His Black Pearl (8 page)

Not even her gag can mute the sheer ecstasy
bubbling up from her throat.

Oh, Sweet Lord.

I can barely hold myself up when he finally
pulls that thing out of her and turns back to me.

“Isa! Alore.”

My breath hitches.

He wants me to come. He wants to shove that
giant abomination up me next, but he can’t. He just…can’t. It’s too
big. All I’ve ever had are fingers inside me, and that thing, that
monster, it’s—

“Alore.”

I crawl forward as slowly as I dare. I’m
shaking hard when I reach his feet, but if he notices, he obviously
doesn’t care. He removes my gag. He dangles the huge phallus in
front of my face, and I stiffen as soon as I see its girth.

Oh, God, it’s just too big.

I keep waiting for him to stick it up me, but
he doesn’t move. His eyes are on me, and when I meet his gaze, he
says the last word I ever expect.

“Pela.”

I stare from the dildo to him and back
again.

Does he really want me to…to…

I almost gag just thinking about it. Sure,
I’ve licked my own juices off these men’s hands, but this is
different. That toy was shoved up Miss Priss’s cunt, not mine. It’s
her mess. White Coat shouldn’t ask me to clean it up. He’s supposed
to be fair. He’s supposed to take care of me. He can’t just—

He lifts up his crop, and I open my mouth
without thinking. White Coat shoves the cock between my lips.
Behind me, Miss Priss giggles into her gag.

God, I hate her. I really, really hate
her.

I want to cry so badly, but I don’t dare. I’m
supposed to be the good girl. I’m supposed to want whatever they
want me to want. My body still shivers, but I force myself to lick
and suck and clean every inch of the dildo’s elastic silicone
flesh.

White Coat strokes my cunt when I’m done.
“Sona.”

Oh, thank God for sona.

I smile, so relieved that I’ve completed at
least one more skill in this pervert’s training manual, but just
when I think I’m done, he grabs my collar and thrusts my face
between Miss Priss’s parted legs.

“Pela.”

Oh, please God, no.

The bitch’s cunt still throbs. A tiny trail
of wetness drips down her inner thigh. I want to pull away, I even
try to, but the smack of White Coat’s crop breaks down any further
thoughts of resistance.

“Pela.”

What do I do?

My parents are devout Baptists. All my life
they’ve preached against the evils of homosexuality, and though I
never really took their teachings to heart, I still can’t bear the
thought of putting my mouth on this woman’s pussy. It’s sick. It’s
disgusting. It’s…

White Coat smacks my ass again.

It’s something I just have to do.

I take a deep breath.

I can’t fight this man. All I can do is be
obedient, and I’m very, very good at being obedient. My tongue laps
up a stray drop of moisture running down the inside of Miss Priss’s
leg, and I trace its course all the way back to her inner
folds.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

I just need to change my perspective, that’s
all.

My mouth touches the warm lips of her cunt,
and I tell myself once more I’m not being bad. No, this is nothing
more than an erotic game of Simon Says, and if I want to win, I
have to do everything White Coat tells me, no matter how
degrading.

I close my eyes.

Miss Priss’s skin is soft and light. Rich
honey perfumes her flesh, and I swear I can almost taste an
underlying sweetness somehow mixed into the saltiness of her
juices.

This isn’t so bad.

Her muscles quiver beneath me. I thrust my
tongue in higher, deeper, farther inside her, and she gasps. Soft
moans build up beneath her gag. Her legs stiffen. My own pussy gets
wet just hearing the sounds of her arousal, and I press my mouth
harder against her flesh, hungry for more.

Oh, God, I need more.

Strong fingers caress my cunt, and when
something hard slips between my pussy’s open lips, I jerk up in
surprise. What’s going on? I thought I was being good. I
thought—

White Coat pushes my head back into place
before I can even turn around. Whatever he’s doing, it’s clear I
still have a job to do, and he’s not letting me up until every inch
of this bitch’s cunt is sparkling clean.

Well, fine, I can do that. I want to do that.
I lap at Miss Priss’s trembling sex with renewed passion, and
within seconds I have the bitch crooning and gasping beneath that
heavy ball gag. Her back arches, and I go at her harder, faster,
and then…then…

Then the vibrations hit me.

Oh, dear lord, the vibrations.

I’ve heard of vibrators before, but I’ve
never tried one. I’ve never before had the desire. But to feel that
thing inside me now, to feel it pulse and thrust as White Coat
works it in and out of me over and over again.

I gasp.

If this is the praise I get for being good,
then dear Lord, I never want to be bad.

With a hunger I never knew I had, I turn all
my attentions on Miss Priss. I have a job to do, and I want to be
good. I so, so want to be good.

Muffled gasps and moans sift through Miss
Priss’s gag, and the thrill of her pleasure is almost better than
my own. I’m intoxicated. I push myself farther. Every bit of
hesitation, revulsion, and shame is gone as I lose myself inside
this woman’s throbbing pussy.

I’m no longer Adair Bartlett. I’m Isa now.
I’m an animal, and I love it.

She comes not once but three times as I lick
and nibble her inner folds, and I can’t even count the number of
orgasms I experience. When White Coat finally pulls me away, I
struggle for one last taste of the blonde’s juices. I’m still so
hungry, so very hungry, and the taste of her, of this…it’s all
so…so…

His chuckle pulls me back to my senses.

In all the days I’ve spent with White Coat,
I’ve never once heard him laugh. Even a smile from my stoic trainer
is a precious rarity. So when I look up behind me now, it comes as
no surprise to see not White Coat but Master. He pulls the
still-pulsing vibrator from my dripping pussy, and that’s when the
shame hits.

Oh, God, what have I done?

I’ve soiled myself. I’ve done something
hideous, and I liked it. Dear God, I liked it.

I tremble as his hand reaches for my face,
but when I look up at him, there’s no revulsion in his eyes, not
even any ridicule. All I see is the same pride he’s always shown
me. This depravity, it pleases him, and for the life of me I can’t
understand why.

When he holds the soiled vibrator up to my
lips, I lick it clean automatically, and he strokes my face with
complete tenderness.

“Sona, Isa.” He strokes back my hair. “Sona,
sona, sona.”

My cheeks burn, and my heart’s beating so
fast I can barely breathe. Oh, God, I shouldn’t feel like this. The
man holding me is a monster, a sociopath. His every caress should
make want to vomit, not… not…

He pulls away from me, and a sigh breaks
through my lips before I can stop it. Already it feels like I’m
losing a piece of something I never knew was missing. I need his
touch, his approval, his desire, and if he goes away again, I—

I shake my head quickly. That is not a
thought I need to follow.

I’m Melissa Adair Bartlett, damnit. I’m a
free woman, and I can’t let this bastard break me so easily. I have
to be strong. I have to be tough. I have to wrap myself in the very
dream of my independence, and only then will I have the power to go
on.

He takes my leash, and I crawl beside him
while he leads me across the grounds of his estate. My heart
pounds. My body still craves his touch, but my mind… I keep a tight
hold on my thoughts. As long as I control them, they can’t control
me, and in the face of what this bastard has already done to me, I
need every last bit of control I can manage.

Thunderous footsteps approach us from the
left, and when I look up, the giant gray horse I’ve come to call
Samson trots over to Master’s side. The beast regards me with
little more than a snort before rubbing his massive forehead
against Master’s shoulder and rooting through the man’s
pockets.

I half-expect Master to shoo the animal away,
but instead he just laughs. His hands reach up to pet the horse’s
broad, flat cheeks, and when he reaches into his back pocket, he
pulls out a single peppermint stick that the beast slurps up
greedily.

My eyes never leave the pair of them, and the
scene is almost…endearing.

Within seconds, though, a pair of
out-of-breath groomsmen crest the hill. A slurry of hastily spoken
words rush past their lips, and when they hold up a chewed-through
halter rope, Master just waves away any further excuses. He should
be furious at their incompetence. God only knows what a
thoroughbred like Samson is worth. But instead, he just hands the
horse’s bridle back to his men and calmly leads me away.

At least I can be thankful my master doesn’t
have a temper.

We travel past stone outbuildings and marble
fountains. Any minute now I expect to hear the word dinsi, to feel
his cock thrusting inside me over and over again while I cry
silently into the grass. It’s his right after all. In his eyes, I’m
his property, and he can have me whenever he wants. I should be
grateful for the patience he’s shown me so far, but after the show
I just put on with Miss Priss, I know better than to hope for any
further special treatment.

God, I wonder how much it’s going to
hurt.

Momma always said sex hurt, and I guess she
should know. Sure, the fingerings have been nice, and the vibrator,
well, there are hardly enough words to describe the vibrator, but a
real live cock is different. I still remember the massive bulge in
Master’s pants when he pleasured me beneath the apple tree, and I
can’t imagine anything that large going inside me. God, he’ll
probably split me right open. He’ll…he’ll…

He strokes my back, and I don’t even realize
I’m crying until he reaches down to wipe the tears from my eyes.
What is wrong with me? I’m supposed to keep it together. He needs
to trust me, and if I’m breaking down into a sobbing mess every
five minutes, I highly doubt he’ll have much faith in my
loyalty.

His eyes are on mine. He watches while I
choke back my fear and thrust out my chest like the obedient slave
White Coat has trained me to be. I stand on all fours and await my
orders. I can do this. I have to do this. Going down on Miss Priss
seemed impossible at first, but in the end it wasn’t all that bad.
No, in all honesty, it wasn’t one bit bad at all. Maybe I’ll even
like being used by Master. Or at least maybe I can learn to like
it. He really has treated me well, and he hasn’t hurt me.
Maybe…maybe it won’t be so bad.

I’m still shaking, but I’m no longer crying
when he gives my leash a tug and leads me further. The grass grows
thicker, taller with our every step. Ahead of us, a hill rises. I
shiver when a breeze touches my skin, but my hair is too tightly
woven to even stir. Only the grass bows before it, and I wonder
just how much longer it will be before I follow those blades into a
similar pose of submission.

We climb higher up the hill.

My gut churns, and my breaths come out in
quick pants. What is he waiting for? Does he really need the
perfect setting to steal my virginity? God forbid he should take me
in private. No, he wants the whole world to see his crowning
achievement. He’ll take me to the very peak of this bluff and strip
away every last bit of my humanity, and then—

The creak of a rusty metal jerks me back to
the present, and when I look up I almost can’t believe what I’m
seeing. It’s a swing. A simple, wrought iron swing.

Corroded black poles rise from the ground,
and a long, padded bench hangs from chains that continually clank
and groan in the wind. I watch it sway back and forth for several
minutes and already I’m in love. It’s old and beaten, but still
strong. The wind may strike it, the rain may pelt it, and even God
might occasionally curse it for what it is, but still it endures,
and all for just one simple purpose: pleasure.

My breath catches.

Master lifts me into his arms, and I don’t
fight him. I stare up at those blue eyes, each one as bright and
clear as the sky above them, and when he lays me across his lap, I
just bask in the warmth of the sun-baked canvas beneath us.

Oh, God, I really do love a swing.

His arms encircle me. His fingers caress my
cheek, my breasts, and as we rock back and forth, all of my worries
roll away. He strokes my hair. He says a hundred words I can’t
possibly understand, and when he points to something far off in the
distance, I follow his gaze.

Sweet Lord, this view alone could make me
want to be his prisoner.

Below us, the rolling Tuscan countryside
rises and falls from my view. Olive fields and vineyards weave a
tapestry of color no Texas land could ever share. Cottages and
barns spot the earth, while a twisting river snakes through the
sunlight and shadows.

Far away though, miles and miles from where
we sit, another hill rises almost as tall as ours, and straddled
upon it are the watchtowers and walls of a crumbling Italian hill
town.

My eyes widen.

I almost expect it to be deserted, but no,
those ant-like specks in the distance have to be cars, trucks, and
isn’t that smoke rising up from those pillars? People live there,
real people, free people, and if I could just get to them…

Master tilts back my chin, and when I look
up, his eyes are forceful if not a little sad.

“Ki, Isa.” He points out to the city once
more. “Ki.”

Tears well up in my eyes, and I want to
scream. I want to bite and kick and cry and just make him pay for
ever bringing me up here. What in the hell is the point in showing
me how close freedom is if he never intends to let me go? How
sadistic can this man get? Bad enough I have to prance around naked
and shamed every minute of my life, but to be taunted by even the
slimmest hope of escape is almost unbearable.