Forced Submission

Edited
by

Donna Fisk

Jae Ashley

Cover Art by Kelly
Shorten

Fine Line Edit by Kevin
Gherlone

Ebook ISBN
978-1937337681

Copyright 2013 Claire
Thompson

All rights reserved

The Abduction

Chapter 1

Ellis eyed the woman hungrily, his cock throbbing, his whip
arm tingling with anticipation. She was suspended by her wrists, naked save for
her shiny black six-inch heels. The clamps gleamed silver against the red of
her nipples and the creamy white of her skin, which was shiny with
perspiration. He could smell her fear, and the primal scent stirred something
dark and feral deep inside him.

He smiled, savoring his power. He could see the realization
dawning on her face that he wasn’t one of her usual partners, one of those
bullshit posers who proliferated the BDSM scene, giving real sadists a bad
name.

Ellis moved closer to the bound and gagged girl, lifting his
hand to stroke her cheek with two fingers. She stared at him, pleading with her
eyes.

“What’s the matter? Having second thoughts? Or did you lie
on your profile, hmm? When you wrote that stuff about what a dirty girl you
are, and how you like it rough—was that just bullshit? A come on?” He withdrew
his hand, but only to reposition it so he could slap her. She squealed behind
the leather gag and jerked her head away, but she wasn’t going anywhere. He
stroked the hot, red mark he’d left on her overly made-up face.

She’d claimed she was twenty-seven on her online profile,
but he wouldn’t be surprised if she was on the far side of thirty-five. He
slapped her on the other cheek, just to keep things symmetrical.

Ellis reached into his trousers pocket and withdrew his
pocket knife. She’d listed edge play as one of her sexual triggers in her
profile. Maybe a little knife play would get her engine revving. He touched the
release button and the blade snicked out of its casing. He brought the tip of
the blade to her throat.

The woman began to tremble, tears flooding her eyes. She was
shaking so hard the point of the knife grazed her skin. Ellis pulled back the
blade. He hadn’t meant to prick her skin. It was her fault, really, jerking
like that.

“Hey,” he said, “sorry, babe.” His eye was drawn to the
droplet of blood, which beaded at the hollow of her throat and then rolled in a
slender red line between her augmented, gravity-defying breasts. His cock was
so hard he could hammer nails with it and his balls were aching.

All at once he became aware of the pungent smell of urine
and he took an involuntary step back as he glanced down between the woman’s
spread legs. “Damn it,” he cursed when he realized what was happening. “That’s
a priceless oriental carpet you’re pissing on.”

She began to wail behind the gag, a horrible sound like a
cat being murdered, and her eyes were bugging from her head.

“Christ,” Ellis swore. Talk about overreacting. She was
ruining his fun.

He wiped the knife against her shoulder and then closed it
and replaced it in his pocket. When he pulled the gag from her mouth, she began
to babble. “Red light! Red light! Redlightredlightredlight!”

It took Ellis a second to figure out what the hell the woman
was jabbering on about. Then he realized—it was her safeword. He shook his head
in disgust. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re using your safeword when we
haven’t even gotten started yet?”

“Oh my god! You fucking bastard! You cut me! You cut me!”
she cried, jerking hard at the chains that held her arms aloft. “Let me down!
I’m so not into this! Take off these cuffs now!”

It was tempting to replace the gag and ignore her. Maybe
that’s what she wanted. Maybe she was protesting too much as part of the game.
He could continue with the evening as planned, caning her bottom to a hot,
cherry red before he fucked her, all the while keeping her suspended from the
bondage bar. After all, he’d spent more money wining and dining her at a very
fancy restaurant than she probably earned in a week at her pathetic job.

And it wasn’t as if he had gotten her there under duress.
She’d been plenty eager to climb into his BMW M6 convertible for the ride out
of the city. She’d barely shut up the whole way home about how into BDSM she
was, and how she craved the erotic pain and submission a real man could give
her. She’d told him he was the handsomest guy she’d ever met, in the scene or
out of it. Funny how the richer you were, the better looking you became.

She’d gone wide-eyed, her mouth gaping open when he’d pulled
into the circular driveway in front of his Scarsdale home. When she found her
tongue again, all too soon in his estimation, she’d gushed about how she’d been
longing to find a good man to serve and obey.

“Ooooo,” she’d cooed like a kid in a candy store as she eyed
the broad assortment of BDSM gear and restraining devices in his well-equipped
dungeon. She’d stripped willingly enough, quickly shedding everything except
those stiletto fuck-me heels. She’d assumed her position as ordered beneath the
bondage bar and held up her wrists for the cuffs and chains, giggling nervously
all the while.

“Please, Master,” she’d begged breathlessly. “I am yours to
use as you please. Do with me what you will.” So much for that lie. For a woman
who advertised herself as a pain slut in constant heat, it turned out she was
nothing but a prick tease.

His cock flagging, Ellis reached for the woman’s wrist cuffs
and jerked the Velcro closures open. She stumbled forward in her high heels and
lurched toward the pile of clothing she’d been so eager to get out of a half
hour ago. Ellis tossed a hand towel toward her. Her legs still damp with piss,
she first dabbed at her throat and stared with horrified expectation at the
towel, though the nick had already stopped bleeding. 

As Ellis watched her dress, he felt the worst of his anger
and irritation easing away. It was his own damn fault. He never should have
advertised on that stupid BDSM personals site, even if it was the most
exclusive of its kind. He should have just brought home a prostitute who
understood clearly what was expected of her. At least then he would have gotten
what he paid for.

Still, it wouldn’t do to have the girl spreading rumors in
the BDSM community, or worse, rushing off to the cops with some cock and bull
story about how he’d held her against her will. Sure, he would be able to
eventually make the problem go away, but did he really need the hassle?

“I guess we got our signals crossed,” he offered, modulating
his voice into a calm, soothing tone. “I apologize.” He smiled, aware of the
effect the deep dimple in his left cheek and the gleaming white of his perfect
teeth had on women.

She didn’t smile back. “I want to go home,” she said in a
petulant tone. “Call me a taxi.”

Man, he was so damned tired of all the posers and pretenders
in the scene. Maybe he should just
take
what he wanted, and fuck the
consequences. The seed of an idea sprouted suddenly in his mind, and Ellis had
to force himself to focus on the moment, this woman already half-forgotten,
though she still stood in front of him clutching her black beaded purse to her
breast like a shield.

“My driver will take you home.” Ellis reached into his
pocket and withdrew his billfold. He removed five crisp hundred dollar bills.
“No hard feelings, right?” He held out the money, and surprise, surprise, she
took it.

~*~

“I worked for six years as an executive secretary at Shaw
& Brunner and before that I was with Stanford, Cheney and Swenson. 
I’m extremely organized and not afraid of hard work. I’m ready to get out of
the city. And I want something more hands-on and personal. The position sounds
like exactly what I’m looking for.”

She was maybe thirty, a little older than he was going for,
but lovely nonetheless. Her shapely legs were long and bare, lightly tanned
beneath the narrow skirt that stopped just above her knees. From what he could
see beneath her crisp white blouse and blue blazer, her breasts were on the
smallish size, but at least they looked real. Her mouth was wide and sensual,
perfect for sucking cock.

Ellis realized she was waiting for him to say something, and
he resumed his role as interviewer. He’d placed ads in the
New York Times
and on Monster.com, as well as in the local papers. He claimed he was seeking
an administrative assistant with starting salary in the six figure range.

“I’m looking for someone willing to devote themselves full
time to my enterprises. It’s not a nine to five job. I need someone on call
twenty-four/seven, ready to take off with me in my private jet at a moment’s
notice, whether it’s to Dubai to attend the wedding of a wealthy sheik, or to
China to oversee my factories, or to Munich to close a deal. I need someone
who’s comfortable around the very wealthy, at home on a yacht, but not above
typing and doing data entry when I need it, or even taking my suits to the dry
cleaners. While the salary starts at two hundred thousand, what you could earn
in bonuses would more than double that amount.”

He could see the greed spark in her eyes and the excitement
parting her lips. She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I’m a very hard
worker, Mr. Hughes. I have no problem putting in sixteen-hour days, or longer
if need be.” She shifted, crossing her legs and causing the skirt to hike up
along her slender thigh.

Forcing his gaze back to her face, Ellis said, “What about
holidays? Family…?”

“Well, I do have a large family.” She offered an apologetic
shrug. “I’m Greek Orthodox. Our timing is a bit off from the traditional
Christian calendar, but my family’s all local, so as long as I put in an appearance…”

He tuned out the rest of her spiel. Looking down at his
chart, he drew a line through her name. When he’d gauged that enough time had
passed, he stood. “Thank you, Ms. Hart. You’re a very promising candidate. I’ll
be touch.”

She stood as well, smoothing her skirt. “I type
one-hundred-ten words per minute. I have a lot of experience with Excel and
Access—”

“I’ll let you know.” Ellis cut her off. He extended his
hand. “It was a pleasure. Let me show you to the door. I’ll be in touch.”

He watched the play of emotions on her face. Clearly she
hadn’t finished selling herself, but he’d given her a clear dismissal. She took
a deep breath, a mask of calm dropping over her features. She probably thought
he was putting her through a test. “Very good,” she said, extending a slim
hand. “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Hughes.”

You won’t.

It was too bad, because she was a hot little number. But she
didn’t fit his profile, the underlying profile, the real qualifications he was
seeking. He closed the massive oak front door behind her and watched through
the window as she climbed into her car and drove slowly away. He glanced at his
Rolex. Thirty minutes until the next candidate.

Eight days and twenty-two interviews later, Ellis was beyond
frustrated. While he knew it would be difficult to find the perfect woman for
his scheme, he hadn’t realized just how daunting the task would be. He looked
at the last name on his list:
Mia Roberts
. He pulled out the single
sheet of good quality stationary on which she’d printed her résumé
.
Five years
experience as an office manager.
He scanned the page, not particularly
interested in the details.
Willing to relocate.
He glanced at her
address -
Bangor, Maine
. So far, so good.

The doorbell rang and Ellis moved toward it. He looked
through the peephole. The woman on the other side of the door looked to be in
her mid-twenties. She was chubby but she had a pretty face, with dark blue
eyes, sweet pouty lips and dark brown hair that fell in soft waves to her
shoulders. She was dressed in a hideously patterned dress that looked like it
came off the rack at Walmart. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he reminded
himself. The promised salary would definitely turn her head, even though she’d
never actually see a dime. Besides, she wouldn’t be wearing that dress for
long, not if she got the “job”.