I’m terrified.
Or maybe that’s too mild a word.
I’m in-over-my-head, ‘the zombies are coming to eat me up’ petrified. My limbs are frozen and I swear I can feel my bones rattling within their casings of flesh. My throat is parched and my palms feel drier than a potato chip in the midst of a scorching desert.
Oh yes, my knuckles are white and I can’t stop chewing on them.
Alice is coming.
Yes, that Alice – the one who is so not from Wonderland.
It’s like waiting on a hospital gurney to be wheeled into surgery – one that will be performed on you without anesthesia.
The trouble with Alice is that she is such an unknown and unknowable factor. Yes, I know she can be cruel. There’s that malicious streak in her eyes, and I know she’s contemplating Guillotine murder whenever she casts her gleaming gaze upon me. But she has not been physically cruel to me so far. She has tormented and berated me and made me feel like a squished worm under her soles.
In many ways, I’d rather she just punch me in the mouth and get it over with.
This waiting – of not knowing what she can be like – is much, much worse.
We are in Heather’s room, and I’m hyperventilating. The luxury yacht is cruising along at a moderate speed, going to goodness knows where. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t hazard to tell me. After all, I have no rights. I am merely a contracted sex slave to the Devlin family and whomever they want me to open my legs and mouth for.
Heather is preparing me for Alice.
I am kneeling on the floor, and Heather has left the black leather collar around my neck. Because the collar is a tight choker that straddles the entire length of my neck – with a metal ring in the middle – I have to keep my head and neck up, like a debutante learning manners in a Victorian house. The only movement it allows me is to tilt my head slightly – in all angles – but I am certainly unable to bend my neck.
She has finished fucking me no less than twenty minutes ago, and so Heather has left my nipple clamps intact. A thin metal chain is threaded through the ring in the collar. Both its free ends are connected to my nipple clamps – so that my poor teats are pulled upward mercilessly and my areolas are very, very taut.
My entire nipple and areola areas are majorly numb by now.
“I like you trussed up,” Heather confesses. She’s very pretty in an athletic, boyish way. When she smiles, her mouth curls up in two dimples.
She is behind me, tying up my elbows and wrists very securely with black leather straps. In this position, my chest and ribcage are pulled back and I find it difficult to take deep breaths. I have to breathe in what I call staccato bursts – filling my lungs with shallow gulps of air when I am able to. And this, to me, is more restrictive and indicativeof my slave status than any of my bonds and chains can ever be.
Footsteps sound outside the door. My heart begins to pound.
Alice is here.
Oh shit, shit, shit.
Suddenly, I’m more terrified than I had thought possible. My breath catches in my throat and wedges itself in there and simply refuses to budge. My vision begins to swim, and I feel a cluster of panic attacks coming along in succession.
It is all I can do to stop peeing on the floor.
The door swings open. Alice does not knock.
I find myself staring up at her beautiful face at the doorway. She wears a voluminous silk kaftan that billows around her with the breeze sweeping down the yacht’s central corridor. With her gleaming eyes – every bit as predatory and malicious as I imagined them to be – she resembles a sorceress from the ninth pit of hell.
I have to suppress a scream. If Alice knows how frightened I am, she will torture the terror out of me all the more. She’s a magnificent cougar, and she senses fear in her prey.
Greg is behind her, his body blocked partially by her caftan. He wears a loose-fitting shirt over his tight green swimming trunks. I can see the very obvious bulge of his genitals within the latter. He is not erect . . . at least not yet. He favors me with a sympathetic glance.
“Do you like the way I’ve done her up?” Heather asks, smiling.
I try to focus on the tattoo of the girl’s face on her arm. Yes, anything to distract me.
Alice scrutinizes me as if I’m an effigy that will be thrown into the bonfire.
“I don’t know. I have other ideas on how she must be bound and paraded. Greg, do the honors.”
No please, no thank you.
Greg steps in the room even as Heather pouts prettily. For the first time, I notice he carries a very strange contraption. The main body of it consists of a steel rod, but one end of it curls into a blunt hook. The other end is attached to a steel collar with three rings upon it.
Dread turns my stomach.
“Oh, don’t sulk, darling,” Alice says to Heather with a lofty wave of her manicured hand. “We’ll do a combination of yours and mine.”
Greg moves behind me. He smells of a nice cinnamon aftershave.
“You OK?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Don’t speak to her, Greg. She is beneath even you. Just tell her what she has to do.”
Greg glowers. “OK, stand up, Gina.”
I obey with difficulty. He catches my bound arms to make sure that I don’t stagger.
“Stand straight, please.”
It’s difficult, but I attempt to. He unclasps the black choker collar from my neck and summarily replaces it with the heavier steel one. This one offers my neck more mobility, but its kiss is icy upon my hot skin. My nipples are thankfully freed, and I can feel the blood beginning to flow into them again.
The attached steel rod is now behind my back, and I have a sudden idea what the hook is for. The cold rod presses upon my bound arms.
“I’m going to have to untie her,” Greg says.
“Do what you must,” Heather replies.
Greg releases my bonds, which relieves me to no end. My elbows and shoulders were beginning to ache with the extreme pull. I take in deep breaths, and green spots start to swim briefly in my vision.
As soon as my arms are free, he inserts the blunt end of the hook into my anus – as I expected him to. The chilly steel slides into me like a very hard finger.
“Uhhh,” I gasp.
The hook is embedded quite deeply in, and its presence is firm and unmistakable. My asshole muscles pucker around it involuntarily.
“Very nice,” Alice says as she appraises the way the hook penetrates my ass. “Don’t you agree, Heather?”
Heather pouts her lip again. “I still think she should be tied up in some way.”
“Oh, all right then. We’ll cuff her wrists to the collar. Greg?”
Greg lets out a half-sigh as he threads two metal chains through the left and right collar rings at my throat. The medium-length chains are attached to two metal cuffs, which he circles around my wrists.
“Keep your wrists apart always,” Alice instructs me. “At no time must you attempt to hide your tits. I want everyone to see them.”
To do this, I have to maintain a diagonal stretch of my wrist cuffs at all time. I have to hold my hands up as well, where they are at the level of my nipples but to the sides of my considerable mounds. It takes a fair bit of muscular effort to keep them that way.
“Good. Now I want her on a leash,” Alice says.
Greg resignedly fastens a longer chain onto the central ring at my collar. I’m now uncomfortably upright and tethered and hooked.
I feel like a carcass at a meat factory.
“Walk,” Alice commands. “Heather, you lead her.”
Smiling, Heather yanks my leash. I stumble after into the bright corridor, wondering what Alice has in store for me.
Where the hell are Max and the twins when I need them?
