Slave Castle - Claire Thompson(1).pdf - ebook (Sherry) - bugnme5

SLAVE CASTLE

An Ellora's Cave Publication, DECEMBER 2003

Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

PO Box 787

Hudson, OH 44236-0787

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-757-3

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Edited by Sheri Ross CArucci

Cover art by Nathalie Moore

SLAVE CASTLE

Clare Thompson

Chapter 1

“No! I won’t do it!” Marissa’s lip trembled, but she stared defiantly at Tom. “You

can’t make me!”

“I don’t want to make you,” Tom said quietly, his voice rigid with self-control.

Marissa was naked, kneeling on her knees in front of him. Her arms were wrapped

around her torso in a protective gesture and her eyes were flashing. Tom sighed. Things

weren’t working out with Marissa, which was a shame, because he had to admit that he

was enormously attracted to her, and desperately wanted to own her.

Looking down on the impossible, gorgeous creature at his feet, he sighed. Marissa’s

hair was thick and loosely waved, copper-colored in the flickering light of the many

candles lit about the spacious master bathroom of Tom’s penthouse. It was that hair that

first attracted him at the party. It wasn’t auburn exactly, and certainly not red. No, if it

had to be defined, it was copper, burnished with gold and lustrously tousled now. Her

skin was smooth and soft, and her eyes were large and dark as she glared up at him,

daring him with her expression.

When she wanted to submit, when he ‘ordered’ her to do what suited her, Marissa

could be very submissive, or at least compliant. When he shackled her facedown to a

whipping board, legs lewdly splayed on either side, pussy spread against the leather-

covered wood, so he could whip her with his new heavy-tressed whip, she obeyed

without hesitation. And her moans and cries were so sexy as each blow from the whip

forced her little pussy against the leather, the lovely sting of the whip mingling so

deliciously with the mounting friction against her clit.

When he ordered her to kneel before him, naked, and hold perfectly still with her

mouth open like a little birds, she did so, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She was

like a statue of a goddess as he fucked her face, impaling her so that he knew she

couldn’t breathe until he pulled back enough to allow it.

But now, as he demanded something that she didn’t already want to do, something

that would actually require submission and not just the satisfaction of her masochistic

and sluttish nature, she balked. As with each other task or idea he devised that didn’t

meet specifically with her own desires, she had resisted, and then refused him. When he

had wanted to fuck her ass, Marissa had demurred, telling him she never ‘allowed’ a

man ‘back there.’

At first he had been challenged, and he had gotten a thrill from holding her down

and ‘forcing’ her. He had taken her virgin ass, and she had cried out and struggled, but

she had orgasmed, screaming his name, and he had realized pretty quickly that what

she was after was the fight. She wanted him to present suggestions and ideas that she

would refuse, so that he could then ‘force’ her to obey.

Slave Castle

And it had been fun, at first. What a wild two weeks they had had since that first

night he had brought her home. They had barely left the house, so focused on exploring

each other that their bodies were raw from the passion, literally sore to the touch, and

yet still the flame seemed to burn in him for her.

He still experienced a delirium of desire when their bodies came together, and he

could feel her sweat-slick breasts and belly flattened beneath him. It was as if a bolt of

electric current ran through both their bodies, and would only release them from each

other when it ceased, leaving long shuddering waves of pleasure in its wake.

They had met at his friend George’s house, where she had assured him that she was

submissive and wanted, no, was longing for, a ‘real’ master to take her in hand. She had

come with a group of girlfriends, but she had left with him. Against his own better

judgement, Tom had taken her home that very night. What ensued could barely be

classified as a Dominant/submissive love affair. From the beginning it was more of a

fight, with him demanding obedience, and her refusing, or daring him to ‘make her’,

which he would usually do, subduing her through sheer force. It had been exhilarating,

leading to wild and clashing sexual encounters that left them both completely spent.

In a word, it was fun, but it wasn’t what Tom was seeking. It was a game, and

clearly that was what this mysterious young woman was interested in. A game of cat

and mouse, where the mouse was completely in control.

Tom, on the other hand, wanted a truly submissive sexual slave who would obey

his every command and comply with his every whim, however outrageous. Someone

who would kiss the whip after he used it to flog her, someone who would live for the

chance to serve him and ache for his tender words.

Somehow Marissa had burned her way under his skin in a way that was very rare

for Tom, who liked to think of himself as surrounded by an invisible sheet of ice that

kept others at a proper distance. How had she slipped under the ice? When he’d met

her at the party, he had been ready to leave. Normally Tom was aloof at these events.

His friend George held them several times a year at his country estate in Orange

County. The guests were discreetly served by a household of slave girls and boys who

saw to everyone’s comfort, and also served as the evening’s entertainment, if the guests

weren’t sufficiently titillated with each other.

Tom casually enjoyed the parties, the freely flowing fine champagne and the buffets

piled with gourmet foods. The naked and semi-naked servants silently glided about the

rooms, serving food and graciously submitting to the gentle and not so gentle fondling

by the guests. He would usually pick a slave girl or two and take them off to an

adjoining bedroom for a little rough play and sex. But it meant nothing to him. He

wouldn’t ask their names, and he rarely thought of them again afterwards. It was just a

diversion, a relaxation after a hard week investing the money of certain wealthy New

Yorkers, which was what Tom did for a living, a very lucrative one.

Now on this late spring afternoon, Tom sat on his balcony overlooking the city. He

was nursing a gin and tonic, a rueful smile playing on his face. Marissa was still asleep

in his big king-sized bed, sprawled naked across the satin sheets. After their second day

Slave Castle - Claire Thompson(1).pdf

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