Bought (Assassin's Revenge Book 2)

by Crescent, Tara

  On my way to Madame Lorraine, I’d had to weave my way through a street packed with ramshackle stalls, selling everything from souvenir t-shirts to digital camera memory cards. But I liked the insane bustle of Khao San. It reminded me that world over, everyone did what they could do to survive. Most of the time I felt like I was on the outside looking in. But the teeming humanity on Khao San Road reminded me that I wasn’t that different from everyone else. We all endured as best as we could. “I bought a t-shirt,” I told her. “My sister went to Bangkok, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.” I was proud of that bit of ad-libbing. It would remind Karen and William that my sister was dying of leukemia and I was putting myself on the slave block to raise money for her treatment.

  We talked about safety. They both shook their heads when they saw how short my list of hard and soft limits were. They took the time to tell me what they were going to do with me. They would flog me to test my pain responses. I would take a dildo in my mouth, and my gag reflex would be assessed. They would touch my body, my nipples, pussy and wherever else they desired, and my reaction would be observed. And finally my ability to control my orgasms would be tested.

  “Let’s get started.” William and Karen stood. I rose as well and followed them.

  ***

  I’ve been told by Marc that I need to ask for permission before I climax. It has sent a small shiver of anxiety through me, but when I look at him, my desire overwhelms my fear. I agree to his condition and he buries his head between my legs.

  His attack is skilled. No one has ever done this to me before and I fist my hands in the sheets as I surrender to the waves of pleasure that wrack my body. I’m getting close to my orgasm; I can feel it. I whimper, a mute sound of helpless desire. He looks up at the noise and he meets my gaze. “Do you want to come for me, baby?” he asks.

  There’s pleading desperation in the look I give him. I’ve never felt this urgency in my body. This ache, this certainty that I will shatter if he doesn’t let me orgasm. “Please,” I beg, and he laughs gently. “Come for me, bright star,” he whispers, his mouth once again descending onto my flesh. Just like that, I fall apart on his command.

  ***

  William and Karen assigned me safe words. Red to stop the scene immediately, until I gave them permission to continue again. Yellow to pause, to give them an indication that I was reaching my limits. Finally, green to indicate that I was enjoying what they were doing.

  Karen looked at me intently. “If you are afraid, even for a minute and want to stop, I want you to use them,” she said. “Please don’t think that you will fail our evaluation if you use your safe words. That isn’t true.”

  William nodded. “Today’s purpose, Jenny, is to determine only one thing. Anyone can submit, but not everyone experiences pleasure in submitting. Our goal is to determine if it will arouse you to bend to our will.”

  Such a simple test. Yet allowing myself to feel arousal was going to be the tallest hurdle of them all.

  William approached me with a collar in his hands. It was wide and made of black leather. There was a steel ring dangling from the front and a thick, heavy-looking buckle in the back. It looked intimidating. This was neither pretty nor delicate. This was a collar for masters who meant business. “This will help with your posture,” he explained. “It will keep your head erect.”

  “Yes Sir,” I said meekly. Karen held my hair out of the way and I stayed still as the collar was buckled around my throat. My hair was quickly braided so it wouldn’t get in the way of what they were planning on doing with me.

  I was led to a spot in the room and positioned under a large metal rod hanging parallel to the ceiling. “We are going to tie your hands up,” she told me, gesturing to the bar. Her voice was level and her calmness was reassuring.

  Dylan had never been calm in the dungeon. His lust was always too close to the surface. When it took over, he was like a wild animal and I was his trapped prey. His trapped, terrified prey.

  I extended my arms out mutely in front of me, keeping my eyes lowered. That was the behaviour that would be expected of me and I was happy to comply, happy to keep the anguish of my past shielded from their too-keen gazes.

  Each of them took one of my hands in theirs, wrapping black nylon rope around my wrists in ornamental coils. I took a moment to admire the strange, surreal sensuality of what they were doing, though at the same time, I felt my pulse beat wildly at my wrists.

  I was a butterfly trapped in a web of stunning beauty. Somehow that wasn’t reassuring. Calm down, I warned myself, before I grew too anxious. From somewhere deep inside of me, I had to find pleasure in this.

  Marc. His voice at my ear telling me he was going to make me climax. His deep tone, promising shocking lust and arousal. His touch, causing each and every nerve ending in my body to explode in desire. I clutched at the memories as if they were a talisman that would keep me safe in this space.

  “You like that, don’t you?” Karen’s voice spoke. She ran her hands over my nipples which had hardened in remembered appreciation of Marc’s touch from two years ago. Her fingers stroked the inside of my thighs and I heard the purr in her voice as she spoke. “She’s so wet, William. Her pussy is radiating heat.”

  William laughed but it was a warm sound without any trace of mockery. “Do you like this, Jenny?”

  “Yes Sir,” I answered. I did like it, but only if I could pretend that it was Marc examining me, not these two strangers, kind though they were. It was only the timbre of his voice that my body responded to.

  My hands were pulled up and the ropes at my wrists were attached to the bar. “Now,” William ordered, “spread your legs. Wide.” My thighs whimpered in protest as I spread my legs in response to that command, but it was well within my capacity to bear. I was the product of many hours of combat training. I was in the best shape of my life.

  “Good.” This was Karen. She knelt and buckled a cuff around my ankle, fastening it with a heavy chain to rings on the floor. William repeated the motion on the other side and they raised the bar holding my hands up until I was stretched tight.

  I was wide open to anything they were going to do to me; I had no ability to stop it. It went against every hard-won survival instinct to allow them to bind me this way. I had to fight to control myself as they had tethered my hands; I shook with the effort of staying still as they locked my legs so I couldn’t move. Think of Marc, I said to myself fiercely. Find lust in this.

  William walked in front of me, his hands running over my body. My eyes were lowered, but the posture collar kept my head erect. This is not Dylan, I reminded myself. Relax. These people are not going to hurt you.

  Karen moved behind me, her delicate fingers tracing the curve of my spine, her small hands cupping the round cheeks of my butt. She kneaded them, alternately pushing them closed and pulling them apart. “So very aroused,” she muttered. “Have you ever had a woman, Jenny?”

  No. “Once,” I lied instead.

  William’s fingers tweaked both my nipples, stretching them away from my body. I bit my lip as pain spiked through me, but at the same time, Karen’s hands stroked my pussy lips, tugging at my labia till I whimpered.

  I didn’t know what to do, except I didn’t have to do anything. I didn’t know what to make of this sea of sensation that was sweeping in tidal waves over my body. My pussy dripped, my nipples throbbed with longing. My body ached with need in a way that it hadn’t done since that night in Paris two years ago.

  “Jenny.” William had a suede flogger in his hands. I breathed a little easier. Dylan had whipped me often. Floggers, I could deal with. It was the single-tail whip I was terrified of. “This flogger will warm you up.” His voice was steady. “When I hit you, I want you to call out where you are on the pain scale, one through ten.”

  “Yes Sir.” I sounded nervous.

  “Keep your eyes open.” This was Karen. I complied instantly. In this room, tied up and immobilized, obeying came instinctively. I had learned
that severe punishment would follow if I weren’t sufficiently well-behaved.

  The flogger scoured my breasts in a sharp slap. I inhaled automatically, waiting for the wave of pain to sweep over me, but as it came, I breathed easier. “Four,” I muttered. I could take more.

  “Good.” Another precise hit on my abdomen. Two. A flick of his wrists and the tails of the flogger flew through the air towards my defenceless body. Five.

  The strokes came faster as William established, with my muttered input, how hard I could be whipped. The flogger kissed every inch of my front. My breasts. My abdomen. My lower stomach. The front of my thighs. I felt my entire body warm in response and throb in need. Karen’s hands ran all over me in between strokes of the flogger. Partly to keep me at the knife-edge of arousal, but partly to check that I wasn’t in more pain than I could handle.

  There was a world of difference between this expert flogging and the torture that Dylan had put me through. When Dylan had hit me, it was all about watching me shudder and flinch. He didn’t care if I felt pain or pleasure. He was unconcerned that I was a weeping, twitching mess. He was indifferent to the way my body twisted away from him in helpless self-preservation. In fact, he preferred to watch me try to escape him. I would be hung by my arms but my legs would be free to try to back away from him. Except that there was never anywhere to go.

  My terror had been an aphrodisiac for my Master. I’d shake my head desperately. I’d cry silently – I’d known better than to make a noise. I would cower in fear and Dylan would smile, that chilling, emotionless smile, and he would hit me harder.

  But in this testing dungeon, Madame Lorraine’s two instructors showed me something else. They showed me why a submissive would welcome this treatment. They revealed that each stroke of the flogger could also bring pleasure. Their careful attention to my body demonstrated that it wasn’t just for the arousal of a Master that I might be whipped. My own desires mattered. These strokes were as much a gift for me as they were for my Master.

  Karen flogged my back now as William flogged my front. I whimpered and I bit my lip and I called out numbers. One stroke was an eight – a sharp slice of flaming pain, but the strokes had been building up to it and my body, appropriately prepared for it, had welcomed that hot lance.

  When they untied me, my skin was hot to the touch and decorated by blotches of red and deep pink. My legs trembled but Karen was behind me, holding me up, while William expertly massaged feeling into my arms and legs. Then I was led to another part of the dungeon and one word was spoken. “Kneel.”

  The first part of my examination was over and I was sure I’d passed it with flying colours. Now it was time for the second test.

  ***

  Do you know how I learned to get rid of my gag reflex? It wasn’t pretty. Like everything else with Dylan, it involved pain. Lots and lots of pain. Of course, like all of Dylan’s training methods, it was brutally effective.

  William and Karen positioned me in front of a wooden pillar with a thick phallus sticking out of it at the perfect height for my mouth when I knelt. My hips were moved until I was poised over a large dildo that stood up from the floor. One sharp order and I lowered myself down onto it.

  My pussy screamed in protest at the intrusion. There had been no one since Marc. But I was wet and the dildo wasn’t designed to hurt me, just to fill me completely. As before, the pain was bearable, maybe even pleasurable.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Karen lubricate a butt plug with an evil grin on her face. “I am going to enjoy this,” she said, anticipation in every syllable. “Hold your cheeks open for me.”

  My face flaming at the lewd intimacy of this act, I obeyed. This was all new to me. I’d been taken so many times by so many men. But those had been acts of violence and my consent wasn’t required. Here however, I needed to offer myself to my master’s will. I was being measured on my active participation.

  The butt plug was inserted in. A sharp pain greeted this act, but my response was born more of fear than anything else. It took every bit of will power I possessed to hold still. At least my pussy had the memory of Marc to assure me that sex could be pleasurable. My anal passage has no such reassurance. But Karen and William were clearly experienced at bringing their submissives to great heights of desire. When the muscles of my sphincter closed around the neck of the plug, I felt full. I felt hyper-aware of my pussy and my ass. I felt like a creature of sex, ready to fulfil my master’s desire. It made me feel sensual, not afraid.

  “I want your hips to bounce up and down,” William ordered. “And I want you to mouth-fuck the other dildo. Take it as deep down your throat as possible. Don’t be distracted by anything we do to you. No teeth marks on the dildo. Understood?”

  I nodded silently. “Yes Sir,” I added for good measure.

  “Get going then, Jenny.”

  As ordered, I started riding the dildo on the floor. Sparks of desire started to build in my body as I fucked myself while William and Karen watched. My mouth was open wide, and my head bobbed obediently on the dildo.

  ***

  I ask Marc if I can suck his cock. For the first time in my life, I want to. My body is flushed with pleasure at the orgasm his talented mouth has given me and I want to reciprocate. I want to please him.

  He shakes his head, though there’s a small smile playing about his lips. “Lie back, sweetness,” he tells me. He holds my hands above my head with his own and he positions his body over mine. As if in slow motion, I watch his head dip down to one needy nipple. I watch his lips fasten around that nub and I feel the shockwave of lust all through my body as his teeth graze at my skin.

  I moan out aloud and my legs wind around his body, pulling him closer. “Fuck me,” I plead. I am going to combust from pleasure.

  “All in good time, bright star,” he promises me. “All in good time.”

  ***

  I could feel my memories lubricate my pussy. On autopilot, my mouth sucked the phallus.

  There was more. There was a lot more. Nipple clamps were fastened to my nipples and the chain connecting them was wound around a pillar so that each time my head pulled back on the dildo, a sharp stab greeted my nipples. But though I wanted to call the feeling that radiated through my entire body pain, I was lying to myself. Somewhere, though I hadn’t thought I was capable of it, I found pleasure.

  A vibrator was nestled among my folds and it was turned on. My ability to control my orgasms was tested and though sweat coated my skin at each denied peak, I obeyed William and Karen. I was in a tunnel. My mind had narrowed down to only one thought. Do what they want you to do.

  But unlike every single time in the past, when I obeyed, I didn’t do it out of fear. This was a need to obey that I didn’t fully understand. Thoughts of my revenge had receded to the background. In the foreground, the only thing that was left was this shaking feeling in my body. The endorphins took over and I did as they asked, addicted to their quiet words of encouragement and to their evenly voiced orders.

  When I was finally allowed release, I moaned around the cock in my mouth, but my rhythm didn’t falter. Even in my release, I remembered a lesson that was so deeply etched into my soul – the most important thing was my master’s pleasure.

  Chapter 3

  Ellie / Jenny:

  I had passed my evaluation. I’d been allowed to dress and I rejoined Madame Lorraine in the small sitting room I’d been in earlier.

  “Your auction is in two days,” she said.

  Fear stabbed through me. That soon? But of course, I would want the auction to be as soon as possible, for the sake of my dying sister. “Thank you.” My voice trembled with nerves, though she took it to be relief. After all, I would be paid a quarter of my sale price immediately and that sum of money would be vital to start my imaginary sister’s more aggressive treatments for leukemia – the ones the insurance companies wouldn’t cover.

  “Be here at ten in the morning,” she continued. “We will need to get you ready so
you can look your best. That will help your purchase price. The auction itself will be at six in the evening.”

  It would take eight hours to get me ready for auction? But I bit off any protest. After all, what did I know of make-up and the art of pleasing men? I’d been taken when I was eighteen. I’d thrown myself into training when I was twenty. I was twenty-six now and painfully inexperienced and I had absolutely no knowledge of the things women did to attract men.

  But I hadn’t needed any make-up to attract Marc. My brain, unbidden by me, once again started reliving details of that night two years ago.

  ***

  I’ve run into a tiny neighborhood watering hole in the arrondissement of Saint-Denis in the north east corner of Paris. My blood pounds and my emotions churn. He’s seated at the bar and the only available seat is next to him. I grit my teeth – I’m not looking for company. I mutter a polite ‘Bonsoir’ and hope I’m left alone. No such luck. He turns to me with a smile. “American?” he asks in English.

  I frown at him. “I speak pretty fluent French,” I say. “I hate when people listen to my French and switch to English. It’s rude.”

  I am the one being rude, but his smile just widens. “D’accord.” Okay. I notice, at that precise moment when he smiles, that he’s really good looking. Two dimples dance in his cheeks. He has short dark hair, with just a hint of a wave in it. Stubble coats his chin. His shoulders are broad and his body, from what I can tell, is the definition of perfection. He is wearing a suit that makes him stand out in this poor corner of Paris.

  I am very aware that I set off in a run after my altercation with Lucien. My hair is damp with sweat and sticks to my forehead. My shirt clings to me. I’m dishevelled and unkempt but he doesn’t seem to mind.

  We chat in French. I have exaggerated a little. My French is very good, but I am not a native speaker. But he is, this stranger with eyes that are as blue as the ocean. His pronunciation is impeccable, his accent flawlessly Parisian.