Her hair had fallen into her eyes, but she made no effort to shake or move it away. Her face was flushed, her lips wet and parted, her nipples perking like dark pink gumdrops.
“Thank you, Sir.” She bent forward, lowering her body until her lips met the tops of his bare feet. She brushed one foot and then the other with her soft lips and then lifted herself back onto her haunches, her spine straightening again into dancer-like perfection as her hands settled gracefully on her thighs.
Ronan pulled up his underwear and jeans as he stared down at the sub girl. “You’re welcome,” he finally managed, marveling even as he spoke at the understatement of his words. Jesus god, the girl was perfection, and they hadn’t even made it out of the front hall.
~*~
His eyes were a striking shade of luminous green, the color of sea glass. They were further set off by glossy, dark hair that kept falling rakishly into his face. He exuded a kind of raw but contained sexual power of which he seemed completely unaware. His features were strong, his jaw firm, his bearing and physique the stuff of romance novel covers. Though Hailey had never thought of herself as someone hung up on physical appearances, there was something about this guy that made it hard to look away.
Since the moment she’d seen him, Hailey kept having to remind herself a properly trained slave didn’t stare boldly into her Master’s face. She should have been prepared for a handsome guy, based on George’s assertion of his fame, but normally somewhat indifferent to outward appearances, she hadn’t expected her own strong reaction to his masculine beauty. Even if the guy had zero talent, he was what some of her younger yoga students referred to as serious eye candy.
She took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her upright.
He dropped her hand. “You thirsty?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, the question suddenly reminding her she was parched.
He led her through a cathedral-ceiling living room, which contained dark wood furniture covered in spotless white upholstery. One entire wall of the large room was made of glass, with a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean just beyond the floor to ceiling windows.
She walked behind him, admiring his easy, powerful grace as he moved. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt that fit loosely over broad shoulders and the hint of a muscular back. She liked that he was barefoot. She herself only wore shoes when absolutely necessary.
He turned toward her as he moved through a large archway and gestured for her to precede him into a spacious kitchen with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and a stone-tiled floor. “Would you like a beer? Or there’s some fresh limeade in the fridge.”
“Limeade, please, Sir.” She felt dizzy enough without the addition of liquor, though she kept this to herself. She could still taste the faint mushroomy flavor of his semen in the back of her throat. Fellatio hadn’t been her strong suit when she’d arrived at The Compound, and her trainers had spent a lot of time working with her on technique. Hopefully she’d satisfied her new Master.
Though she found Ronan Wolfe very pleasing to the eye, she hadn’t been expecting the sharp, visceral thrill that had shot through her body when she’d closed her mouth over his thick, satiny cock and inhaled the spicy sweetness of his musk. She’d been so focused these last months on learning to be a properly trained submissive and making herself worthy to be someone’s sex slave, that she’d somehow forgotten her own desires in the process. That impromptu session in the foyer had reignited them with a whoosh, like gasoline thrown onto dying flames.
She watched as Ronan took out a large glass pitcher of juice and set it on the counter. He pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “May I serve you, Sir?” she asked.
He turned toward her with raised eyebrows. “You just did that, no?”
She looked down, suddenly afraid she’d overstepped. She needed to know the house rules. Possibly she had spoken out of turn. “I’m sorry, Sir. I meant—”
He cut her off with a laugh. “Hey, I’m just being a jerk. You want to serve the juice?” He shrugged and leaned against the large island in the center of the room. “Sure. Go ahead. There’s ice if you want it.” He pointed toward the refrigerator. “I like mine without.”
She did too. She lifted the pitcher and poured the limeade. She handed one of the glasses to Ronan and waited for him to drink before lifting her glass to her lips. She drank deeply of the fresh, tangy juice, feeling it revive her as it went down. When she finished, she realized Ronan was staring at her, his glass barely touched, his lips quirked in an amused smile. “Thirsty, huh?”
She felt the warmth move over her cheeks. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Want some more?” He gestured toward the pitcher.
Hailey realized she needed to pee. “No, thank you, Sir.” She started to ask for permission to use the bathroom, but Ronan was speaking, and so she closed her mouth.
“Okay, then. Let me show you around, and go over some of the ground rules for your stay here.”
“Yes, Sir.”
They returned to the foyer. Ronan gestured toward her dress and sandals. “Grab that stuff, will you?” As Hailey retrieved her things, Ronan picked up her suitcases. “Whatever you have in here, you won’t be needing, at least not the clothing. We’re in sunny California and I have complete privacy here on my property. And George was right. I do like my slave girls naked.”
Slave girls.
How many had he owned before her? Where were they now?
She followed Ronan again through the huge living room. This time he led her to the wide, curving staircase at the back of the room. Once at the top, she expected him to go down the wide hallway, but instead Ronan turned toward a door set into the back wall and pulled it open. “This way,” he said, starting up a smaller set of rather steep stairs.
The stairs opened onto a large windowless room. Ronan flicked on the lights and revealed a fully equipped BDSM dungeon, complete with a cross, a spanking bench, a leather swing and two cages, one upright, the other long and low. There was a wooden apparatus that looked quite diabolical. It had a roller at the top and a fixed bar at the bottom, with leather cuffs dangling from chains at various intervals.
The dungeon floor was covered with soft, thick carpeting. One wall held a wide array of whips and floggers hanging on hooks, along with coils of rope and chain. A high counter set against the wall was lined with cuffs, clips, clamps, blindfolds and enough BDSM paraphernalia to stock a small store.
Hailey took it all in with shining eyes, her cunt and nipples gently throbbing with desire. Her skin ached with the need to feel the snug grip of tight rope and the sensual burn of leather. She turned to Master Ronan, who was regarding her intently, his smile lurking just beneath the surface, like a shark in shallow water.
“Like what you see, slave girl?” he murmured. Dropping the suitcases, he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Though she’d been whipped, penetrated, bound and brought to orgasm time and again at The Compound, one thing she hadn’t been was held. She was, she realized suddenly, bereft of touch. Unable to resist the siren’s call of his unexpected embrace, she leaned into him, her body molding perfectly against his.
“Oh, yes, Sir,” she breathed.
“Good. You’ll be spending most of your time here.”
His arms fell away. It took every ounce of control for Hailey not to turn toward him and grab him. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and beg him to hold her—just hold her. Instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to recall her training. She was not this man’s lover. She was his purchased slave, and her duty was to serve, not to demand.
Obviously unaware of her inner turmoil, Ronan retrieved the suitcases. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping,” he said, gesturing with his head for her to follow. He walked through the room toward an open door at the back of the dungeon. He passed through the doorway, Hailey following behind.
This room wasn’t much bigger than a large closet, though a skylight
in the ceiling saved it from feeling claustrophobic. The room contained a bureau and a mattress on the floor. A tiny lamp was set directly in an outlet on the wall beside the mattress. The mattress was covered in a clean white sheet, a single pillow at the head of the bed, a pale blue coverlet folded at the foot. A long sturdy chain lay coiled in the center of the mattress, one end of it rising along the wall, where it was affixed to a thick metal eyebolt.
Through another doorway, Hailey could see tiled flooring and a sink. Following her gaze, Ronan said, “That’s your bathroom. This is the slave quarters. You will sleep here when I’m not using you.” The words sent an involuntary shudder though Hailey’s frame. The training was over. The dream had become a reality. It was happening. This was real.
Master Ronan set down the cases. “Unpack and put away your things. You may use the bathroom, shower, whatever you need to do.” He moved toward the bureau and opened the top drawer. He reached in and turned toward her with something in his hands.
He held up a slim black leather collar with O-rings set at intervals around its perimeter. Hailey’s hand went reflexively to her neck. She’d worn the standard issue red canvas training collar while at The Compound, but it had been removed when she’d completed her training. The skin on her bare neck actually tingled in anticipation of wearing Master Ronan’s collar.
“You will wear this collar at all times during your stay here, except while showering.” He pointed to the floor and Hailey sank to her knees, bowing her head forward in offering. She nearly sighed aloud with pleasure as the welcoming leather was secured around her throat and buckled into place. When Master Ronan was done, she rose again to her feet, lifting her chin so he could see his handiwork.
He nodded, his luminous green eyes glittering. “Take off the panties. You will not wear underwear again for the duration of your stay.”
Hailey immediately slipped off the bit of silk and lace covering her smooth mons and kept her gaze lowered as she felt Ronan’s eyes moving over her form. She wasn’t shy of her body, made lean and strong by years of yoga, but she also knew this man could have his pick of any woman he chose. By some miraculous quirk of fate, he’d chosen her.
At least for a while.
“Hands behind your head,” he snapped suddenly, and Hailey hastened to obey. “Spread your legs and tilt your pelvis forward.” His voice had deepened, the authority ringing in his tone. Hailey did as she was ordered, her heart quickening against her ribs.
He moved closer. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he reached down between her legs. He cupped her mons and slipped one thick, hard finger inside her, the suddenness of his movement making her gasp, even as her cunt sucked down on the digit. After a steady diet of constant sexual stimulation, Hailey hadn’t been permitted an orgasm during the last week of her training, and her body was now quivering with need. It took all her focus to keep from wantonly bucking against her new Master’s hand.
Master Ronan chuckled, the sound low and sensual. “You’re soaking wet,” he announced. “I like that. If I ever find you dry, slave, I will punish you.”
“Yes, Sir,” Hailey whispered faintly, her nipples aching.
“By the same token,” he continued, as he slipped a second finger in beside the first, “your body belongs to me. If I ever find you touching yourself without my express direction, or orgasming without my command, you will be whipped until I draw blood. Are we quite clear on this, slave?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hailey breathed, the muscles of her cunt spasming against his fingers, which he was moving sensually inside her. If he didn’t stop soon, she was going to be in serious trouble.
As suddenly as he’d penetrated her, he withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his nose and inhaled, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, a small smile whispering across his face.
Dropping his hand, he opened his eyes. “Come here,” he said in a low, urgent voice. He opened his arms, and Hailey moved into them. He gathered her close and leaned down, dipping his head until their lips touched. Hailey sighed against his mouth as he kissed her. Her lips parted as his tongue slipped past them. She felt herself melting against him, and she would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly.
He kissed her for a long time, his hands roaming her back and cupping her ass as he explored her mouth with his. When he finally let her go, she felt the loss of him so keenly, it was as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. She gasped in her struggle to recover her equilibrium.
Ronan seemed to be enduring some kind of internal struggle of his own. It was as if a shade had been drawn over his brilliant green eyes, his expression difficult to read.
“I’ll return in twenty minutes,” he finally said, the urgency that had been in his tone a moment before now replaced with a cool authority. Had she only imagined the passion in his kiss? Or was she the only one who had felt it?
“I expect to find you standing at attention in the dungeon, hands locked behind your head,” he continued. “I’ve seen what you’re capable of in the videos, but I’ve always liked to check things out for myself. I want to see how you handle various sorts of erotic pain and sensual restraint. I’m going to test your limits, Hailey. The Compound was the audition, but now you’ve got the part. It’s showtime, and I expect you to give me all you’ve got.”
Whatever had just happened—or not happened—a moment before, his words recalled her to her duty, thrilling her with their promise. Hailey sank once more to her knees and showered the tops of his bare feet with tiny kisses. While a part of her was terrified that she might fail this new stern Master, she knew in her bones she had found her place at last. This was what she had wanted—what she had dreamed of.
He tapped her shoulder and she rose once more to her feet, watching as he left the small room and strode toward the dungeon stairs. She touched the collar and offered a silent prayer to the BDSM gods.
Please, don’t let me fuck this up.
Chapter 3
Ronan stepped into the attic dungeon and stopped just inside the door to drink in the sight. The slave girl stood perfectly still, hands behind her head, her dark blue eyes open but gazing at some distant point beyond the confines of the space.
He had changed out of his clothes before returning to the dungeon, and wore only a pair of white shorts. The air in the attic dungeon was warm, despite the pleasant spring day outside. Hailey’s hair was damp, her skin slightly pink, presumably from a quick shower, or was she sweating? He flicked on the switch that activated the two huge ventilation fans set high on either side of the room and a cool breeze flowed through the space.
His eyes moved lovingly over all the sexy equipment he’d amassed over the past year in anticipation of this moment. The realization he would soon christen the devices using the slave girl standing before him sent a mule kick of adrenaline to his chest.
She gave no sign she had heard him enter. She stood at attention, her breasts thrust proudly forward, chin raised, legs precisely shoulder-width apart. How long could she stand there without moving? That in itself might be an interesting test, especially if he threw some predicament bondage into the mix.
Ronan touched his lips as he regarded Hailey. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Hopefully she hadn’t gotten the wrong idea from that kiss. They were, most emphatically, not lovers. He had purchased her. She was property. If he wanted to kiss his property, that was his right. Still, he would need to be careful. Women, even highly trained sexual submissives, were apt to get the wrong idea if you got too lovey dovey.
Ronan glanced around the dungeon, wondering where to begin. All the training and practice in the domination arts he’d put in over the past year at The Exchange Club would finally be brought to bear. She wasn’t the only one moving from the audition phase to the real thing.
He entered the room and came to a stop directly in front of Hailey, purposely invading her personal space. She didn’t even blink. He cupped her breasts and lifted them, loving the sweet heft and so
ft give of them, delighted she hadn’t decided to augment them into melon-hard, gravity-defying beach balls, as so many women in Hollywood seemed compelled to do. He reached for her nipples, rolling them until they stiffened. He pinched them and twisted.
Her only reaction was a slight flaring of the nostrils.
“A few rules,” he said, his fingers still tight on her nipples. “You will not speak without express permission, except to answer direct questions. The exception to this, of course, is if you’re in distress and I don’t seem to be getting it, though a safeword should suffice in that instance. You will answer all questions promptly, and with complete honesty, even if it’s something you don’t think I want to hear. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hailey managed as he twisted again. She winced, but her nipples had hardened to points. He twisted harder and then let go suddenly, reaching for her throat with his left hand, his fingers finding and digging into the soft flesh just below her jaw. As he squeezed, he slapped her cheek with his right hand, the smacking sound of his palm cracking in the air.
Hailey’s eyes widened, her face reddening from his tight grip around her throat. “Ah, so you’re not a statue,” Ronan said, his cock tenting his shorts. He let go of her throat, and as she gasped for a breath, he slapped her again.
Without giving her a chance to recover, he demanded, “What’s your safeword?”
“Bubblegum, Sir,” she said in a breathless voice.
“Bubblegum,” Ronan repeated, amused at the odd choice.
He stepped back, rubbing his chin as he thought about what he might try next. “You know, I’ve seen the videos of you being flogged and whipped, and you’re quite impressive in your ability to withstand erotic pain.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Hailey replied softly. Her chest was rising and falling as she struggled to regain her composure. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from his palm or arousal, it was hard to say.
Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2 Page 3
