Bought By The Masters

by Daniella Wright

  “Don’t hog her all to yourself,” Cato chides, and now I feel an additional pair of hands caressing over my back, taking the time to travel over the contours there. “She’s a lady, to be treated right – not some morsel to devour.”

  But maybe I want to be devoured. Maybe I want to be bent over backwards, rough lips on my neck, rough hands scratching along my skin and taking me whiplash fast. Maybe a part wants to hear a command, something like on your knees, and regardless of whether I could choose to disobey or not, I’d obey anyway, give myself up and all the control I possess.

  There’s something deliciously vulnerable about having no clothes, and the brush of shirt and pants from the men, as they chose to keep theirs on. For now. Soon the men switch, and it’s Cato’s lips against mine, his front pressing against me, and I feel the rise of his arousal, and a giddy sort of happiness strikes through me at the thought that I have that power, that I’m attractive enough for it.

  Is it possible, then, to be submissive, yet still somehow holding all the cards? Yes, I think, feeling their hands over me, letting myself sink, swimming in my emotions, in every shivering touch. Yes, it’s possible. There’s power in giving yourself up for sure, in releasing the string of a kite and letting it drift, drift into blue sky and breeze.

  Cato seizes me and props me upon the king-sized bed, shaking in his eagerness as he undoes his pants. Beron watches from the side, eyes glazed, mouth parted as he strokes over his clothes, tending to his own arousal.

  “Don’t be shy,” Cato beckons to his bodyguard then, and I watch in an excited haze as Beron takes off his shirt, then the rest of his clothes, joining the same club as me. Such muscle. It takes time and effort to look like that. The thing between his legs, that’s what he’s born with – but the curvature of his muscles, the toned shadows of his legs and the impact of his stomach – I’m not afraid to say my mind might have stopped functioning for a brief, drooling second.

  Beron’s a little awkward, just because he’s unsure about how to conduct himself. But he’s doing just fine in my opinion.

  “Why don’t you taste her first, Beron? If she doesn’t mind, of course,” Cato says, looking at me. I nod eagerly, still in a way unable to comprehend how lucky I am, that they’re both willing to try this.

  Beron comes close, and begins to kiss me, softly but with passion, and I indulge with it, slowly melting into a world of my own. The world consists of breaths, the smell of our skins, the heat burning from our bodies, and the rising sense of excitement as tiny swirls of pleasure continue to pepper my body. Beron’s mouth moves from my own lips down to my neck, to track along my breasts and taste the pebbled tips there, before trailing lower.

  My excitement’s at fever pitch, and I’m getting impatient, wanting more than just this teasing, wondering if he’s going to pass me down there or do what I’m hoping for him to do.

  “She’s not going to wait much longer for you if you keep that pace,” Cato says. “Go for the prize, or I’ll be taking over from you.”

  Beron lets out a little growl at this, and ducks his head between my legs. His breath is hot against me, and when his tongue moves with one flat, broad stroke, I arch up from the bed, heart bursting from the explosion of pleasure emitting from this. My legs keep tensing, drawing up into my body as he locates my clit and begins to tackle it, from light, broad strokes to jabbing, precise movements, all which serve to heighten the experience.

  Cato steps in close and begins to massage one of my breasts, and I close my eyes completely, giving into the twin pleasures inflicted by both men, and the soft growling of Cato’s voice as he continues to talk.

  “Surrender to us, Roze… don’t tense up so much, you’ll limit what we can give you.”

  Surrender? I shiver at the word, and become aware of just how much my muscles are tensing. How else am I to endure what’s happening, though? The pleasure’s almost too much, and I begin to squirm, messing up Beron’s rhythm, until Cato presses a firm hand against my chest.

  “Be still. Let him take you away.”

  The command sends another thrilled jolt through me, and I gradually untense, even though it’s so hard, even though every touch of Beron’s tongue sends little waves through me, that increase in strength over time, rather than weaken. Soon I’m gasping and begging, though I’m not sure what for. To keep going, to stop: none of it matters except the flood of sensations.

  I come with a strangled cry, not prepared for it at all. My body shivers through the orgasm, and Cato coaxes Beron away from between my legs, as he was still trying to pleasure, but it’s sensitive, so sensitive that even a breath causes me to twitch.

  “My turn,” Cato growls, and he repositions me slightly, moving between my legs. He’s completely naked and impressive, and I’m still swimming in the endorphins as he carefully positions his cock to press against my entrance. I gasp as he slowly pushes his way within, filling me up and stopping, to check that I’m okay with this.

  I nod, after remembering to breathe, and Cato begins to slide in and out of me, sending me into a new world of sensations. I orgasm again within a minute, clutching at Cato’s shoulders for support, and he doesn’t take too long to come inside me, either. There’s something wonderfully decadent about it, being taken and consumed by these two men. No sooner has Cato removed himself from me that Beron is there, too, sinking to the hilt inside, making me arch and cry out.

  Cato’s saying something else, but I can’t hear him right now, and I don’t care, because nothing matters but these singular, overpowering pleasures that burn through my body, making my heart beat at a crazy pace, and my breaths come in short, excited gasps. I can barely cope with all of it, and I think at one point I black out from the pleasure, because my next memory is Beron removing himself from me, and his voice asking if I’m okay, if he was too rough.

  “It’s fine,” I croak, finding it difficult to focus. “It’s fine.” I grin like an idiot when I see both men by me, almost as spent as I am.

  “That can happen if you forget to breathe,” Cato chides me gently. “Poor Beron was worried for a second.”

  “M’fine,” I insist, but smile when Beron curls up beside me. It’s enough for us to lie there right now, just absorbing what’s happening. More will come, and I look forward to it. It’s different from any other experience I’ve had before, and it makes me realize I’ve been missing out for all these years.

  About time I did something about those years, then.

  Chapter 9

  Cato

  It feels like a whole new avenue’s opened up for us. One that we’ve managed to explore several times in the past night, because Roze ended up having a lot more energy than either of us anticipated. We felt almost inadequate, having to take breaks, while she could keep going, keep sinking into that pleasure, reaching high after high.

  But as much as I’d like to keep exploring this further, to just lock us up in this room for the next month and do nothing else but indulge in all the fantasies under our commands, there’s unfortunately, lingering problems that are threatening to bite us in the ass.

  For a start, we know Gentleman’s watching us, and is hungry for the implant within Roze. He doesn’t realize The Morrigan has adapted her own mind inside an empty vessel, so we’re taking care to at least outwardly address the old sorceress as Tiffany, though the name barely crosses our lips if we can help it. We head back to the estate, where I also have to navigate the pitfalls of my father not obtaining the information that The Morrigan is alive and well, and not so far off being able to grant one of her legendary Great Wishes.

  He also pulls me aside, to warn me not to get too close to Roze, because he thinks that I seem to be spending more time with her than entirely necessary.

  “She’ll topple your entire career, if you give her the chance,” my father warns, a darkness in his expression. “If people were to find out that you were close to someone under a demonic slave contract...”

  “Don’t worry,” I assure him,
lying to his face. “We won’t get close. She can’t ever be interested in the person responsible for keeping her here,” I say, though I’m thinking of Gentleman when the words come. “Are we still avoiding the likes of Gentleman until the campaign and vote’s done?”

  “For now,” my father says, arms folded, standing behind his desk, one foot tapping the floor in impatient thought. “Though it irks me that he’s allowed so much power – like he’s laughing in our faces. My security’s barely able to keep the wolves from our door. People are questioning why we won’t let them in for interviews, and I have to keep citing personal privacy. But they don’t think people like us deserve any kind of privacy at all… and one journo, Hester Bainwright – he’s being particularly vocal. Our biggest critic. Tempting to do something about him.”

  My father’s no longer talking to me. He’s just voicing his thoughts out loud, for me to hear, but if he can, he would rather solve any problems himself. I might have inherited that trait as well, because I’m always thinking of ways to solve problems, too. And sometimes, solving one just creates another.

  Like Roze.

  She’s a problem I can’t quite solve right now. She’s lodged there within, and she’s not going away any time soon.

  The problem of whatever it is I feel. And the problem that she wants an entirely different Great Wish than I do. I can keep quiet on that for now, but when it finally reaches the moment…

  I’m not entirely sure I’d let her use the Wish to bring back her friend.

  “Gentleman’s been sniffing around us,” I interrupt my father, just when he’s potentially brooding over finding a way to the irritating journalist he hates so much. “He’s keeping tabs on us. I think he’s going to try and find some blackmail material.” I almost tell my father that he wants to buy back Roze, but realize almost instantly that this would be a mistake.

  Because my father would jump at the chance to rid ourselves of a problem, gain some extra cash – yet the reason for Gentleman’s sudden interest in Roze would remain hidden. If I told him she had The Morrigan’s bones, that will start up a whole new avenue of conversation.

  I think there would be security twenty-four seven around my suite. Her friend, Alex, and Tiffany’s body then can make great hostage targets to keep her pinned in place.

  “I’ve heard he’s becoming more active,” my father says, nodding to my news. “I’ve also been hearing some strange rumors from my underworld contracts. They tell me whatever people in that kind of world are saying, real or imagined. And one such rumor that keeps cropping up is that one of The Morrigan’s bones is in Halberg.” My father pauses to examine my reaction. “Of course, you’d need the rest of the body for anything remotely interesting to happen, but there’s talk that the bone has been placed inside a human. You’ve heard of this?”

  “I have,” I say. “But I think it’s a load of bull. Wasn’t it only a month ago they were talking about finding a fingerbone from the first ever shapeshifter? Pretty sure that turned out to be a dead end.”

  “Yes..,” my father says, as if slowly chewing cud. “All sorts of nonsense crop up in that channel. But The Morrigan’s a little more traceable than a fingerbone from someone who lived potentially millions of years ago. She was last alive in the 17th century, then killed, and said to have her bones scattered. At least 206 of them in the world, more if those ones have been fragmented. So I find this rumor perhaps has weight.”

  “I see,” I say, my hands suddenly clammy. He’s gotten a little too close for comfort. And if he’s mentioning this, then that means he might already be guessing about the worth of Roze or Alex or Tiffany. The notion chills me to the core. And I realize I might not be able to hide away from him forever.

  The time might come where I’ll need to tell my father. But in doing so, it’ll become abundantly clear that I’m not following his commands to stay away from her. To keep the distance.

  “Did you hear anything about it, son?”

  I consider only for a split second. “I think so. But that was all I heard. Just little things that didn’t seem significant. Being kidnapped temporarily didn’t improve my knowledge either, father. I still rely on the contacts like you do. But they’re having trouble gleaning anything extra and useful. And I have to be careful not to step too near Gentleman.”

  “But he wants to try and blackmail us, you say? Well, he’s got the perfect material. We’ll have to arrange another meeting. Ask what the devil he wants.”

  Fuck it. “He wants Roze, father.”

  My father narrows his dark silver eyes. “Your healing slave?”

  “The human who was implanted with that, yes.”

  “That makes no sense. Why sell her to you, and then demand her back? That’s insolence,” my father says, almost breathing fire through his nostrils with anger.

  “It’s because, well, we think Roze might have an implant of The Morrigan in her,” I say, and my father’s face goes slack with shock. Hastily, I try to inform him of what I know. That someone deliberately implanted her and tried to buy her. I bought her first. And that someone’s searching for the final bone so they can get the Great Wish in a year or so’s time. I keep out the fact that The Morrigan is in Tiffany, and I don’t say that we can actually have the Wish granted ourselves. That’s one too many.

  My father digests the information, before giving me a flinty stare. “You kept this from me,” he accuses. “Whatever for? You know I’d want to help keep this bone out of another’s hands.”

  “Because I wanted the human to have her freedom,” I say, not using her name. “I wanted the three of them to be bought and freed.”

  “That’s not possible, and you know it. Not if she has The Morrigan’s bone in her.” My father sucks at his teeth. “So Gentleman wants her back. Presumably to sell the bone on. But who was it that intended to buy it at the auction?”

  “Maybe the person who was originally collecting them,” I say, disturbed at the notion.

  “Precisely,” my father says. He looks like he has a plan, but he pauses before he storms out the office. “You’re not holding anything else out on me, are you?”

  “No. But I do want the humans to have their freedom returned to them.”

  My father simply gives a soft snort, before leaving through the door.

  Roze

  Imagine my surprise when four days after I’ve arrived back into my comfortable prison, Cato’s father announces that he’s giving me a small, private hospital for me to work my magic in, and he’ll provide services for Tiffany and Alex as well.

  “Where the hell is this coming from?” I say to Cato, when he comes to take me to this new place, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed.

  “I’m not sure. You know what I’ve told him. But it’s three weeks before the bill gets voted on. If he whisks you out now, I don’t see how it’d end up with good results...”

  “I don’t want to,” I say, heart clenching, gripping onto Cato’s arm. Beron is pacing behind us, soft and quiet. “I don’t want to be a surgeon anymore.”

  I feel Beron touch me lightly on the shoulder. “You could do a lot of good from this position, couldn’t you?”

  I could. But do I want to? Especially considering how desperate some people were to buy me. Considering how desperate Gentleman was.

  “Is he trying to make me more public so that Gentleman has nothing to blackmail you guys with?” I ask, mind swirling as I fathom through the possibilities. I can’t help but think that the whole point of me being stuck in this suite, only allowed outside under guidance is to hide this secret. But making me part of a private hospital blows all of that out of the water, so to speak.

  The “private hospital” however, turns out to still be within the estate grounds itself, but in one of the outbuildings that I previously thought belonged to one of the servants that worked on the premises. Since there was the main building, and tucked behind it in the walled off enclave was a row of smaller properties, and I know older styled estates used to
have such houses for their servants. One of them appears to have been refurbished, and inside, I’m greeted with a gleaming, sterile environment that seems more to me like the inside of a 70’s asylum, rather than a nice, modern hospital. It’s just missing a few torture instruments lying on shiny trays on squeaking carts.

  “Your working grounds,” Cato says, still looking ill at ease. “I’m sorry about this.” I feel a light touch of my cheeks, before he withdraws his fingers. “I’m sorry for all of this.”

  The brief interlude of memory from what happened in the bedsheets a few nights ago from his touch dissolves just as fast as it had appeared. I want to cling onto those moments more. They’re still so fresh, so vivid, but I also know that I have to be prepared for a potential trap.

  I’m sure Cato and Beron are not in on whatever this is, or had the choice. The head of the household has the final say, after all.

  I’m shown around to what appears to be my office, and it becomes clear that I’m going to be the only healer in the premises. An entire little clinic, just to myself. There’s even a computer in the office, and a rather bubbly Personal Assistant, a Vickie McKenzie, helps draw me up my current client list, and I see that I already have clients coming today.

  “What the hell,” I say to Beron and Cato. “I don’t have a license. I don’t have anything that makes me legal!”

  “Um, you do, actually,” Cato says, still wearing the tight-jawed expression when he pulls open a desk and reveals to me documents, and a lanyard, and Halberg based I.D, all shiny new, the lanyard still smelling of fresh, hot plastic.

  “What the hell,” I repeat, softer this time. The magic’s tickling inside me. Begging to be used. “Why wasn’t I asked? Why?”