Tricked

by Claire Thompson

Happily, Sir was feeding her regularly now. Her stomach was no longer a hard knot of empty pain and her hip bones didn’t ache when she lay on her side. Last night, he had even let her lick what was left in his bowl of ice cream. She could still almost taste the creamy sweetness on her tongue.

  Again the small voice niggled at the back of her brain. Impatiently, she shrugged it away. Yes—she understood she still needed to keep her eyes and ears open for any possibility of escape. She hadn’t forgotten about the gun or the keys that were always around his neck. If she ever got the chance, she would certainly seize it.

  But in the meantime, it was best to please and obey her Master.

  “Hey, there,” he said now, grinning down at her. He was bouncing up and down like a little kid, radiating nervous excitement.

  She smiled back, relieved to see he was in a good mood. Life was much easier when he was happy. “Good evening, Sir,” she said, though, judging by the dark sky outside, not to mention her full bladder, it was probably quite a bit later than evening.

  “Dark Club was awesome,” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “I reconnected with this couple I met in Berlin. Greta—that’s the sub—she’s a total pain slut. They’re heavily into sadomasochism.”

  Damon cupped Callie’s breasts, squeezing them. Her nipples were still tender from the clamps he’d used earlier in the day. She winced, but of course made no protest.

  “They were doing a blood play scene,” he continued, still kneading her breasts. “It was super intense. The dude made a million tiny cuts all over her body with a real scalpel. Blood was dripping down her tits and thighs. It was so fucking hot.”

  In spite of herself, Callie shuddered. Her heart began to thud unpleasantly. Was he going to draw blood again—this time on purpose?

  She almost opened her mouth to beg him not to do that to her, but instead bit down hard on her lower lip. Slaves were not to speak unless spoken to. She mustn’t give her Master reason to be angry with her. She must learn to accept whatever he chose to give her.

  Finally, he stopped mauling her breasts. He trailed his fingers lightly down her abdomen. Then he cupped her shaven cunt, pressing painfully against her bladder.

  She drew in a sharp breath, wishing desperately that she could close her legs. He would not be happy if she peed in his bed!

  “What is it?” he said, apparently noticing her discomfort.

  Oh, good. A direct question she could answer honestly.

  “I need to pee, Sir. Really bad.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he said, lifting his eyebrows, a sadistic gleam coming into his eyes.

  Please don’t make this a test. Please don’t make this a test.

  “All right,” he added, to her vast relief. “We don’t need another accident, do we?”

  “No, Sir,” she quickly agreed.

  Yesterday, or was it the day before? She no longer had a good sense of the passing time. At any rate, recently, he’d tied her between two trees in the back garden by her wrists after lunch. Leaving her there, he’d taken a long, leisurely swim in the pool. It had been almost peaceful standing there, the grass soft beneath her feet, the fresh ocean air kissing her skin and filling her lungs, birds singing in the branches above her.

  But when he’d climbed out, instead of releasing her, he’d lain down on a lounge chair. Closing his eyes, he’d drifted off to sleep. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been left strung up. She, too, had somehow managed to doze, her head lolling on her chest, her arms completely numb from lack of circulation.

  She’d wakened herself when she’d felt something warm and wet trickling down her inner thigh. She’d tried to stop, but it was no use. Once the floodgates had opened, there was no going back.

  She’d spent the next anxious twenty minutes worrying he’d be angry with her for failing to hold her bladder. When he’d finally gotten up to release her, he’d wrinkled his nose and looked down at her still damp inner thighs. Happily, he’d been in a good mood, and because it was outside, he hadn’t felt the need to punish her.

  Now he unclipped her cuffs and allowed her to roll from the bed to the floor. She hugged herself, rubbing the circulation back into her arms as he led her to the bathroom.

  As she started toward the toilet stall, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Pee in the tub, hands on your head, legs spread wide so I can see.”

  The first time he’d made her do that, she’d blushed beet red with embarrassment. Now, she couldn’t care less. Anyway, slaves were not permitted modesty or privacy. They were the property of their owner.

  She dutifully climbed in, put her hands on her head and spread her legs. As the urine streamed between her legs to the porcelain, Damon watched, his dark blue eyes flashing. “You’re a disgusting pig, you know that?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she replied obediently. Sticks and stones…

  “There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me, is there, cunt?”

  “No, Sir,” she said promptly, no longer sure if she was lying or being sincere. What did it matter?

  “I’m going to put that to the test,” he continued, unbuttoning his shirt. “I invited Master Wolf and his sub over to the house. I want to show them what an obedient, dirty little slut you are. They’re intense players, but that’s all they are in the end—players. Me and you—we’re the real thing. Master and slave. No stupid contracts or consent bullshit. I command. You obey, End of story. Am I right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Callie replied automatically, though his words had sent a shockwave through her being.

  He was going to bring other people there?

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

  Hope—that emotion she no longer permitted herself—flared suddenly, as bright as a shooting star against a pitch-black sky. Something inside her that had fallen asleep now awoke with a start. Her heart began to race, her breath catching in her throat.

  This is it, that persistent voice in her head shouted urgently. His arrogance will be his downfall. No way they’ll think what’s going on is consensual. They’ll call the police. They’ll save you! It’s finally happening. You’re going to be set free!

  Damon, his shirt now off, was watching her, his eyes narrowed.

  She caught herself, suddenly terrified she’d revealed her thoughts through her expression. Or worse, said them out loud!

  Closing her eyes, she willed herself back into a place of quiet submission. Hush, she ordered the internal voice, quieting its shouts to a whisper. Obey your Master. That’s how you stay safe. Breathe in slowly… Let it out…

  She opened her eyes again, forcing herself to meet his gaze. In a calm, steady voice, she said, “I’m done peeing, Sir. May I wash myself?”

  “Sure.” Damon opened his leather pants and dragged them down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock sprung free, fully erect. “Then get over here and suck my cock, you dirty little whore.”

  Once she was on her knees, Damon’s shaft down her throat, he gripped her by the hair. He tugged it hard, bringing tears to her eyes. “Of course, when they come over, you won’t make a fucking sound.” He pumped in and out of her mouth, gagging her with each thrust. “Duct tape should do the trick nicely.”

  Chapter 18

  Damon took a step back to admire the view. “Lift your ass a little higher and spread your legs wider. That’s it. Yeah. Perfect.”

  Callie was kneeling on the small throw rug by the front door, forehead touching the ground, wrists loosely cuffed behind her back. He’d made sure she was properly groomed after her shower, her skin smooth, her hair glossy. She really was a lovely girl, with those huge brown eyes and that luscious mouth made for plundering.

  More and more lately, now that she was properly trained, he found himself almost wishing he could keep her. It would be satisfying to bring a real slave to Dark Clubs around the globe. He could definitely show all those players a thing or two.

  Silently, he chided himself for even considering it. He had to be out of the villa by the end of the week. Whi
le he’d seriously considered finding another place to rent in Costa Rica, real life was intervening. He had obligations back in the States he couldn’t put off forever, and he didn’t dare miss the next board meeting.

  He’d had fantasies of keeping her locked up in his penthouse apartment. He’d design a sound-proofed dungeon, and that room would always be off-limits to the housekeeping staff. She would be so brainwashed and controlled by that point that she would no longer even remember there was an outside world. He would become her universe. She’d be his special plaything, living for the moments he let her out of her cage to service and amuse him.

  When he traveled, if he couldn’t take her with him, he’d hire someone who knew how to keep their mouth shut to take care of her. Kind of like a dog sitter, except in this case it would be a slave sitter. If you threw enough money at something, it was always doable.

  But even as he concocted these elaborate fantasies, he knew they were just pipe dreams. He didn’t dare take the chance, however tempting, of bringing her back with him to Chicago. It would be risky in the extreme to smuggle her back into the States on his plane, much less keep her stashed away in his penthouse. He’d been checking the internet, and she was officially a missing person. He’d watched a clip of her parents on a local news station, tearfully pleading for any information about their missing daughter. It almost made him feel bad.

  But she was the one who’d hooked up with someone she’d met at an online BDSM site. Well, maybe she hadn’t technically hooked up with him, but rather with the invented Diana, but why quibble about details? And, she still could have said no when “Diana” explained she’d be meeting the handsome cousin on her own.

  She’d made her choice, and now she had to live with it.

  Besides, he’d already agreed to her sale—a very nice sum indeed—and he’d gotten the strong impression the trafficker he was dealing with wasn’t someone to be crossed.

  But, hey, he told himself philosophically, he still had a little more time to use and abuse his personal cunt to his heart’s content. He was glad he’d had the balls to invite Master Wolf and his girl to the villa. He couldn’t wait to show Callie off.

  He glanced at his watch, his nerves jangling with anticipation. On the stroke of eight, the intercom for the front gate buzzed. Looking at the intercom camera, he saw a nondescript white sedan. He pressed the button to speak. “That you, Wolf?”

  “Yes. We are here.”

  “Great. Just punch in the code there on the panel to your right, followed by the pound sign. It’s five-six-two-seven. Then just follow the driveway back to the villa. You can’t miss it. You can park right in front and come on to the door.”

  “Danke. See you in a bit.”

  Excitement fizzed along Damon’s nerves. He glanced back at Callie, who hadn’t moved. Walking back to her, he bent down and placed his hand on her head. “Remember,” he admonished, “you aren’t to make a sound while they’re here. You will obey every command instantly. You won’t move a muscle until I give you express permission. I want them to see how well trained you are. Make me proud tonight.”

  He gave her ass a light slap. “There’s a big bowl of ice cream in your future if you please me. You disappoint or embarrass me in any way, and you’ll spend the next twenty-four hours in the punishment closet.”

  She tensed slightly, but otherwise didn’t react. Her face was hidden beneath the curtain of her hair.

  He crouched in front of her and grabbed a handful of that silky hair, forcing her head up. She looked sexy as hell with the silver duct tape covering her mouth. Her eyes widened with fear as she stared at him.

  That gave his cock a jolt of pleasure. How he loved that look of helpless fear.

  He was all-powerful.

  He was a god.

  Still gripping her hair, he hissed, “You understand, cunt?”

  She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. Satisfied, he let her go and rose to his feet.

  He heard the car pulling to a stop in front of the house. After a few moments, the doorbell rang. Heart beating fast, he unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door.

  Unlike the leather gear Master Wolf had worn at Dark Club, that evening the big, burly man was dressed casually in jeans and a red T-shirt, his dark chest hair peeking above the neck of the shirt. His feet were shod in scuffed black boots. He had a gear bag over his shoulder, and his shaved head gleamed in the porch light.

  Damon, who had briefly considered dressing in leather, was glad that he, too, had opted for jeans, though his shirt was Prada, his loafers Gucci.

  Wolf’s sub was packed into a sexy red minidress with vertical zippers along the length of it on either side. She wore matching red, high-heeled ankle boots. Her lips were painted crimson and her light green eyes were heavily ringed with kohl. Her white-blond hair hung loose to her shoulders and long, sparkly earrings dangled from her ears. Though she was probably in her late forties, Damon had to admit the bitch looked pretty good. He’d fuck her if given the opportunity. Why not?

  She brazenly looked him up and down. He had to resist the impulse to slap her face for such impudence. He glanced at Wolf, who didn’t seem to mind his sub openly ogling another man.

  Deciding it wasn’t his problem, Damon flashed a smile. “You made it. Welcome,” he said expansively.

  “We’re happy to be here. Thank you for inviting us,” Wolf replied.

  “My pleasure. Please come in.” He took a step back and waved them inside.

  As they entered, their gazes fell on Callie, who had remained in position, ass upraised, legs lewdly spread, face hidden. Good girl.

  “This is my lovely slave girl,” Damon said proudly. “She rarely plays with others, but she’s excited about tonight. Callie, darling. These are our guests, Master Wolf and his sub, Greta.”

  Callie, wisely, remained still as a statue.

  “Oooh,” Greta breathed, dropping to her knees beside his girl. “She is so pretty, nicht wahr? But see, her legs are—how do you say?” She glanced at Wolf. “Wie sagt man Zittern?

  “Trembling,” Wolf supplied. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Damon snapped, irritated. He glanced at the other man, who didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed that his sub had spoken without permission. “My slave is highly trained.”

  Players, he thought dismissively. But, to avoid any more possible hassles, he patted Callie’s ass and said, “You can switch to a kneeling up position.” Leaning down, he whispered close to her ear, “Remember what I said.”

  Damon took a step back, watching as she brought her legs together and lowered her bottom. She swayed a little as she lifted herself into an upright position, slightly off-balance because of her wrists cuffed behind her back. That, of course, was a necessary precaution. He didn’t dare risk allowing her to have her hands free while the couple was there. It would be an unfair temptation he wasn’t willing to risk.

  Excitement zipped through his body—the same kind of heady thrill he got when poised at the top of a particularly difficult ski run, poised to fly down the mountain. While a part of him recognized what he was doing was a little crazy, he couldn’t deny the dark, perfect thrill it gave him to think in a few short minutes, there would be witnesses, albeit clueless ones, to his masterful abduction.

  He’d dressed Callie in a sexy black leather waist cincher for the occasion. It gave her an hourglass figure and accentuated her bare breasts, pushing them up and together like an offering. He’d rouged her nipples to a dark red. There were still faint welts from her last caning marking the pale skin.

  She wore a matching thong, the small triangle of leather at the front barely covering her smooth little cunt. Black leather wrist and ankle cuffs completed the ensemble. He’d decided to keep her barefoot, since she wasn’t very good hobbling around in her heels, and he wanted to make the best possible impression. Too bad Master Wolf wouldn’t get to see that hot little mouth in action.

  Because, as tempting as it was, he didn’
t dare leave Callie ungagged. While she seemed to have accepted her lot, adding other people into the mix was a very risky proposition. Why give her the temptation to speak out of turn? No. It was much safer to keep her mouth forcibly shut in the presence of others.

  “Klebeband,” Greta said incomprehensibly, frowning with evident disapproval.

  “What’s that?” Damon asked. Why couldn’t the damn woman speak English? Or, better yet, keep her fucking mouth shut?

  “Duct tape,” Wolf supplied, also staring at Callie’s face. “Greta doesn’t like gags. Especially duct tape.”

  Who gives a fuck what she likes? If she were mine, I’d keep her gagged all the time, on principle.

  He placed his hand on Callie’s shoulder. “Callie loves them. Especially duct tape. Don’t you, baby?”

  Callie lifted her head, her eyes flickering toward the couple. For one heart-stopping second, he thought she was going to do something stupid. He dug his fingers warningly into her shoulder, willing her to behave. Had this been a mistake?

  Slowly, she nodded, her gaze now on the floor where it belonged.

  Damon blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  He patted her head and flashed his brightest smile. “Would you care for a drink? I have an excellent single malt, if you like Scotch.”

  “I’m sorry?” Wolf asked, looking confused. “We’re going to scene, yes?”

  “Well, yeah,” Damon replied, not understanding.

  “Alcohol and BDSM don’t mix,” Wolf said censoriously.

  “Oh, right,” Damon pretended to agree. One fucking drink? But okay, whatever. He forced another smile. “Not a problem. How about some sparkling water?”

  Wolf glanced at Greta. “Bist du durstig, meine Liebe?”

  “Nein, danke.”

  “We’re good,” Wolf said. He glanced around the room. “You have a play room here? A dungeon?”

  “Naturally,” Damon said smoothly. “I can see you’re ready to play, so how about we get this party started?”

  “Excellent,” Wolf agreed.