The Taming of Tara

Chapter Five

It wasn't easy being a Master…Dominic was relaxing in his room, surfing some of the more "interesting" websites in his favourites list. A cup of tea sat congealing and untouched on the tray by his side in contrast to the nearly empty can of Red Bull next to it. Old habits died hard, despite the efforts of the staff ("never call them 'servants' dear, not these days!"). There were frequent sighs of exasperation in the kitchen when the tray was returned untouched, but still they persisted. Duke and all he might be, but it was the staff who knew best, always had been, always would be…

Dominic's mind was not fixed upon the endless parade of submission and bondage glaring brightly from his monitor, though - he had his slave, a feisty brat of a slave, but a slave nevertheless. Over the past months he had taught her, given her discipline as required, and restrained her in every imaginable position, plus a few new ones he'd developed for the occasion, but still, despite a veneer of submission, she seemed as unbroken as ever.

Not that he actually wanted to "break" her. There were many so-called Doms that would do so, leaving cowering, beaten violated pieces of flesh behind, barely human, who trembled at a look and flinched at a touch. That was barbarity, not submission. He wanted to persuade this fiery obstinate young woman to submit of her own free will.

His lessons had been strict, but not harsh. She had maintained her excellent physical shape by utilising the specially modified gym equipment he had provided. The exercise bike with the dildo for a saddle had been his favourite. It was the way she was forced to stand while she pedalled, firming up her muscles even as they screamed for rest. Even as she did so, she knew that that much sought-after rest, settling back on the thick rubber prong, would merely increase her chances of orgasm without permission, thereby leading to yet another "lesson". She had stayed limber due to the many inventive positions in which she had been restrained. She was fed, washed and looked after, but of course he knew that wouldn't be enough.

He had her body entirely at his mercy but had not abused that position, had not violated her himself. But her mind…her mind was her own. She resisted all his attempts to probe it, to pick apart the complex threads of personality and experience that moulded her individuality. Rectifying this, intensifying her training in these areas, was a task that he'd been putting off. He didn't want a brainwashed vegetable or psychological trauma case on his hands, and he seemed to have little enough time for her as it was, what with his own mother's social pretensions on his behalf taking up more and more of his free hours. But, somehow…somehow, he had to find a chink in that impenetrable wall she erected in her mind, a way to pry apart the close fitting mental blocks.

There was one spark of hope though - it seemed to him that she had recently begun to tire of all these daily acts of rebellion. Not that he believed for one minute that it was to do with any great desire to suddenly submit to him. No, it was more that she had hardened herself and decided the easiest thing to do was to get through each day as quickly and painlessly as possible. The only thing that bothered him was - why? All she had to look forward to was a night restrained in her bed and then another day of exactly the same routine. Rebellion may have been unacceptable, however what she was now showing was…tolerance. She was tolerating all his attentions, in a manner that suggested that she had something else to look forward to, but he knew that to be impossible. He frowned - what was it? What was she thinking when she answered his questions and obeyed his commands on automatic pilot. What was she keeping from him? He meant to find out, and today had taken steps to do so.

***

Tara lay on her bed, staring at the whitewashed wall of her cell. The room had once been a cold store at the far end of the cellars and in many ways she felt that she had been put into cold storage herself. So many months had she been here that she had almost lost track of time until her birthday a few weeks back. So it was now early May, almost eight months since her capture, since that fateful match where he had first fixed his attention on her.

Each day since then had been its own kind of hell - stripped, chained, gagged and humiliated 24/7. Her thoughts frequently turned to her family, to her parents. What must they be thinking, be feeling now, knowing their daughter had vanished off the face of the earth? And the University? Her sudden departure must have caused some concern, although he had informed her that he had taken care of that little detail. She hated him all the more for the smug, casual way in which he'd let this little snippet of information slip, as if he controlled her whole life, even her life before her capture. She had no way of knowing whether or not he was telling the truth, but there was no way she could check, so stringent were her boundaries.

Her days were now controlled and governed by that deep quiet voice, the frightening array of restraints and the punishments that emerged from deep within that labyrinthine mind. This man, this infuriating calm, persistent bastard, who never tired of his lessons, his discipline.

Even now in the confines of a supposedly secure room, she was unable to move more than a few inches in any direction. She had been restrained on her back, her wrists encircled with soft sheepskin-lined institutional cuffs, which were chained to the tubular steel headboard of the bed. Her ankles were similarly confined. She was covered by a blanket, but was otherwise completely naked. Thankfully he had installed some heating or she would have been able to add hypothermia to her worries. In deference to the fact that this was a rest period her gag was a simple three inch wide strip of duct tape sealing her lips closed, more of a reminder that her voice was also his to give. He hadn't wanted a choked slave on his hands so her mouth was empty, but the tape clung tackily to her skin and pressed her soft lips tightly together.

The final touches to her night attire were a butt plug that was firmly nestled between her bottom cheeks and a hard plastic dildo strapped deeply inside her pussy. These too were a reminder - that all her orifices belonged to him. They were uncomfortable but not desperately so, however they were his instruments, the symbols of her captivity, of her loss of freedom and loss of choice. The less than strict bondage was bothering her even more tonight and, exhausted though she was after a hard afternoon on the exercise dick, or rather bike, she couldn't sleep.

Her mind was whirling. She was increasingly afraid that she would be worn down, willing to do whatever he wanted if he would just let up, but she knew this wouldn't be enough for him. She had to submit herself freely and truthfully, not just for the sake of an easy life. She wondered if she could do that, to sacrifice the cornerstone of her turbulent life, her very being, to become his slave?

But there was more to her anxiety than that thought: although he had stimulated and mildly tortured both her anus and pussy over the past months he had not had raped her even though she was at his mercy. For that courtesy, she accorded him a grudging respect, but that made the thing that had recently been so unsettling even harder to accept - that she was so incredibly aroused. Despite her best efforts, part of his training was beginning to seep through hairline cracks in her mental block. Unwilling though she was to admit it, her constant state of restraint stimulated her like nothing else ever had before. It had occurred to her to wonder what kind of slut she was becoming and she hated herself for succumbing to her baser instincts this way, but was finding it harder and harder to resist. Her body was calling her mind a liar and she was desperately uncomfortable with this concept.

Strapped down and caned or spanked, screaming into a ball-gag as her ass blazed crimson; she had found herself becoming wet on several occasions, and a strangely detached, almost euphoric feeling in the aftermath. Tugging futilely at ropes and cuffs, straining against shackles, flexing her arms inside the warm embrace of a single-glove, or the feel of leather strapped tightly around wrists and ankles, the solid weight of a gag in her mouth, her ass and pussy filled, they made her senses jangle and her body explode into life. Except, it wasn't for her benefit, it was for his, and that was the one thing she abhorred.

And so, her determination had grown. He was not going to reap the reward of seeing her slowly but surely yielding to her desires. She had been denied her life, her freedom and her self-respect, so she was going to deny him his satisfaction. It was tough but she would endure, like she always did, and she would win!

So now, like many nights recently, when he left her alone, when she had some, albeit minimal, measure of control, she was testing her limits again. These stolen moments of self-absorption were now the primary focus of her day, where she dealt with her primal feelings on her own terms, and in doing so, gave herself that much more strength to endure the following day.

She tugged fitfully at her bonds, her wrists twisting in their fur-lined restraints, moaning quietly into the tape gag and deriving a tingling thrill from the soft "mmpphh" sounds. Almost automatically, she began to gyrate her hips, wiggling and grinding and forcing the inanimate lump of plastic deeper inside her, to slide gently against the slick walls of her vagina and brush tantalisingly against her engorged clitoris. Her hardened nipples rubbed against the coarse blanket, sending a jolt of pleasure through to her brain and causing gooseflesh to erupt at the slither of wool against her silky skin. There would be trouble for this, this wilful enjoyment of her own body, if he found out, but the - thankfully dark - sheet was usually dry by morning, and this was one act he possibly never even suspected her to be capable of.

Waves of pleasure surged through her body, and she revelled in them, moaning louder and with more urgency. She shifted and settled the butt plug in even deeper, and felt the dildo snuggling into her pussy, both intruders inflaming her senses. She pulled back again and forward, building up a steady and insistent rhythm, lubricating the dildo with her own streaming fluids, the huge phallus teasing and tormenting her with its penetration until she was a-buzz with desire. Her breathing had grown heavier and more ragged and air was forced from her nostrils in lieu of her tightly sealed lips.

The chafing of her ankles against their cuffs, the fur lining tickling and titillating her prickling skin even as their snug grip prevented her from bringing up her knees only served to inflame her further. Her heart pounded against her chest as if desperate to escape, and her mind was emptied of all but the hot red flames of need, the conglomeration of all the glorious wonderful sensations rampaging throughout her body. Her chest heaved; her breasts swelling against the blanket as she tried to manoeuvre the dildo in as deeply as she could, to cause the maximum friction. She was lost in herself now. This was her moment, not his, her orgasm, not his. HER body NOT his. She was going to enjoy every last drop, every iota of feeling.

Perspiration bedewed her forehead and her wiggling body as she groaned and moaned and stimulated herself into a frenzy. The climax, when it came, was like none she'd ever experienced before. It virtually tore her body apart with a steady and increasing series of shockwaves. White hot lines of pure pleasure radiated out from her pussy and seeped through every nerve in her body. The rush of endorphins to her brain had her weeping with happiness and fulfilment, as she bucked and squirmed, pulling at the restraints and screaming into the tape gag, which gave way under the pressure and peeled away from her face as her lips were forced apart. Her cries rent the still, warm air of the tiny room, as every muscle grew taut and her mind screamed with ecstasy.

The little red light in the corner of the room blinked steadily as the iris of the lens beneath contracted and focussed on the writhing figure on the bed, watching with unfeeling detachment as Tara flopped back onto the mattress, totally spent.