 | Chapter 1 Copyright 2005 by Rod Harden All rights reserved |  |
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Carissa Rainer sighed as she looked out from the kitchen of the diner where she waited tables. It was almost quitting time and she was hoping to relax her last few minutes, even if it meant one less tip for the day. But the gentleman who had just entered grabbed a menu and headed straight for one of her tables.
She waited for him to get settled, and spent the moment studying him, as she did all the customers, especially the male customers. For an older guy, he wasn't too bad, she thought. Kind of cute, in fact. With his graying temples and neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard, he reminded her of her high school English teacher, whom she'd been madly in love with for an entire semester. The stranger was certainly dressed well enough, too, in suit and tie, but that wasn't always a good indication of a big tipper, especially for someone so obviously out of place. What a man of means was doing in a cheap diner so late at night was none of her business, but she couldn't help wondering. No matter, she knew her best bet for a big tip was to be perky and friendly. And so she would be. She took a deep breath and launched her five foot three inch frame into the dining room. She'd always wanted to be taller, like a model. And when she got moody she thought of herself as too plump, but her proportions were actually quite pleasing. Walking briskly in her comfortable flats, she took long - for her - strides in her black cotton slacks. She could wear either a skirt or pants on the job and usually opted for the latter. Her white blouse was form fitting, but not too tight, and showed off her chest to good effect, she thought. As she took her place next to the table, she announced, "Hi, my name is Carissa, and I'll be your server tonight." She took care not to slouch, standing erect with her chest out, but not too obvious. Or so she hoped. The man did not look up from the menu, though, and thus took no notice of either her posture or her bosom. Instead, he simply replied, "Indeed you shall, Carissa." She waited a moment, then offered, "Can I get you an appetizer?" This time, he took the bait. His head lifted toward her and he made eye contact for a fleeting moment, before sizing her up completely, from head to toe. When he was finished with his leisurely visual tour of her body, his gaze came to rest upon her chest, which he addressed as though speaking to her face. "No," he said. "Not right now." Carissa felt a shiver run through her. Sure, she had wanted him to appreciate her figure, but the bold way he stared at her now was unnerving. "Ready to order then?" she asked, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. "I'll just have the special." "What kind of dressing would you like on your salad?" "No dressing." "No dressing?" "None," he said. His eyes rose to meet hers again. "I want it... undressed, so to speak." His sly half-grin made her momentarily forget to breathe. Finally, she managed a nod, and began a hasty retreat to the kitchen. "And I'll just have water to drink," he called after her. Back in the safety of the kitchen, Tia, one of the other waitresses, gave her a nudge. "Nice looking guy you got tonight, Cari. Kind of distinguished. I saw him eyeballing you." "I know! God! It was actually kind of creepy for a second there." "Oh, he's harmless enough. Probably. Old enough to be your father, of course. I bet he's the type who'll give you an extra big tip just for smiling and flaunting those boobs for him." "Yeah, sure," agreed Carissa. She adjusted her bra and sighed. It had been three years since she went from a "B" cup to a "D" cup overnight at the age of eighteen, and she still wasn't sure about the whole thing. Persuaded by her ex-fiance that the implants would make him happy, she'd agreed, but now realized it was a decision made from naivete. And when she'd learned he'd been fooling around on her even while she recovered from the operation, it hadn't helped her attitude toward her new breasts one bit. But now she had to live with them, no matter how she felt, as she couldn't afford to have the procedure reversed. Her only consolation was that filling out her tops more fully did seem to earn her bigger tips. Such thoughts preoccupied her as she waited on the stranger. He finished his meal quickly without uttering another word to her, and then left without even waiting for the check. In fact, he left in such a rush, Carissa was afraid he'd stiffed them. But when she went to the table, she found a small stack of bills, enough to pay for the food, plus a whopping fifty percent tip! Of course, she couldn't be sure if he'd been generous or merely forgot how much the meal cost. In any event, she didn't let on to the other girls. When Tia asked, she just shrugged, saying, "He was pretty generous, I guess," and left it at that. As she thought about the odd gentleman, she tried picturing his dark piercing eyes, and realized what it was about them that still sent a chill down her spine. It was the certainty. He hadn't been undressing her with his eyes like so many other men did. He hadn't been merely imagining her standing naked before him. No, he KNEW exactly what her young body looked like. In fact, he knew everything there was to know about her. At least that's how it seemed. The shiver returned. But with the man safely gone, it quickly transformed itself from a feeling of foreboding into a more benign fluttering, a warm tingling that came from deep inside her. She couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be with a man like that. At last, it was quitting time, one o'clock in the morning. She dashed out to the parking lot, getting her keys ready as she walked. The lot was so poorly lit, it always made her a little nervous this late at night, especially since a mugging had taken place there a few weeks before. As she approached her car, she heard a noise in the bushes. It startled her and made her rush, which made her fumble clumsily and miss the keyhole entirely. If only she could afford a new car, with one of those remote keys! Finally, the key slid in and she was in the driver's seat, safe. She drove home along the mostly empty streets of town and pulled into her driveway. Her father would be asleep, or so she hoped. If he wasn't asleep, it would mean he'd been out drinking again, and was likely in a foul mood. But the fact that the lights were out was a good sign. For the millionth time she couldn't help but think about missed opportunities, her failed engagement, and her abbreviated college career. What had happened to all her plans? How did she end up living alone with her alcoholic father? What a crappy life for a bright young woman! She was so intent on her sullen thoughts that she didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late. Just as she went to unlock the door to the house, a pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind. One arm wrapped locked itself around her chest, pinning her own arms uselessly to her sides, and lifting her bodily off the ground. The other hand clamped down firmly over her mouth, stifling her screams. The hand pressed a damp cloth against her face. It covered her mouth and nose. She knew instinctively the strange smelling liquid that permeated the cloth was meant to knock her out. She struggled and fought with all her strength, but with every desperate breath, she felt her consciousness slip further and further away. The darkness of the night gradually became the darkness of oblivion. There was no way to know how much time passed before she slowly came to. She wasn't even sure at first if the consciousness she felt was real or some kind of manifestation of the drug. Even though she thought she was awake again, she found she couldn't move. And she couldn't see anything either, despite holding her eyes wide open.
Slave Lessons, Chapter 1
"You're awake now," came a male voice, close by.
"What?"
"I said you're awake, now, Shayla."
"What's going on? I- I can't move. I can't see!"
"You're bound, Shayla. And blindfolded. But there's nothing wrong with you physically."
With those words, she finally started to make sense of what she was feeling. Yes, she thought, I'm bound. My limbs aren't frozen, they're restrained. And my eyes can see, just not through whatever is covering them.
Step by step, she inventoried herself. I'm standing, she thought, with my back to a pole of some sort. My wrists are tied behind the pole. My ankles are also tied and attached to the pole as well. There are more ropes, pressing tight against my chest and waist, tight enough to hold me up while I was out. There's definitely no way I'm leaving this pole!
But the knowledge that her body was uninjured did not make her feel any better. In fact, as the full impact of her situation hit her, she began to breathe deeply, rapidly. Panic scrambled her thoughts.
"What do you want?" she shouted into the darkness. Of course, she knew the answer to that question. What else does a man abduct a woman for?
"Don't be afraid, Shayla. You won't be harmed in any way."
"Please, just let me go."
"I will. As soon as you complete your first lesson."
"My first- What?"
"It's very simple, Shayla."
"Stop calling me that! My name's not Shayla."
"It is now. In this place."
Though the man made no sense, his voice was calm and soothing. She began to settle her nerves and gather her thoughts.
"You- you said you would let me go? After I finish some kind of lesson?"
"That's correct, Shayla."
"Um. Okay. So... what do I have to do?" She didn't really believe him, but decided to play along for the time being. As she did so, she twisted her wrists, trying to find some leverage, some angle to loosen her bonds.
"All you need to do is state your name, and tell me what you are."
Tell him what I am? she thought, baffled. And state my name? Well that part seemed simple enough.
"All right, should I just go ahead and answer?"
"Yes."
"My name is Carissa, but my friends call me Cari. Okay?"
"No! Wrong!" shouted her captor.
With the blindfold on she had no way of seeing the blow coming. It simply exploded from nowhere, an open palmed slap across her face. She yelped in pain as her head snapped to the side.
She started to cry, and at the same time redoubled her efforts to free her hands.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped. "Please don't hit me anymore!"
"Try again," the man yelled. "And think about your answer this time, you stupid bitch!"
Think about her answer? How could she not know her own name? Then it dawned on her. He must want her to use the name he kept calling her. But in her rattled state of mind, she couldn't remember it!
"Hurry up," the man snarled at her. "I haven't got all night."
"I'm sorry," she sniffled again. "Um, my name is... Kayla?"
"Wrong again!"
The second slap came from the other direction, leaving both cheeks stinging now.
"Wait, I know!" she shouted between sobs. "Shayla! Right? My name is Shayla?"
"Yes," the voice said, quickly returning to its calm mode. "Very good. As I said, Shayla is your name here. It is your slave name, the only name you will respond to in this place. You will not respond to Carissa. There IS no Carissa here. Do you understand?"
"Y- Yes!"
"Respond by saying 'yes, sir'," he prompted.
"Yes, sir!"
"All right. See, this isn't so difficult is it, Shayla?"
"N- No, sir. I guess not." If only she knew what was going on! Why was he doing this to her?
"Now the other part of the lesson, Shayla. What are you?" He paused then added, "Think before you answer, if you want to spare yourself more slaps."
"Yes, sir. I- I'll think about my answer this time."
"But don't take too long, because delay will also be painful for you."
She gasped as his hands planted themselves on her breasts. His fingers found the taut beads of her nipples and began to pinch them lightly.
Trying to ignore his touch, she forced herself to sort through what was happening. What did he want her to say now? That she was a woman? A waitress? Somehow, she knew those answers weren't right. So what then?
The pressure of his fingers on her nipples was increasing. He began to twist them as well. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so... good. She wished he would stop. Despite herself, the stimulation was starting to excite her, and she could hardly think straight.
"Mmmm," she moaned, unable to stifle the sound of her mounting, unwilling arousal. She found herself rubbing her legs together, wishing there was something to press her hips against.
But the pressure on her nipples was quickly going past pleasurable to just painful.
"Better answer soon, Shayla. I can squeeze much, much harder than this."
"Oh!" she squealed. "Please, stop. Just let me think!"
As she groaned in pain, she realized suddenly that he had actually given her the answer to the first question, so maybe he'd given her the answer to this one, too. And then, she remembered what he'd said about the name "Shayla." It's her "slave name," he'd said. She'd hardly noticed it when he said it, but there it was. She didn't know what he meant by it, but she could worry about that later.
"Am I a slave?" she said uncertainly, afraid of being slapped again.
"You tell me, Shayla." He bore down hard on her nipples then.
"Yes! I'm a slave!" she blurted out as tears fell down her cheeks.
At once, he released his grip. "Good girl," he said.
"Th-thank you, sir," she sobbed.
"This ends lesson one, Shayla. As promised, I will let you go now, but you're not to tell anyone about this. I know where you live, obviously, and who lives with you. Do you understand?"
She understood he was threatening her father. "Yes, sir. But please," she pleaded, "tell me what this is all about. Why are you doing th-immmpphh!" The damp cloth was pressed across her face again. Bound to the pole, she couldn't fight him any better than before. Once more, she had no choice but to breathe in the vapors and sag into unconsciousness.
When she came to again, she found herself back in her car at home. She checked her watch. About ninety minutes had passed.
Groggily, she opened the door and forced herself to run to the house. Inside, she headed straight to her room, ripped off her clothes and fell into bed, exhausted. When she awoke, she could find no evidence of her ordeal from the night before. Was it real? she wondered. Or was the whole thing just a dream? A crazy, but very realistic dream?
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