by Harte, Roxy
Cries of Penance
Roxy Harte
Chronicles of Surrender, Book 5
A very pregnant Celia has qualms about motherhood, but zero inhibitions about being Kitten, the prized, beloved property of two Masters. With consuming need, she seeks pleasure, pain and control from them.
Called away in the service of his country and women from his past, Thomas inadvertently places the ménage in danger from forces that will stop at nothing—even attacking women and children—to destroy the black ops organization he works for.
Abandoned by her two men, Kitten becomes Tigress to protect not only her unborn, but Thomas’ four children. When Garrett and Thomas arrive to rescue her, they find a force to be reckoned with.
Inside Scoop: Not for the faint of heart, the m/m/f and femdom exploration of BDSM is vivid and real, the emotions even more so.
An Exotika® contemporary erotica story from Ellora’s Cave
Cries of Penance
Roxy Harte
“Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light.”
Helen Keller
Chapter One
Kitten
San Francisco
The air is warm and seems to shimmer with expectancy as Master climbs from the limo. I follow, exiting gracefully, well-practiced, hands first, long stretch onto the pavement, stepping, hand, hand, knee, knee, making sure that each long-armed stretch is provocative, each knee forward wiggles my ass just so.
A plastic banner ripples in the cool night air.
LEWD LARRY’S SLAVE AUCTION TONIGHT
It’s the seventh annual charity event that my Master, Garrett Lawrence, has orchestrated. Of course, he is dressed to the nines—tux, bow tie, white silk shirt—and dazzling. He turns every head as he makes his way past the line, which wraps around the block. I know it certainly isn’t the naked and painted feline, trailing on hands and knees at his heel that draws the attention, though I hear plenty of gasps as I make my way to the front doors.
“My God, she’s pregnant!”
“Do you think that’s why Lord Fyre went away?”
Lord Fyre, Lord Fyre, Lord Fyre. God, I miss him. A foghorn rises above the night sounds, traffic, people and a sad saxophone, and I am comforted by its sound, remembering another evening I heard it, the night I was purchased by the boss and made headlines. That night I’d felt alone on this sidewalk, the only person in the world to ever stand in my shoes, making a commitment to be auctioned. Boy, was I wrong!
Lewd Larry’s Slave Auction is a big deal, then and now. Slaves from a dozen different states, not just the small burg of San Francisco, are here to be auctioned. As far as the BDSM world goes, this is the event of the year.
I shouldn’t admit that I’d have rather stayed home tonight…especially after Master tried so hard to make this a special night. I wanted to camouflage the fact I’m expecting, but there’s no hope in that. Pregnant with twins, it seems my girth gets greater by the minute. I wanted to be sexy, but I suppose there’s no hope in that either.
It took hours for the body-paint artist to work his magic, painting me from head to toe to resemble a calico cat, complete with long, gracefully soft whiskers shooting out from my upper lip.
“See! She’s still wearing both Masters’ collars. I’m telling you, Lord Fyre will be back.”
“You didn’t see the blonde he was here with. Oo-la-la. Hot does not begin to describe that one.”
He is not with Eva!
I want to yell and scream and shout it to the rooftops that my other Master did not leave me for another woman. He’s coming back. I know he is. I just can’t tell anyone anything about what is going on because the truth could get him killed. No one needs to know that he is a secret agent. No one needs to know that he’s on assignment. As long as I know the truth, that’s all that matters—right?
I focus on my crawl. Hand, hand, knee, knee. Master holds open the door for me and it’s better when we get inside. Not because it’s quieter, just the opposite. The music is eardrum-shattering loud. Perfect. I can’t hear what anyone is saying as I crawl the long length of the dance club to the glass elevator in the back.
We ride to the third floor, leaving the noise behind the closed doors. Our gazes meet in the intimate enclosure. Master asks, “Are you okay?”
“Meow-meow.” Yes.
“I know this is hard on you. Every night. I hear them too, Kitten. I don’t want you to think I don’t. But we know the truth. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay until he returns to us.”
I nod, fighting back tears. I try to be strong in front of Master. I don’t ever want him to think he’s not Master enough for me, but that doesn’t mean I miss my other Master less.
As the elevator opens on to The Oasis, our members’ only level, I am relieved. I’m home. My kitty pillow is here and my bowl and my litter box. Here I can be myself more than anywhere else in the world. This is my domain. This is where Kitten belongs.
“Will you be all right alone?” Master asks.
“Meow-meow.” I don’t know why he’s so worried. I only know it’s a relief when he descends again, back to the public arena, leaving me alone. I crawl—hand, hand, knee, knee—to my cushion, placed front row and center to the stage below for tonight’s event.
As the soundproof glass slides back to open up The Oasis to the full sensory overload of the lower level, the sounds of an impatient crowd flood our normally serene room. The music is too loud and the crowd rampant. Stomping, clapping, chanting, “Lewd Larry, Lewd Larry, Lewd Larry!”
It is obvious when they have him in their sights. The magnitude of sound doubles. They are screaming for my Master. Male and female alike squeal, gender isn’t an issue. It only matters that he is beloved by the masses, the most notorious Dominant west of the Mississippi. My Master.
With theatrical flare, the lights dim suddenly and a spotlight points center stage. Master strides into view, his broad smile and easygoing nature drawing the crowd closer. Hoots and hollers follow his every move.
I don’t yell or shriek. He’s mine. I get to go home with him, and that truth makes me lift my chin a little smugly. Whereas the crowd can only imagine if the bulge in his tightly tailored slacks is all man or a wad of socks, I know for a fact he is well-endowed. And yes, the muscles in his thighs and ass really are all that.
“Well, aren’t you just looking like the pussy who licked up all the cream?”
I smile broadly, turning to face Master’s best friend Jackie, the one and only person on the planet who gets to call me pussy. I bounce excitedly, looking up at her. It’s a long way up. She is well over six-and-a-half feet tall, probably closer to seven feet in her platform stilettos, and it’s fairly obvious by her overall size that once upon a time she was a man. She has very real cleavage now though. It puts me to shame at any rate. Although with my pregnancy, for the first time in my life I can actually say I have boobs.
I’m not nearly as excited about that fact as I thought I’d be.
Probably because of the job breasts perform—nursing infants. I know that Master and Jackie and the support group I have at the Primal Birth Center are trying to be helpful, reassuring even, but their thoughts and feelings and suggested reading material about breast feeding is not helpful. I’m really not interested in nursing my babies…and that makes me feel guilty. I guess I was hoping my breasts wouldn’t grow, wouldn’t work, and then I wouldn’t have to consider doing it.
Jackie pats her knees for me to climb into her lap.
“Meow.” No, as in this is such a bad idea. I point at the paint covering my body.
“I don’t think it
will rub off, child, and so what if it does? You climb up here and give Jackie some pregnant kitty love.”
I smile, unable to help myself. Jackie is more excited about these babies than anyone.
She helps me to get comfortable and we both watch transfixed as Master takes charge of the auction. This is a big deal. Men and women are auctioned at this annual event that is attended by the wealthy and famous. The event supports many charities near and dear to the hearts of Hollywood’s biggest and brightest, lending to rock-concert-level pandemonium and paparazzi everywhere.
The large stage is brightly lit and a theater-size screen behind televises in close-up every reaction larger than life, every smile, every frown, every tear magnified so that the crowd doesn’t miss a thing. The slaves come from every walk of life, some experienced, some with no experience at all. On the big screen the personalities are the focal point whether shy or outgoing, embarrassed or proud. And their physical attributes…some a little sexier because of the wide-angled close-ups and some…not so pretty.
They all get bought, and not for spare change. Thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands of dollars. No one has ever sold for more than my purchase price though—a quarter of a million dollars—unheard of before or since. Sitting here watching is a different perspective for me and one that never gets boring. From my position I can see the bidding as it happens. I have seen sheiks, celebrities and politicians place bids. I have also seen some fairly average Joes walk out with beautiful property. I always worry a little when the bidder is overly old and the slave bid on overly young. Something inside me shrieks a little. I couldn’t imagine going home with someone’s grandfather…or great-grandfather. I feel a little guilty, knowing I got the cream of the crop. I got Master.
Between slaves the stage darkens and a spotlight flies over the crowd.
Looking at Jackie’s program I see that a hundred slaves will be auctioned tonight. It’s going to be a long evening.
Fortunately, the night becomes punctuated by moments.
Slave number twenty is Bernard, the pudgy, slightly balding ex-pet of Jackie. I see that she’s trying not to pay attention as he crawls the semicircular stage, shaking his tail. He pauses center stage and barks playfully. Jackie sighs heavily but doesn’t bid, not a single penny, though I think she might have wanted to.
Slave number forty-three is dragged center stage by her leash and there is much simpering and crying before it is determined that she has chickened out. Her Master isn’t pleased but oh well. The slave really does have all the power on that stage. “I don’t want to do it” doesn’t require a safe word.
It is slave number sixty-eight who makes my breath catch. I lean forward in Jackie’s lap, watching intently. She is tall, thin and not even an A-cup on a good day. Her hair is cut short, her eyes are as big as saucers and she looks scared shitless, but when she is asked to make the semicircle walk she lifts her chin bravely and walks. She could be me two years ago. I watch her, holding my breath. I sneak a peek at Master to see his reaction to her, but he barely takes a second glance. My heart pounds so hard against my chest, it is painful. The bidding is fast and furious but never goes over seventy thousand. I suck in a deep breath, wondering what I expected. Did I think Master would bid on her? Did I think her going price would reach two hundred and fifty grand?
Chuckling with an odd relief, I settle back against Jackie. I hope she didn’t notice my interest, but knowing her as well as I do, she didn’t miss it. She says, “She was pretty.”
“Not that pretty.” Too late I remember I’m in The Oasis and I spoke. I climb out of her lap and settle into the middle of my cushion.
“Are you okay?”
“Meow-meow.”
“She isn’t as pretty as you.”
“Meow-mee-ooow.” I hope my tone lets her know I think she is. I blink at her, wanting to ask something, but not knowing exactly what it is I want to know.
“No one will ever get as high a bid as you, Kitten.”
I sigh, unable to fit why into meows. Why would anyone keep bidding to get the bid so high? Who was bidding against Master? To this day I don’t know the answer.
I watch him commanding the stage and know the second he searches the upper levels for me. I crawl forward and press my face against the glass. Seeing me, he flashes me a thousand-watt smile and blows me a kiss. Ducking, I blush.
“I wish I had a camera so I could show you just how beautiful you are. God, Kitten. You are stunning.” Jackie ruffles my hair.
I don’t take my eyes off Master. So many numbers later, he finally leaves the stage. I lick my lips when I lose sight of him, waiting, waiting, until seconds later I see him again as he crosses the back of the dance floor and enters the elevator. Turning, he meets my gaze. I smile, crawling as I keep watching him, as he keeps watching me.
I’m waiting at the elevator doors when they slide open. He doesn’t step out so I crawl in to join him. The elevator doors close. “I’d really like to take you home right this minute.”
I crawl around his legs, pressing against his trousers. “Meow-meow.”
“It’s the busiest night of the whole damn year. You understand I have to be here, don’t you? There are a lot of very important people here tonight.”
I lie down, stretching, rolling my back against the floor so that he is faced with tits and baby belly. I bend my knees, letting them fall open so he can see just how good a job the artist did painting me. My labia is four distinct colors—white, gold, orange and brown.
When I meet his gaze again, the smile is gone. Anyone looking at him would believe he is very angry, but I know his face better than everybody. I know his expressions, his moods. He lusts me. I smile and roll back up to sit, then reposition onto all fours, waiting for the elevator to open, hoping he’s still interested in a few hours when it’s finally time to leave.
The elevator doors don’t open. Behind me I hear Master making a call on his cell. “I need you to cover for me.”
I decide he is talking to George Kirkpatrick, his Number One.
“I’m taking Kitten home, it has been a long night for her.”
I glance over my shoulder, see his lust and am immediately okay with the fact he is using me as an excuse to ditch out early. Turning my head back around to face the elevator doors, I try not to look smug as he makes two more calls, one to his security team leader and one to our chauffer. By the time he finally opens the doors, everything is in readiness for us to leave. He leads me through The Oasis to the back service corridor. He keeps walking, I keep crawling…down the long corridor all the way to the service elevator. We take it down to the ground-level alley where the car is waiting.
Master helps me into the backseat and slides in next to me. The car isn’t prewarmed, there wasn’t time. I shiver and Master pulls me close, into the V of his thighs. I relax against his chest and his arms close around me.
“Mmmm, purrrrrrr.”
“Yes, this is very nice,” he murmurs against my hair. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted you all night?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe it’s the auction. It always brings that night back to me, the night I bought you.”
I smile because I’ve been remembering it too.
His hands slide over my belly. “That night, I never dreamed we’d be here, like this.”
I roll my head so that I can look at his face.
“I’m happy, Kitten. Really happy. I know I don’t tell you that often enough or how important you are to me. I should tell you every day.”
I lift my face, pushing my mouth nearer, and he lowers his lips but the kiss doesn’t quite work. We have to shift and resettle to make it work, but then we are kissing and all the questions and worries and thoughts I’ve had just disappear. That’s what Master does to me. Nothing else matters.
His fingers are warm and silky-smooth as they glide over my skin. He tweaks a nipple before sliding lower. He dips his fingers between my thighs and teases lightly over my labia.
“I like the paint tonight.”
I smile.
“You are so very sexy.”
I press my lips to his neck, directly over his pulse.
“We should take pictures and send them to Thomas’ email.”
I go still against him. I don’t want to think about Thomas, my Lord Fyre and other Master. Not now. I only want to think about Master. I roll in his embrace, going onto my knees to face him. With practiced fingers I undo his bow tie, leaving the ends hanging on either side of his neck. I unbutton his shirt and kiss my way down his chest and belly as his skin is revealed. Reaching the waistband of his slacks, I unbelt, unsnap, unzip him…push down the elastic edge of his black briefs. His erection springs free, obviously very hard. I smile, meeting his gaze, and lower my mouth to tease him with kisses before actually licking his length. I swirl my tongue in circles around the head before taking any length into my mouth. I allow my saliva to collect so that when I do slide him in and out there is a slickness for him to glide against.
“Kitten.” He sighs and when I look I see his eyes have closed.
He’s told me often enough that I do this well, so I don’t doubt my ability as I knead his thighs with my fingers, a little pain, a little distraction from the pleasure I’m giving him. His eyelids slit barely open, but enough for me to know he’s watching me.
I bite, making him moan. If I didn’t have his undivided attention before, I most certainly do now. The thought makes me smile. Withdrawing his length, I graze him slowly between my teeth then lick him like a lollipop, up, down, side, side, swirl around.
The sweetness of a little escaped pre-cum coats my tongue. I whisper, “You taste good.”
I bite again, this time a little harder.
“God, Kitten.”
I lap and suck, take in his length and swallow, gagging, knowing he likes the sound when I gag. I make that sound again and again. He’s close, very close when he pushes me back. Pouting, I don’t understand until he says, “We’re here.”
