His Black Pearl (13 page)

Ever since that night Master finally took my
virginity, it’s been so easy to succumb to the pleasure of it all.
Just submit. Obey. That’s all I have to do. Freedom doesn’t weigh
upon me anymore. The urge to escape is almost nonexistent. Some
days I even wonder if it won’t just fade away completely.

I think my submission ought to worry me more
than it does, but it’s so hard to think of anything other than my
master.

My head rests against his thigh now. My body
is hidden beneath his desk. I’m on my knees. My back reclines
against his legs as he sits in his high-back leather chair. I can
hear the scratching of his pen and the shuffling of papers above
me. His exposed cock lies against my nose, and I kiss it. My tongue
runs up and down the shaft. God, I love the taste of him.

A shiver courses through his body and then
the pen goes silent. His hands touch my face. Fingers caress my
hair. He guides my head into place. He gives me permission to
suckle his cock, and I suck hard and deep. His seed shoots down my
throat, and I moan.

When he’s done, he removes himself from my
mouth, and I whimper as his head leaves my lips. He chuckles. He
fastens his pants back in place before replacing my gag.

I sigh.

He has work to do, I know, but I so want to
be a good girl. I want to feel his hands upon me. I want to take
his flesh inside me. I want to please him in all the ways he’s
pleased me.

I want to let him know I’m his.

I should be ashamed of that admission,
terrified even, but I’m not. Lord help me, I’m not. His possession
of me has become such a surety in my life that I rarely question
it. I’m his. I know he’s my master just as surely as I know there’s
a God in heaven.

God.

The thought of my Lord staring down at me, of
Him seeing me naked and debased as I am sends a wave of shame
coursing through my insides, and I shiver uncontrollably.

What have I become?

Oh, dear God, what have I become?

Have I submitted to the devil for so long
that I’ve finally forgotten who I am?

I’m not Isa. I’m not a pet or an animal. I’m
a woman. I’m Adair Bartlett. I’m the daughter of Morris and Cheryl
Bartlett. I’m smart and free and responsible and…and…

Master’s hand moves back to my head, and
strong, steady fingers massage my scalp. I sigh into my gag. Ever
so slowly the tremors recede.

If only the shame would go away so
easily.

I try to convince myself that I’m not bad.
I’m just a victim. I didn’t ask for any of this. So what if these
men finally broke me? So what if I gave myself up to this man I
call Master? It’s only to be expected, right? It’s only
natural.

Master’s hand strays down to my neck, my
shoulder, and I moan as his fingers knead away all my underlying
tension.

I’m still me.

I’m still a good girl.

I’m still…

My eyes close.

My body curves into place at my master’s
feet. His legs wrap around my shoulders. One ankle supports my
lower back. Only my head and one hand still rest in his lap.

I force myself not to think or feel anything
other than the steady comfort my master gives me. Doubts, shame,
disgust, they can all wait for tomorrow. Right now this moment is
all that matters. Right now…

I drift to sleep.

I’m on my hands and knees—it feels so natural
now—but something is different. Master isn’t at my side, nor White
Coat. Instead, I’m tied to a familiar trolley line in my backyard.
My parent’s white brick house and still-half-completed redwood deck
loom in the background while my father, scowling and twitchy,
stands over me. He holds a tennis ball in a white-knuckle grip and
throws it over my shoulder.

“Well?” He glares down at me. “Aren’t you
going to get it?”

I stare off into the direction of the ball
before turning back at my father. My heart hammers. I want to
speak. I want to run up to my dad and hug him and cry and beg for
him to rescue me, but I can feel the familiar pressure of my gag
tight against my lips. All I can do is whimper as he advances on
me.

“So that’s it then?”

His whole face is red. Even the bald spot he
tries to hide with his comb-over glows crimson as he leans down to
grab my lead. I nearly choke when it jerks me forward, and my chest
heaves against rocky Texas soil.

Why, Daddy? My eyes are watery. A sob builds
up behind my sealed lips. Why are you doing this? Don’t you love
me?

If he sees my fear, he doesn’t acknowledge
it. He just grabs me by the collar and jerks me to my knees.

“All those years,” he yells into my face.
“All that money I wasted on private schools and colleges, all for
you to turn yourself into this!”

I shake my head as his breath hits my face.
No, Daddy, this wasn’t my fault! Please, I didn’t ask for this!
Don’t be mad at me. I want to be a good girl. I swear I do!

But he can’t hear my thoughts, so he just
shakes me over and over again, until my mom’s voice finally cuts
through the air.

“Oh, just let her go, Morris. Breaking her
neck’s not going to do any good.”

He snorts before giving me one last shake and
then tosses me to the ground. Pebbles dig into my skin. I curl into
a ball. I’m shivering. I can’t stop shivering. In the distance, I
hear Daddy tell Momma that he’s done with me. He won’t have an
animal for a daughter. I reach out for him, begging with my eyes,
hoping he can somehow see the remorse in them, that it’ll be enough
to make him love me again—or at least not hate me—but he doesn’t
look back as he turns and marches away.

My chest is a collapsing black pit of pain.
The sobs start. I can barely breathe. I’m sure I’ll start heaving
at any second—something I really, really don’t want to do with my
gag still in place—but just when I think I can’t possibly stand it
any longer, my mother kneels down beside me and gently pulls my
head into her lap.

“There, there, Adair. It’s okay.”

I slowly relax. She runs her fingers through
my hair, and tears dribble down my cheeks uncontrollably. My name.
My real name. I haven’t heard it in so, so long. Just to have
someone call me that, to feel my mother’s comforting touch, to know
that I’m not just an animal, that I’m someone, a daughter, a
person… Oh, Lord, the happiness of it all nearly overwhelms me.

She strokes my forehead gently, and for the
first time, I’m aware of my nakedness. I draw my legs together. I
fold my arms over my chest. I can’t meet her gaze. I can’t look at
my own mother for the shame of what I’ve become.

But just like always, Momma knows exactly
what to do. She pulls me into one tight, double-armed hug, and
that’s all it takes.

I fling my arms around her. Oh, Momma! Momma
I missed you so much!

I don’t want to let go, but at her soft words
and gentle nudges, I slowly disentangle myself. I’m still shivering
as she wipes away my tears. All it takes is her hand on my cheek,
and my lips are curling into a smile beneath my gag.

Momma, you always know how to make things
better.

“There now. That’s my good girl,” she tells
me. “See, Adair, there’s no reason to cry.”

My body relaxes, and I nod. She’s right.
Everything she says is always right.

“Just don’t listen to your father,” she goes
on. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I know you never asked for
this.”

I sniffle, but my smile widens. Oh, Momma, I
knew you’d understand.

“This is just…life. And we’ll deal with it.
Your father and I have already had a long discussion, and we’ve
both come to a decision. It wasn’t easy, but I really do think
it’ll be for the best. You don’t want to spend the rest of your
life on a trolley-line after all, do you?”

I shake my head vigorously. No, no, anything
but that.

She smiles and hugs me again. For the first
time in so long, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

I’m going to be okay.

And then I see a pair of men walking towards
us, and I cock my head to the side. The sight of the old man in
front lights an ember of dread in my gut, but I don’t know why. He
seems so familiar…

Momma just waves them over to us. The old man
drops a small box—a tool kit, maybe—in front of me, and my gaze
darts to his younger associate. He runs his hands gently over my
calves. I shiver.

What in the hell is going on?

“Easy, Adair, easy.” The old man rubs his
leathery fingers down the curve of my back; he kneads my skin as
his touch drifts farther and farther down my body until his palm
finally rests on my ass. “You remember your old friend, Dr.
Hartfield, don’t you? I used to take care of that collie of yours,
the little sable girl you called Honey. Remember?”

I nod. I remember Honey all right. How could
a girl ever forget her first dog? What I don’t understand though is
why our old veterinarian is here now. I’m not an animal. I’m a
person. Just ask Momma. She understands.

I turn to my mother then, expecting her to
explain to this man that his services aren’t needed, but she just
cups my chin in her hand and brushes back my hair.

“Shh there, Adair. I know you’re confused,
sweetie, but your father and I invited Dr. Hartfield out here. He’s
going to help you.”

My gaze darts from the old veterinarian to my
mother. What is she talking about? How is some animal doctor going
to help me? I’m human.

“Oh, you still don’t understand, do you?”
Momma bites her lip, and her fingers stroke my cheek once more.
“You see, Adair, you’re sick. I know it’s not your fault. I swear I
do. But still, this…” She waves her hand over my naked body, and I
can hear the repulsion in her voice as she struggles to go on.
“This happened. And since you’re obviously in no position to deal
with it yourself, your father and I had to make a choice.”

A choice? What choice?

“We wanted to get the very best person we
could,” she goes on. “You’re our little girl, after all. But when
your father reminded me of what a good job Dr. Hartfield did when
your little Honey got sick, well, we knew he was the perfect man
for the job.”

My eyes dart back to the old vet, and I can
hear him rummaging through his now-open kit. What is going on? What
does Momma mean he did a good job? I remember when Honey got sick.
My parents had neglected to buy her any heartworm medication for
nearly a year, and by the time we finally took her to the vet,
she’d been so bad off that Dr. Hartfield had to put her down on the
spot.

Put her down on the spot…

My eyes go wide. In front of me, Dr.
Hartfield pulls a syringe from his bag. I can barely breathe. He
draws a dose of viscous, yellow liquid from the vial in his hand,
and a single drop slides down the needle as he thumps the cylinder
with his index finger.

Then he turns his eyes on me.

Without thinking, I lash out. I have to get
away. I have to run, but the veterinary assistant’s hold on my
ankles is too tight to break, and Momma’s arms, now wrapped around
my chest and shoulders, refuse to let go.

I scream into my gag. No! No! Please, Momma,
please, don’t do this!

“Now you stop this right now, Adair.” Her
voice is stern even as I thrash against her. “I already told you
this has to be done, so you just be still. It’s not like it’s going
to hurt—just a little prick that’s all—then you’ll just go off to
sleep, and we’ll put you over there beneath that big cedar tree
where your daddy buried Honey. See there? He’s already dug a hole
just for you.”

She pivots me onto my side, and I follow her
gaze to the fresh grave lying beneath the giant cedar at the edge
of our property. I’m shaking. I’m crying. All I can think is No,
no, no, no, no, no! over and over again. Not like this. Dear God,
not like this.

I feel a sharp prick in the center of my
thigh, and when I look down, there’s Dr. Hartfield, his hand
wrapped tightly around the syringe, its needle now buried in my
flesh. He strokes my side one last time. His voice is soft, gentle.
My mother’s hand moves back to my face as she soothes me, and even
the assistant rubs my calves in support.

And then Dr. Hartfield depresses the
plunger.

***

I’m screaming when I wake up. My gag muffles
the sound, but it can’t stop my head from slamming into the
underside of Master’s desk as I jerk awake. Pain spikes through my
skull. My brain feels like it’s bouncing against the bone, and
blackness creeps in at the corners of my vision.

I slump to the floor at Master’s feet.

There’s a roaring in my ears, and I can
barely hear the scrape of Master’s chair as he shoves it backwards
and scoops me into his arms. I’m shaking. I don’t know why I’m
shaking, but I can’t stop the tremors.

Looking up, I meet my master’s worried gaze.
His hands probe my body. He’s speaking softly, soothingly, but his
words can’t quell the fear. When his fingers touch the sore spot on
the back of my head, my body arches, and I let out a soft
whimper.

His hand moves quickly to my face, and his
palm cups my chin gently as he lays a soft kiss on my forehead.

His touch is almost as soothing as
Momma’s.

Momma…

The dream comes back to me, and my eyes go
wide. I can still feel the hands holding me down. I can feel their
caresses, hear their words, watch as the plunger falls and that
deadly yellow liquid seeps into me.

I can’t breathe.

I claw frantically at my gag, but my hands
are bound into worthless leather paws. Master’s words are more
forceful now. He grabs both my wrists in one hand. He fumbles for
the strap on the back of my neck with the other. I know I’m not
making his task any easier. I’m writhing in his grip, frantic to
get away.

I have to get away.

I have to escape before I truly become the
animal he wants me to be. I can’t just submit. Not anymore. Not
after seeing the disgust on my parents’ faces.