Enslaved By The Pen Ch 08

Chapter Eight: Secured in Submission

My enthusiasm at finally being furnished clothing was transitory. The soft feel of the t-shirt Gabe offered in reward that night was only an occasional indulgence, dependent on Gabe's benevolence, rather than a new default state of dress. Nudity returned with vigour, despite my protestations. Once, I had cavalierly joined Gabe for breakfast in a sweater and jeans, a litmus test of Gabe's temperament. After the denim was immediately stripped off my lower torso, Gabe yanked the collar of the sweater over my head and behind my neck so that my breasts were uncomfortably thrust out. He pulled the sleeves back and tied me strait-jacket style.

"Only with my permission, Amelia." His tone was gruff.

"Yes Master," I only mumbled as Gabe forced me to don the wool garment, awkwardly contorted with limbs entangled for the remainder of the day.

Days later, Gabe laid out clothes for me. Rather than the comforting threads of my wardrobe, I was presented with what I would realize was punishment clothing. It was meant to serve as an educating reminder that would bring me into compliance, always to his will. "Since you're so desirous of wearing clothing Amelia, I shall oblige. You will wear these today."

Initially, I raised no objections. The satin of the bodysuit as it slid through my fingers felt luxurious. I longed to be caressed by its velvety smoothness. My eyes enlarged in opposition as Gabe revealed the burlap-lined interior. The scratchiness of the material would agitate directly against my flesh, abrading my nipples, and scraping against my labia. Before he placed me into the garment, he attached a crotch rope to the bondage rope belt he had already tied, a further indignity. Gabe tied overhand knots that he strategically placed against my clit, over my vaginal opening, and over my anus. The rope itself pulled uncomfortably tight between my labia and into the crease of my buttocks. When the body suit was fastened securely against me, my skin immediately prickled from the fabric, while the knotwork irritated my nether regions.

I crawled at Gabe's insistence. The slower gait of my shuffling ensured the magnitude of my misdeed would imprint upon my body in the most appreciable way. The coarseness of the cloth irritated me with each lift of my leg and drag of my knee, as I gingerly hauled my reluctant body at Gabe's direction. My awkward attempts to part my legs as I crawled, did little to minimize the coarseness of the knots pressing against my clitoris and anus. The bondage mittens Gabe forced me to don hindered any attempts to alleviate the nuisance that inflamed my skin.

"The bodysuit remains," Gabe noted as he slid the crotch rope with painstaking deliberation between my slit, ensuring to press the knots in a final act of malevolence before their removal.

It was only by enthusiastically encasing Gabe's cock within the wet warmth of my mouth and swallowing him and his seed deeply within my throat, did he agree to my negotiation of removing the crotch rope after suffering under its fiendish touch. After an hour, I could no longer tolerate the heightened sensitivity as my clitoris throbbed and my anus burned. As I pleaded my case, Gabe only reached to cup my cheek, my eyes staring deep into his as he doubled the thrusts of his groin against my lips numbing me into compliance. He spurted into my throat. His only response as I continued gagging on his seminal fluid was to smile at my obvious demonstration of subservience, as he softened in my mouth, observing the sincerity of my efforts.

"It's interesting that my girl so loves taking my cock that she'd offer up her mouth for about anything now, isn't it? A far cry from when you first slipped to your knees, and I had to practically force it down your throat." He withdrew, the slick head of his penis leaving a sticky trail against my cheek. "Tell me again how much you love the taste of me little one."

I closed my eyes, swallowing my dignity. The ignominy that was foundational to Gabe's repertoire of breaking me cast a psychic wound on my self-esteem. "Little one loves it when Master fucks her mouth. It's a privilege for little one to taste Master." A slow path of wetness slid down my cheek at the debasement Gabe insisted I suffer at his behest. My submission, perpetually a spectacle for Gabe's edification. Moments such as these threatened to undermine the tenacity with which I embraced my submission. While I may have unquestionably acknowledged to myself that I was submissive in nature, the temerity that Gabe exhibited in his claim on me made my fantasies of disembowelling him in retribution more acceptable.

After a day of being encased in punishment clothing, I welcomed the vulnerability of nudity. Gabe's punishment was diabolical and provided an unequivocal reminder of why clothes were a luxury, of which I was not a party to its privilege. I implored Gabe to return me to my unfettered state of adornment. "Master, please, I long to be nude in front of you. I don't need clothes. I love Master's collar and cuffs. Please allow little one's body to accentuate them with pride again."

"Negotiating are we Amelia?" Gabe's eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched me squirm.

"No Master, just offering an alternative perspective." I shrank, detecting the barest trace of malice tainting Gabe's words. Bargaining had been a miscalculation.

Gabe left only to return with a cache of toys that he unceremoniously deposited in front of me. "Show me how much you want out of your clothes." He held up the butt plug. "Beg me to shove the plug into you so deep and twist the petals open so wide that you'll weep for the pain."

I strangled back a sniffle as I sanctioned Gabe to return me to my place of defilement. It mattered naught whether I chose to abide by his will. I wore his collar. He held the key. In the end, Gabe's authority was validated as he inserted the locking butt plug, and a similarly substantial dildo, while electing to keep my skin prickled raw against the burlap. He zipped up the body suit again. "To teach you that your submission is not of expectation, but of service. You may have seen yourself as the submissive you were destined to be Amelia. You haven't truly learned what being

my

submissive entails." I suffered for the entirety of the week, silently accepting my correction with grace. My shoulders only hunched in resignation when Gabe limited further access to my closet by installing a lock. I never asked Gabe for clothing again.

My rebellions, Gabe informed me, were expected. Being minor infractions, they didn't jeopardize his ownership of me. Rather, they gave a liveliness to my submission and a path to my "perfection". The enthusiasm with which I embodied my submission encouraged Gabe. Perhaps, he believed that in unearthing my long-sublimated nature on my terms, translated to acknowledging Gabe's destined mastery over me. I never disabused him of that misconception. I was ever complicit as his co-conspirator. In response, he loosened his control as he became more secure in his authority over me. The door was left unlocked when Gabe was home. I was permitted to wander the porched area. I didn't trespass beyond the arbitrary boundary lest I risk having that freedom rescinded. The appearance of acquiescence continued to be important.

In a taunting bit of humour, Gabe had fashioned a sign. "It has been 21 days since the last escape attempt". I knew he meant it as a joke, but I was so enraged by the cruelty of his obliviousness that I flung the door open and stepped onto the porch into the cooling weather ready to walk off his estate once again. The howls of wind swirled around me.

"Shall I get my belt now or later?" Gabe dryly commented with book in hand.

I started walking. Gabe trailed close behind. The buckle of his belt as it unclasped was all the reminder I needed that Gabe's unforgiving hand would wound me more severely than my last attempt. I turned and slammed the door in protest. Gabe only chuckled at my dramatic flourish.

My continuing obsequiousness was a component of Operation Freedom, which I had resurrected with exuberance after that night's realization on how I could escape Gabe. Plodding along in grovelling compliance with a sprinkling of defiance was no longer sufficient for believability or liberty. Gabe's admission to me following my own conflicted one, confirmed to me that he would detain me forever if circumstances permitted. The longer I remained, the more elusive escape appeared. This was not due entirely to Gabe's physical imprisonment of me. The forcefulness of his hold lessened, but his mental capture of me increased. A true admission of my submission was, it appeared, intoxicating. My mind was resilient, but it was not impenetrable, particularly when my feelings intensified with each touch of his hand, despite my denials.

As the season changed to winter, my opportunities to enjoy outside decreased. The snow and cold proved an inconvenient impediment to my habit of picnicking and lounging with a book on the porch. Rather, every morning I would stand outside without a jacket and breathe the chilled air deeply into my lungs. The coldness on my prickled skin, and the frostiness of the wooden slats on my bare feet, reminded me that I was still sentient. But the exercise also served as a test of endurance to see how long my body could realistically tolerate the cold, and whether running was ever feasible. The chill penetrated beyond my bare flesh so deeply, that I inevitably sought the refuge of Gabe's warm abode. I didn't think of enacting my escape through flight. The inclement weather proved an impossible hurdle to freedom. The impracticality of winter's frigidity made any attempt at fleeing a foolhardy exercise. Without a jacket or boots, I would succumb to hypothermia long before I managed to decommission the perimeter fence. Escape would have to wait for warmer climes and more strategic ploys than mere flight alone. The wind however, proved invaluable in readying my mind for battling Gabe in a duel for my freedom. As the cold pierced my naked form in place, I could think, and formulate, and dare to dream of home. In those minutes as frigidity warmed my enthusiasm, I devised my journey to freedom.

I wasn't prepared to stop running from him. He was unwilling to stop confining me. I feared that "training" was a euphemism for a definition of readiness to be determined at his whim, always shifting, never achieved. Each milestone I'd accomplish, he would push the post of training further away, ever unobtainable. The fact that I was willing to be plugged anally while also donning hessian-lined clothing should have been sufficiently convincing. It wasn't. Gabe wanted to possess every thought, every movement, every cell of my being. He wanted me to slip under his hold so resolutely that I was unwilling or unable to struggle against the drowning sensation.

My strategy was a three-pronged plan that I was convinced would repatriate my autonomy. I would continue to lean into my submission for myself, teasing my limits at my command, but at the appearance of Gabe's. My enthusiasm towards submission was genuine. Authenticity lent credence to Gabe's assumptions and paved a foundation of credibility. The thrill of being on my knees was undeniable. His misinterpretation was my boon, and one that I never dispelled. I would also convince Gabe that I loved him. It wouldn't be difficult but needed to be strategically organic in its appearance. I was admittedly conflicted. My admission was the truth that night in bed. I had developed feelings for him. Months of captivity, under his hand, being beholden to his caresses, and his orgasms fostered a unique emotional dependency. He brought me pleasure but also the pain of loss. I simultaneously cared for and hated him.

Finally, I realized the necessity of writing myself out of my predicament. Gabe was enslaving me by my own words. He hoarded the pages of my writing, not only of the fantasies I penned in my ersatz apartment, but of all my published work. Every fantasy he enacted during my captivity, was of my own fertile imagination. My stories served as both inspiration and justification for my imprisonment. I was, in essence, enslaving myself. My own desires served as rebuttal to my freedom. The key to my emancipation would be achieved through my own written manufacture.

My ploy necessitated an accompanying level of duplicitousness. I was playing the long game. Whether the strategy would be effective was debatable. Most of my manipulations achieved meagre gains. I had to appeal to Gabe's compassion, which I realized was fully intact when we shared the intimacy of discussion. He envied my ability to empathize, even to him. I needed to demonstrate to him the enormity of loss that he inflicted on me for his own gain. It was a giddy sense of jubilation. I had formulated a plan, that, while hopelessly misinformed, had tangible steps, compared to my past manipulations, whose efficacy was nebulous at best.

Plying sexual favours in lieu of modest gains was still a component of my revised strategy and one that emphasized my willingness to surrender to Gabe. Gabe appreciated my imaginativeness in testing the limits of my submission, which as predicted, he erroneously interpreted as a deepening devotion to him. Since being bound in Shibari, I had become more curious about rope bondage and implored Gabe to tie me up and suspend me.

"Not too tight, little one?" Gabe ran his fingers under the box tie harnessed around my chest, ensuring the security of his ties, and that nothing pinched. My arms were bound behind me in a simple column tie around both wrists with hands on opposing forearms. I shook my head and watched him wrap the jute around my lower thigh and ankle, before running two up lines to suspend my leg at a 90-degree angle to my torso. Another length was connected to the box tie and then to the bar running parallel to the ceiling. I was partially suspended in a one-legged position, my other foot raised slightly on tiptoe. The cold steel of the three-ball anal hook entered me, and Gabe connected it with another length of rope to my braided hair, pulling tight. My eyes closed as my neck jerked back from the tightened slack. I revelled in the feeling of the push and pull of rope as it held me partially suspended, weightless yet heavy at once. I savoured the touch of the jute as it pressed against me. The helplessness of being bound added to my arousal. The occasional draw of the hook served as a grounding touch into the softness of flesh.

Gabe only watched as I sank into the intensity of the experience, his fingers occasionally grazing against my skin. His breath hot behind my ear. "You like feeling helpless don't you little one?" His tongue drew a wet trail up my exposed nape. "Are you wet just thinking about how deeply that hook is in you Amelia?" Gabe jostled the hook, digging the balls into my rectum, sliding them around, emphasizing their full capture of me. "Do you want more Amelia? Hmmm?"

I panted as Gabe patted my glistening and puffy pussy lips. "Yes...please Master."

Gabe pushed the first magnetic Ben Wa ball into my vagina, followed by the second. Their weighted forms stimulating as the magnetism connected the balls in a rolling dance. Gabe grabbed my pussy and gently squeezed, shifting the balls inside of me. Their heaviness delightfully massaging the walls of my pussy. "Whose cunt is this little one?" Gabe's fingers partially entered and exited, forcing the balls deeper, moving them within me.

"Yours...Master." My breaths stuttered.

"Squeeze your cunt closed. If you allow them to fall, I will punish you." He grasped the puffiness of my nether lips in emphasis before he removed his hand from my moist interior. He stepped away, and only watched as my body slipped deeper under the pull of being bound.

Intoxicated in my suspension, I felt a series of short, light taps of a crop's tip against the skin of my exposed inner thighs. Gabe dragged the crop sensually against my flesh, before pressing it unexpectedly against my pussy lips. I concentrated on the flick of the tip and the shocking sting as it glanced my pussy. The swats grew increasingly sharper under Gabe's hand, until I gasped out in pain. The leather receded from my flesh before striking my breasts. Gabe interspersed small light flicks with harder slaps. I struggled against the ropes. He slid the length of the crop back and forth against my skin, as if foreshadowing his intentions. He pulled the implement back and struck me using the rod of the crop on the back of my thighs and on my buttocks. I could feel the welts rising to kiss the surface of the skin in response. Gabe was deliberate, methodical.

The tip of the crop traced my jawline, lifting my eyes to meet Gabe's. His pupils dilated, voracious as they absorbed my pleading form. "More little one? Does little one want more pain?"

It was exhilarating. I could only nod before my tongue formed words. "Yes Master. Little one wants more pain."

Gabe slapped the crop's tip against my flesh with force, striking my breasts, glancing across my nipples, attacking my thighs, before focusing on my buttocks, creating a sharp, stinging blaze of agony with each swing of his arm. Gabe delivered steady, rapid strokes against my skin. My body stuttered against the ropes in protest, the sensation burning like fire on my flesh.

I closed my eyes savouring the sensations, moaning. I felt the drip of heat in between my breasts before I recognized what it was. Unable to crane my neck, Gabe whispered in my ear that he had placed a burning candle in the rope strings above me. The candle would drip consistently in one spot. Gravity would pull the hot wax down onto my body. I gasped each time the wax dripped, splattering onto my flesh spreading out in slow rivulets. The anticipation inflamed me. I was euphoric with sensation. Time elapsed. And then, Gabe pushed the engorged head of his cock against my parted labia, partially into my slit. He held himself there, teasing me with the thickness of his manhood. He cut an imposing figure as he stood above me, his hand gripping his cock, barely spearing himself into my welcoming folds.

"Master, please just fuck me," I pleaded. Gabe only watched me struggle in my desire.

"Look at you, spread open, bound by rope, hooked in the ass, impaled on my cock, your cunt filled. Tell me you crave it. Tell me how much you love feeling pain and pleasure by my hand."

The press of the rope, its tactile sensation on my body felt like a sensuous hug, confining and erotic at once. The anticipatory drip of the hot wax, and the tug of the anal hook as my body reacted to the spatters sent pleasure radiating to my core. It was an ineffable, overwhelming sense of desire that my body sought. I could only moan out my need, unable to deny the truth.

"I love it Master," I could only gasp out.

"Tell me that you're mine." Gabe's voice velvety smooth in its request.

"I'm yours Master. Yours." I was delirious with need. Gabe didn't ask the question he desperately wanted me to deny. He didn't inquire if I would leave him. He knew I would.

Gabe stood motionless, insufferably patient as the bulbous glans exerted the slightest amount of pressure against my nether lips. I panted in exasperation. The satiny folds of my cunt clutched in anticipation for his manhood. "What are you planning Amelia? Hmm? I know my little submissive. I see the glint in your eyes. I see you brimming with an excitement I hadn't seen in many weeks. Why so happy little one? Planning another escape attempt?"

My eyes snapped open as Gabe pulled my head painfully upwards. The hook dug into me, and I mewled in pain. "Answer me, Amelia. What are you planning?" He had become my interrogator, his voice intimidating in its sudden seriousness.