Vonna Harper

by His Slave

  She gasped again when he took hold of the chain and lifted it, but praying this was what he wanted, she straightened. As the blood flowed back into her body, she silently thanked Mace for positioning her so her back was still to the men. Using the chain to guide her, he turned her around. Her gaze lit on Atwood and Robert, whose grins put her in mind of cats staring at a cornered mouse. Had everything they’d said about admiring her writing been lies?

  Taking note of the naked blonde on her knees between her bosses, the last of her former life slipped away. The blonde had unzipped the men’s pants and held an erect cock in each hand.

  “How much input will I have in the equipment I’ll be using?” Mace asked, seemingly oblivious to what the kneeling slave was doing.

  “You’ll have a budget.” Atwood sounded slightly out of breath. “But it’s generous. Why?”

  Mace’s hold on the chain had been so light she’d nearly dismissed it. Now he shook the chain, causing her to suck in her stomach.

  “Because I’m interested in refining this little toy, making it more substantial for starters. For now, however, I believe I can make do.”

  Several men nodded encouragement. Mace’s essence seemed to be reaching her through the chain, either that or her apprehension was responsible.

  Lifting the chain again, Mace brought it to her mouth. “Take and hold it,” he ordered. “So far you’ve had all the fun. Now it’s my turn.”

  Closing her teeth around the links drew her breasts up, but as long as she kept her head down, the strain was manageable. She doubted that would continue.

  “Head up,” he commanded. “Let’s show some pride, slave.”

  Despite the need to beg him to take pity on her, she remembered what he’d said about demonstrating what she was made of. She’d never again work for Edge, but her former employers would remember her courage. Even more vital, she’d prove herself to Mace somehow.

  As she lifted her head, her vision blurred. The pull on her nipples hurt. Hot tension radiated out from them and into her belly. The burning reached her pussy, compelling her to press her legs together.

  “There it is,” Mace announced, “the conduit between pleasure and pain.” He kicked the flogger he must have dropped when she wasn’t paying attention, sending it sliding toward the audience. “I don’t need that after all, at least not now. That’s because I’ve already primed her pump with a little flogger teasing, then with the clamps. Legs open, slave. Push your hips forward.”

  Mindless, she obeyed. No thoughts reached her mind when he grasped her labial lips and lightly rolled them about. Her muscles were being reamed out and left vacant.

  “Head straight. No matter what I do, you are to keep the pose. Otherwise, you’ll be punished.”

  Carefully motionless, she tried to spot him out of the corners of her eyes, but what did connecting with him matter? Mace was touching her in the only part of her body she cared about.

  Thanks to the fluids flowing from her, his fingers roamed freely. She repeatedly struggled to control her breathing, only to suck desperately for air every time a rough finger pad traveled the length of her sex. She rose onto her toes, giving him easy access to her anus. Pressure there deliciously knotted her belly. His finger pressed against her rear opening until it took everything she had not to beg him to fill her there.

  Long after she’d gone mad, he abruptly withdrew. A second later, his hands were on her flanks, nails doubtlessly leaving white furrows as he teasingly raked them.

  “I’ve always wanted to do something,” he said. “Unfortunately, Earth’s liberated women would have me arrested. Here, however, that won’t be a concern, will it, gentlemen?”

  Mutters of agreement penetrated her pleasure/pain fog, but with his fingers working her flanks, she was hard put to recall what he’d just asked.

  “As for the specifics of the something,” he continued, “I intend to pierce a large number of nipples, maybe every slave’s, and place rings in the holes, starting with this one.”

  Switching his attack, he scratched her belly. Light-headed, she shivered. “Once the body modification has been applied, controlling a slave will be a simple matter. No more need to concern ourselves with how long blood flow to a breast can be compromised.”

  All ten fingers now marched over her ribs, moving closer and closer to her captured breasts. Her mind swam, then sank. “I’m all for simplifying work here,” Mace continued, “streamlining the process so the focus is on pleasure for all of us, the men that is.”

  Did any part of her not feel on the brink of exploding? The erotic scratching had driven her crazy. The heels of his hands pressed against her ribs.

  “Looks like she’s getting her kicks.” Bat sounded irritated. “Hell, I thought you were going to whip her. I was looking forward to seeing that.”

  “I’m sure you were, but I believe I’ve clarified my intention.” Mace kneaded her breasts, making her cry out. “You do your training your way. Me, I’m committed to making sure a slave isn’t overloaded with pain. Otherwise, she winds up like the broken creatures you’ve created.”

  “Whatever,” Bat spluttered. “We’ll see how well this damn stupid so-called technique of yours works.”

  “Oh, it does. As I’m about to demonstrate.”

  Despite everything her breasts were being subjected to, Cheyenne struggled to regain control over her responses. She wasn’t sure why she’d gasped when he massaged her breasts when there’d been no pain.

  Her jaw had started to ache, but Mace hadn’t given her permission to release the chain. While applying the clamps, he’d stood so close she wasn’t certain where he left off and she began. It wouldn’t be this way if she was free, if he hadn’t made it clear he controlled her.

  Would it?

  She hated his hands—and loved them. Feared his strength as much as she worshipped it. She wanted her mind and body back, yet didn’t.

  “I’ve been handcuffed,” Mace said from behind her—how had he gotten there without her knowing? “Hated it.” He massaged her shoulders with fingers that effortlessly found every strained muscle. “But my circumstance was different. Damn different.”

  Running his arms around her waist from behind, he drew her against him. Even with his clothes between them, his insistent erection ignited her.

  “Feels damn good,” he announced, repeatedly thrusting his cock at her. “But not quite good enough, and I’m a man who gets what he wants.”

  Backing away a few inches, he again took hold of her bound wrists and lifted them, forcing her to lean forward. She opened her mouth, releasing the chain. The links dropped, pulling on her breasts and forcing a moan past her lips.

  If he heard, or cared, Mace gave no indication. A telltale sound told her he’d unfastened his zipper. Starved for him, she spread her legs as wide as she could, stood on her toes, and thrust her buttocks back at him.

  “Take notice,” Mace announced with his cock gliding over her sex. “No objection on her part, no holding back because she’s ready. Primed. I not so humbly take credit.”

  Eyes closed and pussy dripping, Cheyenne wondered at his ability to bring their bodies together. He had to deeply bend his knees, but with his hands gripping her hips, she wouldn’t fall. In this one thing she could trust him.

  He was taking her from behind, doggy style, her hair over her eyes and head low, useless hands now against her back, the nipple chain swaying.

  On a sigh, she let him in. Welcomed him fully and without reservation. He entered rough and fast, power barely controlled. Pure male, he was at his sexual peak. He’d denied himself while teasing and priming her, but obviously that was behind him.

  Strange hands clamped onto her shoulders, bringing her out of herself long enough to realize that Bat had anchored her in place. Grateful for his support, she braced her legs and readied herself for Mace’s thrusts.

  His urgent strength caught and surrounded her. Standing in the middle of the waterfall would feel like this. The sound of r
ushing water was missing, but his quick, deep breaths completed her. Big and hard, his cock burned every inch of her channel. His balls slapped her. Heat circled her breasts; her nipples throbbed. Her pussy pulsed.

  “Shit, shit,” she gasped. Before she could draw breath to continue, Mace dug his fingertips into her, warning her to remain silent.

  She was caught between the two men, Mace fucking her and Bat standing between her and the others. She was being used, her pussy anyway. Undoubtedly that was the fate of all Blind Spot slaves; whatever pleasure they might get from sex was unintended.

  What about now? Had Mace considered her pleasure in the moments leading up to this?

  His cock dove deeper, stayed longer. Then he pulled back, searing her. Her cheeks, throat, even her ribs burned. Mouth open, she held herself ready for his next thrust, but it came so fast and strong it caught her unprepared. The top of her head collided with Bat.

  Looking down, she stared at the chain. Loving the pull on her breasts, she forgot everything else. She was a slave; Mace had made her his. Her lot was to wear whatever he placed on her, to submit to have her nipples pierced if that’s what he wished.

  Right now he was fucking her.

  Finding his pace, she lost her thoughts.

  “Jesus fuck!” Mace cried. “Ah, hell, fuck.”

  He strained against her, his cum washing her. She welcomed the heat with spasms that gripped her entire body. Panting, she dove into her own climax. Even with her eyes open, she didn’t see Bat and no longer felt his grip. A hot, wild waterfall rushed over her, and she screamed.

  Mace remained fastened to her, his cock twitching and body trembling. Hands that could be rough and kind by turns glided over her sides. His breathing was ragged.

  “You fucking done? Damn it, Mace, this is getting boring.”

  Atwood’s voice penetrated her mind by degrees, cold slowly replacing the glorious heat. She became aware of the strain in her body, particularly the pulling in her breasts, and Mace’s sweaty body wrapped around and in hers. Then his cock slipped away and along with it her insane and dangerous fantasy that things were right and good between them.

  33

  Marks colored Cheyenne’s nipples, but other than that, her wildly tangled hair, and the blotches on her cheeks and throat, she looked much as she had the first time he’d seen her—except for being naked. If it wasn’t for the chance of damaging her nipples, Mace would love to see the clamps back in place. As for the collar he’d ordered removed, that, too, had enhanced her appearance. However, as he’d just explained, the collar hadn’t been his idea. From now on everything she did or didn’t wear was his decision.

  At the moment, he, Robert, Atwood, the man who’d represented himself as judge during Carl Schulz’s sham of a trial, Bat, and Cheyenne were the only people still at the grotto. The others had left for dinner, or rather he assumed the men would eat. He didn’t know about the women.

  Except for Cheyenne, every member of the small group was sitting to the right of the grotto and so close to the waterfall that an occasional spray reached them. Still feeling the effects of a climax that had rattled his teeth, he appreciated the cool drops. The others, undoubtedly familiar with getting damp here, ignored it.

  As for Cheyenne, she stood to his side, her fingers laced together and hands low on her belly. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings, and her eyes were glazed and mouth slack. Much as he wanted to take credit, he suspected the truth was she couldn’t comprehend the turn her life had taken.

  Damn but she was exquisite, the perfect sex slave with her soft yet strong thighs, neatly rounded belly, and full, receptive breasts. A man, him at least, could lose himself in that lush body. What made her even more appealing was the way she responded to being handled like his possession.

  Maybe she was a natural, maybe not. Whatever the truth didn’t matter because circumstances had made her his. He could and would do everything he wanted to her, and she’d grovel before him in gratitude or at least acceptance. As long as she was his, he’d see himself as a dom—one with his own living, breathing sex object.

  If anyone asked, he’d tell them life couldn’t get any better.

  “We’re hungry, Mace,” the judge grumbled, “so let’s get to this. I for one was impressed with your performance.” He gave Cheyenne a dismissive glance. “Your little puppet did everything right. Your lecture was tiresome, but I understand your determination to make your point. If you have another point to gnaw over, which I assume you do, get to it. Now.”

  Cheyenne seemed to draw into herself as the judge spoke. He frowned at her, then turned his attention back to his audience.

  “It’s quite simple, a matter of timing. I’m eager to begin my new duties. In truth, thinking about the latitude I’ll have to do what I’ve only been able to imagine is a hell of a turn-on. However, before I can assume those duties, there are some loose ends I must tie up on Earth.”

  “What?” Robert grumbled. “We’ll take care of everything at Edge, explain away both your and her absence. We’re disappointed in you two, taking off together like that, stealing from the company. Not only did you make off with expensive security equipment, she took her laptop containing sensitive material and interview notes for several hard-hitting political pieces. Obviously the two of you plan to profit from our loss, but until you surface, we can’t prosecute.”

  Robert and Atwood exchanged superior grins, then Atwood spoke. “Time will pass, people forget. Concerned with our image, we’ll decide not to take our suspicions to law enforcement. They won’t get involved. You have no family and her parents will disown her once we speak to them. A year or so and it’ll be as if you never existed on Earth.”

  Mace had to hand it to the two, they knew their business. If he bought into the party line, it would be as if he’d never existed on Earth. He had a place here, a job he’d love.

  “I applaud your planning. I’m certain what I just heard is the overview. I hope to eventually learn the details of our disappearances. What about my house and her condo?”

  Atwood shrugged. “So many places are going into foreclosure these days. You know how it is, people can’t pay the mortgage or have defrauded those they work for. They pack up in the middle of the night and slip away. The banks step in, everything takes a long time, but eventually new owners move in.”

  Mace leaned forward. “What about Rio?”

  “Who?”

  “My dog.”

  “That damn ugly pit bull,” Robert muttered. “I saw that picture you have of him. Get real, Mace. The humane society won’t want him, he’s unadoptable. People take one look at those fighting scars and they run the other way.”

  “Exactly.” Although his legs were still post-fuck weak, Mace stood and walked over to the edge of the pond. He’d never seen such beautiful fish or pristine water. He’d always wanted to take up fishing. Maybe the Blind Spot included rivers filled with salmon and trout and expert guides, free of course. “I’m the only one who wants him.”

  “Are you thinking what I believe you are?” the judge asked. “If so, stop right now. That dog isn’t welcome here.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll understand once you meet the members of the kennel club. All Blind Spot dogs are bred along champion bloodlines. They’re magnificent. A scarred former fighting dog—believe me, he’d be ordered destroyed.”

  “No.” Mace breathed the word.

  “Yes, indeed. Actually, I’m speaking hypothetically because he wouldn’t be allowed in in the first place.”

  “Then—”

  “Bat,” the judge interrupted, “tomorrow morning you are to go to Mace’s place and dispose of the mutt.”

  “No.” Mace kept his voice low and didn’t look at Cheyenne. Just the same, he sensed her tension. “I have to do it.”

  “What’s wrong?” Bat demanded. “Don’t think I can slit some damn mutt’s throat?”

  “You won’t be able to get close enough for that. He’ll rip out
your throat first.”

  First disbelief and then acceptance transformed Bat’s features. Based on the way they leaned forward, the others were interested in the outcome.

  “Then I’ll shoot him,” Bat said.

  “Maybe you’ll get a bullet in the right place before he takes you down, but hitting a moving target isn’t easy. Another thing, I have a couple of neighbors. They’ll hear.”

  Shaking his head, Bat settled back in his seat. Mace noted how weary his eyes looked, how deep the lines around them.

  “Look.” Mace stepped toward Bat, then stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Cheyenne’s horrified expression. “I’ve had the hell investigated out of me by whomever does those things here. It’s no secret I grew up being passed around. The shrinks are right when they say a person can’t love if they haven’t experienced it as a child, can’t commit when it’s never happened to them. That dog bonded to me, I don’t know why, maybe because he saw some of himself in me.”

  “And you bonded to him.”

  Ignoring Bat, Mace split his attention among the other men. “Bond? Me? You want the truth? Coming home to that ugly, dangerous beast meant not having to sweat break-ins. It also meant having to go home every night instead of spending it in some broad’s bed, hair all over the damn place, accidents on the carpet, insane barking at nothing, vet bills, and lugging in dog food only to have him reject most of it.”

  “Your point is?” the judge asked.

  “Point is, there’s only one thing to do and I’m the only one who can do it, tomorrow.”

  “Not by yourself,” the judge insisted. “Bat, you’re going with him, make sure it happens.”

  “Hell,” Bat muttered.

  “Fine. Whatever,” Mace muttered back. For the first time since the discussion had begun, he faced Cheyenne. The color had drained from her face, and she looked sick. So that’s what hate looked like coming from her. “And she’s tagging along.”

  “What?” Atwood vigorously shook his head. “Hell no, she belongs here.”