Liberated

Chapter Two: The Past and Future Collide

Note: This story references events from Enslaved by the Pen that would otherwise be decontextualized if read independently and requires the reader to be familiar with the general chronology of events from that series. It is recommended that this be read following Enslaved by the Pen. Please note that the stories contained within both series are non-con fiction, and should be read at the reader's own discretion.

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An empty bottle lay strewn on the floor. I had attempted to numb the insufferable silence of loneliness with the residual drops of amber libation, compelling myself to release the memories of her touch, her voice, her body. The perturbation was overwhelming. It had been months since I repatriated Amelia to her apartment, but only a week since she had slept with that gangly, brute of a man she met at the club. It had been excruciating to watch on the surveillance feed as he fucked her in the ass, insisting she beg him to possess her. I listened to their ragged breaths as he jackhammered into her rectum. She had pleaded for brutality. He had obliged. His savage thrusts propelled her immobilized body forwards in syncopated need.

Scrutinizing her glazed countenance, I recognized my little one's facial expressions. The hollowed unresponsiveness of her eyes revealed a deeper longing for me. She was only going through the motions of pleasure, rather than sincerely experiencing the depths of her desire.

Until seeing her with Adam, I had attained an unsettled peace with my decision to release her. I had pushed her beyond her boundaries and feared that she was careening towards madness. Her mental deterioration was an unforeseen casualty of my deceptions, a spreading corrosiveness I dreaded was beyond recovery. There was nothing more I could teach Amelia. She had been trained, completely. The parameters of her submission had challenged her, and she had finally, after struggling against it, and rebelling against its reality, experienced an unadulterated moment of clarity. The gleam of her eyes as her tongue licked her lips, and the moistening of her cunt in anticipation of our play, were irrefutable admissions of her submissive identity. She had resisted so haughtily against embracing her destined nature that when she finally acknowledged the reality of herself, it was revelatory.

I watched her that day manacled to the one-bar prison. Her senses bombarded with her own moans of pleasure, her own pleas of debasement, her own mantle of submission impregnating every action she had taken and was taking as she confronted her progression of pleasure under my hand. She no longer battled the corkscrewing dildo as it fucked into her. She rode it with deliberation and pressed her body against the heat of mine. That moment of realization manifested in the sudden relaxation of her body as she surrendered to the flogger's tresses, and then later drifted into subspace as she climaxed so gracefully with the implement's shaft buried deep in her ass, and the vibrator pressed against her clit. It was a euphoric acknowledgement for her, and an ecstatic swelling of pride for me witnessing her burgeoning sexual identity.

More importantly, Amelia had genuinely expressed affection for me, uttering a declaration of love that could strike no rootedness in her continual manipulations. She may have believed she was deceiving herself in her denials, but her affectations were belied by her true affection towards me. I heard it in the softness with which she called me Master in her sleep, and saw it reflected in how she gazed at me when she thought I was oblivious to her observations. Even the way her fingers gently grazed down my skin to inform me of her presence, and her surprisingly docile nature in the quiet moments we shared, demonstrated her fondness for me. She yearned for me but hadn't the courage to admit it.

I knew that I had successfully infiltrated her heart; the talons of my influence securing an unmistakable grip that could not be easily retracted in its decisiveness.

I was confident that Amelia would return to me of her own volition, especially after she had confronted me in the elevator, aspiring to plunge the letter opener into my flesh, but being unconvincing in her execution. Anger knew no place in my heart. I refused to ascribe malice to her actions given the dissociation I was witnessing. Yet despite her inner turmoil, she had moistened so decidedly in my presence. My fingers slipped effortlessly into the roiling inferno of her cunt, while my body imprisoned hers firmly against the elevator wall. Her breath had quickened with pure lust as I detained her under my control. My fingers pressed into her tight rear canal. She had yielded as she always did. Her eyes shone with frenzied desperation, a compelling argument that the ache for me still loomed ever menacingly over her psyche and libido.

She could not erase my dominating presence from her memories, nor would she. Her actions substantiated my suspicions that she would willingly return to me in supplication. I watched her that evening over the surveillance feed as she furiously masturbated after our elevator encounter, remedying her insatiable hunger for me by forcefully propelling the anal beads into her tiny, tight ass, and inserting the largest of her dildos to satisfy her deprived cunt. Her thighs were slicked with the wetness of her want. The feverish, erratic undulation of her hips rocked in a punishing rhythm of desire's insistence. The way she howled out "Master" as she climaxed verified to me that while her pilgrimage was a meandering one, it was wending inevitably back to me.

I watched her obsessively saving photographs of me to her computer's hard drive after she had thoroughly researched me, scouring every site. She compulsively returned to those images, night after night, her fingers idly clicking the mouse through the slideshow. She seemed riveted by one in particular. I had been photographed leaving an electronics summit. The sleeves of my dress shirt were rolled up my forearms. The collar of my shirt, unbuttoned. My tie askew. Though tired, my eyes shone with an excitement at a potential collaboration, and the abyss of green stared into the camera's lens, almost playfully imploring a tango with its unseen audience.

The routine burdened Amelia nightly. She gazed at my smiling face on the screen, and traced my jawline, my lips, and my eyes, before whispering "Master", with a tone so forlorn that it wounded to hear across the chasm that separated us.

The decision I had undertaken to abduct and train Amelia had not been pursued without great contemplation. Despite those initial electrifying moments when I first observed Amelia in her bedroom, and the word "Master" reverberated in my ears, I watched her body tangled in the sheets beneath heavy slumber for long moments. I tempered the heady thrill of desire that permeated my soul after hearing her devoted utterance. She may have called out to me in sleep, but she denied such admissions in waking.

While her utterances in dreams proved the most reliable witness to her desires, I sought confirmation during the next several virtual play sessions querying her on her fantasy of being forced to be mine. She demurred time and again. But then, she nonchalantly mentioned something after the throes of orgasm as her pussy still twitched on camera, and my hand was still wrapped around my cock, my fingers slick with my own secretions.

"Do you think you'd even be able to force me to be yours Sir? What would that even resemble?" Her fingers languidly traced her still engorged nether lips.

I swallowed, before a garbled incoherent sob croaked out of my mouth. I hadn't anticipated this line of inquiry. It was kismet.

"Would you hole me up underground somewhere until my mind and body surrendered. It's lewdly stimulating to think about that isn't it? The fantasy of abduction? I love the powerlessness of it all." She giggled.

Her fingers traced the outline of her labia before she dipped a digit inside her vagina to the sweet nectar awaiting, imagining what it would be realistically like to be mine.

"Does that thrill you little one, to imagine being held captive against your will, to be forced to do every filthy, perverse deed you've fantasized long hours about, written about, and masturbated to?"

Her fingers slipped deeper within her sleek folds. The slickness of her arousal clung to her digits. Its luminescence shone in the camera's lens momentarily as she withdrew and splayed her fingers as if in taunting demonstration before she entered her heated core again.

"You're drenched now thinking about how I'd force you down onto your knees, tie your hands behind your back, gag your mouth with your own panties that I ripped off of your quivering thighs, strip you down until you were half-clothed, and pull your chin up taut to force you to look at your captor?"

Her fingers sped up with every word I uttered. Her legs widened, exposing her sex to my always rapacious eyes. Her labial lips petalled outwards, plump, and full in excitement.

"I'd kick your knees apart, forcing you to reveal your wetness as I debased you. My shoe pressed into your cunt grinding against you, as my hands roved ever inch of your responsive flesh. Your body would twitch to every one of my movements. Every time you'd struggle, I'd pull tighter, and your cunt would moisten, knowing that being taken by force gets you irrevocably wet. You'd like that wouldn't you Lolita."

Her eyes fluttered as she bit her top lip trying to suppress the encroaching moan from her mouth. Her other hand drifted to her nipple, and she pinched the swollen flesh tight, swirling the erect bud within her fingers.

"I'd bind the ropes tight against you then, pulling your limbs into stress positions. Perhaps I'd insert the largest dildo I own into your needy, dripping cunt, and watch you struggle to take it inside of you, conquered by the enormity of the intruder as it pressed against your cervix. Your cunt would be itchy for my cock instead of the silicone facsimile. I'd spin you around onto my lap and spank your ass until it tingled in reddened pain."

Her fingers made desperate, almost vicious movements as she rubbed her clitoris. Her breathing accelerated in rhythm to the cadence of the vivid imagery that slid off my tongue, teasing her into frenzy. Stroking, rubbing, escaping into the fantasy. A blur of neutral flesh disappeared between her legs.

"Your body would be limp with fatigue, exhausted from fighting me, immobilized by rope. Just as you'd hope it was over, I'd bend you over the arm of the sofa and ram my hard cock into your asshole. You crave that wouldn't you little one? To feel completely and thoroughly used? Filthily ravenous while captured? You'd acknowledge that I own you with every punishing stroke into your tight rear canal I'd take. It'd be a long-enacted possession of your ass as I claim dominion over what's mine. We both know that you are mine already, even if you deny it to yourself. You secretly crave being under the beckoning hand of a dominant and surrendering your body and mind to those urges that you dare not deny."

Her legs fluttered and quaked as she climaxed. Her body arched upwards, her breasts thrust out, before she unleashed a penetrating moan as she succumbed to the eroticism of the fantasy.

"Make me yours," she murmured dreamily in her exhalations as her fingers finally stilled their languid drumming against her now barely quivering flesh. Contented. "That was so racy," she cooed, breathless. "The fantasy of abduction is so hot Sir." She purred out the honorific, tantalizingly honeyed in its delivery.

Watching Amelia's still trembling body provided a convincing argument towards encouraging her to confront her true nature. I was confident that the exercise in force would be well-received. It was her fantasy to be imprisoned, seized, and compelled to be a Master's submissive. She had climaxed violently to it mere moments before. When she realized I was El, she would chuckle in accompaniment, and I would release her after a week or two of our mutual fictions being fulfilled. The experiential reality of our union would bond us eternally, as Master and sub. She would understand her need, and herself, and her place at my feet.

With her receptiveness at my intended path ascertained, the plan was rapidly implemented. The mansion I had purchased years before in an anonymous trust was the ideal location. On the outskirts of town, its substantial acreage afforded me privacy, as did its electrified perimeter. Not even my family knew of its existence. I had purchased multiple properties, with only the bungalow titled officially in my name. The mansion's previous owner had been an overly cautious man whose eccentricities led him to build a cavernous underground space in the far corner of the lot. It was meant to serve as a bunker, though never completed in its construction or used for its intended purpose. Its entrance obscured by a well-camouflaged metal hatch that led to a series of stairs deep within the bowels of the earth.

The construction crew that replicated Amelia's apartment were generously compensated in cash for their discretion; none were aware of the purpose of its fabrication. Two biometric security metallic doors were installed to prevent egress and provide the impression of confinement. Electricians installed ambient lighting and light features within the space so daylight and nighttime could be mimicked. A dropdown faux ceiling was decorated with twinkling stars. Authenticity and comfort were my primary goals. Surveillance cameras were discretely installed throughout the apartment to capture every movement and sound. I had unfettered visual access to the entire area.

I returned to Amelia's apartment during the weekdays while she was at work to ensure that all the details of her décor were accurate, from the height of hung paintings to the contents of her vanity. Every aspect was photographed and subsequently replicated by interior designers. It seemed Herculean, but the deception was worth it, if it meant revealing to Amelia what her mind had intentionally buried beneath labyrinthian layers of justification.

"You seem lost in your own world these days Sir," Amelia said to me one evening as we were chatting.

I was finalizing the arrangements of her future confinement, vacillating between the immorality of my imminent actions, and weighing those with the utility the act would serve in furthering Amelia's own understanding of her desires. A glimmer of hope still sparked that Amelia would recognize her own intrinsic needs without the motivation of external force, and I could readily abandon the plan's enactment.

"Yes, little one. I have much on my mind."

"About what? Work?"

"Sometimes, I ponder about how soft your skin would feel as my arms embraced you. We play every night, yet our eyes have never met with intention. I've memorized every line of your body, the way your pussy moistens in excitement as I tease you over the phone, even the way your body teeters forwards as you shudder in your climax. Yet, you've never wanted to show me your face or communicate your name. Don't you believe that the intimacy we've shared warrants revealing who we are to each other? I would care for you regardless of what you looked like Lolita, as I'm sure you would care for me regardless of how I look like. Don't you already imagine me to be some Adonis?" I tried to inject levity into my plea.

Her body paused in hesitation as she pondered my words. "It isn't that El. If you were Orthrus, you'd still be handsome due to your commanding nature. It's that I'm not ready. I derive immense pleasure when we play. You've introduced me to a world I only fantasized about. You've allowed me to experience a taste of what it would be like to be somebody's. But somehow not sharing who we are keeps this in the realm of fantasy. I'm merely your pen pal and we occasionally have phone sex. I'm not forced to confront the hard truth of my reality. It's difficult to explain El. This isn't intentional." She sighed heavily.

I saw then the immensity of the many introspective nights she had pondered this very question. The tension unfurled in tight lines across her brow. Her shoulders curled forwards with the weight of denial. Her nails bit into the pads of her palms. I knew it weighed her movements as she struggled with providing visibility to her longings.

"What scares you little one?"

She shrugged, unable to articulate the darkness that tugged at her existence, dragging her to a place of unease. Her mind twisted itself away from the disquiet that haunted her as she mustered a response.

"I don't know," she tearfully sniffled. "Everything is hard for me. Life. This. I wanted something fun that I didn't have to think about. Something to escape to, not something that I lived in. But then sometimes I wish everything could be easier. Under the hand of a Dom, I wouldn't worry about decisions in those fleeting moments of surrender. I could feel and experience and be in the moment as life is dictated for me. I'm exhausted from having to think."

Amelia's vulnerability made me unexpectedly want to nurture her in a way I hadn't before. I wanted to embrace her tightly within my arms and provide reassurance that her life wouldn't always be of struggle. She would be my cherished one. Her needs met. Her desires exceeded. Her heart loved. All I could do now was provide her with temporary respite, a release from the machinations of her mind that distorted so tightly that logic had no place to manoeuvre within the spirals of fear that predominated.

"How about we do something about that now? A little levity for your heavy mind Lolita."

She giggled then, the frivolity of the fantasy re-establishing the sense of ease and joviality that the weight of reality had momentarily thieved from her.

"Cam on, legs spread wide. I want to see your beautiful pussy lips parted by and gripping the long-distance vibrator you have. Have the anal vibrator at the ready. We're going to have quite the session tonight as I control you from afar. You have five minutes to prepare before I expect to see you wet and open for me."

"Yes Sir," she raved, enthused at the prospects of play. The burden of life seemingly discarded. This was a fantasy she could readily surrender to. Submission on her terms, conditions that embraced the protective hold of wilful refusal. Controlling her in this manner would suffice, for tonight.

In those days, pre-abduction, my longing for Amelia was marked by increasing impatience. Surveilling her from afar when I knew she was already mine was an excruciating exercise in perseverance. The ache of desire haunted me, much like it did in the present when I only had the spectral memories of her to rely on, rather than the certainty of her touch. I had deliberately chosen not to contact her despite her attempt to speak with me after her release. Yearning could only be cultivated through distance and time away from each other. She needed to return to me of her own volition.

Yet, the hasty wrenching of the steady press of her flesh, the unrelenting insistence of her desire, even the sweet nectar of her excitement from my very being, was as agonizing for me to bear in its absence as it was for her to endure in its presence. Nevertheless, things were progressing as I anticipated. She was slowly adjusting back to her life, but still ever yearning for the benevolence of my fingers. While this was admittedly both of our journeys, I couldn't single-handedly plot the trajectory of her explorations. I could only present to her what I had to offer, and hope that she seized the opportunities, no matter how torturously winding her path was to achieve the result. The gift of space would only facilitate a certainty of her own steps. Agency was hers to enact.