The Captured Princess Ch. 05

Other hallucinations occurred; I do not remember them.

The blue light flicked again, for real this time. I braced, expecting shocks, but a few seconds passed and they didn't happe- then the voltage slammed through me, hideous, agonizing, and I convulsed, and the horrible sounds, and my terrified screams...

Time passed. The blue light winked again, and this time the shock was immediate. I convulsed in agony , screamed for mercy, and passed out.

++

I woke again, sweat-streaked and sick to my stomach, in blackness, bound to the table...

++

I was in the white room again, but there was no blood on the floor, and this time I was against the wall, manacled. Something was on either side of my head, and below my chin, so my head was held immobile, facing forward. Opposite me was white wall. I was naked, and the little I could see of me was white.

There was a flicker on the wall. Just for a moment. It had been a man and a woman, naked.

The woman had red blond hair.

Another flicker. A hand on a breast.

I understood this. I was desperate for anything to look at and I would helplessly focus on anything I was shown. I was being focused on sexuality, and nothing else. It was very simple and not at all subtle.

I closed my eyes.

But the empty, terrifying silence got to me.

Suddenly I couldn't stand any more. I opened my eyes, helplessly focusing on the whiteness, silently begging for another image. I ached for colors, faces, humanity. But they'd stopped.

"Please," I said aloud, suddenly. "Please!"

Another flicker. Color, form. I could ask!

"Please!" I whispered.

Another image. It stayed in place a microsecond longer. It was of the prince and I, and very explicit. But that did not matter. It was color and shapes and I had to have it. I whispered again, and again, and then I was begging, frantically and continuously.

The images came, faster and faster, and then faint sounds were added as well. Oh moon, nothing was sweeter. It didn't matter that the images and sounds told a story of sexual degradation, of cock filling my slit and mouth and ass, of me pleading to be touched and slapped and used. I could see myself in color. It was all that mattered.

I was not a fool; I knew this was subliminal manipulation. I knew they had me begging and craving my own abuse. But it did not matter. As long as I could see color, I was alive and sane.

The images blurred into a movie, a movie of the Prince bending me over a bed and touching me, from behind. I -- not the white thing chained to the wall, but the girl with real, colored flesh across the room -- was whispering something over and over, and I strained to hear it.

The Prince suddenly slapped me, and I shivered, head to toe, breasts shaking from the impact. I had never realized how pretty I was. The warm colors, the way the aroused nipples pointed, the flow of my pretty, pretty hair... And the Prince! Dusky, muscular, his hands moving over me, a feast of movement and color, so alive...

I strained to hear myself.

"I want this," I whispered. "I want this, I want this, I want this, I want this..."

The white thing on the wall shuddered from head to toe in horror, but I felt the hands on my breasts and the gentle tug on my nipples, and fire washed through me, more intense than anything I remembered. Hands, moving over me, forcing sensations from my body, my deprived, unloved, suddenly desperate body.

I watched as his finger slipped slowly inside me, and I was shuddering from head to toe in shameless need. The intensity was impossible, and the warmth I felt as I squeezed down flickered between purple and orange, so beautiful; my aching need for his finger to move faster within me tasted like strawberries.

"I want this, I want this, oh skies I want more, please let me keep my color, my hair, my beauty, the sensation of being touched, please take me, take me hard-"

"You do not want it badly enough," said the Enjine-like voice. Her soft, flat voice was a glowing knife, floating towards me.

The video stopped suddenly, and the room went pitch dark.

I screamed in a terrified anguish I cannot describe. Suddenly I was the white woman on the wall again, and I could not be her another second.

"Please skies no, please, no, no, no, no, fuck the moon let me out I can't take anymore I'm nothing and I want to be something again please LET ME OUT, I'll do anything NO! NO! NOT THE CLAWS!"

The white haracrab appeared in the darkness in front of me, with jet black claws that were invisible in the darkness, but I could see them anyway and it moved towards me, clicking, the three eyes were burning points of blue light, moving in uneven star patterns, and then the claw stroked my abdomen, paused, broke the skin, tore out my womb, reached for my breasts-

++

I was shuddering, hearing the sound of birds. My eyes opened slowly, and I convulsed when I saw colors. I was on a bed in a room, naked, and the light and the sounds and the colors were too much. A moan broke from me and I moved my hands over my ears and eyes, and curled into a ball.

"Hush, baby slave," said a quiet, low voice. "This is real, the punishment has been halted for now. Leave your eyes closed. You have to take it in slowly."

It was the Prince's voice. I sobbed, helplessly.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he said, softly. His voice was hypnotic; I could not stop listening. It was a human voice and oh, oh, how I ached for it!

"The birds -- too much -- please-"

He spoke a command, and glassee formed, muting the birds. Then he stroked my side, very slowly and lightly.

"I do what I have to do, Alani," he said. "I can't have you defy me. Power remains power until it is successfully defied, and then it is nothing. I cannot let you win. You must be made to yield, and now you know I will do anything to accomplish my goals."

The sensation of touch was overwhelming and addictive. I moaned in pleasure that was not arousal, but sheer delight.

"Stretch out, on your belly, and open your eyes. The sheet you are on has been dyed many shades of blue and violet. It's a good place for your eyes to start.

I was suddenly shaking. "Don't -- don't hurt me-"

"Alani. No one has to get hurt! Just yield. Give yourself to me. I know it is not what you are born to, but you - and everyone - is clay. Some of us know it and are not afraid to mold others. You can change what you are. Or I can change you. But it is better if you do it yourself."

His hand stroked my back, and over my ass and along my leg. Human contact is heavenly. His hand was so calming. He didn't want to hurt me. I opened my eyes and gentle swirls of blue filled my gaze. Soft, sweet color.

"I'm going to give you a very gentle massage," he said. He parted my legs, and moved my arms apart from my body, and moved my hair to the side. I twitched, and looked at it. It was reddish blonde, but not exactly my shade. He started rubbing my back, light circular motions.

"My hair..."

"Dyed," he said. "Bleached white for your time in the room, then dyed to get your color back here. If you comply, I'll let you grow out your natural color again. I find it exotic."

"I can't go back. Don't turn me white again."

"You have to go back, for a little bit. But if you're a good girl it will be for a short time. If you ever try to hurt me, of course, you'll die in there, in anguish. What a loss that would be."

"What about my brother?" I didn't understand why I hadn't thought of him until now.

"He's... gone, Alani. He got his hands on a weapon and killed himself. It was an accident. Casualty of war..."

The shudders returned. He was pressing his hands over and over at the small of my back, and it felt so good. I could smell some sort of cologne on him, and it just occurred to me that I'd smelled nothing for as long as I'd been punished. Scent is such a rich sense.

But I hadn't been punished. I'd been tortured. And my brother was dead. Or was he?

"Is this real? Am I hallucinating?"

"This is real. But I'm the last person you should ask that question to."

"I hate you," I said softly. "If torturing me was supposed to make me love you, it failed."

"No, Alani. It had nothing to do with love or hate. Only obedience." His fingertips traced designs on my ass. "How you feel about me will change over time. I could use punishment to force you to love me -- yes, there are techniques for it. But I have no need to do that. You will be obedient to me, and in doing do you will become sexually pleasing to me. And that will rewrite how you feel about me, in the end. Why use pain, when pleasure will do?"

"I want to see my brother's body."

"He is already buried. Someday you will see his grave. But that, also, must be earned. Everything a slave receives must be earned."

He traced his hands along my leg, and then dipped his hands in a bowl and rubbed along the length of my thighs. It was scented oil, and I shivered in ecstasy. He chuckled, softly.

"Are you hungry?"

"A little." I paused. "I don't remember eating, or the baths... how long was I punished?"

Tortured, I told myself. Stop saying punished.

"You aren't permitted to know. But sooner or later you will hear the date. You might be able to work out a rough guess. It wasn't as long as you may think. As for food and the rest, you were made unconscious at intervals, and those needs were death with. As a white, you would not be permitted to deal with that yourself."

"Please don't make me go back. Why would you?"

"The reasons are complicated, but the training is more effective this way. I will tell you what will happen. You'll be with me for a few hours, and then free to be alone or talk to other slaves. You will be watched of course. At some point you will do something to displease. Maybe you will curse, or drop something, or become angry, or simply move ungracefully. It does not matter. When you do, suddenly four men will burst in and take you back to the Torturers. They will teach you that you must please me, and when the leson is permanently settled within you, then I will call for you to be freed. You'll be returned to your room and you will be given clothing and oils and perfumes, and then you will come to me and offer to sate me with your body, and I will use drugs and hypnotic triggers and hand and mouth and cock to give you an intensity and depth of pleasure that will make you sob. Once you do it willingly, it's over and you are mine forever. There isn't anything about this process that's complicated. Absolute torture when you displease, irresistible pleasure when you are good. All women want to be pleasing, but for you it will become an unanswerable obsession. You will do anything for my happiness; you will spend time thinking of new ways to please me. It is like being in love, and perhaps it will become love in the end."

"You do not want my love."

"I think it's fairer to say you do not want mine."

He worked my calves with the scented oil, and then my feet. I moaned in pleasure. All my senses were disturbed and distorted. Fingertips working my toes... I have no words for how good it felt.

Then he lifted my foot and very gently nibbled my big toe.

It was sexual in intensity. I whimpered, and I heard the overtones of desire in my own sounds.

I knew this was wrong. I knew I hated the Prince for what he had done to me -- my enslavement, Tir treachery, the abuse of my brother -- if it had even happened -- the demanded sex and the punishment. Torture. But it was hard to associate emotions with those wrongs. All that mattered now was senses, sensations. His hands moved up my legs again, massaged my ass, along my sides, tracing the fullness of my breasts, and it was intoxicating. My body betrayed me, shaking in delight, silently begging for more touches.

He could not send me back into that room, away from this. I knew why he planned to. Anyone could stand something once. But no one could stand it an infinite number of times, and two is the beginning of infinity.

"Do you want music," he asked, very quietly, against my ear.

"No. More words," I said, without thinking. I felt so starved for human voice.

"Then I will speak of your beauty," he said. "Your skin is delightful. It is firm where it should be, soft where it pleases, and it draws the eye. Your hair is thick and strong, and when you yield it will be grown out long and washed and combed to perfection each day. But, Alani, to do this right, I must turn you over. Come, on to your back..."

I didn't resist this command. I wanted the sensation of his caress and the oil everywhere. He knew this, and I knew it.

"Your lovely, flat belly. I'm going to drizzle oil on it, close your eyes and just experience..."

It was warm and flowed softly and slowly; it was so incredibly sensual. And then his hands followed, and my stomach contracted under his touch, hard. He massaged me there, and then caressed my hips, making me more and more slippery.

"Arch your back," he commanded in a whisper against my ear, and I did, without thinking. Obedience. He had made me obedient.

He massaged my breasts, and I arched deeper, pressing against his hands. I felt myself flush, and loved the fact that I changed color when touched. Then his mouth closed around a nipple, and I cried out, softly.

"Good girl," he whispered.

"I- I couldn't feel arousal, in the room."

"Of course not. There are drugs that remove the ability to have pleasure from sex, and drugs that amplify it." He kissed the other nipple, and my head tossed from side to side.

"Am I- drugged, now..."

"No. There is a mild stimulant in the oil, but nothing else."

"Why am I obeying you?"

"Right now you need human contact at any cost; that's why you accept everything I do. I am playing very unfairly. Let me show you the depth of your acceptance. Alani... your fingernails are white."

I looked down at my hands. My color was normal, but now my fingernails were white. I whimpered in dismay.

"Alani, your fingernails are black."

And they were. I hid my hands and kept my eyes down, shivering.

"You see? Now, Alani... place your hands up over your head, palms up, thumbs together."

I did. I did it willingly, because if I fought the command I'd have lost and that terrified me.

"You can't fight at the moment. It's fear," he said. "You don't perceive it as fear at the moment, but it's very real, very intense. It rules you. You're afraid I'll put you in the room and leave you there, and you will slowly become nothing. That room drives people insane and then kills them, in time. You'll do anything I ask, to avoid it."

He reached over me, and his fingertips touched mine. He drew them down, lightly, over my palms, and over the inside of my wrists, and I felt my pulse against his hand. Then he moved them along my arms. I squirmed helplessly, wanting him to go faster, but he only slowed down. I licked my lips as his fingers crossed over my armpits, and then over my breasts, across stone hard nipples, and then playfully across the curve of my ribcage. He stopped at my hips, and did it all again.

And again, and again...

Arousal. I was panting, and my oiled legs slid against each other.

"Women bond with those who show no mercy," he said.

I knew it was wrong. But as long as there was touch and scent and words and colors, right and wrong didn't matter.

"Touch yourself," He said.

I tried to fight the command. "Am I hallucinating?"

He didn't reply. Instead he drew a finger, very slowly, along my slit. My hand flew to my bud and I caressed myself.

"Oh stars," I wailed.

"After the deprivation, it's extremely intense," he whispered against my lips. "So now we'll make it better."

He licked my mouth, and then he did it again as his pressed his fingers into me. And then he kissed his way slowly down over my throat and breast, to my hard nipple, a nipple I was helplessly offering. He sucked it deeply in, while his fingers curled mercilessly inside.

Colors and sounds exploded inside me. The movement of my fingers was saffron, his fingers inside me were intense amethyst, and his mouth, sucking my nipple with increasing savagery, was a burning gold. And the spontaneous movements of my hips rang a gong, deep and powerful, and ringing faster and faster. Pleasure. Pleasure was irresistible.

His hand slowed down, speeded up; he played my body like a stringed instrument. My legs opened wide and I sobbed, because he was bad and I didn't want to come for him but nothing mattered except this pleasure and I needed, I needed the release-

Suddenly he shifted and grabbed me, and next I knew my wrists were pinned by his hands, pulled down to either side of my thighs, forcing my torso to arch into the air, and his mouth was on my clit, sucking.

"Moon, please! Please! I was going to flower! Please, I'm dying, let me touch myself, let me -- give me-"

"You - want - that - pleasure," he snarled, flicking me with his tongue between words. "Then -- yield -- yourself -- to - me!"

"How -- how -- what do you want, I surrender, you're evil but I can't -- can't stop -- can't fight-"

Then he was on me, tormenting my slit with his cock, and my hips tilted up for him and he was inside me, in, in, in, and he hissed "Touch yourself and come for your master."

Everything blurred, and his muscled torso and rough, demanding hands became my entire world. I began doing things I did not understand, doubtless a result of his hypnosis -- cooing, gasping, begging, rubbing his stomach and ass with one hand while I masturbated frantically with the other. His hand gripped my throat, his strength was terrifying, but to my shock it only made me hotter, and my hips rocked sensuously for him. The fire in my belly built back up, faster and hotter.

His sudden orgasm was violent. His hand cut off my air, and my slippery, oiled legs stroked his; I frantically tried to please and appease him. His snarls set off something in me, and I arched towards orgasm. I had never in my life wanted to please anyone so badly, not even Tir in the ruins, or my father when I first learned to ride horses. And I knew -- Tir had told me -- that men like it when women come. A voice in my head screamed "No! Princess! Do not come for this monster!" but that voice was already beaten, and knowing I was beaten intensified my urgency. I came uncontrollably, wave after wave of writhing pleasure, while trying to shriek though a closed throat.

Then he slid off me, and I gasped for air. There would be tears later, I knew. Now there was only a flush of relief and pleasure.

"Good girl," he whispered, panting. "You're learning to appreciate being a woman. I am very pleased."

The glow of pleasure, of satisfaction, of simple accomplishment, washed trough me. I'd been pleasing as a woman. Allowed to linger in that realization, I found it impossibly satisfying. My pretty little body was becoming good at pleasing men; I'd had no idea how much I'd wanted that. Was that something the Prince had placed in me... or had I always been that way?

"Do you ever... how do I ask this... play fair with women?"

"No."

"Why not?" I was surprised that I was genuinely curious.

"I could give the trite answer, and say that women never play fair with men. And it would be true. But for me," he paused, and curled my still shivering body against his, "that's not the reason."

He ran his hand over my breast, and I felt warmth in my belly. Orgasms, it seemed, didn't stop certain sensations.

"Right now," he said, "I'm touching you. Not because I want to fuck you. I just came and I'm unable to fuck again for twenty minutes or so. What I'm enjoying is the control. Your body responds to my hand; there's nothing you can do about that. And that pleases me."

"Why would someone with the authority of a Prince need to exert control? You have power."