Cameron took it as music to her ears.
“Take off the dress, crawl to the door and get on all fours.”
She shook all over, panicked, elated, scarcely remembering how to make her hands and feet work. She said nothing, not even thank you as she followed his will, moving into place. Her body floated, despite the degradation, the pain of the whipping.
She waited for him at the doorway.
“Remain where you are, someone will fetch you.”
She lowered her head in acknowledgment, a single tear falling to the soft, rubber floor.
Victor was going to fuck her tonight….she was sure of it.
He left the door open, walking away. Why worry? She wasn’t going anywhere.
Now or ever.
Chapter Twelve
It was Chloe who came to fetch Cameron at the door. She was dressed in a black bustier and garter belt. Her stockings, if she had ever had any, had been removed. She wore bright red pumps. Her hair was teased out and she was heavily made up, the way a woman might look before performing at the Moulin Rouge or some similar venue. Black leather cuffs with sewn in metal rings adorned her wrists and ankles.
She did not look pleased to see Cameron.
“You just keep turning up like a bad penny. By the way, thank you for showing up at the club the other day. Victor had me caned by Marlon. You met him? The charming little fellow at the door?”
Chloe must have meant the bouncer, the one who had groped her and made her suck his cock. She wanted to tell Chloe he had been rough on her, too, but Chloe didn’t seem to be in the mood.
“And now you’re here tonight,” said Chloe bending to pick up Cameron’s leash. “So what does Victor do? Does he toss you out on your narrow ass? Oh, no, he asks for you to be deposited in his private suite, which means I lose my time with him again. Fucking thank you so much.”
“Chloe, I didn’t mean to—“
Chloe yanked hard on the leash, momentarily cutting off Cameron’s air. “Shut up, just shut up.”
Cameron complied, allowing Chloe to walk her out the door and down the hallway. She couldn’t see the door numbers from down here, though she could hear some of the sounds coming from underneath, the moans of pleasure and the whimpers of pain as the masters dominated their various slaves.
She tried to imagine the delights and the tortures. Were the slaves strung up like she had been, were they on their backs on the beds or the mattresses?
Were they being caressed or whipped, treated or punished?
Cameron imagined herself luckier than all of them. She was being taken to Victor’s own suite. She was to be readied for him. He would come there for her.
And he would do with her as he liked.
She’d pushed it hard tonight and she knew it. She had insulted and spit on him. Then again she had begged and cried. Which parts had turned him on?
All of it most likely.
Victor’s suite was decorated in the style of the last king of France, Louis the Fourteenth. While his wife Marie had charged the peasants to eat bread, Louis had fashioned an artistic splendor, complete with lavish tapestry, bold paintings and exquisite furniture.
Cameron had little opportunity to study the details on her hands and knees. Chloe led her directly to the bathroom where she removed the leash and collar from Cameron’s neck and instructed her to clean her body in the shower.
It didn’t feel like Cameron’s body, not with the marks on her skin, the come dripping from her pussy, the marks and stains of strangers, men whose faces she never even saw.
Even the pain left from her beating felt borrowed, stolen, begged somehow. She might as well have been a stranger herself, scrubbing the breasts that were there for others to caress, the ass so perfectly made for the whip and the cane.
Chloe had her keep the curtain open, ostensibly to watch over Cameron, though it was clear she was curious, even if begrudgingly.
What did Cameron have and why was Victor so taken with her?
Just ask Veronica, Cameron thought. I am flavor of the day, and tomorrow it will be someone else, a new taste for the master’s palette.
“So what’s it like?” Chloe wanted to know.
“What’s what like?” Cameron asked, the water still pelting on her head and chest.
“You know what I mean,” Chloe accused. “Don’t be coy. What’s it like…with Victor.”
Cameron was shocked. “You mean you never…?”
“Would I fucking ask you if I had?” Chloe snapped.
“I just assumed…”
“Well don’t.”
It all began to make sense now, Rachel’s insistence that Victor would never have sex with her, Veronica’s distant relationship with the man.
Just how unusual was it for Victor to fuck his slaves?
One would think it would come as automatically as breathing.
Cameron considered how to answer. She decided Chloe deserved the truth, even if it risked making her more jealous.
“Victor’s not like any other man,” Cameron said turning off the water. “He’s like a storm. I didn’t know it could be that way. He took my body, my mind, he took everything. When he was inside of me it was like nothing else mattered, like nothing else even existed. He was using me for sex, sucking me dry for his pleasure, but I didn’t care, I wanted it, god help me, I did. It terrified me afterward, but I had this sense of peace, too, you know?”
“And now?” asked Chloe handing her a towel.
“And now…” Cameron paused, wrapping herself in the soft material, enjoying a momentary respite from the increasingly uncomfortable exposure, mental and physical. “Now…I want it again.”
“That’s good,” said Chloe ominously. “Because you’re going to get it.”
Chloe had Cameron dry herself off before taking back the towel.
Cameron was pleased to obey, simple instructions she could have followed in her sleep. Walk this way, sit here in front of the vanity and pucker up for the lip gloss, shiny red, neck arched for the rhinestone choker.
“It’s beautiful,” said Cameron touching the shiny stones about her throat.
Chloe scorned her. “It’s a fancy pet collar, that’s all. You know he’s only doing all this to break your heart, don’t you?”
Cameron contemplated the words as Chloe slipped the earring stems through the delicate holes in her lobes. She could feel everything, the smoothness of the gold, sharp and tingling as it penetrated, the warmth of Chloe’s finger tips and even the slight weight of the rhinestones.
She wished her nipples were pierced, too, so they could be more pretty, more captive for Victor’s pleasure.
Or any others he chose to share her with.
She only asked for tonight with him, the rest would not matter.
“My heart was already broken,” she told Chloe now. “I was naked and alone, hopeless without a master. He awoke me…let him do what he wants.”
“You say that now…”
“What about you, Chloe? You live in fear of him, you resent him, you’ve obviously surrendered everything to him. You don’t even have a home, just a cage.”
“You don’t understand, Cameron, you are an outsider. You think it’s a game, a fantasy. Here in the club we accept reality.”
“But you are jealous of me,” Cameron shot back. “It’s so obvious you aren’t happy with the arrangement Victor’s made with you.”
“I say things, so what. I could leave, but I don’t.”
“You mean you can’t.”
“Like I said,” Chloe repeated, running the brush through Cameron’s damp hair. “You don’t understand.”
“I want to, though,” she said softly.
“Ask Victor, if you dare.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Ask me something else.”
“Fine, where are you from, how did you end up here?”
“Victor rescued me if you must know. I was a model in New York. They paid a thousand dollars an hour to
take pictures of me. Put this on, pout your lips and walk like that, it was a submissive’s dream. Except I didn’t know I was one. Men took advantage, I slept with them for my career, I slept with them to say thank you, hello, goodbye, whatever. After a while I did it for no reason at all. My manager got me into coke, said it would make me more productive. What it did was eat up all my wages. Now I was spreading my legs for the rent money and the car payment. I still looked at it as voluntary until the time I didn’t show up for an appointment.
“That’s when my manager showed up to set me straight. He tied me over the couch and beat my ass with his belt until I begged to go back to work. I sucked the client’s cock and his, too, kissing his feet for good measure. From then on I never said a word, ten twelve hours a day on my back with him keeping ninety percent of the money.
“I didn’t think of it as slavery until Victor came along. He explained it all to me, the consensual and non-consensual parts, you know, all the ins and outs of BDSM. I fell in love with him after an hour’s conversation and I begged him to take me with him wherever he was going. He bought my freedom for a quarter of a million dollars, can you imagine that?
“I don’t know what I expected. At the very least I figured he would fuck me a few times, you know? At least until he got bored with me. Imagine my surprise when he dumped me here. Never laid a finger on me--some way for a guy to get his money back, huh? Anyway, this is my life, I sleep in a cage, perform on the dance floor, spread for any Tom, Dick or Dom who comes along. Victor sees me when he feels like it, whips me a little to keep me in the game.”
“I’m sorry,” Cameron said. “Truly.”
“Oh, please,” said Chloe as she tied back Cameron’s hair with a long red ribbon. “Spare me the false pity.”
“None of this is my fault,” Cameron reminded her.
“You have no idea how much that means to me,” Chloe said sarcastically. “We need to get you dressed now before Victor has both our hides.”
Cameron’s costume for the night consisted of a black corset, red g string and a pair of slutty black pumps. Chloe made her lay face down sucking in her gut so she could tie the corset extra tight.
“I can barely breathe,” Cameron complained.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe mimicked. “Truly.”
Chloe smirked as Cameron got a look at herself in the mirror. Her breasts were an obscene offering, swollen, welted globes begging to be manhandled. Below the waist she was concealed no better than a common stripper, worse if you considered that a stripper had the right to tease and tantalize, revealing herself for money.
Cameron’s garments were a mockery, advertising her absolute lack of power to control how or when she was used.
“Still think you’re Victor’s princess?” Chloe taunted.
“I’ll be his whore,” Cameron challenged. “If that’s what he wants.”
“What he wants is Rachel,” said Chloe. “We all know that.”
“You’re lying,” Cameron shot back.
Chloe ignored her as she removed the gag from the vanity drawer. “I’ll be so glad to shut you up.”
The mouth part was shaped like a male phallus. It was made of soft red rubber. Cameron opened for it obediently. It tasted bitter and nearly made her gag.
“Not to your liking, princess?”
Cameron closed her eyes, concentrating on adapting to the foreign object. She tried to keep her tongue clear of it but it was too large. She had another problem, too, in the form of a line of saliva forming at the corner of her mouth.
“You’ll try not to drool,” Chloe told her as she buckled the device behind her head. “But you won’t be able to help it. Your nice titties will be all wet by the time Victor comes for you.”
Panic stricken she tried to keep the saliva in her mouth.
Chloe laughed at her obvious discomfort.
“There’s only one way to slow the drooling down and that’s to suck, Cameron, you can do that, can’t you?”
Humiliated, Cameron made a slurping noise. She swallowed a little of her spittle but not enough.
Chloe took a pair of handcuffs now and used them to attach Cameron’s wrists behind her. This accomplished she led Cameron to the foot of the bed. Next she had her squat down so she could attach a chain to her neck the other end of which wrapped around one of the feet of the bed.
There was very little lead which meant that Cameron could neither stand nor lay down nor could she close her thighs which were mere inches from the bedpost.
“Anything I can get you?” Chloe said sarcastically.
Cameron gurgled out a question in response but the words came out as nonsense. She had wanted to know when Victor was coming.
Not that Chloe would have known the answer.
Waiting—that was a slave’s main fate, long periods of tedium, keen anticipation, mind numbing, interspersed with frantic time of submission and taking and breaking.
As a final touch, Chloe put a blindfold on Cameron. Robbed of her sight she felt ten times more helpless, ten times more aroused. Anyone, especially Victor, could touch her and she would have no warning, not way to protect herself. She thought of him caressing her ass, tweaking her exposed nipples, like cherries topping her swelled, corseted globes. And her pussy, he could reach down and touch that, too.
“I wish you could see yourself,” said Chloe.
Cameron lowered her head, chain clinking.
Chloe laughed. “Sweet dreams.”
Cameron heard the door close and lock behind her.
She was alone. Almost immediately her thighs began to ache. She wished she could lie down, curl up and sleep at the foot of the bed. Let Victor find her that way, an obedient, adorable little pet.
He would want to lift her in his arms, set her down on the bed and kiss her deeply and sweetly. He would tell her about forever and how he had changed his ways, no slaves in his life but her, one partner, one slut.
She would tell him that she was okay with him fucking other women, that she expected it, in fact, just as she expected him to give her away, as a prize to his friends…or a punishment for her.
And yes, she expected the whip, the cane, and lots of it. And bondage, too, tied up, tied down, whatever he wanted.
But that wouldn’t happen.
It wasn’t Victor’s nature.
Hell, if he did change she might not even want him anymore.
Cameron was so exhausted, hurting, needy. She rested her forehead against the bedpost. Against all odds, she fell asleep, with her body slumped, still aching from the tortures of the night.
She re-awoke to the sensation of a shoe tapping her side. “Is this how you wait for me?”
“Victor…” She tried to whisper his name through parched lips, but the gag got in the way. Oh, god her jaws ached and her back was stiff. Everything was black through the blindfold.
How long had she been unconscious?
Hurriedly she returned to her proper position, up on her heels, back straight, bare breasts thrust out. She could feel the dried layers of saliva, the tell tale drool Chloe had warned her of.
A tear dotted her eye. She wanted to look good for Victor not pathetic.
He wasn’t talking to her anymore, which wasn’t a good sign. She strained to hear him but he was too damn quiet. She issued a frantic, garbled apology for all her sins known and unknown.
The cane struck without warning.
It was a blow to her back, no flesh to protect her.
Cameron fell forward, her cleavage wrapped around the bedpost. Hard as she could she bit down on the penis gag.
Seconds passed, she shivered and whimpered in anticipation. Curse these fucking cuffs and this gag. She wanted to be free to crawl to him, to beg.
Sadist that he was, he played with her pony tail, flicking it with the tip of the cane. Did he recognize the sounds, garbled and inhuman?
She was broken. He had proved his point. Why not take her surrender?
Victor whipped her ass, a single
strike with the cane, heaven in comparison to what her back felt like.
Her pussy juices trickled freely now, just like the drool.
“Is this what you want?” Victor said. “Because this is what you’re facing…for the rest of your life.”
She shook her head yes, using every ounce of strength.
Victor swore, calling her names under his breath. Or maybe he was swearing at himself.
She sensed his proximity, smelt the sandalwood as he leaned over her.
He was unclipping the chain but leaving in place the gag and the blindfold.
Showing no mercy, using her pony tail as a handle he hauled her to her feet and shoved her forward. She landed face down on the bed, the edge of the mattress against her belly. He left her like this for several minutes.
She heard the sound of ice tinkling. He was getting himself a drink.
The next thing she felt was an ice cold sensation on her back. He must have been rubbing an ice cube over her wounded back. Was he offering succor or trying to rub salt in a wound? The combination of the hot and cold sent her pussy into spasms, right on the edge of orgasm.
“Spread,” he ordered.
Cameron offered him her gaping pussy.
He pressed the ice cube to her puckered, swollen lips. Pain turned to pleasure and back to pain.
In a particularly dastardly move, he caressed her ear lobe at the same time.
She hit the roof when he touched her clitoris. Bombs exploded, crackling fireworks, back to back orgasms so intense she could not feel where one left off and the other began.
They had been so unexpected, so damn intense.
She knew why, too. They belonged to Victor. He had made them and then taken them from her. It was proof positive of his ownership, that he knew better than she how to utilize her own body.
Cameron whimpered like mad, fiercely sucking the rubber cock, the whole time pretending it was him.
Victor waited until she had settled down.
“Where you given permission to come?” he said coldly.
Cameron cringed. But he hadn’t given her a choice and now she was powerless to even answer his question.
Teach Me Tender, Teach Me Rough Page 14
