been before. A man who beat
women because of his uncontrolled anger. A man who used women....a bad
man......he mused to himself.
"She" had shown him how to be a better man. A kind man. A loving man. And he
loved her with every fiber of his being. He gulped heavily as the truth of it
hit him square in the eyes.
At first he'd viewed her as some sick pervert. Some evilly twisted woman that
got her jollies off on beating men, much as he had on women. But the time he'd
spent in her care had proven him completely wrong about her. Utterly wrong, he
realized with a deep pang of longing.
His eyes rose to the door, as he waited in his cell. Where was she? he wondered
to himself. She should have been here by now to 'tuck him in' as she did every
night.
Then he heard it. A soft padding of feet coming down the stone of the hallway
beyond his room. That was odd, had one of the others tried to escape? his mind
wondered. But he heard no tell tale clinking of chain as they all wore. Just as
he was about to rise from his cot to check, she appeared in the doorway.
She was backlit by the lights there, and he saw with a start that she was
gloriously naked in that moment. Her wide shoulders cast a long shadow as she
slowly pushed open the door. Her high, firm breasts jutted out at him proudly
and he felt himself clench his hands together tightly with a need to hold them,
to touch them.
Her trim waist, well formed hips, and long legs were only accented by the light
falling over them from the hall behind her and her long hair rustled softly as
she stepped further into the room.
She'd never come to him naked before. He'd never even 'seen' her fully naked
come to think of it. She preferred to present herself as the Mistress that she
was to everyone, him included, all leather and hardness. He gulped heavily
behind the gag in his mouth, a soft whimper escaping him at the picture she
presented.
His eyes blatantly roved over her in the darkness and he clenched his hands
again, wanting...no needing to be free of the bondage she kept him in to go to
her. To touch her....to love her.
But he couldn't, he realized in frustration as his manhood slammed painfully
into the chastity device he wore. He groaned softly, his eyes pleading with her
as she came toward the cot on which he sat.
~Please.....~ his eyes begged in the light now cast from the opened door.
~Please...let me love you......~
She didn't speak as she came to his side in the darkness, instead reaching out a
gentle hand to caress his cheek softly as she had in the computer room above
stairs. He moaned softly at her touch, almost leaning forward to touch her in
return, but remembering the hard learned lessons of the months before and
remaining still as a statue.
He shook visibly in his bonds as she touched his shoulders with her long nails,
caressing them as she never had before. The erection between his legs,
underneath the hard metal of the chastity belt, grew in size and girth as she
touched him like a lover...not the slave he'd become.
Until now, their contact had been 'strictly' restricted. Limited to only what
'she' allowed, and 'that' didn't include physical sex...touching...or even
kissing. She'd said he was here for training and eventual sale to another
Mistress. That was her business, and how she had afforded all the luxuries she
had gained over the years.
She wasn't in it for the sex. She could have that anytime, she'd told him once.
She 'was' in it however, to make the world a better place in her own simplified
way. By training men to appreciate women, to learn from them, to gain insight
into how they thought, acted, loved and hated. But never for sex......
Sex for her, she'd added, was a man's head between her legs, his tongue deeply
imbedded inside, bringing her pleasure. But that was as 'far' as it went. She'd
never allowed 'any' of the slaves he'd seen since coming here to have 'physical'
sex with her, saying it was degrading and meaningless for a man. And even worse
for a woman.
Sex for women was so much more detailed. More than just having a pumping,
grunting man over top of them. There were touches, kisses, hugs, cuddles,
everything involved, and Jarron was going to learn them all for his 'new'
Mistress. He was going to learn how to completely please a woman in every way.
Even down to cleaning, cooking, laundry, and caring for her personal needs
beyond just the sexual.
And he had. He could now cook a seven course meal in short order. Do laundry
without blinking an eye, sew like his mother had years ago, iron all day long
and never miss a beat, or singe a precious garmet.
Her lessons were harsh...her demands even harsher, but he'd adapted well, once
he'd accepted his fate at her hands...and the inescapable bondage in which she
kept him. And all the others.
He gulped heavily now as her hands fell to his chest to caress him slowly,
softly, almost shyly, and he shook violently with need. With desire. In the year
he'd been with her, he'd never seen her caress a trainee as she was now doing to
him. Her touches were gentle, or harsh, depending on the need and the situation,
but she'd never caressed one. Never touched one as she was now.
He felt pride swell his heart until it threatened to burst with it. That she'd
come to him this night, naked in all her glory, and was touching him so, may
bode well for his heartfelt confession. Maybe she 'did' mean to keep him...maybe
she wouldn't sell him in the auction that was coming soon.
Maybe....just maybe...she'd fallen in love with him too in the last year.
As her simple caress roved down toward his waist and bound hands, he clenched
them so hard his nails dug into his palms. He jerked once on the padlock at his
waist, whimpering softly in the light cast from the door with his need to be
free in that moment.
But she was having none of it and gently pushed him back on the cot beneath him.
Stretching him out on it's length, she moved away and picked up the heavy straps
that would secure him while he slept so he wouldn't harm himself in his bondage
if he should roll off to the floor.
She'd always been careful 'never' to harm him, or have him harmed in any
permanent way. She'd beat him relentlessly in the first months he'd been with
her, using whips, paddles, her bare hand, until he'd begun to accept his
training and her position in his life. That of Mistress....but even then, she'd
never caused any permanent damage to his large, well muscled body.
And she'd never beaten him in outright anger. He'd pushed her once, over that
edge, and she merely walked away, her blue eyes flashing dangerously and left
him hanging by his wrists in the dungeon for hours. She'd gagged him of course,
then returned when she was calm again, and inflicted upon him one of his 'worst'
lessons. It would have been better if she'd beaten him in anger, he'd mused
later, over the pain in his body. Not the cold, calculated punishment she'd
devised for him.
He couldn't even remember now, as she strapped him down to the cot with the wide
leather, what he'd said to push her so far, but he remembered well the lesson
she'd taught him about speaking out of turn, or out of anger, as he'd worn the
heavy harness gag for almost a month straight, released only to eat food. That
was also when he'd learned to use his nose to bring her pleasure because she
wouldn't allow him to remove it to use his tongue, or his hands.
She leaned over him now, as she finished strapping him tightly to the cot.
Unable to do more than lift his head, he clenched his free fingers against the
metal of the chastity belt at his waist, his rock hard manhood coming to the
forefront of his thoughts.
He whimpered again, lifting his head from the softness of the cot and jutting
his chin toward her twice in the darkness. She smiled softly, squatting beside
the head of the cot for a moment and lifting the gag out of his mouth after a
brief second. He gulped, licking his dry lips and speaking softly, his eyes
still pleading with her. "Mistress?" he begged, glad that he'd earned the right
to speak with her, as so many hadn't yet.
"Yes Jarron...." she asked, folding her arms against the cot as she leaned close
in the darkness. So close that he could smell her intoxicating scent.
"Please...let me stay...." he tried one more time to gain her acceptance of him.
"Please let me love you....." he whispered as the tears pooled in his eyes
again. "Don't....don't....." he choked softly, gulping to bring some control to
his voice. "Don't keep Dillon...please let me stay.....i want too....." he
begged softly, his voice threatening to crack in the darkness with the pain in
his heart.
But she replaced the gag without another word, opening his mouth with a slight
push of it against his lips. He accommodated her, as per his training, and
lifted his head slightly so she could buckle behind his neck.
She rose then, the tip of her breast grazing his upper arm as she did so, and he
groaned behind the gag, his erection revived full bore with just the simple
contact. He lifted his head, raising pleading eyes toward her as she stepped out
into the bright hallway, her hand on the door. She turned slightly and looked
back over her shoulder at him laying on the cot in the semi-darkness of the
room. Something flashed in her eyes, causing them to glow eerily for a brief
moment, then she was gone with a soft click of the door to mark her passing.
_________________________________________________________
She stood at the door for a long while, knowing that he couldn't hear her on the
other side, and gently raised a hand to it's cold steel surface. Laying it palm
down against the coldness she sighed softly once before turning away.
Picking the robe she'd left off the hook by the door, she pulled it on as she
moved down the hall on silent feet. Her heart was breaking at his soft plea to
stay with her.
She 'thought' she'd hardened herself against their pleas long ago, but this
slave...no, this 'man' had gotten through to the cold, dead blackness inside.
And she didn't like it...not one bit.....she fumed suddenly with barely
controlled rage. Her pace quickened, carrying her through the dungeon, past a
security door, and up a long flight of stairs to emerge in the 'private' parts
of the mansion.
In reality, if anyone was to ever 'look' at the plans to the home they'd be
surprised that there were actually 'three' parts too it's vast splendor.
The first was the original mansion. A large 20 room affair that had been popular
in the area in the early turn of the century. It had been owned by a great
grandfather and passed down through the generations, being added to as time went
by.
The rooms were vast, yet turned homely by some of the family as time passed.
Now, it was barely discernible from the rest of the vast home.
She passed through the original part, coming from the dungeons, an addition
during American slave times and modernized by several of her women ancestors to
mark the passage of time to her generation.
She walked slowly, thoughtfully through the sitting rooms, parlor, massive ball
room and into the third part of the additions. The private living area. This too
had been added during her generation, by her mother, as a place to separate from
her work.
Her work with slaves. Since the time of the American slaves, brought over the
ocean generations ago, the women of her family had been involved with them.
Their sale at first, when the men abandoned them, to make ends meet during the
war torn era of the Americas. Then nothing for several years as it was 'taboo'
to own or house slaves per se.
Finally, her great grandmother had burgeoned on an idea that had carried over to
this day. Why not use the dungeons again, to keep her family in the style they'd
become accustomed. This time though, instead of just the outright sale of
slaves, these came with extensive training to serve.
It wasn't until her mother came along, and grew of age, that extended bondage of
their slaves had come into the picture. She still kept with the training of the
slaves, but focused primarily on men, instead of men and women as they had in
the past. Her mother had found a niche, training a modern man to please a woman,
both sexually and domestically, as it seemed so many had forgotten how to do
that in modern times.
She'd grown up in these halls, she mused as she passed through their opulence,
never knowing what her mother was about, but enjoying the fruits of her labors
none the less. She'd gone to the best schools, the best college that money could
buy, never knowing where it all came from, and believing the story of a vast
inheritance.
It wasn't until she'd graduated that she'd learned the truth. Her mother, now
aging, had sat her down and explained the family 'secret' in great detail. She'd
thought until that point, that her father had died when she was barely a babe,
but she found out then, that was not the case.
In reality, her father had been one of the slaves her mother had trained some
years before. A nameless man from his former life and sold in an auction she'd
never known about. That was fine with her, however, for she'd never missed him.
She'd never had a yearning as some girls did for their fathers presence. Her
mother had raised her just fine.
It had taken her awhile to realize that, having felt betrayed by being kept in
the dark. Finally, some months of brooding later, she'd forgiven the loving
woman she'd known as her mother.
She'd taken her offer to 'learn' the family business and spent her next, young
years learning all she could from the Mistress of the house. And she'd excelled,
her mother praised, better than any she'd ever trained as a Mistress before.
She'd found out that her mother had trained quite a few women on how to handle
their men, or men they would buy from her. They came from all walks of life,
some learning easily the fine art of controlling a man, others having a more
difficult time of it, but coming round under her mother's carefully watchful
eye.
Except for her. She'd taken to being a Dominant like a duck takes to water,
feeling as if she'd finally found her 'own' niche in this crazy world. She'd
felt lost and restless as a child, even more so as a teen, but had covered it
well by being the 'popular' student. A cheerleading captain, captain of the
volleyball and soccer teams and so on. But still, underneath all the smiles and
cheers, she felt lost and alone.
Until the day she'd returned from college and was told who and what her mother
was. In truth, she'd never left again, preferring to stay in the mansion, run
the business, train the men, and the women as her mother had, hold her auctions
of sale to the high society women that ran in blue blooded money circles.
She broke herself out of her musing thoughts and walked into her massive
bedchamber. She moved immediately to the small fringe set into the wall and
pulled a soda out, moving off onto the balcony and staring out at the vast
forest below.
She sipped thoughtfully on the can in her hand for a long while, lost to her
private thoughts until a familiar voice rang out behind her. "Well?" it asked
softly.
"Well what?" she asked without turning in a cool voice.
"Are you keeping him?"
She shrugged gently, rustling the shoulders of her robe. "I haven't decided."
she finally conceded softly.
"He loves you......you know that." the voice said softly. "What harm could there
be in keeping him around. You can always sell him later."
She spun then, her long black hair spinning out wildly behind her. "I 'know'
that." she gritted out softly at the familiar figure behind her. "But you know
mother's advice. "Never...'never'....fall for one...they'll only break your
heart." she mocked in a familiar singsong they'd both heard before.
The figure behind her sighed heavily, her own robe rustling as she did so. Why
wouldn't her twin ever realize that she 'could' be happy with a man. Even a
slave, she mused with a thoughtful frown, before speaking again at her mirror
image.
"Sister...." she said softly, stepping out onto the balcony. "Not all men are
like that." she reminded her, coming to a stop and facing the 'mirror' of
herself. "Jarron is different. He loves you, with all his heart. I've seen the
way he looks at you. At me even when I'm training." she said gently.
Though they were twins, exact in every detail right down to the birthmarks they
both bore on their shoulders, they had 'far' different personalities as most
twins were prone to do.
One sister had grown under their Mother's careful and watchful tutelage, while
the other had gone to normal school. Normal places like college.
Where one twin had become a Mistress right from the start, the other had joined
in later years. But still they kept their secret of being twins. Only their
mother had known, and even to this day, they didn't make it public knowledge
they both existed.
Only one was 'ever' seen, and they took great pains to ensure they didn't trip
over one another, even when training slaves.
The first twin spoke now, changing the subject. "I brought you home Dillon." she
said, her voice soft and calm despite the earlier flash of anger.
"I know." the second, Jordaine or Rain for short, stated. "I just came from
seeing him."
Mira, the first twin, smiled, relaxing a bit from being with Jarron. She hadn't
realized she 'was' tense until that moment. But his soft confession had unnerved
her considerably. She didn't 'want' him to 'love' her. She was the Mistress, the
leader, and should be looked upon with reverence and devotion certainly, but
never love. It was too unpredictable......too unsettling.
Love made people do strange things....her mother had quoted once, and she'd
heeded the words since. Sure, she'd had her share of high school crushes in her
life, puppy love, but never the all consuming love her mother had shied them
'both' away from.
Neither twin had questioned her adamant refusal to speak more on the subject,
and both were happy with that. They had always figured their mother would tell
them in her own time, when it was right, but she'd taken it to the grave some
years before.
Mira sighed now, pushing past her mirror image as she walked back into the room
from the balcony. "When will you start training him?" she asked as she passed.
"Tomorrow I think." Rain stated softly, stopping to lean in the doorway to the
balcony. "Maybe the next." she added with a casual, characteristic shrug. "We've
got time. He won't be ready for at least a day to start. He's not accepting it
just yet. But he will....." she stated with soft conviction as she moved past
her twin with confidence and back out the door.
_________________________________________________________
Dillon woke slowly, struggling out of the last vestiges of sleep. His entire
body ached painfully, and it took his brain a moment to remember why. ~Thank the
fates it was just a nightmare.....~ he said as he tried to sit up. He was at
home, safe in his bed with some nameless beauty beside him as always.
When his body refused to cooperate with his commands of trying to rise, the
entire events of the night came rushing back to his mind and he screamed out,
the sound still muffled by the hard rubber in his mouth.
He gulped, struggling up and pushing the last of his sleep from his brain. He
groaned aloud as he realized things hadn't changed for him. Things hadn't
returned to normal. He wasn't in his large bed, safe and warm, with a nameless
beauty beside him after a passionate night of lovemaking.
He was still in his pitch black cell. Still bound arm and leg in the
constrictive bondage the witch had put him in. Still encased in the metal of the
chastity device....and still had a raging erection, which only intensified as
the rest of his body woke painfully.
He was unaccustomed to sleeping as he had, on his side, toes pointed painfully
downward, arms held rigidly away from him. His shoulder ached considerably, and
he remembered slamming it into both doors in his efforts to escape. The one in
the dungeon, and the one in this cell through the night on and off.
He screamed out again, and began to weep in earnest. He'd never felt so alone in
his entire life. Even after his mother and grandfather had died. Looking back on
it now, in the silence of his cell, he realized it was probably why he'd been
with a different woman each night. Why he never 'connected' with just one and
stayed with her.
Sure, he'd 'tried' it, but he always feared being abandoned again, heartbroken
and alone. He'd had a relationship or two, but they never lasted more than a few
months before he broke it off.....leaving them before they could leave him, he
mused wirily.
Now, look where that attitude had gotten him. In a cold, dark cell, alone and
bound. He sighed around the ball in his mouth. It was his own fault...if he'd
'attached' himself to someone...anyone in his young life, they may just 'now' be
worried for him and looking into his disappearance.
But there was no one. Not even his neighbors would be concerned for him because
of his characteristic disappearances for weeks at a time. His rent was always
paid by his company accountant, whether he was there or not. So were the
utilities, phone, cable and so on. Even his mail went to the office and was set
aside, personal bills separated for payment, and private mail left on his desk
for perusal when he felt like it.
He mentally cursed himself for having taken the easy road in life once he'd
inherited the company from his grandfather. If only....he chided himself.
If only what? his brain returned.
~If only I'd...I'd.....been thinking.....~ he sighed out to his inner voice in
dejection. He probably wouldn't be in this mess if he had thought more of
himself.
He shifted in his bondage then, pushing himself upright with difficulty and
stretching his long legs out in front of him. The only position he could adopt
with his legs bound as they were.
His head shot up as a key scraped in the lock to his cell. It opened outward,
and a figure was silouhetted against the softly lit room beyond. He blinked
rapidly for a moment against even the small amount of light spilling into the
room, cringing away from it slightly as if it might burn him.
When he could, he turned back and recognized the figure of the woman who'd
kidnapped him. All the fury of the night before came rushing back and he
squirmed in his bonds, finally coming to his knees. He lunged forward at her,
swinging his heavy stilted arms in the process trying to fight back as best he
could.
He realized, a moment later, his failure as she easily sidestepped his
telegraphed move. He landed hard on his chest, half in and half out of the door
to his tiny cell with a hard whoosh of air.
He dragged at the air around him through his nose rolling on his back as fast as
he could, trying valiantly to swing his arms upwards and hit her. But again she
sidestepped the act, leaving him flailing on his back.
She moved closer then, placing a booted foot dead center in his wide chest and
balancing on the other calmly. "You'd best hold still if you wish to eat....."
she said calmly.
That comment stilled him as his stomach grumbled loudly in protest as thoughts
of food filled his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been in the dark cell, but
his empty stomach said it 'must' have been some time. 24 hours at least.
"Good boy...." she said with a soft tap of her boot in his chest, speaking as
one might to an animal. She bent then, attaching a lead to his collar and
pulling up on it gently.
It took him a bit to roll back over and get himself to his knees without her
aid, but he managed finally.
"Come along...." she said by way of gentle command, pulling on the lead at his
neck.
As with the time before, he moved haltingly across the floor of the room on all
fours, the pits of his arms crying out in protest at the poking of the boards
that held his arms immobile from the shoulders down to his hands. After awhile
though, he realized it was a bit like using a set of crutches. Rolling his
shoulders slightly to place one in front of the other as he moved he made slow
progress to the other side of the large room.
She patiently moved ahead of him, leading him with gentle tugs of the collar at
his neck. He still fumed in anger, but his almost overwhelming need for food
outweighed that for the moment.
Until he realized how she intended him to eat. She led him to a corner, where a
bowl, looking much like a dog's, sat next to the wall. Next to it was another,
filled with water. She reached up, lead in hand, and calmly hooked it to a ring
set in the wall above both bowls then turned back to him.
"This is how you will be fed...until you prove worthy to eat otherwise." she
said as she bent his head forward to unlock the gag.
As soon as the ball popped free of his jaw, he immediately began to curse her.
Her mother...and her mother's mother in fuming anger, forgetting for a moment
she was offering him food.
She stood calmly until his tirade was finished, then pinched his nose closed
until he opened his mouth to breath again. She shoved something she'd picked up
off the shelf above the bowls into his mouth then, pushing his aching jaw wide
again without comment. The 'O' ring held his jaw just as wide as the ball had,
but at least he could breath better through it's opening.
And he could just push his tongue through the opening now between his lips. But
his protests were still unintelligible, coming out as nothing more than grunts
and groans since he couldn't close his jaw to form words.
After she'd secured it, despite his trying to duck away, he realized what his
foolish tongue had just cost him.
Dinner.
She turned away from him then, picked up a can of something off the shelf above
the area, and bent to dump the steaming contents into the bowl. A heavenly aroma
of stew wafted to his nose a few minutes later, and his stomach growled loudly
in protest.
He lifted pleading, yet still flashing eyes at her, but she merely smiled. "When
you learn manners I might decide you can eat." she said, reaching out to stroke
his head casually before walking away.
He turned his head for a moment watching her walk away to a cabinet set into the
wall near by, open it, then return a moment later with something decidedly evil
looking clasped in her slim fingered hands.
It was round, silver steel, about two inches high with spikes sticking inward
around it's circumference.
He realized too late what the contraption was, as she bent forward slightly to
fit it over his neck, and over the existing collar he wore that was now chained
to the wall.
The spikes pressed inward against the skin of his neck, and though dull so not
to pierce him, they would prove decidedly uncomfortable if pressure was applied
to any one side. As long as he sat there on his knees they wouldn't press
against him. But the moment he tried to lay down, or shift his head forward, or
backward or to the side, they would.
He found out as she walked away from him, just 'how' uncomfortable they were as
he lunged forward toward the bowl. He landed on his chest again, knowing that
with his stilted arms he'd never be able to bend to the bowl with it's heavenly
aroma.
That was when he found out the purpose of the second collar. He struggled
forward on his chest, much like a worm would, and eventually came within reach
of the bowl on the floor. The spikes pressed into his neck as he leaned over to
get his lips to the delicious smelling stew it contained. He realized then,
that even 'if' he could have reached the beefy looking stew, the "O" ring would
keep him from more than lapping at it slowly. But more than that, as the spikes
pressed into his neck in front they cut off his throat and his ability to
swallow, but didn't cut off his air.
Two of them pressed in at just the right angle to close his throat against
swallowing, but kept his air tube wide open. He groaned loudly around the "O" in
his mouth and rolled away from the bowl itself. Laying on his back, the spikes
pressed into his spine, causing a tingle to erupt down the length of his body as
if it had gone to sleep suddenly from the neck down.
He tried to lift his arms, but they wouldn't respond, the nerve endings cut off.
He lay there temporarily paralyzed, then realized that by lifting his head away
from the spikes, movement was restored to the rest of him again.
With a heavy sigh, he lifted his head, waited until he could move, then bunched
his stomach muscles to sit up. Getting to his knees again, he sank back on his
calves to wait, his eyes going longingly to the bowl before him as a soft
whimper of pleading bubbled up from his chest.
