by His Slave
Slowing even more, Robert made a right turn that took them into what at first looked like nothing but forest. However, within a few yards, they were on a paved road that wove up the mountainside.
“As you can see...” Atwood broke the silence. “Considerable effort has gone into making the entrance to the Blind Spot as civilized as possible.”
The Blind Spot. Despite his curiosity, Mace kept it tamped down. When necessary, he could be patient.
At length they reached the end of the road and a level turnaround area. When the others got out, he did the same. The air was crisp at this altitude, the night sounds both comforting and disconcerting. He turned his hands into fists, then forced them to relax.
“Up here.” Atwood pointed at a path he wouldn’t have seen if the car’s lights weren’t still on. “Not far.”
Atwood was right about that. No sooner had they lost the illumination the headlights provided, he found himself looking at a cave entrance. A pale blue light spilled out from it. The hell!
“You’re quite safe,” Robert assured him. “And you’re expected, anticipated. We’ll allow you to continue to carry your gun, but be assured you won’t need it.”
As Atwood led the way, the light seemed to reach out to envelop them. As soon as he entered the cave, his skin took on a blue hue. Setting aside disbelief, he followed with Robert bringing up the rear, to keep him from trying to run? The only thing flight would accomplish would be a night on foot in the wilderness, because Robert had pocketed the car key.
They were in a tunnel that looked to be made of blue-white marble. No longer mountain-cold, the air was now warm and fresh, smelling of strawberries and other fruits. Flutes and violins played softly. For someone who’d never believed in anything except the here and now, Mace sensed he was ill-prepared for what lay ahead.
Was Cheyenne here? And if so, why?
28
From her cage, Cheyenne stared out at a beautiful world of massive ferns surrounding a pristine clear pond where exquisite fish swam fed by a thin waterfall. Beyond the ferns were lush iridescent trees the likes of which she’d never seen. White, burgundy, and royal blue birds with sweeping tails and feathers drifted from one tree to another. The setting had a tropical look, but without the humidity she associated with the tropics. The sky was an azure blue without a cloud in it, so clean she longed to stretch her arms to embrace it.
The incomprehensibility beyond her couldn’t have been more perfect. Perfect except for the cages. From where she was, she couldn’t tell whether the others were occupied. If so, those prisoners were equally silent.
Ten middle-aged men dressed in what she’d call casual professional sat in a circle in padded, comfortable lounge chairs near the pond. She didn’t try to reconcile herself to the contrast between what they were enjoying and the marble-like floor she was curled on. Although her hands were tucked between her legs, fingering herself was the last thing she felt inclined to do.
The men were ordinary and studious looking. Although they kept their voices low, she occasionally caught pieces of conversation. They were discussing a cold northern weather system and whether its rapid development represented a significant change from this time last year or was an unexpected anomaly. From what she could tell, they were excited yet cautious about the possibility that this might be the result of something called the Ransan Project.
A low, round table stood in the middle of the circle, and on it were folders and loose papers, reminding her of countless meetings she’d attended. One difference: there’d been no chilled wine bottles and paper-thin wineglasses at her meetings.
The most telling difference between her world and this was the naked, collared, and cowed women tending to the gentlemen. They refilled glasses, took notes, circulated folders, talked on cell phones. A few minutes ago, a statuesque blonde had knelt before one of the men and removed his shoes and socks. Now she was massaging his feet, her long hair brushing his instep. Her obviously enhanced breasts looked too large for the rest of her.
There was a woman for each man. They came in various sizes and shapes, although none appeared to be older than mid-thirties. All were attractive. From where she was, she couldn’t see into their eyes, but their body language said it all. Afraid, they hated their lots in life.
In part because she had nothing else to do, in part because fear threatened to overwhelm her if she didn’t keep it at bay, she wondered at the reason for their apprehension. Granted, they’d been stripped of their clothes and sported gold collars far snugger than the one Mace had put on her, but the men were refined.
She might have believed her assessment of the men, if not for another lounging on the opposite side of the pond. Obviously not involved with the others, his chair reclined to a nearly horizontal position. Dressed in slacks and a button-down dress shirt, he was barefoot and, from the looks of him, asleep or nearly so. He had a personal attendant, with the emphasis on the personal.
A curvaceous woman with long, straight black hair knelt beside his chair. If she’d lifted her head, Cheyenne hadn’t seen it, but then doing so would interrupt her task. The dozing man’s zipper was undone, exposing his erection. The woman held his cock in her cuffed hands and was licking it.
Unable to ignore the reality of what might be her future, she closed her eyes. Although she’d been here since last night, she still couldn’t comprehend her new reality. Her captors had said one thing to her when they deposited her near her cage. “Welcome to the Blind Spot.” Since then no one had spoken to her, not even the woman who’d removed her bonds and led her into a black-and-white bathroom where she’d been ordered to use the toilet and wash her hands. Twice since then a woman—never the same—had unlocked the cage, helped her out, and taken her back to the bathroom. She’d been given all the water she wanted to drink but hadn’t had anything to eat.
The air smelled wonderful, and the music was peaceful. If she’d been looking for the perfect vacation spot, this would be it. She’d dine on strawberries and drink fine wine, swim in the pond, and stand under the waterfall.
Knowing she needed to face reality, she reluctantly opened her eyes. The woman she had no doubt was a slave was still licking the reclining man’s cock. He’d turned his head and was looking toward the waterfall.
Two people were emerging from what must be a space behind the water because they weren’t wet. The man was tall and stocky, powerfully built. Unlike the others, he wore jeans and short-sleeve brown pullover. He also had on a belt from which dangled rope, cuffs, and a flogger like the one Mace had used on her.
Mace.
The naked woman beyond her was trying to match the man’s pace because he had hold of the rope leading from her bound wrists. Her arms reached for him as if entreating him, but her shackled ankles slowed her. She stumbled, caught herself, hurried after him. Although she wasn’t wearing a gag, she didn’t ask him to wait for her.
By twisting inside her cage, Cheyenne was able to watch as the unlikely pair headed for the men around the meeting table. They looked up, their expressions saying the interruption irritated them. The man being given a foot rub kicked the woman responsible, sending her flying onto her back. Instead of getting up, she remained where she was.
“Bat, you’re early,” a sitting man said to the one delivering the shackled woman to them. “I thought you understood—”
“I have one of the condemned to deal with,” Bat broke in. “Don’t have the damn time to dance to your agenda.” Jerking the woman to his side, he pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her to kneel. “She’s had the necessary attitude adjustment. Not my problem she’s worthless.”
Another of the sitting men grumbled something Cheyenne couldn’t hear. Then he snapped his fingers, indicating he wanted the woman to crawl to his side. She did so with her head low and her body angled so Cheyenne could see whip marks on her pale back.
Bat had already dropped the lead rope and was heading back the way he’d come.
“Wait a minute,”
yet another man called out. “Where’s her documentation? How are we supposed to know where she is in her training without it?”
“Didn’t take the time for it,” Bat shot back, not bothering to look at who had spoken. “Like I said, she’s worthless. She belongs on a farm cleaning stables, maybe.”
No one responded to the latest comment. In fact, no one spoke until Bat, if that’s what his name was, was back behind the waterfall.
“Damn him,” someone grumbled. “We can’t replace him soon enough.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So when’s the new trainer suppose to get here?”
“Anytime. In the meantime, what do we do with this?” The question came from the man who’d ordered the woman to his side. Picking up the loose end of the wrist rope, he wrapped it around his hand and tugged. The woman meekly crawled closer.
“Not much of a flogging,” the man holding her announced. “’Cause he’s given up on her. What about it, slave? A little more coaxing and you’d be eating out of Bat’s hand? Eating everything we tell you to more like it.”
Everyone except for the woman laughed. Hard as she tried to deny it, Cheyenne had the horrible feeling this would soon be her fate.
She needed answers, some kind of an explanation. Where was she, and why the difference between the sexes here? From what she’d observed, the men were intelligent and educated. No civilized man would condone slavish treatment of women, let alone participate in such behavior.
What did that make them?
And what were their plans for her?
Finally, and maybe most important, did Mace have anything to do with it?
Up until now, traumatized by her experience, she’d managed to keep Mace thoughts at bay. In her mind, Mace represented the real world, the only one she’d ever experienced. Granted, he’d physically, mentally, and emotionally taken her places she’d never been, but through it she’d remained rooted in truth. Now all of that had been taken from her, leaving her with precious little except memories of his hands and more on her.
Was he looking for her? Maybe he’d chalked her disappearance up to a temper tantrum on her part. She’d been unwilling or unable to play by his rules, so what did he want with her?
Her throat dried at the thought that he’d abandoned her. Eventually her absence would send up red flags and people would look for her, but until then—no, she didn’t dare let that kind of thinking swamp her. If she did, she might not have the strength and courage to face—what?
The need for answers outweighing her desire for Mace brought her back to reality. The shackled slave was still on her knees while the assembled men seemed to have forgotten about her as they continued their discussion of weather patterns, but the slave’s trembling spoke of something dreadful to come.
Finally, as one, the men turned in the direction from which she’d entered this strange world. “Hey, speak of the devils,” someone said. “Look who’s here.”
Although her body ached from the enforced cramped position, she shuffled around. Her throat dried again, but not for the same reason as before. Mace hadn’t abandoned her. He was here.
Equally unbelievable, Atwood and Robert were with Mace. Despite her impulse to cry out, she remained silent because going by the greeting she’d just heard, the assembled men had been expecting Mace, Robert, and Atwood. Sick at heart, she blinked back helpless tears.
The men she’d been watching were getting to their feet. Smiling, Robert and Atwood held out their hands and began shaking. Only Mace stood back. Instead of taking in his surroundings, he kept his attention on the men, giving the slaves only the briefest of glances.
Despite the confusion and fear running through her, Cheyenne was in awe of Mace, who now reminded her of a predator. He appeared ready for whatever might happen, taking in everything while keeping his thoughts and impressions to himself. His outfit of well-washed jeans and muscle-defining T-shirt made her body ache. Judging by their intense stares, several of the slaves had taken note of the stallion among geldings.
Stallion? What insanity had her thinking that?
Jerking herself back to reality, she watched as Atwood introduced Mace to everyone. Mace shook each offered hand but said nothing. If he looked around, would he spot her? Maybe not given everything else there was for him to study—unless he’d been here before.
“So,” Atwood said when the introductions were over, “what do you think of the Blind Spot? Not what you’d imagined?”
“How could I?” Mace replied. “I’m still trying to put the pieces together.”
“It’s really quite simple,” a short, overweight man said. His tone reminded her of several of her college professors imparting knowledge to the ignorant masses. “For lack of a better definition, the Blind Spot is an alternate universe, a world unto itself existing parallel to and yet on a separate plane from Earth.”
Cheyenne’s mind spun. Having never been particularly interested in space and disdainful of people’s passion for science fiction, she’d prided herself on being grounded in reality. What a fool she’d been.
“Negative versus positive?” Mace asked.
“In some respects, yes. We aren’t that different from Earthlings.” The professor chuckled. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Truth is, the longer you’re here, the more you’ll realize there’s a vital difference.” He tapped himself on the forehead. “Our greater intellect for one and most important.”
“We debated explaining that to Mace,” Robert broke in, “but decided it would make more of an impact if he saw the proof for himself. So, have we missed anything?”
This wasn’t happening! Yes, everything from the moment she’d been kidnapped had been unreal, but seeing her employers and Mace, mostly Mace, was more than she could process. She dimly heard someone explain that it would soon be time to move to the judgment room. Did that mean she’d be left here alone?
29
Again, although she longed to call out Mace’s name, Cheyenne held back. Every other woman in here was cowed, the newcomer’s back crisscrossed with painful-looking marks. Maybe being caged and silent was better.
“Our timing couldn’t be better then,” Robert said. “Where is she?”
Almost as one, the men pointed in her direction. Although she desperately wanted not to, she started shaking. Her trembling grew more profound as Robert strode her way. Nothing about hearing the cage door unfasten and then open comforted her. If she could, she’d have slunk away. As it was, she had no choice but to emerge because Robert grabbed her hair and jerked. Pins and needles attacked her legs, forcing her to grit her teeth to keep from moaning.
“Hands behind you,” Robert ordered.
If it had been yesterday, she would have told him to go to hell, but back then she’d been dressed, free, and in her own world. Still unable to quiet her trembling, she did as he ordered. Metal bands closed just above her elbows. Obviously Robert had attached something to the bands, because her arms were being forced so close together that they nearly touched. She didn’t know what she hated most, the strain in her shoulders or the way her breasts had been thrust forward.
Barely acknowledging her existence, Robert placed a leather collar around her throat and fastened a short lead to the metal ring in front. She didn’t care where the restraints had come from, only that she felt even less human than she had in the cage. But she wouldn’t cry, damn it! Neither would she beg.
Had Mace been part of this from the beginning? Their sex play had been his way of determining whether she fit into the Blind Spot?
As she and Robert approached him, a stone-faced Mace ran his hands in his back pockets. He’d done that when it was just the two of them, when during one magical night they’d taken turns pulling their dysfunctional childhoods out of closets and shared them. More important, they’d shared their bodies as equals.
“So this is what you meant,” Mace said, his comment aimed at Robert, but his emotionless gaze fixed on her. She felt naked and helpless down to her bones. “It’s
the last thing I expected to see.
“That’s understandable.” Robert lifted his arm so she was forced onto her toes. “The bitch held out on you, right? What more could a dom want in the way of making her pay for her rebellion?”
This place had been warm enough that even naked she hadn’t felt chilled, but with Robert’s comment, goose bumps broke out all over her.
“It’s what you want,” Atwood added. “We understand what makes a man like you tick. Not a bad tradeoff?”
“Why don’t you spell out that tradeoff.”
In addition to not moving for a long time, Mace could go without blinking almost indefinitely. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, but did she want him to touch her? Not if he’d been part of her capture.
“Quite simple,” Atwood said, smiling a catlike smile. “There’s very shortly going to be a job vacancy in the Blind Spot, one only a very special kind of man can fill. You’re that man.”
“Go on.”
“I intend to. The only concession, although we believe you’ll soon agree that the tradeoff is worth it, is that the Blind Spot will become your new home.”
“Go on.”
“I’m getting there. Bottom line, the world you lived in since birth is behind you. Except when job assignments require you to go there, it’s as if Earth never existed. But then, other than the pleasures you participated in at Indulgences and other places, it hasn’t been that great for you, has it? Living alone. No parents. Few, if any, friends.”
What about Rio, loving him?
Mace shrugged. “I’m the security expert, but you were checking me out.”
“We’d be remiss in our duties if we didn’t,” Robert supplied. “A bit more background. Neither my partner nor I are native to the Blind Spot. Like you, we were recruited. We, how should I say it, changed our nationalities some five years ago. However, unlike you will do, we frequently commute between Earth and here.”