A sequel to “Sabah”
Slowly, like an Artic dawn, consciousness seeped back into Rod's addled but languorously contented brain. He attempted to open his eyes, but soon gave up the effort. He felt weak, as if suffering from a high fever. That would explain the wild delusions he half remembered. He tried to recall them, but all he could manage were feelings - fear, warmth, protection. Soon even this effort exhausted him and he drifted back to sleep.
The next time he awoke, he managed to open his eyes fully. Light fell through the window at a sharp angle, indicating mid-day. Rod was rather proud of himself for this deduction. He must have been unconscious -- it didn't feel like mere sleep -- for many hours, or could it be days? He wasn't strong enough to lift his head, but he could roll it from side to side to gain some idea of his surroundings. The bed where he lay was in a rather sumptuous room -- heavy curtains, dark wood, cabinets and chests around the walls. That seemed to rule out a hospital and injury in an accident. He had been driving last night, or that night, right? Yes, driving in the snowstorm when the car broke down. He tried to remember more. The large, dark house on the hill, a woman, who had made him feel warm and safe and then so sleepy. Yes, sleepy. The memory lulled him and he closed his eyes again in slumber.
When Rod opened his eyes the next time, he realized he had eaten, or had been fed. A tray was beside the bed with what looked like the remains of soup and an empty glass. Morning light entered the room. Another day, at least, had passed and he felt stronger. The room was the same, but different as if it had been tidied up. A hint of perfume hung in the air, the perfume of the woman who made him feel so warm and sleepy and -- that was it -- horny. His cock stirred as he remembered her smile, the cleft of her breasts, the thin gown that clung to her voluptuous body. She was indefinitely older than he and exuded an air of having had many men and of wanting him. He remembered a feeling of danger, of knowing he should not to look at her, but she had wanted him to look; her smile, her eyes, her body had MADE him look. It was so confusing -- and arousing -- thinking was difficult. He relented for a while and lay still absorbing the peace and healing and slight arousal he felt surrounding him.
He was not aware of having drifted off again, but when he turned over he saw a different plate on the tray and he was wearing a different pajama. He felt refreshed, as if he had been bathed. The perfume was stronger and he sensed it emanated from the other side of the bed, which was rumpled. He tried again to remember what had happened that night. Scenes without before and after floated into his mind. The warmth, feeling protected, the woman's strong arms holding him to her breasts. She had cooed as he fondled and suckled her breasts. And she had been on top of him, making love to him, coming to multiple orgasms before making him shoot his seed into her. Later or before? She had pressed a sweet liquid to his lips and told him to sleep. He didn't want to drink. He somehow knew it was drugged, he didn't want her to put him to sleep, but she was touching his penis as she spoke and it felt too good to refuse her. She smiled as he sipped the liquid and she laid him back. She spoke in a dreamy singsong as drowsiness overtook him. He felt more and more at ease and allowed her to cuddle him close to herself. Fighting sleep, he succumbed in her arms, his head buried in her breasts as she gently fondled him.
Again he awoke without knowing how long he slept. The curtains were drawn closed, but he believed it was day. His strength was definitely returning. He felt able to sit up. He tried to do so, but fell back. Immediately he realized it was not from weakness; he was tied to the bed. Soft cuffs on his writs and ankles were attached to the four corners of the bed by strong cords. They had sufficient play to allow him to turn to each side and were not really uncomfortable, but he was restrained. He was a prisoner – HER prisoner!
Panic flared and he again tried to sit up, then to pull hard on the cords. He only succeeded in setting off a chime alarm. Continued pulling led to nothing. The chime stopped.
"Good morning, love," said a recorded voice. "I'm glad you are feeling stronger and I am sorry I can't be with you right now. Please forgive my having to restrain you. I have to ensure you stay with me and, as I both feared and hoped, taming your will has taken longer than the recovery of your strength. Please don't tire yourself in fruitless struggle, my sweet. I've only done this to make sure you don't leave me. Just relax and in a few days I can free you from these bonds."
The woman's calm voice, Sabah's voice -- he remembered her name -- only set him to more desperate struggle. The chime sounded again.
"Oh, my pretty lover, I don't want to have to do this, but I cannot let you continue struggling that way. You will only exhaust and harm yourself. I want your strength for myself, not wasted futilely. Since you did not willing do as I told you to rest and relax, I must compel you do it, my angel; I must make you sleep."
Rod continued to struggle without effect. "Now, now, sweetheart, please do not struggle. You should smell something different, a little bit sweet, seeping up from your pillow. Don't worry. It's just a light anesthetic, my darling. Don't you already feel more relaxed? Getting a little drowsy? It's a very special sleepy gas, honey that should put you in a peaceful, happy mood. Peaceful and happy and something else to remind you of me, darling."
The voice paused "Breath deeply my love. Are you starting to feel good? And horny? I have a few more things to tell you, dear, and nothing gets a man more relaxed and in a mood to do as a woman tells him than a good come darling. If I were there in your bed, I would make soft sleepy love to you and you would not be able to hold your eyes open. But I'm not there, so the gas must do my work for me. It's getting bad, isn't it honey, being so horny? You want to come; you need to come, but you don't have my warm wet pussy to pleasure you. But you know what you can do; you'll just have to get yourself off and go to sleep."
Rod seemed to shudder with the effort to ignore the seductively dominant voice that had his prick was twitching helplessly. "No ... wrong ...can't give in ... don't want to listen ... don't want to sleep," he protested, half consciously.
"No, dear, it cannot be wrong to listen to me, to yield yourself to me. It would be wrong if you pleasured yourself instead of me. It would be wrong to please yourself alone if I were there and wanted you to stuff your big cock up my pussy, to fill me with your thick jism, if I wanted to drink your sweet cum as I pleasured you with my mouth, or even if I wanted to give you a hand job just to see you close your pretty eyes in helpless ecstasy for me. But I'm not there. So you will make yourself come … for me."
Rod's face was set with determination "No, no!" he muttered, but the voice ignored him.
"There's a tube of lubricant under your pillow, darling. Use a lot of it on your hand; it will make it so much nicer when you slide your slick hand up and down your cock to cum for me." Rod lay motionless. "Please hurry, honey. The gas must be making you sleepier and I don't what you to go to sleep frustrated. Frustration makes you hard and difficult. I want you soft and compliant; I want your mind soft and saturated with the pleasure of a nice big come, unresisting, easy for my words to penetrate. Do it darling! You know how much you need it."
Shaking his head in defeat, Rod slowly reached under the pillow and took out the tube, squeezing a generous portion of the ointment onto his trembling hand. Dazed by lust and the ever-present weakness, Rod did not wonder how the voice seemed to know what he was doing or to notice the sensors on his body that could have supplied the answer. He gasped as he took his hard, thick cock in his slippery hand.
The voice took note and spoke, "That's the way my poor horny darling, slide it up and down your prick big and hard for me. Make yourself feel good, sweetie ... that's it. Make believe it's me pleasuring you. See my big tits bouncing as I ride you. Feel my soft wide ass in your hands as you guide me. It's my warm wet pussy that's making you feel so good, so relaxed. That's it, darling, you're getting closer. So sleepy, so horny, so close. You feel it, don't you darling. Come ... now ... for ME."
"Sabah, Oh Sabah ... Sabah ... Sabah" Rod groaned as thick ropes of jism soiled his pajama. His hand fell slack and his head lolled in unconsciousness. The instruments detected the fall in blood pressure, the decelerating heartbeat. "Yes, my precious. You've had a good come. Now you are drained, tranquil and sated. No thoughts, no frustrations, love. Now you can go to sleep, a deep, deep sleep, my angel. Sleep ... sleep ...sleep," the voice died away as a faint empty smile passed over Rod's face. The hiss of subliminal instructions began again.
*****
This time Rod felt different when he awoke, stronger and energetic, but more peaceful. At a sound, he turned and saw the woman came in with a tray. This was the Sabah he remembered. Taller than he even without the heels, she wore a short tunic that fell loosely around her abundant yet perfectly feminine form. Something of her confident smile confirmed she was much his senior, though she was untouched by wrinkle or line. The food she placed before him was different -- meat, potatoes, a large salad. A carafe of wine sat by the plate. Without consciously remembering he knew that before he had eaten only soups and liquids. "Sabah?" he questioned.
"Shh, love. Eat. Regain your strength. Time enough for answers later." He saw he was still bound, but did as she told him. He was famished and ate and drank heartily. "Finish your wine, too, my sweet," she grinned as the last morsels of food disappeared. He looked at her with apprehension. "Go on. What are you afraid of?” she teased, “That I'll get you tipsy and take advantage of you?” He accepted the glass from her hand and drank obediently.
"Why this, Sabah" he asked holding up an arm, a bond hanging in a curve to the bedpost.
