by Vonna Harper
“How long did you have nightmares?”
He’d known that about her. “Too long.”
“What happened then? Who finished raising you?”
People didn’t have conversations like this, not when one had stripped, restrained and forcefully stimulated the other, not when one of them had her holes stuffed while the other stood over her looking like a conquering warrior. Just the same, she needed to continue.
“No one.” Had she already told him that? It didn’t matter. “Dad and I were the only ones living on the property. The owner—he had some health issues and needed to be close to town—let me stay.”
“By yourself.” Master stretched out hands that had already done countless things to her and started rubbing her shoulders. “It was just you in that trailer, then.”
She nodded and hurried to explain that the owner had promoted one of the ranch hands to take her father’s place. She’d continued to care for the ranch’s horses and any calves that had needed special attention. During calving season, she’d spent more time in the barn than in her own room. She didn’t tell Master that spending a night curled around a calf was easier than listening to the empty trailer creak.
As when she’d told him about life before her father’s death, Master had said little. Maybe that’s why so much poured out of her—and maybe she was laying herself out to him because her pussy was no longer out of control and he stood over her.
Still massaging her arms with his thighs touching hers and his eyes—his eyes saying what?
“I think I know why you haven’t allowed a man to get close enough to ask you to marry him.”
His low tone, and what he’d said, caught her unawares.
“For a while,” he continued, “I figured it was because no man could measure up to the pedestal you’d put your father on. He was your everything.”
“He was. A good, good man.”
“I know.” He brushed her cheek.
Do that again, please. I need to be touched like that.
“I could tell you he was human, point out that he could have handled things better with you that last morning, but it doesn’t matter.”
Master’s voice continued to caress her. Her eyes burned.
“What matters is that his dying scarred you. It hurt so much, caused you so much pain.”
He pressed his hands against her cheeks and steadied her head.
“It’s all right if you cry.”
“No,” she whispered, afraid and hungry all at once. “Not after all this time.”
“The years don’t matter if the wounds haven’t healed. I know what pain feels like, but I haven’t gone through what you have. I can’t fathom a sense of loss so deep you’re afraid to take chances again.”
“I don’t want to be hurt.” Was she really saying this, and to him of all people? “Not like that, ever again.”
“But you’re robbing yourself of a full life.”
His mouth was so close and her emotions so raw. Stretching, she parted her lips. After a moment, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers. Something she’d never experienced washed through her. She felt newborn. She seemed to be floating, moving effortlessly through space, sharing that space with a powerful, gentle and exciting man. A small part of her insisted she wouldn’t be doing this if she was thinking straight, but she desperately needed human contact—this contact—with him.
His mouth still locked with hers, he unfastened her arm restraints. At first she couldn’t think how to make them move. She tried to warn herself to keep them where they were, but they took on a will of their own and wrapped themselves around his solid neck. He could break free, of course, punish her for touching him without permission, but she’d deal with the consequences later.
For now, she’d hold on to her captor, her master, the man who understood so much about her. That should have been enough, a seeking out, a tentative journey. Why then, were her lips against his and why, when he opened his mouth, did she do the same?
She’d been cold and he was offering warmth. After all those days and nights of being afraid, this man had come to comfort her.
When, a long moment later, he pulled back, she reluctantly let him go. His expression unreadable and body tense, he released the rest of her restraints and picked up the discarded remote.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Should I remove the intrusions or start them working again?”
Pleasure me. Take me into myself. Make this all about me. “I don’t know—”
“Are you afraid?”
“Not of you,” she told him when not long ago that would have been a lie.
“Yourself, then?”
No! She wasn’t going to admit that. “This isn’t real.” She reached between her legs and fingered the dildo where it disappeared into her. She could have stood and freed herself—but did she want to? “Artificial.”
He touched the remote. First the butt plug then the dildo slid out of her. Returning his stare, she fingered her labia. The air smelled of the sea and female arousal. Master’s erection threatened to rip his jeans.
Not believing this was her, she stood on shaky legs and planted herself before the domineering and dominant man. Watching for his reaction, she unsnapped his jeans and lowered the zipper. After drawing his cock through the slit in his briefs, she cradled him in sweating, unsteady hands. Maybe he expected her to kneel and perform oral sex, but she needed more. Needed something she didn’t have words for.
He cupped his hands around hers, which increased the pressure on his cock. She extended her fingers and ran her nails over his scrotum.
“Careful,” he warned.
“I’d never—”
His chuckle stopped her. She no longer felt as if she might explode. These moments were good, something between equals. When he placed his hands on her shoulders, she turned her attention to exploring his cock. He’d been circumcised, and she relished gliding her fingers over his length. Maybe what he’d placed inside her caused her quick, hard responses, but maybe she was simply reacting like any woman would in the presence of a sexy male. Whatever the reason, if there was one, she dipped her head so she could study what she was doing.
His cock was larger than any she’d seen, the weight in her palms more potent. This part of him could rule her. She’d never get enough of it, would want it in her always. Was that it, she pondered, as his fingers traveled from her shoulders to her swollen and sensitive breasts? She’d become a sex addict around him. She’d never get enough, constantly rub against him to get his attention. They’d have sex five, six times a day and when they weren’t they’d—they’d talk. Get to know each other. Bind their lives together.
Shocked at the notion that she might willingly stay with him, she froze. However, her hands remained on him and despite her sudden chill her pussy remained hot—hot and alive.
“What is it?” he asked.
“So much—I never thought I’d…”
He ran his hands under her breasts and lifted them so her nipples pointed at his chest. “Neither did I, but I’m going for it.”
She should have known what he meant but didn’t begin to put it together until he’d stepped back from her, stripped off his clothes and sprawled on his chair with his legs outstretched and his cock putting her in mind of a thick, living spear. She could have tried to get away, but not only wouldn’t she have gotten far, she wanted to stay where she was.
No, she corrected herself as she continued to study him. She couldn’t remain in place any more than she could deny how much she’d revealed about her life short minutes ago.
“This might be your only time for self-determination.” He took hold of his cock and angled it toward her crotch. “What’s it going to be?”
She couldn’t remember whether he’d called her slave today. Neither could she say whether she’d referred to him as Master, but words weren’t the only thing that had changed between them. He was telling her to direct the next step in their relationship. She had n
o window into the future, no way of knowing whether she’d go back to being his chained possession, nothing except need and what she’d revealed about the emptiness inside her.
One shuddering wave after another threatened to swamp her as she closed in on him. When she was so close she could make out the individual hairs framing his sex, she placed her hands on his knees. Two cameras were trained on her front while two more recorded her backside. If Tray—right now she’d think of him as a man and not a master—didn’t care who saw, she’d meet him courage for courage.
Eyes downcast, hoping to keep her swirling thoughts private, she trailed her fingers over his thighs. Muscles, hard as stone, tightened. He let go of himself and placed his hands behind his head, but the position didn’t fool her. He was no more relaxed than she was.
Do it. Step beyond yourself. Take what might be the greatest risk of your life.
Propelled by the command, she climbed onto the chair, straddled his hips, and lowered herself onto him. Her flooded pussy absorbed him. Sighing, he closed his hands around her waist. She braced herself on his shoulders and settled onto her knees, taking him deeper as she did. This felt so much better than the dildo had, superior to every other cock she’d had in her.
She struggled to find something to say but couldn’t pull her thoughts together enough for a word. He bucked off the chair. The movement resonated throughout her. For a few seconds, she believed that being on top said something new about their relationship, but as his eyes darkened, the question of where this was going no longer mattered.
“Show me what you’re capable of,” he challenged. “Fuck like a liberated woman.”
Not a slave. Embracing the lie, she repeatedly rose and sank down. She concentrated on keeping her inner muscles tight, going faster and faster while sweat ran between her breasts. He slid a hand around her waist and pressed his fingers into the small of her back, keeping her in place and allowing her the only freedom she needed.
He started slapping her wildly shaking breasts, making her cry out in delight. She arched her back, thrust her arms behind her and anchored herself by digging her fingers into where his knees and thighs joined.
She moved machine-like, shaking until she felt as if she was falling apart. Her head became heavy. Her breasts flailed so he sometimes missed slapping them.
“Fucking.” She hissed, “Yes, fucking you.”
“Who am I? Go on, say it!”
She didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know anything except that this inner fire was going to kill her.
“Say it!” A blow almost hard enough to knock her to the side made her breast burn.
“Master. You’re my master.”
“My slave’s fucking me,” he threw at her.
He struck her other breast three times in rapid succession, and she growled with each blow. He pulled her forward then pushed her back. Each time he did, it changed where his cock pressed against her sex walls. The storm attacking her grew, her hair flew about so she could hardly see and sweat now coated her legs and trickled down her back. Still she kept fucking him, driven by a force she didn’t try to understand.
This might be the only thing they’d ever share. She’d dive into the middle of it and become a fuck machine, scream sometimes, sob and moan.
And burn. Mostly burn.
A thunderclap sounded as the first wave of her climax struck her. Wild with excitement, she gaped at the hazy features of the man who’d brought her to this place.
“Yes! Oh shit, yes!”
He pulled her down on top of him, holding her prisoner with his greater strength as he exploded inside her.
She didn’t care whether this was what he’d wanted. Only riding the incredible waves that threatened to stop her heart mattered.
Finally, though, she had nothing left to give. Her body had spent itself, leaving her so far gone she lacked the strength to sit upright. Besides, Master hadn’t released her.
His cock slowly shrank. They were still united, but she stopped feeling as if they shared a single heart. Her thoughts turned to the unseen ocean and she again imagined she was drifting in the waves.
Then, even though she fought it, she acknowledged that she was again thinking of him as her master. Hiding from reality wouldn’t change it, so she sat up and looked down at him. His eyes slowly focused on her.
“We’re not going to talk about this,” he said.
“No,” she whispered, “we aren’t, Master.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tray closed the door to his private quarters behind him and walked over to the window so he could study a stretch of beach cluttered with driftwood. When he’d gone out there the other day, he’d taken pictures of tall, slim grasses and wild flowers that grew among the bleached wood. He’d had no idea what he’d do with the images he’d captured with his smartphone, but the contrast between what was living and dead had caught his attention.
Today he couldn’t remember why he’d spent so much time out there. He attributed part of his mood to the fact that he’d recently gotten off and wanted to get some sleep. However, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fall asleep, let alone stay there.
Too much had happened, too many words shared, emotions hauled out and stripped naked. Granted, most of that had been on her part, but he’d come close to opening up about himself.
Damn close.
He’d just left the slave when Robert had appeared in the hall to inform him that management wanted to talk to him. He’d told Robert he wasn’t interested in being called on the carpet.
“Fucking a slave’s hardly against the rules,” he’d insisted. “Just because my methods are unorthodox doesn’t mean they were wrong.”
The moment Robert had again issued the invitation, he’d told Robert to tell the others to go to hell. He knew what he was doing and expected to be left alone.
He’d gotten the solitude he’d demanded. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as sure of himself as he wanted everyone to think.
Why had he kissed her?
That’s what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it, he acknowledged as he watched several seagulls float with the air currents. Despite what he’d promised her about not raping her, no one would have protested if he had. In fact, forced sex was part of the training process. He wouldn’t have been surprised if management had taken bets on when he’d fuck her. On the other hand, he guessed the last thing they’d expected was him locking his lips with a slave in training.
That wasn’t all he’d done, damn it. He’d guided her through the story of her father’s death and how that death had impacted her. She’d lost her rudder after her father died. He’d been the standard by which she measured all other men. None had met her exacting, unrealistic and yet understandable standards.
She’d spent the intervening years trying to protect herself from more of the pain that had nearly killed her. If she didn’t love someone she couldn’t be hurt.
Toughen up, boy. I don’t care how old you are, I don’t ever want to see you cry. A real man’s as hard on the inside as he is on the outside, got it?
His old man’s words and the slap that had accompanied them echoed through him. He couldn’t remember how old he’d been the first time he’d heard them, maybe five or six. The refrain had become an almost daily utterance until he’d learned how to lock his emotions away. Toughening up hadn’t won him his father’s love, but at least the old man had acknowledged a grudging respect for the son who’d taken his hard edge onto the football field. Over time Tray had realized the bastard had no business being a father, but by then the lessons had stuck. More than stuck, he’d been able to parlay them into a man’s career.
That wouldn’t change now.
* * * *
Marina hadn’t reacted when Master had tied her hands in front, hauled her out of her room and into the one occupied by the other slave she shared the bathroom with. Not seeing Master for nearly a day had given her time to regain her emotional balance. She should never have told him about losin
g her father. It was too late to take back the words, but she’d do everything within her power to prevent something like that from happening again. It wasn’t as if she’d cared about Master when they’d kissed. Considering what she’d been subjected to, it was understandable that she’d needed even a hint of humanity from someone. Never again.
She was a slave in training, a woman awaiting her chance to escape.
The other slave had already been secured in the middle of the room with her arms over her head and a large red ball gag filling her mouth.
“I’m glad you decided your subject’s ready for a little group education,” Cliff said as he handed Master an identical gag. “Seeing themselves mirrored in another slave makes an impact.”
“It wouldn’t have occurred to me until I saw that tape last night.” Master hauled her within inches of him and jammed the rubber ball against her lips. Much as she hated doing so, she obediently opened her mouth. “Quite educational.”
“That they are. Hey, I’m impressed,” Cliff said as Master secured the gag. “My bitch still resists when I silence her.”
“Does she?” Master ran his hand over Marina’s stretched skin. “Guess this one knows better.”
At least he hadn’t called her a bitch. However, neither had he given any indication that he was thinking about the precious, fragile, and dangerous moments between them yesterday. She obediently stood where he indicated. Neither did she resist when he hoisted her arms over her head and secured her to the same long beam the other slave was tied to. Today was all about locking herself away. She’d take whatever punishment and pleasure Master inflicted on her. She might not be able to hold back from reacting to a whip or vibrator, but that’s all it would be—her body doing what instinct demanded.
The lesson, not that either man spelled out their reasons for what they were doing, began with a warming up that called for a slender leather cat-o’-nine-tails being applied to nearly every inch of hers and the other woman’s bodies. Master commanded her to turn in circles while he flicked her with the multi-strands. They stung more than hurt. Every blow kept her flesh alive. What she could see of her body was almost uniformly reddened. Her nipples hardened so they stood out as if begging for attention. He struck her there, of course, but gave equal attention to her arms, legs and buttocks. Much as she hated rotating to make things easy for him, she had no choice. At the same time, her thoughts kept locking on a simple and yet complex phrase—pain and pleasure.
