Almost. She soon regained her composure.
Lastly, he drew a leather strap from behind her and cinched her tightly at the waist.
"Take a deep breath." He placed fingers between the strap and her belly. "Perfect."
After cuffing and chaining her ankles together, he then anchored them to chains at the legs of the cross. Damián walked around behind her and brushed his hands over her breasts and abdomen as he pulled her body against the cross. Savannah's knees buckled, but the wrist, neck, and waist restraints kept her from falling. She submitted to his touch, the restraints, the total loss of control.
Submission.
She was his to do with whatever he wished. She had absolutely no intention of stopping him anytime soon.
"That's my good girl."
His good girl.
"You're doing great, Savita."
She'd always liked hearing him call her that, knowing now it was more an endearment than her name. She wouldn't be Savita Diaz any longer. She smiled at him.
"Tonight I'm going to mark you as mine, my beauty."
Her breath caught in her throat and the smile vanished. Mark her how? God, she hoped he wasn't going to bring out the violet wand again. She wasn't nearly over her fear of that instrument of torture, even though he had assured her there were ways in which the sensation could be enjoyable.
The strong scents of magic marker and…cherries?...assailed her just before he pressed the tip against her right breast and began to write, saying each letter aloud as he wrote.
"F-I-L-T-H-Y."
Filthy?
He continued to write on her left breast, again spelling out loud.
"W-H-O-R-E."
Filthy whore.
"No, Damián!" By the time her mind registered what he was writing, she tried to jerk her body away from the cherry-scented marker. No use. He'd bound her so tightly to the cross, she couldn't move an inch.
The look in his eyes told her she'd disobeyed. He wasn't happy with her, but each letter of the horrific words she detested felt like a brand to her heart. Her throat closed as she pictured the words he'd written on her.
Filthy whore.
"Close your eyes and keep them closed."
She swallowed hard and did as he'd told her. When he pressed the marker against her forehead, she started to open her eyes, but he placed his other hand over her eyelids. She fought the restraints again. If her legs hadn't been chained, she'd have knocked him on his ass again, just to stop him.
"Not there!" The tank top could be thrown away, but permanent marker on her face? "Damián, please don't write anything else on me!"
He glared at her. "How do you address me?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, but…guacamole!" She'd never wanted to be a disappointment to him, but she had to stop a moment. More tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. "Please don't do this. I have an interview in two days to discuss my licensing exam. It would take me forever to get those marks off. Please don't disgrace me this way."
He stroked her cheek. "Do you trust me, Savannah?"
"Of course, Sir." But he'd never humiliated her like this before. Even making her dress like a street whore tonight hadn't gone this far, and he'd been there to protect her from anyone taking advantage of her for what she was dressed like. Damián wouldn't be with her when she talked with the licensing board representative.
"Have you not entrusted yourself, body and mind, to my will this evening?"
Tears filled her eyes. "Y-y-yes, Sir."
I will not cry.
"Take a deep breath, Savannah." She did. "What's keeping you from submitting fully to me tonight, bebé?"
"I don't know. I…you…I'm confused. Why are you doing this?"
"Savannah." The tone of his voice put her in her place.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm trying to trust you. I just wish you could explain…"
"That will be revealed when the time is right. Telling you now wouldn't achieve the goal of the scene. Now, are you ready to continue?"
She didn't think she could continue. Panic immobilized her.
"Deep breath, Savannah."
She tried to do as he'd ordered, hoping if she was good, he'd stop. She drew a ragged breath.
"That's my good girl."
She remembered all the vile things Lyle and her father had done to her body over the years and this didn't even make the top-one-hundred list of horrific, degrading acts. She could do this. She needed to trust that Damián knew what was best for her. During aftercare, he always explained things she was confused about, and often told her what his goal had been for the scene, if she hadn't figured it out for herself.
Trust him.
I will do this.
If she could move her head, she'd have lifted her chin. Instead, she took a steadying breath. "I'm ready to continue, Sir."
"I'm so proud of you, Savita. You're so brave for me."
Then he took the marker again and wrote on her forehead.
"D-I-R-T-Y S-L-U-T."
Silent, wracking sobs tore through her. Her stomach revolted, and she was afraid she'd lose her dinner.
Trust him, Savannah.
He brushed his lips across hers, then kissed away the tears that had left wet tracks down her cheeks.
"Thank you for expressing your emotions through your tears, mi sueño, rather than keeping them pent up inside. I'm so proud of you."
She sniffled.
Damián had just marked her in despicable ways that her daughter and everyone else would see for days, if not weeks. How could she leave the house before the letters on her forehead wore off? Was there enough makeup in the world to hide the disgusting words he'd written on her forehead?
He stroked the undersides of her arms and down her sides, motions that would normally calm her fears, but now she only wanted to withdraw from him. "Savannah, I think one of the reasons you believe you can't be my girl is that you believe you're a slut—or were one in the past—and that I deserve better."
She'd talked about this with him before once, but didn't think he'd heard her, because he hadn't said anything then. Well, that was before the abduction. He'd planned this scene originally for the night she'd been kidnapped. She was surprised he'd hung onto it all this time.
Still, that admission had been made in private, between the two of them. How could he want to emblazon it across her face like this? She didn't want the world to know what she had been, especially not Mari.
Her shame was complete. Unlike the private shame, when she'd carried her father's brand for so many years, she would now be publicly branded, at least temporarily.
"Why, Sir?" She choked as another sob erupted.
"Savannah, I want you to know that I love you no matter what labels you brand yourself with."
Love? How could he love her?
"I think I loved you, Savannah, from the first time I saw you in that restaurant. But I thought you were too perfect for the likes of me."
Perfect? "But you had to know why I was there. What I was."
"I saw how scared you were. I didn't have a clue what was going on when I found you in that hotel room. I just knew they were hurting you and you didn't deserve to be treated that way."
"But I was a pain slut."
"We'll talk about that in a minute." His voice felt like a soft caress. "I fell in love with that sweet girl, even though we only spent one beautiful day together at our beach cave."
He loved her even back then? Knowing what she'd been?
When she remembered that time, the happiness she'd felt that day was what she hung onto, her reason for moving forward. Knowing their encounter had had such a profound effect on Damián as well, made her realize how incredibly lucky they were to have found each other that day. Both of their lives had veered off into dramatic new directions—in some ways for the better, some worse.
"I never forgot you, Savannah. Not for a single day." His warm hands cupped her cheeks and he brushed his lips against hers. "When I met you again as Savi
, I figured you could never love someone like me, especially not after what happened in Fallujah. But even though I was certain I couldn't have you, I still loved you. I dreamt about you almost every night."
His words made her ache. "Sir, please stop. You don't know the real me." His kind words made her feel uncomfortable.
He ignored her and placed his hand over her belly. "I love you because you carried my baby for nine months and gave birth to my beautiful little girl, the most precious act anyone has ever done. She's a gift to the world, not just me and you."
He kissed her lips again and then began releasing her from the cross. "I love both Savannah and Savi. It doesn't matter to me what name you use—or any of the pet names I've given you—you are the same person."
She liked when he called her special pet names.
"As we've discussed before, there is one word you insist on using to refer to yourself that I find offensive."
She'd always tried to keep that thought from him, but had let it slip once.
Slut.
"You're not a whore, Savannah. You never were."
Whore? That was the word that offended him? Both words were equally vile to her, and he'd written both of them on her tonight. Did that mean…?
"If I hear you call yourself a whore again, you will receive your first punishment in your training from me, and I will make sure you never say—or thing—the word again. I would begin that punishment by squirting dish soap in your mouth and making you hold it there until you can assure me with a pre-arranged signal that the word will never dirty your mouth—or your mind—again."
Wash her mouth out with soap? Liquid soap? Was he serious? She wasn't a child.
"I've stopped using that word. We worked on this before. I understand, but why…"
He put his finger against her lips. Damn. He hadn't asked a direct question—and she hadn't asked permission to speak. If he wanted her to stop using whore and slut to describe herself, why had he written them on her? "I think I see what you're trying to do here. I'll also try to stop calling myself a slut."
"Don't put words in my mouth, Savita. You are a slut."
She cringed. Hearing Damián label her a slut was like a slap in the face. She tried to shake her head, but couldn't move because of the restraints.
Damián unclamped the collar from the cross, but didn't take it off her. He released her ponytail and wrists, but she remained bound to the cross from the waist down.
"I've marked you as my slut." He pulled a sleep mask from his leathers. "I need to blindfold you for this next part. It should only be for a minute or two. Will you be able to take the mask for me for that short period of time?"
Being in the dark was the least of her concerns now. Damián had called her a slut. Her mind couldn't wrap itself around that.
"Answer me."
She nodded, too numb to speak, then saw him frown. "Y-yes, Sir. I can be blindfolded." She welcomed not having to look at him. She wanted to hide.
"Good girl." He slid the mask over her head, not touching her forehead, and tucked it into place. The room went dark and tears flooded her eyes. She didn't try to fight them anymore, and the mask was soon soaked. His hands gently stroked her arms at her sides, and she tried to stay in the moment, but the past encroached again.
Dirty slut.
"Now I'm going to show you off to my friends as the Masters at Arms Club's newest slut."
Fear clawed at her throat. What did he mean show her off? She was a slut.
His body heat left her and she heard him step away, crossing the room. Mortified, she wished she could curl herself into a ball and disappear into the floor.
"You can come in now."
The dungeon door squeaked and another sob tore from Savannah's raw throat. "No, Sir! Please don't do this to me!"
Footsteps. Lots of footsteps. Who had he invited into the dungeon? Who was witnessing her shame; her dirty secrets revealed? She felt stripped bare and dirty.
"I want you to meet my slut, Savannah—the first girl I've ever wanted to honor with that title."
"Oh, my God." Karla's voice. "You're so lucky, Master Damián."
Savannah shook her head. She'd thought Karla was her friend, too. How could the woman agree with him about something so degrading? Or had it been obvious to Karla, too, that she was nothing but a dirty slut?
"I'm glad you finally found your slut, son." Adam. He was okay with his adopted son wanting to be with a slut? "She's a perfect addition to our family."
"I'm damned lucky, and I know it." Damián's hands stroked her arms and shoulders, infusing some of his warmth into her chilled body. Still, she shuddered. She hadn't wanted him to make her feel anything again, and yet he'd done just that. She hadn't been able to escape to her safe place.
"Cara, you've been marked by the best." Oh, no. Not Marc, too? Who else was in the room there? Angelina? No, she was with Mari.
Warm hands rubbed her numb arms, across her breasts, and down to her belly. She knew those hands. Damián's. Would he let the others touch her, too? She didn't want to be touched right now.
"You're very lucky, Savannah." She didn't recognize the woman's small, almost childlike voice. "Master has been needing someone like you for a very long time."
A man spoke next, his voice deep and oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it. "I'm just hoping not to have to borrow your Top too often to help me with Patticakes." Victor, the African-American Dom who asked for Damián's help with Patti on Savannah's first night in the club. She realized now that the unknown woman's voice must have been Patti's. She hadn't heard her say much before. "And, little one, I hope you'll forgive me for not doing my job of protecting you last month. I could shoot myself for falling for such an obvious decoy maneuver."
Savannah choked on a sob. Even if these people knew she was a slut, they accepted her and cared for her.
"You're my slut, Savannah. You'll always be my slut, even if you never consent to becoming anything else with me." He released the strap from around her waist, then each of the wrist cuffs. "Come, mi sueño. Let me hold you."
"No, Damián. I just want to leave. Please take me home."
"Not yet. We aren't finished."
What more could he want to do to her? Hadn't he done enough already?
When he began removing the blindfold, she placed her hands over his to stay them. "Please. Ask everyone to go first. I don't want to see anyone's face right now."
"Savannah, I will not hide my slut from my family. You will let them see you anytime I want them to while you're my bottom in a scene here at the club. They will stay."
If she hadn't left the posture collar around her neck still, she would have hung her head in shame. He removed the blindfold, but she kept her eyes closed. Tears slid down her nose.
"I think we can remove this now, too." He lifted her chin and unbuckled the posture collar, removing it. "Open your eyes."
She shook her head.
"I. Said. Open. Your. Eyes."
She blinked her eyes open, but her tears obscured her sight. Suddenly, the need to see what Damián had done to her, she wiped the tears away with the backs of her hands. She needed to look.
She looked down at her chest and did a double take. Then she pulled the tank top away from her body and read each letter to make sure what she was reading upside down was correct. It didn't say "filthy whore" at all.
M-Y P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S.
Princess?
Puzzled, she looked up at Damián, who smiled at her. "Marisol told me once you'd forgotten you were a princess. I just wanted to make sure you never forget again. You're my princess, Savita. I'll never let anything happen to you. I'll slay your dragons. I'll chase away the demons that invade your sleep—and, trust me, I know they will come—but they're no match for me, my love. I'll be there for you no matter what—if you'll let me be."
But what about…she took her hand and touched her forehead. Her fingers slid in something greasy and she pulled her hand down to find a red substanc
e on her fingertips. The word on her tank top had been written in black marker. Damián grinned and reached into the pocket of his leathers and held up a tube of red lipstick.
"What did you…?" If he hadn't written dirty slut, what had he written there?
Karla extended to her a hand mirror, and Savannah focused the glass on her forehead. Again, it took a moment to decipher the words that were backwards in the mirror—and even longer to grasp their meaning.
"DAMO'S SLUT." She lowered the mirror and met his gaze.
"That's right, mi sueño. Mine. Damián. I knew you were too smart for my mindfuck if I spelled out my whole name when I was telling you I was writing 'dirty.' But in my community, which you're a part of now, there's nothing dirty or wrong about the word slut—or about you, for that matter. We're going to keep working on changing those negative internal messages into positive ones—as long as you'll let me."
Savannah's face burned as she felt the eyes of the others in the room on her. Finally, she forced herself to look over at Adam and Karla. He held his arms around her, his hands possessively on her growing belly. She also wore a tank, a red one, and on it was emblazoned in black marker "Adam's slut." When Savannah could tear her eyes away from the words, she looked up to find a dreamy look on Karla's face.
Patti wore a green tank top with "Victor's slut" written on it. Victor's black arms were wrapped around her waist. Patti smiled at Savannah, then looked up at Victor who bent and gave her a sweet kiss.
After a bit, Savannah turned back to Karla, who had tears in her eyes. "Savannah, it's a compliment for a submissive to be called a slut by her Dom. A very high honor, in fact. I know, it doesn't seem like it would be, because of how the word is used in general society, but…" She shrugged and smiled. "Who gives a fuck what they think? We're freaks."
Adam swatted her butt. "Watch your language, slut." The grin on his face and the love in his eyes spoke volumes, though.
Slut was a good thing? How could a term that had caused shame to her for most of her life be something she'd ever want to be called by a man she cared about? And she did care about Damián. When Lyle and her father used the term, they had made her feel so dirty.
Nobody's Perfect Page 44
