My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 2 Discovered

by Marita A. Hansen

“I don’t want you.”

  “You don’t know what you have done!” she yelled. “You have no idea what I am capable of!”

  “All you are capable of is opening your legs.”

  She slapped me again.

  “Even your slaps don’t get me excited.” I pushed down my pants and took a hold of my cock. “You make me soft, Bianca.”

  A fist barreled into my face, although her punch was weak, barely hurting me. She swore at me in Italian, cursing me with colorful words, threats that she would get back at me, that she would ruin me.

  I pulled my pants up. “I’m already ruined, now leave.”

  “This isn’t over!”

  “It is for me.”

  She swore at me again, then ran out of the room.

  I followed, my eyes going to Federico as Bianca shot into the passage. “She was not welcome in my room, so no one is to learn of this. Capito?” I said to him.

  “No one will hear it from me.”

  I nodded at the man, then closed my door, locking it, which I was going to do from now on so I didn’t get any nasty surprises or whores begging for my cock. I headed for my bed and lay down, just wanting to forget about the day, and anything to do with Alberto and his lot.

  I closed my eyes, my mind going to the new slave and how she’d tried to comfort me. I frowned, not understanding why she was affecting me so much. I reopened my eyes and stared up at the white ceiling, finding her comfort unsettling. I’d only just met her, yet she knew about my abuse, while my family thought it was all lies. Sì, I had lied about it for so long, but only because Father Michael had told me that no one would believe me, and he’d been right up until now. I’d lived through almost five years of abuse until that night I’d snapped. The drunken padre had fallen asleep in my bed after he’d brutally raped me. Though, he’d woken instantly when I’d cut off his cock. He’d screamed in agony, which had given me a place to put the disgusting piece of flesh, which had been in my own mouth only minutes before.

  I closed my eyes, forcing my mind away from that black night and back to the new slave. Her sympathy perplexed me, and because of it I had become sloppy, the need to get her on my side creating new problems, which I didn’t know how to fix. Still, I would have done it again just to see that clarity on her face, and to know that someone finally believed me. Even Sophia, my first lover hadn’t, the girl instead turning away from me, giving me the impression that my words disgusted her. Maybe that was why she’d given up on our love for one night in Frano’s bed. I frowned, knowing that I wouldn’t allow that to happen with Rita, because, even though I wasn’t in love with her, Frano was not taking anyone away from me again.

  Ever.

  3

  Rita

  Frano finally emerged from the bathroom. He was now cleanly shaven, while his dark hair was slicked back, but it was his smell that caught my attention, his cologne filling my nostrils. It was the same one my husband used to wear. I loved that smell, had always associated it with Matt, but to have the man I hated the most in the world wear it, made me want to retch.

  Frano pulled open the large stand-alone wardrobe, and removed a shirt. He slipped it on and did up the buttons, leaving the top few undone. He then pulled on black pants and a matching jacket, the lines fitting his body perfectly. He looked impressive, someone that could command attention, but he also looked like a criminal, the man’s expression colder than the cells downstairs.

  He pulled out a box, removing cufflinks from it. He pushed them through the sleeve’s button holes, watching me as he did it. Once he was finished he headed for the bed, the look on his face impassive.

  “Do you like the smell of my cologne?” he asked, looking down at me.

  I remained silent, knowing whatever I said it would be the wrong answer.

  “One of my trainers used to wear it.”

  I already knew that, no doubt my husband the one he was talking about. I wondered how Matt had been discovered, whether it was from his own error or someone had sold him out.

  “He was a very good trainer,” Frano said, sitting down next to me. “He used to torture the slaves, making them scream in agony, then he would fuck them until they screamed in pleasure.”

  My jaw clenched, everything in my body yelling that he was wrong, that Matt wouldn’t have done those things, although I knew I would be deluding myself if I truly believed that, because that was what my husband had been sent in for, the slave trainer role his only means to spy on the D’Angelo family.

  Frano leaned over me, placing his neck above my face. “You must like the smell, after all your husband told me you picked it out for him on your first anniversary.”

  My eyes widened before I could stop myself, my reaction no doubt giving me away, but what he’d said speared me, because he was right.

  Frano pulled back, his eyes now firmly fixed on my face. “Do you think I am so stupid as to not know who you are, Rita Kovak?”

  I stared up at him, unable to blink or to even think, or to even wonder how he knew.

  Frano smiled. “But if the FBI wishes to send me a beautiful woman, then I would be stupid not to accept such a lovely offering, plus ... if I break you down until you’re nothing more than a sexual object, isn’t that the greatest vengeance I can have against them?” His smile dropped. “But I must say one thing: I’m surprised at Jagger’s sloppiness. For him not to have realized he’d brought FBI into my home... Very careless. But I suppose all he saw was someone who looked like an old lover, but me, I recognized you from your husband’s description.” He touched my hair. “This is the only thing different. Matteo had said your hair was auburn.” He looked down at my pussy. “But I can clearly see you’re a dyed brunette.” He touched my pubic hair, making me go rigid. He toyed with it as he spoke. “I liked your husband, it’s a shame he was a spy. But with you it doesn’t matter, because I can restrain a slave. Though, both of you will still have the same fate, just his slavery is not controlled by me.”

  My mouth went dry, his words stunning me. Matt was alive?

  Frano kissed my head, then pulled back. “I must go now, but I will be back in a few hours to prepare you for tonight. I would normally get someone else to do it, but I think I will enjoy bathing you again.” He pushed to his feet, his words now making me speak out.

  “I was told you killed my husband.”

  “I don’t kill attractive people, I sell them.” He headed for the door.

  I screamed at him: “Who did you sell him to?!”

  He stopped, and rested his hand on the door handle. “Someone who loves to use and abuse attractive males.” He pushed through the door, closing it behind him.

  Images of Matt being used and abused flooded my mind, torturing me. But regardless, the possibility that he was still alive gave me hope. I closed my eyes, picturing his beautiful smile, one that I found endearing, so sweet and full of boyish charm, unlike Frano’s.

  ***

  A door banged, jolting me. Drool ran down the side of my face, making me realize I’d fallen asleep. I wiped my face on my shoulder and looked up at the man now hovering over me. Frano’s expression was hard, almost angry, which sent fear through me, the thought that he would take his mood out on me a distinct possibility. He removed his cufflinks, then yanked his shirt open, the buttons popping and falling to the floor. He dropped his shirt and kicked off his shoes, swearing and muttering about the Donatelli, the words all flowing into one long sentence. He undid his belt then shunted down his pants, along with his underwear, kicking them off as well.

  A sound came from outside of the room. He spun around, but the sound disappeared, someone probably walking down the passage. His gaze moved back to me, his eyes narrowing as though I was the cause of all his problems. He moved to the end of the bed and undid the ties around my ankles, then went to free my wrists, but stopped, his chest hovering over me.

  “If you attack me be aware the consequences will be harsh,” he said.

  “If I attack you and win, th
en the consequences for you will be harsher.”

  He sneered at me, then opened the drawer next to my head and pulled out a knife. I flinched, wondering whether I’d pushed him too far, but instead he cut the tie holding my left arm, then placed the knife to my neck. “Undo the last one yourself.”

  I reached up, fiddling with it, the tie too tight to undo. “I can’t,” I said.

  “Turn onto your stomach then.”

  I remained still.

  “Unless you want me to rest the knife in your throat while I untie you, I’d suggest you do as you’re told.”

  I turned over, the tie hurting my wrist. He cut it, then grabbed my hair and yanked at it, causing me to cry out.

  “Get up,” he said, “And don’t do anything stupid. I know what you’re capable of, but you are not aware of what I’m capable of, so don’t risk it.”

  I pushed off the bed, wincing as he tugged my hair again. Once I was sure-footed, he let go of my hair and shoved me towards the bathroom.

  “Turn on the taps,” he said, his voice commanding.

  I put the plug in, then turned on the taps.

  “Put some bath salts in.”

  Like a good little slave, I did as I was commanded. After the tub was full, I turned off the taps.

  “Get in,” he said.

  I got in, hoping he wasn’t going to wash me again.

  “Move forward.”

  I remained still, staring up at him.

  “Move forward!” he barked.

  I did, but stiffened as he climbed in behind me, his hard cock sliding down my back as he got into position, framing me with his body and legs.

  He placed the knife to my throat. “Lather yourself up with the cream-colored soap. I like my women smelling of vanilla.”

  I picked it up, self-conscious as he rubbed his cock against my back. I started running the soap over my breasts as his hand snaked around, lathering them up more.

  “Rest your head against my shoulder,” he said, now breathing heavily.

  I did as I was told, looking up at his face, the man’s pupils big, the black almost swallowing his hazel irises. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see him—or to feel him, but he continued to rub against me while his hand kneaded my breasts. He took the soap off me and ran it down my stomach and over my pussy, then dropped it as his fingers began to work me. My eyes flashed open. I didn’t want him doing that again, and I most certainly didn’t want him bringing me to orgasm. I went to move, but hissed as his knife cut into the flesh of my neck.

  “Careless,” he said, yanking my head around. He wiped a hand over where the knife had cut, then ran his tongue up the side of my neck, making me wonder whether he was licking the blood. It made me grimace, my mind revolted, although below my pussy tightened, my body giving me mixed signals.

  “Sit on my cock,” he said, breathing into my ear. “And don’t make me feel like shit. I need release and you’re going to give me it before I decide you’re not worth keeping.”

  The knife was placed more firmly against my neck, telling me what he would do if I didn’t obey. I pushed myself up, hesitating as I looked down at his cock.

  “I have fast reflexes, FBI whore. You hurt my cock and I will penetrate you in a much less enjoyable manner.” He placed the point of his knife near my ass.

  I took a hold of his cock and placed it above my pussy, then pushed down without preparing myself, not wanting to receive any pleasure from him, pain my only consolation. He let out a loud groan as I yelled out, the man too big for what I had done. I went still, panting out the pain.

  “Stupid woman,” he muttered. “If you wish to hurt yourself, you’re doing a very good job, but for me that was exquisite. Now, move.” He slapped my butt hard, making me cry out in surprise. He laughed, then did it again. “Hurry up and ride me, before I decide I want to fuck your other hole.”

  I started moving up and down, wondering whether I could distract him by making it feel good, then when he came I could turn the tables. I took a hold of his balls, Frano’s body going rigid.

  “Be careful,” he said, running the knife down my spine.

  “I will.” I started massaging him below, getting a moan in reward as I continued to move up and down his shaft.

  Frano muttered some curses, but with a tone declaring his pleasure. I glanced over my shoulder at him, the man begrudgingly stunning. His black hair was damp in places, as though he’d run a wet hand through it, while his dark olive skin glistened under a fine sheen of water.

  He raised the knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

  I turned away from him and started up a rhythm again, his cock feeling far too good for my liking. I bit my bottom lip hard in an attempt to distract myself from the pleasure, but the man started moving his hips, the movement rubbing me the right way. I pressed my nails into my thighs, hurting myself to force the pleasure to stop, but instead it made me gasp, the pain heightening the feeling, the lines between pleasure and pain now blurred.

  “Faster, bella, faster,” he gasped.

  I picked up speed, my mind going to Matt. I tried to imagine it was him who I was riding, but instead all I could see in my mind’s eye was Frano—black hair instead of blond, danger instead of safety. He grabbed one of my breasts and squeezed it, his palm pushing down on my abused nipple. I groaned, the pain again adding to my pleasure. I was far from a virgin, but I wasn’t experienced either, the safe, playful sex I had with Matt nothing like this, just pure fun. But what I was doing with Frano wasn’t fun—it was all-consuming pleasure. I wanted it to stop, because it scared the hell out of me, but I wanted it to go on forever even more.

  Frano let out a loud groan as I hit his groin harder, bouncing on his cock like it was my own personal toy. I needed to come, and I didn’t care how, the man there for me, not the other way round. I’d been going without for too long, putting men off because I had no desire for a relationship, but sex was just sex, a bodily need that I’d neglected, which I was now paying for with the wrong man.

  His hands went to my hips, anchoring me to his cock, which started pumping cum inside of me. I pulled free from his hands, and started riding him harder, my peak too close, my body now on automatic, my brain matter dissolving as I brought myself to completion. My groan filled the bathroom as pleasure filled my body.

  A laugh snapped me out of my nirvana. I stiffened, then turned and looked back at Frano. He was grinning at me, although his eyes were hooded, giving me the impression that he could go for another round.

  “I told you I sold your husband into sexual slavery,” he said, “yet the same day you fuck me until you orgasm. You are a piece of work, Rita.” His grin widened. “Nasty—like me.”

  I pulled off him and jumped out of the bath, my foot slipping on the water that coated the floor. I fell hard, hitting my head against the tiles. I blacked out, then came too with a pained gasp. A hand grabbed my arm and tried to yank me up, but my mind was too dazed to react. Arms slipped under my body and picked me up, carrying me through to the bed. I looked up at Frano as he laid me down, the man staring at the top of my head. He took a hold of my arms and wound the ties around them. Once I was secured to the bed, he touched my head, causing me to wince.

  “That’s going to be a nasty lump, but I have little sympathy for you, considering it’s your own fault for being so proud.”

  He grabbed my legs and tied each one to the bed, then disappeared inside the bathroom, returning with a razor, washbowl, towel, and a fancy bottle of something. He placed most of it on the bedside cabinet, then started soaping up my armpits, his touch tickling me. My face flushed from humiliation as he picked up the razor and began shaving me. Once he had finished both sides, he moved down to my pubic hair.

  “What are you doing?!” I yelled, moving my lower half so he couldn’t touch it.

  He pressed hard under my stomach, making me bark out from his roughness. “Stay still so I don’t cut you.”

  I closed my eyes as he started soaping my puss
y, his fingers running over it, the burn on my cheeks increasing. I almost jumped as his finger touched my clit, but unlike the first time he didn’t repeat the action, instead he started shaving me. After a minute, he parted my folds, making my eyes shoot open.

  “I’ve got no hair there!” I yelled.

  He grabbed a few strands and pulled, making me cry out. “Looks like you were wrong,” he laughed.

  He refocused on my pussy, once more parting it, the blade slowly running up it, the man biting his bottom lip as he concentrated on what he was doing. After what felt like forever, he moved down to my legs. He lathered them with the soapy liquid, then started shaving, the touch of the blade running up my leg slowly. I’d never had a man shave me before, never thought it could be sexual, but it was, and I hated Frano even more for it.

  Once finished, he got off the bed and returned the equipment to the bathroom. A few seconds later he emerged once more. He wiped me down with the towel, then sprayed my body with something that smelled like vanilla. He started massaging it into my legs, his hands strong and relaxing. He moved up to my stomach, my eyes widening as he grabbed my breasts, massaging them also. He frowned at me, then wiped his hands on the towel and moved down the bed, freeing my legs.

  “Turn onto your stomach,” he said. “I need to do your back. Twist the ties, they have enough slack.”

  I did as I was told, feeling even more exposed at having to face away from him. I jolted as he sprayed the vanilla liquid onto the back of my legs. He started rubbing it in my calves, his hands exquisite with the way he was kneading out all my aches and pains. I didn’t realize how much my body felt battered until now, the trip here in the van and the way I’d been tied up leaving him with plenty to work with.

  His hands moved to my butt, doing the same, then up my back and my shoulders. The man must have been a masseuse in a past life, because before I knew it I was sighing in satisfaction, ready to fall asleep under his soothing touch. I closed my eyes, sleep pulling me into his loving arms, Matt beckoning me to dream of him.