by Sansa Rayne
Crying from the humiliation as much as the pain, I follow Ingram, focusing on his lovely figure. He’s got on khakis and a gray short-sleeved, button-down shirt that hugs his muscled chest and broad back. My pussy’s thoroughly soaked, I may as well enjoy the view.
As we walk, the Masters laugh and chat, enjoying my degradation. They talk about everything they’ve seen through the security cameras — every second of the past days has been captured for their enjoyment.
“I’ve never stroked it so many times in one week,” Traves brags. “Not even when I was in college.”
“You know what’s fucking funny?” says another, a voice I don’t recognize. “Go home and do this shit to your wife. You’ll find out how much she regrets signing that prenup.”
I tune them out, focusing on clenching. The fact that squeezing the root adds to my suffering is not lost on me, but I trust Traves wasn’t lying about having to start over if I fail.
Suffering with every step, I nearly collapse when we reach the pavilion. Ingram bends me at the hips, laying my chest down on a table that’s been set up at the pavilion’s center. Five days ago I sat for my trial. It feels like a century since — torment and isolation annihilate one’s sense of time.
I gulp for air, relieved to be done walking and thankful I’m not sitting on my tortured ass. My nipples throb from being pressed against the clamps. Sweat stands on my back, dripping down my sides. My hair hangs limp and filthy.
Then I feel the lashes of Ingram’s flogger smack my backside. Yelping, I lurch in place, bucking against the table. The Masters’ conversations ebb.
Is this it? The last of it?
Ingram slaps my ass with relentless pace. His swings catch my ass from every angle, leaving no part of my skin untouched. Every tremor of impact causes the burning in my stinging hole to flare up, but I don’t let the ginger go. Ingram can keep this up all day if that’s what the Masters demand — I can handle it. I may cry and groan in front of them, but every second of torture is one less for me to endure before this is over.
Unless I’m hallucinating, I could swear I feel the same anticipation in Ingram. He dishes out punishment as if knowing, without any doubt, that I can take it. There’s pleasure in his rhythm — the short pauses and long volleys. Like a musician playing a refrain, I know when the harshest slaps will fall and steel myself against them.
When he’s done, he sets the flogger down on the table in front of me and walks away.
I can’t see from my angle, but the Masters go too, their conversations fading into the distance. Soon clanking silverware reaches my ears; I smell buttery seafood wafting my way. I’m amazed I can even feel my stomach rumbling against the searing burn coming from my ass.
If my punishment is over, no one has said so. It’s only lunchtime. Opting for caution, I don’t move.
Lunch ends. Conversations fade out. Afternoon breezes cool me down. The ginger’s power weakens.
For the first time since my sentence was handed down, my thoughts stray from Ingram. I imagine what John and Brendan are doing back in New York. How many times have they tried calling or texting? Am I officially a missing person yet? Does anyone outside the Enclave know Victor Sovereign had been alive, but now is dead for real? Will anyone ever know the truth about him? If they found out, would they believe it?
When I open my eyes again, daylight has faded into dusk. Simmering onions and garlic carry from the kitchen. I’m starving, though my jaw hurts from the gag. By now it’s all just one giant pain — there’s little point in distinguishing which part of me feels the worst.
Besides, it all goes away when Ingram lifts me off the table and removes the ginger, the gag, the clamps and my restraints. When he carries me in his arms, there’s no suffering — only relief.
I pass out along the way, but wake as he sets me down in his bed.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you here?”
“Yes, I’m here. Are you okay?”
He laughs, his smile pained.
“I’m fine, Kate. Tell me what I can do for you.”
Ointments, a throat lozenge, a bubble bath, a five-course meal… It can all wait.
“Kiss me.”
He does. He picks me up and hugs me gently, and his lips don’t leave mine. My exhaustion and hunger flee. I’ve built up five days worth of carnal desire, ready to be satisfied.
That comes first. Then food, medicine and rest.
And after all that, Ingram and I can figure out how the Masters will pay for what they did to me — for what they did to us.
Kate moans softly to herself, the sound amplified to fill my private room. Six different angles show her lying on the table. Constantly stung by the ginger, her ass shakes — an occasional spasm that tells me exactly when the sensation abruptly sharpens. I’ve watched the loop three times already.
Madeleine huffs through her gag as my cock drives deep into her ass, and as I slide in my full length she releases a shrill squeak. She cuts it off immediately, but I still crack my whip against her backside. Her body twists and her choked gasp almost rises to a scream, but she holds the worst of it in.
Good girl.
I stroke her hair to tell her she’s fine now. I could say so, but the coverings over her ears would block out my words. The blindfold she wears keeps her in the dark too. Deprived of her main senses, she’s only able to feel, and right now I want her to feel every inch of my massive hardness. I want her to experience a version of what I’ve enjoyed throughout the past five days: the absolute symphony of ecstasy Kate’s shrieks and squeals and the dark cloud of Ingram’s impotent rage. My face hurts from smiling so much. My cock burns from having to rub it out or fuck courtesans every freaking hour.
Madeleine’s been my companion of choice; she takes everything I can throw at her. She obeys without question. Her writhing and undulations coax me for more, even when I’m pounding as hard as I can. She’s either utterly insatiable or an excellent servant. She serves her purpose perfectly, milking my rod and taking load after load.
As I thrust, grunting with each wave of pleasure, Ingram steps into the frame and begins releasing Kate. Growling, I reach for the remote and hit the rapid rewind, putting Kate back where she belongs. Madeleine grows still; I must have slowed down in my distraction. I flick her clit with my index finger until she wrenches in place.
To her credit, she doesn’t scream.
“Can you fucking finish already?” Jamison asks, hardly looking up from his new tablet.
I chuckle, giving Madeleine a couple extra hard pounds. He’s waited for me long enough; in fairness, I thought I would have finished much sooner too. Clutching the poor courtesan’s scoured ass, I ram her deep and release my hot seed.
Jamison looks away while I pull up my shorts and spray myself with a little deodorant. Madeleine must smell it, because she sighs loudly. I’ll punish her for that later.
“I’ll arrange to acquire Sovereign Aeronautics tomorrow,” I say, settling into the room’s perfumed recliner. I fetch a bottled water from a small cooler built into the side and drink down half of it. “The stock price is still falling, but if I buy up a majority of shares before the experts predicted it would hit bottom, that should restore some confidence in the value.”
“Thank you,” Jamison says. “And the senior staff? They were vital to Victor’s-”
“They’ll receive generous severance packages,” I reply. “The PR will make it worthwhile.”
He nods.
“Good.”
“What about Kate and Ingram?” I ask. Sounds and images of her torment still sing out from the back of my mind, eager to surface.
“They did as they were told. Don’t worry about them.”
I sip some of the cold water, then spit it like a squirt gun at Madeleine. She yelps at the sudden cold flow over her pussy, flinching in place. I grin.
“They’re going to want to know where Victor got that gun,” I say. “They’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“T
hey might guess you smuggled it with the gifts, but they can’t prove it,” Jamison counters. “I signed off on the inspection; there are no paper records. It’s done.” He sighs, asking, “You don’t feel any guilt at all for what we did?”
Laughing, I get up and pick out a short, wooden cane and swat Madeleine’s ass.
“Victor was a drain on our organization,” I say, enjoying her squeal like an oenophile wafting an uncorked Cabernet. “He couldn’t operate his business. He was dead weight.”
“I’m aware,” Jamison growls. “But that wasn’t reason to kill a loyal colleague. I only condoned all this because he was a loose cannon. He was supposed to kill Atwood and lose his good standing, not get gunned down. And if he’d killed Ingram-”
“Yes, that would have been unfortunate,” I say. I mean it: the last thing I want is for Ingram to die before I’ve had a chance to destroy him completely. “Victor failed, there’s nothing we could do about that. The end result was worth it though.”
“To you, maybe,” Jamison mutters.
I can always alter my plans. Seeing them both suffer like that easily justified the diversion.
“The point is, we’re here now. It’s over. It’s time to move into the next phase,” I say. “Immediately.”
“Agreed. We’ll hold a vote within the next couple days.”
I scoff.
“You can guarantee a unanimous vote? After all this?”
“There’s no better time than now,” he explains. “Right after a resolved conflict, and since you were the one to help resolve it, it will be an obvious decision.”
“Will it be obvious for Ingram? And for Traves? The thing about compromises is they ensure someone goes home unhappy.”
Jamison gets up to leave.
“I’ll get them to agree. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” I reply, giving Madeleine another hard smack with the cane. She has no idea when each swing is coming, and cries out once more.
Before Jamison reaches the door, I add, “Because you know what I’ll do if you fail.”
A shiver goes through him; his hand subconsciously moves to his neck.
“Just one word,” I say, taking out my phone. “There’s nowhere in the world you’ll be safe.”
“I know,” he hisses. “Put that away. I’ll do what you want.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Hardt,” I say, dropping the phone back in my pocket. “See you soon.”
My cock hardens again, so I drop my pants and reach for the lube.
Soon I’ll be made one of the Masters.
It won’t be long before I own them.
The second my eyes open I fly off the couch and make my way to the bedroom. Kate sleeps in a ball on the mattress, practically swaddled in the blanket. I watch for some time, grateful for her peace. When she rips a snore, I actually flinch.
I go back to my couch, not wanting to wake her. She can sleep all day if she wants. She’s earned it. After five days of pure torment, she can have all the time she needs to recover. There were moments when I wasn’t sure she’d get through this — I was pushing her too hard, or the humiliation would make her lose her composure. Yet, she never broke. I’d like to think she was determined to show everyone what she’s made of — she definitely succeeded.
I nod off again on the couch, until I’m woken by a loud pop. Startled, I jump up, but then the pleasant aroma hits me. I find Kate at the stove, frying an entire package of bacon. She’s wearing one of my sweaters, which is comically large on her — it hangs down to her knees, and her arms look like toothpicks sticking out of the stretched sleeves.
A carton of orange juice and an open bottle of Armand De Brignac rest on the counter. She sips her mimosa as the pork sizzles, occasionally nudging the meat around the pan.
“Hey,” I say, leaning against the wall. “How you feeling?”
“Okay. Very hungry,” she replies, her voice still scratchy. After so many days of not speaking, that’s not surprising.
“Good.”
I get out another pan and some oil, a loaf of bread, milk, butter, cheddar cheese and a half-dozen eggs.
“How’s your pain level?” I ask, cracking the eggs over a bowl while keeping one eye on the toast.
“Improving. Don’t worry, I can tolerate it.”
“I’ll get you something, if you want. Painkillers, ointments — whatever you need.”
She flips the bacon with a pair of spatulas.
“What I need is food,” she says, wincing whenever she lifts her arms too high.
I take the spatulas from her and tell her to sit.
“I’ll cook, you relax.”
“Thanks.”
I chuckle, tossing one of the spatulas in the sink.
“You cook for yourself a lot, Kate?”
She laughs.
“How could you tell?”
“Some things you either learn or you don’t.”
While I cook, she sits and drinks.
“You know that’s a $2,000 bottle of champagne,” I say.
Shrugging, she finishes the rest of the mimosa in one gulp and pours herself another.
“I’ve had fancier. And I’m shocked you know how much it costs.”
I pour myself one; it tastes good, though the champagne would be better on its own. Not that I’d complain — I have at least six more in the cooler.
Before long the scrambled eggs, toast and bacon are ready. My stomach rumbles, and I’ve got a nice buzz going.
However, as I set all the food out on the table, Kate gets up.
“Wait,” she says, taking my hand.
She leads me to the bedroom, pulls off my sweater and slides into bed.
“Quickly, before the food gets cold.”
“So romantic,” I mumble, throwing off my clothes.
“Don’t start with me,” she growls. “I need this.”
I don’t argue. Throwing off the blanket, I climb on top of her and pin down her wrists with one hand. She groans, shutting her eyes. I reach down and drag a finger through her slick folds. A few strokes make her whine. Her fluids drip into the sheet, leaving an expanding dark spot — and we’ve barely even gotten started.
“I said… quickly!” she moans.
Five days of pain, humiliation and chastity have left Kate a needful, panting beast. My inner sadist begs to draw this out and enjoy her desperation, but now’s not the time. I guide my turgid cock into her drenched entrance and pound her hard.
In seconds she’s howling, bucking her hips along with my intense rhythm. She climaxes almost immediately, jaw hanging open in ecstasy. However, I don’t let up. I’m not intent on finishing right now, but there’s no rush.
Sweat soaks the sheets in a Kate-shaped blot before we’re finished. Her body glistens. She gasps for air, but she smiles.
“Come on,” I say, lifting her back until she’s sitting up. “Food’s getting cold.”
“I need a shower.”
“Yeah, you do,” I laugh. “After we eat.”
She grumbles, so I pick her up and carry her back to the kitchen. Too exhausted to resist, she doesn’t fight me. Her limbs hang limply, like a rag doll’s. When I lower her into her seat, I do so slowly. Kate’s breath still catches in her throat at the touch, but then she grabs four slices of toast and the butter dish.
We eat. We don’t talk. She moans at the taste of bacon and cheddar scrambled eggs after days of cold, thin soup and bland sandwiches. We polish off the bottle of champagne and pop another.
When we’re done, we shower together for more than an hour.
“I’m never taking a cold shower again,” she says, massaging shampoo into her hair.
I glance at the valve, smirking. With one little twist…
“Don’t you fucking dare, Ingram.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her open-mouth side-eye threatens to get me hard all over again.
“Honestly, Kate, I’m kind of in awe you’re here right now.
After what you’ve been through-”
“It’s because I had you,” she interrupts. “I wanted to be strong for you. That was all I needed.”
I’m not sure anyone else in my life to this point could say the same.
Once we’re dry and dressed, I take her back to the couch so we can talk. She’s put on a t-shirt and shorts. As much as I’ve enjoyed stripping her and locking her in a cage, for once it’s nice to see her clothed and comfortable.
“Kate, I want you to know a couple of things,” I say.
She nods, folding her bare legs underneath her.
“I wanted to tell you this every single day of your sentence, and it killed me to wait, but here it is: the way I feel about you, it isn’t because you saved my life that day. It’s not because I want your help figuring out who’s after me.”
I take her hand, feel its warmth.
“The last few days confirmed what I suspected: that you are strong, defiant, courageous and indomitable — and that’s why I love you.”
A blushing smile brightens her face.
“And that’s why I’ll do anything to protect you. That may mean… doing things you might not approve of.”
“Ingram, I-”
“Wait,” I say. “I know. You wouldn’t want innocent people to get hurt just to save you. I’m sorry, but this is non-negotiable. I’ll do what I must to keep you safe. Not because it’s my obligation, but because I don’t want to be in this world without you.”
Kate leans back against the couch, letting go of my hand.
“I guess that’s what I should expect, falling for someone like you,” she says. “A killer, a saboteur… ruthless and unyielding. But I know you have goodness in you, and that you mean what you say. If there’s one quality I’ve ever needed most from a man, it’s honesty.”
I can’t help grinning.
“Really? It isn’t dominance?”