His Black Pearl (21 page)

Master leads me to the other end of the
foyer, and the man with the handlebar mustache follows. Miss Priss
presses her whole body into his legs as soon as he’s near, and he
strokes the top of her head while she sighs.

A knock on the door draws my attention away
from them.

Several men enter the house. They’re all
dressed in plain brown overalls, and they’re carrying a large crate
between them. My mouth goes dry just looking at that box. I
remember that crate. I remember being locked inside it all that
time ago, and the thought of returning to it sends me into a
shivering fit that not even my master’s calming pets can easily
dispel.

And then, as if my life wasn’t already
shattering, he enters.

Only through White Coat’s careful training am
I able to keep from bolting as I watch the shopkeeper stroll
through the door. His smile is the same as I remember it, his hair
only a little grayer and his eyes just as bright.

The man with the handlebar mustache leaves us
then and shakes the old Italian’s hand vigorously as they both walk
up to the crate. With the servants’ help, they pull off the lid,
and then the sides, and there inside is a naked pixie of a girl
with white-blonde hair and big blue eyes that dart around the
room.

When her gaze meets mine, a screech wells up
from underneath her gag, and she breaks down into a shivering,
sobbing mess as the shopkeeper rubs her back and the man with the
handlebar mustache carefully peals away her restraints.

Was I ever so pathetic?

My eyes flit from the girl to my master, and
from slight tug of his lips, I can only guess that I was. I watch
as Miss Priss’s master leads her from the crate. The little blonde
keeps trying to stand on her feet, but over and over they push her
down until the old shopkeeper brings out her training shackles.
Unable to stand, she sobs around her gag as they lead her through
room, her paces uneven, awkward, her breasts swaying with none of
the allure that White Coat had worked so hard to instill in me.

She’ll need so much work.

Still, the man with the handlebar mustache
seems proud as he shows his new pet to Miss Priss. I don’t know
what the older blonde is thinking. Does jealousy enter her mind, or
maybe relief that she’ll now have a full-time companion? Whatever
Miss Priss is thinking, she has to know that her master won’t ever
give her up just because he’s found a younger girl. He loves her
far too much for that.

The shopkeeper gives Miss Priss’s master one
last piece of advice, and then the man with the handlebar mustache
leads both his women away. My eyes can hardly leave the shopkeeper
though. Even though I’ve long since given all of myself up to my
master, that old Italian has been the monster in my dreams for far
too long. He’s the one who caught me. He drugged me and crated me
and sold me to a stranger, and no matter how much I might love my
master now, I’ll never be able to forgive him for what he’s done to
me.

The shopkeeper settles down in front of me,
and I shiver. Only the light tug of my leash keeps me in place.

He looks me over for a long time before he
finally claps his hands together and smiles.

“Oh, bellissimo! Bellissimo,” he cries. “Such
beauty!”

He takes my breasts in his hands and his
moist lips gently kiss my nipples just as he did that one day so
long ago. Despite my fear, I can feel the wetness already pooling
between my thighs.

He exchanges words with my master, and then
his hands travel over my body. Hard nails caress my tight stomach
and his knuckles tickle my spine as he checks my posture.
Eventually, I feel his grip on my own hands, and when he unbuckles
my mittens, his smile widens as he sees how my fingers hang
unresponsively from my palms, their muscles long since atrophied
from all the months of being trapped beneath the pressure of those
gloves.

“Good girl.” He pats my head. “No need
fingers now. Fingers just get in trouble.”

Of course I don’t say anything. I just watch
him as his gaze turns back to my chest. He tugs at the small ring
hanging from left nipple, and his smile widens. At the center of
each hoop, a black pearl lays pressed against my skin.

I can still remember my master holding me as
White Coat pierced each of my nipples. The pain had been so much
and my tears seemingly endless as Master hushed and petted me
through it all, but as the throbbing eased, and I finally began to
learn what pleasure my master could give me through those two small
hoops, I found myself so very grateful for the gift he’d given
me.

Just looking at those pearls reminds me of my
master’s love, and to feel this old man wrap his wrinkly hands
around them is almost too much.

“Ah, my pearl, my pearl!” He says over and
over again, and I struggle to stay in position as the combination
of his words and touch nearly send me over the edge of all I can
endure.

It’s been so long since I’ve heard English,
and now to have this monster speaking it! Thoughts and fears race
through me, and I lean further into my master’s touch. I don’t know
how I’d ever be able to face this demon without him.

The shopkeeper must have sensed my thoughts,
because he just nods to himself now, and cups my face in his hand
gently as he speaks a language I’d long since given up as dead to
me.

“Is okay, bella,” he whispers. “I not hurt
you. Old Pietro just come to take you home.”

His words are so sincere, so soft, that they
make my gut clench automatically. Home? The promise might have sent
me running into his arms an eternity ago, but not now, not after
what I’ve become. Now Master is my home. I belong to him, and I
can’t just un-belong because some old Italian has had a surge of
guilt.

He stands then and snaps his finger. “Come.”
He holds out his hand. “Your mama and papa is waiting. Don’t you
want to see your famiglia again?”

I shake my head without even thinking. No.
No. No, no, no, no, no!

My body’s shaking so hard I can barely get my
hands beneath me as I scamper behind my master’s legs and press my
body into his. Don’t give me up, I want to scream. Don’t leave me!
But speech is something I gave up long ago, and all I can do is
whimper and cry into my master’s pants as the shopkeeper’s hand
hangs before me like an executioner’s axe.

My master’s arms are around me in an instant,
and I feel his warm breath tickle my neck as his voice whispers
across my skin and his hands try to uncurl me from the tightly
sobbing ball I’ve become.

He snarls out several harsh words, and I
flinch, at first thinking they’re directed at me, but no, when I
look up, his glare is aimed at the shopkeeper, and already the old
Italian waves his arms frantically in front of him as he tries to
curb my master’s wrath.

“Is just joke,” he says now, and slowly I
begin to relax into my master’s arms. “Just joke, mia bella. Old
Pietro just want see how much happy you are here. He know master no
let you go, and now he know you no want go either.”

His English, jilted and broken by his accent,
is still good enough for me to understand, and slowly I relax. He’s
right. My master loves me. He won’t just give me up. He’d never let
me go, never, and the thought fills me with such warmth that I
quickly settle back into position as my master whispers a soft,
“Nita.”

In front of me, the shopkeeper’s smile
softens. He holds out one hand palm-up, and I know what he’s
asking. Still, I hesitate. It’s one thing to submit to slavery, but
quite another to submit before the man who sold you into that
life.

What if I’d never entered his shop? What if
I’d never fallen for his little trick? The thought of leaving
Master is nearly more than I can bear now, but what if…what if I’d
remained free? Would I have learned to be happy one day? Would I
have gone to med school and become successful and rich and totally
at peace all on my own?

Those thoughts are a realm of myself I’ve
kept locked up for months, maybe even years now, but as they
explode into my consciousness, I can feel my eyes grow wet. I’ve
become a slave, a pet, an animal, and all because of this man. And
now he wants to pet me, to reach inside me just as my master does?
How can he dare, especially after all he’s taken from me?

“Oh, no, mia bella.” His right hand still
lays cupped before me even as he reaches up to wipe away a tear
with his left. “No sad eyes now. That time is over. Is happiness
here. That was you wish, yes?”

My wish? I think back to that day, back to
the mortar and pestle and the smell of honeysuckle so rich in his
shop. A wish. He’d asked me to make a wish back then, and yes, I
had wished for happiness, but not like this. No, never like this,
not in my wildest dreams.

He nods slowly, and somehow he must know what
I’m thinking, because he lifts my head gently in his hand and
brushes the curve of my jaw with his thumb.

“Oh, my little pearl, no, you no capisce, no
understand. How can you? So young, you know so little. That is why
I help. The herbs, they only show the truth. You ask them what you
need, and they show what you are. A black pearl.”

His hand moves from my face to the pearl
hanging from my collar then all the way down to my breast. He cups
the soft flesh he finds there, squeezing my nipple tightly before
flicking the tiny pearl.

“A black pearl. So rare. So, so rare, but
special, yes? They thrive in confinement. They need constant
pressure to grow. They need to be molded, to be shaped and held and
forced into being. To set them free, to take away from them what
they need, it is a crime, mia bella. A tragedy.”

Tears still trickle down my face. His words
are so soft, so comforting, but how can I believe him? I wasn’t
like this before. I wasn’t. I was just a woman, a girl really,
before he took me. I never asked to be this way. Never.

Conflict must be playing across my face,
because his jaw hardens along with his voice, and in one word he
commands me, “Here.”

I settle my cunt upon his hand without any
thought.

The corners of his lips twitch, and I can
feel the moment his fingers find them. The two pearls. Master had
liked my nipple rings so much that he’d had White Coat pierce my
flaps as well. I suck back a sob as the shopkeeper’s fingers caress
those studs, and my eyes close from the shame of it all.

Isn’t it bad enough that he’s turned me into
this? Why does he have to come here now, after I’ve finally made
peace with what I’ve become? Is he really just trying to undo all
the hard work Master and White Coat have put into me?

His fingers yank my nipple ring hard, and I
gasp. The shopkeeper stares at me with a coldness that sends a
chill right through my heart.

“No.” He tugs on my ring before I can even
make a sound. I wait for my master to stop him, to save me from
this demon, but he doesn’t move. The old man twists the ring, and I
screech.

“Enough,” the old Italian barks. “Still you
try to deny truth. Look at you, mia bella. You are a black
pearl.”

I start to shake my head, but his hand moves
from my nipple to my chin, and his rough fingers grip me tight.

“Look at me,” he orders, and I obey. “Now
face the truth. Were you happy as you were before? Did your freedom
bring you joy?”

Any sane woman would nod, but I can’t bring
myself to move. Was I happy? I’ve suppressed those memories for so
long, always thinking it’d be too painful to recall everything I’ve
lost. Now, though, as I sit here with the warmth of my master
behind me and the soft fondlings of the shopkeeper’s fingers as he
explores my inner folds, I can’t think of one day in my old life
that ever brought me any real joy.

Sure, I’d had temporary pleasures. A good
Christmas. A happy birthday. But all those feelings had been
transient. Mostly, my old life had been filled with loneliness and
fear. Pleasing others, doing what was right, being a good girl,
that’s all I’d ever tried to do while I was free, and ultimately
all my efforts had been futile. You can’t please everyone, no
matter how much you try, but if you only have one master, one true
master…

My eyes widen as I meet the old man’s gaze,
and he nods once more.

“Ah, you starting to see, mia bella. Pearls
such as you, they wither away when left unattended. Just as you
were withering. Yes, I still remember the look in you eyes, my
pearl. So heartbreaking then. But when I see you now with your
master, I see a life in you again. It makes old Pietro’s heart grow
to know I give you such joy.”

Years, months, even just a few minutes ago, I
might have argued with him, but not now. No, for the first time
ever, I’m beginning to understand. I thought I’d already made peace
with what my master had made me, but now thanks to this old man,
I’m starting to see the truth.

No one made me into anything. I was born a
black pearl. I’d been set adrift in a sea of freedom that would
have sent me crashing into oblivion eventually, only this man saved
me. One old Italian shopkeeper saw me for what I truly was and
stepped in to do what he knew I’d never be able to do on my
own.

He sold me into slavery and in doing so gave
me the happiness I’d always dreamed of.

I grind my hips into his hand now, desperate
to somehow show him how grateful I am, and how sorry, how very
sorry for all the stupidity and fear I’ve shown him when all he has
ever done is try to help me.

He chuckles. His eyes brighten once more, and
above me, I feel my master stroke back my hair gently. My master,
my collar, my chain, my pearls, these are the joys in my life now,
the greatest joys I’ve ever known, and thanks to a simple
shopkeeper, I can finally appreciate them fully without shame or
regret.

He pulls his fingers out of me then, and when
he holds them out before me, I lick at them greedily, so thankful
for all that he’s given me.