Captured Fancy

Chapter Two-2

I pushed her away and she landed on her bruised ass. She said, “Master?”

“Not so fast, slave. You just think you can have my c**k when you want? You don’t decide, I do!”

“I’m sorry, master.”

“You said that before. Too easily perhaps. Next time you say it, you’ll mean it.”

I grabbed some rope, got her up, and wound it tight all about her. I started with the elbows and this time I made sure they touched, then slipped a wooden dowel in between her arms and back and drew the hands forward on either side of the waist. Another piece connected the wrists and cut deep across her stomach. The last one was a crotch rope that I pulled up tight into her p***y and between the flaming ass cheeks. I tested between her legs and found some wetness there, but not enough so I gave the rope one last tug. She squealed a little but otherwise remained quiet.

Silence. That what I wanted. Not for itself but to show her that I controlled every part of her, including her mouth. From the wall I selected a head harness, the kind with a large leather plug and wide strap across the front. I shoved the plug past her lips then encased her little head in all the straps and polished buckles. Unlike most head harnesses, this one not only had the wide strap for the mouth, but another encircled the upper head. Add in the others under the chin and back up either side of the nose and over the top of the head and it was one heavy duty piece of equipment. As a bonus, a small D-ring dangled from the chin strap, probably for locking a chain on to lead the slave about or to keep her secured to another ring in a wall. To prevent her from wandering about I did just that then checked the crotch rope again. It still wasn’t wet enough so I decided to push things up a notch.

“You stand too sloppy,” I said. “We’re fixing that.”

In the closet I found a pair of shiny, red high heels and slipped them on her feet, then an adjustable steel spreader bar pushed her ankles wide apart. I left plenty of room for her ankles to twist inside the spreader bar’s leather cuffs but she wasn’t about to close her legs.

“Even with a spreader bar, a good slave can still strut for her master.” I removed the tether chain and cracked the whip. “Do it!”

She jumped and stared at me in disbelief. I cracked the whip again, this time across her ass, which finally set her in motion. Hesitatingly, with extra wide steps forced on her by the spreader bar, Simone lurched about the room like a robot. She squealed behind the gag and kept her eyes down on her feet, not sure they would land in the right spot. When she got back to me I could tell from her look that she expected praise.

“I don’t like the way you hold your head. Always down, like you’re ashamed of who you are. Do it again, but this time you’ll have help.”

I tied two strings around her n*****s, then tied the other ends to the chin strap D-ring. The n*****s went up, up, until they pointed at the ceiling. She tried to ease off the tension by lowering her chin but I did a quick braid of her hair and tied that off too with a rope down to the dowel in back. The further I pulled the head back the higher the n*****s went.

“EEEIMMM! EERRRGGHH!”

“Now that’s how a slave should stand for her master,” I said. “Not just in the dungeon, but anywhere. Proud, tall, straight, and open. Now, try that strut again. A smooth flow this time. If not, I’ll be there to remind you.”

She set off again. At any hesitation I whacked her ass with the riding crop. After one heavy blow she craned her head back, eyes full of fight. I flicked my wrist and the crop landed on an already bright pink and sensitive n****e.

“Urrggg!”

“Don’t like it? Too bad, ‘cause we’re just getting started.”

She started to weep at that, even lay her head against my shoulder. I patted her a few times, then made her continue with the discipline. She eventually got the hang of it and, as a little reward, I took off the spreader bar, but only so long as she kept her feet apart.

She was more the compliant slave that Wingard boasted of after that, ready and eager to please, taking pleasure in the bondage, accepting corrections from my whip. Even when I strung her up spread-eagled against a wall, gave her twenty of my best lashes and she screamed her head off she didn’t once beg me to stop. I cut her down and she quivered at my feet. Eventually her arms wrapped around my legs and she pulled herself up into a kneeling position.

“Please, master, please,” she begged with a little whine. “I am so hot. Don’t deny me anymore. I need you. Let me pleasure you. f**k me. Please, f**k me.”

This time when she unzipped my pants I didn’t stop her.

I took her from behind, on her hands and knees, the red marks and deep blue bruises from her punishments rough under my hands. Just before I gave her my c**k I checked her p***y and found it almost as wet as at the cabin. That was enough for me and I shoved inside her, all the way up to start. Simone cried out and fell to her elbows, but she didn’t curse or protest. She pushed herself back up and her hips swayed in counterpoint to mine. Not like the frenzied moves at the cabin, but a slow, hot f**k.

“Oh!” she cried. “Oh, Jesus, where have you been all my life? God, you’re great!”

The slow, hot f**k started to pick up speed.

“More. More! Ahhh!”

I went after her like any guy would, and she responded. But there was something not quite right. In my detached way I started going over everything since she saw me walk through the door.

“Ohhh! Ohhh! Yes, YES! I want it. I need it! Give it to me. f**k! f**k! f**k MEEEEE!”

I blasted inside her, but she didn’t just lie there and take it. While I still came she tore herself away and spun around to cover my c**k in her mouth. Her eyes closed tight as she drank it all, then squeezed and sucked out even more. Her tongue swirled around me, covered me in our combined juices, then at last drew back. She wrapped her arms around my waist, nestled her head in my crotch.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said. “Oh, god, I needed that so bad.”

“Just like that night at the cabin, right?” I said.

Her arms tensed, just the barest amount. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, of course.”

* * *

I wasn’t about to just let her walk out. Soon, she found herself wrapped in a leather body harness, the crotch strap pulled up so tight that her still engorged p***y lips dangled out either side. I had planted inside her a small, egg shaped vibrator with wires that dangled to a small control box just outside. Simone had learned her lesson well as she silently endured her arms bound snug in the harness, her head thrown back and proud, and her legs well spread on their own. As a parting gift I slapped a capture mask on her. It resembled a head harness, except the lower face was completely covered in supple leather that curved well underneath the chin to prevent all jaw movement. I chained her by the neck to a whipping post and hung the riding crop from the front of the body harness.

I stroked her brow. “Now, no matter what happens, you keep that stance.”

Simone held her posture, but already her glazed eyes told me she fast approached subspace. I reached down and flicked on the vibrator to its highest setting. The sound inside her was easy to hear.

“Aiiieeerrrgghh!”

Already her shoulders shook, her legs quivered on the brink of orgasm. I pointed a finger at her in warning and left the playroom. In the curving gallery I found Donaldson with some bottled water and an etched glass on a silver tray.

“Mr. Wingard thought you might be thirsty. Where is Mrs. Wingard?”

I poured myself a drink. “She’s back there, following my last order.” I told him what it was. “I’ve got about a half hour left with Mr. Wingard’s slave, but I think I’ll go back out to the garden. Would you please make sure the slave follows my last order?”

“Yes, sir. It would be my pleasure, sir. And if she doesn’t?”

“Then give her something to really scream about. Don’t worry about Wingard disapproving. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

A slow smile crept across Donaldson stone face. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

A muffled cry and a thump of a body hitting and rolling on the floor issued from the playroom.

“Sounds like she’s already broken it,” I said.

Donaldson maintained his dignity, but his step was quick as he approached the playroom.

I found Wingard in the garden. “So, what do you think of her?” he said.

“That’s one hell of a slave,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“But she’s not a natural.”

“No, not a natural, but she has great potential.”

“She’s a twin, of course.”

“Of course. She looks just like my slave, but it’s not her. My wife was born a natural slave, Mr. Hawk, and although that woman in there looks like her, she is not my slave. I don’t know what happened, but one day I woke up to this stranger.”

“When did you notice the difference?”

“Two days ago. After she came back early from our cabin retreat.”

I took a gulp of water. It wasn’t booze but I pretended it was to calm my nerves. “Maybe your real slave needed a change of scenery and bribed her twin to take her place, temporarily.”

“Plausible, Mr. Hawk, but no.”

“You’re sure?”

Wingard stared at me hard. “I know my slave.”

I scratched my head, just to give Wingard a good show that I was thinking about his problem. “Well, what about a pre-nup? If she signed one maybe she’s regretting doing it and trying to get some money out of you.”

Wingard shook his head. “I didn’t want her to, but she insisted. This may sound strange, but I trusted her. Just before she signed I wanted to tear it up, but she threatened to walk out right there, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was a gold-digger. Besides, she has plenty of her own money. She even crossed out the settlement amount I tried to sneak in the contract. ‘Master,’ she said, ‘This is the only time I will disobey.’”

“Sounds like a special woman. Why don’t you tell the slave in the playroom to bring back your real slave?”

“Because if my slave really is kidnapped, then whatever value she has to the kidnappers goes out the window when they realize I know I have a fake. And I can’t let them know.”

“You can’t? Don’t you want her back?”

“Of course I do! But as yet there’s no ransom note, no phone call demanding money. And I dread when it does come because...”

Wingard fell into embarrassed silence.

It hit me and I said, “You can’t pay them.”

He nodded and looked away. “I am financially...overextended. All of my money is invested, but I usually keep some handy at least. But just before my slave disappeared I committed the last of my reserves on a business venture.”

“What about your slave’s money? You said she had plenty of her own.”

“It is held in an ironclad family trust where no one, not me or any of her family, can get at it. Only her. Whoever did this planned well. They know far more about my business than is comfortable and they waited until just the right moment to get me by the balls. But I’m hoping that as long as I play along, that I don’t let them know that I’m aware that they’ve switched my real slave with a fake one, then she’ll be safe. That’s why I called you.”

Wingard pressed the photo he showed me earlier of his slave into my hand. I could now see the differences between this slave and the one I left in the playroom. Tiny physical variations, but mainly it was the attitude. The one in the photo was a slave. Always was and always would be. No wonder a master of Wingard’s experience could tell so quickly about the other one.

A scream of passion floated out to the garden.