by Sophia Reed
It truly was amazing. I might have liked it if I had been a guest.
No one had told us we couldn't talk. My place at the center of two men had rapidly changed to sitting on a hardwood chair next to Chloe, which actually suited me better. Chloe was every bit as lovely as Cole had said, with pale everything – pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, such white skin. I couldn't guess where she was from or what her ancestry was, but probably one of those Nordic countries. She had a ready smile and her owner didn't seem to care if we talked so we did, in small bursts of quiet words, so that no one would object and we wouldn't get so involved in the conversation that we forgot ourselves.
Chloe had a degree in art history and two children. I longed to ask how she carried on the dynamic of their clearly BDSM relationship but common sense got the better of me every time I started to.
She meanwhile asked me what I did and I shared that I was a police officer from Washington State. I didn't tell her about being undercover and whatever she determined for herself, I let her. She was more interested in how I knew Mr. St. Martin and I told her that a mutual friend who preferred to remain nameless (and location-less, I thought to myself) had introduced us.
It was as close as I could come to not telling her about the drugs but at the same time not lying, and when she asked me about it, I admitted there was a contract between us. The conversation between us ebbed and flowed, a little about daily life which for her was normal and for me was anything but. We were discussing favorite horror novels (The Shining for me and The Haunting of Hill House for her) when I realized Cole had come over and was standing directly in front of me, his hand out to help me to my feet.
My stomach instantly turned to nothing but nerves and I wouldn't have continued my conversation with Chloe even if it had been allowed. I felt sucker-punched as the eyes of everyone in the room turned to me and I wanted to run, once again. But the instant I stood I felt the bite of the stilettos again and knew I wasn't going anywhere fast. They were beautiful shoes but they were hobbling and they buckled onto my feet – no toeing one shoe off with the other foot.
"Annie."
"Yes, sir." I kept my gaze down.
"Look at me."
He was standing right in front of me. For an instant I hoped, stupidly, that he would tell me that whatever I managed, that would be enough. Or that by coming here and lasting this long, it was the fulfillment of my part of the evening and now I could go back to my room.
Or that it had all been a joke, not a particularly funny one, but that of course there was no orgy.
Amazing that I could have that many fantasies in the space of no time at all.
"You've had a relaxing evening so far, Annie. Exactly what I wanted for you. But I think maybe it's time for you to play hostess now, don't you?"
His eyes gave nothing away. But he'd asked me a question followed by an affirmative so apparently that was what I was meant to do as well, so I agreed. Yes, sir, it’s time for me to act as hostess.
I had no idea what that might mean.
Cole moved behind me. I started to turn toward him and stopped myself, standing still but not beautifully, not the way Chloe was sitting, but in a jerking, just-caught-myself way.
I felt his fingers still for a minute, like he was judging whether I'd just tried to run or if it was an honest reaction of surprise. His breath was warm on my neck and I realized it was a little cold in the house.
Then he cut through first one spaghetti strap and then the other on the dress.
Instinct made me catch it. Instinct would have made me try to catch anything that slithered down my body like that. I managed to fist it before it passed my sternum, and with my arms both bent inward, fists together clutching the dress at chest level, I was covered.
"Put your arms down," Cole said. "Let go."
For a second, no more than the space of his count to five – thirteen, that puts me at thirteen and I don't even know what the count means – I couldn't force myself to let go.
And then I did. Spasmodically, all at once, letting it fall away before I could stop myself.
The dress instantly slid down the length of my body and pooled on the floor around my feet.
"Present," Cole said and though he'd never ordered me to do this before, he'd told me what it meant.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. My arms, the very arms he'd ordered me to drop, shook with the effort of being lifted again. I put them up on the back of my neck, lacing my fingers together under my hair like I was a perp being arrested. I brought my head up but kept my gaze down, and my back arched, jutting my breasts forward.
My feet were planted wide apart. Not how I wanted to stand when forcibly naked but there was no stance that would be significantly better. The thought ran through my head that being allowed to cower and cover, my hands in front of strategic parts of my body and my shame written plainly across my face, would feel even more naked than this.
I'd be willing to find out, really. Because this was horrible. It wasn't getting any better minute to minute. As I stood, I could hear the rough breathing of Vincent, and see just from the edge of my vision that Kie was staring at me with some mix of emotions on her face, all of them mean. Claude was watching also and Dr. Andrew looked almost predatory.
All I wanted to do was sink through the floor. Or shout, as if I could be loud enough to jolt all these people back to some semblance of what I'd always assumed was reality. If I shouted long enough, shocked them hard enough, surely they'd understand how wrong and weird and terrible this was and allow me –
Cole's hands started at my shoulders, touching me just under where my own hands were, then moved around to the front, fondling my breasts. His thumb and forefingers played with my nipples, erotic and slow, pulling them out, twisting them painfully, rubbing them with the palms of his hands, making me shiver within his grip, involuntarily and helplessly. He slipped his hands under them and held them out, as if offering them, weighing them, then went back to stroking, his thumbs moving on the nipples over and over until a small sound escaped me. Half protest.
Half not.
His hands dipped lower. This time I groaned in frustration and despair. I wanted to spin in his hold, hide the front of my body against his, beg for even the dress with all the panels and the lack of underwear. Please, I wanted to beg. Just let me cover up. Don't let them look at me like this anymore.
I did none of those things. And Cole's hands slid down my body, down along the inside of my hipbones, until he reached the juncture of my thighs and he slid his fingers down and in, opening me up, showing everyone how wet and anxious I was.
There was a general noise then, the others rising, and I tensed all over, unable to restrain it, terrified because I couldn't do this. I couldn't stand still and let them touch me. It was a test, it was a trap, it was obvious that it was and I was going to lose it, I was going to cut and run. There was no way I could bear to stand and let these men, Andrew and Vincent especially – no way I could let them do anything to me and Cole had said anything goes and he was offering me up like a fruit he was peeling to present the best parts.
But as the party took to their feet, the men to the women, each to their own, pulling them to their feet and moving together like it was some kind of bizarre dance, touching, kissing, dresses sliding off, fingers disappearing into orifices, suddenly the whole thing was so much more vile than I had expected. Suddenly my stomach was roiling with what I was looking at. I had never been even remotely interested in anything like this. I loved sex with Mark when he'd hold me down, I liked the barely restrained violence of Jesse and those times it wasn't restrained at all. Rage fucking, yes. Or that angry sex that Mark and I had when he'd handcuff me or hold me down, ignoring the inevitable disgust in his eyes when afterward he would ask if that was what I truly wanted.
Not anymore, I thought desperately at him. Mark, you don't know, if I can just get free of this and back to you, I promise you won't have to worry about any more of kinky anything,
all I want –
All I wanted was to go home.
I broke the position. Even as I did it I saw that Vincent was approaching, Kie behind him licking her lips. I remembered Cole saying he could stop Vincent from leaving the house with Cole's property but he could not in all good conscience stop him from touching me.
But I could.
I was going to lose it again. I tried. One time. I tried. I told Cole.
"Please. Sir. I can't do this."
He growled. He told me to be silent. He revoked my right to speak. He told me Twenty and I didn't give a fuck what it meant, only that he let me go now. Only that it be just me and him. He could beat me however he wanted. He could fuck me until – until my head exploded for all I cared.
Just please, please not this.
A hand touched my arm and I turned to look at the bestial smile Kie was throwing back at her owner.
Without meaning to, I dropped to my knees.
And Cole stepped away from me.
30
Cole
She wavered for a minute before she fell, landing on her hip, one hand up to me.
It was Vincent who took the hand. Instantly I took a step forward, one hand tightening into a fist.
Claude stopped me. One hand lightly on my arm, his eyes catching mine. He didn't shake his head or speak. Just looked at me.
I didn't have to let him take her home. In fact, I'd pull a weapon on him before I let him leave the house with Annie.
But I couldn't stop this. If he didn't get what he wanted he'd do something worse. If nothing else, he'd stand up and demand I let him take his property: Possession of Annie for a month.
I couldn't do that. Not yet. The instant she began to feel like she could go back to Washington and resume her life was the instant she became vulnerable. The minute we think we have something down pat, something trips us up. It's not that pride goes before a fall but more just a fact of life: When we think we're through failing for a while, we fail again. Just to be certain we learn.
She couldn't learn when she was in Vincent's house.
Fists balled, I watched as Kie implored her Master. She hadn't even been his girl at the auction. That had been somebody else. But undoubtedly Vincent had told her about it and now if I read her expression right, Kie thought she had the excuse to hurt someone more vulnerable than she was.
There was a strength to Kie, but it was all physical. She was a fireplug of a girl, all shoulders and biceps and thick, strong back. She was beautiful, with a fox-like face and big dark eyes, but she was cruel.
I can be cruel. But there's a difference between cruelty and sadism. It's not easy to explain. It's not always true. But a sadist is somehow preferable, to my way of thinking, because largely they want sensation. Reaction. Maybe to cause pain but physical.
Kie, she'd do anything she could to hurt Annie, inside or out.
Maybe all I really meant was there's a difference between a sadist and Kie.
Because if Kie could fuck up Annie's delicately resetting mindset, she would.
I watched as Vincent gave Kie permission. Watched her smile and look around the room at all the trays of food. At a nod from Vincent, she moved directly to one of the Mexican platters.
When she came back, I froze in place, consciously relaxing my fists.
She held a fork in one hand. And a shiny red jalapeno in the other.
My gaze went fast to Annie in the middle of the room where I'd walked away from her. She'd fallen from her knees to her hip, but in the last few seconds she'd sat up again, gathering her dress around her rather pointlessly. Once removed, it appeared to have become nothing more than a handful of panels. She had gathered her knees in close, draped the gown, and wrapped her arms around her calves. Her head was down and when Kie addressed her, she didn't flinch but rather all her muscles hardened, fighting, I thought, the urge to lash out.
That's my girl.
Because she'd had a hell of a shock but instead of flinching when Kie reached her, Annie reacted with anger.
It didn't help. I tried to force myself to turn away. As if maybe the debasement of my slave was of no matter. This was only the start of the evening's festivities. There would be time to repay Kie. There would be time afterward to deal with Annie. I couldn't have her embarrassing me. That meant I couldn't take the first step toward that happening.
I waited, fists bunched, for Kie to hand over the pepper and insist Annie eat it.
She didn't. Instead she squatted down easily just in front of Annie and spoke to her earnestly.
Annie's head came up and she stared at Kie with her mouth open, then turned and stared at me.
I nodded. One time. Betraying her utterly.
Under Kie's prodding, Annie moved into an obscene position, on her knees, those knees spread wide, her heels together, her ass up in the air, her hands out in front of her. I understood only then what Kie was doing because until then I'd been watching Vincent, the cruelty in his eyes, the way he watched Annie. I wanted to step between them and block his vision.
Instead I watched, horrified. When Kie squatted down behind Annie, I shouted, demanding she stop.
But it's anything goes at the parties, and an orgy between sadists doesn't always run the way a normal orgy does. Vincent and Andrew both stepped between me and Annie, both turning to look back, determined not to miss anything even as they grabbed my arms.
Kie scored the jalapeno deeply with the fork, threw the fork down and pivoted forward to Annie. One thrust with her hand holding the pepper.
And Annie began to scream.
31
Annie
It felt like I'd been set on fire.
One minute I'd been in the room, horrified at what was happening. Cole stripping me and presenting me was worse, even, than the auction. Because we knew each other so much better now. And because it was so much more intimate. His fingers must still smell like me.
Then he stepped away from me and in the second that I crumbled there, the dissociation settled in as hard as it ever had.
So one minute I was there and fighting and lost and scared, and the next minute I just wasn't. There was no me there. Even as I began to scream, as the delayed heat and then horrible pain began to eat into me, I couldn't convince myself anything I was going through was real.
I started to scream. Or maybe I'd been screaming. Over the sound of it I could hear Cole bellowing at someone to get the fuck out of his way, and someone else to get milk.
Then my brain was buzzing too hard and the fear ratcheting too intense to pay attention. I heard him tell everyone to get out and again demand the milk.
Which came to him fast from somebody I never identified.
"Now everybody. Get. Out." He roared it. And they did it. Even Chloe went.
He didn't waste time talking about it. He soaked a napkin and held it up to press against me, tight between my legs. When instead of panicking or squirming away from him I pressed my crotch harder into his hands, he squeezed the milk into me.
It took no longer than the casein had taken to start working. The active ingredient that makes jalapenos hot can be isolated and frequently is by people who get hurt doing stupid things like How hot a pepper can you eat/drink/smoke/do something asinine and stupid with?
When the pain finally went out, like a burn when the ice takes hold, I was sweating horribly and trembling with the adrenalin from the event. Cole pulled me into his arms, then held me off just far enough to pull his suit jacket off and wrap me in it. It was loads too big and swam around me, making me feel good that he'd wrapped me in it.
And not gone away.
He told me he was going to go after Kie and demand the right to kill her.
I told him not to be stupid. "That's not even a thing."
He didn't censor me or tell me thirty or any other number.
I told him I was going to kill Kie as soon as I could actually stand again.
He told me not to be stupid. "You have the ability to kill her
. And that would be a waste of what you are."
32
Cole
The party continued. Anything else would be unthinkable. Bad form and all that. There was already enough of a problem between Vincent and myself. If I canceled the party or made him leave, he'd make trouble, especially in light of the auction.
So we went on with the party and it was much more normal after I took Annie to her room and left her with a carton of milk and several washcloths and the warning that she call me if anything else happened to her.
The look in her eye when she said, "Anything else like what, sir?" was definitely not the look a slave gives her master.
I didn't correct her. She was up to two dozen points. I was going to have fun with her.
Once she recovered.
Kie was disciplined soundly, until her screams should have kept Annie in the holding cell from sleeping. Then Kie was tied to a St. Andrews cross and left.
From there, it became a normal party, with Chloe and Cecile doing their best to make up for the missing two women. They sucked and fucked and took us all down, two men on each of them, Claude and I splitting Chloe between us, all of us kneeling as he took her from the front and I took her from the rear. Meanwhile Andrew and Vincent cropped Cecile until she crawled to them and begged for any humiliation but no more crop.
There was more. There was a lot more. Most of it was pleasant, feeding the hunger inside me.
But none of it was able to distract me from thoughts of Annie.
And thoughts about Kie.
And Vincent.
33
Annie
The world stopped revolving quite so fast. Despite Cole sending me away, I didn't trust it. He was already keeping score. He might protect me from such pain caused by others, but no one would protect me from him and to be honest, after a second incident involving the same people, I was afraid of what he would do.