Part 3: Locked Away
Our story so far: After successfully pleasuring her Master's best friend, hypno-slave Jasmine waits to see if there will be consequences for disobeying an earlier order, or if she has made up for her indiscretion.
* * *
Jasmine recalled movies and TV shows where couples argued during a night out and then rode in awkward, painful, stressful silence on the way home.
The silence on her ride home with Devon, however, was not awkward, painful, or stressful. She thought he might outline whatever consequences he'd landed on for her transgression, but he didn't. She didn't pick up on any anger from her Master, but she kept quiet until he spoke, just a couple of blocks from their building.
"What did you think of my parents?" he asked.
Her lips parted, readying to respond. Any question from her Master should be answered, and considered as good as a command. But her mind was too slowed.
"Sorry," he said. "I know it's...especially after the day you've had." He laughed to himself and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "You're not expected to have opinions, especially not on the fly like that. I guess I just wanted to vent about them."
"Your mother was kind," Jasmine replied at last.
He laughed again. "Everyone thinks of her as the shrew who divorced my dad, but I'll tell you, I'd never seen her happier than when she finally left him. And do you know what else people think?" He looked at her as they waited at a red light.
"No, Master."
"That I get my shrewdness, my thoughtfulness, my everything, from my father. Because he's the one who heads a Forbes 100 company. But he's just been coasting along, doing whatever the board or I suggest, for years. Decades, in the case of the board. He's content to let things run themselves. And that's fine. But I resent that he's been able to keep this image when he's done nothing to maintain it, and barely anything to earn it in the first place."
Jasmine watched her owner as he spoke, hands folded neatly in her lap.
"It all came from her," he said, pointing in the vague direction of the building they'd driven from. "The unwillingness to settle into an expected life, to settle for a bad deal from our company's business partners. To settle for anything less than what I want." He reached out and gripped her chin. "You understand?"
"Yes, Sir," she said.
"Good girl." He released her and resumed driving. "Take the cuffs out of the glove compartment and put them back in your purse."
This time, she knew better than to hesitate. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she obeyed the command, zipping the clutch shut when she was finished. Just in time for him to pull up to the lobby of the building. Cesar hurried out to greet them.
"Welcome back, Mr. Devon!" he exclaimed as Devon and Jasmine exited the car. He took the keys from Devon and nodded to Jasmine. "Miss Jasmine." He paused, and she thought he might have recognized something in her that he hadn't seen before, but she could also tell he had no idea what it was, what it meant that her eyes looked the way they did, or the way her smile wasn't quite the same as an ordinary woman's. But just like Devon had pointed out earlier, it didn't matter. If he knew, if he didn't know. What could he do? She smiled. "Have a good rest of your evening," he said, breaking eye contact from her with a subtle blush.
"You too, Cesar," Devon said, wrapping an arm around Jasmine and leading her inside.
She felt a little bit like a purebred dog being brought in from a walk.
In the elevator, Devon was quiet again, not even acknowledging her presence. She held her purse to her front, feeling the cuffs through the fabric. Her fingers twitched, and she remembered how naked she'd felt when she'd first taken them off before leaving the penthouse. It felt so long ago now.
"After you," he said as the elevator arrived at their floor. It wasn't out of politeness or deference; after all, he preceded her in almost every way. But like a dog on her leash, her owner might sometimes prefer she walk ahead, especially if there was something he didn't want her to see.
She waited by the door to the penthouse, and he unlocked it. "Go on."
She stepped inside, keeping her back straight and her eyes forward. He took his time behind her. She heard the shifting of fabric, the opening of the foyer closet door, and guessed that he was taking off his jacket. He removed her wrap as well, and she heard him hanging both of them up. All the while, she stood still as a mannequin, her clit throbbing so hard she swore it was liable to jump right out of her.
He unzipped her dress and for the second time that day, her clothes fell to the floor at her feet, inches from the front door, leaving her with just her heels. But this time, she wasn't terrified or confused. The anticipation of whatever he might be planning was eating her alive. Whatever it was, whether she would enjoy it or not, she wanted him to get on with it. But her slave mind also wanted him to use her in whatever way he wanted. Even if that meant keeping her as still as she was. Even if it meant not saying a word to her, though she longed to hear his voice again.
"Purse, Jasmine."
There it was. She let herself smile slightly when he spoke, and handed it to him without turning to face him, because he hadn't told her to. He unzipped it, then there was shuffling as he must have put it in the closet. He took her hands without asking, and fastened the cuffs to each of her wrists, then crouched down and fastened the remaining two to her ankles. And just like that, her mind forgot how buckles worked again, shuffling the knowledge into a corner that she no longer had access to, until and if he needed her to take them off once more.
She would never not be his slave, but she was only truly at home if she was wearing the cuffs.
Finally, he walked around to face her, and met her eyes. "Let's go downstairs, shall we?"
It was cruel of him not to elaborate further than that, but then, he was her Master. He had every right to be cruel. "Yes, Sir."
She walked over the dress and followed him down the stairs, chin raised, hands clasped behind her back, chest pushed forward. She paused briefly at the bedroom door, but he walked past it, and she followed him to a different bedroom.
She tried to keep her face placid, but she couldn't help but betray some confusion as she faced the door of her programming room. Just hours ago, he'd told her that her conversion was complete.
But she said nothing, knowing better now.
"You're a good girl, Jasmine," he said. "I mean it." He opened the door. "Go sit."
The former spare bedroom had been remodeled to allow him easy access to her mind. A table and chair were the only furniture, with chains he could use to tie down her arms and legs and compel her to face a screen on the wall. There were also chains on the opposite wall, in case he'd rather restrain her that way.
She loved this room; it was stark, free of distractions or personality, but it was where she'd learned almost everything he'd taught her. But she also felt ashamed that she'd done something to make him want to use it now. She kept her eyes down as she went to the table and sat down at the chair, positioning her wrists and ankles near the chains.
