My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 2 Discovered

by Marita A. Hansen

  Another slap stung me, then Federico let out an angry grunt and sat down next to me. “You poor man, Alberto deserves to die for this, no amount of punishment is enough for that sick bastard or that pervert priest. I’ll take the recording to Frano...” He swore. “I can’t or he’ll kill me.” Another slap stung my face. “Wake up; you must wake up before the Donatelli come. Wake up! They will take you, you must leave now.”

  I remained still while my mind raced, the knowledge of what was coming—or who was coming telling me that what Alberto had done to me was only the beginning.

  5

  Rita

  A slap hit my butt, making me jolt awake.

  “You fell asleep,” a male voice said, “Get up.”

  I turned around, finding my arms had been freed and Frano staring down at me. He stepped back, giving me room. Covering my breasts with an arm, I pushed off the bed. Frano was now fully dressed, although his desire for me was naked, the bulge in his pants trying to break free.

  He pointed his gun at me. “Out,” he muttered, indicating for me to move to the door.

  I headed out of the room. Frano gave me an unnecessary shove down the passage.

  Angry, I turned around and yelled at him. “Stop it!”

  He grabbed my throat and pressed the gun into my ribs. “You don’t give me orders, puttana.”

  I swallowed against his hand, but still glared at him. He leaned forward, giving me a hard kiss, then pulled back. “Every time you disobey me I will do something sexual to you.” He smiled. “My pleasure and your secret pleasure, because we both know you want me.”

  “I don’t want you! I hate—”

  My yell was cut off by another kiss. He pulled back. “Next time it won’t be a kiss.” Smiling, he let go of my neck and grabbed my pussy, making me yell out. “Next time it will be my finger jammed up here or my hand on your tits. So, if you disobey me I will know you want it, like you wanted my cock inside of you.” He smiled wider. “So, disobey me, I dare you.”

  Gritting my teeth, I pulled away from him, then resumed walking down the passage.

  We rounded the corner and descended the staircase. A tall man was ushering three naked women through the lounge, the chains around their waists linking them together in an erotic chain gang. I didn’t want to feel the chains against my skin, nor hear the clank of the metal, yet I knew it would be for the best if I were joined to them, because at least I could get information.

  As I reached the bottom step, the tall man with them stopped to look at me. He had wide shoulders, which tapered down to a small waist, the man’s muscular body amazing, his black T-shirt and well-cut pants not hiding a thing. But it was his eyes which caught my attention the most. They were striking, the blue so pale, his dark-olive skin making them stand out even more. He looked about Jagger’s age—early twenties, but without the hard edge, a man who hadn’t suffered, but enjoyed life to its fullest.

  He smiled at me. “Bella.”

  “Sì, she is beautiful, but dangerous,” Frano said. “She’s FBI.”

  The man’s dark eyebrows quirked. “Really?”

  “Sì, which will make breaking her even more satisfying.” Frano placed his chin on my shoulder, making me want to jerk away. “Disobey me,” he whispered into my ear. “I dare you.”

  I slapped his face, making him yell out. Then I was the one yelling, as he grabbed my breasts and squeezed my abused nipples.

  “I warned you,” he growled.

  “But, you or-ordered me to dis-disobey you,” I panted out, knowing he hadn’t, but even with all the pain he was causing, it was worth it just to hit him.

  “You damn well know what I meant, bitch.” He gave my nipples one last squeeze, then let go. My hands instantly went to them, massaging the swollen nubs.

  Mario grinned wide. “She will be fun to break. I would love to take over her training. Jagger can have two of mine in exchange.”

  “No, I’m her master.”

  “Oh.” Mario frowned. “I thought she was Jagger’s.”

  “Not anymore, which is why I need you to watch over her tonight while I concentrate on the supper. She can be joined to your slaves. I want her to witness what’s going to happen to Jagger.”

  “What is happening to Jagger?”

  “He’s paying a debt owed to the Donatelli.”

  “How?”

  “Ten lashes of the whip, and once it’s done the Donatelli will drop their vendetta against us.”

  “And Jagger has agreed to this?”

  “Agreed is not the right word, instead he is aware of what will be happening, which means he will need to be restrained.”

  Mario’s gaze moved back to me. “Is that why you’ve taken his slave off him?”

  “No, he’s acting odd with her, and I don’t wish for another attachment to be made, which I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  Mario’s jaw tightened, Frano’s jab reminding me of what Federico had said about the tall slave trainer. Maybe he would be easier to manipulate, but I still preferred to stay with Jagger, the mention of the whipping confirming what I already knew: that he was being abused. I wanted to get Jagger away from his family along with the three women standing behind Mario, the ebony-skinned one trembling, her face a mask of fear.

  “Link her to the others,” Frano said, pushing me forward.

  Mario grabbed my arm and yanked me over to the three women. He wrapped a chain around my waist, then attached it to the black woman’s chain. She kept her eyes down, not even giving me a sideway’s glance. The other two also stared at the floor as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  Mario grabbed my face. “This is the last time you’ll look at me directly unless I tell you to. Always keep your head bowed and don’t answer me back, because I do more than squeeze tits.” He smiled wickedly, his eyes telling me he truly enjoyed his job.

  I remained silent, my nipples still hurting from what Frano had done, my lesson learned for the time being. Mario squeezed my cheeks hard, making me wince, but I kept my eyes straight, not wanting to give in to the arrogant prick, obviously my lesson not learned well enough.

  A smile graced Mario’s face. “I like a challenge. Now, lower yourself to your knees.”

  I glanced at Frano, then back at Mario.

  “If you make me repeat myself I will fuck you in front of everyone.”

  I lowered myself to my knees, my face right in front of his crotch. He smiled down at me, making me pray he didn’t open his fly.

  He threw Frano a glance. “A fast learner. I had to whip the thick slave next to her to teach her to kneel.”

  My eyes moved to Frano, who was staring down at me. “She can learn faster in my opinion,” he said, “though she needs no training when it comes to bouncing on my cock.” He flicked his tongue out at me.

  I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to react, because the bastard was taunting me, daring me to bite back. I would’ve too, but my nipples were telling me to shut the fuck up.

  He smiled wide. “She’s a real good fuck too.”

  “I never knew the FBI were good fuckers,” Mario laughed, Frano joining him.

  I dropped my gaze, again willing myself not to react—because right now I wanted to kill Frano more than anything in the world.

  A slap stung my cheek. “Look at me!” Frano snapped.

  I raised my gaze, the man not so merry now.

  Frano turned his attention to Mario. “In regards to the lowering of eyes—that does not apply to me. When I enter the room she must look at me and only me.”

  “I will make certain of that,” Mario said.

  “Buono, now place all the slaves by the wall for our guests’ viewing pleasure.”

  “Sì. Rise,” Mario said to me.

  I got to my feet, my gaze staying on Frano, only breaking the contact when we were shuffled over to a window, the chains jingling as we walked.

  “You may all look at me,” Mario said.

  I turned my atte
ntion to him, seeing the others in my periphery doing the same, although I stole furtive glances of the lounge. Men in black and white were setting a large table, garnishing it with steaming hot food and salads. My mouth watered, my stomach grumbled, the meager portion I’d been given earlier not even coming close to quelling my hunger.

  Mario started talking, “The Donatelli are coming to dinner, so I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. Any disobedience and the punishment will be severe for both the perpetrator and the other three slaves. I don’t need acknowledgement just that you do as I ask without a whimper of complaint. Red...”

  The redheaded woman at the other end straightened. “Yes, Master?”

  “Since you’re my number one, you’re in charge. If anyone so much as says a word out of line you are to tell me at the end of the night. Of course, if I find out you’ve lied; I will make your punishment twice as hard.”

  She flinched. “Yes, Master.”

  He stepped forward and placed a hand behind the woman’s head, giving her a long kiss. After a minute he finally pulled back, the look on the slave’s face ecstatic. He was a very attractive man, but to me no one could outdo Jagger’s beauty—although Frano’s attributes were extensive. I silently cursed myself, annoyed that I had compared them, and even more annoyed that I found Frano attractive. No, I shouldn’t be annoyed, because his appearance was nothing more than a superficial exterior to be appreciated like a beautiful painting. Though, his personality was more like a Picasso image: distorted and ugly—just worth millions.

  Mario turned and headed for Frano, who was watching me from across the room. Mario stopped in front of him, saying a few words. Frano patted his arm, then they both left the room as the black-suited men continued to set the table.

  Seeing my opportunity, I turned to the women. “I’m FBI. Tell me your names.”

  The women ignored me, all of them staring at the floor.

  “Can’t I even know your names?”

  “You are not to speak uninvited,” the redhead said, her accent sounding German.

  “I can speak whenever I please.”

  “No, you can’t, the master hasn’t given you permission.”

  “My master is Jagger, and he allows me to speak.”

  “Master Mario is in charge, so you have to adhere to his rules, otherwise we’ll all pay for your insubordinance.”

  “Insubordinance? Who speaks like that?”

  “Me, because I don’t wish to be tortured because of you,” Red said. “So, please be quiet before the masters return.”

  “Can’t you at least tell me your name?”

  “Red.”

  “No, your real name.”

  “It is my real name, Master Mario gave it to me, so please be quiet, the servants are watching us.”

  I looked over at the waiters, who were throwing curious glances at us, no, it was only one of them: a teenage boy who looked about eighteen. He was slim, his face not that much different from Jagger’s, just with a few adolescent spots and darker eyes. I wondered whether he was related. The boy smiled at me shyly. I smiled back without thought, although I didn’t know why, other than he seemed sweet, and at least he wasn’t ogling my body. Gay, I thought. He had to be.

  A loud male voice came from the adjoining room, then a second later an elderly man in a well-cut black suit appeared with Frano. He had grey hair and was wearing a hearing aid, which was probably the reason for his loudness. I instantly recognized the Donatelli don. I had read about him having ordered a hit on a whole family, even the children being slaughtered, because a woman who was from that family had escaped from his slave cells. The woman had gone into protective custody, but had been gunned down before the trial had started, which meant that the old man and his family had gotten off scot-free, no one being able to prove anything against them.

  A taller man came up to flank the don, just twenty years younger, at a guess his son. The elderly don said something to him, then headed for the table, while Frano, the perfect host, ushered more men to their seats, the prick looking pleased with himself.

  My eyes went to the man at the end of the line, a priest dressed in a black garb. He looked like the elderly man, but considerably younger, in his late forties at a guess. His hair was completely grey, while his pale eyes were the same blue as Mario’s. He stopped and looked around the room as though he was searching for someone. His expression turned to shock when his gaze landed on me. He stared at me openly, the man saying what sounded like a pray in Latin. Alberto, who was dressed in a tuxedo, came up behind him. He placed a hand on the priest’s shoulder and leaned over, whispering something into the man’s ear. The priest looked uncertain, then a smile surfaced. He nodded, and headed for the seat next to the elderly don.

  Frano walked to the other end of the table and placed his hands on the back of his chair. “I am very humbled that you, the esteemed Donatelli, have graced my household with your presence. You are famiglia, but like all famiglie we quarrel.” He looked at Alberto, who frowned back. “But we shouldn’t let our quarrels tear us apart; instead we must move past them, which I hope we can accomplish tonight.”

  “Only giving us Jagger will allow this to happen,” the priest spoke up, his Italian accent thick.

  “I’m afraid, Padre, that is an impossibility, and your don has agreed to something else. But, I would like to give your famiglia more.” Frano pointed to me and the slaves. “With the exception of the brunette, who is new to us and is destined for the Black Russian, you may choose any two of Mario’s slaves to keep.”

  The priest banged the table. “Offering us the Devil’s whores will not appease what was done to me. Now, put Gabriel in their place and I will gladly take him as a slave,” the man said, using Jagger’s real name.

  Don Donatelli placed a hand on the priest’s arm, whispering something to him.

  The priest’s jaw clenched. “If he had done the same to you, you would demand his head. All I demand is for him to be handed over. I will not kill or maim him—that is not my intent.”

  Don Donatelli turned his gaze to Frano. “What Gabriel did to my brother does need to be met with more than what you have offered.”

  “You were the one who suggested the whipping,” Frano said, looking worried. “I am just giving you more out of courtesy.”

  “I understand that, but on reflection it appears that I was being unfair on my brother by going easy on you.”

  “You haven’t been going easy on me; you’ve been running my famiglia into the ground.”

  “Then hand us Gabriel, so we can build your business back to what it was like in your father’s prime.”

  “I cannot hand over blood, and you gave me your word that Jagger’s whipping would be the end of this matter.”

  The priest stood. “The crime was done to me; therefore it is my word you must adhere to, ragazzo.”

  Frano straightened. “I am not a boy! I am the don of my famiglia.”

  “If you want to be respected as one, hand Gabriel over.”

  “My father was respected and he never curtailed to your demands.”

  “You, Frano, are not your father. You cannot command or strike fear into me or my famiglia like he did. You are just a boy playing in his father’s shoes.”

  “How dare you!”

  “I will dare all I please, godson, and if you truly believe I am innocent of the crimes that Gabriel used as an excuse to mutilate me, then you must hand him over.” The priest cocked his head to the side. “Do you believe I am innocent or do you want a holy war on your hands for smiting me?”

  Frano looked over at the Donatelli don, then back at the priest, his expression more than worried. “I believe you.”

  “Then bring Gabriel to me now.”

  “Only in regards to what the don has agreed upon. I truly wish to repair the chasm caused by Jagger’s insanity, and because of this he will submit to you for punishment.”

  The priest frowned. “Gabriel is willing to be in my presence?”


  “As long as you do not touch him, other than with the whip.”

  The priest’s eyes narrowed. “I have never touched him inappropriately. I am a man of God!”

  “I never said you did, Jagger is just skittish when it comes to you, Padre.”

  The priest breathed out slowly, as though he was using the time to think. “Okay. Just bring him in.”

  Frano nodded. “Federico, get Jagger.”

  My eyes moved to the large doorway as Federico exited it. Several minutes later, Federico stepped back through it with Jagger in tow, my eyes widening at Jagger’s clothing—or lack thereof. He was dressed in tight black leather pants while his upper body was naked, his dark olive skin oiled up. He looked like a rock god, and one who was higher than a kite. He wobbled on his feet, giving the impression that he was going to topple over. Federico put his hands out to steady him, the guard, my fellow-agent, not looking happy.

  The priest got to his feet. “What is wrong with him?”

  “He was given a sedative, otherwise he would be fighting us,” Frano said, gesturing to Federico. “Bring him here.”

  Federico helped Jagger over, Jagger’s eyes going everywhere, but appearing to see nothing.

  “Jagger,” Frano said.

  Jagger’s gaze moved to his cousin. He blinked as if he was seeing Frano for the first time.

  “Please tell the Padre you are deeply sorry for the anguish you have caused him,” Frano said.

  Jagger’s gaze instead moved to Alberto. A jolt ran through his body as though he had been whipped. He raised a hand and pointed at Alberto, screaming: “Rapist!”

  The men surrounding the table all turned to Alberto, who seemed to shrink in size, the look on his face filled with guilt. The priest banged on the table, yelling at Jagger in Italian to be quite. Jagger snapped his mouth shut, the man finally realizing he was in the same room as his abuser. He grabbed onto his cousin’s jacket, yelling: “You can’t do this to me!”

  Frano broke Jagger’s hold and pushed him into Federico. “Tie him to the wall!”

  Federico and a man who dwarfed Jagger, grabbed him, forcibly carrying him to a wall hung with ropes. Jagger tried to fight them, but his arms and legs were uncoordinated, no doubt from the drugs. He was pushed face-first into the wall, then tied to it. A different guard moved in front of the priest, holding out a whip.