His Black Pearl by Jena Cryer Read Free Book Online

dare to
hope for a quick rescue, but no. He hardly even gives me a passing
glance before turning back to the daffodils.
    Bastard.
    I follow White Coat into a small building on
the edge of the hill. Inside the air is cool. Plain white tiles
cover the floor while stainless steel cabinets rise up against pale
blue walls.
    I’d become so accustomed to the elegance of
the mansion that this almost aseptic atmosphere seems foreign.
Behind me, the door closes. Only then do I notice the cages.
    Oh, God, the cages.
    There are two of them. Each one is the same
shiny, stainless steel as the cabinets beneath them, and they’re
big, too big to house any pet other than the human variety.
    Warm urine runs down my legs.
    White coat looks down at me, and when I
realize what I’ve done, I cower against the floor. He’s going to
kill me. Oh, sweet Lord, he’s going to kill me.
    I’m shaking hard when his hands wrap around
my waist, but instead of a throttling, he just carries me to a
large steel tub in the back of the room.
    I don’t fight him.
    I stay in the position he places me. On hands
and knees I watch him unclip my leash before fastening my collar to
a two-foot tall pole at the end of the tub. He removes the straps
from my thighs and the greaves from my legs. He even takes off my
gloves.
    My heart pounds.
    I want to tear off my collar. I want to jump
out of this tub. I want to fight my way past him and run screaming
across the hillside.
    But I don’t.
    He’s too big, too strong. I could never get
past him. And if the front door is locked…
    My gaze travels back to his crop, and I
tremble again. He grabs my wrist.
    My breath catches when he lifts up my hand,
but he doesn’t hurt me. He just inspects my fingers one by one.
Each one tingles and burns when he wiggles it, but he’s careful not
to bend it too far.
    Maybe he won’t hurt me anymore.
    He reaches inside the cabinet above me, and
when he pulls out something heavy and silver, I squeeze my eyes
shut. Playtime is over. He’s going to yank out my fingernails. He’s
going to cut off my fingers. He’s going to—
    A sharp snap echoes through the room.
    I keep waiting for the pain, but when I
finally steal a peak at my hands, no blood or mutilation awaits me.
Fingernail clippings fall to the bottom of my tub. White Coat
carefully trims each nail down to a nub, and when he’s finally
satisfied with his work, he moves on to do the same to my feet.
    After he’s done, he rubs my cunt.
    “Sona,” he says with each stroke. “Sona.”
    By the time my bath begins, I don’t know if
I’m crying out of shame or relief.
    He fills my tub with only a few inches of
water. He spreads soap across my breasts, my crotch, my ass. He
parts my thighs as he shaves every inch of my legs and pussy.
    My whole body belongs to him now, and I keep
waiting for him to take it.
    But he doesn’t.
    He hesitates for a moment before removing my
gag. His eyes are on me. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, but I
don’t. I just flex my jaw and keep quiet until those scowling lips
curve up into something almost resembling a smile.
    “Sona,” he says once more, and as I let him
inspect my teeth and gums, I try to tell myself I’m still in
control.
    You’re Adair Bartlett, I repeat over and over
again. These people have taken your body, but your mind is still
your own. All you have to do is keep it, and you’ll figure a way
out of this eventually.
    Once he finishes with my mouth, he moves back
to my body. His fingers massage whole rivers of oils and lotions
into my skin. The scent of lavender drips from my hair as he snips
away the dead ends and combs out any remaining tangles. When he’s
done, he braids my locks into a twisting brown coil that wraps
tightly around my head.
    God forbid even my hair should have any
freedom.
    He drains the tub and dries me off.
    Something cool touches my backside, and when
I jerk away, he merely places a hand on my back. I go still.
    “Sona.”
    My pulse races.
    He