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    He finally turned her struggling body around inside his grasp so that he held her tightly against his chest.

    "How about I let you off the chains for awhile, huh?"

    "Off the chains? Why would you do that?" She was panting hard, her breath short.

    "To be nice, doll."

    "Stop calling me doll!" she thundered again and tried to bite his hand.

    He didn't make another move, but held her close until the ferocity of her body finally wasted away.

    To her surprise, he eased his grasp and began to unlock the four padlocks attached to her cuffs. By the time he was done, they were both sitting on the mattress, she still inside his arms and under his control.

    "Why did you do that?" she wondered.

    "Why not?"

    "Why not!" She pulled from his arms, and turned around, rising to her feet so swiftly that she caught him off guard. "Is that all the fuck you can say? Is that how you explain yourself? You fucking bastard…think you are so fucking dominant…as if you can justify your criminal behavior."

    "Hey, doll, calm down."

    He laughed as he rose to his feet. She'd missed her chance for escape, a fact that he saw in her darting eyes.

    "Go on, try it. Get out of here. You just run right out that door and see how far you get. Go on, go on…" he shooed her off.

    She looked at his face, at the open door and the hallway she'd never even seen. This room was her home, her life for weeks and nothing more. She wasn't stupid; she knew he would never let her leave. But she had to try, if for no other reason than to back down now would admit defeat. He'd have to take her, to force her back, if that's what he wanted, that's what he'd have.

    She took off running, feeling five seconds of glorious freedom as she tore down the hallway, past closed doors, to the closed door at the far end of the long corridor. She tried the knob – locked! Then another door, also locked, and then another and another frantically making her way back to where she started, where he was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his cocky face – at least until the amusement waned.

    Scowling, he reached out and dragged her back by the hair. "That's it,
doll
. That's all the farther you get!"

    She struggled again, aware that he was wearing her down, but she couldn't stop; her mind was lost inside the battle. And that battle between them waged on until he finally flung her to the floor, and dragged her by the hair, then let go. She was about to tackle his ankles, when he suddenly fell on top of her body, trapping her beneath him, his mouth pressed to her lips and his lips opening wide.

    They were wet and soft and demanding lips that had kissed her a hundred times with the same stirring affect they had on her now. Her unbridled sexual body was shaking itself loose from a long drought. She begged herself to stop, but despite every effort to throw him off, her master just kept kissing her on the mouth, and then down her neck, then on her mouth again, until she felt her hot anger transform to passion. Her sex screamed and her legs opened, her mons pressing upward into his denim-covered groin, where beneath his jeans his determined cock pulsed hard.

    As he wriggled back against her, she felt the hot spasm in her pussy grow deeper, longer, louder.

    "Please!" she whimpered urgently. She turned her face away.

    "Please, what, doll? Say it. Tell me what you want."

    She wouldn't talk, but kissed him more.

    "Say it, baby. You get what you want this time."

    She wasn't proud of her weakness, but she said what he wanted to hear. She needed him now as much as he wanted her, "Your cock, please, sir." She put her palms on his cheeks and kissed his lips again.

    He wasn't about to deny her or himself. He fooled with the button-crotch just long enough to have his organ freed, then plunged the tumescent meat into her coming pussy, battering her against the hardwood beneath her with violent thrusts. He spasmed hard after the tenth thrust, with his body tensing as tautly as hers.

    "Goddammit, slut," he groaned, just before collapsing against her.

    Maybe she passed out, or simply drifted so far afield that she didn't realize what was happening until the hammering sound jerked her back.

    Her eyes opened and she turned her head to see her master pounding thick nails through a small ring on her wrist cuff, virtually nailing her to the floor. Not until the second wrist was nailed down did she fully comprehend what was happening to her. She didn't even try to struggle until he was nailing down her second ankle, and then the first protest burst from her throat.

    "My God! What are you doing!"

    "Just an object lesson in containment. I don't like it when you try to escape, doll. I have a pine box, looks a lot like a coffin with breathing holes, if you'd prefer that."

    "NO, please!" she looked up, frightened.

    "Oh, so distressed. But I'm afraid you're going to have to pay for your bad behavior,
doll.
My sweet little windup doll. It'll give you some time to think about that during your long hours alone." His retort was as loathsome as ever, his smug grin as triumphant, and the sexy swagger of his jean-clad ass leaving the room was enough to cause her crotch to spasm another dozen times.

***

"Hey, kitty, kitty Kat…you gonna sleep all day?"

    Her eyes popped open at the sound of his voice. With the feel of something tickling her crotch her body awoke, as sexually hungry as it had been before they fucked. She must have passed out from exhaustion. She tugged on her wrists and ankles, proving that she was still nailed to the floor, then stared into her captor's face, unaware of how much her eyes revealed to him, how the desperate physical longing played out through every atom of her body. Her pussy ached, hot, alive, dancing madly on the tip of his cane that teased the pungent, swollen folds of skin between her sex lips. He ran the cane along her clitoris, and that engorged bud sent violent spasms upward through her lower belly.

    "Oh, my god, yes!" she cried, as a sudden spasming climax rolled through her like a great surging wave. "Oh, yesyesyesyesyesssssssssssss! Ohmygod…mygod…mygod…" then her voice trailed off as her fists clenched and her muscles went rigid again, straining against her unyielding bonds. She finally collapsed back against the hardwood floor, still nailed, but pleasurably vanquished.

    He fell to her face seconds later, straddling her head and pressing his erection to her lips. He didn't need to pry them open, but he did shove his organ into her mouth, leaning overtop her head with his hips coming down, and his cock fucking her face as it reached deep to the back of her gagging throat.

    "Yeah, baby, I'm cumming hard, you slut!" he roared, thrusting deliberately hard until he finally held his groin tight against her face and clenched up, with his steamy juices shooting down her throat.

    He pulled away dripping, leaving the remnants of his come on her lips and chest.

    Giving himself no time to recover, he was on his feet again and standing over her, looking down.

    "If you behave yourself, you get magazines and books to read. If you don't behave, you get the cage. It's your choice," he informed her, then he left the room.

***

Her master buggered her ass every night for a week, on the mattress. She was careful to behave herself, and with so much willing surrender taking over her once fractious spirit, she only rarely felt any rebellion against him rise up – and even then, her bouts of anger disappeared before they could become another full blown rant.

    Piped in sexual music started about sunset every day, and sometimes the sound of a woman's voice could be heard repeating a mantra that she was forced to learn…

    
"I am my master's willing slave. I am my master's slave. I live only to serve his every need, his every
wish, his fondest desire. I am nothing but his chattel and this arouses me…I become orgasmic thinking of
him, I become orgasmic in his company. I am my master's willing slave…I am my master's slave… "
The voice almost sounded like her own voice synthesized with the erotic background music.

    On most days, while the music played, he left her with a vibrator strapped inside her crotch, the power on. She'd lie half awake for hours in a state of altered consciousness, somewhere between sleep and sexual ecstasy, waiting for him, for her master to appear again so that she could fall into his arms and let him take her on another breathless ride. When the music and the background voice went silent for a time, she'd think only of her eventual rescue, believing that any minute this nightmare would be over. However, as the days wore on, she did this less often; it became more difficult to see the images of her life before her capture, or to remember what it felt like to be free.

S
CENE
N
INE

"Miss Moon, I appreciate you taking the time to see me." As Alain Danvers introduced himself, she held out her graceful hand for him to shake.

    "It's really no bother," she looked up, a cheery expression on her sweet face. "Although I really don't see how I can help you."

    "Well, we'll see." He smiled, and sat down in the seat opposite her at the linen-covered table.
Cairos
was her idea. And a pleasant one. He hadn't been there in years. Nor had he seen Natalie Moon in years, although he did recognize her almost immediately. Her sandy blonde hair was held back with a clip, and she wore a simple grey business suit with a pink blouse, disguising even a hint of the sexual woman she was underneath. Ana had led him to believe that she'd turned away from the submissive desires that had led her into forced slavery under Perry Livingston. He wondered if this was so.

    Meanwhile, he let the awkward moments reacquainting themselves move naturally, at first staring around the smoky restaurant, then letting his gaze turn back. He smiled again. "The place never changes."

    "As elegant as ever."

    "You come here often?"

    "Only when I meet with police detectives." Her smile was fluid, as delicate as her hands and what seemed to be a fragile spirit. Ana had assured him that Natalie Moon had not been broken by Perry Livingston, and he had to agree; there was still a vibrant woman behind her sometimes demure exterior.

    "Well, I really should get straight to the point and not waste your time. I'm not particularly good at small talk." He leaned in casually, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. "I need to know about Perry Livingston."

    "Yes, I know." She immediately sighed. "But, I'm afraid, there's little I can tell you that you don't already know."

    "Well, why don't you try me? The more light you can shed on the man, the more likely it will be that we can find Kat Bloom."

    "Oh, you won't find her," she shook her head. "Not unless Perry wants her to be found. I was with him eight years and no one ever got close."

    "But certainly you have some idea of where you were held?"

    "No. I didn't. We used to joke about that – that I was living at the end of earth." She smiled. "I was somewhere in the middle of trees, that's the only reference I can give you because occasionally I got to look out the window. But I wasn't in the same location the entire time, so you can expect that he moves around, especially if he thinks you're on his tail."

    "You thought someone was on his tail?"

    "I couldn't say. Perry never said."

    Alain got the feeling that she'd rehearsed her answers beforehand. "Miss Moon, any details you can give me will be helpful."

    "Sometimes I was in a basement underground. For a couple of years, I was bound in an attic, and there were other rooms, but the only thing I saw of the outside world were trees, a forest of trees, mostly evergreens. Probably North America, but I can't even be sure of that. And you can't be sure that he'll hold Kat Bloom in the same places I was held." She spoke in a breezy, easygoing manner, as if she was trying to convince him that Perry had had little affect on her. "Perry never impressed me as a man who put down roots.

    Alain poked around at the salad, which had suddenly appeared in front of him – he hadn't remembered ordering it – then he looked up again into Natalie's soft cinnamon eyes, trying to decide where to take his next question.

    "Why did he let you go?" he finally went on.

    "I think that's Perry's style, don't you?" she said, as she took a spoonful of fish chowder. "The myth, anyway. He captures women, takes what he can get, works every angle that intrigues him, then dumps his conquests on a quiet city street and vanishes. Four times now, isn't it?"