by Linnea May
Tiny pearls of sweat are glistening on the small of her back. Her entire body is tense, trembling under a blissful tremor, and I don’t wait to unleash fourteen, fifteen and sixteen on her.
“Only two left,” I tell her. “Let’s make them count.”
She moans an unintelligible reply. Her shrieks during the last two blows are nothing short of a beautiful song, only meant for my ears, the grand finale being her sobbing in relief as she realizes that her ordeal is over.
Chapter 20
Liana
What is this? Pain, that’s for sure. I never knew that it was possible to inflict this amount of pain with just a hand, a simple slap on the ass, a spanking. How something so silly can hurt this badly?
I’m feeling as if I’ve broken a fever. My entire body is burning and shaking, while sweat is running down my back. My cheeks are glowing and I feel dizzy and confused. When I can feel the touch of his hand on my ass again, I jerk away from him. His touch is gentle, barely touching my tortured skin as he caresses the curve of my ass, but the contact still sends a burning pain sizzling through me, every nerve ending on fire.
“You did very good,” he whispers in my ear, while his hand rests softly, gently, against the heat of my skin.
I’m panting as if I’d just finished running a marathon, and I feel equally exhausted.
And so fucking turned on.
My mind feels foggy, thinking only of one thing. I want more. I want – no need – more of him. I need him inside of me.
“Look at me,” his voice commands me from the left side of my body.
I obey and turn my face to him, my eyes only opened halfway when they meet his. He’s fixating on me, his gaze earnest and concentrated, as if he’s searching for something in my expression.
My legs spread from being tied against the cross, so it’s easy for him to take advantage of my exposure, as his hand wanders lower, finding the spot between my legs that tells him everything he wants to know.
I moan when he reaches my pulsating core, gently parting my lips before he slides one finger inside. His arm is pressing against the abused skin on my ass, sending little bolts of pain through my center that mix deliciously with my arousal.
“What a slutty good girl,” he whispers, his face still close to mine. “This was supposed to be a punishment. How come your pussy is drooling all over my hand right now?”
I don’t know, I want to say. I really don’t know.
“Did you enjoy this?” he wants to know.
I groan as he starts playing with my clit, picking up on my agitation and laying havoc with it. I know I could come like this, but I don’t want to.
And I’m not sure if he wants me to.
“You did like it, didn’t you?” he says, continuing his assessment. “I guess I was too nice to you.”
I shake my head, still robbed of words. ‘Nice’ is not a word I would use for what he just did to me; it was quite the opposite, actually. The spanking hurt more than I expected. I feared every single blow more than the one before. They grew in intensity and in the level of pain. As my skin was becoming more sensitive to the torture, he only increased the impact.
I can still feel the pain oscillating through my body, but by now it has changed into a staggering throbbing that feels very similar to a slight buzz after having a few glasses of wine. It’s almost pleasant.
He withdraws his hand from my center, leaving me in drenched in heat, desperate to come. He will let me come, right? He has before.
I look at him, a question clearly written on my face, but all he does is lick my juices from his fingers, relishing the taste of it. Another rush of heat spreads through my face, this time caused by embarrassment.
He goes down on his knees and unfastens the shackles around my ankles. I’m so taken by my horny vertigo, that I can’t help hollowing my back for him as soon as my feet are freed and I can position them away from the cross, allowing for an invitation that was not possible before.
He chuckles next to me.
“Poor needy Pet,” he comments.
I hide my face from him, ashamed at my own arousal. And he doesn’t even release me from my shame by giving me what I want.
Instead, he beckons me to stand up straight, gently leading me back into position by applying a soft push on my sore behind. I cast him a questioning look when he begins to unfasten my wrists, showing no intention of taking me from behind as I expected he would. Isn’t this why he kidnapped me? To fuck me? Isn’t that what he said he’d do?
“You’re not going to fuck me?” I blurt out, after he has released my hands and taken hold of my leash to lead me out of the room.
“Not today,” he says.
“Why not?” I want to know.
He doesn’t give me a response, but leads me back into the bedroom. Hope blossoms in my chest when he leads me toward the bed and attaches the leash to the black frame. He gestures for me to get on the bed, and I oblige, unsure how he wants me to position myself. I sit on my heels, the only position he has taught me so far, my hands resting on my thighs, as I cast a questioning look up at him. My naked heels feel like hot daggers piercing through the tortured skin on my ass as I sit on them.
He’s standing next to the bed, shaking his head while crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Not today,” he repeats, and my heart sinks.
“Isn’t that why you brought me here?” I ask. “To fuck me? To have me please you?”
He smiles.
“This is pleasing me,” he says. “Seeing you like this is pleasing me.”
I lower my eyes, averting his gaze.
“Why are you not fucking me?” I ask. My question not only comes from my greedy need for him to take me, but also because he scares me. His reluctance to do the obvious scares the hell out of me.
“Because that’s not what we’re doing today,” he says.
I clasp my hands together, suddenly awfully aware of my own nakedness, now that the heated vertigo from before is dissipating.
“What are we going to do today, Master?” I ask, lifting my chin to look up at him.
He has his hands buried in his suit pants, again sporting a visible bulge in his crotch. This did turn him on, he wants to fuck me. A man cannot hide his need that easily.
What the hell is wrong with him?
I can ask this question all day long and not find an answer to it.
Chapter 21
Joseph
“Can I assume that you’re still thirsty - and hungry?” I ask her.
She seems startled by my question, but nods. “Yes, I am.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her, before I turn around to leave her room.
I can feel her eyes following me as I walk out, filled with unspoken questions.
I walk back into the bathroom to gather up her things, the clothing she was asked to drop. She’s not going to wear any of them again any time soon, but her special item must be among them, and I swore to never leave a girl without her special protector. I wonder what she brought for herself. I didn’t find anything when I looked through her purse, the first thing I took away from her. She had nothing but her phone and a wallet in there, neither of which she can have while she’s here, as it’s clearly stated in the contract.
I fold her clothes and put them in a somewhat neat pile. The only thing missing is the gigantic red fur coat. The coat was the distinctive feature that made it easy for me to find and kidnap her, and I assume it’s also closely connected to the name she chose for herself. Her special item could be in one of the pockets of the coat, but as I search through them, I find nothing but a small business card.
Curious, I take the card out and hold it up to read.
Violent Delights. Ruby Red.
It’s the business card issued by the agency, Violent Delights. The girls are always asked to keep their cards on them, so they can identify themselves when asked. I never know their legal names, because I don’t need to. They discard their real
identity as soon as they get caught up my in clutches. For thirty-nine days. I only for who they are when they are with me, and I know that person differs from the one they are in the outside world.
I take the card and put it into my pants’ pocket. She no longer needs it, just like she will not need her clothes. However, I might have to ask her about her special item. I’ve never had to do that before, since the special item is usually obvious.
I take the pile of clothes and the coat with me, and make my way downstairs. This mansion has been in my family for two generations. I inherited it from my grandparents when they decided to move to a milder climate in Florida, and I’ve lived here for most of my life. I would even go as far as to say that I grew up in these lavish halls, even though my parents have never lived here with me. My father grew up here, but he left at seventeen when he was sent off to college in hopes that he would one day follow in his father’s footsteps and continue the family’s real estate business.
But sometimes, things don’t work out as planned. Sometimes children disappoint their parents, sometimes they turn into major fuck-ups, leaving the burden for the next generation.
I grew from a bad seed, corrupted with this dark disease and vanity. Who knows what would have happened differently if I hadn’t changed the course of my destiny with the help of my grandfather years ago. I don’t want to think about it.
Locking up willing sex slaves every once in a while feels benign compared to the things I know I’m capable of. Yet, it’s an endeavor that needs to be kept secret. Even my house staff never gets to know the full extent of what I do to these women. And every time I release another pet back to freedom, I’m met with the same look in their eyes, the same hurt, the same confusion. I break them for good. They may be wealthy and free after I’m done with them, but they’re no longer the same person.
Since I sent my staff away, I will have to prepare my own food for the next few days. I usually have a personal chef on hand whenever I need him, but that’s mostly for times when I’m too busy to cook for myself. These thirty-nine days are my vacation, my reprieve. I select these days carefully and set things in motion far in advance, leaving myself with more freedom and time away from the business while I have a pet at home. I can’t withdraw completely and leave the business to itself for more than a month, but I can make sure that there are no major transactions, deals, meetings and contracts that need to be arranged during this time. It’s just business as usual, demanding not much more of my time than a couple of hours a day.
Ruby’s temporary living quarters take up most of the uppermost floor, an area that no one but me ever enters. My bedroom is right below hers, making it possible for me to hear her move around in her room, unless she’s locked up in the attic as punishment. Every door upstairs locks automatically, and only I have the keys to open them. All other doors are usually open, so the cleaning staff can enter at any time. Except for one room, my office. It’s right next to my bedroom, revealing too much about my sick obsession with the pet that’s living upstairs. They’re never free of me as long as they are here, even if I’m not physically present, but they don’t know it. Cameras in several corners take note of every movement, telling me of any transgressions during my absence.
I store her clothes in my office and then continue down to the first floor. The open kitchen is connected to a wide dining area that gets used rarely for special occasions. I’m usually by myself and prefer to eat at the counter instead of sitting at the huge table all by myself. I’ve never had a pet down here, because it wouldn’t be right. They have no place in my life outside of feeding my dark desires.
But I have cooked plenty of meals for my girls down here. I enjoy cooking, and it’s gratifying to prepare a meal for someone else, someone who’s giving so much of herself to me.
Ruby looked exhausted and starved, and she needs a proper breakfast to fuel her with new energy. I prepare her a good-sized portion of buttered whole grain toast, two scrambled eggs, bacon strips and half an avocado topped with some fresh fruit on the side because I know these women always ask for something fresh. She doesn’t strike me as someone who eats a dish like this on a regular basis, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate it now.
However, when I bring the plate up to her room, I don’t find her eagerly staring at the door awaiting my arrival. Instead, she’s curled up on her bed, still on her leash, and fast asleep.
She looks so peaceful, so unbelievably beautiful. I don’t have the heart to wake her up, but instead I leave the plate on her nightstand, carefully placing the blanket over her naked body before I retreat, trying to make little to no sound as I close the door.
Chapter 22
Liana
I wake up confused and disorientated for the third time in the last twelve hours, but this is the first time that I find myself comfortable.
I’m lying on the softest bed I’ve ever rested on, nestled in warm, slippery silk sheets in pastel colors and covered by a matching blanket that hugs my body like a gentle lover’s arms, as soft as cashmere. Only when I try to move am I reminded that this is not an ordinary bed or an ordinary bedroom. The leather collar cuts into the skin of my throat, choking me as I try to turn my head to the side, painfully jerking the leash that’s attached to the bed frame.
I have a look at the clasp and realize that I could probably unfasten it on my own, but something tells me I shouldn’t. He has me chained here for a reason, and he said that I was not allowed to take the collar off. This probably goes for the leash, as well.
Luckily, the leash is long enough to give me some leeway so that I can sit up straight. The room is brightly lit, a stream of New England’s brilliant sunshine breaking through the sheer curtains, immersing the room in a warm glow. I have no way of telling what time it is because there’s no clock in this room either, but the gurgling growls coming from my stomach announces a dire need for food. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten a proper meal, that I have trouble trusting my eyes when I notice the tray to my left. There’s a giant plate filled with fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly cooked bacon, buttered toast, a sliced avocado, a serving of fresh fruit salad, and a bottle of spring water. I quickly reach for the water, as my thirst overpowers my hunger by far. After emptying half of it a few greedy gulps, I turn my attention back to the food.
Did he make this for me? How come I cannot remember him bringing this in here? Was I already sleeping? And he didn’t get mad at me? I remember just wanting to rest my head a little. After all that had happened this morning, I just needed a moment to rest. And the sheets were so inviting, so soft.
I don’t waste any more time thinking, and instead reach for the plate so I can place it on my lap to eat. As I pick up one of the crisp bacon strips, I cannot help but laugh. This is so absurd. The whole situation, this scene. Me, sitting in a lavishly made bed, naked, a leather collar around my neck, and my ass cheeks still burning from the beating I received earlier, digging into one of the best homemade breakfasts I’ve had in weeks, maybe months. I haven’t been eating right since my relationship went to shit, and it only got worse after what happened to Professor Miller. This is the first time that I’ve been able to enjoy food in days.
Here of all places, and now of all times.
I still haven’t figured any of this out, though. I don’t understand why I’m here, and I don’t understand why any of this is happening, a twisted dream – a fantasy – coming true in its darkest form.
Maybe that’s what it is? A dream? Maybe someone drugged me while I was at that bar, slipped something in my drink when I wasn’t looking?
Just as I get caught up in my paranoid stream of thoughts, the door opens and he walks in. He has changed his clothes and is now wearing butt-hugging black jeans and a gray cashmere sweater over a white collared shirt. His dark hair is gelled to the side, and he looks freshly shaved, baring his angular jaw. I freeze mid-bite, watching as he approaches the bed taking deliberate steps, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
; “I see you’re enjoying your breakfast,” he says.
I lower my eyes, very aware of the fact that I’m still naked, my hair ruffled, and God knows what my face must look like with all the smeared make-up. I feel inferior to him in so many aspects, causing me to question if I’m even worth being kidnapped by a man like him. Couldn’t he have found someone so much better than me for himself?
And why does a man like him even see the need to kidnap a random woman off the street? From the looks of it, he could have anyone, any beautiful woman he wanted, a luscious chic in a fancy dress and stiletto heels, parading her immaculate body, and perfectly dolled up to the nines to please him. Like that Barbie doll at the bar.
The Barbie from whom I stole that red fur coat.
What if…?
“You better finish all of it,” he says, interrupting my inner ramblings.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, casually supporting himself on his left hip as his eyes wander back and forth between me and the plate in my lap. I notice his eyes. They’re not dark brown as I thought before, but rather they’re hazel, a dark hazel. I’ve never seen eyes like his – they’re not a conventionally pretty color, but seem to be as complex as the man trapped behind them.
“I will,” I say. “I was starving. Thank you, Master.”
It feels strange to thank him for this, after all that has happened, and all that he has done to me. His mere presence is exciting and intimating at the same time. He radiates a heated promise just as much as he does a chilling threat. I wouldn’t dare not finish the breakfast he prepared for me. I’m sure there’d be another punishment attached to that.
