Carnal Captive

by Vonna Harper

  Yowling like a stepped-on cat, she bucked.

  Red faced, Reno gaped at him. “Damn it, what’d you do?”

  “You do your job, I’ll handle mine.”

  Mid thrust, Reno froze. “I can’t trust you. Hell, you can’t trust yourself.”

  Wrong! How dare he say that!

  “Sting her,” Reno ordered. “Just damn sting her.”

  Furious as he was at Reno for ordering him, he nevertheless vowed his partner would never again accuse him of losing control. No more letting the tiger out of its cage.

  Deliberately not meeting Reno’s glare, he snapped the whip as if he was after flies that had landed on her. She’d gone back to resting her forehead was on the floor, maybe so she could lose herself in what was taking place inside her whore hole. Reno reach around his cock and grabbed what he could of her pussy.

  The slave whined and moaned, wiggling her buttocks about—not that her effort stood a chance of shaking Reno off. Determined not to let her for a second forget the whip, Damek settled into his job. He was striping her all right, the whip leaving lovely red lines along her thigh. She moaned incessantly. If anything, her buttocks wiggled even more. Grunting, she turned her head toward him, but her gaze didn’t meet his. Her eyes fluttered, and her mouth hung open. Drool dampened the floor.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted like the cheap slut she was.

  “Got her—where I want her.” Reno’s hand was still under his cock, doubtlessly locked onto her pussy, giving it a lesson in domination.

  And pleasure, Damek amended as the slave’s climax hit her. He’d seen everything from ladylike twitches to animalistic howls accompanied by thrashing bodies. Judging by how she writhed, he concluded she was near the upper end. Too bad she wasn’t free so he’d get the full effect. Maybe next time.

  Dropping the whip, he hauled out his digital and repeatedly depressed the button. “Ride her. Yeah, ride the bitch!”

  The other trainer dove into his own release. Deep-throated nonsense spewed from him. Not giving a damn whether Reno would approve, Damek kept taking pictures.

  When, finally, he’d calmed down, Reno pulled his shrinking cock out of the gaping, gushing hole. Damek recorded the exit with a series of rapid shots, careful to include the slime oozing from her. Panting, Reno backed away.

  Between her own rapid breaths and trembling muscles, Damek figured she wanted to be set free so she could rest.

  “Not going to happen,” he informed her, making sure she got the point by slapping her buttocks. “You haven’t serviced me yet.”

  “No, please.”

  He slapped her again hard enough to sting his palm. “Please what?”

  “Master?”

  “Kind of slow on the uptake but I’ll cut you some slack considering your brain’s scrambled.”

  Grimacing, he studied the mess between her legs. Next time, if he didn’t take her first, he’d make sure he had something to clean her up with. Stepping out of his shorts and briefs, he wiped off the discharge as best he could.

  “If it disgusts you,” Reno said from where he leaned against a wall, “why don’t you wait?”

  Waiting wasn’t in him. Spreading her sex lips, he shoved home and started thrusting. Scant seconds later he came, flooding her with his load.

  “That was fast.”

  No way would he acknowledge Reno.

  Chapter Twelve

  According to the information Bay had been given, the slave had been at property owned by Carnal Incorporated for six days. His initial demand to see her soon after her capture had resulted in a reminder about the small print in the contract he’d signed. As whomever he’d talked to explained, experience had taught Carnal staff that immersing a novice slave in the corporation’s way of doing things sped up the process. Having her owner there too soon would confuse her with regards to who she should obey.

  Bay thought the explanation sucked the big one. More likely, the so-called employees wanted to be left alone to partake of the goodies. However, as it turned out he’d been too busy to see her and the operation before today. He’d taken a commercial flight and was picked up by a Carnal employee who’d driven him out to the remote, mountainous location.

  Fortunately the driver hadn’t been interested in talking which had given him time to assess everything that had happened recently. He’d majored in physical therapy but had signed a pro football contract before graduating. His interest in the human body had continued all through his playing years, and he’d designed some equipment for injury rehabilitation. His initial intent after his release had been to market to professional sports’ teams only to encounter resistance from owners and trainers reluctant to try something new on valuable horseflesh.

  Regrouping, he’d looked into mass marketing. He’d thought he’d turn promotion and publicity over to an advertising firm, but they insisted he should be the spokesman. He was the jock after all, the recognizable public face. Both his business manager and lawyer had pointed out that he’d spent more than half of his life in the public arena. Why wouldn’t he want that to continue?

  Because he was damn sick and tired of people running his life. Playing for four teams in the last five years wasn’t enough? He was still going to be treated like a marketable commodity?

  Without enough down time to play with his new toy.

  Once they’d left the highway, it had taken the driver and him the better part of fifteen minutes to reach the house—hell, it was a mountain lodge. The only thing the log and stone structure lacked was a ski resort and bimbos in expensive ski outfits. After being dropped off in front, he started up the stairs. Before he reached the deck, a slim, middle-aged man wearing slacks and collared shirt stepped out and introduced himself as Joe Jones.

  “I’m glad I got to you when I did,” Joe said, revealing too-perfect teeth. “This way I can direct you. Your slave and some others are being worked out back today.” He pointed at a graveled path that went around the side of the lodge. “We believe in exposing our trainees to as much fresh air and sunlight as possible.” He chuckled. “Then there’s the added benefit of letting them see what they can’t have.”

  Going by Joe’s tone, appearance, and demeanor, Bay half expected to be led to a new car showroom. Instead, he was taken past a trio of what appeared to be oversized dog kennels at the rear of the lodge. Joe started down an even narrower gravel path snaking through the pines.

  The evergreens gave way to a large open area surrounded by eight foot high cyclone fencing. Inside the corral—he couldn’t think what else to call it—were several stations similar to what dog owners might use for endurance training.

  There weren’t any dogs here, just four naked young women, each with two casually-dressed men accompanying them. Those, he concluded, must be the trainers.

  “Take your time,” Joe said. “Get the full effect. Once you’ve absorbed it all, let’s see if you can determine which is your possession.”

  Yours. One of those naked and restrained women belonged to him. Walking over to the cyclone fencing, he gripped it. An apparatus that reminded him of a mechanical horse hot walker took up a quarter of the space. A half dozen metal arms were attached to the top of a sturdy metal pole stuck in the ground. Two slaves had been harnessed to the hot walker and were trotting around and around the pole. He guessed the rotation was electrically controlled which meant they either kept up or got dragged in countless circles.

  Metal bands surrounded their wrists, ankles, and necks. Both slaves wore leather headgear that encased them from the neck up, leaving little room for their eyes and noses. Chains ran from the metal arms to rings in their collars and kept the women moving. One had full use of her arms, but they dangled at her sides as if she was exhausted. The other’s had been cuffed behind her.

  “Marvelous for building up the leg muscles,” Joe explained. “Also works on balance.”

  Dragging his gaze off the disturbing yet exciting scene, Bay turned his attention to a slave who was running up
one side of a wooden A frame apparatus. He’d seen something similar at a dog park, only the one for dogs had had wider footing and wasn’t as steeply pitched.

  The blonde slave’s hands were fastened to her collar making her look as if she was begging or praying. Chain between her ankles limited the length of her stride, not that the men goading her on were taking that into consideration. One handler pulled on a leash attached to her collar while the other repeatedly switched her buttocks. It didn’t matter how fast she climbed, the long, thin whip continued to mar her flesh. She reached the top and tried to rebalance so she could half slide, half walk down the other side, but her handlers didn’t give her time. Her feet went out from under her, and she rolled awkwardly down.

  “God damn worthless slut!” The man with the switch stood over her, striking indiscriminately.

  “He’s going to kill her!” Bay headed for the gate only to have Joe rest his hand on his shoulder.

  “She’s too valuable for that. Besides her trainer knows what he’s doing.”

  Bay wrenched free. “Tell her that.”

  “The only thing she needs to know is that her life is in her master’s hands.”

  Instead of admitting he had a lot to learn, Bay watched with clenched fists as the man who had hold of her leash hauled the sobbing slave to her feet. Grabbing her bent elbows, the men forced her back to the start of the climbing apparatus and commanded her to start again. From here, Bay couldn’t tell how badly she’d been hurt. He wished she wore a gag so he didn’t have to listen to her cries.

  Was that his slave? He’d specifically said he didn’t want a blonde, which this one was, because most of the blondes he knew had gotten their color from a bottle, but his contact at Carnal had only said they’d do the best they could.

  Joe pointed to the opposite side of the corral. “There’s one more over there. How about you take a look at her, then tell me which you think you’ll be putting your brand on.”

  The idea of burning his initials, or whatever he wanted, into female flesh got his attention. He’d never seen anything branded, but suddenly it sounded like a good idea. More than good in fact. Something he could do without having to clear it with anyone, proof of his utter control over one damn thing in life.

  Most of the top of the corral had been left open, but in the corners overhead metal bars held the sides together. The horizontal bars also served as a handy way to keep a slave in place. A short, slender creature with tangled, dirty dark brown hair stood on tiptoe under one. She’d been looking up at it while prancing a bit, but now she stared at the newcomers. Bay hadn’t been this close to the three other slaves, and his fingers itched with the need to touch her tanned, nude flesh.

  A red ball gag parted her lips and smashed her hair against her head in back and over the top. Like the others, she wore thick metal bracelets and anklets. Her legs were free, relatively speaking, but a wide leather belt had been cinched around her waist and her wrists were connected to it in front. A leather strap had been fastened to the belt in back. It ran between her legs, over her belly, and clear up to the overhead restraint. Cinched tight against her crotch, the leather kept her on her toes.

  “What’s that about?” he asked.

  “I think you’ll be impressed by how effectively this works the leg muscles.”

  The slave’s head dropped, but when her hair slid over her face, she tried to shake it out of her eyes. Now that he’d taken a closer look, he realized she could put one foot on the ground as long as she tilted her body to that side. Of course that meant having to stand on the toes of her other foot. Periodically she shifted to adjust the strain.

  “How long has she been like that?”

  Joe shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her handlers. Longer today than she could handle at first because improvement in all aspects of a slave’s training is paramount.”

  Bay wasn’t so sure about that. To his way of thinking, no amount of practice could make that position comfortable. One thing, her legs were well-muscled.

  “Something you can’t see but may amuse you,” Joe said. “She has a dong up her whore hole.”

  No wonder the woman looked so uncomfortable—or was that discomfort he was seeing? She had an almost dreamy expression, and although she occasionally looked at them, he wasn’t sure she was still aware of them. Shifting from side to side didn’t seem to be bothering her that much. Hell, maybe she kept herself stimulated this way.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “It’s pretty basic,” Joe explained. “A marriage of pain and pleasure. She’s helpless but right now that doesn’t bother her much because part of her feels good.”

  He hadn’t given enough thought to the specifics of how a woman became a sex slave. He’d figured some kind of brainwashing was involved along with lessons and a healthy dose of fear.

  “Come on.” Joe indicated a gate he hadn’t noticed. “How about we get closer.”

  As he followed Joe’s lead, Bay’s legs felt the way they sometimes had when he ran onto a football field. Less than a year into his damned retirement and he’d give anything to be in pads and uniform again, truly alive.

  A couple of men strode through the gate at the opposite side of the corral. They carried water bottles and made him think of people returning from a work break. Because reading men’s body language had been a job requirement during his playing days, he gathered they weren’t best friends. They respected each other, that’s all. Lifting their bottles at him in a salute, they headed toward the slave with the plugged pussy.

  “What was that about?” he asked. “Am I supposed to know them?”

  “We don’t get visitors every day. We’re proud of the work we do here and enjoy an appreciative audience.”

  With Joe’s encouragement, he wandered close to the three other slaves where he smelled their sweat and felt their hunger and thirst. There was something else, fear undoubtedly but maybe raw defeat. Acceptance. He couldn’t tell much about the expressions behind the hoods of the slaves being hot walked but guessed they weren’t much different from the one still trying to master the incline.

  “This goes on every day?” he asked.

  “Not the same thing. The trainers would get bored and the bitches complacent if they did, but for the record, eight hours a day are spent in physical activity.”

  “What about the rest of the time?”

  Joe’s smile brought out a feline quality. “The slaves aren’t given much down time if that’s what you’re wondering about. Training them in how to act around their masters is an exhausting but necessary process. We don’t allow sub-par performances. Our reputation is at stake.”

  An unexpected wave of unease distracted Bay from the decidedly intriguing view of naked and helpless females. It was going to take time to shift from seeing a member of the opposite sex as an equal to a possession, that’s all.

  “May I make an observation?” Joe asked.

  “I guess.” The two trainers with the water bottles had reached the tethered slave. Her body language clearly said she didn’t want them near her.

  “This is your first slave, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Owning a living body calls for a unique mindset. Most men only fantasize about achieving that power. You’ve become one of a privileged minority, superior to the drones modern society has created. The longer you embrace this lifestyle, the more freeing it’ll become.”

  “What about the women? What do they get out of it?”

  “Not women,” Joe corrected with another of his feral smiles. “Slaves. Possessions. It takes them awhile to embrace their new existence of course, but eventually they come to the realization that they’ve been saved from a boring and stressful life.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Think about it.” Joe indicated the two endlessly plodding in a circle. “They no longer have any financial concerns. They don’t have to go to work, run errands, put up with demanding bosses, put gas in their cars. Someone feeds them so
they don’t even have to concern themselves with food preparation.”

  If not for the distraction of the lovely naked forms, Bay figured he could shoot holes through Joe’s theory. However, although he wanted to point out that the women—slaves—undoubtedly wanted back control over their lives, his fingers tingled in anticipation of touching always available feminine flesh.

  He’d taken the first step toward that goal when he forked over a huge chunk of money aimed at becoming an owner of flesh.

  “There’s something else,” Joe said, “as Carnal products, the cunts are assured of an existence where their sexuality is all that truly matters. They no longer have to pretend they don’t have sex on their minds twenty-four seven.”

  “They think about sex all the time?” Like I did when I was a teenager.

  “Once they’ve been conditioned to do so. Some come to us as true whore material. Others need more convincing, but it’s all the same in the end. Well, what do you think? Which of these delightful subjects belongs to you?”

  Feeling drawn to the one on her toes, he pointed.

  “And why did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Her legs. She’s a jock.”

  Joe chuckled. “She was quite the runner. As for whether she continues in that vein once you take her home, that’s up to you. And yes, you’re right. Would you like to see what she’s been learning?”

  “Of course.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shari was in the dungeon she loathed and would blow up if she had the chance. Right now none of the other women were in it. Little as she knew about them since they weren’t allowed to speak to each other, she needed their company. Their silent comfort.

  Damek and Reno were with her of course. In addition, a tall, powerful man sat on a bench. The way he’d studied her when she was at the outdoor exercise area, she had the unsettling suspicion he’d bought her. He was responsible for her hell.

  And once he took her from here—no way could she hold her own against him.

  “Back straight,” Damek snapped. “Show a little pride.”