Chemical Submission
It all happened so fast. I was walking back to my car when a black SUV pulled up next to me with screeching tires. My first instinct wasn’t fear, it was irritation. Asshole driver. I turn, a berating comment halfway out of my mouth already when I see three masked men jump out. What happens next is a blur. Hands grabbing me harshly, a hood thrown over my head, the fabric thick and unforgiving as it swallows my screams. My body striking out futilely as I fought against my kidnappers. A pinch on my arm, then nothing.
When I wake up, I’m in the back of a car, my arms tied behind my back, the seatbelt digging into my chest, keeping me immobilized. The three men who snatched me hardly pay me any attention, their steady stream of conversation barely stopping when they notice my consciousness. There’s an inkling of fear that begins to take root but I push it away, opting for anger right now.
“You fucking criminals. What the fuck is wrong with you people? You can’t just snatch me off the street, let me go!” My voice is scratchy but it gains momentum as I speak, my last few words leaving my mouth with an angry shriek.
The driver lets out a condescending laugh. “Shut the fuck up, slut. You don’t have any power here.”
I struggle hard against my restraints but nothing gives. “Let me fucking go, or I swear I will ruin you fucking assholes.”
They laugh and don’t even bother giving me a verbal response. The man next to me pulls out a syringe and jams it into my thigh, ignoring my pained gasp. The last thing I hear before the sedative pulls me under is one of their voices.
“Our buyer did say he wanted a brat. This bitch should keep him occupied real nice.”
—
When I wake up again, I’m sprawled across a soft bed. High ceilings arch overhead, the entire room screaming wealth and luxury based on the modern architecture and sleek styling. I’m groggy but I push that away and sit up, determined to get the hell out of here and back to my normal life.
Before I can come up with a plan of action, the door to the room opens with a flourish and a man walks in. Just based on the way he carries himself and the clothes he’s wearing, I know he’s disgustingly rich. The watch on his wrist cost more than my entire college degree, I’m sure.
“There she is!” His voice is velvety, the kind used to having its every order obeyed without question. “You’re awake.”
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. I don’t miss the way he slides the lock in place. Before he can take another step towards me, I stand up from the bed.
"Stay the hell away from me," I hiss.
He laughs, bright, mocking. "Oh my dear, you don’t get to make demands here."
I lunge for the door, but he’s faster. His hand closes around my wrist, and I gasp the strength of his grip.
"Bad girl," he coos, shaking his head like I’m some disobedient pet. I jerk my arm, trying to make him release me but his grip is iron.
“Let me go, you fucking creep! Where am I?”
He grins at me and gestures with his free hand, “Welcome to your new home.”
“Are you fucking stupid?”
He laughs again, “They did said you’d be feisty. Money well spent, I’d say.”
I glare at him, “What the fuck are you talking about?” I yank my arm back towards myself again. Again, his grip stays firm.
He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “You, my feisty girl, belong to me now. I bought you. This is your new home, your new reality. I am your master.”
I can’t stop the incredulous laugh that erupts from me. “Oh my god, you’re insane. I don’t belong to anyone!”
He smirks, “I have paperwork that would beg to differ, sweetheart. But I understand, the transition can be hard. This might help.”
He pulls out a device from his pocket. It’s a small, rectangular shape, with a metal band around it, like an arm band. He grins and yanks my wrist hard, the force making my body lurch forward into his. He moves too fast for me to react, an arm coming around my waist to hold me still as he slips the device around my upper arm. A sharp stab radiates out from my bicep where he’d pushed the device against my skin and a metallic click later, he pulls away, smiling.
I glance down at my arm, my free hand coming up to touch the device, searching for a way to take it off but finding none. The metal makes a perfect loop around my arm, keeping me from tampering with the device held against my skin. “What did you do, you psychopath?!”
The device lets out a single beep. I glance down, not understanding at first. Then, it starts.
A slow, creeping, insidious warmth, pooling low in my stomach. My breath stutters. My skin prickles. My thighs press together instinctively, but the friction makes it worse.
He watches, grinning. "Oh? Already?"
"Fuck you," I spit, but my voice wavers.
He tsks. "Disobedience has consequences, sweetheart."
The heat flares, burning, and I whimper before I can stop myself. “What did you do?” My voice is breathy, whiny, desperate.
He leans down, fingers curling under my chin. “A special little gift for my special girl. That device on your arm has direct access to your bloodstream. Every time you act up, it will send a pulse of a highly effective aphrodisiac straight to your circulation. That’s what you feel now. Isn’t that fun?” He chuckles lowly, his grip shifting downwards to wrap around my throat.
“The faster you learn your place, the easier it’ll be for you, sweet girl. But I have a feeling you won’t be a very fast learner.” His eyes gleam with sadism.
I bite back a whimper and glare at him. I can feel sweat beading across my skin, my nipples tightening almost unbearably. Every breath feels too much, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
“You psychopath,” I say, struggling to keep the venom in my voice.
The device beeps again. Another pulse shoots through me and my eyes flutter shut against my will. My body trembles and his grip tightens against my throat. I shudder at his touch. My pussy throbs.
He pulls away from me suddenly and I let out an unconscious whine that I immediately silence when I realize. My face blushes red. He smirks at me. “Have a good night, darling. See you in the morning.”
He turns and leaves the room, the door shutting behind him, the lock clicking into place.
I stumble backwards onto the bed, gasping in deep breaths of air to try to calm myself down.
I refuse to touch myself.
I refuse to give in to him.
But as the hours pass, the heat turns to fire. My skin is too tight. Every brush of fabric against my clit, my nipples is torture. I toss and turn on the bed, determined to wait this out.
I don’t break.
Not yet.
—
I wake up drenched.
The heat never faded. It simmered all night, twisting my dreams into something filthy. I dreamed of hands on me, fingers inside me, a mouth between my thighs, his voice whispering in my ears, the beep of the device haunting me.
I sit up, panting. My fingers twitch, the thought of touching myself crosses my mind before I banish it.
No. I won’t.
But the ache is unbearable. My clit pulses, swollen and desperate. I shift, and the friction makes me whimper.
His voice comes from the doorway. “Need something?” I didn’t even notice the door open.
I glare. “Go to hell.”
He smirks.
A beep. A fresh wave of heat crashes over me.
Fuck.
My hips jerk. My hands fly to my thighs, gripping, barely stopping myself in time. I shake my head, trying to clear my head, to get a hold of my sanity.
He walks in the room holding two covered trays. He sets them down on the nightstand and reveals one with a flourish. “Breakfast for my lovely, desperate girl.” He coos.
It’s all my favorites but the food doesn’t excite me at all. He sits at the edge of the bed, so close I can smell him, clean, masculine, intoxicating. I catch myself breathing deeply, my head spinning with pleasure.
He puts together a bite of breakfast for me and holds it out towards me. I glare at him, “Fuck off, I’m not some pet.” My voice sounds weak, even to myself, lacking the usual snap as the heat in my body overrides my defiance.
He tsks at me and raises an eyebrow. Beep. The heat hits again and my thighs clench as my hands fist the sheets. He holds out the food to me again. This time, I eat. He feeds me every bite like this. I don’t disobey him again, eating until he stops feeding me. Then he stands and grabs the tray of dirty plates.
“Before I forget, I have one more surprise for you.” He says, grabbing the lid of the second tray he’d brought in. My eyes widen when I see what it was hiding.
Toys. Vibrators. Dildos. The tray contains a sex shop’s worth of toys, each one staring up at me. I let out a soft whimper, my pussy clenching. The cruelty of his surprise isn’t lost on me.
He laughs at me reaction. “Just in case you need any of these. Don’t be shy, pretty girl.” He leaves me then, my body throbbing from the unrelenting aphrodisiac with only my willpower preventing me from reaching down and stroking a finger along my clit. Or grabbing a vibrator from the tray and working my body over until this horrible, constant heat goes away.
Time passes in a haze.
Every shift of fabric is torture. My panties are soaked, clinging to me, rubbing in all the wrong (right) ways. My pulse is a frantic drumbeat between my legs.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fists clenched at my sides.
I won’t touch myself. I won’t.
But the drug doesn’t care. It rebels at my self-control. It coils tighter, hotter, until I’m arching off the bed, a whimper tearing from my throat.
My fingers betray me, sliding down.
Just one touch. Just to ease it, just to take the edge off.
The moment I touch myself, it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire. My hips jerk, my back arches, and I come embarrassingly fast, biting my tongue to stifle my cries.
I come off the high, gasping quietly, expecting the needy haze to let up. Excepting the drug to have burned out of my system. But it only gets worse.
Because it doesn’t help.
It worsens.
The fire spreads. I whine, pawing at myself, ripping clothes off my body, but the more I touch, the worse it gets. I’m lost in the haze, my fingers working against my clit faster and harder.
But it’s still not enough.
My gaze lands on the tray of toys and I don’t hesitate. My hand snatches the magic wand, a flick of the switch making it’s head vibrate impossibly fast. I can’t move quick enough, pressing the toy hard against my clit.
I don’t bother trying to stay quiet this time, a loud moan leaving my throat as the toy makes contact.
The aphrodisiac is a living thing inside me, twisting through my veins like molten need. My skin is fever-hot, every nerve screaming for relief that doesn’t exist. The pleasure is torture. The torture is pleasure. I can’t tell the difference anymore.
I shove the vibrator harder against myself, thighs trembling, back arching off the bed. A broken moan spills from my lips as I cum again but it’s useless. The orgasm just fans the flames, leaves me emptier, needier, dumber. My fingers are slick, my cunt clenching around nothing, begging to be filled.
A ragged whimper escapes me as I reach for the dildo, thick and unyielding, pressing it inside with a choked gasp. The stretch burns, but the drug twists the pain into something filthy, something delicious. I fuck myself with it, rough and fast, the vibrator still grinding in frantic circles.
My vision blurs. Tears streak down my face. I cum again but it only makes the hunger worse. My body convulses, greedy and insatiable, my cunt clenching around the toy as the orgasm leaves me emptier than before. I sob into the sheets, fingers cramping around the toys.
The door swings open and he’s there, leaning against the frame, smirking at the show I’m putting on for him. “Aww, you poor sweet girl, you didn’t even last 24 hours.”
I can’t take it anymore.
Every breath is a struggle. My body isn’t mine, it’s a mess of need, of desperation that belongs to him.
He stands over me.
“You want some help?”
I whimper. I need him.
He steps closer. “Beg.”
I shake my head, my last ounce of defiance rearing its head. A beep sounds. I sob as the heat spikes.
“Please!” I sob. “P-please—”
He smirks, tilting my chin up. “Please what?”
I’m shaking. My pride is gone, my resistance shattered.
“Please, master.”
His smile is cruel. “Good girl.”
