Gemma

Chapter Two-2

The breath exploded from her lungs as, without giving her a moment’s notice to prepare, two palms cupped her out thrust breasts and two sets of fingers captured her already-hard n*****s, rubbing, squeezing and twirling the prominent buds and sending unbearable jolts of tremendous stimulation racing through her immobilized body.

Gemma screamed shrilly into her huge gag, devastated by the merciless assault, but was powerless to control the instant and automatic responses forced from her as she was sent spinning into a frenzy of desperate need. Her n*****s sprang erect, throbbing and quivering as the hands caressed her flesh and she whimpered and moaned as she learned that her handlers were frighteningly skilled in extracting the maximum degree of fervid, burning lust from any captive unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches.

The leather straps of her bondage impressed their marks in her soft, resilient flesh as, again and again; Gemma shuddered and strained in maddened arousal to the ruthless demands of her handlers, squealing for mercy, for just a moment’s respite from the inferno of lust consuming her.

Dimly, through her haze of enforced passion, Gemma was vaguely aware of three different sets of hands fondling her engorged and throbbing breasts, but was far too distraught and out of control to fully realize, let alone care, that she was being tormented by both the man and the two women.

Drowning in the whirlpool of s****l excitement created in her by the knowing fingers of her handlers, Gemma surrendered to the storm of arousal sweeping over her, her brain giving up the futile attempt to retain some form of control over her body and leaving her entirely at the mercy of the physical sensations overwhelming her as she shuddered in the iron grip of needs and lusts, the like of which she had never known before. Had never even known could exist.

Lost in the depths of her desire, squealing in terrible ecstasy to every calculated touch of her handlers, Gemma was not even aware that one of them had left the room. It was only when the strap holding her bent head was released and her head was forced back to make her look up that Gemma, moaning and juddering in the throes of her need, realized with a stab of pure unalloyed horror, that Roxwell was standing before her, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he surveyed her naked, sweat-streaked, helplessly-responding body. Before she could even begin to recover from the terrible shock, Roxwell bent down and his long, bony fingers sank into the gaping, wetly-lubricated channel of her s*x.

Gemma could not hold back for even a second, her churning belly exploding in white-hot pulses of love-juices as his casual pillaging of her most intimate and secret recesses, hurled her headlong into a tremendous orgasm. Her internal muscles seized his invading fingers in a vice-like grip, contracting and pulling him ever deeper into her belly as she surrendered to the incandescent fury of the climax forced on her, her fear and hatred of him and what he was doing to her, overwhelmed in the sheer power of her release. With his fingers still buried deep in her spasming belly, Roxwell stared coldly into Gemma’s terrified, uncomprehending eyes.

“Your first real climax as my slave-girl, Gemma,” he whispered softly. “Your first submission to a Master ... the first of many you will give as you are trained and learn what it is to serve, really serve, as a slave in the power of Masters who know the extent of submission which may be forced from you.”

Gemma could not tear her eyes away from his almost hypnotic gaze and felt her body trembling with fear and horror as the millionaire nodded gently.

“Oh yes, my dear,” he went on, “that’s right. You will be trained to serve and obey as a slave and you will submit ... completely and with no reservations. You will serve me and you will serve many other Masters and Mistresses during the next year, my dear, and you had best serve them and me well, slave. As Owners and Masters, we do not take kindly to slaves who disobey or are not pleasing. We have many ways of expressing our displeasure ... ways which are both uncomfortable and painful, as you will no doubt learn.”

Fighting desperately to control the panic threatening to overwhelm her completely, Gemma’s brown eyes betrayed the horror she felt as Roxwell explained the fate awaiting her and she learned that she was to be not only at the mercy of him and his three assistants, but was to become the helpless, unwilling victim of other, as yet unknown Masters. Roxwell straightened, his eyes glittering as he gave orders to Gemma’s three handlers.

“You have almost a week until the next meeting. Begin her basic training, but be sure you do not break her spirit and impose only light discipline on her. I want her unmarked, so you will have to limit punishment for the time being.”

The three handlers inclined their heads gravely and Gemma shuddered in terrible anxiety, her mind whirling as she tried to make sense of Roxwell’s instructions. There was going to be some sort of meeting in a week, but what did that mean? Who was going to meet and why? What did he mean by basic training? Most frightening of all ... what about light discipline and punishments and wanting her unmarked? What did it all mean?

There were no answers for Gemma and her tightly bound frame trembled wildly as Roxwell strode out of the door, leaving her alone and helpless with her handlers.

She shook her head in disbelief, refusing to accept the evidence of her own eyes as the man strolled casually from the room, only to return seconds later with a coiled black leather strap in his right hand then spoke for the first time.

“This is called a Devil’s Palm, slave girl,” he said calmly, unrolling the strap to reveal five broad, flat fingers of leather braided into a thick handle. “And this is what it does.”

Before Gemma could even begin to anticipate the action his right hand rose and then fell with a wristy flick. The sharp “Splat” of leather impacting on the exposed and tender flesh of Gemma’s inner left thigh was followed by a split second of absolute silence. A silence broken by a high, breathy squeal of pained anguish from behind Gemma’s mouth-filling gag as an angry red patch bloomed on her smooth skin where the sudden blow had landed.

Tears of shock and pain filled her brown eyes and her slim muscles corded vainly as Gemma fought against her bonds, but they were far too strong and held her easily despite her frantic efforts. Strong fingers gripped her jaw and she winced as she was forced to look up, into the determined face of her assailant.

“Disobedience will not be tolerated, slave!” he hissed coldly. “You have been warned.”

He moved away to join his companions. Devastated, her thigh burning with a stinging fire, Gemma whimpered piteously, but to no avail. Her handlers remained completely unmoved by her anguish and the cruel smiles playing about the corners of their lips told Gemma more clearly than any words that it would be futile to look for any sympathy or pity from their direction. Sixty seconds ticked by. Sixty seconds in which Gemma faced the almost unthinkable. No matter how impossible it seemed, she was a captive. She could be kept naked and in bondage. And she could be, and would be, cruelly punished if she failed to obey.

By the time her captors broke the tense silence and moved towards her again, Gemma knew what she must do. No matter what the cost to her dignity or ego, she would obey and cooperate with them until she got the chance to escape and bring them to the justice they so richly deserved. Then, she vowed to herself, then we shall see who laughs last and who has the upper hand.

As the straps securing her were unbuckled, Gemma crumpled to the floor, her limbs numbed after the hours of immobility. Helpless, she groaned as her gag was removed and returning circulation brought pins and needles, but her handlers remained unsympathetic, ordering her to hurry up and get onto her knees. She tried to protest and explain, but her attempt was rudely cut short as the leather thongs of the Devil’s Palm slapped smartly across her buttocks, bringing a gasp of pain from her lips and an undignified scramble to take up the ordered position.

“Good. Now listen up, slave girl. We don’t have time to train you fully. That will have to be completed later. For now, you’ll just learn the basics, which are as follows. One, you obey immediately and exactly every order given to you by a Master or Mistress. As far as you’re concerned, that means anybody you see while you are here. Two, you don’t speak until you’re spoken to and when you do, you call everyone Master or Mistress. And three, you get down on your knees whenever you meet a Master or Mistress and you stay there until you’re told you can get up. Right, have you got that, slave girl?”

Gemma hesitated. Of course, she understood, the three rules weren’t exactly difficult to grasp, but their underlying intent was all too plain. Acceptance of them meant acceptance that others controlled her and had the right to give her orders she would have to obey. It was not something to be accepted lightly, even if it was only until she could escape.

“I said, have you got that?” the harsh demand was accompanied by a stinging blow from the leather palm and Gemma leapt to her feet rubbing her right buttock. “You have five seconds to get back in position and answer the question.”

There was no anger in the voice, but it held a cold arrogance that sent a shiver up Gemma’s spine and she somehow knew, without knowing quite how, that a failure to get back on her knees would be extremely unpleasant for her.

Scarlet with embarrassment and furious with herself for being so weak, Gemma sank meekly to her knees and lowered her face to hide her shame.

“Yes, I understand,” she muttered.

“That’s better. Masters do not care to repeat their orders to slaves. You would have received six strokes of the palm if you had disobeyed.”

Gemma raised her head slowly and flinched as she met the merciless eyes of her handlers, realizing with a convulsive gulp just how close she had come to earning herself a punishment.

“However, you did fail to address us as Masters and for that you will receive two strokes. Bend forward and place your hands behind your neck.”

Gemma’s jaw dropped and she stared dumbly at the speaker for long seconds, then, recovering her powers of speech, she gasped.

“No. No, I won’t! You can’t do this to me.”

“Oh, but we can, slave girl. We can and we will. And that is the second time you have failed to call us Masters. You have now earned four strokes. Any further delay or disobedience will cost you six more. Now, get in position!”

The final four words were snapped out in a low, venomous growl and Gemma shuddered wildly, frightened by the suppressed anger in the tone and the knowledge that she was alone against the three of them. If it came to it, she could not prevent them from tying her up again and then punishing her and she was bright enough to realize that if she made them go to such lengths, any punishment she did receive would probably be far worse than the one they already planned for her.

Trembling like a leaf, Gemma laced her fingers behind her neck and inclined her body forward a few inches.

“Further, slave girl. Further, I said! Go on, right down on your knees. Good, now keep still and don’t make a sound unless you want your punishment to be doubled.”

There was absolutely no trace of pity in the voice and Gemma, doubled over into a tight, trembling ball, clamped her lips together, shuddering as cool leather slid over her upraised buttocks, then tensing as it lifted away. Flaring heat erupted across her left buttock and Gemma’s jaw clenched as she fought not to scream, her fingers clawing at the empty air as a second blow sent matching, blistering heat into her tautly presented right buttock. A shrill squeal of shock greeted the penetration of knowing fingers between Gemma’s thighs, but her instinctive recoil was forestalled by a sharp order.