A Modern Kajira, Part 2: The Capture

It had been five days since Christina had signed the contract, and she was uncomfortable. She was sweaty, her hair was greasy, her stomach was queasy from a diet of mainly Pop-Tarts and bottled water, her legs and armpits were hairy, and her neck ached from sl**ping on the couch. The city was in the midst of a heat-wave, so Master’s stipulation against bathing was even more unpleasant. The hours seemed like days in the silent heat of her little studio apartment, with her laptop as her only companion.
The apartment block was in an extremely cheap part of town and had no Internet access, so even that was small comfort. After all, there was only so much Minesweeper one could play, so many stories one could write, and so many idle drawings one could create in Microsoft Paint. She wished that she had downloaded some e-books, but she had never been able to afford them. Before, she had used the Internet cafe across the street when she wanted to use the computer, but she would not disobey Master’s command. A kajira must have infinite patience, so infinite patience she would have. Besides, this was the smallest of privations in comparison to what she would experience as a slave. She had no right to be selfish and demanding, even in her own mind.
Every night she stowed her laptop in a bag in preparation for her k**napping and tried to sl**p. Her anticipation made this difficult, but she did not take sl**ping pills, again out of a sense of duty and character-building. Nevertheless, she did sl**p, even if it was only five hours per night.
And then it happened. At one o’clock in the morning of the sixth day, she was woken by a flashlight shining directly in her face, blinding her, and a strong hand brutally grabbing her hair and shaking her head until her teeth rattled. The hand dragged her off the couch and threw her onto the floor, but she did not struggle. Instead, she immediately rolled over onto her back and assumed the supine capture position. Above her stood the shadowy figures of three men, and she felt a secret thrill at being so conquered, but she repressed the feeling, as she knew that her only love, fear and desire should be for her Master.
One of the figures bent down and tied her hands behind her head with coarse rope, as well has her knees and ankles. A gag of rough cotton was stuffed between her jaws and tied behind her head, then a hood with no holes for eyes or mouth but of thin, breathable fabric was thrust over her head and tied around her neck just barely loose enough for her to breathe. One of the men, a big bruiser judging by size of his hands and the ease with which he lifted her, threw her over his shoulder and carried her off. She could hear movement in the background, presumably the other men taking care of her luggage.
She was borne down the stairs and out into what must be the deserted parking-lot behind her building. There was no sound except the tramp of the man’s feet, and she also was perfectly silent and still in compliance with Master’s will. She was thrown roughly into the back of what felt like a van, with her face pressed against the mildewy rubber floormat. A wool blanket that also smelled of mildew was thrown over her. She inhaled the scent of the mildew, reveling in her degradation. She heard the door open and the man get in. The engine revved, and then they were off.
At first there was the ordinary city noise of car horns and people, and the van traveled slowly, with many stops. Then, the sounds faded, and the car began to speed up as it headed into the countryside. She had never been to Master’s home. They had met for the signing of the contract on “neutral ground”, a cheap motel a few blocks from her apartment. She wondered what it would be like. Very grand, no doubt. Master was rich, or at least looked it in his plain but clearly expensive suit of charcoal-grey, and his black tie with the delicate red diamond pattern was obviously of silk; his heavy, angular ring with the abstract carvings and the rhomboid red-and-black opal insert had the shine of real platinum. She had felt so poorly dressed in her plain navy-blue cotton dress with the white sailor stripes, her cheap sterling-silver earrings, and her low-heeled navy Mary Janes.
Presently, she heard the man fumbling around at the dashboard, then heard the click-whine of a CD being inserted. Suddenly, industrial metal music began to blast from the speakers at an ear-splitting volume, and she winced at the sudden racket, although she was very grateful that it was metal music. She had always loved heavy metal, but had a weak spot for classical and Bollywood music as well. Everything else she disliked to degrees that varied from mild irritation (rap and hip-hop) to outright loathing (country music and especially teen pop).
After what felt like approximately an hour of driving, the van made a sharp turn and headed onto a bumpy gravel road. The jarring of her head against the floor was so violent that it gave her a headache, and if she hadn’t had the gag between her jaws she almost certainly would have bitten her tongue. Fortunately, this pain lasted for only ten or so minutes. The van made another turn and then coasted to a halt on what she judged by the relative smoothness of the ride to be asphalt or concrete. The music ceased and the front door opened as the man got out of the car.
The hatch-back of the van opened and she was once again thrown over the man’s shoulder, still wrapped in her blanket. The man walked quickly and firmly over the cement, then up a series of steps. He knocked on the door with strong, firm knocks that emphasized his power and strength. There was the sound of a chain being lifted, then the sound of a bolt being drawn back. The door, heavy by the sound of it, opened with the soft scr****g sound of well-oiled metal.
“Girl, tell Nathan that I bring his kajira,” the man said in a deep, booming voice.
“Yes, Master,” replied a soft, flutey voice. Light, barefoot steps pattered away as the man stepped into the light and air-conditioning of the Home. She was carried a few steps across a floor that echoed like tile, into an open space that smelled of pine and very faintly of patchouli, but was not set down. The tireless man still had her 5-foot-3, 110-pound body slung over his shoulder. He stealthily reached under the blanket and the skirt of her nightgown to stroke her ass. He then reached between the cheeks and grazed her anus with his finger, but he was more interested in the pussy an inch or two forward. Christina could not help but moan softly against her gag, and she could feel herself becoming wet as he stimulated her clitoris and the opening of her pussy.
The man chuckled slightly, then f***efully plunged two large, rough fingers inside her. She gasped against her gag in pain as he moved his fingers violently in and out, but the initial pain soon turned to pleasure as the callouses of his fingers rubbed against her G-spot. She was now so wet that the moisture was beginning to drip down her leg, and she could feel the buildup of tension that signaled that she was about to come.
But then, as she was on the very brink of orgasm, the man withdrew his hand and laughed cruelly. He wiped his sticky hand against her ass cheeks and gave them a firm slap. During all this time, he had not taken her off his shoulder. In the desperate, transient selfishness of extreme sexual passion, Christina tried to stimulate herself by rubbing her blanket-covered pussy against his shoulder, but a vicious pinch on the ass-cheek brought her disobedience to a halt.
“Do that again, girl, and that pinch will be on the pussy lips; plus I’ll tell your Master. Kajirae get pleasure when a Master is so kind to allow it, and only then. Your position is to give everything and to receive nothing, and don’t you forget it.”
Christina’s eyes filled with tears of shame. How could she have been so selfish! Was she making mistakes so soon? She blinked back the tears and mumbled the words, “Please forgive this girl” as clearly as she could against the gag.
“Ppllf ffgff d’ggll!”
The man laughed coldly, but as an experienced Gorean Master he could recognize those words even through the stoutest gag. “Your pleas are irrelevant to me, but it’s clear that you have at least the beginnings of a proper slave attitude, even if you don’t have the best self-control. You won’t believe how many girls have been cast out of the Home with striped backs for their pride. Maybe you’ll do better, as long as you keep that filthy slave heat out of your own hands.”
Her contrition was interrupted by firm footsteps against the tile. A ringing bass voice echoed across the room. It was Master’s!
“Tal, George. I see you’ve brought the girl. Was she any trouble?”
“No more than usual. And a nice, tight slave heat as well.”
“Fingers only, I hope?”
“Really, Nathan, do you take me for a thief?”
“No, of course not. I was joking. Well, then, you can bring her into the Hall. I’ll call Roger and his Free Companion Michelle. He told me at the last dance that they wanted to watch me collar this one.”
“And no wonder. You’ve had such bad luck with your slaves; everyone is hoping that you’ll finally find one that pleases you.”
“Well, you know me: I settle for nothing but the best.”
84% (8/1)
Categories: BDSM
Posted by Submissatrix
3 years ago    Views: 598
Comments (3)
Reply for:
Reply text
Please login or register to post comments.
3 years ago
wonderful continuation
3 years ago
can't wait to read more, keep them coming hun
3 years ago