Carnal Slave

by Vonna Harper

  Her breath exploded in a whoosh. “He already did, by reporting me to Carnal.”

  He’d had her shampoo her hair in preparation for today’s meeting and had watched as she applied skin cream to her newly-tanned flesh. Even though she stood naked in a locked stable with two fading whip cuts on her thighs, she looked more like a woman than a slave.

  Maybe the way she returned his gaze was responsible.

  “I don’t let anyone push me around,” he told her. Funny, he could say the same about her behavior today. “Carnal’s directors would like everyone to believe they call the shots, but the organization wouldn’t exist without trainers, and they know it. I’m one of the best. They don’t want to piss me off.”

  “What are you saying? That you’ve decided I don’t need punishing? You don’t care whether someone says different?”

  She’d hit the nail on the head. What maybe neither of them understood was why and how he’d come to the conclusion he had. Watching her finger the necklace/collar, he mentally replayed the disaster of a meeting. She hadn’t stood a chance of winning the battle, and yet she’d stood up to Raymont and Mitch. Not long ago she would have caved at the first harsh word.

  The heavy barn door creaked open then closed. If those two bastards thought they could come in here—“Damek? You there?”

  Reno. “Yeah. What do you want?”

  His co-worker and friend stepped into the stall and gave him a slow once-over.

  “Interesting.”

  “What is?”

  Reno ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. “You’re calm.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “I didn’t take time to get the whole story. As soon as I heard about the confrontation, I figured I needed to see how you were handling it.”

  Damn it, he knew where Reno was coming from. His friend had been concerned the slave’s life was in danger—at his hands.

  “Raymont’s a bastard.” He leaned against the wall. The stall wasn’t large enough for three people to comfortably move about in it. More to the point, in the confined space emotions and moods might be easy to pick up on.

  “Not according to him,” Reno said as the slave divided her attention between the two of them. “He says you’ve done a piss poor job of training her. That you should have shut her up.”

  “He’s the one who needed shutting up.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” He turned his attention to the slave. “Did you call those guys bastards?”

  “No.”

  “But you said something to piss them off.”

  “I wouldn’t be here—“ She indicated the closed-in space. “if it wasn’t for them. I told them.”

  “That’s all?” Reno directed his question at Damek. “She didn’t attack or curse?”

  “Depends on what constitutes attack. She stood up for herself.”

  Reno went from looking like a fact-gatherer to something Damek couldn’t wrap his mind around. “And you’re good with that?”

  “With her not letting Raymont and Mitch demean her to feed their egos, yeah, I am.”

  “Then you have a problem.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Raymont’s trying to get ahold of none other than Tom Smith. To hear him tell it, they’re close friends.”

  Tom Smith—no one associated with Carnal knew if that was his real name—had been instrumental in forming the organization. Every aspect of the operation carried his imprint.

  “What does he want to talk to Smith about?”

  “Buying her outright.”

  #

  Exhaustion pulled at Willow, but she was a long way from being able to fall asleep.

  Raymont was going to buy her. She’d thought her life had become a nightmare, but that was nothing compared to what it would be like once her former boss had her in his clutches.

  She fleetingly wondered how Mitch had reacted when he’d learned that, but her ex-boyfriend’s opinion no longer mattered.

  Neither did Master Damek’s.

  Frowning, she studied her short, unadorned nails. Master Damek had stood over her while she trimmed them shortly after being brought here. He hadn’t said why he wanted them kept short, but she understood. This way she couldn’t use them as weapons.

  Maybe Raymont—oh God could she force herself to call him Master?—wouldn’t think about that. In a month or so her nails would be long enough to use to help defend herself.

  If she was still alive.

  Within a week of going to work for Raymont’s company, she’d felt trapped. Just because she’d always done well in math and bookkeeping didn’t mean that’s what she wanted to spend her life doing. The sameness of filling out forms and checking figures while stuck in a room without a window hadn’t helped. Also, as one of only three women, she’d felt isolated. The other two were much older and close friends. In addition, she hadn’t cared about road construction or repairs. Granted, the company provided a necessary service, but it didn’t feed her need to do something creative—not that she’d had much experience in creativity.

  Too late. She’d never be an artist or sculptor. Her days of wandering through plant nurseries and mentally designing landscapes were in the past. All those wasted dreams—if only she’d made them reality!

  Her eyes burned, warning her that her thoughts were taking her into dangerous territory. She’d been trained to function as a sex slave. Raymont might be satisfied with her behavior, but maybe he’d exact his own cruel brand of vengeance on her. She could be dead before the month was over.

  No! Raymont wouldn’t spend a lot of money on her only to bury his investment. He’d keep her alive—and in hell.

  Shuddering, she crawled off the bed, wrapped her arms around herself, and plodded over to the locked door. She looked between the bars at the ill-lit corridor. Maybe other slaves were in their stalls. Maybe she had the barn to herself. Was alone.

  Helpless.

  Her nails dug into her sides until discomfort pulled her from the edge of despair. Damn it, she’d face her life. Endure it. Stand up to the nightmare. Never again let fear and defeat undermine her.

  That was all she had left, the weapon she’d face her new master with.

  Filled with equal amounts of resolve and resignation, she climbed back onto the bed and curled up on her side facing the door. After finding a semi-comfortable position, she concentrated on her breathing. In and out, in and out, not thinking. Simply being.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The cage was so small she had to crouch with her thighs against her belly and her arms around her legs. She’d been leaning forward for so long that her neck burned. She occasionally traced the metal bands around her ankles, but each time she did the depth of her captivity struck her anew. Not only were the bands wide and tight, they’d been welded to each other so she couldn’t walk. More metal circled her wrists, connected via several links of chain. Her thick, heavy collar was made of the same harsh material. At the moment nothing was connected to the rings imbedded to it because there was no reason to further restrain her.

  A dog waiting in its cage.

  Anticipating pain or pleasure—or both.

  “There’s the animal waiting to be let out. I bet it’s tired of being alone.”

  Her master’s voice. At the sound, dread and excitement warred in her. Instead of immediately removing her from her pen, he busied himself doing something in the dungeon. At the clank of chains and snap of a whip, she broke out in a cold sweat.

  Finally he fit a key in the large lock and pulled back the heavy barred door. Well-trained in what he expected of her, she crawled out. Her muscles screamed as she stretched out, and she hauled her nearly useless legs behind her until she reached him.

  “Show me how glad you are to see me.”

  She always waited until he gave her permission to touch him. Otherwise, he’d punish her. Sometimes he exacted his brand of justice even when she did everything right. Wishing she could look into his eyes and gage his mo
od, she rubbed her head against his calves like the pet he expected her to be. At length he patted her head which was his signal for her to lick his shoes.

  After filling her mouth with saliva, she lathed every inch of the expensive leather, careful not to dampen it too much.

  “Enough, pet. I’ve had a hard day.”

  Bending so low her breasts scraped the cement floor, she stifled a moan. Too many of his days were hard and when they were, she paid the price. When she’d first been hauled below ground, she’d dreamed of freedom, but now she knew better. He’d never let that happen.

  “I’m going to beat you and then fuck you.” He chuckled. “Then maybe I’ll get drunk and beat you some more.”

  She never knew when he was playing with her mind or telling her straight out what he intended to do. Either way she had no choice but to wait. To wish she was dead.

  “First I need to get you on your feet.”

  Hot pain on her scalp brought tears to her eyes as he used her long, tangled hair to haul her onto her knees. Much as she wanted to grab his cock and squeeze it until he screamed in pain, he’d kill her if she did, and despite everything, she wasn’t ready to give up on life.

  Close but not yet there.

  With a grunt, he forced her onto her feet. She swayed trying to keep her imprisoned legs under her.

  “Present.”

  Head down in the subservient way he demanded, she lifted her arms. He grabbed hold of the chain between her wrists and yanked.

  “Do it.”

  Crying silently and without tears, she glanced up to see one of the many hooks dangling over her head. When he let go of the chain, she flipped it over the hook, imprisoning herself. He left her long enough to engage a pulley that stretched her out so her feet were nearly off the ground.

  “Lovely.”

  Master never complimented her, but he loved bending her body to his will. He’d taken countless pictures of her in the multitude of bondage positions his fertile mind came up with.

  Waiting to see what he intended to do tonight, she gnawed on her lower lip.

  “Feel the stretch here?” He ran his fingers over her taut sides. “And the way your legs twitch.” He raked her thighs. “No matter what I do—“ He grabbed her mons and squeezed. “you can’t stop me. Lovely. So lovely.”

  Sometimes he fed off the sound of her distress while other times he wanted her silent.

  Wondering which it would be tonight, she watched as he walked over to the table he kept filled with what he called his toys. His hands lingered over his collection of gags, then left them and pawed through what he’d named his tit kissers. All too soon he selected a couple of heavy, rusty clamps designed for hanging weights from.

  “You can scream if you want to.” He held the clamps close to her face. Knowing what he wanted, she stared at them. “Fortunately I didn’t have any meetings today so I’m not fed up with listening to voices. Of course—“ He ran the clamps around her breasts in ever smaller circles. “I might change my mind. Remember the rules, screams but no begging.”

  No matter how many times this had happened, she wasn’t ready for the cruel bite on her nipple. Gasping, she stared at herself. Old metal dangled from her breast like a dog gnawing on a bone.

  “Well what do you know? I wasn’t sure I could get it to stay on without holding your breast in place and gotten a good bite. How about we see if my skill’s as good the second time.”

  Not long after falling into his clutches, she’d realized he didn’t see her as a human being.

  The few times she’d begged to be let go, he’d beaten her until she passed out. Lesson learned, she communicated in the only way he wanted—by responding to his sadistic control as the animal he’d turned her into would.

  The second clamp seized her breast. Reacting to the pain, she threw back her head and tried to pull up her legs only to stop when that forced her wrists to take her full weight.

  Sweating and shaking, she teetered on her toes.

  “A little weight and we’ll get onto business.”

  Despite her determination not to do so, she spun away when he tried to suspend a half pound weight from the first clamp. Chuckling, he waited until she’d swiveled as far as she could and then finished his job. Crying out, she bucked in her bonds.

  “Lovely, lovely. You’re such a graceful dancer.”

  She fought the application of the second weight, but he easily won that round as well.

  Her tortured breasts pulled against her chest wall. He watched her suffer for the better part of a minute before returning to the table. The way he positioned himself so she couldn’t see what he was doing, she wondered if he’d brought something new to the evening’s lesson.

  Eventually, she frantically reminded herself, her punishment and his pleasure would be over. He’d rape her then, and her overloaded body would climax. For a few precious seconds she’d remember that she’d once been a woman.

  “This should be your size, maybe larger than you’d prefer.”

  At first she didn’t comprehend what he was showing her, but all too soon she did. The hook was maybe three feet in length and twice as thick as his thumb. Rope was tied to the long straight section while the short part was rounded at the end.

  “Designed for comfort.” He demonstrated by pressing the rounded metal against her belly. “No rough edges because I don’t want your pussy torn up so I can’t use it.”

  Desperate pleas crowded against her teeth, but she knew better than to utter a sound.

  This was what he called a teaching moment, time for her to concentrate fully.

  “You resisted when I put you in the cage this morning. You know you have to be punished.”

  She hadn’t fought being pushed into the small space, not that trying to change his mind would save her. The more submissive she was, the sooner her punishment would be over—maybe.

  “You also have an unacceptable tendency to try to escape my lessons. This—“ He slid the shorter section between her legs in front. “Will hold you in place.”

  Tremors wove through her as he pressed against the inside of one thigh to make room for the pussy hook. No matter how much she willed herself to relax, her sex channel tightened.

  Undeterred, he slowly pushed it into her. Inch by inch he buried his latest toy deep inside her.

  She’d been subjected to dildos and vibrators, but this was awful.

  Finally the curve pressed against her mons. The invader couldn’t go any deeper. There was nothing left of her vagina, this monstrous thing had taken over. Master leaned the long section this way and then the other so the oversized dildo stressed her sex walls. She knew fear of course, but this took her in a new direction. Dread dug even deeper into her when he tied the rope to an overhead chain.

  Wiping his hands in a self-satisfied gesture, he stepped back and studied her.

  “Lovely. My own little fish caught on my own big hook.” Leaning forward, he slapped the metal tube pressing against her belly. “I’ve really done myself proud tonight. Between this—“ He slapped the tube again, making it vibrate inside her. “and these—“ He snapped the nipple weights. “You’re what I’d call hung up to dry.”

  The pussy hook was intimidating, not painful. However, the weights more than made up for that.

  He again left her and returned to the dreaded table. A too-familiar whistling sound sliced at her sanity. Much as she hated her weakness, she couldn’t take her gaze off him as she waited for his return. When he did it was too soon.

  “Just because I didn’t have people yammering at me all the time doesn’t mean my day didn’t suck. Time to work off the tension. Thanks to my pet—“ He lovingly stroked her side. “I’ll sleep well.”

  She was ready for the blow. After all, she’d survived countless whippings. But the second came too fast on the heels of the first. The nipple weights still swung. This blow too landed on her left flank. Like a fiery brand, it reached beneath flesh and reached her core.

  He
’d bought the horse whip from a local horse breeder, telling the man he was working with a headstrong filly. She was the filly, and it didn’t matter that she wasn’t headstrong and did everything she could to please this man she hated, he still whipped her.

  On her flanks, thighs, calves, all over her arms, every inch of her ass. On either side of the pussy hook and rope that kept it lodged in her. Everywhere on her breasts except her nipples.

  Her back. Feet.

  He tore her apart, split her apart with pain, turned her against herself.

  Then, when the whip had branded every inch of her, he released the tension on her arms and did the same to the hook. He stood her on her feet with her arms still over her head and the hook a part of her. Grinning, he studied her expression as he took off the weights. When she stopped sobbing, he freed her nipples. She screamed again. Less than human, she let her head sag so her hair obscured her vision.

  “Good session, pet. One of the best.” Grabbing her chin, he kissed her cheek. “I might give you a break tomorrow night. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He turned her head and kissed her other cheek. “After that I’ll see if I can top this.”

  Half unconscious, she paid scant attention to what he’d said. Then he yanked up on the hook until the end in her became her total existence.

  “Something for you to think about—I can always make it worse.”

  Swamped by dread, she focused on him.

  “You look like shit. A horse rode hard and put away wet. I, on the other hand, am ready to be rewarded for all my hard work.”

  Because she’d heard him say those things before, she waited to be let down. He started by unlocking her legs but leaving the metal around her left ankle for easy reattachment. Under his guidance, the hook slurped out of her. When it was gone she felt empty and a little lost.

  Finally he let her lower her arms. Renewed circulation made them tingle and then burn. Her wrists were still locked together of course.

  He turned his back on her and strode through an open doorway. Hurting everywhere, she followed him like the well-trained creature he’d made her into. She walked over to the queen sized bed and sank to her knees to wait.