Jason awoke from his drug induced slumber groggy, his head pounding. Looking around, all he could see was black, and a single spotlight illuminating only himself. Clarity came slowly, and he realised when he tried to move that his arms were chained above his head, and his legs shackled to the cement floor. He tried to follow the chains above him to their end, but they disappeared into darkness. He suddenly felt very cold and alone.
And he was naked.
"Hello?"
His deep voice trembled.
"Hello?"
Louder, angrier.
"Where am I!?"
his voice echoed into nothing, with only the clink of chains to break the silence.
A loud crash. A creak. A grinding of gears. Jason looked intently to the source of the sound, trying to see anything in the inky blackness. Suddenly, across what seemed an eternity, a pillar of light began to widen, and a dark silhouette skulked from it. The white rectangle closed, leaving Jason with the deafening silence, and the fear that someone was watching him, toying with him.
"Where are you!?"
Jason yelled into the dark but no response came.
"Who's there!?"
Nothing.
He heard footsteps, light, probably a woman's. They were coming closer. A young blonde woman with her head bowed crept into the light. She was clad in a black corset, fishnet stockings and black frilly panties. Around her neck sat a heavily spiked choker collar. Jason wrenched at his chains, trying to lash out at his captor as she continued to approach him. When she came close enough for him to smell her strawberry perfume, she raised her head, and looked at Jason with pleading eyes. He noticed a leash attached to her collar leading back into the darkness.
"Please don't yell. She doesn't like it when you yell."
Her small voice barely reached him.
Snap!
The leash became taught, and the pale skinned woman slinked back into the darkness.
"Now now Chantelle, let's not be giving our new toy any hints. I want him to learn on his own."
The confident and powerful, yet seductively feminine voice resonated in the chamber. Jason began to wonder where he could be. All he knew was that it was big, and smelled of vanilla. In the distance he saw a light. It looked like a little flame, and as it grew it illuminated a large candle. Another pin prick in the distance grew, then another, and another. He was soon surrounded in a perfect circle by a row of candles, and could make out a figure slowly crossing in front of them, circling him.
"Chantelle! Oil!"
The blonde woman returned, holding a bowl of viscous liquid. Jason knew he was not in a position of strength, and that the creature before him had no bargaining power. He chose to remain silent until he could confront his true captor. Chantelle stood before him, dipping her hand into the oil and watching it drip back into the bowl. She playfully observed it as it strung threads between her fingers. She then looked Jason right in the eye and flashed a wicked smile. She stepped closer, and cupped her hand, filling it with oil.
"Mistress likes a prepared servant. You can call this your initiation ritual."
She proceeded to slap the oil on Jason's chest, mingling it with his sparse hair. She placed the bowl on the ground, her pale white breasts bunching in the corset. She filled her free hand with oil and joined her other one. Her hands rubbed the oil into his olive skin gently, almost lovingly. Chantelle traced every line on his chest, his abdominals, his ribs. She oiled his arms, his neck. She massaged a small amount into his face and hair. She completely slathered his torso, then crouched to begin work on his legs.
Despite the situation, Jason found the sensations quite pleasant, and had to fight to maintain his anger. He reasoned that his cock would be the last thing to receive any attention, the aim to tease him. He felt an oily hand on his balls that sent a shock down his shaft, and he felt blood begin to engorge it. The hand continued, spreading the oil over him, pulling back the foreskin to massage the head. He fought it every step, but Jason's cock became fully erect, seven and a half inches of European glory. Chantelle's ever eager hands stroked and held his cock, grasping for more, more. The leash around her neck cracked, and she reeled back in shock.
"No Chantelle. This is his initiation, not your playtime."
"I'm sorry mistress. Forgive me."
Footsteps echoed, the clomp of high heel on pavement. Jason could barely make out her outline against the candle behind her. He found as it got closer he became less fearful, her presence somehow calming him.
She stepped into the light. Jason gazed in wonder at her beauty. She was tall in her heels, always looking down on him through emerald dark, entrancing brown eyes. Her long brown hair flowed luxuriously over her naked shoulders. Clad in a curves-hugging red corset, and matching lingerie, her hands, gloved in red velour, tussled Jason's hair. She clasped his jaw in her hand, wrenching his head from side to side, inspecting her product. Her luscious full lips, coated in a deep red lipstick, smiled excitedly. Her breasts threatened to escape and she breathed deeply.
"Yes, yes I will keep you."
She removed her hands from him, stepping back and crossing her arms.
"Do you remember who I am, boy?"
"I do. You are my mistress."
She smiled gleefully.
"That's right! I took you in from the cold, I gave you food, drink, rest. In return you promised to give me anything I wanted."
"I recall."
Jason bowed his head, remembering his last encounter with his mistress. He remembered the beating that he deserved. He remembered how she rewarded his behaviour. He remembered her forceful touch on his cock, and it swelled just from the memory. It was an arrangement he did not regret, but did not remember fondly either. He knew he was tricked into being here, drugged, forced, and yet he felt compelled to stay, for now. The Mistress was looking very pleased.
"Good, good. Well welcome to initiation, young slave. Here is where you become mine in mind, body, and spirit. Are you ready?"
"Yes Mistress."
