Masters at Arms

by Kallypso Masters

  As if in synchronized motion again, their hands snaked out to clamp over her knees, then moved upward, under the short skirt of her tight dress. The sadist on her left pinched her inner thigh, forcing a gasp from her.

  Savannah needed to prepare herself for whatever these two men had planned for her. Focus. Separate her mind from the scene. Soon she would put this last scene behind her and go home. Then the slave would suffer no more.

  She knew the routine. A quick meal, prolonged only if they got off on feeding the slave, then they would take her to the Master’s penthouse suite—His because He owned this hotel, just as He owned the slave. Her screams would fall on deaf ears in that isolated wing of the historic hotel. The scene would be videotaped to use as blackmail with the clients later, if necessary.

  Just another routine SM scene for the well-used slave. Lyle, who would wait in the next room, would never come to intervene. The slave would hold off screaming as long as she could, because no amount of screaming would put an end to the slave’s suffering. Besides, the slave knew sadists got off on her screams and didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of believing they had broken her.

  Even after they ejaculated on her, as they always did, she knew the torture would end only when the allotted time had run out. No sense rushing them. Sometimes they became even more sadistic after they’d come. She prayed they’d only paid for an hour, but something told her they’d been able to afford to abuse the slave even longer.

  Just be nice to the gentlemen, Savi, and they’ll be nice to you. Only the “gentlemen” were never nice to her. Savannah took a deep breath.

  The curtain rose on Act Three—the final act.

  * * *

  Damián stuck his head through the open elevator doors and saw a tray of dirty dishes on the floor outside the penthouse suite. He pushed the cart into the hallway, wheeling it toward the room. He started to bend down to retrieve the tray of dishes when he heard a woman scream in pain from inside the suite.

  “Acccchhhhh, God, no!”

  Damn. He didn’t have a key to the room.

  “Lyle! Make them stop!”

  Were they screams of passion? Or did she need help? This floor was isolated from the others. He should at least check on her. But he had no way of gaining access to the suite.

  “Accccchhhhhh! Rape!”

  Mierda. Was this for real or a role-playing thing some chicas got into? Sure didn’t sound like she was having fun. Damián dropped the dishes into the cart, breaking a wine glass. He pounded on the door.

  “Everything all right in there?”

  “Fire! Fire! Help me!” The woman sobbed now.

  What the hell was going on in there? Damián ran back toward the elevator and pulled the fire extinguisher from the wall, then returned to the door. His heel striking against the handle barely made a dent at opening it. After three more kicks, the door finally crashed against the inner wall.

  “Fire! Help!” The screams came from the bedroom. “No more, please!” she begged hysterically.

  Damián ran through the fancy suite with its antique furniture and around the wet bar to try the bedroom doorknob. Unlocked. Hoping for the element of surprise, he slowly turned the handle until he felt the tumbler release, then slammed the door open. As it hit the wall and bounced back, he dodged the recoil and rushed into the room.

  What the fuck?

  The fire extinguisher dropped to the floor. On the bed in front of him, the Barbie doll from the restaurant was trussed up in a grotesque position. The soles of her feet were red. Her naturally blond pussy was splayed open for God and everyone to see. Red, angry welts covered her inner thighs. White nylon ropes suspended her knees in the air, attaching her to the headboard.

  Her eyes were closed, but her face was red, with tracks of tears down both cheeks. The sight of her ravaged body tore at his gut.

  When he’d first burst in, the two Japanese-looking men she’d had dinner with had stood naked on either side of her. They’d turned to look at Damián, then dropped some kind of glowing purple globe onto the bed. With frantic hand gestures and short orders to each other in a foreign language, they gathered up the various items on the bed—a quirt, a short bamboo cane, additional rope, that purple globe thing—and stuffed them into their briefcases.

  Had they just been into a severe BDSM scene? An ex-girlfriend right out of juvie had been into that shit and had explained to him how it all worked. Damián couldn’t get off on hurting a chica, so they’d broken up soon after. Shit, maybe “fire” was her safe word? But if she’d said her safe word, why hadn’t they stopped?

  The men quickly put on their boxers and suit pants, then grabbed their shirts and suit coats and ran out the door. The mud in his brain was clearing and it became obvious to him she wasn’t a willing participant. Fuck. He ran to the bed but didn’t know what to do first.

  She whimpered incoherently, her face turned away from him. Her tits were bound so tight, they had turned bluish-purple. He reached out to untie those ropes first. Tears streamed down her face and she muttered gibberish. Her eyes were closed and her face turned away from him, flushed.

  Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! Where’d those guys learn to tie knots?

  “Hang on, querida. I’ll have you out of here in a minute.” I hope. Come on! Untie, God damn it!

  His heart pounded against his chest as he fought to make headway with the ropes. Finally, they loosened. A few seconds later, she screamed again as blood began circulating to her breasts. Damián wished he could absorb her pain into his own chest, but was afraid to touch her and cause even more pain. He reached for the wrist cuff on her left side and released her.

  “Oh, God! Stop!” Her screams left him feeling even more helpless. He’d vowed never to feel that way again once he’d been released from juvie.

  “I’m sorry. I know that hurts like hell, bebé.” He lowered her hand slowly onto the bed and rubbed her shoulder, trying to relieve the stiff and sore muscles. He followed the rope that splayed her thighs open and reached behind the headboard again to find it looped around what felt like an eye hook. He released it, and then kept the rope taut until he could grab her battered thigh and gently lay her leg onto the mattress.

  Her screams of anguish caused his gut to clench. He was hurting her, but knew she’d feel better once circulation returned and her muscles relaxed.

  He rushed around to the other side of the bed to unfasten those restraints. How long had she been tied up? He’d seen her leave the booth with the three men about an hour ago. Where was the fucking jerk-off in the white suit who’d brought her here in the first place?

  Was she some kind of hooker or something? Didn’t matter. No one deserved to be tortured like this.

  He released the wrist cuff and lowered her arm, then did the same with the ropes holding up her other thigh. Now freed, she cried out and curled her beautiful body into a ball, trying to minimize the pain and comfort herself. He froze, unsure what to do next. Her sobs ripped his fucking heart out.

  When she began to shake, his mind engaged again and he retrieved the sheet and blanket that had been tossed on the floor at the foot of the bed. He tucked them around her trembling body, cocooning her in warmth. Still, she shook from the release of the stress on her body. Endorphins, his ex-girlfriend had explained—like it was a good thing. Maybe it was for his ex, who’d enjoyed that shit. But not for this girl.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Damián looked up to see the jerk-off from the restaurant standing in the doorway with his fancy phone in his hand.

  “Who let you in here, wetback?”

  Wetback? His family probably had been in California longer than this man’s.

  The man turned to look at the woman. “Savannah, what the hell happened to my clients?”

  Savannah. Beautiful, just like her.

  “They were hurting her,” Damián said. He clenched his fists to keep from bashing in the man’s face. The jerk-off knew exactly what had been happenin
g to her.

  The man glared at him. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. The bitch gets off on pain—and I get off on making money.” So maybe she was being paid to do this. The jerk-off looked down at Savannah again. Damián was glad she couldn’t see the expression of anger and disgust on his face.

  “Looks like neither of us is going to get off today, slut. Get the fuck up!”

  When he went to the bed and grabbed Savannah’s arm, a gut-wrenching scream poured from her. Damián had had enough. He grabbed the man by the back of his suit coat and pulled him away from her. “Get the fuck out!”

  The man stood and addressed him as if he were a bug to squash under his shoe. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, wetback?”

  “Keep a low profile and mind your own business…?”

  Fuck that shit. When the man took a swing at his face, Damián blocked it with his left forearm, then rammed his right fist into Jerk-off’s soft underbelly. The man doubled over, gasping for air. Damián waited to deliver another blow, but the man reached out for the nightstand and straightened up. He obviously hadn’t grown up in Damián’s neighborhood. Finished with one blow. Some tough guy.

  His voice came out like a wheezing whisper. “You’re going to regret this.”

  But Damián knew he’d have more regrets if he’d let the man hurt her any more.

  * * *

  Savannah pulled into herself, trying to escape the fiery pain. She could no longer identify one single source of discomfort. Nerve endings over her entire body screamed for relief.

  Go to your cave, Savi. I am waiting.

  She drifted toward the ceiling, out the window to the balcony, up the coast to the cave where she’d sought refuge so many times before. The waves crashed against the rocks. She walked carefully over the jagged edges, dodging sea urchins. Her flip-flops slipped as she climbed over the sharp rocks.

  But this time, he pursued her. Faster. Run faster! He was close. So close. He grabbed her and pulled. The pain! Oh, God. She jerked away from him and ran faster. He let go just as she walked under the natural rock arch carved over centuries by water and wind. The sounds of the waves died down. The pain receded.

  “Maman!”

  Her mother had spread a picnic lunch on a blanket for them to enjoy. When she smiled and held out her hand, Savannah glided forward, her feet just hovering over the sand.

  Safe. At last.

  Savannah sank to the blanket and took Maman’s slender hand. She shivered. The air was cooler than usual inside the cave. Savannah stretched out on the blanket and laid her head in Maman’s lap, curling her legs up to her chest. Maman stroked her hair away from her face. She was always brushing the tangles from her long curls.

  A shudder wracked Savannah’s body. Maman wrapped her in a warm blanket. Savannah didn’t remember seeing the blanket when she’d arrived. She smiled. Maman worked magic. She always knew how to make their time together here perfect.

  The waves crashed far in the distance, but they couldn’t reach them here. A door slammed.

  A door? In her cave?

  Savannah’s brows furrowed.

  “Here, querida. Drink this.”

  She groaned. No! How had he found their secret cave? She fought against the man pulling her away from Maman. She sputtered and gasped as water entered her mouth. He captured her flailing hands. Was he trying to drown her? When had the tide come in?

  “Shhh. He’s gone. Drink the water. It will help. You’re safe now.”

  No, not safe until you’re gone. Leave us alone.

  She clutched at Maman’s dress. “No!” But he pulled her away, dragging her over the sand-encrusted rocks that bit into her skin. Raw. On fire. She fought him, but he continued to tear her from her safe place. From Maman.

  Someone screamed in anguish. Then the fiery pain washed over her thighs, pussy, and breasts and she realized it was she who screamed. A strong, hard body pulled her against him, wrapping a steel-banded arm around her waist and arms, holding her tight.

  Claustrophobia. Smothering. She tried to push at him, but his chest was as hard as the rocks on the beach. Only smoother.

  “I have you, querida. No one’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here. Just breathe slowly.”

  With an effort, she managed to return her breathing to normal, as he’d told her to do. He spoke Spanish. The sadists hadn’t. His voice was gentle, oddly soothing to her jagged nerves, despite being a man’s.

  Her chest hurt so badly, her nipples ready to explode. Ropes, quirt, electricity.

  Good God! No, there was no God, good or otherwise. She moaned as images flooded her mind—the purple globe shocking her pussy and breasts. She’d tried so hard not to scream. She hadn’t wanted to give the sadists that satisfaction. But the pain. Oh, God, the pain had been the worst ever. She gasped on a sob.

  “Shhhh, bebé. It’s over now.”

  A strong hand stroked her hair. Comforting, but firm.

  Safe.

  At last.

  Sleep now, Savi.

  “Yes, Maman.”

  * * *

  Damián knew the moment she’d fallen asleep. Her body released its tension and she relaxed against him. Well, he’d never been mistaken for someone’s mother before. He smiled and pulled her closer.

  She felt so fragile in his arms, as if he could break her if he touched her the wrong way. Her long, sun-streaked blonde hair was sleek and straight. He wanted to run his hands through it, but didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he pressed his face against her hair and inhaled her scent. Flowery. Clean.

  An hour passed and she continued to sleep, not moving a muscle. Damián expected the police to arrive at any moment—but no one came. He couldn’t move her yet, certainly not on his Harley. Damián eased away from her and went into the sitting room to prop a chair against the suite entrance. He locked the bedroom door. Better than nothing. Might at least keep Jerk-off away from her.

  What the hell kind of security did this place have? Hell, he’d busted down her door and no one had come to check. He returned to the bedroom and crawled back into bed beside her. If any of those dickheads came around her again, he wanted to make sure he stood between her and them.

  No way would he leave her here alone. He’d take his chances with the authorities, even though he knew what would happen if they arrested him. Chicanos didn’t assault rich white men and get away with it.

  He looked down at her again. So defenseless. She needed him. He didn’t understand what had drawn him to her, right from the moment he saw her in the restaurant. But he knew he needed to protect her. She sure as hell didn’t make good choices when it came to men. Why would anyone subject herself to this kind of pain and degradation? Was she a call girl? Still, he couldn’t accept that she was a common puta.

  “The bitch gets off on pain.”

  Wrong again. She hadn’t enjoyed the pain those men had inflicted on her. So, why had she put herself in such danger? Safe, sane, and consensual. That was his ex-girlfriend’s mantra for BDSM scenes, but this one had been none of the above.

  Savannah needed someone to look after her.

  Well, she isn’t going to take a second look at you. Way out of your league, man.

  She moaned and turned her face toward him. When she wrapped an arm around his waist, Damián felt his dick harden. She licked her full lips and he fought the urge to bend over and kiss her.

  Protect her, Damián. No la moleste.

  No, she didn’t need that from him, too. Just hold her. But if he was going to get rid of his hard-on, he’d better think about something other than the perfect chica sleeping in his arms. He steered his mind in a different direction. One thing he knew he could kiss goodbye—his job. Damn. He didn’t want to be homeless again. But, without this job, he wouldn’t be able to pay the rent.

  Sometimes rescuing women wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  His social worker had suggested he join the Marines. They’d feed, clothe, and house him. Might get his fool head blown
off in the bargain. But maybe not. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to come up with a plan and soon.

  First, he needed to get this woman home safely. But if home meant taking her back to Jerk-off, then what? He couldn’t do that.

  Another hour passed. Still no security or police. What the fuck? Hadn’t the man reported him?

  The woman slept in his arms as if dead. After she’d turned toward him, she hadn’t moved again. If he didn’t feel her breath on his chest at the vee in his shirt, he would have tried to awaken her to be sure she was okay.

  Damián was content to let her sleep. He’d never again hold something so perfect in his arms. He closed his eyes, giving in to exhaustion. She wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was he.

  She moaned and his eyelids opened in an instant. What time was it? Still dark outside. He pulled back and looked down at her. She grimaced. Without warning, she began thrashing against him, one fist slamming into his eye socket. Damián didn’t try to hold her captive because he didn’t need her screaming rape. No way did he have the money or power to fight a charge like that.

  “Savannah, open your eyes.”

  Surprisingly, she did as he ordered, blinking several times as she stared at him. “Orlando?”

  How did she know his name? His nametag only gave his first name. When her blue eyes finally focused on him, they opened wider and she scooted away to the opposite side of the bed. Her movements were awkward due to the abuse her body had sustained. She pulled the sheet with her and covered herself.

  “Who are you?”

  “Damián. Do you remember what happened?”

  * * *

  The man looked familiar to Savannah, but she couldn’t place him. Why had she been sleeping with him? She never slept with clients. But he certainly didn’t look like any client she could recall either. And why, if she’d just been asleep, did she want to curl up and escape into sleep once more?

  The pain slowly registered. Her body burned from the soles of her feet to her breasts, but she couldn’t remember why. Savannah looked around the room. Opulent antique French furniture. Her mother’s influence. Tears stung her eyes. The penthouse suite. Familiar. She’d been here many times in the last year.