She sat on her coach waiting, staring blankly at the clock on the mantle. Its hands moved slowly, gradually ticking over the dark roman numerals, the expressive clock face telling of time passing, draining away. The silky material of her dress clung to the nervous beads of moisture forming on her skin. She was impatient by nature, and she knew that he was aware of this. It was just one of the many little ways he used to turn her own nature against her and play games with her psyche. It infuriated her.
The phone rang within the hour and she answered without hesitation. "It's me," his cool, unmistakable voice echoed through the phone lines. "I'm running a little late, but I will be over by ten, and I expect you to be ready for me when I arrive."
She heard the click of disconnection before she could reply, and sighed. She continued to wait.
The door was unlocked and the curtains were closed just as he had directed her. This pleased him immensely, and showed that, if nothing else, she was at least beginning to accept her situation. He entered the house and shut the door against the dark night. He found her in the living room, quietly curled on the coach, doing her best to look unphased. It was her wild eyes and the smell of fear that hung rancid in the air that gave her away.
"Darling, you look lovely," he said with sophistic sentimentality.
Her lips made a vague attempt at a smile, but her eyes glared, shining with disdain.
"Stand up please, darling," he said gently.
She simply sat on the coach with a glazed expression upon her face.
"Darling, stand up. I thought we were to be over this childish disobedience now that I have so clearly articulated to you the reality of your situation. Do I have to remind you yet again of its severity? Or will you stand up for me, as I requested?"
She reluctantly got to her feet, her pink dress rustling pleasantly around her legs. She was short, at most 5' 2'', but somehow still managed to have beautiful legs: firm, elegant, and supple, gracefully curving from thigh to calf. The man's cock hardened just looking at them.
He smiled. "Now remove your dress for me."
She paused but did not do as he asked.
"Darling," he said in a stern tone, "remember what is at stake."
She still made no move.
"I do not think you understand me. I have your identity in my hands. And thus your life and your future are mine to nourish or destroy as I see fit. If you please me, I will leave you unscathed once I am done with you. If you do not, yours is a fate worse than death."
She knew he spoke the truth. He had somehow discovered her past, a past she had buried long ago on the other side of the ocean. Until she was thirteen, she had lived in a glorious and secluded compound in the Middle East. She still did not know where. She had scanned many maps and thousands of high resolution satellite images trying to identify the place, but it was too well hidden in either the arid landscape or her memory. She did not know which. They had treated her well as a child, but she had never left the palace walls. Her mother was one of many women, always dressed in fine silk and adorned with jewelry. Her mother had named her Sumayya and loved her dearly. The wealthy man would sometimes take Sumayya's mother away or come into their room at night and tell her to leave as he leaned over her mother's body. One fateful night, he told her mother to leave instead of her. That night her body was ravaged for the first time.
It was then that her mother began to plan their escape. She cried and planned and cried and hid her tears. She shared with Sumayya only enough to get by, so she would not give them away. She was, however, careful to make sure her daughter knew that if they were discovered, terrible things would happen. Even if they were discovered after they had escaped, this man had ways of ensuring that they would either be returned to him or they would pay with their lives. They were never safe. Summaya believed her. She had heard stories about women fifteen years gone who had been returned and tortured. She had heard them all.
Thirteen days after Sumayya was first raped, she and her mother were smuggled out of the compound in the dead of night when the wealthy man was with another woman. Sumayya was carried on horseback to the outer wall of the compound where she and her mother were smuggled into a supply truck that was leaving. When they neared the guard station, they were able to find enough space in-between the boards in the front and the back of the truck for Sumayya to hide, but her mother could only lie amid the boxes and hope. It was fear that gave them away. The smell of fear and sweat that convinced the guards to look twice behind the boxes. They found Sumayya's mother and took her away. She did not protest, but only pleaded with her eyes for Sumayya to stay quiet. Sumayya cried all through the night as the trunk rumbled through the desert. This was how she had escaped.
She had ended up in America. She was a citizen. Her mother had taught her English at the compound, and she could pass for a native speaker. She was often told she was beautiful, with her long dark hair and shining, almond eyes. She cursed every acknowledgement of her beauty. *My mother was a concubine,* she thought. *I almost was. I would trade you my beauty for a past as sweet as yours.*
"Darling, are you listening?" The man looked at her impatiently. He finally slapped her. "Sumayya," he hissed in her ear, "do I really have to remind you?"
*No,* she thought, *but I will not do more than I must.* She did, however, remove her dress.
The man paused to take in the smooth curves of her body, relish the lovely milkiness of her skin. His eyes travelled over her, lingering on the lacy bra and panties which covered her most private parts.
"I can see this threat is only enough for the bare minimum of compliance," he snapped. "I see I will have to resort to other measures."
He smiled to himself. He knew how this went. Blackmail was enough for superficial submission and compliance, but not enough to break her. That would have to be done in other ways.
"Darling, bend over," he implored.
She hesitantly did so.
"No!" he shouted, slapping her ass hard. "All the way!"
She sighed and bent over until her hands could touch the ground. He proceeded to give her ass several hard slaps before pulling down her panties and examining her pussy from behind. She flinched as he stuck a finger inside of her. "Ah, I see that dastardly Sultan did a number on your poor little pussy," he said, jamming his fingers in, hard.
With this she leapt up in fury. "If this is what you are going to do with me I might as well be sent back to that compound," she spat.
He laughed. "Don't tell me you've forgotten all the stories, dear little Sumayya," he teased. "You know better, and so do I."
With that he pushed her to the floor and held her under the weight of his body. Her struggles were futile. "You will be punished for any little acts of rebellion such as those, my darling," he noted, casually pulling down the cup of her bra and pinching her right nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Sumayya gave a little yelp as he began to twist. He pinched harder.
"Listen carefully to what I have to say to you," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "If you do not comply in full, your world will become more painful than you can ever imagine. I have direct connections to the man you escaped from, and could return you to him for a sizeable reward. If you tell the police, I will tell him where you are and he will take you away. The only reason you are not back in his hands already is because you caught my fancy. If you behave for me I will leave you to live a normal life once I am done with you. If not, I will send you back to him."
Each of his points was emphasized by a forceful twist of the nipple that shot waves of eroticized pain through Sumayya's body. Sumayya tried to fight back the tears, but in the end they broke through, cascading down her face in torrents. She sobbed quietly and looked towards the floor.
The man ran his hand through her hair gently, delicately taking her chin in his hand and turning her face up towards his own. "There, there, my little Sumayya," he crooned. "I know it sounds awful, but it doesn't have to be that bad. It's true, that comment about your pussy was harsh, but I need to teach you to accept what I do and say and handle yourself, even when it seems cruel. If you give me what I want and submit to me in full, I will treat you well. I promise. Only listen to me and do your best to obey and no real harm will befall you."
Sumayya's breathing slowed as he stroked her hair. She was still indignant, but knew her indignation was unwise. She looked into his deep brown eyes, and saw something almost soft there, under all the hardness. She knew he was telling the truth. She would suffer much more if she disobeyed him.
"Now," said the man, "let's go over some of my basic expectations. You will address me as Master and do as I say. You will ask permission for all actions. You will only do what I explicitly allow. Simple enough for you?"
She looked up at him and nodded.
"Respond to me verbally," he ordered.
"Yes," she said, quickly adding "Master" when she saw his expectant eyes.
