by Kitty Thomas
I let out a surprised gasp when he pulls back the blankets, exposing my body to the cool air of the room. I wonder if he can see me, if he's using whatever night vision assistance Declan used when he would come into the cell at night, switching out Seven's clothes and the roses on the bathroom counter.
My legs fall open without his command, and he begins to stroke me just like he used to do inside the cell. It doesn't take long for my moans and whimpers to fill the darkness and then only a short while longer for me to come.
“Sleep, Kitten,” he whispers. He covers me back up, and I feel his weight lift off the bed. The door opens, letting the smallest whisper of distant light drift in, then I'm alone again, still panting.
I've got a headache when I wake to the sunlight streaming in through the windows and balcony door a few hours later. Seven is already beside me with some aspirin and water. Then he's feeding me again in bed—a big plate of soft scrambled eggs and dry toast.
“How do you feel, Kitten?” he asks after I've eaten.
“Bad.”
And I must look it, too, because he doesn't get angry about the lack of title or punish me. He just takes the plate and glass away. He pulls the blinds and curtains on the window and balcony door, giving me as much darkness as the day will allow and leaves.
He returns a few minutes later and puts another glass of water on the bedside table then presses a kiss to my forehead before shutting the door and leaving me alone to sleep it off.
I lie in bed for a while, unable to fall back asleep, trying to figure out what his angle is. He seems so much like the Seven I thought I knew from the cell that it makes my heart hurt. It's so cruel that he would play with me like this—give me this lie when what's really inside him is cold, swirling darkness threatening to capsize my mind at any moment.
Why the fuck did I call? The words on the card repeat over and over in my mind. No going back now. I roll over, pull the blankets over my head, and drift back to sleep.
***
It's just past three in the afternoon when I wake. There's a clock on the wall just across from me. I feel a thousand times better than I did this morning, but I feel gross. I use the bathroom and take a shower, feeling more human with each step into this routine of normalcy which distracts me from what could be coming as soon as I'm well enough.
The bathroom matches the bedroom more or less. It's weirdly not quite as nice as the one attached to the cell, but there's a shower and a claw foot bathtub next to a large picture window, so it's nice enough. Even if we weren't so isolated, being on the second floor, no one could see in, but I can still see the rose garden, at least when I stand looking directly outside.
I return to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around me, startled to find both Seven and Declan standing in the room waiting, arms crossed over chests as though they are my bodyguards rather than my captors. Captors I ran back to, I remind myself. With every minute of full sobriety, I realize my foolishness, how I've sealed my fate.
“Feeling better, Kitten?”
“Y-yes, Master.”
“Good, now drop the towel and kneel.”
The air goes out of my lungs, and both the fear and excitement I haven't felt in weeks is back in one sudden rush. And yet I feel self-conscious. I had gotten so used to being their naked caged animal, but now I've become used to the civilizing influence of clothing. I unconsciously clutch the fabric tight across myself.
“I don't want to start with punishment,” Seven says.
I take a deep breath and let the towel fall. Then I kneel on a soft pale rug in front of them.
“Good girl.” This time it's Declan who speaks.
Seven reaches behind him to pick up something from the bed. It's a round silver-colored metal band. There are glittering pale pink gemstones inlaid in the metal, which is probably platinum. He uses a key to unlock it, then puts it around my throat and locks it in place.
“The collar doesn't come off. It's safe to get it wet. Every day you'll be allowed to leave the property from eleven in the morning until six in the evening. The penthouse, car, and money remain yours.”
They're letting me come and go? How do they know I won't run if whatever this is becomes too much for me? It's possible this question is plainly readable on my face because Seven's next words are: “There's a tracking device in the collar. Don't make us chase you.”
So not really free, just a very long leash. I'm still confused by their generosity. I can't square it with what they've done to me. And I can't figure out where exactly they exist on the good and evil scale. I keep foolishly wanting to believe maybe they aren't that evil. But even I can't pretend they've only engaged in a little harmless coloring outside the moral lines.
“Let's take her to the dungeon,” Declan says. “We have more interesting things down there.”
“True, and we can finally play without the pretense.”
A strangled sob escapes my throat at this pronouncement.
“Shhh, Pretty Toy. We don't hurt good girls, and you're going to be our good girl, right?”
“Y-yes, Master.”
I'm already mentally plotting ways to escape. I can use my “prison yard time” to find someone who can get this fucking collar off me and transfer money out of that account and get the fuck as far from them as possible—like I should have done from the beginning. It doesn't matter how much I want and need them to touch me. I cannot continue down this road.
Declan chuckles, as though he can read these thoughts right out of my head. And probably he can. I'm not able to hide my true feelings in the way they can behind a face trained to show the expected emotions.
“You will not seek help from any of the staff as they come and go. They're all here illegally. They know the consequences of interfering in our personal affairs. And you will be seriously punished,” Declan says.
I swallow hard and nod my understanding. I believe him. Somehow I know I've never been seriously punished by them. I may have been played with and by them, but my punishments have been warnings... tastes of theoretical terrors should I breach the limits of their patience.
Seven helps me to stand, and they lead me downstairs, back down that long hallway to the dungeon. My heart is beating so fast, and I don't know if it's fear or arousal.
The dungeon feels different now. As much as I loved the Seven who I thought was trying to protect me, I also kind of hated him. I hated that extra bit of shame I felt because he wasn't fully on board. I hated that I had to carry that shame long after I was already broken and ready to please and be pleased by both of them.
He was always the holdout, except that he never was.
When we get to the dungeon, I kneel again. I don't wait to be commanded. I just do it.
“Good girl,” Seven says. It continues to feel strange when he takes this role that had previously only been Declan's domain. He bends down, his hand going between my legs. “I think it's time to wax this pussy, don't you, Kitten?”
My breath goes shallow. “Y-yes, Master.”
“I'll heat the wax,” Declan says, disappearing into the adjacent bathroom.
I'm scared now because waxing hurts, and I don't have the greatest pain threshold. After a while, you get used to it, and it's not so bad when a professional does it. But Seven and Declan aren't professionals, and I'm afraid it will hurt more because of that. But I don't voice this concern. I do, however, wish that I'd made a waxing appointment for Friday before I went out for drinks. I knew it was about time to do it, but I was so wrapped up in my own self-pity—poor little newly rich girl—that it didn't occur to me.
Seven helps me off the floor and guides me to a St. Andrew's Cross leaned against one exposed brick wall. I've never been bound to this before. Spanking benches, yes. And the bondage bed was Declan's favorite. It's convenient and far more comfortable than it looks.
“M-Master? Did I do something wrong?”
He laughs at this. “I haven't gotten to punish you yet. Don't you think I should get to?�
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“Yes, Master.” It's almost a whisper.
“I could give you a list of your minor missteps, all adding up to a justification, but I don't need a justification. You are mine. I will do whatever I want with you.”
Suddenly, the waxing is the last thing on my mind.
He nods toward the St. Andrew's Cross. I turn away from him and spread my arms and legs out so he can bind me to the end points. I close my eyes. I don't want to watch him picking whatever it is he plans to use on me. I hope it's not the cane.
I cry out at the unexpected pain of a paddle landing hard against my ass. In its own way it's just as bad as the cane. The tears come immediately after only the first blow. He rubs my heated flesh.
“Yes, Kitten. I like how you don't hold back. Let me have those pretty tears. I'm jealous you only gave them to Declan for so long.”
He paddles me as though I truly have done something worthy of punishment, and something about this particular implement makes me feel contrite even as the space between my legs responds with arousal.
He stops and presses his body against mine. I feel his erection through his pants. He steps away again and gives me another hard smack with the paddle. I'm blubbering and sobbing.
“Please,” I whimper. If I knew of some wrong I'd committed that deserved punishment I would beg forgiveness, but I know he's doing this for his own gratification. He strokes my skin again and presses a kiss to my tear-streaked cheek.
“Shhhh, Kitten.”
Then there is a vibrating toy between my legs. I squirm and twist trying to gain more contact every time he pulls it away. Unlike Declan, he likes to tease me with the lowest setting so long that I think I'll lose my mind from it.
“Master, please...”
I want the toy inside me. For some reason in the time I was apart from them, when I masturbated, I stayed on the outside. I couldn't bring myself to change the way I touched myself alone. I couldn't admit they'd changed me and what my body craves forever. Now I need to come that way. I need Seven to shove the toy inside me. Or his fingers. Or his cock. Anything. But he only presses the vibrator harder against my clit until I come, bucking against it and his hand.
“The wax is on the warmer. It's ready when you are,” Declan says.
“In a minute. I'm not done here yet. We need to retrain her ass. It's been weeks. Unless she was putting things inside her own ass in our absence,” he says, amusement threading his voice. “Were you doing that, Kitten?”
“N-no, Master.”
He sighs. “Such a shame. I would have jerked off to that thought for ages.”
I take a slow, deep breath when he slides a toy heavy with lube into my ass. It feels far better than it should after such a long break. I find myself moving with it, thrusting my ass back toward him trying to get deeper penetration with the toy.
“I told you she was becoming an anal slut,” Declan says.
I flush hot at these words, but I can't stop myself from seeking more contact with the toy he's fucking me with. When he pulls it away, I say, “No... please... more.”
“Not tonight, Kitten.”
But he does grant me another orgasm, this time with his fingers, still refusing to allow me the penetration I seek.
I feel weak and shaky when Seven takes me off the St. Andrew's Cross. He carries me to the bed and arranges us so that he sits against the headboard and I'm leaning back against his chest.
“Open your legs,” he orders.
I spread my legs and Declan joins us with the wax and cloth strips. I know he can see the fear in my eyes.
“It's okay, Pretty Toy. I know what I'm doing.”
Before he starts, though, he bends down and licks between my legs. I arch off the bed into his hungry mouth. He makes me come again while Seven holds me still for him.
When Declan finally starts waxing, I'm relieved to find that he does know what he's doing. The heated wax is somehow soothing and not too hot. And he knows just the right way to rub over the cloth. He gives a nice clean rip, and though it hurts, it's only for a second. But I cry out each time; I can't help it.
Seven distracts me, stroking my breasts in a way that is somehow more soothing than erotic. “You're doing great,” he says.
When Declan is finally finished, and I’m once again smooth and bare for them, he rubs a cooling salve between my legs.
“I'm going to take her to bed,” Seven says.
I'm grateful when he picks me up and carries me up the stairs. I lay my head against his shoulder. On the main level, he takes me to the kitchen and sits me down on a bar stool. We eat some leftover pizza from the fridge. I find myself unable to believe he eats pizza.
When we get to Seven's room, he orders me to join him in the shower, but he isn't there to get either himself or me clean. And he's not there to fuck me, either. He holds my gaze while he takes my hand and wraps it around his cock.
I jerk him off in the shower.
“Fuck, yes. Just like that.”
It only takes a few minutes before he comes over my hand. He leans forward, his head resting against my shoulder in an oddly sweet moment as he struggles to gain control of his breathing again.
He shuts the shower off, dries us both, then carries me to his bed. There are blackout shades in his room, and his balcony door is solid, not glass. He pulls the shades and turns out the light before joining me.
My breath hitches in my throat alone in the dark with him just as I've been so many nights before. I'm so sore and tender from where they waxed me. Even so, I would give almost anything for him to fuck me right now, even if it hurt. I'd pay that price just to feel him inside.
My legs fall open for him automatically, and he touches me like he always does in the dark. Except this time he's more careful than normal, slower and more gentle. He uses lube to stroke me, and I come apart under his hands.
Even after I've come, I want to ask for more, but I don't. He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Sleep, Kitten.”
Chapter Twelve
We have a late breakfast, this time in the kitchen. Part of me thought since I’m their slave, and they can do whatever they want with me, that I would start taking over domestic duties. Even if they have a cleaning service, maybe they don't have a cook. But they seem to be content doing the cooking themselves.
I've been allowed clothing today—jeans and a pale pink tank top. In fact, I was shocked to find my closet and drawers filled with clothes and shoes and undergarments all in my sizes. I suppose if they were planning this for a long time, they had plenty of time to get clothes for me.
Declan and Seven are both dressed sharply in suits, and it occurs to me I have no idea what they even do with their lives. I know Seven at least has always been well off, but what do they actually do during the day now that their life is back to the status quo? I don't bother asking because I'm sure they'll tell me it's none of my business, and I'm not sure I want to know the way men without conscience manage to acquire this much wealth and power over the police force.
Seven glances down at his watch. “Eleven a.m., Kitten. You're off the leash. See you at six. Each of them kiss me as though we are in some sort of unconventional, yet still fairly normal relationship. Then they just... leave. The house.
I stare after them, gaping like a fish. When I'm able to snap out of this fugue state, I step outside the main door to find that yes, they're driving off the property in separate cars. I find my blue Porsche sitting shiny and gleaming in the circular driveway. I have no idea how it got here, and it looks like someone washed it.
A young man who I hadn't noticed before, hands me the keys. “The car is ready, Ms. Mitchell. Mr. Kelly said to take care of it for you.” He speaks in good but slightly broken English. His accent is unmistakable, but I can't fully place its origin.
“What about the gate?” I find myself asking.
“There's a programmed remote in the glove box.” He opens the passenger side and shows me a slim black remote control
with a single button.
“Thanks,” I manage. My fingers drift unconsciously up to touch my collar. With the pink gemstones, it looks like regular jewelry, especially since it matches what I'm wearing, but still, I feel exposed. I also feel a bit like a puppy with a shock collar to keep me from straying too far.
They must feel very confident in their powers to keep me while giving me the illusion of freedom.
I put the keys in my pocket and take a walk around the property. There are a few gardeners in the gardens. There's an enormous pool on one side of the house with what I would consider a “party jacuzzi”. It's all decked out on the far end of the house for BBQs as though this is an activity Seven and Declan engage in routinely. I just can't see it.
When I make my way back around to the front of the house, there are several white vans parked in the drive.
The guy who washed my car notices my wariness and says, “It's just the cleaning service, Ms. Mitchell.”
I manage a weak smile. Then I go inside and as unobtrusively as possible do a walk-through of the house. It's just beginning to dawn on me that I live here now. The penthouse was swank, no question, but this is on another level.
For all my ambition when I worked at the ad agency and the level of success I'd acquired, I'd never thought of myself as materialistic. Aside from the Louis Vuitton bag, I didn't put a lot of stock in things. And they didn't impress me. My drive for success was more about the pleasure of being the best at something and less about the financial rewards even though I did enjoy them.
But I can't help but stand in absolute awe of this exquisite house. There's a huge formal dining room on the first floor just off the generous entryway. There's a sort of fancy game room with billiard tables. There is literally a room which I think is meant just for smoking cigars and drinking whatever manly drink men prefer to have with cigars.
