To Command and Collar

by Cherise Sinclair

  Kim choked on a laugh. From the half leer on Cullen’s face, he’d just hopped onboard with the tickling idea. He’d already had Andrea’s hands bound in front of her, and now he hefted her to her feet. Turning her toward the ocean, he lashed her hands to the railing, forcing her to bend at the waist, and roped her ankles widely apart to the uprights.

  “No, Cullen. Please, no, Señor.”

  “I don’t have a vibrator, but we’ll manage, little tiger.” His laugh rang out, and he stepped out of his shorts, completely comfortable being stark naked. “Toss me that lube, Raoul.” He caught the lube and drizzled some between his sub’s buttocks and more on his very erect cock.

  “Oh, God, you wouldn’t,” Andrea gasped.

  He contemplated the body stretched out before him, then frowned. “I need to heat you up first, right?” His fingers teased from her armpits down to her clit and back up.

  Once he had Andrea cursing and laughing and wiggling uncontrollably, he worked his cock into her anus, a little at first, then pushing all the way in. She groaned and groaned again as he started to thrust. His hand disappeared around her front, and from the way Andrea moaned, he was playing with her clit.

  “That sounds pretty good, love.” Cullen wrapped his free arm under her stomach, stabilizing them both, and changed from her clit to tickling under her arms. Giggles and groans filled the air.

  God, if they did this in town, Kim thought, the cops would be pounding down the door.

  Andrea was begging and cursing, mostly in Spanish.

  Kim smiled. Here was someone she could ask to translate Master R’s swearwords.

  From the sound of rhythmic thumping on the side of the sailboat, Marcus had taken Gabi back into the water and was enjoying himself. A string of insults was abruptly cut off, and then a minute later, Gabi sputtered. A very calm Southern voice said, “Sugar, you’re fixin’ to drown if you keep that up. Now suck.”

  God, these doms. Kim shook her head and looked up. Master R’s expression was tender as he ran his finger over her lips. “You’re still smiling, mi tesoro,” he murmured. “I like seeing you happy.” He kissed her gently, lingeringly, in a way that had her heart turning over.

  “I think these have been on long enough, so off they come.” He leaned over and snagged the scissors from the deck.

  These?

  When his fingers touched her left breast, she realized. The clamps. Oh no. He snipped through the rubber bands. As the wooden skewers fell away, blood surged back into her left nipple.

  She gritted her teeth together as fire bloomed in her breast, and only a whimper escaped, changing to a high whine when Master R’s tongue stroked over the throbbing peak. The pain grew worse, then turned erotic as he continued to lick circles around the nipple and blow on it.

  Her clit started to throb in response, and then Master R undid the other clamp.

  “Ow ow ow, dammit, ow.”

  He chuckled and licked over the burning, making her shudder, making sensations stream like a marching band straight to her clit. He moved down, nipped her side, licked her belly button, and ran his tongue over her clit.

  Hot and wet, and the shock arched her back. His tongue circled, teased the hood, waking her whole pussy as if he’d hit her with a jolt of electricity.

  Her insides clenched, making her too aware he hadn’t removed the anal plug yet. Maybe she could ask?

  He lifted his head long enough to smile at her. “You’re being a good girl, Kimberly. I think you deserve a reward.” He licked over her clit, up and down, slowly but deliberately, bringing her right to the edge. Every firm rub made her insides tighten more.

  Totally aroused, and damn him, he made her feel as if she had no control over anything, not even her body. Tied up, couldn’t move, a giant plug in her, she’d already climaxed, and now he was—easily—showing he could bring her off again.

  “Let’s see how tight you are with your favorite toy still in,” Master R said. He sat up and unzipped his shorts. Her eyes widened as he pressed his erection against her entrance and started to inch in.

  Oh no. Too big. Much too big. “Wait. No.”

  His piercing hit, stopped him. He moved to a new angle, and the metal went in, a firm pressure sliding along her insides.

  “You won’t fit, dammit. You’re too big.”

  “No, Kimberly. The toy you hid is big. I’m just right.” He leaned forward onto his forearms and kissed her, teasing her lips. Holding steady inside her for a minute.

  His broad hand fondled her breasts. Pinches on her abused nipples arched her spine.

  And then he resumed pushing his shaft in, inexorably, like a tanker forging through the ocean. He watched her face, smiling a little when she’d tried to wiggle free. “Does it really hurt, sumisita?”

  “Yes!” Under his steady gaze, she amended grumpily, “Kind of. No. But it’s not comfortable.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he whispered, “I didn’t think it would be.” And he kept going until he was finally, completely in. His balls touched her ass. God, she was so full it was impossible to breathe. Stretched, aching, throbbing.

  She closed her eyes and shivered. He was on top of her, inside her, and the feeling of being taken—being helpless—was frightening, and yet not, because he was watching her so closely that she felt the heat of his gaze.

  “Look at me, gatita.” His voice had roughened.

  Her eyes opened and were trapped by his. Intense.

  Then he pulled back, and every inch of movement somehow transmuted into exquisite pleasure. She gasped as her insides tried to clench and spasmed over the fullness. His eyes on her, he slid slowly back in, then out, totally in control. In and out, rocking slowly as she adjusted to the feeling.

  “Bueno,” he murmured, and his strokes changed as he drove into her in short thrusts, only partly in. With the anal plug, his piercing rubbed even more firmly over that sensitive place inside her. Stroke after stroke.

  The pressure in her lower half grew into a shivery, desperate fullness. “I need to stop. I need the bathroom.”

  “Oh, I think this is something else, mi tesoro.” He reached down, slickening his fingers, and stroking over her clit, without ever losing the determined thrusting.

  Too much. The anal plug sent odd zinging sensations through her. His ruthless finger rubbed on her from outside, his pierced cock from inside as if they’d trapped her sensitive clit between them, mercilessly pushing her until everything inside her gathered, whirling her senses like a massive hurricane.

  No pause. No teasing now. Faster, faster, and then everything spun completely out of control. She broke, shattering, her entire body having the orgasm as she screamed and bucked and shattered some more. She felt wetness everywhere, and Master R chuckled and pounded into her deep and hard, and she just kept coming, unable to stop.

  Finally he tensed into rigidity, pressing in until she could feel the distinctive jerking of his shaft against her cervix as he gave a low rumble of pleasure.

  His weight pressed her against the mesh as he lay on her, radiating such satisfaction that it made tears prickle in her eyes. Then, with a groan, he reached up to work at the ropes around her wrists.

  She swallowed, tried to speak, and nothing came out. Swallowed again. “You’re evil.” Her voice was hoarse from laughter, from screams.

  “Sí.” He kissed her ear, then nipped her shoulder and laughed when her vagina clenched around him.

  Her arms came free, her wrists still tied together, so she encircled his neck and leaned up to kiss him.

  He kissed her back, taking her mouth to please himself until she felt like melted wax on the floor. As if she hadn’t before. God.

  Eventually, he sighed and pulled out of her, making her aware how wet she was. After he’d released her legs, he helped her sit up, then steadied her as her head spun.

  She realized she was drenched, way past normal, and a flush heated her face. Talk about a wet spot. At least it was mesh under her. Still… �
��I…I’m sorry.” Darn it, she’d said she needed the bathroom.

  “Ah, Kimberly, it’s not urine, chiquita.” He cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “You did what is called squirting, although that’s an entirely inadequate word for something so very erotic. So hot. You women climax in many different ways—this is just one of them.” He kissed her teasingly, his eyes lit with laughter. “Did you enjoy it?”

  She leaned her head against him. “I wasn’t sure if I’d survive it, but…yeah.”

  “Then I will strive to give you more of them.”

  As he rose, she frowned. “Um, Master? Without the tickling next time?” Yeah, maybe it made her whole body more sensitive and gave her a great climax, but still… Please God, let’s skip the tickling stuff.

  He touched the tip of her nose. “That, mi pequeña sumisa, will depend on how obedient you are, no?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The time had come.

  Kimberly stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror and ran a finger over her new collar. Master R had obviously ordered this one especially for her. It was very soft on the inside.

  On the outside, the black leather boasted a silver engraving: Master Raoul’s gatita. He hadn’t added a padlock, saying she’d feel better if she knew she could remove the collar, and the engraving would make it clear she was owned. She touched the leather. Reassuring.

  I’m Master R’s cat. I’ve got claws, and I know how to use them. Look out, you bastards.

  As for the rest of her outfit… Ugh. A leather micromini for the bottom, so short that if she bent over, they’d see her tonsils. The top was even worse since the decorative leather harness left her breasts totally exposed.

  She’d applied makeup with a heavy hand, hoping to disguise the fear in her eyes. Fear of the auction, of the Overseer, of the slavers.

  Not Master R. After yesterday on the boat, she felt closer to him than ever before. He was her security, a lifeboat in a horizon-to-horizon ocean.

  He came up behind her in the floor-length mirror, wearing skintight leather pants and a matching black vest. His face was set, his eyes remote. He’d looked like that on the night he’d bought her, but not here…never in his bedroom before.

  His gaze took her in, and his whole demeanor softened. “You’re beautiful, gatita. The outfit should keep their attention nicely.” He laid a cape over her shoulders. “They called and are only a few minutes away. We need to go down to the street now. Remember your part?”

  “Yes, Master.” Oh God.

  * * * *

  The black, windowless van pulled in front of the house where Raoul waited, his arm around his brave submissive. She suffered an occasional shiver but was holding up better than he’d thought.

  A Harvest Association hireling hopped out, slid open the side door, and let the built-in steps down. “If you would, sir.” He gestured to the door.

  Raoul climbed the shaky steps and glanced at Kimberly in blatant irritation. “Come, girl. Stop lollygagging.”

  She wore the fetish shoes, tall with spike heels, and as she hurried forward, she stumbled and fell to her knees. With a loud impatient sigh, Raoul put his arm on the top of the van for balance and motioned to the attendant. “Help the clumsy bitch.”

  As the man assisted Kimberly to her feet, Raoul crushed the vial he’d concealed in his hand and smeared the exposed swab in long streaks across the roof of the van. To his satisfaction, nothing showed. Kouros had said only special glasses could see paint glowing. Since the slavers used GPS jammers in their homes and vehicles, the FBI’s tracking devices had been useless. But now, hopefully, a helicopter could follow them. When picked up, Sam would perform the same swabbing maneuver.

  Raoul covertly flicked the empty applicator high in the air to land in the bushes and with an annoyed sound, helped Kimberly up the last step. In the van, three unaccompanied men occupied the luxury seating near the door, watching small DVD displays. Two turned avid gazes toward Kimberly, and Raoul wrapped her cape more firmly around her.

  She took a breath and stood straight. Brave gatita.

  “May I have your personal items, please, sir?” the attendant said, waiting on the steps.

  Raoul handed over his wallet and phone and keys to be sealed away, then suffered a pat down. The multitool in his boot was checked for sharp points and replaced when he mentioned he’d be doing a demonstration.

  The light flashed toward Kimberly. She opened her covering, and everyone could see she wasn’t hiding a thing.

  As the man jumped out and closed the door, Raoul chose a seat in the back, far from the others. He pulled Kimberly onto his lap, snaked his hand under her cape and over her breast.

  Her startled gaze met his, and he kissed her lightly, murmuring into her ear, “If I play with you, I have a reason to hold you on my lap, but if you would prefer to kneel at my feet, you may.”

  Her head gave a little shake. At home, she’d have given him a laughing look and shown her pleasure at being in his arms. Not here.

  “Stay beside me at all times, Kimberly. We’ll use the leash again, but even so, I want you close enough to feel you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He cupped her face in his hand, ran his thumb over her lips. “I am very proud of you, cariño,” he murmured.

  She burrowed into his arms in a very unslavelike manner, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to deny her the comfort.

  An unknowable time later, they emerged from the dark van and walked up the sidewalk to a mansion blazing with lights. Raoul strained his ears, thought he heard a faint whisper of helicopter blades, and hoped it wasn’t his imagination.

  As they approached the door where the guards were matching photos to arriving buyers, Raoul attached his leash to her collar. “Stay beside me now, Kimberly.”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered. “Thank you.” In the glare of the outside lights, her face appeared gray.

  He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “You are mine, Kimberly. No one will touch you.”

  Under his fingers, the muscles of her jaw loosened. She gave him a jerky nod.

  He ran his finger around the edge, touching her soft neck. “I like seeing my collar on you,” he murmured.

  Her smile of agreement was followed by confusion. He understood. She didn’t want to be a slave—anyone’s slave.

  He stroked her hair once, then strolled arrogantly to the door. She remained to his right and half a pace behind. Closer than normal, but he needed her close for his own peace of mind as well as hers.

  The two bulky guards at the door scanned a list of photos and stopped at one. “Master R?”

  Raoul nodded.

  The guard triggered a house intercom. “Tell the Overseer Master R has arrived.”

  A slave hurried over to take Raoul’s coat and Kimberly’s cape as Dahmer strode up.

  “Welcome to the auction, Raoul.” When the man turned his gaze on Kimberly, Raoul had to force his muscles to stay relaxed. “Very nice. I like the harness. You’ll probably receive requests for her company tonight.”

  “I don’t share.” Raoul buried his hand in Kimberly’s hair, using the rough move to pull her closer to his side. “My mother thought I was quite selfish.”

  “Of course.” The Overseer gave him a thin smile. “While your area is being prepared, can I show you the merchandise? We have some lovely showpieces this time. I daresay you’ll find one or two you’d enjoy far more than this damaged one.”

  What the hell does that mean? Raoul tugged on Kimberly’s leash and followed Dahmer, thinking of how a bridge would oscillate prior to collapse. Something in Dahmer’s behavior was giving Raoul the same sense of impending disaster. His grip tightened on the leash.

  The marble-floored foyer held a wide staircase that looked straight out of Gone with the Wind. Rather than ascending, Dahmer led them into an antebellum ballroom on the right. Textured wallpaper in red and gold warmed the room, and ornate crystal chandeliers a
ttempted to convey a feeling of romance. But there was nothing romantic about the sound of sobbing and screams drowning out the classical music from hidden speakers.

  Raoul stopped, too angry to move. This was a slave market, no matter the attempt to render it high class. Small café tables and chairs filled the center of the room. The slaves to be sold lined the walls. A heavy cable ran the perimeter, and each slave wore an ankle cuff and a chain securing her to the cable. Raoul nodded in understanding. According to Buchanan, the slavers changed locations with every auction, and a rental agency would take a dim view of someone putting heavy bolts in the walls to serve as restraints.

  Buyers wandered the side aisles between the slaves and the tables, marking the notepads they’d been given. A small pedestal in front of each girl held a large number—the sale item—as well as her biographical and physical information for the buyers to peruse. When Raoul heard the smack of a hand against flesh, he didn’t turn. He was far too close to using his fists on the man beside him. “This is very impressive, Dahmer.”

  “Thank you. I have things to do, so go ahead and walk around. Pick out a couple of slaves you like and remember their numbers. You’ll understand why in a bit.”

  The hair on the back of Raoul’s neck lifted. Yes, something was definitely going on.

  As Dahmer headed out of the ballroom, Raoul glanced at Kimberly. Fast respirations. Hands clenched. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms, hotwire a van, and get her the hell out of this nightmare. Instead he squeezed her shoulder. “You’re doing very well, gatita. I’m proud of the bravery you’re showing.”

  A glimmer of tears showed for a second. Then she lifted her chin and gave him a firm nod. “Thank you, Master. Your words mean a lot to this slave.”

  This slave? She’d referred to herself in third person, undoubtedly trying to be even more obviously a slave for the evening. She’d gone one step too far.

  Kim saw the way anger lit Master R’s face, eroding the control in it.

  “I realize you meant that for the best, but do not ever refer to yourself in third person. You are not an object. Try it again.”