Bondage Stories, Male Domination

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Coeds In Captivity by Reese Gabriel Excerpt - Awakening In Bondage by Reese Gabriel From Coeds In Captivity Ebook ordering Copyrighted © 2003, all rights reserved.

        “Rise and shine,” called a male voice, deceptively cheerful.

       A strange, prodding sensation needled Debbie’s bare thigh, pulling her from her dream world.  She tasted fibers in her mouth and there was a pounding in her head worse than any hangover she’d ever experienced.  At first, she couldn’t remember, but then the events fell into place with a vengeance.  The men in the club.  The strong, cold hands, the chloroform.  Her world spinning and then vanishing as she blanked out.  And sometime later, driving on a dark road, waking up with a man on top of her, using her unconscious body.

Now Debbie tried to gauge her new surroundings.  A pair of male boots, inches from her face.  She was lying on her side on a carpeted floor, her hands linked behind her back.  She was a prisoner of some kind and this man was her captor.

“This is no time for laying about,” the man told her, sounding amused as he pushed her onto her back with the toe of one of the smoothly polished riding boots.  “On your feet, girl.”

“I—I can’t,” she said piteously.  “Will you undo my hands?”

“No, sorry,” he tapped the outside of her bare thigh with a riding crop he was holding.  “You shall have to do it on your own.  And I suggest you be quick about it.”

It was nearly impossible to rise, what with her hands cuffed behind her back.  She had to struggle and squirm, revealing much of her body in the process.  She still had her short skirt, top and strapless bra, but of course her panties were gone as were her shoes.  These had come off on the dance floor, as she let the Russian have his way with her.  Was he the one behind her current predicament, or had someone else seized an opportunity to whisk her away?

Debbie was perspiring by the time she achieved upright status.  Her body ached all over and she was woozy.  The men in the car had abused her thoroughly, though there seemed little point in complaining now.  She doubted highly it would make any difference.

“Is this the way you always dress?” inquired the leather-booted man.

She took a step back as he touched the tip of the thin whip to her bare belly.  “When I go out,” she replied warily eying her surroundings.

The man pursed his lips in response to her agitation, a good deal going on behind his deep blue eyes.  With his silver-black hair, square jaw and uniform of riding pants, jacket and turtleneck he made for a devastating masculine presence.  “By ‘going out’, I assume you mean a euphemism for sniffing out strangers with whom to have sexual intercourse?”

If Debbie had had her hands she’d have slapped him.  “That’s not your business.  But if you must know, when I find someone I like, I’ll go all the way just as I please.”

“But more than having sex, you enjoy teasing.”

Debbie remained silent, not sure where he was going with this. 

“Certainly these garments are meant to entice?” he persisted, closing the ground between them.  “What little they cover invites them to be torn off your cringing body, no?  My goodness, dear, why not simply wear a sign advertising your desire to be molested?”

Debbie took another step backwards, just missing his hand grazing her flesh. 

“If you move again without permission, I shall whip every inch of that body about which you are so vain.”

The threat sent a chill down her spine.  Resisting every impulse, she held her position.  “What do you want?” she whispered, her voice cracking as he reached for her trembling flesh.

He took his time, as if deciding where to touch her first.  He opted for her belly, his fingers slow and electric, not at all like a rapist.

“Obedience,” he said at last, settling on her cheek, gently stroking.

Debbie exhaled, the pent up tension releasing like air from a balloon.

“Please, let me go,” she blinked the tears from her eyes—tears she had vowed until a moment ago to hold back.  “I won’t tell anyone where I was, or who you are.”

He ran a finger over her soft lips, then lifted her chin.  “And what would you tell anyone,” he wondered, “even if you could?”

“Please, I’m…I’m an American,” she resisted as he traced a line down her cleavage, pausing to tease each covered nipple before journeying to the open, naked space of her belly between the bottom of the sequined top and the waistband of her skirt.  “And my family has money…to pay for my ransom.”

“Ransom?” he chuckled, sliding his hand up under her skirt to caress her hip.  “Surely you don’t think this is about something as crude as money?”

The dry laughter chilled her more than all the other elements of her newfound captivity combined.  If he didn’t want dollars, what did that leave?  If it was only about rape, he could have done that by now, many times over without her ever seeing his face.

“I assure you,” the man explained, brushing the whip up her side with his other hand, using it to tuck her hair behind her ear like she was some kind of fashion doll.  “My associates and I have all the cash we need.  What we lack, for wont of a better word, is youth.”

She was struck now that the man, despite his power and vitality, was at least as old as her father.  “I want to go home,” she told him, her eyes wide and moist like she did with her own dad.  “I’m scared.  Will you please let me go?”

“So charming,” he mused, returning to her erect nipples, this time pinching them vigorously between his thumb and forefinger.  “So like a child.”

“Ow!  You’re hurting me,” Debbie squealed.

“Yes,” he agreed.  “It is my pleasure to do so.  Better get used to that,” he increased the pressure.  “Because it will only get worse.”

Debbie threw back her head and moaned.  She’d never felt such pain in her life—not even when she fell and twisted her ankle in ballet in fourth grade.  “Stop, please,” she wailed.  “I’ll do whatever you tell me to…I won’t fight you, I promise.”

The man tugged downward on the tortured nipple, leaving Debbie no choice but to kneel at his feet.  “But I do want you to fight, Deborah.  That is how we will accomplish our goal, you and I—by uncovering your various levels of resistance and…eradicating them.”

Debbie felt a moistening between her legs.  This last word in particular seemed to cut right through her—through the fear and even through the pain to something far more elemental and, in the long run, far more dangerous.  If she was going to defy him, now was the time—and she had to risk it no matter what the cost.

“If you’re trying to frighten me,” she shook out her bedraggled blonde hair with as much insolence as she could muster in her current circumstances.  “It won’t work.”

He reached down for his attack.  The slap was lightning fast, a punishing rip across her cheek. 

“You may consider the introductory phase of our work to be over,” he pulled back on her hair to win eye contact.  “It’s time we got down to business.  There are going to be rules here, and you will follow them.  The first rule is no verbalizing without being spoken to ahead of time.  And that includes screaming and begging during punishment or shouting out while being used sexually.  Is that clear?”

“Y. . .yes,” she managed, trying to wrap her head round the sudden flood of unpleasant possibilities.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected.  “That is rule two.  You will address all males as sir, unless otherwise directed.”

“Yes,” concurred the young woman, shackled and on her knees—quite cognizant of her new position.  “Sir.”

He studied her for a moment then nodded in satisfaction.  “You must listen carefully now, girl,” he helped her to her feet, shifting with maddening speed back to a demeanor of pure gentility as he moved her over to the bed so she could sit down upon it.  “Because things will be changing for you, very quickly.”

The bed was soft and comfortable.   More than anything, Debbie wanted to lie down and go to sleep.

“Look at me,” he chastised, refusing to allow her eyes to evade him.

Debbie complied, feeling herself instantly lost in their stormy, steely depths.

“For the next two weeks,” he announced gravely, his form towering over hers.  “Mine will be the only face you see.  I am your trainer and I am charged with converting you into the kind of creature who will satisfy the needs of my associates.  In short, Miss Deborah Hamilton, I am going to make you into a sex slave, a conditioned animal to be used and abused by your masters.”

Debbie felt herself swoon.  The Trainer’s hands on her shoulders were the only things keeping her from falling backward.

“You are about to receive your first, lesson, Deborah.  Mind it well.”

His voice seemed hollow and faraway.  He was pushing her backward, his hands like steel on her upper arms.

“Spread wide,” the Trainer pushed his hand between her thighs as she fell upon her back.  “As wide as you can manage.”

Bewildered, Deborah obeyed, allowing him to position himself between her legs.  Her moistness caught her off guard.  Could it be something in his words, in the bizarre situation was arousing her, even against her own will?

The Trainer ripped the skirt aside and thrust himself deep, without preamble, making it clear that it was a violation, despite the obvious invitation of her willing cunt.  Having her hands chained behind her back made it all the more exciting for them both, especially as he began to tear at her shimmering top, shredding it from top to bottom so as to bare her bra-covered breasts.  Her tits heaved in his clawing hands, her back straining in anticipation as he began to maul the rounded flesh.  Making a mockery of the bra, he pulled out both her breasts, shoving the cups underneath so that the material bit into her skin.  Satisfied on this score, he began chewing on her nipples, just hard enough to make her scream.

Debbie knew she was lost.

Any hopes of resistance had been squashed; for though he was rough and seemingly callous, he knew well how to handle a woman.  Heretofore, Debbie had given herself to boys; young men who panted after her like puppies, gratefully devouring any tidbits she threw their way.  But this one—the one who’d called himself her trainer—he intended to plumb her depths, taking everything she had to give.

What a turnaround for the proud young woman, the confirmed daddy’s girl.  This brazen fellow hadn’t even bothered to take off his clothes first.  He was not only setting the pace, he was owning her with every thrust.  How often she’d used her sex to manipulate and control and now it was she herself being controlled.  Used and as a mere object of pleasure for a seemingly cold, uncaring man.

Closing her eyes, she fought the sensations.  She would not, could not come like this. 
She hated him.  She would defy him.  She would beat him at his own game.

“Wrap your legs,” he commanded, squeezing her nipples to get her attention.

Debbie complied, feeling like a slut as she crossed her ankles behind the tight, firm ass of her rapist.

“Yes, that’s it.  Now I want you to come.”

“No, don’t make me, “ she begged.

He slapped her hard.  “You will,” he repeated.  “Now.”

Helpless without her hands, her legs jackknifed, she could do nothing to resist his onslaught, the cadence of his cock and his commanding voice.  Hanging on for dear life, she had no choice but to allow him to take her body deep into his orbit.  “O god, I’m going to explode,” she cried, too late remembering that talking without permission was now a criminal offense.

“You’ll suffer for that, little girl,” he promised.

A moment later, the Trainer ejaculated into Debbie’s vanquished cunt.  The suddenly silent girl trembled meekly beneath him now, her mind filled with thoughts of her punishment even as she received his full and copious load.

“That little outburst will cost you,” he reiterated, rising smoothly to his feet to re-secure his zipper.  “Later on today you will feel the whip for the first time.  Though it will hardly be the last.”

Debbie’s belly clenched excruciatingly as she anticipated the pain…the humiliation.  Why was he not going to do it to her now? she thought, frustrated.  Why make her wait?  It occurred to her then that this was likely part of the effect…part of what he had cynically called her training. 

“You were allowed to orgasm,” the Trainer observed, helping her to sit up.  “That was a privilege you will not be bestowed again for quite some time.  In the future, unauthorized climaxes will be punishable just as talking.  Is that clear?”

“Yes,” said Deborah hoarsely, realizing he was waiting for a response from her.  “Sir.”

“You will get off the bed now,” he said, his fingers cruelly twisting in her hair to pull her up.

She made no complaint as he yanked at the roots.  It was his pleasure to hurt her, he’d said—what was the point of protesting?

“I’ll be leaving you for several hours,” he shoved her back down on her knees.  “You may rest in the mean time.”

Debbie looked longingly at the bed she’d just been forced to vacate.

“The bed is for the convenience of myself or anyone else who may be using you,” he read her mind.  “Your place is on the floor.  If you would be so kind now as to lift your chin and straighten your back.”

Debbie did so, not unaware that position pushed out her nearly bared breasts.  Employing a penknife, he made short order of the bra and the ripped top, rendering her naked and completely vulnerable. 

“We shall aim at a simpler wardrobe for the time being,” the Trainer quipped, holding up a large, black strip of leather with a buckle and lock on the end.  “It will leave you much more accessible, don’t you think?”

Debbie blinked.  It was almost surreal, she thought, kneeling there, nude, the scraps of her clothing all about her, listening to this suave, sophisticated man talk so glibly about the upcoming horrors of her captivity.

The collar was heavy, made of thick leather with a small padlock in front.  It fit snugly round Debbie’s neck and when he clicked shut the lock she felt a tiny spasm—the beginnings of another orgasm.

“You will wear that at all times while in this house,” he explained.  “It is a sign of your position here, though it is also of utilitarian value, as you will soon see.”

The Trainer was referring to the silver ring stitched into the front.  Hooking his finger into it, he was able to pull her down to the end of the bed.  The rug burned her knees, but again she said nothing.

“Down,” he thrust her head unceremoniously to the floor. 

There was a silver chain, connected to the leg of the bed.  Stringing the loose end through the ring in her collar and using another small padlock he was able to chain her there.  With less than a few inches of lead, Debbie found herself unable to rise or even turn her head.

“Lift your ankles,” he commanded.

Debbie heard the sound of fresh chains, shackles for her ankles.  Drawing her wrists taut, he was able to connect them to the new set rendering her completely immobile on her stomach.

“Such high security measures are of course unnecessary,” the Trainer tested her bonds before rising to his feet. “Except to remind you that you are now a slave and that such things can be done to you at the whim of your masters.”  As if to punctuate the point, he placed the heel of his boot down on the back of her neck, on top of the collar.  “You may thank me for using you, Deborah.”

Deborah’s nipples burned against the surface of the carpet.  All the way from neck to knee she was on fire—most especially at the juncture of her opened thighs where the juices were dripping, both his and hers.  And not only what was left from before, but a fresh flow, begun all over by this new and unexpected brutality.

“Thank you,” said Debbie, her lips tickled by the golden fibers of the carpet.  “For using me, sir.”

The words were an aphrodisiac, an admission of the highest order.  She wanted it again already, even as she feared the man and his strength.  Did she have the right to beg for sex?  Might it be expected even?

The Trainer turned her to her side, toward the bed, just enough so as to be able to press the toe of his boot into her sopping sex.  Almost at once Debbie began to convulse.  He let her come once, then removed it.

Placing it close to her mouth, he made her lick it clean then left her for a few disconcerting moments.  She heard him in a drawer, retrieving an object.  When he returned and squatted down before her, she saw it was a vibrator, attached to a belt.

“What is it they say,” he winked, his smile sly as ever.  “Be careful what you wish for?”