A Calling to Thrall (6 page)

I was so very alive.

Through half-hooded lids, I watched the old
shopkeeper rummage through his cabinets. Words still trickled past
his lips, but I was beyond caring what they meant. Every now and
then he tossed an item onto the table in front of me. A pair of
long, leather shin-guards slapped against the wood followed by
stubby-fingered gloves and then a pile of different length leather
belts. I wondered how many more oddities he intended to shower
before me and just what role they had in the magic to come, but my
brain was too foggy to think.

A final item slid across the table, and I blinked
twice before I realized what it was.

A blindfold.

A padded leather blindfold.

My heart raced.

Adrenaline pulled me out of my daze, and when I
looked back at the other items they finally all made sense.

Those weren’t tiny leather belts. They were
restraints. Thick leather cuffs hung from the top of each glove,
and those greaves…

I sucked in a sharp breath. I had to get out of
there. I had to run while I still could.

I leapt to my feet. Behind me, the chair toppled
backwards, but I couldn’t worry about that. No, I couldn’t worry
about anything but my shaking knees. Why were they shaking? Why did
every step seem so very, very hard?

I hadn’t even made it three feet before my legs
crumpled beneath me. For a second, the world darkened. I expected
to find myself sprawled across the floor, but strong arms grasped
me from behind. I heard the cluck of a tongue. The old shopkeeper
held me in one arm while he reached down for the toppled chair with
the other.

I had to get away.

Why couldn’t I get away?

My head lolled to the side, and I could barely lift
my arms as the shopkeeper placed me back in the chair. I might as
well have been a rag doll for all the fight I gave him. I tried to
speak, to scream, but for some reason I couldn’t even as much as
whisper when he pulled my arms behind the chair and tied my wrists
together with a long, leather band.

God, what had he done to me?

As soon as I was safely secured, he stepped back in
front or me and stroked my cheek with a leather-clad finger.

Leather…

The gloves. Oh, God, he was wearing gloves when he
put that lotion on me! That’s when it started. The tingling. The
euphoria. Lord only knows what he mixed into that concoction, and
I’d fallen for it. Idiot that I was, I fell for it all.

My chin slumped onto my chest and I sobbed. This
couldn’t be happening. Dear God, this couldn’t be happening.

Iron-like hands bound my ankles to the chair legs,
and when the old man pulled a pair of steel cutting sheers out of
the drawer behind him, I nearly wet myself.

I must have been a state to see just then.
Hyperventilated sobs wracked my chest. My whole body shook. Even my
abductor felt sorry for me. He stroked my hair gently for several
minutes and whispered small shushing sounds until my tremors no
longer threatened to over-topple the chair.

Then he pulled away my scarf.

I felt the soft fabric slide across my skin. I was
being unwound, stripped. From the corner of my eye, I watched the
long shawl pool across the floor, and then there were my breasts.
They heaved against the tiny lace camisole, and I whimpered when
the shopkeeper reached up to cup one in his left hand.

“Oh, bella…”

Two more snips. The straps fell away from my
shoulders. Cold steel touched my skin, and then the scissors sliced
straight through the center of my shirt.

My bare breasts spilled out from my chest, and I
sobbed even harder.

Oh, God, please don’t let this be happening.
Please
.

The shopkeeper didn’t move for several seconds. A
softly whispered “bellissimo” left his lips, and then he dropped
his shears onto the table behind him.

“Please,” I managed to whisper, but he just pressed
a finger to my lips before kneeling before me.

“So perfect, my bella.” He cupped my breasts in each
of his hands. His fingers kneaded my flesh. “So bellisimo.”

Soft, warm lips kissed my skin. His mouth fell upon
my nipple, and he sucked it gently at first, then harder.

Oh, God
…

My sobs turned into halting gasps and then moans. I
couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the drugs or maybe…maybe it was just
me, but Lord help me, I was arching into his touch as he…as he
suckled me.

His teeth nibbled until the tip was sore and firm,
and when he was done, he did the same to the other. Only after a
lifetime of fondling did he sit back to admire his work. He pinched
my hardened nipples, and when he raised an eyebrow in my direction,
I squeezed my eyes shut against the shame.

Oh, Lord, save me. Please, please, save me.

His hand slid up my skirt, and I sucked in a quick
breath. I tried to pull my legs together, but I couldn’t. All I
could do was sit there as his fingers slid beneath my panties and
found the wetness I was so ashamed of.

He chuckled, and I cried harder.

What was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be aroused, not
by—.

Soft leather stroked my pussy, and I gasped again.
One finger. Two. Three. More went inside me until nearly all were
lost within my dripping cunt.

He stroked deeper, and my hips pumped weakly against
his fingers.

“That right, bella. Bene. Just let old Pietro take
care of you. He know what you need.”

I tried to argue, but my breaths were coming out in
quick pants. Something dark and tempting was brewing inside me, and
I ached to give in to it, but I couldn’t. I was the good girl. The
virgin. I’d only had two boyfriends in my whole life, and neither
of them had ever…

His fingers danced across a part of me I’d never
felt before, and I was so close to…to…what? I had no idea. I’d
never felt anything like the heat boiling between my hips, but I
knew I wanted it—I needed it—and when he withdrew his hand from
cunt I sighed with more sadness than I’d ever felt before.

Sweet Lord, what in the hell was wrong with me?

“Oh, no sad, bella.” The shopkeeper cupped my chin
in his soiled hand. “Old Pietro going to find you good master. He
get one to make you happy for all time.”

His sheers moved across my skin once more, but I was
too shocked to notice. Master? What did he mean by master?

When he finally stripped away the last of my
clothing, I was shaking even harder than before. This couldn’t be
happening. I was supposed to be a doctor, not some mindless sex
slave. I couldn’t let this psycho destroy my parents’ greatest
dream. I’d worked too hard to make it come true.

I fought against my restraints, but I was just too
weak. I could barely even hold my head up by the time the
shopkeeper slipped those leather greaves around my shins. I still
couldn’t even understand what they were for? Each one stretched
from toe to knee and they were so thick I couldn’t even bend my
ankles. How would I ever be able to walk?

My breath caught when I realized that might be the
whole point.

“Just little more, bella.” The shopkeeper stuffed my
fingers inside those stubby leather gloves. “Then Pietro bring out
you carriage.”

He picked up his mortar again, and he rubbed more of
that sweet-smelling poison all across my body. His fingers went
everywhere. My throat. My breasts. My legs. When he finally rubbed
the last of that warm lotion across my pussy’s inner lips, darkness
danced at the edge of my vision.

But I had to stay awake.

As long as I was conscious, I still had a chance at
freedom. I just had to be smart. I had to find the right
opportunity and—

The sharp, rusty squeal of old metal broke through
my thoughts, and when the shopkeeper knelt in front of me again,
his smile was even wider than before.

“See, I told you no take long. Now look, bella.
Pietro bring beautiful chariot for beautiful lady.”

He tilted my chin to the left, and when I looked
down, a giant, empty crate laid waiting for me. My heart raced.
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.

“Is okay.” He wiped away my tears with those soft
leather gloves. “No cry now. Is happiness I’m giving. No place for
tears in happiness.”

His hands moved to my waist, and he hoisted me up
without ever unbinding my wrists. My body slumped across his
shoulder. I cried harder when I felt my feet touch the soft padding
inside the bottom of the box, but I couldn’t do anything to stop
him. He folded my legs beneath my chest and pressed my head upon
the pillows. He chained my still-bound wrists to my ankles. He
tethered me to the floor of that crate in the perverted pose of a
kneeling supplicant, and when he was done, he clapped his
hands.

“Bene, bella. Molto bene.”

I shivered uncontrollably, but the leather bands
holding me down hardly let me move at all.

“Please.” I finally managed to whisper, but he just
shushed me.

“No more words, bella.”

His gloved hands swept aside my hair, and when I
opened my mouth to speak again, he slid a heavy rubber ball between
my lips.

I gagged.

“Breathe, bella. Just breathe for old Pietro.”

He stroked my hair gently, and slowly I calmed down.
When I finally stopped choking, he strapped the gag in place and
then held up the blindfold.

I cried even harder.

“It break heart to see you like this, mia bella… my
pearl.” He traced his finger across the band of my choker before
sliding the blindfold over my eyes. “But old Pietro no break
promise. He know what you need, and he make sure you get it.”

He stroked my ass. His fingers teased my cunt. Once
more he reached inside me, and just like before the stirring was
back. I knew I should fight, but I didn’t want to. The darkness was
just too tempting. My thoughts slid away as the drugs finally
overtook me, and all I could feel was the pulsing heat between my
legs and the overwhelming hunger for more.

I moaned into my gag, and the shopkeeper removed his
fingers.

“Not just yet, mia bella. Sleep now. In morning, you
have new life, happy life, then all things better. Old Pietro
promise.”

And then he closed the lid.

To read the rest of HIS BLACK
PEARL by Jena Cryer, please visit the Smashwords.com or the Amazon
Kindle Store. For questions or comments, Jena Cryer can be reached
at
[email protected]

JENA CRYER is a true Southern girl who loves grits,
cornbread, and lots and lots of leather. Originally from
Mississippi, she and her husband now live in Texas. HIS BLACK PEARL
is her debut novel. She is currently working on its sequel, HIS
BLACK BEAUTY, which will be available in late 2013. When not
writing, Jena enjoys reading, traveling, and spending time with her
husband.

The author can be contacted at
[email protected]
. She
gladly welcomes any comments or criticisms.