by Vonna Harper
Carnal Captive
By
Vonna Harper
Copyright 2012 Vonna Harper
Author’s note: Carnal Captive is pure fiction. I sincerely hope no organization like Carnal Incorporated exists. Writing such an edgy and dark story took me out of my comfort zone but what’s life without some challenges? If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of powerful men and helpless women, I encourage you to go elsewhere for your reading. Otherwise, I’m glad to have you along for the ride.
Chapter One
Bay Dennan wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, a dungeon most likely. Then the four women shuffled in and he no longer cared where the hell he was. Muted lights in the large living room highlighted their exquisite nude bodies. Just like that, his cock tightened.
Pulling out a neutral expression he sure as hell didn’t feel, Bay tightened his hold on his brandy sniffer and turned toward his host, a slim, middle-aged man who’d introduced himself as Thomas Smith.
“Interesting.” Bay spoke quietly so the three men gathered around the mahogany bar at the back of the room couldn’t hear.
“That’s all?” Thomas questioned from where he sat across from Bay in a deep red leather recliner identical to the one Bay had been offered. “I encourage my guests to speak their minds. That’s what Carnal Incorporated is about, at least it is for the members. The slaves—“ Thomas shrugged his bony shoulders. “As I’m sure you’ve concluded, their opinions and wants don’t factor in.”
“Do they have opinions and desires?”
Thomas sipped delicately, then extended his sniffer toward the silent and unmoving women. Their arms were at their sides, toes digging into the plush white carpet, heads and eyes downcast.
“I’m sure they did, before the organization took possession of them. Take your time, Bay. Study them. Then let me know your conclusions.”
Study them. Hell, as if he could take his eyes off the lovely creatures. Just because their breasts and pussies were exposed didn’t mean some parts of their bodies weren’t covered. All four—three brunettes and a blonde—had metal collars around their necks. Leather straps with rings imbedded in them circled their wrists and ankles. Two foot lengths of chain were connected to the ankle jewelry.
Faint perfume, something flowery, emanated from them. Their uniformly shoulder-length hair shinned. Their eyes were heavily made up. In contrast, their lips were bare. All four were slender with full breasts and deliciously rounded hips. There wasn’t so much as a shadow of pubic hair. As a just retired professional football player accustomed to having women throw themselves at him, he’d seen his share of shaved pussies, but there was something obscene about this display. Bottom line, the broads had had no say in the denuding. This had been done to them.
Same with the slim rings through their nipples and sex lips.
“Well?” The older man caressed Bay’s knee. “I believe I’ve given you ample time to draw your conclusions.”
Congratulatory hugs, slaps, and punches on the football field were one thing. Being pawed by a scrawny man old enough to be his father was another. Still, Bay didn’t pull away. He’d come here for one thing, his own slave. Whatever it took, he’d play Thomas’ game. Besides, Thomas needed him—or rather his money—as much as the other way around.
“They’re in prime physical condition.” He made himself sound as if he was talking about a car he was considering buying. “Damn good muscle development. No fat. And their boobs look real.”
The blonde lifted her head enough for Bay to realize she hated being described this way. No one had herded them in here. However, they sure as hell hadn’t willingly entered the room. They’d simply accepted they had no choice.
No choice. He liked that—as long as it wasn’t happening to him.
He’d had enough of that for a lifetime.
Time for the tables to turn and for him to call the shots.
“Are you sure about the breasts?” Thomas asked as he removed his hand from Bay’s knee. “There are some really good plastic jobs out there.”
“I’ve handled enough knockers to know fake from real.”
He was a little lit, just enough that his eyes took too long to refocus when he turned his head, not enough that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. The three men who’d been fixing themselves drinks were heading toward the broads. Sudden anger laced through him. The bitches had been brought here for him! They were the come-on, a sample of the merchandise he intended to buy.
Stomping down on his irritation—something that had never come easy—he leaned back and watched as the heaviest of the men stepped behind one of the brunettes and wrapped an arm around her waist. Holding out his liquor glass, he pulled her against him. With her arms trapped against her sides, she’d have a hard time fighting the man who weighed more than twice what she did. The way she stared at the far wall told him she didn’t want this. To her credit—or the credit of whoever had trained her—she rubbed her ass against what Bay had no doubt was an engorged dick.
“This one’s new.” The big man bit the slave’s shoulder, making her gasp. “At least I’ve never seen her.”
“I brought her in last week,” Thomas explained. “Not sure whether I’ll keep her. Depends on how well she scratches my itches.”
Another man laughed. “Hey Cliff, let’s see her ass. Has Thomas marked it yet?”
Grumbling, Cliff pushed the slave away, turning her as he did. Maybe sixty watts of light settled over sweet buttocks striped with at least a dozen thin slashes. A scab on two of them said Thomas had drawn blood.
“Yeah,” the man who’d laughed said. “No doubt about it, you’ve been playing with her.”
Playing. That’s what the world called what he’d done for a living until his contract hadn’t been renewed last year. He’d known the day would come, that a constantly pummeled-on body could only take so much. What he hadn’t been prepared for was no longer having an outlet for his ferocious energy.
Now, maybe, he’d found it.
“I’ll tell you what, boys,” Thomas said. “We’ll let our newest guest take his pick of the merchandise. The rest of us can fight over what’s left.”
“I should have brought my slave,” Cliff grumbled. “You know I don’t like sharing.”
Thomas shrugged. “Your slave bores you. Time to trade her in on a new model.”
Cliff’s harsh laugh made the slaves start. “I can’t get shit for that piece of meat and you know it. She’s worn out.”
“Because you don’t know how to pace yourself. Stop being so cheap and fork over for unspoiled merchandise. You can afford our prices.”
Cliff muttered something, but Bay didn’t give a damn. He’d cooled his heels for nearly two months while whoever handled security at Carnal Incorporated investigated him. He’d met all their requirements, passed all their tests. Now he could put in his order for his own merchandise.
Finishing his drink in a gulp, he stared at the naked quartet. His introduction to Carnal Incorporated had begun when someone sent him a video following a night at a strip club. He’d figured the video had come from the club owner, probably a thank-you because he’d brought a half dozen heavy tippers with him. Instead of more of what he’d seen at the club, he’d been treated to a half hour of a naked and bound woman giving a faceless man a blow job while another man systematically lashed her lush ass.
She’d perched high on her knees with her wrists tethered prayer-like to the band around her slender throat. Her ankles had been crossed one over the other and held in place by another band. Most of the time the man she was sucking on kept her face smashed against his crotch via his grip on her hair. No matter how frantically she worked him, his companion kept up the steady cadence of blows. Finally the recipi
ent of her skills shoved her away, slapping her cheek as he did. She started to fall only to be jerked back in place via the hair hold. White, sticky cream shot from the jerking cock and coated her face.
The sounds—a man grunting like a stuck pig, a switch striking vulnerable flesh, a woman trying not to cry—had been Bay’s undoing. Freeing his painfully swollen cock, he’d jerked off.
That video and the ones that came after it had changed him.
“You make up your mind?” Thomas asked.
“Yeah.” Bay had to work at not licking his lips. His earlier assumption that the brunettes were pretty much interchangeable had changed. Two were probably within a few months of the same age, early twenties while the third didn’t look old enough to drink legally. She had the largest and most erect knockers with a waist he could get his hands around. No way did she weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds. He jerked his head at her. “How old is she?”
The slave shivered but kept staring at the carpet.
“Nineteen.”
“Not younger?”
“What do you care?”
Standing, he walked over to her and gripped her breasts in his massive hands. Perfect. “Go on, bitch. Tell me how old you are.”
Another shiver wracked her body. “Nineteen, Master. Nineteen.”
Master. Was there a more perfect word?
He tightened his hold on what belonged to him for the rest of the night if he wanted. “She’ll do.”
“We get to watch,” the man who hadn’t yet spoken said. “Make sure you’ve got the technique right.”
“Not a problem.” Bay had figured it would be like that. After all, the slave belonged to Carnal Incorporated. No way would the organization risk a newcomer harming the merchandise. “But we’ll do it my way.”
“Which is?” Thomas asked.
Damn but he loved holding onto breasts and not having to think about whether the woman was into being pawed. All those years of coaches, owners, and leagues throwing rules at him no longer mattered a shit.
“Putting her jewelry to use.” He pressed his palms against her ringed nipples. Her arms twitched but remained by her sides.
“Good decision.” Thomas lifted an ornate wooden box from a nearby coffee table and handed it to Bay. “I believe you’ll find everything you need in there.”
Much as he regretted letting the slave go, his curiosity and the growing tension in his cock forced his hand. Any other woman—a free one anyway—would have turned tail and run. Instead the little slave remained where she belonged. He liked the way she’d lifted her head and was watching him. Maybe her nervousness was warring with whatever sexual awareness training she’d had.
Slave training. Something else he intended to learn a hell of a lot more about.
The box contained a sadist’s dreams, everything from rope and chain to dildos and ass plugs. He wouldn’t use the whips or switches until he’d learned the technique but picked up several to see how the slave would respond. Her fingers became fists, and she gnawed on her lower lip. The other females had stepped back as if leaving her to her fate.
“I prefer a switch,” Thomas said, “because it’s easier to direct. I won’t condone her being scarred. When and if that happens, I’ll be the one doing it.”
“Understandable. I know there are limits—“
“Not limits so much as rules, which apply to you more than most.”
“Because?” he asked even though he knew the answer.
“Because you made your living breaking other men’s bones.”
It hadn’t been that simple, but he wasn’t in the mood for explaining.
“Bay,” Thomas went on, “you’re about to sign a contract with Carnal. You wouldn’t have that opportunity if we didn’t believe you were a worthy addition to our association.”
Weary of thinking and eager to move onto action, he dropped the punishment devices and picked up a short, heavy length of chain with fastenings on either end. A delicious wave of heat ran through his veins.
Once, three years into his professional career, he’d suffered a concussion that had kept him off the field for a month. During the enforced inactivity, he’d turned into a trapped and furious animal desperate for physical contact, to punish. Now he had the liberty, opportunity, and invitation to do just that.
Grabbing the slave’s shoulders, he spun her away from him. The chain between her ankles made her stumble, and he took advantage by snagging her elbows and forcing them together behind her back. By the time she had her feet under her, he’d snapped her wrists together with the heavy chains. The longer he studied the strain in her shoulders, the calmer he became. Funny how the sight of a woman imprisoned freed him.
Milking the moments, he ran his nails down her arms, leaving thin white lines on the tanned flesh. Gasping, she rose onto her toes. “I like the all-over tan,” he said.
“So do I,” Thomas agreed. “That’s why I keep the fillies outside as much as I do.”
Fillies. Interesting.
“And you exercise them.” He grabbed her right buttock. As he suspected, firm muscle lay beneath the smooth, dark flesh.
“Not me, unfortunately. My business commitments don’t leave me with enough time. I have experts who handle that chore for me.”
“Experts?” Bay maintained his hold on the slave’s ass cheek while laying down a white nail line on her other cheek. Her breathing quickened, and she pressed her legs together. Damn, was she getting excited?
“Once we understand your requirements and a subject is in our possession, the pros will start working on her. You’re more than welcome to watch.”
I’ll more than watch. “Time-tested techniques?”
“I wouldn’t say that because we’re always modifying our system. Carnal has customers around the world. Their sensibilities differ from what we have in the U.S. Some are in a hurry to take delivery which calls for a crash course.”
Hurry. That would be me. “Carnal’s a global enterprise?”
The men nodded emphatically. “And the taxes are low, non-existent to be exact.”
Everyone laughed, except for the slaves of course. He wanted to learn more about Carnal’s reaches, but that could wait. Remembering how the slave had looked with her elbows nearly touching, he debated forcing them back again, but they’d fall away the moment he released them—unless he devised a means to keep them in place.
Letting go of her buttocks, he retrieved a length of rope from the box and ran it around one of her elbows and then the other. Starting a knot, he pulled. Inch by inch her elbows came closer. She went back up on her toes. Stopping, he determined how much more give she had in her shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” Thomas encouraged. “You’re not going to hurt her. Yet. One of her most valuable attributes is her flexibility.”
Bay pulled on the rope again. Bony elbows kissed. Letting up a fraction, he finished the tie and stepped back so he could see what he’d done.
Marvelous! Helpless!
He’d worn expensive black slacks and a collared shirt—both specially made to accommodate his six foot six inch, two hundred and ninety pounds. The outfit had fit when he’d put it on. Now everything felt tight.
“Where did she come from?”
Thomas shrugged. “Who knows? She was fully trained when I got her. After seeing her video, I put in my order. A week later she was delivered. That’s one of the benefits of being a Carnal board member, fast service.”
Two of Thomas’ other guests were no longer watching. One had already looped a finger through another slave’s collar and was pulling her toward a massive window. Beyond, the night-darkened ocean whispered and waited. The other disinterested guest was pawing through the box of toys while staring at the blonde.
Only Thomas and Cliff remained to see what he’d do.
He jerked the little slave back around. As he’d seen done a number of times on the tapes, he slapped her cheek. “Look at me, bitch. Acknowledge me. Who am I?”
“Master,” she whispered. “You are Master.”
“That’s right.” Damn but his cock was about to poke a hole through his slacks. “I should have left your arms free so you could get to this.” He cupped his erection. “But I like you the way you are. There’s not a damn thing you can do to stop me from spearing you, is there?”
A tear leaked from her left eye, but she returned his gaze. “No, Master.”
“Answer me something. If you were free, would you take off like a scared rabbit?”
Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. He slapped her. “Answer, damn it!”
The strain in her imprisoned arms was being played out in her expression. “I would be punished,” she whispered. “Caught and punished.”
“So you’ll never try to get away?”
I want to, her eyes said.
“Interesting,” he muttered to Thomas. “She’s a slave because you controlled her environment. However, so far no one has captured her mind.”
Catching a nipple ring between thumb and forefinger, Thomas drew the slave toward him. “Nor do I want to. Some masters want their slaves broken. They’re welcome to them. I prefer mine with spirit and soul.”
“So do I.” Bay waited until Thomas released the ring, then turned the slave back toward him. The tapes hadn’t gotten into the slaves’ minds, had given no hint of what, if anything, they thought.
“Something I’ve wondered about,” he said to her. “From what I’ve observed, I’ve concluded that Carnal possessions are as much slaves to their own sexual needs as they are to their masters. Is that true?”
Looking suspicious, she stared.
“Make her answer,” Cliff commanded.
Bay positioned himself between the slave and the slightly rumpled looking Cliff. No surprise, Cliff backtracked. “Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I have another way of getting the answer.”
Suspicion turned to dread in her brown eyes, but he thought there was more to her expression than that, anticipation maybe.
Taking hold of the nipple ring as Thomas had done, he pulled up. The full, ripe breast followed, elongating as he kept the pressure going. He let up a little only to increase his hold. He repeatedly demonstrated his command over an intimate part of her body, slacking off every time pain altered her expression. He didn’t care what, if anything, the others were doing. There was only this connection between himself and the lovely, helpless creature.