Authors: Denise Hall
Judgment (4 page)
I froze when his fingers pressed deep enough to test my maidenhood and the discomfort of it had me squealing through gritted teeth.
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He stopped. "Oh, don't tell me..." And then he laughed softly. "Infant, have you come to me a virgin?"
I closed my eyes behind my blindfold, dreading what I knew he would do now. I couldn't answer. It was all I could do not to start crying all over again.
He took his fingers from me. "What a quandary this puts me in. Do I take my pleasure with your body, or leave you intact and double your sales price?"
I stiffened. I thought I had reached the bottom most point of my degradation, but it was all to happen over again, with a new master, another unknown devil, waiting out there for me somewhere. I started to kick and claw at him, but my sore bottom stopped me abruptly. Already bent over his knee, this was not the best of positions from which to initiate a rebellion. And I'd had enough of his hand for one night.
"What to do, what to do," he mused. He stroked down the sloop of my back. After a moment, his strong thighs released their inflexible hold on my captured leg and he helped me to stand.
I was not to be raped? I hardly dared to believe it, or that my reprieve would be due to something so simple as money.
Seeing a way out of this hell, I blurted, "I can pay you."
"Can you now?" I felt him stand beside me. He took my shoulders in his hands and turned me around.
"Whatever you want." My voice quavered. I had two hundred dollars in my savings account back in the States.
That was all there was left after sinking every other cent into this one trip to Europe, my last ditch effort to experience freedom before the yoke of college and adulthood settled its 31
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mantle of responsibility upon me. But at this point, I would have promised him anything, any amount of money necessary to get free. "Name your price."
He walked me slowly forward, guiding me where he desired me to go. "Any price to keep me from sliding into your sweet body?"
"Yes."
"And you'll pay it?" he asked.
"Yes!" I hissed. My legs bumped against something large and soft. A bed. I quickly jumped back and collided into the hard breadth of his chest. His arms came around me.
"Two cents," he rumbled, his tone mocking me.
"Unfortunately for you, I have had a fairly thorough look at your body tonight and I have not seen so much as one penny, much less two. So, how can you pay my price, Infant? Right here, right now?"
"Please..." Despairing, I broke under fresh pleading sobs.
"...I'll pay ... I'll pay whatever ... you want, just please..."
"You are beautiful in your misery," he murmured. "There is no amount of money that would entice me to let you go now, without first savoring all you have to offer."
I shook my head, sobbing helplessly. I had escaped nothing.
"Relax," he told me. "You may even find what I do with you pleasurable."
He held my arms, balancing me as he bade me kneel upon the edge of the bed. I was then bent forward over a mound of pillows, which he placed beneath my hips, as though I were little more than an oversized doll to be arranged for his liking.
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I buried my face in the bedspread, smelling the clean masculine scent of it, wishing I were anyplace but here, as he propped my legs well apart.
He touched me everywhere, endlessly patient, in no hurry at all to simply take his pleasure and leave me to my misery.
I wished I was dead. I tried to feel nothing, but he left me not even that. With practiced, knowing hands, he made my breasts ache and my nipples stiffen in his palms. He ignited a slow heat within my womb that branched out all through me.
I gasped when he found my clit, my body responding so intensely to his touch. I felt horribly, horribly betrayed.
"Shall I allow you gratification tonight?" He slid one finger in and out of me, the pad of his thumb making a slow and practiced assault against the sensitive nub hidden within the naked folds of my female flesh. "I will be generous. Come for me, infant. Accept this little gift of pleasure, and then I will take mine. Come, your Master commands it."
My hips moved of their own accord. I didn't want it, but I was helpless to stop the shivers building in my womb, created by the relentless motions of his hand. I tensed. My legs shook. The sensation of that thick digit wiggling inside left me moaning, a low-pitched warbling sound, for my teeth had begun to chatter again.
"Come," he chanted near my ear. "Come for your Master."
"No!"
One finger became two, filling me, stretching me to the limit of comfort, and touching a place inside me that brought me jerking against him on that mound of soft pillows. My hands clenched, my toes curled.
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"Come," he commanded.
And I did, shouting and sobbing at once, convulsing powerfully as my body fell victim to the seduction of his touch and voice.
"I hate you!" I wept, my traitor's body vibrating with the lingering thrills of my orgasm.
"No," he corrected, and a cold lubricant was spread over my bottom's passage. His finger pushing the gel deep inside me, gliding in all the way to the first knuckle. "You are not permitted to hate."
I froze as I felt for the first time the solid head of him press against me. Automatically, I clenched down tightly to keep him out. To my shame, I began to beg, "No. No, please!
No. No!"
"Say, 'This one loves her Master.'"
Despite my very real fear at what he was about to do, the words froze in my throat, choking me.
"Say it," he warned, "or I will make you scream it."
As he took firm hold upon my hips, I stammered, "T-this one loves her M-Master."
"Again," he commanded. "Make me believe it."
"This one loves her Master," I repeated desperately.
"I don't believe you are sincere."
I cried out, "This one loves—"
He pushed hard, forcing himself inside me, and I screamed as the entire length of him sank all the way in. Pain overwhelmed what little pleasure still lingered within me, drowning it out completely. And when he thrust, it felt as 34
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though he impaled me on a stake of unimaginable size, though I know only the pain made it seem so.
Holding my hips immobile, he took me hard and fast, driving me into the mattress, brutalizing my poor bottom while I screeched, "This one loves her Master!" over and over until I was hoarse.
He could not come soon enough; to me it felt as though he thrust forever. It came as a bitter relief when he moaned and spilled his seed into my tender back passage, splashing warm lines of it down my thighs when he withdrew, thank God, for the last time.
"This one loves her Master," I wept convulsively, broken, a limp rag of a woman, my abused bottom propped up in the air, pain piercing me in shocks long after he was done plunging inside me.
He caressed my hair back from my face and pressed the gentlest kiss upon my shoulder. "I believe you."
I lay as he left me, weak and frightened and too hurt to move. The sound of running water and splashing told me he washed himself. Then there was only silence, punctuated by my own ragged breathing and the pop of a log as it cracked in the heat of the fire.
A cold cloth pressed to my newly ravaged bottom hole. He lifted me, removing the pillows to lay me fully upon the bed.
Once more gentle and tender, he cleaned me and applied a soothing ointment to my wounds. Then he lay down beside me, covering us both with a blanket even as he drew me into a close one-armed embrace.
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I lay tensely in his bed while his breathing turned slow and heavy, the rhythm lulling me against my will.
I think I slept, waking twice more in moments of savage agony when he took me again throughout the night, as though I were a man. Still bound and blind-folded, all I could do was cry. And of that I did a fair amount. Tears soaked my face, saturating the pillow under my head. Those words, "This one loves her Master" were branded into my mind and on my tongue for I shouted them continuously all the while.
Much to his enjoyment.
As he fell upon me for the final time that night, spent, sweat splashing from his face to mine, he laughed breathlessly. "Of course you do. Be contented, infant. I will make you feel this love for me deep and often."
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The Matron took my uniform, harness and jesses, leaving
me standing naked in front of my cot for what felt like
forever. I missed my jesses and the cheerful jingling of the
gold bells that should have bound my right ankle. They had
been my only comfort in this strange, unfriendly place, and
now she had stolen them from me! Leaving me to stare at the
formless blue jumpsuit, exactly like the uniforms worn by the
other females here. For two hours, I stared at it, hating it. It
was ugly. It would cover me completely, as though I were
ugly too. A thing of shame to be so thoroughly concealed
from sight.
"I've got better things to do than baby you," the Matron
told me. "Put them on."
I know there was once a time when I dressed myself. It
seemed an age ago now. But when I touched the ugly blue
thing lying on my cot, my Master's teachings came back to
me in a flood of painful memory. I could not even make
myself pick them up, much less put them on. I was
disobeying the Matron, but I could not—would not—disobey
my Master.
After two hours of staring, the Matron finally came to dress
me herself, thrusting the ugly uniform upon me, jamming the
coarse cloth over my hands and feet, each jerky motion done
in anger and disgust. This rough treatment was frightening.
What if my Master never came for me. Did that mean I would
lose my rank, that I would no longer be a Personal? Would I
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be reduced back to the rank of New-Comer, here, in this
awful place?
I sobbed as though my heart were breaking, but the
Matron was no more moved by my tears than any master in
Judgment might have been.
I was taken before a local doctor, who examined the weals
that decorated me. He looked so much like Master Moulton
that I turned and pranced before him. I displayed my marks
with pride. After all, they were proof of my high value and my
worth to my Master, who loved me and punished me with all
severity. Surely, a master himself, he would understand. But
he only frowned, became angry, and my pride wilted in my
breast. It seemed that I could only displease.
Even the way I walked made the others angry. After so
many years of wearing the hard, bone-like corset and three
inch heels that were everyday life for a Personal, I couldn't
help but walk in mincing steps upon my tiptoes. With spine
straight and shoulders thrown back, I maintained my stiffly
perfect posture and silently endured the mockery of the low-ranking females as they hissed the word 'Freak' at me as I
passed them on the way to the dining hall.
It was impossible to comprehend why they would speak to
me. Why was I even in the same room with them? They could
hardly rank higher than Primaries and Midpoints, these
women, for none were well-trained by any standard! I walked
past them without acknowledging of their gross breeches in
etiquette; personals never socialized with those below the
rank of Personal, but the silly female masters not only placed
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me within the same dining hall, I was made to sit at the
Lessers' table!
All through the meal, I could feel the Matron's angry stare.
On all sides of me, women ate heartily from their bowls of hot
cereal, but I could only stare at mine. Twice my shaking
hands rose to grip the spoon, and twice they hastened back
to my lap where it was proper for them to lie. My stomach felt
pinched and empty. My mouth watered and I swallowed
convulsively. I was so hungry!
Why did they torment me this way?
I clasped my hands to my chest so I would not be tempted
again to take up the spoon, but no one came to feed me, and
I soon began to rock on the bench.
Where was my Master? Why didn't he come for me? What
if he couldn't find me? Ever? What if I was made to stay with
these people in this horrible place full of unfeeling, angry
matrons and officers.
I couldn't stay here! I couldn't! I needed my Master. I
needed to feel his hands on me, reassuring, petting, and
punishing me. Tears slipped past my lashes and down my
nose. They fell into my untouched cereal.
I was so hungry.
* * * *
That had been mine. Tane, the Master of the Masters, would eventually give us new ones, but until we were so privileged, they called us by the color of our hair. Out of all Judgment's 39
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one hundred and fifty-five females, of those of us new enough to be without names, there were eleven Blondes, six Brunettes, two Blacks, but only one Red. Me.
All throughout that night, I wished the world would end, but my prayers went unheard. My first day in Hell began at dawn.