Liberated by the Pen Ch. 04

He only leaned forwards, positioning the mushroom head of his cock against my nether lips, and pushed ever inwards, spreading my petalled lips gradually with his girth, and claiming me with each indelicate thrust into me. My fingers futilely clutched the air before finding security in the bed frame as my manacled hands gripped the iron rods with force, as each pummelling thrust into me rocketed me backwards. Gabe's eyes were mesmerizing as they drilled into mine, studying the spark of excitement that flashed, the parted lips that welcomed the fleshy intrusion, the moans that indicated my acquiescence in capture when he pinched my nipples. He removed himself from my velvety clutches then, flipping me over on his knees, as his hand was poised to strike against my upraised buttocks.

My fingers squeezed tightly, knuckles sharp, bracing. I acknowledged each slap against my flesh as I counted out the unrelenting strikes from his swinging arm. The heat of impact bloomed against my skin, reddened, and warmed by his opened palm. The sting of each strike radiated outwards as Gabe continued with increasing intensity until my gently released tears signalled I had reached the threshold of tolerance.

"Enough little one?"

I only nodded as I sniffled. His hands rubbed my buttocks in circular motions before he repositioned me, ass high up, chest pressed flat against the bed, legs widely spread. I jumped unexpectedly as he slapped my pussy multiple times, and I widened my legs as if in invitation to the pain. Again, his hand spanked against my pussy, and I fought to remain still. Even when a startled gasp met Gabe's doubled-over leather belt as it struck my pussy, I never deviated from my stance, and I scrambled to reposition myself as he dictated. Exposed. Vulnerable. Opened. Instead, my fingers tangled in the sheets as I grabbed for leverage, maintaining my widened position, hoping to propel myself towards the elusive joy of pained ecstasy. With each successive swing of the belt as it kissed my parted lips with increasing force, I endured, absorbing the strikes, and gasping from the purity of feeling thoroughly at one with my body and its limits.

It was a reverential pleasure, Gabe witnessing the masochism he had fostered in me through his conditioning, as I relinquished the last mental chasm and embraced what my body apparently revelled in. Without speaking, Gabe terminated the downwards swing of his arm, deferring to the intuitiveness of his knowledge about my thresholds of tolerance he dared not traverse beyond.

He held me there one hand on my hips, the tip of his cock teasing my tingling labia, his other hand delving inwards against my anus. His thumb pressed insistently forwards and then, in one fluid motion, he entered me vaginally while his digit seated itself inside my anal canal, pounding his pent-up need into me, as I remained in position, permitting to be consumed by him. He was forceful, ferocious at times as he jackhammered into my molten, dripping core, as if driven by the enduring need to reassert his claim over me, to rewrite his possession. His fingers dug into my pelvis as he pulled me back onto him with each forwards momentum his desire demanded. When he finally grunted his seed into me, his hand curled around my pubic bone so tightly from the front that I lifted from the pressure, inducing myself to accept the enormity of him ever deeper. He remained speared in me, as his fingers sought my clitoris, and his touch felt almost preternatural, omnipresent, as he plied my body to experience flows of bliss whose intensity pushed me closer to the verge of immolation.

"Climax for me little one," he instructed as the rasp of his tongue lapped the back of my earlobe.

My body could only obey as it surrendered to the feelings of lust that he skillfully practised on my quivering flesh. The final threads of resistance all but dissolved as a transitory sense of amnesia swept over me, blinding me to the months of misery I endured at his hands, as I pursued my own path towards orgasm. The intensity of my climax surprised even myself as Gabe struggled to contain me within his embrace as my body jerked with such abrupt volatility as it careened towards culmination.

He withdrew from me, turning me around on my back, my head hanging off the mattress. My eyes, intoxicated with pleasure, hazily followed Gabe as he stood above me and demanded entrance into my mouth. The tang of our comingled fluids lubricated my tongue as his cock sought even deeper passage into my throat, and he paid no heed to the sounds of distress as I gagged from the girthy invasion, until he was fully seated in me, his balls heavy on my nose and upper lip. He loved seeing me like this, the bulge of his cock stretching my throat as his hand reached down to ensure the tightness of the fit before grasping underneath to jerk my head upwards to fuck my throat as if it were my cunt. I only breathed through my flared nostrils as he slowly retreated from the warm tunnel, forcing his balls into my suctioning mouth, before sliding back into my throat with deliberation. His vessel I remained, as if lubricating his warm, flesh, slicking it in anticipation for a future erection. He simply revelled in the feeling of the tightness of my throat strangling his cock, each gurgled gasp for air to his delight.

He never demanded I call him Master again that afternoon. No such admonitions were required. My body's reactions vocalized everything he required of me. He knew by the surrender of my body to his every whim, and his every touch that he already owned it, absent of a verbal confirmation. Even though I vocally denounced him, and struggled against his will, my silent capitulation was an adequate response to the certainty of his authority over me. He only fingered the place of my inner thigh, wistfully in observation, where his brand once adorned my flesh, his tone pensive as he remarked that not even a trace of the cold branding lingered on my skin.

He uncuffed my wrists, gathering me against the warmth of his body as the exertions of the day finally took a toll on my stamina. His hand was soothing against my back as he swept up and down, rubbing my skin in reassuring gestures. His kisses were light against my cheeks and forehead as his lips blotted away the streak of tears that materialized so suddenly in shame. As his strong arms pulled me tight, I felt where I should have always been, in the shadow of his dominance. Gabe sighed with contentment, realizing that he too was where he should have always been, manipulating the reigns of darkness that I endlessly attempted to circumvent.

"It doesn't always have to be a struggle of anger and resistance little one. We can be gentle with one another as well, fulfilling our needs, reciprocally seeking pleasure. The two are not mutually exclusive. I should hope today's activities have illustrated that I will always be your Master, whether you're mentally prepared for such an admission, and that I can safety guide you in your submission, both soft and secure, and darker if desired."

His words were mellifluous in my ears as my eyes fluttered increasingly closer to unconsciousness. I only felt the tightening security of Gabe's arms around my torso as he cocooned me within the impenetrability of his hold.

"I love you little one, I pray you choose correctly, for both of our sakes."

Darkness descended soon after, and the claustrophobic weight of decision and my captivity eluded me in the sanctity of dreams.

When I awoke, it was late evening. The obsidian of the night reflected through the windowpanes, casting an eerie calm upon the room. Gabe no longer lay next to me, though the lingering scent of his soap remained. My hand traced the indent on the pillow where his head once lay as he presumably watched me slumber. Our last interaction seemed different. Gabe was certainly authoritative, but there wasn't the menace of force, or the persistence of peril that characterized my time in the mansion. Even my time bound, on my knees, restrained to the bed, lacked the impersonal discipline I was accustomed to receiving. Perhaps, Gabe was truly invoking a gentler tactic of persuasion through passion, rather than concession through power.

Upon exploration, the apartment only bore my stillness. Gabe had departed earlier in the evening. The phone now returned to my bookcase, the line still torn from its jack, irreparable. On the coffee table lay the two collars, their symbolic ominousness unmistakable. My mobile phone placed beside the yokes of my eventual oppression. The business card and key remained. Gabe only scrawled a note with two words, "Five days." So confident was he in our connection that he believed I wouldn't contact authorities on his latest incursion into my autonomy.

I stared at the inked curls of his penmanship; the ominous letters portended some sort of retributive scheme he had formulated in his mind that I was not privy to. I knew that Gabe was furnishing me the opportunity to ponder his proposal in earnestness before he would enact the next inevitable phase of my capture. I also knew Gabe well enough that his persistence would not permit me the dignity of a reprieve from his desire.

Given that Gabe had left me in possession of my cellphone with full communicative capability, I knew that I wasn't trapped in my apartment. I half expected the exterior door to be removed, but when I opened my old door beyond the threshold, the coldness of the metal taunted me yet again. The handle engaged this time, and I immediately noticed that Gabe had left the actual key sitting in the lock. There was a note appended to the key head, "Illusion can be liberating."

I returned to my sofa baffled at the series of events that had befallen me within 24 hours. And then, I saw it. He had left a parting gift on my laptop, what appeared to presumably be a video compilation, undoubtedly a predictable montage of my burgeoning sexuality under his dominance, much like what I witnessed when shackled to the one-bar prison. Yet, what was shown on screen was anything but expectation. Rather than the frenzied sexual orgy I was prepared to witness, in its stead was a medley of the soft moments Gabe and I shared. I witnessed Gabe gently rub warmth into my appendages for hours as I lay unconscious in bed after my final escape attempt in the bitter cold, the tears of his guilt splattering onto the duvet that he repeatedly tucked around me in a fretful panic. He lovingly caressed down the length of my body in long reassuring strokes. The next scene showed Gabe pacing in the dark, his hand occasionally running against the length of the wall, his body leaning in to watch, his lips mouthing, "it's okay Amelia. It'll be okay Amelia." I eventually recognized that Gabe was outside my ersatz apartment, in the bunker underground. It was split screened with an image of me sobbing in my bed as the reality of abduction thieved my hope from me night after night.

Next, I observed my own fingers tracing Gabe's body when he was sleeping, playfully tugging at his hair. I recognized the scene immediately. Earlier in the evening he had bound me in a box-tie, encouraging me to feel the sensual constriction of the fibres as they wound around me. It was the first time I permitted the rhythm of the wraps to overtake my body, as my arms were bent behind me. My torso ebbed and flowed freely with Gabe's movements as the ropes tightened around me, pulling my chest out, my arms back, my body utterly compliant to his desire. The bond I felt to Gabe that night was palpable, a deeply erotic, penetrating connection in which his ministrations of my body merged in unity with my responses. I remember afterwards, as we lay together, I had shed tears, never having experienced such release and relaxation without an orgasm. In the moment I hadn't even realized I had done it, but in the video capture, I saw the unmistakable signs of my lips mouthing, "I love you Master," to his sleeping form.

The lighter moments of my captivity that weren't overtly sexual caused unexpected moments of mirth. Gabe included a video of him chasing me through the mansion after I had pelted him with a wet towel to his head. He had cornered me upstairs before he lunged at me and we collapsed in a tangled, fit of giggles on the carpeting, succumbing to the feeling of juvenility. Then there were the many quiet, contemplative moments where Gabe would wrap his substantial arms around me and read to me, or rock me as we watched television. Or, our weekly dinner dates, and the times my head would press against his chest as we danced together appeared on the screen.

The last image was of Gabe standing behind me, his hand possessively clasped around his collar in our daily ritual before the bathroom's vanity. Every morning I would recite the same phrase expected of me. "I see your submissive Master," rote in recitation, an automaton in action. But rather than the emptiness that smothered me, the video captured a slight uptick in my lips as I recited my catechism, a brief glimmer in my eyes, the perking of my nipples, the straightening of my back, the widening of my stance as Gabe's forward pressing knee parted my thighs. I saw the inwards creep of his fingers as they settled to stroke my cunt, as his thumb rubbed my clitoris.

The camera was unforgiving in its capture of my increasingly louder moans as I verged towards climax, a crescendo of unmitigated longing. I was undeniably Gabe's in that moment; my own body disproved yet again that my actions revealed more than my mind desired to acknowledge. Even the lewdness in which Gabe painted his initials GM onto my own chest with the lubricant of my own arousal after I had orgasmed to illustrate his ownership went uncontested. Gabe had managed to capture a rare instance where I had genuinely experienced pleasure in being his submissive, rather than the sickening, disembowelled feeling that anchored me into his domineering hold most mornings. I remembered afterwards, enthusiastically slipping to my hands and knees begging him to fuck me in the ass, a regretfully frequent refrain.

The ultimate purpose of Gabe's exercise in imagery needn't further explanation nor extrapolation. He had successfully illustrated that my memory was an unreliable narrator of my time under his hand. I required a compulsory reminder that my captivity had not always been as catastrophic as I imagined, though my mind deliberately defaulted to commemorate such tragedy in abundance. Each image he spliced together reified my enthusiastic surrender under his hand, exteriorizing the inner turmoil that I suppressed in terror.

Gabe left no other indication as to his intentions. I hadn't the mental reserves to unleash tears at my predicament. I could only muster shocked consternation and disbelief, and a strangely apathetic hollowed laughter, as I wrapped my arms around my knees. He had apparently abducted me, illustrated to me my enduring and voluntary subservience to him, and then exhibited restraint and compassion in his departure. His very argument for my continued keep was the lingering yearning I presented to him, demonstrative yet outwardly gratuitous at once.

He compelled me to interrogate the very foundations of my being and question whether I derived pleasure to the extent with any man, much less Adam. If Gabe was correct in his assertion, it was a terrifying realization that I could never extricate myself mentally or sexually from his clutches. That insight pervaded my thoughts and writ across the restlessness of my body as it flitted in its sheets overnight, unable to locate a semblance of peace, as fear concretized my unconsciousness.

A collision with the past was inevitable.

The next morning, I invited Adam over, to confess the sins of my history, and to prove to myself that what Gabe insinuated bore little basis. Adam greeted me with a warm embrace as I awkwardly apologized for cancelling brunch the day prior. It was the first time we had seen each other since we had parted terms, though not the first time we had conversed.

"I'm sorry Adam. Something unexpectedly came up that I couldn't extricate myself from. I was tied up for the afternoon." I attempted a joke of my predicament that not even I found amusing.

Adam walked himself over to the sofa and sat down, in the same spot where Gabe had inserted himself into my life a mere 24 hours ago.

"It's good to see you again Amelia. You look well, much invigorated than when we last parted. I hope that you've achieved a small measure of peace from whatever was bothering you, and whomever was pestering you."

I could only smile to mask the inner turmoil that threatened to derail this conversation.

"Thanks for coming Adam. I..." Instead, the words that had once been so determined to release from my tongue were replaced with silence. I flopped down on the sofa. "I'm sorry for how we ended things. I hope you know it wasn't intentional. It's good to see you again."

He reached across the divide of awkward space that had not existed before; a reassuring hand placed on mine. "Amelia, I hold no ill will. You clearly were struggling, and it wouldn't have been honourable to continue in a sexual relationship with you given the emotional turmoil you were waging on yourself."

Adam's eyes appeared kind and I remembered why I had continued seeing him after that initial meeting in the club. He had a pure heart, one that I never wanted to sully with the complications of my own life and inadequacies, and the ugliness of my abduction. The expression written across Adam's countenance never wavered as his patience graced me time and space to my own muddled thoughts.

Instead, the words retreated from my tongue, and I couldn't comprehend why the obstacle existed. The sudden tsunami of shame overwhelmed me as indignity surged, washing away my resolve, as I realized I had led Gabe on. My newly acknowledged complicity suddenly rendered me less a victim of Gabe and transformed me into a co-conspirator in my own enslavement. I was the harlot to his supposed martyrdom. I played with Gabe every evening online. I sent him provocative photographs and videos. I called him Sir. I obeyed every order he issued to me. He was effectively my Master and I his submissive, but I refused to admit it to myself. I was a willing accomplice in it all. I asked him every morning to fuck me. He was correct all along about my misconstrued victimhood. How could I disclose that to Adam? How could I confess that I had allowed Gabe to fuck me in the ass, publicly, on display with his semen splashed and drying on my face, and my body reciprocating to every debasing action he committed upon it?

All I could do then was utter incomprehensible mewing sounds. I could barely lift my eyes to meet his. "I don't know what to say Adam. I want to explain where I've come from, but don't wish to burden you. I've tried to disentangle myself from my past, rather unsuccessfully. What would be the advantage of commiserating with you now? You never knew my past before, and you accepted me." My voice halted with each sniffle.

Adam remained silent for long moments. He only reached across to pull me into his lap. His embrace of me was wordless and reassuring. I couldn't tell him of Gabe's latest incursion into my life, or even of his proposition to me. Adam would characterize me as weak. Adam only tightened his grip on me, refusing to release me as if strangling me to his body would absolve me from my own guilty conscience at the sheer wanton depravity I exhibited and Gabe's reprehensibility in fostering it.

"Do you know why I wanted to deepen our relationship beyond a casual connection Meli? It was because of your kindness. Even in your turmoil, you think of others. You're a bright spark of compassion, a seductress without guile."

The drive to exceed Adam's lofty expectations of my virtue and goodness, and my desperation to disprove Gabe's assertion that only he knew how to bring me pleasure propelled my actions. It was an almost frantic impetus to establish that I wasn't irrevocably damaged by Gabe. My lips crushed against Adam's with a ferocity, whose intensity surprised even myself as I suctioned the air out of Adam's breath. Though surprised, he responded, pulling my hands behind me, pinning them to my back as he reciprocated the fervent touch of my tongue.