Enslaved by the Pen Ch. 08

"Nothing Master...honest. Nothing," I stammered out as I fought against the ropes.

Gabe only continued to press his cock against my petalled, blossomed lips, rubbing against my swollen flesh. "I see how much time you spend outside in the morning." He leaned in and bit down on my breast. "Is that when you're planning your escape?" His tongue laved my nipple. "How will you try to flee me now my willing captive?" His tongue licked up my jaw. I struggled against my bonds as my mind tried to deny his claims of my willingness to be enslaved.

"No...I...I don't want to be here." My denials insincere, as lust dripped from my tongue.

"No?" Gabe taunted. His finger only rubbed my throbbing nub. "You are mine, always mine, aren't you little one?" His finger crushed against my clitoris, pushing against the pulsating bundle of nerves. "Remember that," he hissed out. Gabe merely watched with smug satisfaction as I climaxed there, without him entering me, as his accusations rained down upon my captured form. As my body danced with sensation through my orgasm, Gabe yanked the Ben Wa balls out before plunging his hardness into me and ploughed into the moistness of my need. He grabbed onto the ropes, using them as leverage to enter me with force, jackhammering into me relentlessly. "Mine." Gabe snarled before he crushed his lips over mine, suffocating me with his claim. My body went limp as pleasure overruled logic, and I orgasmed again, and again.

When I regained my senses, I was still bound. Gabe had lowered me to the floor. His eyes ravenous as he slowly scanned my conquered form. My sex dripped with his semen. Hot wax splattered over my upper chest. My flesh bound with tight ropes. A look of contentment transformed my visage. Gabe squatted next to me. His finger threaded through the ring in my collar, pulling my neck up. "Look how content you are being thoroughly fucked by me." He simpered as his hand grabbed the evidence of my need for him.

"How was that?" He was suddenly gentle as he tucked my hair behind my ear. "You've pleased me tremendously with your appetite for suspension, pain, and pleasure."

I only closed my eyes, allowing Gabe to pamper me back into a state of coherence, as he performed aftercare on my yielding body, and compliant mind. His fingers traced the rope marks adorning my skin, and I languidly lifted my own arm to see the beauty in the braided impressions. "So pretty," I cooed, and Gabe agreed.

Neither of us spoke about Gabe's suspicions and my vehement denials. The malevolence of moments prior, now replaced with softness. We both knew the truth. Such was the rhythm of deceptions our relationship pulsed to.

After enacting that fantasy, Gabe brought me to his estate's perimeter. We walked leisurely through the snow. He had attired me in boots and a winter coat. Even if we were still in a city, we were on the outskirts where public transportation was unavailable. I saw no neighbouring properties, so expansive was Gabe's parcel of land. Reconnaissance was welcomed. Surveying the area allowed me to gather my bearings. Since my plan of escape was no longer dependent on flight alone, I wasn't exceedingly discouraged when I was unable to ascertain any new indications as to my precise location. I knew that I wouldn't be able to deactivate the electric field that protected his property. I now also ascertained that there were no nearby neighbours to assist me.

"Master?" I looked into Gabe's eyes, "how come you took me to tour your estate today?"

"The boots, the jacket, and your clothes are locked up. Don't think I don't know you're testing your cold tolerance every morning when you stand outside naked, assessing how long you can last in the bitter chill. But given that I've provided you ample opportunities to leave, and you've always obeyed me, I believe you won't simply be stupid enough to flee me in the winter, lest you risk a belting. Perhaps, you no longer wish to run." Gabe stated too optimistically.

"Thank you for trusting me. Perhaps, Master no longer wishes to keep me." My elation was undeniable. I had earned a touchstone of trust, albeit an uneasy one premised on contingency.

The comfortable rhythm of life resumed. Gabe encouraged me to author stories on my laptop, play games, or surf the net. While my access was still restricted, and my online activities perpetually monitored, latitude had increased sufficiently that I enjoyed the time he permitted me. I pulled up news, cooking, and craft sites and Gabe always purchased whatever I needed to experiment with a meal, or knit something I wanted. Mittens always had new toys, and a winter wardrobe as I crafted cat sweaters and little hats for her, which she refused to wear.

Gabe, as my impromptu editor, would post my stories after approving them. Occasionally, he would email my friends informing them of my latest adventures in Europe. I swallowed the melancholy I invariably felt as I learned I was traipsing through Italy, and wandering the Catacombs, after photographing St. Peter's Basilica, and the Pantheon. At least, I was still alive. It was a spark of hope for the future, even if I rarely openly expressed fleeing anymore.

Meanwhile, I diligently drafted the story that would weave my tale towards freedom. Initially, I had considered the possibility of penning scenarios in which the protagonist visited a BDSM club. While Gabe knew I had never previously expressed any such desires, I could effortlessly justify my nascent longings under the auspices of exploring my submission deeper. I also knew Gabe well enough that should he grant life to my fantasy, my mobility would be so compromised that escape would be impossible. So too would signalling to others of my distress. I would likely be gagged, my ears plugged, blindfolded, my arms locked behind me, and my ankles hobbled. I would be a mere fuck toy for Gabe in public. I couldn't fathom the indignity of having so little control as others watched my kidnapper fuck me into blissful oblivion. The other scenario I envisioned would be that Gabe would parade my naked form to a public space absent of people, such as a large field, or an abandoned house. The element of danger would exist, without jeopardizing Gabe's hold on me. Gabe kept the variables of my confinement strictly controlled. Realistically though, he wouldn't believe that I had suddenly developed such an interest when I had balked so desperately against being belted on the porch weeks ago.

I couldn't write anything too predictably out of character. Gabe knew what inflamed the erotic thoughts within. The story had to push my limits without appearing as if I was trying to engineer an escape. I elected to pen a scenario that appealed to his vulnerability, his compassion to please me and provide me with something satisfying, while fostering our mutual trust. I could intuit how Gabe's mind operated. I knew he would initially hesitate before ultimately agreeing.

In the interim, we continued as Master and sub. I occasionally delighted Gabe with an impromptu blowjob, or kneeled under his desk, warming his manhood in my mouth. Other times, when Gabe and I watched TV, my slight fingers would wrap around his girth, endlessly teasing him. I thrilled at these inconsequential acts. I knew they pleased Gabe and gave credence to my performance as his. But I suspected that the thrill was rooted in something deeper that I hadn't the capacity to interpret. Gabe often reciprocated and we spent many of our evenings with a hand or two on each other's genitals as we watched porn or erotica. It hailed back to the early days of our relationship in my apartment. Once, to reward me, Gabe placed me on my hands and knees on the floor. My legs ratcheted open by a spreader bar, my ass thrust up, as my wrist cuffs were connected back to the spreader bar, on the inside of my ankles. I was immobilized and for the duration of the movie, Gabe held a vibrator to my clit as the thickness of his fingers wended their way into my weeping slit. He watched my struggles as I orgasmed until my voice grew hoarse from pleading for permission and begging him to stop. He only spanked my ass a glowing pink.

I had come to develop an uneasy peace, accepting my true submissive state at my hand rather than his. I continued rationalizing my captivity to minimize the cognitive dissonance generated from blissfully serving while on my knees to fulfill the insatiable desire that sparked within, and my disgust of Gabe. With each interaction, I projected an earnest sincerity that my place was at Gabe's feet. I repeatedly reassured Gabe that I loved being his. My body provided a truthful testimony. It tingled when I awoke thinking about how I was going to derive pleasure. Every fantasy Gabe fulfilled. Every need he met. While his capture of me was unforgiveable, I had come to appreciate the world he had made me confront within myself, for myself. The satisfaction of submission electrified my every cell. It gave me a purpose in my existence. I had no other way to maintain some semblance of mental fortitude so that I could continue my fight, or so I convinced myself.

To persuade Gabe of my loving affection, we started dating. It was a complement to the late-night chats we maintained. I wanted to continue cultivating an emotional connection and proposed its necessity as an exercise in fostering familiarity and fondness. I had approached him one day, steeped in morosity, as I felt increasingly trapped by the white wall of snow as it settled and the wind blustered around the mansion, rattling the windowpanes. While Gabe was able to leave the premises at will, and he often did, I wasn't permitted the same latitude. Forecasts predicted another 25 cm of snow overnight and that meant no outdoor time for me.

"Master?" I peeked my head around the door. Gabe was studiously occupied and had barely looked up. I was taking a break from wordsmithing my story. Gabe had pestered me to allow him to read my newest magnum opus, but I had convinced him that I wanted to present the completed work. I stepped out to his gaze, my body wrapped in a bedsheet I had fashioned into a toga dress. Gabe raised his eyes. A look of displeasure transformed his features momentarily as he saw my constructed outfit. He hadn't given me permission to be unbared. I took a chance.

"Are you going somewhere little one? Why the sheet?"

"I'm going on a date. With you! I thought I'd get dressed up. Are you angry I'm dressed Master? I wanted to look nice for our date. I can't access my clothes. This is the best I could do."

"Amelia," Gabe started, "you know that we can't go out together. That's against the rules. It's also a snowstorm."

I shifted from side to side. "I know Master. I thought we could date indoors with a nice dinner and a movie. Maybe we could make love afterwards?" It was one of the rare instances I initiated use of the term with Gabe. It had not gone unnoticed. I smiled widely to sell the sentiment.

He raised his eyebrows. "What is little one wearing?"

I twirled. The translucency of the fabric gave dimension to the contours of my body. The outline of my dark nipples and the toys I had inserted into and attached onto myself were clearly visible. I wasn't technically breaking any rules. I wasn't playing with myself.

Gabe strode across the room, lessening the space between us. "This looks very fetching." His finger traced wide circles around my areolae on the outside of the fabric before his fingertips danced down my front and drifted under the hem of the dress to feel the wetness of my pussy lips grasp around the base of a vibrator. "What's this?" Gabe asked with some amusement. "My submissive didn't insert a toy into herself without my permission, did she?"

I held out two fingers. "Two toys actually Master." I tapped my nipples. "I clamped myself too."

Gabe's fingers traced backwards to feel the flanged base of the butt plug before his fingers pulled to the front and squeezed my erect nipples.

"I didn't break any rules, Master. I wasn't playing with myself. I was preparing myself for you to play with me." I cocked my head, adopting a coquettish grin.

Gabe expressed displeasure, though his eyes danced with playfulness. He guided me back to his desk, sat down, and pulled me over his lap. "Ten swats for bending the rules, Amelia."

He hiked my dress up past my waist and gripped my wrists. The flat of his palm slapped the flesh of my buttocks with so much force that my body rocked forward.

"One. Thank you, Master."

Again, his hand clapped against my flesh, and again I expressed gratitude. By the sixth and seventh strike, I was writhing under his fingers. Gabe knew how much getting lightly spanked aroused me. The eighth and ninth strike barely made any impression on my flesh. The tenth he delivered so quickly as if an afterthought. Gabe's fingers pulled the vibrator out, corkscrewing it back in rapidly, before tearing it out again, fucking me deeper and deeper with it until its tip pressed against my cervix. I felt the head spin into me and then Gabe turned the toy on. I gasped as I felt the sudden movement of the vibrating phallus against my cervix, digging in.

"Now for your ass little one." Gabe pulled the butt plug out and inserted it again rapidly. He was teasing my asshole, holding the widest part of the plug as my sphincter stretched with pleasurable spasm, before allowing the toy to be sucked back into my anal depths. He engaged the vibrating function on the plug. I felt the dull shuddering as the toy sprang to life, its vibrations stimulating my rectum. "You're dripping Amelia." Gabe's fingers teased the contours of my filled holes. "Are you excited for our date?"

"Yes Master," I confirmed with strangled breath.

"Good my pretty little one. We shall have our date, but you'll be kept on edge the entire time." He righted me on my feet, pulling down the dress and giving my ass a little pat.

I had prepared a simple dinner of sandwiches and a salad. It was all I could muster without the use of proper cutting implements. Gabe pulled out my chair and placed the napkin over my lap.

"Thank you, Gabe." I looked up at him hopeful he would forgive my transgression.

He smiled. "You're welcome, Amelia."

Gabe was a pleasant conversationalist and we approached pedestrian topics with ease in our banter. Our date lacked the truth of realism, but I appreciated Gabe's participation in the fallacy of normalcy we promulgated. I was wearing clothes, having a typical conversation, eating a simple dinner. Throughout the meal I attempted to keep the flush of my cheeks to a minimum as I pressed my thighs together and clenched onto the toys. If Gabe observed my misdemeanors, he made no mention. He maintained the pretense of our date. Perhaps he recognized how much I needed this for my own self-care and sanity.

Gabe leaned over the table and kissed me deeply before gently tracing the hem of my dress. "Do you remember what I said the night I met you?"

"You said that I looked hot in my dress?" My cheeks reddened even more.

"You know what I wanted to say Amelia? I wanted to confess that I was El and beg you to give me a chance. I saw you on the dance floor. Your body was titillation in motion. I couldn't keep my hands off you. I still can't." He extended his hand out to me. "Dance with me." It was more of a command. He wrapped his arms around me, taking the lead as we sashayed to the slow rhythm. He didn't grope me. He didn't objectify me. He simply allowed me to be Amelia.

I placed my head against his chest. "Thank you, Gabe."

"For what Amelia?"

"For seeing me. It's nice. Maybe we could do this next week?" My voice was hopeful.

Gabe smiled down at me. "I've always seen you. Of course we can Amelia. That would be delightful." And just like that Gabe and I established our weekly dinner dates.

Eventually, as the heat of our bodies pressed against each other with more urgency, Gabe carried me to his bed. He undressed me slowly, his hands soft as they caressed my skin at every juncture. His lips graced every curve and crevice of my body.

"You're lovely little one." He stood and studied me, the vibrator and butt plug still engaged, my body still twitching involuntarily to the dance of desire. "My little Lolita, the rose of your flushed skin makes you so desirable. I would very much like to make love to you tonight."

I half kneeled, reaching for the buttons of Gabe's shirt, slowly undoing each before pushing the fabric off his torso. My arms gripped the sides of his biceps before I released the tongue of his belt and pulled it through the pant loops. I kissed down his sternum before I unbuttoned his pants and pushed his pants down to the ground. Gabe reached down and removed the vibrator. "Make love to me Gabe." It was a simple utterance and one I only had to murmur once. He cradled me within the strength of his arms and slowly entered my wet and willing core as his lips kissed the breath out of my body, and our bodies undulated towards mutual satisfaction.

"I know you may not mean it Amelia, but thank you for trying to love me," Gabe whispered in my ear, his hand over my heart, as I drifted to sleep post-coitus.

After that night, there was a perceptible shift in our relationship. It was noticeable in the small gestures. There were more movie nights, and game nights, more episodes of making out on the sofa, and falling asleep in each other's arms. There were more lingering touches, more kisses on my cheek, more hands extended to help me from my knees, and affectionate pulls to his form. Cuddles were plentiful. I appreciated Gabe's softer side. It made captivity tolerable, especially when freedom was an as yet effectuated action or two away. Gabe's willingness to render himself vulnerable allowed my anger to dissipate against him, and persuaded me to allow him into my heart, to be wooed. It wasn't that I wanted to love him. I knew I had developed feelings for him through my captivity. It was easier to concede my dignity and feign affection for a man who was kind. Brutalization did little to engender warmth. He wasn't Gabe the pen pal who had kidnapped me. He was Gabe, the man for whom I had developed feelings. But he was also the man who I could never be with, for the atrocity that was the foundation of our entire connection.

"Is this what it would be like?" I turned to Gabe one evening. We were sitting together in his den while he worked, me at my laptop wordsmithing my story, and Gabe at his.

"Hmmm? What's that little one?" Gabe was confused at my query.

"Would it be like this if I stayed? You wouldn't always exert your will over me? You'd let me be me? We'd have these pleasant moments together? Is that what you mean by training?"

Gabe only looked at me with sympathy. "No Amelia, that's not what training means. I've explained it before."

Gabe had previously clarified that training was abiding by his desires without reservation. Long moments passed. "What you fail to understand Amelia, to truly comprehend, is that everything you do is my will. Your state of nakedness is my preference. Sitting here with me is due to your desire to please me out of an earnestness from your submission, or due to your next scheme. Either way, you do so because you know it pleases me. Taking a toy in your cunt, or your ass, or your mouth is because I've trained you to yearn for it. I exert my will over you in all aspects of your life even if you refuse to be cognizant of its influence in determining your being. Your existence is at my command. You've internalized being mine. You're complicit in your own submission to me. You abide by me. Your waking mind simply needs to catch up."

I turned my head, the tears clouding my vision momentarily. I was attempting to open dialogue, to foster our connection and establish my growing affection for him. Even though much of what I expressed was a manipulation, it wounded me that Gabe disregarded the genuine warmth I developed for him. Rather than acknowledging my statement, he used my comments as an exercise in humiliation. I didn't need a reminder of his will. I was made cognizant of it every day when my knees touched the floor's hardness as my mouth opened to fellate him, and when my shoulders met the tile as Gabe claimed me anally. I refused a response.