Recently fired Asia Drake fantasizes about giving up control. She’s weary of being a modern, independent woman and frequents a web site catering to submissive desires. Unknown to her, her membership triggers the interest of a secret organization dedicated to the training of submissives for wealthy, dominant men. She’s captured by a powerful, mysterious man who takes her to a remote location where her transformation begins. The forced lessons are harsh yet Asia responds to the sexual stimulation. Zemar, who has scars on his back, becomes her world.
As her barriers break down, Asia tells Zemar about her father’s abandonment and a boyfriend who walked away when she was pregnant. (She lost the child) She hasn’t let a man get close since those experiences but this is different. Zemar admits that his parents were responsible for the scars. He too doesn’t trust.
Those behind the organization have seen enough. Asia and Zemar must be separated before their relationship becomes deeper. It’s time for her to be sold.
“So, how does it feel to be fired?”
Because she was the only one in her bedroom, Asia Drake didn’t expect a response. She lifted her glass of wine and toasted her image in the dresser mirror. The image of a successful professional woman saluted back. If she didn’t look too close maybe she wouldn’t see the disbelief in her eyes.
“What are you smiling at?” Her voice wavered. “Your audience is gone. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Nodding in acceptance and defeat, she put the glass on the dresser and removed her heels. Relief at being rid of the damnably uncomfortable things briefly distracted her. Straightening, she again faced herself. After a moment, she sighed and started unbuttoning her new teal jacket. It had set her back a couple hundred dollars but was a necessary part of how she projected herself to her employers at Maximize Enterprises.
“Amend that. Soon-to-be ex-employers.”
Her hand shook as she finished with the buttons and pulled off the garment. After dropping it on her bed, she picked up the wine and took a hearty swallow. She seldom drank, but tonight warranted?what? Maybe getting drunk so it wouldn’t hurt so much. So she wouldn’t be scared. Then she acknowledged she hadn’t been fired so much as a casualty of what the company’s board members called outsourcing.
It didn’t matter.
“The bottom line is you’re out of a job. Services no longer required.”
But I created the marketing department. My campaigns put the company on the map. Doesn’t that account for something?
Deep down weary of the whole thing and even more unsure of her future, she focused on removing the rest of her work clothes. By the time she’d hung up her jacket, silk shell, and slim white skirt, she’d polished off the wine and replenished her supply. She faced her underwear-clad form. Her ability to see was a little foggy but she didn’t care.
“You aren’t thirty. And you aren’t that hard on the eyes.” Head cocked to the side, she cupped her breasts and lifted. “No sag, at least not much.” A wave of melancholy briefly silenced her. “Tight ass, flat belly, runner’s legs.” Shifting direction, she ran her fingers over her pantyhose-clad thighs. It was good to feel something other than a sense of loss. “The package isn’t that bad, I don’t think. You won’t have any trouble selling it to another company.”
Wait. Was she really thinking about using her physical assets to get a job? It had to be the wine talking. But the idea of going back into the same kind of work was more than she could face.
“What can I say? Sex sells. And I know how to make it work.”
Ridding herself of the pantyhose without snagging them took concentration. Still, as she slid the sensual material over her skin, she couldn’t help but admit that being young, female, and attractive had played a role in helping her achieve career success. Just because her current employer’s bottom line and priorities had robbed her of a job didn’t mean she’d soon be selling pencils on the street corner.
“If worse comes to worst,” she told herself. Another shudder rocked her. “I’ll sell myself. And no street corners either.” She slipped a hand under her bikini panties. “This package deserves to be a kept woman.”
Kept? Not having to assume responsibility for everything in her life, no longer worrying about the bills.
All right, so what was the life of a kept woman like, she asked herself. Her brain briefly stalled at the question then embraced it. Sure there was the sex part, always available, willing, appreciative, grateful, a happy little energized bunny. But the rest of the time would be hers as would a generous allowance and credit cards she wouldn’t get the bills for, right?
True, but other than spending money on herself and spreading her legs at the snap of a finger, how would she fill her life?
A joyless laugh ended in a near sob. She hadn’t cried for so many years she’d all but forgotten what it sounded like. The question of how long she’d be able to afford the payments on her condo had to be faced, but she didn’t dare mire down in self-pity tonight. Feeling sorry for herself, like giving into heartbreak?something that had nearly destroyed her twice?never changed reality.
She switched off the overhead light and reached for the nightstand lamp but didn’t turn it on. Instead, she lit a trio of candles and let the scent of vanilla and spices waft over her.
In a few days, she wouldn’t be waking to an alarm clock before the crack of dawn so she could get in some exercise before going to the office. As long as she was unemployed, gaining a few pounds wouldn’t be that big a deal, would it? She wouldn’t need her power suits, would have no reason to choose between her twenty-some pairs of heels. Would no longer spend too many evenings hunched over her computer. Instead she’d, what? Have a pleasure-fest? Come until she couldn’t come anymore?
Where had that question come from? Maybe from a part of the psyche that understood how much she needed a break from reality.
Wine in hand, she opened her nightstand drawer and studied her sex toy collection. Didn’t the lavender vibrator have fresh batteries? She couldn’t say it was her favorite. It was just one of the precious few that still worked. Maybe that’s what she’d do with some of her spare time. Replenish her supply. And prowl the Internet for more sites specializing in erotic reading and viewing material. No, she couldn’t do that on unemployment.
Teeth clenched, she reached under the toys for the folder she hoped no one ever saw and placed it on the bed. This was her secret, a side of her she didn’t understand and sometimes didn’t acknowledge. After another swallow of wine, she opened the folder and began spreading out the photographs she’d downloaded from Leather ‘n Chains, which was her current favorite porn site. In the uncertain light, some were hard to make out, but she’d seen them so many times she went by memory.
“It’s just you,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain to anyone.”
Every one portrayed naked or nearly naked women in various stages of bondage ranging from rope spider webs circling lush bodies to metal restraints that allowed only minimal movement. For the most part, the men responsible were photographed in shadow, which left a lot to her imagination. She’d never come up with an image of the perfect dom. Of course he’d be big and strong. Sure of himself. Dark and dangerous, but not over the top in that department. He’d understand a woman’s subservient side and know how to bring it out. Take over.
Sighing, Asia put down her glass, removed her bra, and returned to her drawer. Enough with the thinking and self-analysis and uncertainty about her future. The fear. Now was for letting go. Selecting a pair of gold nipple clamps, she ran the metal over her breasts. Her pussy loosened and softened. A familiar fantasy took hold. It would work. It always did.
In her mind she stood naked on an auction block. Because a bright light was directed on her, she couldn’t see the audience, but she sensed their presence. Powerful men had come to bid on her. The details of how she’d come to this place were always vague. What she’d been before this moment didn’t matter. Only the chains securing her arms over her head did. Only the large, elaborate clamp the auctioneer was placing on her right nipple did.
Panting, she settled a clip over her hard nub. Sensation raced from breast to crotch. She closed her eyes and imagined knowing eyes raking her flesh and deep, approving voices as the auctioneer demonstrated how much nipple play turned her on by pulling on the clamp. Then he swept his hand over her pussy and held his glistening fingers up to the light.
“The current offering comes to us from someone who prefers to remain anonymous,” the imaginary auctioneer announced. “She’s well-trained in the art of pleasing a man and is truly submissive. See how fully she accepts everything I do to her.”
Although Asia attached the second clamp, in her mind, she stood still and heated while the man in charge of her sale did the deed.
“She has spirit which will provide her new dom with endless entertainment and possibilities,” the auctioneer said. “Interestingly she fights her nature. See how she can be made to struggle to try to free herself.”
Arms reaching for the ceiling now, Asia twisted from side to side. The gesture sent her breasts into motion and made her head swim. Reality threatened to intrude but she fought it off. Moaning, she imagined the audience leaning forward to study her performance.
“She is a prisoner to her sexuality.”
I can be. All I need is the right dom. Asia ran a hand under her panties. She didn’t stop until she’d reached her hot, wet flesh.
“See how quickly she becomes excited. Although she fights herself, she orgasms easily and hates being denied. Hunger and frustration make her docile and compliant and eager to please. Use her instinct and what she learned at the hands of her trainer to your advantage, gentlemen. Now, who wishes to start the bidding?”
Trembling, Asia slipped her wet fingers into her mouth and sucked.
A possession. My existence revolving around my pussy.
“Go with it. Break free of the world. Forget you’ve been kicked in the teeth.”
Fantasy pulled her in even deeper and took her back in time to when she’d been captured by the man who’d prepared her for her life as a sexual object. He’d run her down, cornered her, lassoed, and hog-tied her before cutting off her clothes. Then he’d knelt beside her helpless body and forced a hard rubber dildo inside her.
Imagining her fingers were the dildo, she slipped them home. Despite her desperate attempts to get away, she couldn’t move as her captor continued his invasion. She begged and pleaded until he silenced her by securing a large ball gag in her mouth. The dildo remained buried in her pussy.
He gripped the large, firm rod again and slid it rapidly in and out. The pace quickened, ignited hidden flesh, insisted on surrender and subservience. “That’s it, captive! Rock and roll. Let’s hear you whimper.”
She did, the helpless and now excited cries muffled by the ball parting her mouth.
The imaginary dildo continued to work her. Tireless, relentless, frenzied now, it powered its way not just into her channel but throughout her. Her mind seized and froze. No longer distracted by rational thought, she rode the invasion.
“Scream, submissive. Scream!”
“Beg for it.”
“You love this, don’t you? Say it!”
Please, please, let me come!
“What will you do for me?”
“I can’t hear you. If I let you explode, what will you do for me?”
“Any-thing,” she whimpered around the gag.
Her captor drove the artificial invader home, impaled her on it. Wave after wave of sensation ripped through her. She again screamed into her gag. Came.
As her shudders weakened, her fingers slid out of her. Her arms hung at her sides, and she panted. One clamp had fallen off. The other still pinched.
Silence enveloped her, and as she stumbled toward her bed, tears blurred her vision. There was no auctioneer, no masterful trainer. Despite the powerful and vital fantasy, she couldn’t imagine ever taking it beyond her lonely bedroom.