Elicitation (6 page)

When it was over, she crashed back to earth in a shock. Her shoulders burned from the way her arms were stretched over her. The thick metal object in her ass was a dull, ceaseless ache. The manacles bit into her wrists. “Please,” she whimpered, “it hurts.”

He slid the probe out of her ass. She yelped as it came free. He turned off the vibrator, pulled it from her with a slurping sound. She made soft mewling noises as he unfastened her bonds, too weak to move. He sat on the floor beside the bed and drew her onto his lap; she curled up around him, and he held her silently for a long time.

Finally, some small amount of strength flowed back into her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, able at last to speak. “Why?”

He brushed a stray hair away from her eyes, looked down at her. “Because I can.” He smiled. “Because you want it. Because your body likes being a fuck toy. Because I want to give you a life that is sexually fulfilling to you. Because you can only come if it’s rape.” He stood, drew her to her feet. “Now go shower and get cleaned up, little whore. The day is still young, and there’s more training yet to do. But first, we’re going shopping.”

Chapter 4

Eileen stood in the shower for a long time with the water spraying over her body. She felt violated, used, unclean; her husband, the man to whom she had pledged her life, had inexplicably turned on her, demanded that she become his sex slave. She could still feel him inside her, taste him in her mouth, feel the hardness of the metal rod he had shoved in her ass. Her breasts ached where he had squeezed them so roughly. And more horrifying than any of this was the memory of how her body had responded…not one but two orgasms, wrenched from her body by the obscene things that he had done to her.

Why had he done it? Why had her body betrayed her? The shame of her orgasms compounded the feeling of violation, made her feel even more defiled.

She scrubbed her body over and over again, but the feeling of filth would not wash away. She turned up the hot water until her entire body glowed, and still she felt dirty. She pulled the showerhead from its bracket and shoved it directly between her legs, wanting to blast herself clean, drive away the sensation and the memory of what had been done to her…

Her knees buckled. A dizzying wave of arousal and need slammed through her. She sat heavily on the floor of the stall, surprised. The hot stinging spray blasted over her sensitive clitoris, painful, and she felt the rush of an impending orgasm. She cried out and threw the showerhead against the corner of the stall, where it dangled from its hose and flopped around wildly.
What if he’s right? What if my body does want to be treated like this? What if I really do want to be a sex slave?
She sat with her knees up in the corner of the shower and wept while the gyrating showerhead splashed water over her. It took a long time for her sobbing to subside.

At last, she rose, exhausted and numb. She replaced the showerhead, turned off the water, dried herself mechanically. When she had finished, she wrapped another of the terrycloth robes around her, unwilling to let her husband see her naked.

Anthony was still nude. The candles and rose petals he had strewn about the floor were gone, along with the chains and manacles that had bound her to the bed. Of the half-familiar leather briefcase, there was no sign. He smiled when she walked out of the bathroom. “Ah, there you are. You were in there for quite a while. Ready to go out shopping?”

She turned away from him without answering. He came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. She shook them off and reached into the closet. He grabbed her arms tightly, spun her around to face him, and propelled her backward into the closet. He forced her back into its depths, through the hanging clothes, until she bumped up against the far wall. He pulled her bathrobe open, pressed the length of his naked body against hers. She struggled against him, desperate to push him away. He grabbed her hands in his wrists and pinned them above her head.

Anthony was far stronger than she was, and overpowered her easily. He shifted his grip, pinning her wrists with one hand, and slipped his other hand down her body. His hand passed over her breast. She sighed in spite of herself. Her nipple hardened against his palm.

“You’re easy,” he said. He drew closer, until his lips touched her ear. His hand slipped lower, pressing between her legs. “They said you were going to be a difficult case, but I don’t think that’s true at all.”

“Who said…ooooh!” His fingers slipped between her labia, caressing her clitoris. He kissed her neck softly, gently, as his fingers played over her with great delicacy. He touched her with exquisite care. The longing reawakened within her. She closed her eyes and parted her legs, ever so slightly, scarcely even aware of her actions.

He accepted her unconscious invitation. His fingers probed deeper, still with that same extraordinary tenderness. Each motion drew from her a shudder and a moan. So subtly did he bring the pleasure from her that she was not even aware of her approaching orgasm until a gentle wave of ecstasy lifted her and washed away her shame. She sighed deeply and quivered against him, drinking in the heat of his body.

When it was over, he quietly slipped her robe from her shoulders. He took her by the hand and led her naked to the bed. She made no protest as he sat her down gently and pulled the strange briefcase from its hiding place beneath the bed. He opened the case and produced two narrow, black rubber straps, which he buckled around her upper thighs, one a bit higher than the other. These he locked in place with a pair of tiny padlocks.

“There,” he said. He took a tiny key from the case and slipped it around his neck on a fine silver chain. She looked down at the straps, saw two rows of short metal spikes facing inward. Fear stirred inside her. “What are you doing?”

“These will encourage you to sit properly.” He placed his hands on her knees, and drew her legs together. “If you try to sit with your legs closed…”

Spikes dug into the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She gasped and flung her legs apart. He laughed. “Exactly. Consider them a gentle reminder. From now on, I want you to sit with your legs open at all times. Now, while I have your legs apart…”

He reached into the case and came out with two large, silver metal balls that chimed musically in his hand. He nudged her knees open a bit wider and brought the balls between her legs. “Now let’s just open you up and…” With a hard push, he shoved both balls into her. She yelped in surprise at the suddenness of the intrusion. Without thought, she closed her legs tightly as she scrambled away from him. Spikes pressed into soft skin. She cried out and jerked her legs apart again.

“Hold still! I’m not finished yet.” He took a black leather belt from the case, which he buckled tightly around her waist. He reached into the case again and withdrew a leather strap with a wide, stubby dildo riveted to its center.

Her eyes widened as she realized what he intended to do. She squirmed and began struggling in earnest. He gripped her arm tightly and wrestled her down to the bed. He straddled her waist, pinning her down with his weight, facing toward her feet, and allowed her to thrash and flail beneath him as he pulled her legs apart. He hooked one end of the strap to the back of the belt and drew it up between her legs.

She gasped, feeling a sudden sense of intrusion and fullness as he forced the dildo into her. The gasp became a wail as he pulled the strap tight between her legs and fastened it to the front of the belt, where it held the dildo stuffed tightly up inside her. He attached another small padlock to the buckle.

“There,” he said. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

She curled into a ball on the bed. “I…I can’t. I can’t stand up with this in me!”

“Sure you can!” He took her arm, drew her to her feet. The heavy metal balls shifted position within her, and she gasped again and staggered slightly. As she straightened, she could feel the dildo pressing against the balls, holding them far up inside her.

She took a step, awkwardly, then another. The bands around her thighs, with their merciless metal points, forced her to hold her legs apart. The stance felt awkward and uncomfortable. As she moved, the balls shifted in her and tapped together, sending small vibrations coursing through her. She whimpered. “I can’t!”

He smiled. “You’ll get used to it.” He moved to the closet, tossed her a skirt, a button-up shirt, stockings, a pair of shoes. “Here, get dressed. I thought you wanted to see London?”

She turned away, face red, and dressed without a word. As she bent to pull on her skirt, the metal balls chimed against each other within her. She closed her eyes and moaned. Her nipples hardened.

She took a deep breath, held still until the ripples of sensation quieted. She lifted the shirt from where it lay and twisted it in her hands. “But what about…”

He grinned, anticipating the question. “No bra.”

“That’s indecent!” Her face turned crimson. “I can’t!”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. No shirt, then.”

“I’m not leaving!”

He grabbed her wrist, hard, and half-dragged her to the door. She struggled and fought as he threw it open and dragged her out into the hall. She wrapped her arms tightly across her breasts. “No! People will see!”

“You should get dressed, then,” he said mildly.

She glared at him in outrage, met calm dark eyes.
Oh my God, he means it!
she thought. She stared down at the floor, defeated, arms wrapped around her body. He stood patiently in the hallway, waiting, as she darted back into the room. She finished dressing quickly. Her breasts bobbed underneath her shirt, hanging free, as she shuffled self-consciously back out to meet him.

They headed slowly down the hallway. Her gait was made awkward by the bands and their spikes; she found that she had to hold her legs apart to prevent them from poking her thighs when she walked. Her stride felt unnatural, clumsy.

“It will help if you move your hips more,” he said. “Wag your ass. Pretty soon we’ll have you walking like a stripper.”

She flushed, ashamed. The idea sounded perverted, and entirely unladylike; not the way a proper woman should walk at all. Yet she found she could walk more easily if she followed his advice, even though the gait felt exaggerated, slutty, like the way that disreputable women would walk.

She quickly discovered that the dildo strapped into her seemed carefully designed to press the steel balls against some very sensitive place within her as she moved. Her g-spot? Was that what it was? Every step sent a short, sharp jolt of pleasure through her.

When they reached the street, he took her elbow and increased her pace. She felt exposed, indecent, as they made their way into the mid-afternoon throng of people. Her ass wagged back and forth obscenely as she walked. Her nipples strained against the white cotton shirt. With each step, she had to summon her entire force of will to keep from moaning aloud.

They made it halfway to Trafalgar Square before her control failed.

Waves of electric pleasure surged at every step. A quivering tightness deep inside her warned her of what was about to happen. Her knees buckled and her head swam. Her fingers clutched at his sleeve. “Please, please, I can’t keep going. We have to stop. Just for a minute. Please!”

“Why ever for?” he asked. “We still have a ways to go. Keep up!”

Tension coiled through her thighs. She took a step. The steel balls moved; the stubby dildo shifted. She closed her eyes and moaned. Her grip tightened on his arm. “Please!”

He hurried her along, ignoring her pleas. She took another step, and then another. The balls pressed against that magic place. People bustled around them. Wetness leaked past the strap, dripped down her leg. Another.

She felt a sharp contraction inside her. She gritted her teeth, tried to force it back.
No, please, God, no, not here, not in front of all these people…
Another step. Musical chimes. Surely everyone around her could hear them, knew what she had inside her! Another. A wave of pleasure, so strong she nearly lost her footing. Another.

And then it took her. Wave after wave of raw, carnal ecstasy crashed over her, and she stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk with a long, loud moan of animal pleasure. People turned toward her, but in that instant, she was beyond caring. She clenched around the things inside her as she came, hard, on a crowded, sunny street in the middle of a city far from home.

In a flash, it peaked and was gone. She stood frozen, praying silently for the earth to open beneath her feet and swallow her whole. People all around her were staring, men smiling, women hostile. She wrapped her arms around herself. Anthony had let go of her hand and kept walking, leaving her behind; he was already several paces farther down the street. She hurried to catch up with him. The dildo moved in short jerks as she ran. Sharp teeth raked her inner thighs. He smiled as she caught his hand. “Did that feel good, little whore?”

“I want to go back! I want to go home!”

“I want something to eat. Then I need to do some shopping before we go back.”

He led her down the street, indifferent to her suffering. Every step was torment; she was hypersensitive, still throbbing from the orgasm, and the steel balls did not let up. They moved and shifted and pressed and chimed, and she gasped and whimpered as she walked. She closed her eyes, trusting him to guide her, oblivious to her surroundings, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. With each footfall, pain and pleasure warred inside her. She was terrified she might lose control again.

Something hard bumped against her knees. Her eyes flew open, and the world swam back into focus. She realized that he had brought them to an empty table at an open-air café. She sat down hard, overcome with relief and gratitude, and felt the stern prick of small spikes bite into her inner thighs. She yelped and spread her legs.

“Good girl. Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

He left for a moment, returned with steaming plates. She ate wordlessly, feeling obscenely, lewdly exposed. It seemed to her that every person who passed them by was staring at her, noticing how she sat with her legs apart, seeing her breasts move and sway, thinking her a slut.

When they had finished, Anthony offered her his hand. She found walking to be much easier. She seemed to be learning the rhythm: a slightly open-legged gait, hips swaying. The balls moved in time to her steps, distracting but not overwhelming. “There you go,” he said, “now you’re moving like a stripper.”

For the next hour or so, they ducked into one small store after another, making a wide circuit of the blocks surrounding the hotel. Each time, he conversed briefly with the shopkeeper and left empty-handed. Eileen was too wrapped up in her own internal struggle to wonder what he was looking for.