Enslaved by the Pen Ch. 02

He withdrew his mouth momentarily, his tongue leaving a long, wet trail on my flesh, against the cool air. "You Amelia are going to be a delight when you accept me." His tongue resumed laving the tender flesh, as his other hand lightly traced downwards toying with the hem of my panties. He yanked them down, jerking them over my buttocks, down to the top of my thighs. Every time I tried to fight, he bit down, sucking the nipple more aggressively into his mouth.

"I don't want this," I pleaded with Gabe.

"No?" Gabe's eyes were lascivious as his fingers reached into the dampness of my pussy and he slowly stroked downwards and then back up, pulling the obvious signs of my arousal with each movement of his digits. I hated that even now, as I seethed with anger and trembled with fear, I reacted to Gabe's touch. Gabe's tongue licked down between the valley of my breasts before pulling away. "It hasn't even been 20 minutes since your last orgasm and you're dripping again."

He held my gaze with his. "I'm not going to break you Amelia. I have no need for a submissive who is spiritless. I don't need to punish you to obey me. Nor will I force you." Gabe's fingers continued their insistent, deliberately languid stroking of my nether lips. I squirmed under his touch. "One day you will come to me and for me of your own volition and beg me to do all of those things you craved and shared with me." His fingers circled my clit, gently at first, but then with more intensity and roughness. I tipped my head back, biting my lower lip and closing my eyes, panting as Gabe's fingers pushed me increasingly towards the unmistakable brink of passion. I tried to close my thighs, but he pushed them as far as my bound ankles would permit.

"Amelia, the sooner you realize that you're mine, the sooner your real life can commence."

"I won't," I hissed through gritted teeth, trying to deny the inevitability of pleasure. "I won't ever want your company. You can keep me caged, but you won't ever possess me. I'm not a possession to be owned. That I guarantee," I gasped out. My words were meaningless as my body tumbled over the edge and my orgasm ripped through me. My torso and limbs quaked in intense waves and Gabe palmed my breasts as my back arched upwards into his touch, seeking the release that could not be denied. I was panting hard when I felt Gabe's fingers hook painfully upwards at my G-spot drawing my attention back to him.

Gabe's finger trailed down my jawline and lingered at the tip of my chin. "That's where you're wrong Amelia. As I stated, I am exceedingly patient and will happily wait you out." He removed his fingers and his eyes gleamed as he inserted his glistening digit into his mouth to taste me, before pushing it between my now pliant lips. "Taste yourself for me. Your body knows it yearns for my touch. Your mind knows you want to kneel before me and call me Master. You're already mine whether you realize it or not. Don't allow pride to deny you an experience you crave."

My heavily lidded eyes fluttered as I recovered from the intensity of my climax.

"Enjoy that Amelia. That'll be the last orgasm you'll experience without asking for my permission while in my presence." He withdrew his finger from my mouth and extracted a jackknife from his pocket before slicing the tape from my ankles. "You'll find that the TV works fine. You have no internet access of course except to certain sites and to message me. The telephone has no outbound reception except to my number. You may call at any time. Your smartphone may only connect to me, everything else such as games and your camera are operational. I was hoping that you would be more receptive to my approach Amelia, so I apologize that the next few weeks or months will be hard for you. But you'll find in time that it will be worth it. You'll come to realize who you really are and that you'll enjoy serving me, begging for it even. Through time, once we trust one another, you'll earn rewards. You're safe in this apartment."

He nudged me forwards gently on the sofa and released the cuffs before he left me, with a loud lock of the door. My breasts were still exposed. My panties were still bunched around my legs, and my body still thrummed from Gabe's touch.

I remained with my face plastered on the sofa, curling into myself, crying softly at how my life had been hijacked by this monster. I cared not that I was half naked, entangled by my own clothing. I needed to strategize how to earn his trust and extricate myself from this nightmare. I knew there were cameras. That much I ascertained when he confessed that he saw my panicked motions and wanted more time before I discovered my predicament. I could only assume that there was also audio. He undoubtedly was recording every second of my captivity, much like he had in my actual apartment. That's what this was. I was being held against my will for his amusement like a caged zoo animal. He could likely see every emotion on my face. I would have to hide my disgust for him and feign despair, which, given my situation was not that difficult.

I had to also assume that Gabe had installed keylogging or tracking software onto my laptop and phone. It would be impossible to access a site and type an SOS message for assistance without alerting him. He was some tech genius after all. He admitted he was willing to wait for me to surrender. In a game of attrition, I refused to concede. I would play the pawn and make small sacrifices towards gaining advantages and capturing my freedom. I promised myself that. I needed to be strategic about my timeline. If he was waiting for me to approach him of my own volition, I would need to gain his trust seemingly organically. I would allow myself a week to mope in this prison, and then pretend that I was getting lonely for another week.

At some juncture I would have to sleep with him. Sex would be a perfunctory task for the greater objective of my freedom. That much I accepted. I also realized I would have to put on a show to demonstrate my burgeoning affection for him. Perhaps I could pretend to pick up the phone to call him and make a production of my warring emotions. Then I could ask him to stay to play a game or two, maybe then dinner, a date, and a sleep over. Masturbating while moaning his name could be sufficient evidence that I was genuinely developing a fondness for him.

He was willing to play the long game. I was prepared to play the longer game.

My only fear was whether I could maintain the mental fortitude to avoid Stockholm Syndrome. Gabe was admittedly attractive, exceedingly charismatic, and already knew my personality and thought patterns based on our conversations into the twilight hours. He could play my body's reactions better than I could. His very presence affected me in a way I was ashamed to admit. His touches at the club, at once forceful and gentle, elicited arousal in every cell. Even under duress, as I was bound, my body couldn't deny its reactions to his presence. The scent of my own arousal and the stickiness of my thighs attested to Gabe's power over me. How was I going to outsmart him when I couldn't even sublimate my base instincts and exercise a modicum of self-control under his touch? Surrendering myself to him, without capitulating my personhood would be a Herculean task that I wasn't convinced I was equipped to enact.

True to his word, Gabe didn't contact me that first week. Without recourse, I aimlessly drifted from one meaningless activity to another. I knitted for a few hours, before opening a puzzle and spending half a day piecing together the image. I watched TV and read some books. I sat on my balcony for an ersatz picnic. I shouldn't have been impressed, but Gabe managed to engineer my apartment to be bathed in artificial daylight and the twinkling stars and cover of darkness during the evening.

The only internet sites I was permitted to access were local news ones where commenting had been disabled, as well as BDSM sex-related sites. The upside was that I could watch as much porn as I wanted and read as much erotica as I liked. One afternoon, I placed the porn on endless loop at a high volume. Perhaps the people nearby, if there were any, would be irritated enough to investigate the contrived sounds of erotic pleasure moaning. Eventually, there were only so many shorn pussies, and large cocks that I could look at before I turned it off in irritation.

In the quiet moments where desperation clings and hopelessness needles your soul, I searched for possible weapons and ways out of my prison. Prop knives comprised my arsenal and the only one capable of cutting was a blunted serrated steak knife that was powerless in inflicting the barest of superficial wounds. I once attempted an escape via the balcony. But when I threw my knotted bedsheets over the railing, I was met with a dull thudding sound. The depth and perspective that I was above ground had been a visual trick of impressive set design.

Bobby pins proved completely ineffective in lock picking the exterior doors. I attempted breaking off the lock with all manner of implements, but it would not dent. Hooked paperclips and straightened metal coat hangers also proved unsuccessful. With the edge of a spoon one morning, I tried unscrewing the hinge, but the fastener seemed covered in some sort of adhesive that the spoon could not infiltrate.

I collapsed in the shower in fits of crying rage almost daily. I needn't have drawn on my thespian aspirations. My despondency could not be denied. The hyperventilations and smashed fists upon glass were genuine displays of my desperation. I didn't care that Gabe was watching me. If anything, my emotional tantrums lent credence to the appearance of my breakdown and the timeline I set in my head.

By the second week, I barely left the bed. Lack of food and mental and emotional stimulation left me weakened and mentally immobilized. My clothes now clung loosely to my once 110-pound body, and I felt the jutting of my hipbone when I lay on my back. Meal preparation wasn't a priority. I didn't bother getting up when I heard Gabe's keys in the lock. Gabe's hands pulled me from bed and carried me to the sofa. He had food prepared and ordered me to eat.

I shook my head and started shuffling back to the bedroom. "I'm not hungry."

He picked me up by my waist and sat me down on the sofa again. "I will not have my submissive self-sabotage her own health. Either eat, or I will force you." His threatening snarl left little to interpretation.

"Go to hell Gabe," I jeered. "Oh wait, I'm already here. Why don't you come join me." I stood up but immediately felt the edges of the room spin. Gabe guided me back down to a seated position.

"Your fridge has been cleaned of spoilt food and restocked. I expect you to start cooking and eating. Don't test me, Amelia."

He turned and I threw the plate at him, narrowly missing his head. He looked at the broken shards on the floor before skulking back to me, with tape in hand. "Give me your hands Amelia."

"Fuck you Gabe."

He grabbed my hands easily. My weakened state could provide no match of defiance. I watched as he wound tape around my forward-thrust wrists and then bound my ankles together in similar fashion. He returned to the kitchen and made me another sandwich, holding it up to my lips. I turned my head and refused to eat.

"Do you want me to insert a feeding tube in you Amelia? If you continue to refuse to eat, I will."

A pained mew escaped my lips. My diabolical plan of escape was proving ineffective. I hadn't factored in my deteriorating mental state and isolation's claws ripping into my emotional stability. Gabe was right. I had to eat, otherwise I wouldn't have the strength to escape. I needed energy to fight. I tentatively opened my mouth and took a small bite, and then another, swallowing the mass down my throat.

"Good girl," Gabe cooed as I finished the remaining sandwich, grateful that Gabe wiped the tears from my cheeks. I promised Gabe I would feed myself as he undid the restraints and abandoned me to my imprisonment again.

I decided to use Gabe's concern over my health to gain his trust. The following days, I made a big demonstration of opening the fridge and meal preparation. At the end of the week, I contacted Gabe requesting supplies. He arrived a few hours later.

"Do you want to come in Gabe? Maybe you could stay and play a game of Scrabble with me?" I asked him out of desperation to alleviate the genuine sense of loneliness I felt, as much as to propel my plan of escape forward.

Gabe's smile exuded warmth and sincerity. "I would love to Amelia, but I can't today."

My face fell. "Oh. Never mind, it's not important." Trying to earn his trust was going to be harder than I thought.

"What about tomorrow? I could come by after dinner and we can play a game?" Gabe suggested.

"Or, if you wanted to, you could come for dinner? I can prepare us something casual." I peeked up from my lowered eyes, hoping that I was conveying the appropriate amount of trepidatious enthusiasm.

"It's a date," he smiled broadly at me. "Do you need anything else Amelia?"

I shook my head. "Come at 6:30. I don't like my dates being late."

I greeted Gabe dressed in a clinging black cocktail dress that I reserved for special occasions in my previous life. I was trying to communicate my supposed excitement, allure, and interest. He offered me a bouquet of flowers, which I genuinely appreciated. I inhaled their fragrance. It was enlivening to have something living in my apartment though I didn't own a vase. None of my previous boyfriends had ever gifted me flowers.

"Thanks," I acknowledged as I busied myself with arranging the flowers in a bottle.

"You look beautiful Amelia," he leaned down and kissed me on my cheek. "Did you dress up for me?"

I reddened and deflected. His compliment provided me with much needed socialization that blunted the pain of isolation. I had been without interaction for weeks, and longer still without any means of sexual satisfaction. With the cameras, I had no desire to put on a personal porn show for Gabe, yet.

"Drink?" I offered. I knew this wasn't a real date. I understood what I needed to do and that my freedom was at stake. Yet, Gabe's presence intoxicated me, dulling my defences and anger. His commanding spirit and the piercing depth of his eyes made his natural charm difficult to disregard. I wasn't immune to my womanly needs. The way he looked at me in approval made me blush.

"No, I've had this dress forever. I just slapped this on 10 minutes ago."

Gabe laughed then. "You're a terrible liar little one. You don't think I know you put in effort to look nice for me? A pretty dress with full make-up?"

I deliberately changed outfits ten times and appeared indecisive, switching between dresses, and twirling in front of the mirror repeatedly. I even made a show of which panties and bra to wear, modelling for my invisible but ever-present audience. I knew he was watching. His comment confirmed my suspicions.

If this was any other situation, our dinner would have seemed like a pedestrian interaction of two people becoming acquainted with each other. He pulled my chair out for me after I set two dinner plates down. He questioned me about my likes and preferences, though I suspected he knew already from his surveillance, and it was more a test of my honesty and openness. I avoided the topic of my confinement, unwilling to be subjected to yet another reminder of the yoke on my freedom. He, to his credit, kept conversation light.

He joked about the first time we chatted, how awkward we both had been before an ease of familiarity settled into our interactions. Gabe confessed to me that he was nervous about approaching me and had spent close to an hour composing the four-line message he sent to my Lolita Yearns account. I disputed his assertion of nervousness.

"I was worried that you wouldn't respond Amelia. Your pornographic mind was alluring. Do you remember what the first story you posted was?"

"Of course I do Gabe. It was a story about a girl who was discovering her submissive side with an online Dom..." I trailed off.

"And...?" Gabe prodded me.

"And she realized that she experienced a sense of freedom in being owned." My furrowed brow met his curious eyes. "You're not emulating the story are you?"

Gabe shook his head. "No Amelia. Reality doesn't mimic fiction. Your stories belied an intelligence and curiosity about you regarding BDSM that I hadn't encountered before. I was shocked when we later spoke, and you admitted you had no experience."

"Well, I have a good imagination. Plus, I had inspiration from you."

Gabe laughed. "Inspiration from me? I just shared my sex life with you."

"Your very smutty sex life," I teased him.

Gabe was charming. If he hadn't been such a diabolical sociopath, he might have been my type. I sighed audibly as I pondered the reality of this.

"Why the sigh little one?"

I shrugged. "No reason."

"Amelia? Please don't lie to me. Tell me why you sighed."

"I was thinking that if you had picked me up like a regular human being and not abducted me, I might have fallen in love with you. You're charming, and sweet and fun to talk to. You're handsome, funny, and sarcastic. I can't reconcile how you can be so callous at the same time."

Gabe looked at me, not unkindly, though frustration was evident in his facial features. "Amelia, I hope that in time you'll understand why I did this. This was for you."

I stifled a laugh. I didn't want to argue with him that his version of altruism wasn't entirely what Comte had in mind. No sociologist would place Gabe's photo in a textbook as the paragon of the ideology. I brought out the Scrabble board and set up the tiles.

Gabe's hand closed over my wrist. "Let's play Scrabble with a twist. Every word placed on the board has to be sex related or BDSM related, and you have to explain its significance to your desires." His eyes glinted.

We had played this version of the board game before online. In the past I learned that Gabe loved anal, oral, and vaginal sex. He was somewhat of a sadist and enjoyed inflicting pain on his subs, to a degree. He had a fascination with caning though hadn't yet met a submissive willing to try it. His ultimate relationship was one in which he married his submissive and melded his control over their sex life with aspects of control outside of the bedroom.

As we played, Gabe loosened up. He told me of his earlier experiences dating and never finding a compatible partner who excited him sexually and mentally. Either his past girlfriends were sexually adventurous but couldn't carry on a conversation, or they tried to dominate him. He wasn't averse to subbing for the right woman, but he generally fell on the spectrum of being the one in charge of the scene. Unlike other times when we had played Scrabble, Gabe now held nothing back. He admitted he wanted to lock his submissive in a chastity belt, have control over her bathroom functions and all of her orgasms, engage in humiliation play, tie her up in bondage, and whip her with all sorts of implements I had never heard of. He admitted he engaged in klismaphilia. I only nodded since I had never heard the term before. It was only when he explained that he enjoyed giving enemas to his submissives sometimes as punishment or for pleasure, did my mouth drop.

"Yes, well that's all very interesting," I commented. What else was I supposed to say to that. Gabe had a lot of kinks, and I did not want to be on the receiving end of some of them.

Gabe chuckled and implored me to share similarly. I declined and Gabe didn't insist.

As promised, I wanted for nothing. Gabe desired this process to be as comfortable on me as possible. I appreciated the misplaced thoughtfulness. Aside from those initial days, Gabe never raised his voice, nor did he lay a hand on me. He always acted like a guest in my space, allowing me to take the lead. Every night, Gabe would arrive for dinner and stay for a game or watch a movie with me. Occasionally, he would show up with my favourite take-out, or a book to add to my shelves. When I mentioned that I missed sunlight, he brought me a light therapy lamp so I could bask under its glow for an hour or two. Gabe started me on a regiment of vitamins so I wouldn't be nutritionally deficient. We would talk into the late hours. I was content to sit on the far end of the sofa from him, deliberately delaying any form of intimacy. He didn't attempt anything, not a kiss, not a touch. He was indeed allowing me to come to him on my terms, in my time. One night I had fallen asleep during the movie we watched. Gabe bundled me up in a blanket and allowed me to nap undisturbed until he carried me to bed and tucked me in.