Fulfillment Read online

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Photo Credit: © photooiasson - Fotolia.com

  Cover Design: Valerie Tibbs

  Fulfillment © May 2010 Jennifer Campbell

  eXcessica publishing

  All rights reserved

  Fulfillment

  By Jennifer Campbell

  1

  Chapter 1

  It was not the trip I expected when we left Boston. The tall flight attendant, Rosemary, with her long fawn hair and nut brown skin, seemed bent on tormenting me for the entire plane flight to Kingston. Of course since this was Lionel Aldridge’s private jet and I was the only passenger there was no one else to focus her painful attentions on. Indeed I became more like cargo than a passenger and as she relentlessly subjugated me thoughts of outright rebellion crossed my mind. Yet I was a trained slave so I did not rebel and besides I still expected she was in some way preparing me for Lionel although I didn’t understand her methods.

  Armed with a small whip with stingy, thin filaments, she dictated humiliating positions for me to assume and if I did not get into them quickly enough for her she snapped off painful cracks of her whip to my skin. My thighs, bottom and breasts began to bear the angry red lines of punishment, but then she abandoned the whip in favor of smaller device which looked like a spiked wheel on a handle.

  “Have you seen one of these before, bitch?” Her voice was deep, almost the tenor of a man at times, especially when she was angry.

  I shook my head no, hoping it was an adequate response, but it was not.

  She took the spiked wheel and rolled it over my bottom which was quite sore already and the wheel pricked my skin terribly wherever she rolled it.

  “Owwww, fuck.” The tiny spikes rolled along pricking my tender skin especially when she crisscrossed the patterns.

  “Turn over, show me your cunt.” Her command was all too clear, but I was reluctant to let her put her spiked wheel on my soft, sensitive pussy flesh.

  “I said roll over, doggie, do it now or else.”

  Having been on my knees already, my breast hanging beneath me inches from the floor of the plane, I rolled over as she had requested and my legs came open much to my chagrin. Now my most intimate center was exposed to her toy and I had little expectation of mercy. Suddenly it occurred to me how unlikely it was that she had orders from Lionel to do this to me. Lionel had begun to be sexually dominant, but he was still squeamish about the application of pain to a female sub. I pushed this feeling out of my head for now because if she wasn’t working for Lionel, who was she working for?

  As soon as her hand moved to press the spiked wheel to my pussy, my legs instinctively tried to close to protect myself.

  “Even I know you were trained not to refuse pain at your Mansion, slut. Would you happily let Keefe Murdoch put this tool to your cunt?” She didn’t try to force my legs open, but she placed the wheel right next to my cheekbone on my face. “Answer me or you won’t be such a pretty bauble anymore.”

  There was no question in my mind the wheel could do serious damage to my face and that she would make it do so, so I answered her. “I wouldn’t be happy to have Master Keefe use that on me, but I would trust him not to hurt me.” How did she know of Keefe and the Mansion if she wasn’t working for Lionel?

  Rosemary exhaled a long breath. “Well isn’t that sad, you don’t trust me. I guess we have some work to do.” Her brown eyes gleamed at me and she placed her toes between my legs and forced her whole foot between my defensively closed legs. She had tremendous strength it seemed, strength far beyond my ability to cope with.

  “I’ll offer you a choice, you can continue to try to maintain your legs in a closed position and I’ll rip them open and secure them with a spreader bar, or you can open them and I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.” She smiled graciously.

  I had no illusions about my chances of resistance and I sensed if I made her open me up she would make me pay. I considered if she did work for Lionel he would not allow her to harm me and so I capitulated opening my legs.

  “See trust isn’t so hard, is it?”

  Nodding, I watched her move the wheel from my face to my naked cleft. “Why are you doing this to me? Who are you?” The questions just poured out of me as if I couldn’t stop them and I realized I was afraid.

  Rosemary laughed at my questions as if they were meaningless. “I am Rosemary and all you really need to know now is that I own you, bitch, and I’ll do as I please with you. As far as why, well . . . I’d prefer my reasons remain a mystery to you for now. You do love a good mystery, don’t you?” She touched the spiked wheel to my clit and I had to fight to resist the urge to squirm away and close my legs.

  “Now, how about you answer some questions for me and be careful as the wrong answers could be painful. You wear a name on that pretty red collar of yours and the inference is he owns you, does Lionel Aldridge own you?”

  I sensed she had a serious problem with my being Lionel’s slave so I tried to put a different face on it. “Lionel and I have known each other for two years and we are lovers. I was taking this plane to come to his estate in Jamaica to see if we could develop an M/s relationship.” It was all true, but I had omitted how I saw him as my perfect Master.

  Rosemary pushed the wheel in and down bringing stabbing pain to my pussy. “Is he your Master, yes or no? I can see how this feels inside your cunt if you wish.”

  She was demanding a choice on my part and it was not easy, but as I thought about it I began to see what I said to her was meaningless unless she was working for Lionel. However I did not believe Lionel would force such a decision from me to show loyalty so I made my choice. “No, he is not my Master.”

  “Then take his collar off, bitch.” Rosemary’s face turned into a mask of anger and she slapped my face hard. “You’ll not mention his name in my presence ever again.”

  Slowly, I unbuckled my red property-of-Lionel-Aldridge collar from my neck and as I did I wondered if I’d made a major error, but there seemed no way to know. I handed the red leather to her and she cast it away to the far wall of the cabin where it impacted, fell, and landed on the floor.

  Instantly I wondered would I ever wear it again, but Rosemary brought me back to this reality by making one downward run over my labia lips with the spiked wheel. I yelped and she laughed.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave your pretty throat bare. I have a new collar for you.” She tossed away the spiked wheel which was a relief to me, but she went to the far end of the cabin to a bag and pulled out a black leather collar.

  Working quickly, Rosemary buckled this new collar on me and I was not pleased. It was of a style I hated, a high collar encasing the whole neck and having a notch for the wearer’s chin to rest in, which immobilized the head quite effectively. When wearing this kind of collar a slave had to turn her whole body not just her head to look side to side.

  “Do you like it?” As
she asked, Rosemary let her fingers explore my breasts fondling and then tweaking my nipples. Her touch, when it was meant to give pleasure felt good, but it seemed she never went too long before she caused pain suddenly. When after some nipple play she grasped and twisted, I realized it was compulsive with her and she was both sinister and dangerous.

  “Lie on your back, and prop your upper body up on your elbows. It’s time I got some use out of you.” Her eyes glowed as she said it and I realized I was about to service her.

  When I obeyed and she shed her blue rayon uniform and lacy black boy shorts, it was an easy matter for her to straddle me and move up so her pussy was perched right over my face. She had long muscular legs and she must have been close to six feet tall I guessed. Her breasts where small though, no more than b-cups, but I was certain I was never going to mention that to her. In the end, my conclusion was she had the body of a female sprinter, less curves and more angular and boy-like with muscles most girls failed to develop. It seemed to make sense because I knew a great many sprinters came from Jamaica.

  “Go to work, slut. You know what to do.” She grabbed my head with two hands and pushed it into her pussy which was shaved with a very tiny clit. I heard her sigh and then moan when I released my tongue into her slit and I found her taste to be somewhat exotic.

  Dutifully, I tongued until I felt her spend, yet her orgasm seemed less intense than normal.

  She climbed off me and grabbed the whip she had used on me before. “So do you love my cunt?”

  What was I to say? A negative answer would surely get the whip active and I was sore enough already. “Yes, Mistress, you taste very exotic.”

  “Really, you’ve not dined on island pussy before. What a shame. You’ll be eating me every day, perhaps several times a day, from now on.”

  As she began to dress, I tried to get a picture of my future. Was it possible she had simply kidnapped me and I was now in her clutches forever? I did not think so as I knew this was Lionel Aldridge’s private jet, so she must have some connection to him, but what was it because she cleared hated him to some extent. I decided, despite the risk to try to get some answers in the wake of giving her orgasm.

  “Mistress, are you preparing me?” I knew I couldn’t mention Lionel’s name, but if she answered this question it might shed some light on the situation.

  “Are we fishing, bitch, for why we are here? Well, I’ll play along. Let’s say I’m going to make you into a real slave, not the silly play slave you were at your Mansion. When I’m done you’ll be a mindless fuck toy who grovels and begs for sex and punishment with no foolish concern about limits. You’ll understand the only important thing is serving and giving pleasure to those who own you. Then maybe I’ll collect all your little playmates from the Mansion; Gail, Donna, Kelly, Angel and that new one, what’s her name, the redhead.” Rosemary went into an almost maniacal laugh which frightened me to my very core. She knew so much about the people I cared about and I was close to believing she could do what she was threatening to do. In a way, I was sorry I had asked the question.

  Our conversation was interrupted by the pilot’s voice over the intercom. “Approaching Kingston, Rosemary, we’ll be landing in twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, joy, almost home. It’s good news for me, but quite bad for you. As you are cargo, it’s time to get you ready for transport.” Rosemary smiled as she moved back to her bag and removed a hank of thin black cord and a ball gag. Then she went to the side of the cabin and picked up a stout pole perhaps eight feet in length which I could not imagine a use for.

  After a few strokes of her whip to insure my docile compliance to lie on my belly, she went to work binding me in a severe hogtie with my legs, elbows, and head pulled back and up. After my ankles, knees, wrists, and elbows were separately bound together tightly by the black cord the pole was slid through my ankle and elbow ties and my hair was tied to it. This left me lying on the cabin floor with the pole on top of me connected to me in three places. I could barely move and the cord bit painfully into my tender skin, but Rosemary merely laughed and adjusted my bonds tighter if anything. “There after we land, you’ll be easy for the baggage handlers to manage.”

  It was then I realized the bizarre way she intended for me to leave this jet; bound and hanging from this stout pole like some dead animal. No sooner had we landed than the plane’s door opened and Rosemary called out. “Cantu, Regna, the baggage is in here for you. Handle it carefully, so as not to damage it, but as usual you may take whatever liberties you chose to as a gratuity.”

  To my utter amazement the two burly native baggage handlers boarded the plane and grinned at me as they picked me up by the bar. Pain set in as my full body weight now hung from the bar and my tendons and joints struggled to distribute the weight. It was all made worse by the swinging effect which started as they carried me down the ramp into the darkness of the Jamaican night. We made steady progress across the tarmac and into a large building as my naked breasts hung beneath me to be occasionally groped and fondled by the handler’s paw-like hands. Once we were inside the shelter of the building, they simply plopped me down on a low table and removed my ball gag. There was little question of their intention as my open mouth was now at the level of their cocks and I was taken and brutally face fucked until I tasted both of them. I expected there might be more, but they replaced my gag and unfastened me from the pole plopping me like a trussed up pig into the back of a small Jeep. They covered me with a scratchy woolen blanket and I waited for what seemed like a long time before I heard the jeep door open.

  “All comfy, bitch? Well perhaps not, but slaves should not expect comfort, right?” It was Rosemary and she started the engine knowing I could not respond. Before I knew it she was driving like a wild woman through what I assumed were Kingston’s crowded streets for I could hear street noises and cars honking at us. With the way she was driving I thought perhaps the police would stop her and discover me, but then I wondered if I wanted such a solution. If she was my only connection to Lionel, did I want to escape from her? Of course this led directly to a deeper question. If she was doing this under Lionel’s orders, did I really know Lionel for I would never have imagined he would do this to me? Thankfully I never had to face this dilemma as I never heard a police siren chasing us.

  Soon we must have left the city, or so I assumed, for the street noises decreased to an occasional passing car or the howl of an animal. There was of course the rapid beating of my heart which seemed all too noticeable to me in this tense situation. For a few moments I recalled my other kidnapping on the occasion of my being taken for service in the Mansion. Mr. Red and Mr. Blue had thrilled me, but the situation had been different as I had known beforehand I would be taken and where I was going. So as I had knelt naked and blindfolded on the front steps of my condo there had been none of the deep anxiety there was now. Suddenly the truth of my dilemma crashed in on me and I began to softly sob under the blanket. All I could think of was where was Lionel and why had he forsaken me?

  The bumpy jeep ride continued for hours and my bound body felt every turn and bump in the road of which there were many. Finally things seemed to brighten even under the blanket and I saw the light of morning peeking through a tiny hole in blanket. Not long after the jeep stopped suddenly jarring my tightly bound body against the back wall of the cargo compartment.

  I heard the door open and suddenly the blanket was gone and I was left blinking and squinting at the sudden bright sunlight. As my eyes struggled to adjust to it, Rosemary showed me no mercy as she grabbed my head and jerked it painfully to the side so I was forced to look on her face. “Home sweet home, bitch, not so much for you, but for me.” She laughed as she began to untie the cruel cords which bound my ankles, knees, elbows and wrists. As each of my limbs was freed I flexed them and saw the deep bruise lines the cords had made.

  “Oh are we all sad about our pretty body being all marked up? Get used to wearing the marks of real slavery.” Her voice contained an edg
e of resentment of my beauty.

  There was nothing to say so I remained silent and scrambled to a curled up sitting position once I was completely free. Of course my legs were quite naturally closed and this did not sit well with Rosemary. She slapped my face hard and screamed. “Slaves do not close their legs. Never close your legs to me again. Do you understand?”

  “Ees, Misess, I screamed through the gag.” The same axiom had applied at the Mansion, but it was not so savagely enforced. I did wonder however why I had not thought she might be upset at my actions. Did she have me so frightened I was unable to react as I’d been trained?

  Rosemary literally pulled me out the back of the jeep and I began to look around at my surroundings. My bare feet were in a thin layer of white sand covering the ground and palm trees could be seen. My nose detected the smell of the ocean in the air and there was a somewhat ramshackle beach house up a rise about thirty feet in front of us. The house had once been painted white, but the paint was now chipping and peeling and the whole place seemed to be in a state of disrepair. Listening, I could hear surf in the distance coming from beyond the house and I wondered where on the coastline of Jamaica we were?

  Then it hit me. Lionel’s estate was on the ocean on east side of the island. Could this be an out building of his estate where Rosemary would train me before my Master came to claim me. If so, why had he not told me there would be this interruption, and why would Rosemary seem to hate him? Nothing made sense and I was quickly losing hope.

  “Stand up straight, head back, breasts out, back arched. You’ll want to adopt this position when you stand or walk as I like my slaves to show off their bodies at all times.” She slapped my breast hard when I did not adopt the position fast enough and I whined through the gag at her constant painful corrections.