Raw Ch. 06

He hummed along to the music as he roughly pulled the pillows out from behind my head and shoved them under my lower back and ass. It was a tight fit due to the already strained chains, but it still raised my bared pussy up enough so that my body was tilted back towards my head. I could still see him, but only from the waist up.

He palmed the white bottle and then overturned it. I could see his hand moving up and down. Probably stroking his cock over the condom. He repeated this a couple of times before he overturned the bottle again and set it aside.

When his fingers pressed inside me several times, I realized he was applying lubricant. Tears filled my eyes as he grabbed my knees and scooted himself forward. This was not a dream. Not even a nightmare. Oh, God, help me!

He suddenly sat back on his heels. "I almost forgot. The safe word."

Yes! My heart leapt for joy, and I raised my head as best as I could to hear the way out. It didn't occur to me that he wouldn't understand me if I tried to speak it.

"There isn't one. Of course, you can say it if it makes you feel better, but it won't make a difference."

And all of my hopes were dashed as if I were a glass of his wine that he'd intentionally dropped on the hardwood floor.

"You're my slave now. You'll have to earn the right to have a safe word again."

Without preamble, he gripped my hips and thrust into me with one long stroke. I screamed, but the muffled sounds only reached my own ears. Despite the lube, my pussy resisted the intense intrusion, and the thickness of his cock stretched me painfully.

He took his time raping me. I was awake for every excruciating moment. I stared at the ceiling or the bared-brick wall behind the bed and tried to block out the encounter—to think of a happier place, a happier time—but every little nerve in my body reminded of what was happening to me.

When he was done, he came on my breasts. My face was a mess from my hot tears, my now-runny nose, and the slobber that had run out the sides of my mouth as I tried to breathe and cry and scream at the same time. I could smell him on me—feel him in me—even as he got off the bed and disappeared through the only door in the room.

While he was gone, I relaxed as much as I could in my position. Eventually, my lower extremities became numb. I forced myself not to give into the exhaustion by counting the bricks on the wall.

He eventually returned, but he merely retrieved his empty wine glass and left the room again. Before the door closed, he flicked off the light so I was cast into music-filled darkness. Now, it was impossible to not give into my emotions. I had to close my eyes. And it didn't take long for the sensual tones of one of my favorite artists to lull me towards slumber.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke, the room was still dark. And I was no longer alone. I couldn't see him, but I could feel Brian watching me. Probably from the stool with another glass of wine in his hand. The man sure loved to imbibe.

The ball-gag had been removed, and I struggled to keep my breathing slow. But my heart didn't want to listen as the thumping in my ears increased. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't just my heartbeat I was hearing. The music was still on—or back on—but had changed to a rhythmic drumbeat that kept repeating itself. It was hypnotic.

Instinctively, I tried to stretch. I discovered that my legs had been straightened, but they were chained somewhere near the footboard again. I wiggled my toes to make sure the blood was flowing properly and took a deep breath. Now what?

We played the silent game for quite awhile. The song kept repeating itself, or maybe it was just really long. I stared into the darkness to where I knew he sat contemplating who knows what.

I had just closed my eyes and convinced myself that he wasn't really there when he spoke.

"I almost gave up on you."

My eyelids shot open, and I stared at where the ceiling would be, my heartbeat racing once more. I considered remaining quiet, but the rebel in me refused to shut down. "Why didn't you?"

"I tried to replace you." There was the sound of bare feet slapping against the wood floor as the song finally stopped. The footsteps continued but did not get closer. He was pacing. "You've gotten under my skin, Becca. A rare find. I couldn't ignore the desire to uncover the diamond in the rough that you are."

"Surely there are other women who enjoy your little control games."

He hummed his agreement. "There have been others, but none like you. Before or since. I knew I had to finish what I'd started with you. For both of us."

If he said some bullshit like, "You complete me," I was going to throw up. Thankfully, he did not.

The footsteps finally drew closer, and my muscles tensed. The bed shifted as he sat down on my right side. I tried to scoot away but only managed a couple of inches. He fumbled a little with the lack of light as he strapped on the gag, and I moved my head around as best as I could when I realized what he was doing. But in the end, he was successful.

"You see, it's very hard for me to concede defeat, Becca." He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers. "It's always been a strength of mine."

I snorted softly, not sure why I found him amusing when I was in this predicament. But I kept envisioning him as a child, one who didn't necessarily get into fights but found other ways for revenge when he didn't get his way. Creative ways. Conniving, evil ways, even. And he prided himself on this ability...and probably at never having been caught.

He stood. The room was cast into blinding light that made me close my eyes. Thankfully, he turned the intensity almost all of the way down. When I could see again, he was standing beside the bed with the black bag from the table. It was no bigger than his fist. I'd had one just like it when I was a kid for holding mixed gems and stones from a museum. My brothers each had one for the ball and jacks game. I doubted Brian's little bag contained either of those trinkets.

"I am very good at my job, both professionally and personally." He pulled out a tiny, clear vial no bigger than a couple of inches tall that was mostly full with a white substance. When he set the bag on the single nightstand, there was a clinking sound of glass hitting glass, as if there were more vials inside. "I'm a businessman even when I'm not in the office. It's almost impossible for me to shut off that role. It carries into the rest of my life. Into my bedroom, as you've experienced firsthand."

I tried to ask him what the white stuff was, but my mumbling reminded me that I couldn't speak well with the ball-gag in my mouth. Part of me didn't want to know, and the other half already had a good inkling. I was probably going to find out more sooner than later, much to my dismay.

"Shh," he said, pressing two fingers against the ball and barely brushing my lips.

My continued whimpers and attempts to move away from him—however futile—were apparently not part of his plan. Like he thought I'd give into this willingly?

With a sigh, he straddled me with his knees on either side of my head. His shins pressed down on my shoulders and arms, and his thighs held my head still so I was looking up at him.

I tried to suck in my breath through my mouth, but I feared I'd swallow the ball-gag. So I inhaled through my nose, and I swear, he smiled at last.

He unscrewed the black cap on the vial and pulled forth an attached silver stick with a miniature spoon on the end. He dipped the spoon in the white powder and set the bottle on the nightstand beside the bag. "Now keep breathing just like that. It's perfect."

Oh. My. God. Seriously?

When I didn't comply and forced myself to exhale through my mouth, causing saliva bubbles and drool to trickle down my cheeks, he used his free hand to tip my chin up and hold it in place. I managed as deep of an inhale as possible before his thumb and forefingers pinched my lips against the ball, sealing off any air passage. Then he held the spoon beneath my left nostril. "I want you to be relaxed while we start your training. You're way too tense."

I held my breath as long as I could. I knew what would happen if I tried to inhale through my nose. When I was young, I'd read a fiction story about a girl who had killed the boy who liked her by forcing him to snort bad cocaine. He was trying to entrap her into a confession by allowing her to tie him up for apparently kinky sex, and she had taken advantage of his position to put duct tape on his mouth so he had to inhale. And the stupid part was, she'd only killed her crush because she'd found out he knew she had killed some of their classmates for some stupid reason, so his plan was foiled and he died.

I couldn't figure out why that story kept running through my head right now. Maybe because I worried that whatever Brian had on that spoon might kill me, too? In the instance of the book, the boy had rigged his camera to take time-photographs to catch his time with his chick...which meant he knew she might try to kill him. I'd had no perceptions that Brian would kidnap me and force me to have sex with him. I doubt he'd try to kill me with an overdose, but...

I exhaled and inhaled. Something rushed up my nostril and punched my brain.

Whoa! I thrashed against the restraints which didn't do much with Brian's weight on my chest. After a minute, I settled down but was still breathing like a mad bull.

"Good girl." He must have loaded up another spoonful because the other half of my nose felt like something had been shoved up it and then went numb.

I tried to swallow when he let go of my mouth, and I grimaced at the bitterness I tasted there. He climbed off me and sat on his fucking stool as he sipped his glass of wine. I guess he was waiting for the drug to take effect.

I was more awake now. I was pissed. Yet every muscle in my body seemed to slowly relax against my will. And then I forgot what my will was. My breathing evened out, and I stared at two of the can lights in the ceiling until they merged into one.

He must have been satisfied at my progress because he sat beside me on the bed. The ball-gag went slack, and he wiped my mouth with the sheet. "Don't want you to choke on me, dear, Becca."

A whimper escaped as I felt the heat of his hand cover my breast. As his fingers caressed. I fought against enjoying his touch. A voice inside kept telling me this wasn't right. He'd just drugged me. He'd probably had that guy drug me somehow at the bar, too. This wasn't how a relationship was supposed to be. How BDSM was supposed to be. Yet another voice rose above the first and said to just feel.

"So I had to think of a way to get you back here," Brian's voice competed with the others in my brain now. "To show you what you've missed being by my side. I've been patient. More so than I normally would have been."

I tried to bite my lip to suppress a moan as his hand lightly stroked down my belly. I think I bit my tongue instead, but I felt no pain.

"You're a hard woman to keep track of. Especially when you're off gallivanting around the globe with your book signings. I almost put my plan into action several times in the past few months, but the timing was never right. What luck it was to be at the same bar you were at tonight. Katia and I were just having a drink for old-time's sake. A couple of phone calls later, and here you are."

His hand was between my legs now, his fingers dancing just over my mons. Impulsively, my hips arched up at the sensation. The small voice in my head yelled to stop. The bigger one moaned aloud. Damn it.

"You were with that man again. Do you know what it does to me, seeing how he won't keep his hands off you? He needs to learn not to touch other people's property."

I jumped as his fingers brushed my clit. No! No! But what came out was, "Ah! Ah!"

"I took a huge risk. Gerard would have fought him off if he had come outside with you. But luck put you in the perfect position."

He slid his hand lower and pressed up into me now.

I gasped, writhing against his hand. Oh, yes!

He stroked long and deep, his thumb rubbing my clit. "You need someone who will protect you. Who's always by your side."

Tears leaked out the corners of my eyes as his fingers thrust faster.

"Stop fighting it, Becca." His hot breath caressed my ear. Then his mouth suddenly covered my nipple and he bit down.

I screamed. And despite all of my efforts, I came.

He proceeded to perform oral sex on me while I floated on a bed of clouds. I hated myself for liking it. When he'd made me come another couple of times, he finally relented. I tasted the tanginess of my release on his lips as he kissed me. Then he whispered in my ear, "Welcome back, Becca."

###

It was later that day during our first session of how to suck his cock that I saw him take a couple of hits of cocaine. This was of course after he used his hand on my mouth to force me to inhale it. He seemed accustomed to the process and the effects enough himself to convince me that it wasn't his first time.

He also introduced me to a collar and leash, tools he said all proper Masters used with their slaves. He led me around the room by the leash while he waited for the drugs to kick in, yanking the chain when I didn't immediately obey. When he tired of that, he secured the collar to the far brick wall using chains and heavy-duty eyehooks that had been embedded into the grout lines in various spots. Then he applied a pair of nipple clamps to my breasts, "to heighten the pleasure," or so he said. All of this while Beethoven played in the background. Not usually my cup of tea, and yet I found the music sexually arousing that day.

As my muddled head tried to focus on being angry with him now, he shed his business suit so that he was standing naked in front of me. His cock was not fully erect yet, and he stroked it languidly a couple of times.

I wondered if he had been at work. If he'd had a bad day. Is that only when he snorted? He hadn't acted high when we were together before. Maybe it was a newer habit, like stalking me.

"Be a good girl and don't bite." He lifted my chin up and glared down at me. "You'll regret it."

He held his cock to my lips. I didn't comply with his unspoken request—mostly because my brain wasn't working—and I tried to push him away. He smacked my cheek, but he stopped.

It was only momentarily, though, as he retrieved the wrist cuffs and secured my arms to the wall above my head. When he stepped forward again, he reached down and tugged on the small chain between my two nipples. As I cried out, he shoved his cock into my mouth.

"That's it, Becca. Open wide."

I gagged and tried to pull away, forgetting I had nowhere to go.

I prayed Malcolm would come find me. Just the thought of his name brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to believe that this would end any minute, that I could go home. But something deep down told me that was merely wishful thinking. No one knew where I was. And Brian wasn't about to let me go free willingly any time soon.

As he forced me to suck his cock, Brian went on a diatribe about Master/slave roles as they pertained to us. I think it was mostly due to the coke. He had never talked so much in my presence. The drug made me horny. It made him a chatterbox. Who would've thunk?

"The first step to being a good slave is learning the role of the submissive. You have to give into that inner desire to want to be controlled. You and I both know it's in you. But you're suppressing it. You're fighting it. You need a good teacher, a proper Master, to show you how to release it. And how to discipline you when you need it."

My eyelids drifted closed as my mouth encased his cock. As the stimulant took hold of my senses, and I tasted the saltiness of his precum. Smelled the natural, masculine musk of his groin. Heard the classical music under the deep tenor of Brian's voice that lulled me to a sleepy state.

There was a sharp sting at my nipples. My cry came out as a gurgle, and saliva dribbled out the corners of my lips that were still wrapped around his stiffening flesh. I must have bit down because he smacked my face as he jerked back. But in his own drug-induced state, there wasn't a lot of power in his swing. Or at least I didn't feel the pain when his palm connected with my cheek.

"Eyes on me. I didn't give you permission to close them. And no teeth!" He put one hand on top of my head and tilted it back slightly, which opened my jaw wider. He pushed deeper into my mouth than before and held himself there while I gagged. "That's the second step. Follow your Master's orders, for He knows what is best for you."

Tears filled my eyes as he finally withdrew. I knew that eventually, I was either going to pass out or throw up all over him. I was leaning more toward the latter, but I didn't know if my muscles would cooperate. Maybe I'd asphyxiate, and this would all be over sooner than I thought.

"Relax. Your reflexes will adapt." He suddenly withdrew completely again, which left me choking. "Take deep breaths, Becca."

As soon as I wasn't seeing stars, he started again. Although, there were three cocks waving in front of my face now.

I tried to concentrate on breathing through my nose as he continued his speech about how good submissives know their place. That in time, they embrace the slave role they ultimately desire. That some subs take longer than others, but he had patience for me. He knew how to draw it out of me, and I was at the perfect stage to be molded to his type of sub as long as I let him.

Problem was, he was conveniently forgetting that this "slave" was being force to "embrace the role" completely against her will with an unwanted partner.

He repeated what he considered appropriate training for proper blow jobs several times. Eventually, he showed me how he liked his balls licked and sucked. How to lick his shaft properly. How to suck or just be still as he controlled the speed and depth as he fucked my mouth. He even unhooked one of my hands to stroke his cock at one point.

When I was on verge of delirium because I wasn't sure if I wanted to suck him raw or bite off his dick, he pulled out, gripped my chin with one hand and stroked his cock with his other. A moment later, he came on my tongue. Before I could think twice, he clamped my mouth shut and tilted my head back as far as it would go. "Swallow, Becca."

My gag reflexes kicked in this time, but the angle of my head proved gravity was stronger. Under the burning sensation of bile, I tasted the bitterness of the cocaine mixed with the thick, milkiness of his semen. He stroked my throat with the backs of his fingers until I swallowed three times. Only then did he release his hold on me.

Brian rearranged the chains so only the leash was attached to the wall, then he stumbled out of the room. He left behind his clothes and even forgot to shut the door.

I did throw up then. Then I crawled as far away as possible from the mess and laid down on the cold floor. I cried as I came down from my high. I was shaking. My jaw and my breasts hurt. I lost sense of time as I wavered in and out of consciousness.

When Brian finally returned, he led me by the leash to one side of the bed and bent me forward over the mattress. Then he flung the leash across the bed and secured the chain to the other side so I couldn't get up. Like I was in any shape to move on my own? I felt like a marionette being guided around while my strings kept getting tangled.

Unfamiliar music filled the room, but I still heard the sounds of him preparing a condom. His hands gripped my hips and pulled me back until the leash was taught. Then he fucked me from behind. With nothing in my mouth, I could still attempt to scream. But all that came out was a cacophony of whimpers and moans.