Twenty-One

by D. Victoria BonAnno

  “I am Twenty-One. I am a slave.”

  Once again Chloe found herself in the dreaded suite with no idea how much time had passed. Her fingers around the toothbrush were numb, like she had gone out into the snow without gloves. Her back burned from hunching over the floor, her knees bruised by the hardwood. She had long ago stopped focusing on the pain, but she could not tune out the recording, the desperate animal cries in her own voice. She couldn’t stand it. At first she listened as some sort of self-punishment. Listen. Listen to your failure. You’re weak, pathetic. You failed him.

  You failed him. That was the most maddening thought of all. Failed him? The man who kidnapped and starved her? Failed a monster? The fact that she even had these thoughts disgusted her. She had to get out of here. She had to get out before she went insane.

  But thoughts of escape faded as pain and thirst swelled. When would he come back? He had left her alone for days after her escape. This hadn’t been such a harsh transgression. When she had escaped, he had been enraged. This time he had seemed more disappointed than angry. Sickening dread made her empty stomach lurch. Should she fear his disappointment more than his anger?

  The sound of her forbidden orgasm bounced off the walls and once more the thought came: I have failed him.

  That was when Chloe started screaming. She cursed, she howled, she mocked her own recorded voice, mocked the hot, aching tone, her pleas, her cries. She clamped her hands over her ears and screamed, but her failure still bled into her.

  “Please…please, may I-”

  Did she hear him sigh through her cries, or was it in her head? Why did it hurt her so much?

  Finally she had no more voice with which to scream. She scrubbed the floor inch by inch with the toothbrush, whispering the mantra. She hoped the cameras would show her lips moving so she wouldn’t be punished for her loss of voice. She drifted between blissful numbness and emotional turmoil. All the time she scrubbed. She began to see patterns in the grains of the wooden floor, ghastly faces with their mouths twisted in silent howls. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought that her own recorded screams were coming from those horrible frozen mouths.

  The sound of the door beeping stopped the haunting recording in an instant. Chloe’s first urge was to scamper into her cage. She remained where she was, too startled to move. She was surprised to see Seventeen walk through the door, her eyes downcast, her dark hair partially veiling her face. Gabe walked in after her with a bowl of broth in his hands. Chloe was so relieved she nearly cried.

  “Good morning, sweetie. Come over here and stand At Attention.”

  Chloe scrambled to obey. She stood in as perfect form as she could muster, her legs wide, her back arched, hands at the back of her neck. She could smell the broth, hearty and steaming. She tried to keep her eyes down, but Seventeen proved too much a curiosity to ignore. The other slave stood At Attention beside Gabe, her steel collar glinting in the low light. If she had any thoughts, they did not show in her face, as still and impenetrable as a mannequin’s. Gabe praised Chloe for her posture, but Chloe couldn’t help but feel inferior to Seventeen’s perfect form.

  “I was told you’re having problems with orgasm control,” said Gabe, dipping a spoon into the broth. “We’re here to help you.”

  Chloe’s face flushed. Once again her sense of shame threatened to consume her. But Gabe put the spoon to her lips and her torment gave way to satiating her terrible hunger.

  “Everybody has trouble with it at first,” Gabe assured, feeding her carefully, “You’ll get there. The boss said that’s all we’re going to focus on this week. Have you been tied down before, sweetie?”

  Chloe looked up at Gabe before she could stop herself. His easy smile met her, but he shook his head and pointed his finger downward. She lowered her gaze, her stomach knotting.

  “No, Sir,” she murmured.

  Gabe slipped the last of the broth between her lips. “Well, don’t be scared about it, it’s not that bad. In fact, it usually helps you relax more, if you can believe it.”

  Chloe didn’t believe it. The idea of being bound nauseated her. She had adjusted to the collar around her neck and the cage, but to be physically bound reminded her of her first night here, when she had woken up with zip ties around her wrists.

  “This is actually one of the easy training sessions,” Gabe continued. He set the empty bowl of broth down on the cage, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a thick black vibrator. “All you have to do is lay back and try not to come.”

  Chloe’s skin grew cold. Gabe pointed at the bed.

  “All right, sweetie, lie down.”

  Chloe hesitated, but she knew she had to comply. She lay down on the bed. The sensation of the bedspread on her bare skin sent her back to the night Demetrius had dragged her onto the bed. She pushed the memory away. Gabe opened the top drawer of the dresser beside the bed and pulled out four leather cuffs.

  “Spread your arms and legs,” he said. “Seventeen, give me a hand.”

  Seventeen took a pair of cuffs and slid one around Chloe’s ankle. Chloe’s heart skittered in her chest. She didn’t like this. This was going to be mortifying. She remembered the slave beside her in the shower stall when Gabe had taken her out into the stone building.

  “Sir…” she whispered, though she didn’t know what she wanted to say other than, please don’t.

  Gabe shushed her and patted her head. “I know, sweetie. You’re still new, and this is all scary. Just take deep breaths and try to relax. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

  Chloe nodded. There was nothing else she could do. Seventeen spread her legs further open and she was exposed to the world, to these strangers. She believed Gabe wouldn’t hurt her, but if he wanted to, she couldn’t stop him. If he struck her, she couldn’t even curl up to protect herself.

  Gabe switched on the vibrator. It roared to life with a dull, mechanical hum and Chloe balked at the sound. She tugged at her restraints and panicked when they wouldn’t give way. Gabe shook his head.

  “Hush, hush,” he said. “You know that’s not going to do you any good.”

  “I can’t, please Sir, I can’t…” Chloe whimpered. She was trapped. The cuffs were too tight. The bedspread clung to her skin. Gabe’s attempts to calm her only inflamed her sense of helplessness. “Please untie me,” she pleaded. “Please, Sir, I can’t…”

  Seventeen’s cool hand stroked Chloe’s thigh. Chloe looked up at the slave beside Gabe. Her dark eyes were not empty now, but warm and kind. She patted Chloe’s thigh, and a shadow of a smile appeared on her pillowy lips. The heart-wrenching panic that had threatened to overtake Chloe began to abate in the presence of such warmth. It occurred to Chloe that Seventeen had to have gone through all of this. Worse, she knew from having seen Seventeen tied to the Saint Andrew’s cross outside. Chloe’s panic began to give way to a familiar sense of shame. Seventeen, and all of the other slaves, had experienced so many horrible things, and Chloe lay there panicking over a vibrator. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to relax against the bed. She would not be weak in front of such a strong, beautiful slave.

  Gabe’s gaze bounced from Chloe to Seventeen, his brow furrowed.

  “I think things might go a bit easier if you handle this,” he said, handing Seventeen the vibrator. “All right, get between her legs.” He smoothed Chloe’s hair back. “I promise this won’t be bad, sweetie. This is easy compared to everything else you’re going to go through in training. Hell, a beautiful girl’s going to try to make you come. I’d enjoy myself.”

  Chloe bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  Gabe gave a nod to Seventeen, who crouched onto the bed between Chloe’s legs. Again Chloe burned with the shame of knowing her sex was exposed to a stranger. The vibrator appeared just above her crease, and tingling warmth spread through her from hip to toe. She shivered and closed her eyes, but that only made her focus more on the sensation. Seventeen moved the vibrator just over the apex of Chloe’s sex and
the warmth became a flame. Chloe gasped, her legs ramrod straight. She fought her restraints. She wanted to close her legs. The vibrator pressed to her clitoris was far too much.

  “Ease off,” Gabe ordered Seventeen. “Try lower.”

  Tears leaked between Chloe’s eyelids. This was too humiliating for her to comprehend and she couldn’t escape it. Any attempt to think of anything else disintegrated when Seventeen slid the vibrator down her sex, testing her opening with little circles. Chloe’s fear ebbed, pushed into obscurity by a growing pressure, the pressure that had gotten her into trouble with her Master. She pressed her lips together to suppress a moan. Seventeen slipped the vibrator inside of her and Chloe’s hips rocked of their own accord.

  “Good, good,” said Gabe. “Just stay there a bit longer.”

  Seventeen rocked the vibrator gently, gliding it along Chloe’s inner walls. Chloe gasped. Her back arched from the bed sheets. Images flashed in her mind, images of Demetrius hovering over her, his scarred and muscular torso pressing against her.

  “Okay, okay, pull back.”

  Chloe didn’t understand Gabe’s words, but the vibrator retreated from her, just barely touching her sex now. Chloe moaned and tried to slide her hips forward.

  “Ah, hey, now,” Gabe chided. “That’s what’s getting you into trouble. Don’t be greedy.”

  Chloe opened her eyes, coming to herself. No, she would not fail again. She stared at the ceiling, breathing long through her nose and out of her mouth. She saw Gabe out of her corner of her eye and avoided looking at him.

  “That’s it. Good girl. Think about baseball,” Gabe laughed. “Seventeen, go ahead.”

  The vibrator returned and with it the delicious pressure that was almost too much to resist. She wanted to rock her hips again, wanted to press vibrator deeper inside of her, to feel it touch her very core. Demetrius was kissing her in the rain, kissing her as if he would rip her apart. She shook her head, pushed the image away. She wouldn’t fail again. She wouldn’t.

  Chloe didn’t fail the entire week. Gabe and Seventeen appeared at what seemed like the same time every day, binding her to the bed and pushing her to the very brink of ecstasy, only to pull back. Chloe focused on her breathing or on the ceiling, keeping her mind as blank as she possibly could. It grew easier to fight the tide of desire, even when Seventeen ran the vibrator over her apex. At the end of each session, Gabe and Seventeen would bathe her and reward her with fruit and water, then lock her into her cage again, where Chloe would sleep and dream of rain and fire.

  A week may have passed. Chloe couldn’t be sure. Seventeen had been particularly aggressive today, focusing almost entirely on her apex, and Gabe had ordered her to caress Chloe as well. The unrelenting vibration paired with Seventeen’s soft hands running along her breasts, her hips, was difficult to ignore. Chloe found herself at the brink, fighting to stay on the edge, when the beeping of the door lock cut through the incessant hum and Gabe’s encouraging words.

  Chloe didn’t have to look up to know who had entered the room. Seventeen’s hand had tensed on her breast and Gabe had fallen silent.

  “Move,” came Demetrius’ unmistakable voice.

  The vibrator disappeared. Chloe looked up, but Demetrius’ fingertips brushed her eyelids down immediately. Chloe closed her eyes, her pulse in her throat. The vibrator returned, wielded by a far more aggressive hand. The flame came back, blazing bright, as the vibrator circled her apex.

  “Master…” she whispered. She wanted to warn him, to tell him to be more careful, or she would fail him again. Heat and pressure stole her breath away. She knew there was no turning back.

  The bed shifted and she knew Demetrius was hovering over her. She felt his hair brush her breasts. The vibrator remained between her legs, coaxing her too close to the edge. She threw her head back and moaned. She was lost. She was going to lose.

  Demetrius’ voice appeared beside her ear, low and even, just as Chloe went tumbling over the edge.

  “Come for me.”

  Chloe cried out as one of the most powerful orgasms she’d ever had coursed through her limbs with electric light.

  Chapter 16

  October 31, 2011

  Rafe took one last long drag of his Marlboro and flicked it toward the retreating truck in the Oryx’s loading dock. Off they went, the silent bandaged women in the back of the truck. Off to wherever the fuck Demetrius kept them the rest of the week. She hadn’t been among them tonight, his lady with the light hazel eyes that haunted him day and night.

  He ran a hand over his shaved head. His lady. He was fucking crazy or suicidal to think like that. She, and all of them, belonged to the boss. Wherever he got them or whatever he did with them, they were his. That was the way it had always been, and for six years, from summer to Christmas, Rafe had never questioned anything. Now he just wished the fucking bandages hadn’t slipped three weeks ago and he hadn’t seen those eyes, wide and weary and gilded with tears.

  Rafe turned and went back into the Oryx for the closing cleanup. He tried not to think of her. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It wasn’t like he had ever spoken to her, or even seen that tiny, curvaceous frame beneath the bandages. Hell, he hadn’t even seen her mouth. He didn’t know her name. Demetrius only called them by numbers. She was number One, whatever that meant. He didn’t know. Maybe it meant she was Demetrius’ favourite piece, a thought that knotted Rafe’s stomach.

  “They’re objects, Rafe,” Demetrius said when he first started bringing them years ago. “Toys. They have no names. They won’t move. They won’t talk to you, and if any of them do, let me know immediately.”

  Rafe did know that she squeezed his hand every time he handled her, a fierce squeeze when patrons got too rough with her, and soft, gentle squeezes when he helped suspend her or took her down at the end of the night. His heart skipped every time her fingers pressed against his, warm through the bandages.

  Rafe rubbed his eyes and tried to clear his head.

  Inside the Oryx, the bouncers and bartenders were busy cleaning up after Halloween, their busiest night of the year. The lingering odour of sweat mingled with the sweetness of spilled alcohol. Rafe grabbed a mop from the back closet.

  “You never been to D’s place either?” Rafe heard Bobby’s gruff voice by the bar. “Don’t he throw any parties?”

  “D’s not like that,” said James, the bartender, as he washed glasses. “He’s private.”

  “Privacy? Don’t he keep all those dolls at his place? What, he lock them in the basement or something?”

  Rafe cut his eyes to Bobby. The door man’s round face was coated in sweat. Rafe had seen Bobby’s face like that in the summer, when the nights were sticky and humid, but not in the dead of autumn.

  “You’re an idiot,” came Heather’s voice, the little shot girl with pink hair. “I think they’re hookers or something. He probably just takes them back to the streets at the end of the night.”

  “I always thought they were art models from campus,” said James.

  Bobby shrugged and cleared his throat. He fiddled with a cheap watch peeking out from his hoodie sleeve before grabbing a rag and rubbing the polished bar counter in rough circles.

  “Look, I don’t give a shit about the dolls,” he said, abandoning the counter and crossing his arms. Rafe had never seen him so wired. It made him wonder if he hadn’t taken something tonight. He’d had drug problems with Bobby in the past. “I was just wondering where the guy lives.”

  “Boss don’t like to be talked about, Bobby,” Rafe warned. “If you’re so curious, ask him yourself tomorrow.”

  Bobby clammed up after that, yet the sweaty fidgeting continued. Rafe shook his head and continued mopping. He didn’t want to have to fire Bobby. The guy was dumb as a fucking brick, but he was a good bouncer, and he’d been with the Oryx for a few years. It’d be a pain in the dick to have to train another person during the busiest time of the year. But he’d given Bobby his last warning ab
out being high at work months ago, and there was definitely something wrong with the twitchy asshole.

  The early morning wore on and the smell of stale booze gave way to the stench of chemical cleaner. The crew headed out one by one until Rafe found himself alone. He uttered a deep sigh and headed to the office to lock up, his mind drifting back to the conversation about Demetrius. He didn’t know much more than his staff about the dolls Demetrius brought with him, but he’d bet they weren’t models from some art program on the campus. He did all the books for the Oryx, so he knew the club sure as hell didn’t pay them to be there.

  “They can be touched,” he remembered Demetrius saying, “but treat them like art, Rafe. If anyone gets rough or tries to move them or take off their bindings, kick them out.”

  It was pretty much November, and by Christmas the girls would vanish, replaced by a fresh crop of them next year. His lady, whoever she was, would be gone in a couple months. His stomach turned. He had seen the tears in her eyes, felt the message in every urgent squeeze of her bound hand: Help me. Help me. Something in him knew there was no way the dolls were there voluntarily. But then why didn’t they run in the crowded chaos of the club while the boss was in the DJ booth or outside smoking? Why didn’t they scream for help? What did Demetrius do to them to keep them quiet? It didn’t make sense.

  Rafe pressed his palms against his face until his eyes ached. Six years. For six years he had never questioned, never cared. Who gave a fuck where the boss got some wrapped-up bitches for some stupid ploy to make the club stand out? Who cared what he did to them outside these walls? It wasn’t Rafe’s problem.

  Until One.

  Rafe opened the door to his office and there was Bobby, still caked in flop sweat, elbow deep in the file cabinet in the corner of the room.

  Bobby made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a shout, springing back as if a snake had bitten one of his grubby fingers. “H-hey, Rafe.”

  “What the fuck?” Rafe demanded, but even as the words left his mouth, a switch flipped in his head. Bobby spent the night sputtering questions about Demetrius’ home, and now Rafe caught him digging through the file cabinet where the employee information was kept.