Naked Nights

by Vonna Harper

  He’d glanced at the camera before speaking. Did that mean he was directing his comment at someone other than her, maybe playing to the unseen audience?

  “Where are we?” She licked her dry lips. “On the west coast, but where?”

  “That’s none of your concern. All right.” He jerked his head at the steaming shower. “Get in.”

  Her fingers kept twitching. Every time she tried to move her arms, the rope pressed against the back of her neck. Helpless. So helpless.

  Defeated and yet relieved, because this way she should be able to get a little water in her mouth, she did as her captor commanded. As warm water washed over her sweat and urine-stained body, she reluctantly acknowledged she’d obeyed this man who’d said he was going to train her. She was like a green-broke horse, skittish and half-wild, unable to escape.

  He stepped in after her and closed the shower door behind him. Then he pulled her back against him and looped an arm around her arms and she knew. He’d do whatever he wanted to her. She had to get used to it.

  Effortlessly keeping her sealed to his harsh body with his cock between them, he maneuvered her under the shower. She lowered her head to keep water out of her eyes and nose, stuck out her tongue and tried to lap moisture into her mouth. He hadn’t just turned her into a green-broke horse, she was acting like an animal, dealing with her thirst in the only way she could.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded. “Got it?”

  Where could she go? Besides, she’d just discovered that if she lifted her head a little, water ran into her mouth.

  He soaped a washcloth and rubbed it over her, starting with her head. What did she care what he used to clean her hair? She kept her eyes and mouth closed until he reached her neck, then kept her head under the stream until she no longer felt soap on her cheeks. Hard as she tried to disconnect herself from her body, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he was doing. The hours of dark, silent, helpless fear and no sleep faded from her consciousness. This was here. Now. Sensation.

  Still behind her, he soaped her shoulders, arms, and hands. Then he lifted one elbow at a time and repeatedly ran the washcloth over her breasts. He lingered on her nipples, rubbing them until her knees weakened and her veins heated. She leaned against him, eyes barely open and mouth sagging, lost in her body’s responses. Any moment he might hurt her but until, or if, that happened, pleasure would continue to seep into her. She’d put terror behind her.

  “What happened to your tension?” His breath warmed the top of her head. “Any more relaxed and I’ll have to hold you up.”

  He was teasing her, challenging her to resist, but how could she? Her breasts had become so sensitive she was barely aware of the rest of her body. Her nipples were hard knots, the rest of her breasts hot and tingling. All these years of celebrating her independence, and in less than twenty-four hours she’d become something else.

  Something compliant.

  “Turn around,” he ordered as he pushed her away from him. “Face me.”

  Sensual lethargy fled, leaving her tense and as afraid of herself as she was of him. He’d shoved her into the corner. As a result, when she spun on her heels, her buttocks pressed against the tile walls. He cocked his head and added more soap to the cloth. “Belly first, then I’m going to clean your pussy.”

  She’d been giving herself showers since she was three—shortly before her mother died—and yet what Tray had just said made perfect sense. After all, she belonged to him.

  No I don’t, she insisted as he spread soap over her belly and hips. This was just a momentary thing, a bit of insanity until she—she what?

  Was this what her existence would be like from now on? Tray would do whatever he pleased to her and she’d accept? His handling would so confuse her she wouldn’t be able to think past it?

  “Legs apart, slave. There’s work to be done there.”

  Slave. There was that word again.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” she asked as the cloth glided over her labia. This wasn’t her! She wouldn’t—

  “Whatever your master wants to happen.”

  Master!

  “Please tell me what this is about. It can’t— I can’t—”

  He slapped her cheek, knocking her head to the side. “Shut the fuck up. And stick out that cunt of yours.”

  What a fool she’d been to think he had any humanity in him. She’d seen horse handlers who relied on whips and intimidation to control their animals. She just hadn’t allowed herself to accept that Tray would be like them until she had no choice.

  “You want a repeat lesson?” He splayed his hand over her belly and pressed her into the corner. “Get your cunt out there.”

  She hated exposing her sex to him but did as he’d commanded. She readied herself for a harsh scrubbing. Instead, after covering her pussy in soap, he dropped the cloth and started stroking her there with his fingers. Tense as she was, she was grateful for every moment of kindness he granted her. He might switch, of course, and become Master, but she needed memories like this to keep from losing her mind.

  She longed for gentle touches, craved the reminder that she was a sexually mature woman. Keeping her sex accessible to him, she closed her eyes. He’d immobilized her arms but hadn’t lashed her legs together because he’d been anticipating having access to her pussy.

  Yes, that’s what it was, her pussy, a base word to accompany a primal action. A stranger taking liberties because he could. He separated her labia and worked a slick finger into her channel. Her inner muscles tightened around the invasion.

  “That’s right. Let me know how much you want me there.”

  She didn’t. This was simply her body responding to a touch, surrender because resistance was impossible.

  He pushed deeper, withdrew a little, probed even more. Her legs started shaking.

  “Give it to me, slave. Turn your cunt over to your master.”

  He wasn’t saying this, he couldn’t be. Instead, they were lovers playing a kinky game. She’d suggested they pretend he’d captured her. After messing around with the notion of bondage for a while, they’d climb into bed and fuck. Her pelvis wasn’t really thrusting toward a big and powerful stranger while he plundered—

  “Well, hello,” a strange male voice said. “No one told me I’d be sharing the bathroom today.”

  Tray pulled out of her and planted her back under the spray. She couldn’t see. “Hell,” he said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  The other man chuckled. “You were occupied. How long are you and the bitch going to be in here?”

  “Nearly done. She was dirty from the trip here.”

  “Got it. You want us to come back?”

  Tray didn’t immediately answer. “No. My slave needs to see yours.”

  Another chuckle from that stranger compelled her to chance getting out from under the spray. She thought Tray might punish her for disobeying. Instead, he turned off the shower and stepped out. Water streaming off his massive tan back and pale buttocks distracted her. He was everything the word ‘powerful’ symbolized.

  “Don’t just stand there.” Tray grabbed a towel and started drying himself. “Get the hell out of there.”

  Something about his harsh tone made her wonder if he was determined to prove himself to the other man. As she joined him on the plush white bath rug, she forced herself to acknowledge the newcomer. This man wasn’t nearly as big or imposing as Tray, but he carried himself with confidence. His head was shaved, and judging by the way his nose canted to the right, she guessed it had been broken. He was dressed all in black, complete with sturdy boots that seemed out of place here.

  Then, wishing she didn’t have to, she focused on the woman with him. Like her, the woman was naked. Her hands were behind her, her blonde hair caught in a crude ponytail. She looked up at Marina then went back to staring at her small feet.

  A leather collar with a metal ring at her throat partly obscured her neck. Two slender chains stretched from the co
llar to rings through her nipples, lifting her breasts. Horrified, Marina fought not to cry out.

  “That’s right.” The other man caught one of the chains between thumb and forefinger and tugged so the breast was lifted even higher. The woman moaned and shook her head. “She’s decorated.”

  “Decorated?” Tray dropped his towel and lifted Marina’s arms, exposing her breasts. “That’s not what I’d call it. More like permanently augmented.”

  “Semantics.” The man let go of the chain and tugged on the other. “Whatever label you want to put on these little things, they keep her in line, don’t they, slave?”

  “Yes, Master,” the woman muttered.

  She sounded so disheartened that Marina longed to hug her. Tray was still holding her elbows up and giving the stranger a clear view of her breasts. No way was this anything except two dominant men jockeying for position. Would Tray pierce her breasts and push rings through them?

  What hell had she been forced into?

  “The facilities are all yours,” Tray said. “I need to let my trainee eat and sleep. Otherwise she isn’t going to be able to focus on her lessons.”

  “Hmm.” The other man jerked on the chain, forcing his prisoner to stumble toward the shower. “Keep her hungry and sleep deprived. It’ll make training her easier.”

  “It probably would.” Tray released her elbows, grabbed her sopping hair and started pulling her, head down, toward the room they’d been in before coming here. “Any other tips you have, let me know.”

  “Carnal management wouldn’t have brought you onboard if they hadn’t figured you were a quick study. You’ll do fine.”

  Fine? Doing what?

  Chapter Seven

  Tray studied the woman stretched out on the narrow bed. He’d spread-eagled her face up but had left her bonds loose so her limbs weren’t being stressed. He’d debated keeping the neck rope on, but the leather around her wrists and ankles made that overkill. She hadn’t said a word when he’d picked her up and deposited her on the bed, hadn’t tried to prevent him from spreading her legs and anchoring them down. As he’d restrained her arms, she’d turned her head away and closed her eyes. If not for her taut muscles and the way she kept holding her breath, he might have been fooled into believing she didn’t care what had happened to her.

  Right now she was asleep, sometimes limp with a serene expression, sometimes shuddering and clenching her fists. It had taken her the better part of an hour to nod off. During that time, she’d alternated between studying him sprawled in the easy chair and staring at the wall. Not that he intended to tell her, but he had his reasons for handling things the way he had. For one, he wanted his hunger to mirror hers for a while, so he’d understand a bit of what she was experiencing. The other reason went deeper, and hopefully brought her closer to understanding his total control over her. He wanted her to wonder what he was thinking as he stared at her naked, helpless body, to imagine him doing things to her she couldn’t stop. She needed to try to anticipate his next movement, to take in the made-for-restraint room and imagine how it would be used against her.

  Most of all, he needed her to start emotionally turning herself over to him.

  She’d stirred when he’d left to eat about an hour ago and briefly opened her eyes the moment he’d returned. She hadn’t spoken. Neither had he. Although there weren’t any clocks in the room he guessed she’d been asleep for going on three hours, which meant it was time to get started.

  When he leaned forward and clapped his hands, her eyes sprang open and she fixed her attention on him. Earlier, he’d found a change of clothes for him outside the door, undoubtedly Mrs. Johnson’s attention to detail. He’d approved of the tight black pullover because it defined his muscles. Since it was hard for him to find jeans that fitted over his thick thighs, he wore sweats whenever possible. Like the shirt, the sweats were black. He probably looked like a nightmare to his trainee.

  “We’re working toward a common goal,” he told her once he stood over her. “You’re going to be taught to be a sex slave, at my hands.”

  Her eyes widened even more and she tugged on her bonds, which made her breasts jiggle. His groin tightened. Damn it, not having sex until she was ready was going to be damn hard. It didn’t have to be like this, of course, because she was his to do what he wanted to, but his parents hadn’t raised him to rape women.

  They hadn’t raised him for this either.

  Hell, his old man hadn’t been on hand for anything.

  “The course will take however long it takes,” he continued. Right now wasn’t about reconciling his new career with his so-called moral code. Maybe it never would be. “There’ll be tests along the way. If you fail one, I’ll repeat the lesson.” He planted his hands over her breasts and shook his head, stopping her from trying to shrink away. “You’ll hate many things about the classes, but this place is well designed to restrain and contain reluctant students, so you have no choice.”

  While watching her sleep, he’d had plenty of time to plan what he intended to do today, but eager as he was to get started, he simply remained beside her with her ample breasts under his palms. Her heartbeat vibrated through his fingers. She made him think of spring, that time of year when a frosty night could kill fragile new growth. Keeping her alive and physically healthy while molding her was going to be a delicate operation.

  “The school’s premise is simple.” He positioned his thumbs and forefingers around her nipples and closed down a little. “At the core, pain and pleasure are the same. They’re both intense sensations. The majority of us prefer pleasure, but when there’s no choice we adapt to pain. Otherwise, we wouldn’t survive. We more than accept it. We embrace discomfort because it proves we’re alive—and because we always hold out hope that pleasure still exists.”

  Judging by her expression, she didn’t grasp what he was saying. That was probably because her dread of what he intended to do made concentrating next to impossible. That was all right. He had the perfect demonstration planned.

  At least he hoped it would be.

  “Pretty sensitive here, aren’t you?” He tightened his hold on her hard nubs. “You’re feeling this all the way through you.”

  “Don’t, please. Oh please don’t.”

  Fear had forced the plea from her, not that he blamed her. If he’d been tied down the way she was, he’d be fighting the restraints like a mad man.

  “Oh, but I have to. Otherwise you’ll never have value.”

  Her head whipped from side to side, whether because she was trying to deal with her discomfort or because she was trying to make sense of what he’d just told her didn’t matter. Part of a Carnal trainer’s goal was to keep a trainee off balance. The more a future slave had to depend on her trainer to give her world order, the more subservient she became.

  “There won’t be a test today.” He drew her breasts toward him, watching for a change of expression. She was holding on, but just barely. “I’m certain that’s a relief to you. The lesson about to begin is as basic as they get. I’m introducing you to a marriage of the good and bad. Don’t worry about trying to keep them separate.” He didn’t add that if he did his job as he hoped he was capable of, she wouldn’t be able to.

  As he released her nipples, her hands stayed fisted and her muscles trembled.

  He walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. There might be times she wasn’t restrained in here, which meant he’d have to remember to lock the drawers. It wouldn’t do for her to get her hands on anything she could turn into a weapon. He hefted three sets of nipple clamps, then selected the lightest one. After palming it and putting his hand behind him so she couldn’t see, he returned to her. Her attention locked on his arm.

  “It won’t do me any good to beg you to let me go, will it?” She swallowed. “Damn it, I don’t want to, but I might not be able to stop myself.”

  Suddenly off balance, he bought time by turning his attention to the nearest camera. Wasn’t she supposed to st
ruggle and cry? As long as he saw her as nothing more than a female body he could immerse himself in the experience. If she was trying to play with his emotions—no, scared as she was, he couldn’t imagine her deliberately doing that.

  “This is about teaching your body the meaning of inescapable pain.” He held up the clamps by the chain. “What you say doesn’t matter. Only experiencing does.”

  Her expression said she understood what the clamps were for. He supposed she could have engaged in bondage play in her private life, but the file he’d been given on her had led him to conclude she was strictly vanilla, and that only occasionally.

  “These won’t cut the flesh,” he started then stopped. Every move he made would be closely scrutinized and analyzed. Doubtless, he’d be warned not to say or do anything the slave might construe as empathy.

  “You’re at my mercy, my whim, my sadistic nature, if that’s how you choose to see it.” He positioned his left hand around her breast and brought his fingers together. As he one-handedly spread the clamp’s teeth, she dug her heels into the bed and twisted away. She had to know her attempt at escape wouldn’t change anything, but he didn’t blame her for trying. He squeezed, pushing her nipple up even more. Her muscles stood out as she fought her bondage, and he waited her out. When she started to settle down, he positioned the clamp around her nipple and eased it into place.

  “Ah! Oh, God, ah!”

  Fighting an emotion he wanted no part of, he listened to her pant. She had a look of sick anticipation as she waited for him to finish the awful job. Instead of immediately imprisoning her other nipple, he held back. No one had warned him that he’d feel like this, a little disgusted with himself. She continued to breathe faster than he thought possible, making him conclude this was her way of dealing with pain. If she kept it up much longer she’d hyperventilate, then where would she be?

  Maybe unconscious and unable to participate. Getting him out of something he didn’t want after all.

  No, damn it! He wasn’t a quitter, never had been.