Slave Jemma Ch. 03

Thanks again for the wonderful comments! I hope this chapter meets your desires for more rebellion, lol. As always, all characters are over the age of 18.

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Jemma slowly woke up, stretching lazily till she remembered where she was. The comfortable bed, silky sheets and cozy blankets were soon forgotten as she looked around the room. She sighed as she realized she was alone, for the first time. Swiftly she slid out of bed and ran to the door. It was unlocked! She looked both ways before walk-running down the hall to the elevator. Surely in a place this size, they have to have a set of stairs. There were no signs indicating such, and she was leery to start opening doors with letters on them. She didn't want to meet another trainer. She continued looking around until she found an indiscreet door with no special markings. She hesitated only a moment before trying the handle. It was unlocked as well. She slipped inside the dark area behind the door, giving her eyes a moment to adjust before she moved on; pleased she found a set of stairs leading up.

Unbeknownst to her, Master and Sir Jarrod were watching her every move from a set of monitors in the security room.

"I told you she would try to escape," Sir Jerrod argued.

Master just watched her, fingers connected beneath his chin, "Perhaps. But give her time. I feel she will be a welcome addition to the harem."

The two men continued to watch as she stealthily climbed three flights of stairs. She wasn't sure why she was panting for breath; she shouldn't be this winded. Of course, she had no way of knowing they were able to reduce the oxygen in the stairwell, to prevent slaves from escaping. She continued on, finding a door at the top of the third flight of stairs. It was locked. She continued her trek. Fourth floor was also locked. But the fifth floor wasn't. She slipped into another hallway, elevator to her left. She tiptoed down the linoleum flooring, shivering at the cooler temperature. This hallway was nothing like the one downstairs. No carpet, stark white walls and no artwork anywhere. This must be the way out.

Only one door looked promising; so she entered it, making sure no one was following her. This room was dark, darker than the stairwell. She took a tentative step forward. A sound behind her caused the blood to drain from her face. The door locked behind her. She quickly turned, pulling and tugging on the handle, frantic to get out before she was caught. His laugh was the next sound to cause her to stop.

He slowly raised the lighting in the room. Her eyes grew wide as she looked around, taking in all the items in the room. Some she recognized from historical accounts, but there were so many things she was clueless about. Her gaze stopped on him.

"Kneel." She dropped to her knees, noticing the floor in here was wood, rather than carpet or linoleum. Her thighs automatically parted the required amount, hands resting on her legs. Her body quivered, knowing she was caught and would likely be punished. Suddenly she remembered.

Her pleas were music to his ears as the sight of her kneeling was a feast for his eyes. "Please Master, please don't use the gel. I was lost. I didn't know where Sir Jarrod went, so I went to look for him. Please Master, I am good, I don't need the gel."

A sob caught in her throat at his silence. An eternity passed before he spoke, "Look at me, slave Jemma."

She looked up, tears slipping down her cheeks yet again.

"I've already told you that I use the gel as a last resort. And I rarely have to do that. Yes, you will be punished, for two things. One: you left the room and tried to escape. Secondly, you lied about it."

She gasped softly, contemplating the idea of continuing her fable. Instead she dropped her head in resignation. "Yes Master."

He walked to her, holding out his hand. She grasped it and rose to her feet, silently following him across the room. Dread filled her as they stopped before a bench. It reminded her of a weight bench. Only, this one had bars and straps that she never saw on the ones at the gym. Not that she went to the gym often. But she still knew this was different. He guided her to lie on her belly, knees resting on the pads on either side, so she was basically kneeling with her body resting on the largest part of the bench. He began strapping her in, one across her back and another just above her ass. Her ankles, thighs and wrists were all secured as well. When he was finished, she couldn't move. Her head rested on the bench, turned to face the left. From the looks of things, he could have strapped her head to another piece, forcing her to face forward. But he didn't.

He stepped within her line of sight, showing her two items, "First, you will get twenty strokes with the crop. That is for trying to escape. Then I will give you ten strokes with the cane. That is for lying. After each stroke you will count. There is no need to thank me for each one, as you will do that at the end. I will give you a short break between the crop and the cane. Understood?"

She whimpered, wishing she had just stayed in bed, "Yes Master, I understand."

"Let's begin."

The first strike of the crop was harder than she expected. She gasped as pain flared across her ass. She almost forgot his orders, only remembering as he cleared his throat. "One," she whispered.

The next strike was more expected, but still stung. Each of the first ten marked her flesh in a different place across her ass and thighs. Increasing pain was reflected in each count, whimpers and sobs accompanying her words. On the eleventh strike she cried out, feeling him smack a spot already warmed by the crop. Tears fell as he continued without pause, marking her body over and over.

"Sixteen...seventeen...gasps...eighteen..." She cried freely, tears dripping to the floor. His hand turned, aiming the last two for the crack of her ass, smacking her twice in quick succession. Her cries echoed through the room, head rising from the bench. She croaked out, "nineteen, twenty," head falling back onto the bench.

"Please Master, I can't take any more. Please..."

"Yes you can, little slave. And you will. This will teach you to obey. I will give you a few moments before we begin with the cane."

He stepped aside, where she couldn't see him. She could hear a whispered conversation, but had no clue who he was talking to. She didn't try to listen, just tried to compose herself as best as she could, thankful for the reprieve.

"Are you sure she can take more," Sir Jerrod questioned. It was a rare thing for him, questioning the Master. But she really looked like she couldn't take any more.

"Yes, she can take it. She is stronger than she thinks. Now, it is time to begin."

He walked back over to her, his hand resting on her warmed ass to let her know he was ready to begin again. She sucked in a breath, anticipating the first strike of the cane. She waited, holding the breath in until she had to release it. As soon as she did she heard a soft whistle. Then searing pain flared across her ass, a scream tearing from her throat.

He tapped her ass, waiting for her to obey. She sobbed, fighting to control the tears. A strangled "one" slipped from her lips just seconds before the second lash marked another place on her flesh.

"Two," she barely choked out. The next seven strikes blended into one another as he laid stripe after stripe across her reddened flesh. Each lash was followed by her count, barely heard over her sobs. The final lash was laid across her body in the same manner as the final strike of the crop, within the crack of her ass. Her voice allowed no more volume as she cried out, hoarse pleas for it to end escaping her lips.

He silently put away the tools of punishment, allowing her a moment to cry. His hand returned to her sore flesh, rubbing a soothing lotion into the marks. His words soothed her almost as much as the lotion, "You did very well, little slave. I am pleased. But I am sadistic, my dear, and need relief. I will not take your mouth this time though, since you have cried yourself hoarse."

She felt relief; he wouldn't be using her mouth. But that relief quickly dissipated at his next words. "Instead, I will be using your ass."

She begged him not to, told him he could use her pussy, pleaded with him. She knew he was large, and she didn't want to be torn apart. He wouldn't bend, or answer her. He carefully pressed lubricating gel into her ass, using his finger to push it in deep. A second finger joined the first, stretching her tight hole. When his third finger slid inside, she began begging him to stop, whimpering in pain. He chuckled, "My dear, this is nothing compared to my cock."

She moaned, wishing it was over already. His fingers left her entrance and something else replaced them, pushing against her, forcing her sphincter to open for him. She clenched, trying to keep him out.

"The harder you clench, the more it will hurt, because I will get my cock into your ass."

She whimpered and relaxed, gasping as the head popped into her ass. He kept pushing, not giving her a break, filling her until his balls rested against her cunt lips. She moaned, feeling like she had to poop, squeezing his cock.

"Oh fuck, little slave, that feels amazing. I don't know how long I will last; your ass is so tight around my cock."

He grabbed her hips and slowly dragged his cock out of her ass, and pushed it back in. His growls filled the room as he fucked her slowly, patiently, allowing her to adjust as he enjoyed every movement. As he felt her body respond, he began to increase the pace.

She felt a tingling in her nether regions, a warmth filling her. No, she shouldn't be turned on by this. But she was. She wanted more. Her body responded to his thrusts, silently begging for more.

His thrusting continued, faster and harder, moving against her as he heard her begging for more. He grunted, giving it all to her, thrusting as hard and fast as possible, fucking her tight little ass, taking her. She cried out as an orgasm soared through her body, her ass tightening further around his cock. His grunts of pleasure increased until he swelled within her, pushing his cock as deep as it would go and letting his own orgasm rip through him. He cried out his pleasure, collapsing on her back.

She panted for breath, confused yet sated. Her body felt like jell-o; she was so relaxed. She barely felt him slip out of her ass, his cum dribbling from her body; hardly recognized when he unstrapped her body, releasing her from the bench. Sir Jarrod lifted her into his arms, nodding to the Master as he carried her from the room. Once they reached his room he lowered her to the floor, leading her to the bathroom. He ran a tub of warm water, helping her step into it before he began washing her.

Once she was clean he led her back into the main room, to the pallet at the end of the bed. A shackle was placed around her ankle and locked on, securing her to the bed. She didn't care. She was already asleep.