Broken Ch. 01

The guard showed Alex down to the holding cells in silence. The white linoleum floor had been freshly mopped, so the going was slow, but the guard had assured him that it would be worth it. The hall was long, and they were visiting an occupant near the end of the row. As they approached Door Eighteen, the guard slowed enough to make their footsteps silent and lifted a finger to his lips indicating that they shouldn't speak.

When they were completely quiet, Alex heard it. A soft voice bled into the hall from behind the door. The song was quiet and sad, but the voice singing it was beautiful: a pure high sound with a minimal vibrato suited to the folk genre. He looked at the guard, who was excited by the sound and the prospect of the raise that might come with its discovery.

Alex nodded with approval, clapping the guard amiably on the arm and sending him on his way with a jerk of the head. When he was alone, he grabbed the key off the hook by the door and unlocked it. The singing stopped as the bolt slid out of place. He opened the door and saw her.

She recoiled from the light, turning her head away and letting her long, dark hair fall into her face. Her arms were suspended by chains and shackles, forming her body into a slumped "Y" shape, reminiscent of Jesus on the cross except she was completely naked.

He closed the door behind him, relieving her of the harsh light from the hall. Inside the room, the ambient light was soft and silvery, like the moon. It was just enough to distinguish shapes and rough details in the body and face. There was a switch beside him that would cast them into full fluorescent light, but he decided to keep it off. In the absence of the light, she straightened her neck to face forward, although her eyes were cast downward. She didn't speak, and her lips were sealed so tightly he couldn't imagine them opening to sing.

He strode up to her and lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers. She moved with him as easily as a feather. "Was that you singing?" he asked.

Without hesitation, she answered, "Yes, Sir." It was unusual for such a new recruit to be so docile and obedient, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Sing something for me," he said.

Her eyes were directed at him, but she had a thousand-yard stare, not really taking in anything she was seeing. "What should I sing, Sir?" she asked.

He smiled and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "Something soft and sweet," he said. "'Shenandoah'?"

"Yes, Sir," she said before she began singing. He let her go and sat down on the nearby cot to listen. She started low, singing the title line of the song in a deep alto voice that suddenly flew up to a perfectly tuned soprano. She knew every note, every word, every embellishment and ornament perfectly. And she was good. Her file, he remembered, had said she was an engineering student, but he suspected her passion might lie elsewhere.

The song took a few minutes and ended as abruptly as it had started. Silence reigned for a few seconds before he gathered himself and stood again, circling her like a vulture. "You have a beautiful voice," he said. "When did you start singing?"

"Since I can remember, Sir," she said.

"Name a favorite song," he said. She answered with something he did not know. He asked for another, and this time she answered with a Beatles song, "Mother Nature's Son", which he asked her to sing. She obeyed, and again sang the song to perfection.

"Beautiful," he said. "A little songbird. From today, you'll receive all the water you need. If you misbehave, your punishments will involve pain, starvation, and isolation, but that voice will save you from drought. I can up your price by a few thousand for that."

He lifted her chin again, but she didn't answer, and she refused to make real eye contact with him. There was no sign of recognition or comprehension in her gaze.

He walked away from her to a clipboard hanging beside the door. It had everything about her they needed to know: history, medical records, performance evaluations, daily care instructions.

"And you're a virgin?" he asked, reviewing the chart.

"Yes, Sir."

He was pleased. This one was quite a find, although he didn't trust her quick transition to their ideal submissive, especially since she hadn't been subjected to any punishment harsher than a few smacks with a riding crop. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Cold, Sir," she said.

"Cold," he repeated. He looked down at her chart and asked absently, "How long have you been suspended? I think eight hours is long enough for today."

He found the keys to her shackles and released her right arm first. Without the support of the chain, her right side collapsed, and he heard her gasp as her left shoulder joint was stretched. He looped an arm around her and lifted her back to her feet while he released her left arm. When she was free, she collapsed onto him, but she was so light that he barely wobbled as her weight settled upon him. He lifted her into his arms and laid her on her back on the cot before sitting beside her.

She wasn't cute or pretty or "hot", which was one of his least favorite descriptors for women. She was beautiful in a classical sort of way. She had a face like something in an old renaissance painting, with the dark Mediterranean features to complete the fantasy of the old Italian masters. She was taller than average, about five feet eight, with a slim frame that might have been athletic before she had been taken, but was now wasting away. Her breasts were smaller than their usual girls, but perfectly formed, with small, pink nipples.

He touched one of them, and her eyes flew wide open in surprise. She looked up at him, and he saw the spark of rebellion in her eyes that disappeared almost instantly. She was still herself in there, but she was smart. Smarter than the girls who fought and had to be broken, and smarter than those who simply accepted their fates and allowed themselves to become real slaves. He saw that spark, and knew it had to be dealt with.

"Who is your Master right now?" he asked.

"His name is Caleb, Sir," she said.

He knew Caleb. The man was reserved in his punishment, not a sadist like some, but not nearly manipulative enough to deal with someone like this girl. He was probably chosen because the girl had been so docile during her few weeks in captivity. There was no use beating a girl who didn't need it.

He only wished they had chosen someone a bit smarter, because at this rate, the girl would only appear to be subservient. She would bide her time, an infinite amount of time, seeing through tricks and traps until she was sure she would be able to escape. She would do whatever they said, give up her dignity and virginity, but she would survive and be free. That was, if the guard had not brought her to his attention first.

"I will be your master from now on," he said. "Your training will fall to me, and your voice belongs to me. You will not sing to comfort yourself any more. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," she said. The instant shift in titles was so smooth that he was impressed.

"Good girl," he said. His fingers were still fiddling with her nipples. "Sing for me."

Again, she asked, "What should I sing, Master?"

He named the song she had originally said; the one he did not recognize: "Blue Ridge Mountains". She sang it in a high voice, and he marveled in the sound. His mind wandered as well as his hand, stroking the side of her body down to her hips and back up to her breasts. He looked down at her face halfway through the song and saw tracks of tears running down her temples into her dark hair from the corners of her eyes. Still, she sang without hesitating, without wavering.

When she was done, he leaned down and kissed her temple, tasting the salt of her tears. "Thank you, Genevieve," he whispered into her ear, saying her name. She shuddered beneath him, which made him smile. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

Then he removed his hands from her body and pulled back, getting to his feet and checking her clipboard again, writing a few instructions down for the managers and guards to read. Then he left the holding cell and locked the door behind him. He pretended to walk away, stepping loudly at first and tapering off as if he was going into the distance. He stood still outside Door Eighteen and listened. Would she obey him and save her singing for his orders or was she not as smart as he thought?

He waited for a full ten minutes and not a sound emerged from her room. Satisfied, he quietly walked away. The guard on duty stood as he passed, hoping for good news. "A good find Joe," he said. "I'll make sure you get a part of the commission when she's sold."

"Thank you, Mr. Leigh," said Joe. "I appreciate it."

Alex nodded and ran up the stairs into the main building of the compound and found Caleb in the canteen. He was an older trainer, not perturbed by the news that the boss was taking one of his charges. Some of the younger men saw things like that as another power game, similar to the ones they played with their girls. They were, however, unused to being on the losing side. Caleb wasn't like that, and he accepted the switch with grace and continued eating.

"Mr. Leigh," said a caretaker who came up to him in the middle of his meal. "I just read you instructions on eighteen's board. You're asking for unlimited water. Do you want me to leave her a large amount each day, or should I just give her good doses three times a day?"

"Give her a jug," he said. "She's got a singing asset, so I don't want her voice to dry out. And while you're at it, move her to one of the soundproof rooms. One of the ones with a toilet so she doesn't wet herself."

The caretaker nodded. "Will do," he said.

Leigh finished his meal, changed into athletic clothing, and grabbed a robe from the communal closet before descending to the holding cells for the evening session of training. They had moved her to a room with a toilet, and when he entered, he saw a full jug of water standing on the nightstand. The girl was on her knees beside the bed, as she had been taught over the weeks. Her eyes were cast down, and she didn't look happy or sad, just blank.

"Stand," he said. "And look at me."

She got to her feet without hesitation and looked straight at him. He held the robe out to her, and he saw a quizzical expression cross her face for half a second. He indicated for her to spin around with a finger, and she showed him her back. He slipped the robe onto her and tied it around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder as he did. He let his cheek brush against hers in an affectionate sort of way. He breathed in and smelled the soap they used on her in the showers. It was lemongrass, which Caleb must have chosen. He decided he would change it to lavender.

The girl was much more at ease now that she was clothed, and when he turned her around to face him, she looked up into his eyes without being told. He took her hands in his and pulled the sleeves of the robes back. Her wrists were bruised, but not cut by the shackles that had held her all day. He massaged her skin while looking into her eyes. They were dark, though he couldn't tell the exact color in the dim light. He let her go. "Sit," he said. "And drink some water."

She obeyed, and grabbed the large, unwieldy jug and tried to control how much she tipped down her throat. He stepped forward to take it out of her hands and watered her himself. She drank for a long time without a breath. She didn't seem to swallow it, rather, she let the water slide down a relaxed throat with only minimal movement in her Adam's apple. It was tantalizing and he couldn't help but smile at the innuendo as he held the bottle at his waist in her mouth.

When she was done, he set the jug aside and sat beside her on the bed. He looked at her, and, as ordered, she met his gaze. "Tell me," he said. "Where did you learn to sing. You don't get so good at singing without practicing."

"I've been taking voice lessons since I was fourteen, Master," she said.

"What do those entail?" he asked. He had no knowledge of singing or voice lessons.

"Classical singing, Master. Opera."

Which was even better to hear. It would serve well to market to their higher-class clientele. "Opera," he said. "Sing me something."

He gave her the most famous opera song in the world: "The Habanera" from Carmen. She sang the first verse, but fumbled with the words before reaching the chorus and finishing with a very loud high note. She seemed incapable of singing it without using her full voice, and weeks in captivity had not diminished her sound at all.

"You are a gem," he said. He wasn't doing very well at hiding his admiration, which was all a part of the game, but that didn't seem so important in the wake of her sound. "What a beautiful voice. Why on earth were you studying engineering?"

"Practicality, Master," she said. Quite practically.

He laughed. "I supposed there's something to say for selling out. Security, comfort. Does it feel worth it now?"

He saw her first flash of worry. She didn't know what he wanted her to say, so she didn't know how to answer. He gave her an out. "You can be honest with me," he said. "It's only been three weeks. I'm not expecting you to be broken yet. Answer however you'd like."

She bit her bottom lip for a second before answering. He had noticed the most minute flinch when he had said the word 'broken'. "I wish I hadn't devoted my time to something I didn't love before coming here, Master," she said. "So it wasn't worth it."

He nodded. "You're a smart girl," he said. "It won't do you much good anymore, but it can make your life easier. Lie down. Make room for me."

She lay down and scooted herself on the far side of the bed against the wall. He loosened the front of her robe, revealing her breasts and lay down next to her and positioned himself to make a place for her to rest her head on his shoulder. She came in close without him having to ask, but she crossed her arms, hiding her chest. It was casually done, as if it were nothing more than finding the most comfortable position to lie in, but he saw through it. He picked her arms up by the wrists and put them down by her sides. "None of that," he said. "Those also belong to me, and I want to see them."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You're good at that," he said. "Good with remembering your courtesies. You'll continue to address me like that, but my name is Alex. I wanted you to know that."

"Yes, Master," she said.

He smiled and drew her close and leaned down to kiss her, and they continued to kiss for a quarter of an hour. He touched her gently, never drifting below her belly button, but enjoying her nipples. They stiffened to his touch and after a while he could sense her puffing out her torso, encouraging him to play with her breasts more. He chuckled from the back of his throat and disengaged their lips. "Do you like that?" he asked, pulling one her nipples.

"Yes, Master," she said, and he could tell she was earnest.

"We'll start from there," he said. "When you do well, this will be your reward." He tickled her nipple, and she shuddered. "And you'll know you aren't doing well when I don't touch you here." He moved his hand from her breasts and down between her legs for the first time and found she was wet. "Unfortunately, I can't give you the pleasure of penetration, but I can treat you, every once in a while, to an orgasm when you're good."

He rubbed her sensitive spot over and over while her body curled and tensed to his movements. After a while, he could sense she was close to climaxing. "I'm the same as your previous master," he said. "What did he make you do?"

"He made me ask before I could finish, Master," she said. Her voice was higher and breathier.

"Good," he said. "But I want you to beg. Quickly, before you get yourself in trouble."

"Please, Master," she said. "Please, let me come. Please."

She wasn't loud or over-earnest. Her voice grew softer, more pitiful, and between each "Please" she bent her head to his shoulder and kissed his skin. It was probably the most convincing begging he had ever seen, and he watched her face for a few final seconds to see the sadness and pleasure playing out on her face.

He allowed her to orgasm, and her head jerked back against his arm. She gritted her teeth and opened her eyes, opposite of what most girls would do. He kept working his finger until she relaxed again. Then he held his finger up to her mouth, and she used the tip of her tongue to delicately lick him clean.

"Good girl," he said. "On your knees at the side of the bed."

She moved quickly, which was, again, refreshing from a new girl. She sat back on her heels, and kept the robe open for him to see her breasts. He spread his legs out in front of her and pulled his pants and boxers down. She looked up at him for approval to touch him, and he nodded. She removed his member from his clothing and began stroking it with her hand gently, only trying to get it stiff.

Her hands were long and thin, and he liked the look of his cock in them. He knew he was just average in terms of size, but she took her time with long strokes that made him feel much larger than he actually was, which made him harder faster. When he was ready, she looked up at him again.

"Master, may I?" she asked.

"Not yet," he said. "We're going to start with an exercise of sorts. Kiss the tip one hundred times. I will be counting, and you'd better not stop until we both have the right number. Hands behind your back."

She bent her head to do as he said and kissed his cock gently, as she had with his shoulder. The action and the girl together were so erotic that he had to control himself and really focus on his counting. He reached one hundred in his head, and she stopped right away. He smiled and ran his hand around the back of her head, weaving his fingers through her hair. He leaned forward, his cock touching her lips, and reached down to tickle her nipples. She blinked, but just long enough to let him know that she enjoyed his touch.

He leaned back and sighed. "Same thing, but lick the tip," he ordered. She bent her head, and he began counting. This time she over-counted, and went three over, which made him laugh, but he had her suck his cock before letting her know she was going to be punished. He couldn't hold off for more than five minutes before all of the buildup made him climax. He didn't have to tell her to swallow his semen, yet another refreshing turn of events for a new girl. Then she licked his cock clean before tucking it back beneath his boxers.

"That was good," he said. This time he did not tickle her nipples as a reward. "But not perfect. For all those smarts, you don't know how to count."

Her perfect, blank mask didn't falter, and she waited for his orders. "Up on the bed," he said. "On your hands and knees."

She hopped up onto the bed as he stood, and got into position. He left the room for a moment and returned with a paddle, which he waved in front of her eyes. He lifted the back of the robe up to reveal her buttocks. "I'm going to give you ten," he said. "Let's see if you can count this time. Out loud after each one."

Smack! "One," she counted. She didn't wince or suck in her breath. He had hit her quite hard, but it seemed he had his work cut out. He hit her again, a little harder than before. "Two," she said with the same sort of reaction.

"You're so quiet," he said. "I'll have to work harder."

Smack! "Three," she said. Again, he couldn't hear or see any pain in her voice or actions. Four, five, six, and seven went much the same. On eight, he used a full swing reminiscent of his high school baseball days and finally got a reaction out of her. Only the relatively soft material of the paddle prevented him from breaking any bones. She jumped forward an inch, and there was a long pause before she breathed out, "Eight."