by Vonna Harper
A sex slave? That couldn’t be where this was heading, it couldn’t!
She was still trying to convince herself of that when he pushed up on the underside of the breast he’d left alone so far. A deep wave of helpless anticipation caught hold, and when he fastened the clamp to her nipple, despite the sharp sting, she lifted her head toward her tormenter, offering her mouth to him. What did she care that her lips were covered by tape and her mouth forced open by the ball gag? The heavy silver now clinging to her nipple had accomplished its purpose. She was in a space she deeply understood and fed off. The difference this time was that role play had become reality. Maybe the only difference.
“I thought about starting off slow, gradually building upon her imprisonment while letting her know that the journey had just begun. But as I hope you will see in due course, this creature is no stranger to the world she’s been thrust into. She has certain experiences and tolerances. In order to get past those elements, her education must proceed at a certain speed.”
The way he was talking made her half believe that someone, or more than one someone, had entered the room, but she hoped he was simply talking for the camera’s benefit.
His warm fingers on her other breast froze her thoughts. Froze a great deal. She knew what was going to happen, wanted and feared his next movement. He forced her to be patient by running the second clamp over her still-free nipple and from there to ever-widening circles that eventually encompassed her entire breast.
In her mind she saw every exacting detail of the restraint from the clamp itself with its broad, flat surface to the spring-loaded base that caused the clamp to slowly tighten when pulled on. She’d always liked the look of the large clover clamps because they contrasted with her pale flesh and made her think of medieval torture instruments. Fortunately, unlike something from the Middle Ages, modern clamps were incapable of inflicting real damage, not that looking at them would lead the uninformed to that conclusion.
“There,” he said, his word coming at the instant the second clamp imprisoned her other nipple. “I confess to a deep love of the symbolism beneath what you’re seeing. Although I’ve taken control of a small piece of this creature’s body, I now rule her completely. She can’t think beyond this seizure, can you, slave?” He punctuated his question by shaking the bases, causing a long and low electric charge to attack not just her breasts but her entire body.
She was lost in sensation, caught not by the restraints on her wrists and ankles but something more sensual. Determined not to make a sound, she gnawed on her gag. As she’d suspected, a chain led from one clamp to the other. It lay in the valley between her breasts and created its own heat.
“I’ve given considerable thought to whether I prefer wrapping my slave in miles of rope, leather, or metal.” Picking up the chain, he drew her breasts together. There’s something to be said for nothing but glimpses of flesh under proof of her utter imprisonment, perhaps a hip or shoulder left free to remind her of what she once took for granted.”
Still holding onto the chain, he pressed down on her belly until she half believed he intended to weld her to the bed. Lost between the two sensations, she thrashed her head from side to side.
“On the other hand, I believe the female form, especially one as ripe as this one, deserves to be seen and admired. As I’ve demonstrated”—a quick tug on the chain—“a great deal of compliance can be attained with a minimum of restraint. I’m looking forward to discussing the relative merits of both approaches with masters of these arts—once I’ve been accepted for membership. In my public position, I anticipated and demanded that others defer to me, but I’m not so proud that I can’t admit I’m a novice in the art of BDSM.”
BDSM? Oh no!
“A novice who is more than eager to further my education. To bring people up to speed, I’m going to give a demonstration of certain aspects of the training techniques I intend to incorporate. If you’ll give me a moment—”
He might still be talking but maybe not. Maybe he was doing this as part of a plan to test the limits of her sanity.
What did it matter that he’d released the chain now that he was lightly whipping her midsection. Not once did the thin stinging strands touch her breasts or crawl lower than her mons, and that was the hell of it. He could if he wanted, would when he was ready. And in the meantime, she quivered with every slap.
She’d been struck far harder than this; he had to know that. If she could only hold onto that piece of knowledge! But how could she when the kissing blows came one after another, close, so close to her pussy.
This was the magic part of what she did for a living, damn it! To her, being whipped was foreplay. Her nerves loved the stimulation, and although she’d never want punishment to draw blood, she could safely fantasize, pretend.
Don’t go there. Damn it, don’t!
Her warning wasn’t strong or loud enough. Shaking, sweating, moaning in need, she strained to spread her legs and invite him in, but he’d lashed her ankles together, damn him. As to whether he’d deliberately placed her cunt out of reach to both of them or simply didn’t know everything that took place deep inside her didn’t matter.
“You’re a pain slut, aren’t you?” a rigger had asked once after the day’s session was over and she was standing in a cold shower, her skin glowing. “I’ve worked a lot of women, and I know. Most of them put up with whippings because the pay’s good and it leads to certain rewards, but you get off on being hurt.”
“Not being hurt,” she’d thrown back at him. “Draw blood and I’ll rip your lips off.”
“What then?”
“The anticipation and risk. Leather or a cane on me and thinking about what it could become. Telling myself I can’t do anything to stop the whipping and wondering how far it’ll take me. My skin coming to life.”
“Then you’ve got a hell of an imagination, right? Even with the cameras and crew around you can keep the fantasy going?”
“Yes,” she’d told him. “Yes.”
This wasn’t fantasy, no contracted dom or rigger who understood that his job depended on never crossing a certain line. Instead, Reeve was in control, totally and for as long as he wanted. Her body, hell, her mind belonged to him. His arm was strong and the whip well made. He could keep after her until she no longer knew who she was—or cared. Until she’d become an extension of him and the training tool he wielded. Until she confessed that she sometimes came from pain and for him to please take her there.
A grunt from a masculine mouth penetrated her thoughts, but it wasn’t until she felt his hand on the flesh he’d been abusing that she comprehended he was no longer striking her. Her own groan was primal, desperate, and despairing. Don’t stop, she longed to beg him. Don’t stop!
“I trust you don’t mind the demonstration,” Reeve was saying. “I wanted to give you an idea of the kind of whip play I anticipate indulging in.” His fingers over her belly contracted and relaxed, contracted and relaxed. Thanks to the demo you sent me, I realize I’m far from reaching the limits of what’s allowed. What you just saw is my comfort zone. I want my slave to remain unmarked. Scars would, in my mind, diminish her value and make her less desirable to me.”
Abruptly removing his hand from her belly, he unceremoniously shoved it as far between her legs as he could. Too late she ordered herself not to lift her buttocks off the ground in blatant invitation. What a slut she’d become, what a blind and mute and tethered whore!
His large, rough fingers headed for her hole. Too far gone for anything else, she bent her knees outward as far as she could and invited him in. She was suddenly grateful for the blindfold; otherwise, he’d see her for the animal she was. She couldn’t tell which finger penetrated her first, bit into the gag when a second joined the first, cried when the ankle restraints prevented him from adding more. Along with her tears came hot anticipation. She was close, so damn close!
No! He wasn’t withdrawing, was he? Despite her attempts to soothe herself with denial,
not only wasn’t his hand still between her legs, her lonely opening continued to weep.
“This is what I was after. Hopefully the light is strong enough that you can see the juice on my fingers. Take it from me, the slave’s wet. Drenched. As those of you with more experience pointed out in the material you provide for potential members, key to the perfect sex slave is one with a powerful drive.”
Using a rough strength that said he was finished with her, he straightened her knees and pressed her legs together. “There appear to be two schools of thought on this,” he continued. “Given a slave with a high sex drive, how often should that drive be satisfied as opposed to teaching her patience? Her pleasure is hardly high on my list. In fact, I consider denying her part of the lessons she must endure. On the other hand, I don’t want her so distracted by her needs that she can’t attend to mine. I look forward to hearing the debate on this vital issue.”
She didn’t care who he was talking to. Only a few minutes ago she couldn’t imagine thinking that, but being whipped while tied and wearing the nipple clamps had taken her not into the nothing place she was so familiar with, but someplace just as all consuming. Maybe, she amended while he trailed his fingers over her upstretched arms, she wasn’t in a place so much as a state of mind.
One created by her captor.
He was her captor, wasn’t he? For the first time in her life her fondest and most deeply buried fantasy had morphed into reality. He was responsible for her silence and blindness. He spoke to people she hadn’t known existed. This all-encompassing masculine presence went far beyond being dependent on him for food and water. He’d become her air. His hands and body would either please or punish, and whether she encouraged or fought made no difference.
Her world. For now, her everything.
“I’m excited by the possibilities,” he was saying. “I’m not boasting when I say there aren’t many challenges I haven’t met, but as intriguing as creating and then running my own business was, the thrill’s gone, which is why I divested myself of it.”
His teeth raked over the underside of her upper arm, causing her to gasp and jerk. With nothing more than the strength in his hands, he forced her to lie still while he nibbled there.
“This excites the hell out of me,” he said with his hands still demanding surrender. “To totally control another human being, a sexy woman at that—well, I don’t have to tell any of you what a rush that is. I don’t want to do it in a vacuum, not when I have peers—you.”
Damn his seductive voice. Between that and the commanding message in his grip, she couldn’t find her way out of the dark nothing he’d led her into. She’d drift for as long as he allowed, sink deep as the growling need in her pussy. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think anymore than she could free herself.
His. His.
10
“What is this bull, damn it? Look, sis, if you’re listening to this, you’d better pick up. Otherwise I’m going to kick you into the next county. Seriously, call me. I don’t like what’s happening.”
The message Hayley had left on Saree’s cell phone ended, but there was another.
“I’ve been talking to those idiots you work with. Unlike them, I’m not buying that cock and bull about you running off with some rich stud. That message you left me doesn’t sound like you, and this isn’t how you operate. I’m going to go to the police. I don’t have a choice. I don’t know if they’ll listen to me, but…”
“I told you,” Saree said softly. “My sister and I have always watched each other’s back.”
“The cops won’t do anything.”
She sat curled on the narrow bed, her naked body looking small and vulnerable. He hoped she wouldn’t figure out that he was in a recliner on the opposite side of the room because he didn’t trust himself to get any closer.
“Because you’ve covered your tracks, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it,” she pushed. “I’m sure there’s no sign of a forced entry at my place. Where’s my car?”
“In your garage.”
Her eyes widened. She picked at the length of leather running from her right ankle to the bed frame. “Who put it there?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah,” she whispered after a brief silence. “It does.”
Staring at her carried the risk of driving him crazy, not that he could bring himself to do anything else. Although he should be making sure the video feed had reached its intended destination and assure himself that traffic to said destination was limited to approved users, studying her was both easier and harder. After what he’d put her through, he was relieved to see she looked no more the worse for wear, but that wasn’t all he was after. He needed to know she had the mental and emotional tools to survive him.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded. “You get off on seeing me like this?” She indicated the restraint.
The truth was that, yes, knowing she couldn’t get away kicked his sex drive and something else up a number of notches. However, he wasn’t about to give that away, at least he hoped to hell he didn’t. “She isn’t bluffing about calling the police?”
If Saree caught on that he was changing the subject, she gave no indication. “My sister doesn’t cry wolf. If she says she’s going to do something, you can take it to the bank.” She shook her head, then pressed her fingers against her temple. “You’re putting her through hell. From the tone of her voice, she’s about a breath away from panic.”
His first impulse was to tell Saree that that wasn’t his problem, but a moment of looking into her pained eyes told him he’d be a fool if he did. He needed certain things from her, needed to build her into what it would take to get past The Slavers’ walls, but quite possibly that wouldn’t happen if she couldn’t take her mind off her sister. Why the hell hadn’t he thought about that?
Because to survive, you locked yourself away from everything that so much as whispered of family.
“You’re going to call her,” he said. “And when you do, you’re going to keep one thing foremost in your mind.”
She was watching him the way a cautious dog might study an unfamiliar human. One thing, her eyes probed.
“If I have the resources and manpower to return your car to your garage, I can silence your sister.”
The sudden fear in her eyes along with her fingers now around her throat left no doubt that he’d made his point. What she didn’t need to know was how much his tactic disgusted him.
“Talk to her?” she muttered. “Saying what?”
“That’s up to you—whatever it takes to convince her that you don’t need her butting in.”
“What if she doesn’t buy my explanation? My voice—she’s going to pick up on my emotions.”
“Not my problem.” The hell it isn’t. “Do what you need to.” That said, he tossed her cell phone at her. If law enforcement got involved, he ran the risk of their being able to trace the call—yet another reason for Saree to do as he ordered.
Her hands shook as she punched the numbers. After completing the first video session, he’d removed her blindfold and gag and loosened her restraints but left her alone with her thoughts and emotions until he believed sexual energy no longer permeated her being. He probably shouldn’t have given her back a measure of freedom so soon, but he’d wanted to see how thorough her recovery was—for his sake. He was a bastard, a damnable and trapped bastard.
“Sis? It’s me.” Saree’s voice was strained. “No, don’t, please don’t cry.” Her eyes accusing, she listened to whatever her sister was saying. Damn, he should have insisted she put the phone on speaker, but if he had, wouldn’t Hayley be even more suspicious?
“I’m all right, let it go at that, I’m all right. No, I can’t tell you where I am. It’s, well, I’m not sure myself. I’m not alone, I just can’t—no, no one is holding a gun to my head.” Glaring, she picked at an ankle cuff. “It’s going to be a hell of a story when it’s over, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. You don’t want me to go back on
my word, do you?”
Another silence had her frowning. “We’re both adults, sis. I didn’t try to live your life for you when you were getting to know Mazati. Trust me, that’s all I can say, trust me.”
The longer the sisters talked, the more the risk that Saree would blurt something so he pushed himself to his feet and stalked toward her with his hand outstretched.
“Don’t do anything, not yet,” she said. He reached for her but she spun away and fell onto the bed with the phone still clamped to her ear. “But if I haven’t called back in two days, tell the police to look for the man who approached me at my last shoot.”
Cursing under his breath, he rolled her onto her back and yanked the phone out of her hand. He punched End.
“What the hell was that?”
“What do you want? For me to sit there and wait for you to slit my throat?”
“You think that’s what’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know anything except what you’ve done so far. Get off me!” She tried to knee him.
Damn but she was like heat lightning under him! Her small and surprisingly strong body was so tense he wondered if something might snap, but that wasn’t all he felt. Laced up with taut muscles were the remnants of the sexual frustration he’d put her through. Whether via instinct or on purpose, her every move had a sensual quality to it, and she fit so well under him.
Not trusting his ability to ward off her body’s impact, he slid off her, but instead of letting her sit up, he snagged her wrists and pinned her arms over her head. Sitting next to her and leaning over kept him in dangerous proximity with the form that had caused countless men to jack off, but then danger always reminded him that he was alive, that he hadn’t destroyed his emotions after all.
