Sum of the Whole

by Brenda Murphy

  A NineStar Press Publication

  www.ninestarpress.com

  Sum of the Whole

  ISBN: 978-1-947139-23-7

  Copyright © 2017 Brenda Murphy

  Cover Art by Natasha Snow ©Copyright 2017

  Edited by: Elizabeth Coldwell

  Published in 2017 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, NineStar Press, LLC.

  Warning

  This book contains sexually explicit content, which is only suitable for mature readers, mentions of past familial abuse, past abuse within a D/s relationship, scenes of violence and attempted rape.

  Sum of the Whole

  Brenda Murphy

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  About the Author

  To C, Always

  Acknowledgments:

  As a writer, you spend a lot of time alone; thanks to my writing pals, I never feel lonely. Megan, Fiona, Teresa, Marcy, and Jennifer: Thank you for your love and wise counsel. I heart you guys. Thank you to Allison, Stuart, and Tamra for the gallons of hot tea and dozens of sweet treats that make Templeton’s the best auxiliary office ever.

  Chapter One

  JAYA SCROLLED THROUGH the messages on her phone, rereading the instructions from the owner of the house. Her palms were sweaty in spite of the air conditioning. She shifted her hips, trying to find a comfortable spot on the broad leather seats.

  “Do you wish to stop, Mistress? It’ll be at least an hour before we reach the house.” The driver’s husky voice matched her stocky build and ruddy face. Jaya appraised the thick hands wrapped around the wheel and the way the chauffeur’s livery draped her broad shoulders and considered it. The woman made eye contact with Jaya in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised and lips in a closed-mouth smile. Jaya imagined saying, “Yes, let us stop somewhere and I’ll flog you until we’re both satisfied,” but the instructions from Rowan House were explicit and interactions with the staff were not permitted outside the house.

  “No.” Jaya kept her voice soft and let her gaze rest on the woman’s face in the mirror. “I’m tired of people staring at me.”

  “You’re a sight, Ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “You’d think they’d never seen a woman in a suit before.” Jaya left out the word “dark-skinned.”

  “It’s your height, Ma’am. And you’re fetching in that suit. I imagine out of it as well.”

  Jaya looked down. She had not flirted like this in years and it was wonderful, even if she knew it was not going to lead to anything more.

  “Do you always flirt with your guests?” She relaxed her shoulders and sat back in the seat.

  “Only the ones I find—” The driver looked at Jaya in the mirror. “Stunning.” She turned on the radio and went back to piloting the long, black town car through roundabouts as they left Armadale. As they traveled farther from the city, she was occupied dodging rough spots and the occasional mud-splattered sheep wandering along the edge of the single-track road.

  Jaya sank into the soft leather seats, grateful for the distraction of the driver’s banter and the tinted windows, dark enough to hide her face from anyone who might try to catch a glimpse of the car’s passengers. On the ferry to Skye, she had caught more than one mother reminding her children not to stare. The curious faces of the children were better than the hard looks she got from the men on the ship. Half of them looked like they wanted to fuck her; the other half looked like they wanted to kill her. Some probably wanted to do both.

  She had not anticipated how angry she would feel under the gaze of the other passengers. She had almost wished one of the rude men would start something so she could finish it. She had worn this suit to her father’s funeral, to her brother’s dismay. An orphan again at thirty-five. The high from the banter with the driver wore off and she slumped in her seat. She sifted through her memories of the last two years. Her father’s illness and slow death, her brother’s anger, and Deidre’s departure blended into an oppressing melancholy. What the hell was I thinking? Why am I looking for comfort here?

  She could have chosen another venue for her adventure, but Jaya wanted to experience this house. The house Deidre spoke of as her home. She lied to herself, telling herself she chose this house because it was highly recommended as a discreet, old-school establishment dedicated to unique and personalized experiences.

  Deidre. The woman of sorrows. Never was a woman more truly named. Jaya scrolled through the photos of Deidre on her phone. Brutal memories of their life together filled the emptiness of the ride. As they traveled farther into the country, the battery on her phone quietly expired. Jaya tucked it into her bag and let the rocking of the car soothe her as they drove past rough stone walls and rocky pastures.

  THE CAR STOPPED in front of a towering white stone house. Jaya waited for the driver to open her door. The house was perfectly landscaped, with a circular drive. Two rows of women stood on either side of the steps.

  “Welcome to Rowan House,” a large woman almost as tall as Jaya called from the top step. Jaya walked forward. As she passed, each of the women curtseyed, their greeting perfectly timed and executed with an effortless grace. Their starched and pressed black-and-white uniforms crackled with their movements as the women on either side of Jaya moved as one, each mirroring the other.

  “I’m Martha. Please come in and leave the world behind.” The woman smiled and took Jaya’s arm as she escorted her into the house. Heavy oak doors, the wood black with age, lined the hallway on both sides. Dark blue velvet curtains covered the windows, shutting out what little light remained of the day. The soft glow of gas lamps lit the hallway. The driver followed with Jaya’s bags.

  “Millie will unpack for you while you change, Mistress.” Martha tugged a tapestry bell pull before she opened one of the hallway doors and ushered Jaya into a large room. A partially filled claw-foot tub rested in the center of the room. Steam hung above the water and the soft scent of lavender filled the air. To the left of the tub was a silk changing screen. A blood-red dragon and dark blue phoenix battled on the silk, and the gold threads of the intricate embroidery glittered in the gaslight.

  Martha turned to look into Jaya’s eyes. “You’ve read the contract?”

  “Yes.” Jaya held out the briefcase containing her cell phone and her laptop.

  “No cameras? No other recording devices?” Martha’s voice was stern; her eyes flinty.

  Jaya chewed her lip. She slept with her phone under her pillow. You signed up for this. Don’t give up now.

  “No. That’s everything.”

  “They will be returned to you when you arrive at the ferry after your adventure is over.” Martha smiled as she took the bag from Jaya. “You’ll find your experience so much more
enjoyable without the distractions of the outside world.”

  Right. Because it is so great to feel alone and not be able to contact anyone. Jaya lifted her shoulders and let them fall, straightening her posture. No one to call anyway.

  Martha patted her arm and smiled at Jaya. “I’ll leave you to your transition. Anyone you see is yours to command. They’re all well trained in the arts. A formal salon will commence after dinner so you may choose your submissive—one, or more as you wish. If you find you do not care for your choice, you may choose another at any time. I’m in charge of the house, but feel free to punish any infractions you encounter. Your room is equipped as you requested. If you find you require anything more, we will secure it for you.”

  She left, and Jaya watched as her connection to the outside world disappeared with Martha through the heavy door they had entered.

  She let out the breath she had been holding. With a hard click, another door opened and seven women entered, each wearing a red leather collar and nothing else. They carried steaming pitchers of water which they emptied into the tub. Jaya admired their forms, letting her gaze settle on each of the women for as long as it took for them to empty their pitcher.

  “Let’s get you out of those things, Mistress. If it pleases you.” The honeyed voice at her elbow flowed over Jaya. She turned to look at the speaker. The soothing voice belonged to a small woman who had not been one of those bearing the pitchers. A dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks set off her delicate features. She was naked except for a white collar gracing her neck. The number zero was etched on a small brass tag dangling from her collar, centered above sublime breasts with pert nipples. She stood with her chin tipped up at Jaya, her hands resting on her full hips. Her lips were pulled into an easy smile that reached her eyes. Jaya could not stop herself from noticing the neatly trimmed triangle of red-gold hair lower down and her well-shaped, thick thighs.

  “It pleases me.” Jaya let the woman guide her behind the silk screen. She undressed Jaya expertly, her small hands working fast and skimming Jaya’s skin as she removed her clothing. Her touch was light, and Jaya heard a soft gasp as the woman slid her shirt from her shoulders and her stunning back tattoo came into view. Devi, goddess of life and death, eyes fierce. The tattoo had taken six months to complete and Jaya loved every second of the pain that had come with the beauty that marked her forever. It hid most of the scars from her childhood—at least the ones on the outside. It was the first gift she had given herself after Deidre left. Rowan House was the second.

  “I’ll see your shirt is cleaned and pressed, Mistress.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Sarah, Mistress.”

  “Extra starch in my shirt, Sarah.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  The scent of lavender was stronger now and Jaya heard water splashing as the other submissives worked to fill the tub. She stepped out from behind the screen. Unlike some of her friends who always kept their clothes on with submissives, Jaya reveled in her naked form. Thick-framed, and just over six one in her bare feet, arms and legs hard with muscle from years of physical training, she did not need clothes to be imposing. She drew her power from the greater and lesser scars that marked her, and from the tattoos covering her body. Intricate script circled her arms and incised charms of protection topped both of her shoulders. The Devi tattoo on her back completed her look. She was powerful, dangerously beautiful, and she owned it.

  Seven women knelt along the wall, awaiting her orders. She dipped her fingers in the tub, swirling them through the scented water. Stepping into the tub, she motioned for the first submissive to step forward. She was a dark-haired woman wearing a faded red leather collar. Her tag had a blue-green patina and the engraving was illegible. Head high, she approached the tub with sure steps, her hips swaying.

  She stood in front of Jaya and lowered her head before she clasped her hands behind her back. Jaya grabbed the woman’s chin, loving the way the skin blanched under her grip. She forced the woman to look up. Jaya reached down and pulled the submissive’s nipples into hard points, watching the effect in the woman’s eyes. She noted the way her pupils dilated as her nipples responded to her touch.

  “Wash me.” Jaya lowered her body into the tub. The woman set about her work silently, starting with Jaya’s shoulders. She lingered at her task, her soap-slicked fingers soothing as she washed Jaya’s skin. Anger and tension from the trip drained out of Jaya as the woman soaped and scrubbed her body. She worked her fingers over Jaya’s shoulders, massaging away hard knots of tension, pushing her fingers in and kneading the muscles.

  Jaya closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub. She let out a soft moan as the woman’s soft hands traveled over her breasts and worked their way down. She relaxed under her hands and the nearness of the woman washing her, opening herself to her touch. The woman stopped short of touching her in the way Jaya had hoped she would. She opened her eyes. The woman stood waiting for Jaya to command her. No initiative. She waved the woman away.

  She surveyed the others, kneeling with their hands palms up resting on their thighs, waiting for her orders. She snapped her fingers and the next woman in the line stepped forward with a towel. Jaya stood, water cascading from her skin. She stepped from the tub. This one was younger. Her collar still had some shine; the number eight on her tag distinct. She was dark-haired and dark-skinned with blue-green eyes. Her arms were thickly muscled. Tattooed vines dripped and twined around her body. As she knelt to dry Jaya’s feet, Jaya gripped her hair and tugged it back and turning her face up. Her full lips pulled back in a challenging smile. Jaya studied her eyes, looking for fear and recognition. Seeing none she released her, letting her finish her task. She called the others one at a time—this one to oil her skin, that one to help her dress. She searched each face, looking for the spark she sought, but in the end she dismissed them all.

  JAYA STRETCHED. THE bath had soothed her travel-weary body but did nothing to relieve her desire, nor her restless urge to cause pain. She ached with a bone-deep want and need to have a woman under her. She unpinned her hair, letting the weight of it fall. She ran her hand over her breasts and down her stomach. The late-summer heat had faded and she lingered by the window, enjoying the sensation of the cool evening breeze blowing across her skin. Her nipples hardened and she turned to watch herself in the dressing table mirror. She spread her legs, exposing herself. She dipped her fingers inside and slowly smeared the wetness over her clit.

  Jaya had wearied of the shallow attempts of the submissives to impress her at the salon. They had all been too practiced, too whorish for her tastes. Even if she was in a whorehouse she liked to pretend otherwise. She had decided on Sarah after watching her as she served the evening meal. Her nearness combined with the scent of her fear had Jaya squirming through most of dinner. A soft tap at the door made her reach for her robe. “Come in.”

  “Oh.” Sarah looked down. A blush spread across her cheeks. She was dressed simply, in a white blouse open at the neck to display her collar and delicate cleavage. The short black skirt she wore accentuated her hips exquisitely. The silver tray trembled in her hands, rattling the brandy snifter and splashing a bit over the side of the glass as she stepped into the room.

  “Close the door.” Jaya finished slipping the silk robe over her shoulders and pulled it closed.

  “I didn’t expect you to be, um, so—” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Naked.” Sarah’s blush deepened, as her skin reddened from her collarbones to her hairline.

  Exquisite. Endearing. Enticing. Jaya gave no quarter, pinning Sarah with her eyes.

  “Come here.” Jaya stood in the center of the room. Sarah placed the tray on the nightstand and approached her. She stopped a step away from Jaya with her hands clasped in front of her waist, and lowered her head. Jaya let the robe fall open and stepped closer to her. Clearly forgetting her role, Sarah looked up at Jaya. She slid her hand under Sarah’s hair and cupped the back of her neck.


  “You spilled my brandy.” Jaya traced a finger over Sarah’s lips.

  “Mistress. Please.” She lowered her head as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’ve never…”

  Jaya trembled, basking in Sarah’s apprehension and desire. She gripped her chin and forced Sarah to look up. She stared into Sarah’s eyes. Ah, there it is, the passion, the want. Jaya held Sarah’s gaze as she quivered under Jaya’s touch. The delicate features that defined Sarah’s face were contorted in a delicious blend of passion and fear.

  “You’ve never what? Never carried a tray? You wear a collar. I know you serve. What is it you haven’t done?”

  “I’ve trained in the arts, Mistress, but I’ve not been requested to serve anyone before tonight.”

  “Is that why your collar tag is zero?” Jaya flicked the tag with her finger.

  “No, Mistress. We choose our numbers. I choose zero because it is the nothing that is.”

  “Explain.”

  “I exist as I am because you exist. I exist for you to empty yourself into me. I exist for your desires and your pleasure. I am the nothing that is.” Sarah’s voice was steady.

  “A philosopher.” She held Sarah’s gaze. “Do you wish to serve me, Sarah?”

  Sarah met Jaya’s gaze, the fear in her eyes replaced by boldness and want. “Yes.”

  The earnest tone of her voice sent tendrils of desire curling through Jaya. “Strip.”

  Jaya stepped back to watch as Sarah’s fingers flew to unbutton her blouse. Once she had removed it, she folded it carefully and then slipped out of her skirt. She toed off her shoes. Grabbing the hem, she pulled her camisole over her head before stepping out of the matching underwear. She made a neat pile of her clothes on the chair, placing her shoes underneath. She stood before Jaya naked, her body trembling, her eyes wide. The scent of her excitement filled the space between them. She wants. She needs.