Captured and Enslaved Ch. 04

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Tristan and Emory both make adjustments to their plans.
4.1k words
4.32
32.1k
18

Part 4 of the 4 part series

Updated 10/30/2022
Created 10/08/2013
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Nikki07
Nikki07
73 Followers

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dear self-appointed critics: Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I am doing with this story, and it's exactly what I want to do. I have been a reader in this category for years, and it's challenging to find stories that are well-written and truly non-consensual. It may not be the most popular category, true non-consent, but there are those of us who really like stories like this.

Emory's P.O.V.

I probably dozed off, though I couldn't tell for sure. I could feel my skin burning, but there was nothing I could do about it. The gardener, Brady, gave me water when he turned me around on the X frame, exposing my protected back to the sun.

I refused to let Tristan mind fuck me like this. Forcing me to wait and anticipate his next cruelty was terrifying me, and since I knew that he was counting on that, I decided to think about something else. As much as I wanted to believe that Lee was going to rescue me, it was time to be realistic. I had to start thinking for myself. The experiences of the last twenty four hours had forced me to change in drastic ways, leaving my sheltered mind groping for any shred of reality. Dependence could be on no one but myself. And I had to escape from this mad man as soon as possible.

I took my mind off of my predicament by thinking of possible escape scenarios. There were holes in Tristan's defenses and plans. There had to be. I just had to figure out how he worked in order to find them. Though it was a distasteful task, I reviewed everything I knew about him. He was an admitted sadist. Obviously successful, judging by his mansion and designer clothes. Incredibly self-controlled. This was only making me lose hope. What could be a weakness? Was there anything out of place in his granite image?

My mind latched on to his little game with the vibrator, and then his cruel play with making me beg for food. He liked games, that much I was sure of. But how was that a weakness? I felt my spirits falling, but I refused to give up. Maybe Emory, I thought to myself, in order to beat him at his game, you have to outplay him. Trick Tristan at his own games? Unlikely. But perhaps if I introduced an activity of my own, he would take the bait. Even if I couldn't escape, getting to know how his mind ticked could only be an advantage. Besides, I knew that there was some other reason for my abduction. I just had no idea what it could be.

My thoughts took a different direction as I half dozed against the wooden cross, my face pressed against the polished wood. Just two days ago, I had been sitting with Lee after church, blushing at his whispered suggestion of sex. He had seemed almost as shocked as I was with his bold proposition. But I had agreed. I had watched porn before, but before Lee came over, I watched hours and hours of videos until I was so horny I didn't know what to do with myself. Lee had done the same thing before suggesting that he come over, judging by the racy text messages that had flown back and forth between us. I knew that deep under the sweet and sassy church girl image was a sexy woman trying to get out. I could feel it, and I had believed that Lee would be the one to set her free.

Maybe Tristan is the one who will liberate you, a nasty voice whined in my head. My eyes popped open with the shock of the notion. Tristan was evil. He would never liberate me in any way. His twisted soul was made to beat me down and change me into a mindless slave. But I would win. I kept telling myself that over and over.

Tristan's P.O.V.

The sun was setting as I strode back out into the cooling humid air. Emory was dozing in her bonds, her skin a pleasing pink, as if she had just been given a good whipping. I stepped behind her, running my hands down her back and over the slim curve of her hips. She really was a pretty little thing, which made tormenting her that much more enjoyable for me. She moaned, raising her head as she automatically shied away from my touch.

"Did you enjoy your respite?" I asked, unshackling her left wrist.

"As a matter of fact, I did," she surprised me by answering clearly. I quickly wiped the frustration from my face, almost before the emotion made itself known. This session had backfired on me, it seemed, giving her a chance to regroup. I unchained her other hand and bent down to loose her ankles.

"Remember your manners, pet," I reminded her as she turned to face me.

"Master," she said with a little smile, as if she knew something that I didn't. I narrowed my eyes at her.

"Careful," I warned her. This attitude was going to cost her. She had to be close to cracking. She was running on a few hours of troubled sleep and a lot of physical and psychological torture. She thought she was going to beat me. I smirked as she stared up at me, waiting for my next move. I would win this game of wills. I always won.

"Wait until you see what I have planned for you in my basement," I murmured, fingering her leather collar. She paled but kept her confidence as I led her back to the house. My steps were light on the marble floor as I walked behind her, anticipating the session to come. I purposefully kept my hand on her shoulder, feeling her shudder involuntarily at my touch. Now that we were out of the outside dusk, I could see that her skin was very pink all over, darker in some places.

She hung back a step as we came to the basement door, clearly afraid. It was a good sign. I had suffered a minor setback, but I was about to remedy that.

"Go on. Show me how strong you are. Prove to me that my tricks aren't working on you," I taunted her, my voice deep and sinister enough to make her shake. She lifted her chin and yanked open the door, almost hitting herself with the corner. Step by trembling step, she forced her legs to carry her down the stairs.

It always interested me how people always reacted differently to my playroom. Slaves were terrified, afraid of their impending punishment. Close friends were interested in my different toys if they enjoyed a similar lifestyle. Others were taken aback, a bit frightened. Descending into the basement was the opposite of entering my study. My posture became more predatory, my thoughts darker, my movements more sensual and dangerous. It was an interesting effect, how simple spaces in a house could change me like that.

"Turn around," I instructed her, watching as goosebumps were raised on her arms and shoulders. She turned to face me, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. They always did that. I had only ever seen her completely naked, and now she chose to be embarrassed.

"Arms at your sides," I said. She stubbornly kept them across her breasts.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

She looked as if she were going to drop her arms, but kept them in place after all.

I took two steps forward and wrapped my fist in her dark hair, forcing her to back up until she bumped the wall. Her pulse fluttered at her throat as fear clouded her eyes. The sight was intoxicating. Her fear of me was like a drug. Built into the cinder blocks were straps, ready and waiting for her limbs to fill them. I had her wrists already fastened before she knew what I was doing.

"Let me go!" she screamed, pulling at them. Inwardly I was exasperated, but my face remained impassive. A quick backhand to her face shut her up.

"I am at the end of my patience for your lack of respect," I hissed, grabbing her jaw tightly and forcing her to look at me. "Keep testing me and I will teach you your manners the hard way." I released her and watched as she breathed heavily, working her jaw back into place.

As I paced over to one of the shelves, she remained silent, though I could feel her wary eyes on me. I had put her in her place, but it was only temporary. I could sense her defiance, even from over here. It was time to accelerate the game. Could her will to remain independent win out over my persistent desire to force her to submit? I knew the answer before the question was complete.

"This is the Wartenberg wheel," I informed her, holding up the little spiked instrument. It resembled a pinwheel, but was far more painful. The little spikes were very sharp, though not enough to draw blood. Just big enough and sharp enough to set her nerve endings on fire. And with her already blushing skin, the effect would be doubled.

She didn't look impressed by the small device, a reaction that I had planned on. She would soon learn to fear even the smallest of my collection of instruments.

Lightly, I ran the wheel up between her small breasts, watching as her eyes widened in understanding. The wheel had been invented to test for sensitivity, but with substantial pressure applied to her tender skin, it would have her writhing in pain.

"If you think that's exciting, wait until we move to the more tender areas." I slid the wheel squarely over her right nipple, relishing the gasped moan of pain that escaped her. I ran it over her left nipple twice, making her fight to get away from me. Each pass would only make the tortured skin more painful. She had not reacted so well to the brutal whipping, so perhaps this method would bring her to the edge. The torture was slow and drawn out, and it didn't draw blood or raise significant welts, so I could continue for hours.

I left her breasts and ran the wheel down the line of her taut stomach, lessening and applying pressure through the needles at random points.

Emory whimpered as I reached the tender folds of her pussy. The hair wasn't thick at all, but I preferred my women to be clean shaven. Still, it hadn't protected her sex much from the burning rays of the sun. She gritted her teeth as the spikes pricked her sensitive skin. I met her eyes and was surprised when she smiled grimly down at me.

"Is that all you've got?" she challenged.

I was shocked, though I didn't show it. What had happened to my subdued, quiet little Emory? The shock of being captured and enslaved must have been a lot for her to handle, which might explain her meek behavior of earlier.

I had planned to torture her in my basement for hours, but now, the desire was gone. It had vanished as soon as her fiery eyes met mine. My plans had been carefully laid over the years, and I couldn't afford to lose my cool now. My obsession made an intimidating wall, but it was brittle, able to be shattered, and I was more than aware of that. I needed time to think, I needed to regroup. There was only one place that I had designated for that purpose.

Emory's P.O.V.

Tristan was insane, at least a little bit. There was no question in my mind anymore that I was in the hands of a truly damaged person. He was so careful, so clever, so driven, but maybe that was his downfall. Tristan wasn't a professional slave trader, obviously. Unexpected behavior threw him off, I could tell, even through his cruel facade. He was fragile, and I knew that I had to find out how to break him. What motivated his madness? Something about me and the people I associated with. I knew that this instance was a very small chink in Tristan's armor, but it was a victory, no matter how small.

Silently, he unbuckled my restraints. Now I was almost scared, more than I had been when he was using that biting wheel over my body. What if I did succeed in breaking him? What would happen? Would he fly off the handle, seriously injure, maybe kill me? Tristan clipped a lead to my collar, ignoring me as he started towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I asked. He didn't answer as we ascended the stairs.

"Tristan, what-"

He raised a hand, cutting off my sentence. I swallowed, staring at the back of his head with big eyes. His anger was too controlled, like he was used to the rage. He used his rage to clear his thoughts and fuel his sadistic mind.

He led me up the curving white staircase, down the hall until we reached a locked door. He tapped in the security code too quickly for me to see, allowing the door to pop open with a hiss. Inside, the room was decorated in shades of Tristan. The basement terrified me, because it represented Tristan's debasement. This room represented his determination, his passion, his soul. I shook my head, disturbed at the depth of Tristan's character that I was uncovering at every turn. To my shock, I felt a stab of pity for his tortured soul. Angrily, I pushed away that feeling, disgusted with myself. What was wrong with me? A little display of a chink in his tough facade and I was sympathizing with a sadist?

He closed the door behind me, and I gulped, suddenly more aware than I had ever been of the imposing man standing in front of me. His whole being screamed control; it was almost palpable. Thoughts of his breakable mind and any sort of victory on my part went flying from my mind. I truly feared this man, in this, his sacred domain. The horrors of the basement paled in comparison to this place. It bore down on me, threatening to suffocate me with its black walls and sharp edges.

Tristan had changed as soon as we stepped inside. His control was perfect, his power supreme in here. Stop it, I chided myself. It was a mind game, obviously, and since I knew that, it should be easy to overcome it, right?

"On your knees," he commanded, finally meeting my eyes with his icy blue ones. Before I had time to consider my best move, I dropped to my knees automatically. My mouth tightened in frustration at myself, but something told me that Tristan wouldn't tolerate any resistance in here.

"Come." He walked ahead of me down the rectangular room, and I crawled after him, the slate floor on my knees making me wince. A simple metal ring was fixed to the side of the large desk, and to that Tristan clipped my lead.

I hesitantly wavered on my knees as he sat in the tall black chair, picking up a sheaf of papers and beginning his work. The exhaustion that was long overdue hit me hard, and I sat down heavily next to his chair. The lead was too short to allow me to lean against the wall, and lying down on the floor next to him like a dog was out of the question.

Tristan, I am sure, was well aware of my predicament, but his eyes never touched on me as I tried to get comfortable. I finally pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, resting my head on my knees. Despite the awkwardness of the position, I dozed off almost right away.

The piercing sound of a phone ringing woke me with a start. I blinked the sleep from my eyes as Tristan pulled the buzzing device out of his pocket.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was too quiet for me to make out the words, but I was pretty sure it was a women. A faint strain of exasperation passed over Tristan's face as he listened for several seconds.

"I thought I told you to wait," he interjected. More talking from the other end of the line. I strained to hear, but it was no use. Tristan stared at me absently with irritation directed at the speaker. Finally, he stood, obviously resigned to the fact that the woman was not intending on hanging up any time soon. Without a word to me, he strode out of the room, leaving the door cracked open.

As soon as he disappeared, I sat up straight, both hands latching onto the leather leash that tethered me to his desk. I pulled on it with all of my might, but it didn't loosen at all. The clip was locked around the ring in his desk, and I soon discovered a similar lock on my collar. Well, this wouldn't be my moment of great escape, but perhaps there was something else that I could do.

I slipped around behind the desk and started pulling out drawers. I could hear Tristan's deep voice as he slowly paced back and forth outside, and I knew that the consequences for snooping would be severe. The three drawers on the right didn't reveal much, just stacks of shipping records and bills. Surely there was information on those papers, but I didn't have enough time to search through them. The top left drawer was locked, unfortunately for me. Whatever was in there was probably worth its informative weight in gold.

Keeping an eye on the door, I lifted the stack of papers in the bottom right drawer. After only a few seconds of searching, I found Tristan's full name listed. Tristan N. Asaria. Odd name that fit with his odd accent.

I set the papers back down into the drawer when a piece of card paper caught under my fingernail. I set the papers back inside but pulled out the piece of paper. Jackpot, I thought excitedly to myself. It was a photograph. I flipped it over and my blood chilled. It was the picture of Pastor Donovan and Lee that was in our church directory. It had obviously been dropped in this drawer long ago and forgotten. This must be what Tristan meant by getting involved with the wrong people. But what had the Donovan's ever done to him? Tristan didn't even sound like he was from the United States, and Pastor Donovan had lived in Texas for as long as I could remember. This picture had obviously been here for a long time. What was the connection? And where did I fit into this? I shoved the picture back into the desk and slid the drawer shut, returning to my previous position just before Tristan entered the room.

He sighed as he crossed the room to his desk. I kept my eyes on the floor, desperately trying to appear normal despite the information I had just gathered. I didn't know the connection to the Donovan's, but at least now I did have a full name to give to the police when I escaped. Tristan Asaria.

"People always want to discuss private business when one is entertaining company," he said in way of an explanation for his abrupt exit. Entertaining company my ass, I thought to myself.

Tristan leaned down and unlocked the leash from the desk, motioning for me to stand. I kept my eyes on the floor as I slowly got to my feet. I could feel Tristan's eyes appraising me.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, pet?" he asked. I could feel the sweat beading on my skin under his stare. I mutely shook my head.

"Come along then. I have business to attend to and you are far too distracting."

Tristan took me downstairs and around behind the massive staircase, down a short hallway, and finally to a locked door. His broad shoulders blocked my view as he tapped the code into the pad, allowing the lock to spring free. The room's interior was off white and sterilized. A long padded leather bench was built into the wall, and a pillow and blanket were neatly folded at the foot of it. A single light was built into the ceiling, washing the room in a soft light.

"Rest tonight," Tristan advised me, taking off the leash. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

I took two steps away from him, still sensing his presence behind me. Slowly I turned to face him, fearing that he knew of my snooping around in his desk. Instead, he produced a bottle from behind his back.

"Your sunburn isn't too severe, but this should take away the sting," he explained, holding it out. Warily I took it, reading the bold aloe vera label. Startled at his concern, I looked up and met his eyes just before he backed out, closing the door behind him.

Tristan's P.O.V.

Oh, my dear little Emory, I chuckled to myself as I walked away from the little cell she was confined in. The shocked expression on her face had been priceless. She was in way over her head. Did she think that I didn't see her analyzing my character and my motivations at every turn? It was a smart move on her part, not to be the captive resigned to her fate, but her lack of subtlety annoyed me. If she was smart enough to try to figure me out, she should be smart enough to hide her efforts. I could see it on her face, as clear as day, by her furrowed brow, narrowed eyes, pursed lips as she stared at me when she thought I wasn't looking. She thought she was making progress, but she was nowhere near uncovering anything of value to her.

Nikki07
Nikki07
73 Followers
12