by Vonna Harper
As morning light seeped into the bedroom, Bay got up and slipped naked into the bathroom. His slave probably needed to pee, but he had to have some coffee before approaching her again. His routine since retiring had begun with turning on the news and reading the paper. Today, while waiting for the coffee to perk, he wandered into a seldom-used wing of the house. The bedroom/sitting area and adjacent bathroom had been designed as guest quarters, but from the time he’d first contemplated becoming a slave owner, he’d started making modifications. He’d kept the queen-size bed frame with its heavy head and footboards, adding eight metal rings.
Depending on his mood, he could spread-eagle his possession with her limbs on the mattress or lifted. He’d bought a cage at an online domination site and set it up where the interior decorator had placed a recliner and small table.
Other improvements included a sawhorse-like contraption also from the domination store and a floor-to-ceiling wooden X he’d fixed to the wall. He’d intended to add other items recommended by Carnal Incorporated, but his business had taken off, leaving him with no time.
Frowning, he put his mind to remembering what day it was. Wednesday, right, which meant he had an afternoon Skype meeting with the attorney handling the incorporation details. That still gave him time.
Suddenly restless and uncomfortable in his skin, he headed toward the kitchen. Before he reached it, however, he turned toward his bedroom. She was kneeling on the floor where he’d left her, facing the door. Let her stare at his naked frame, let her absorb what it meant.
If it was him, he would have draped the blanket over his shoulders for warmth and modesty, hidden her marked body, but then he had use of his hands. Also, he hadn’t spent the better part of the past month wearing nothing.
Her flesh bore inescapable proof of what had gone down last night.
Standing with his hand braced against the door jam, he mentally replayed several TV interviews he’d been part of after a game. No matter how beat up he’d felt, he’d shrugged off certain questions. “Don’t you feel pain? How would you judge your pain tolerance?”
Studying her, he was tempted to ask her the same thing. Instead, he walked over to her with his half erection swaying between his legs. She tried to shrink away. Of course she did. He’d lost his temper last night.
No, damn it! I didn’t.
Carnal had done a pretty good job of preparing him for slave ownership. One thing they hadn’t told him was how to carry on a conversation.
What was he thinking, he chided himself as he loosened the knot around her throat. They weren’t friends or lovers, damn it. He owned her.
“Into the bathroom. You need to get cleaned up.”
And then what? her eyes asked.
He didn’t answer because he didn’t know. She was having trouble getting her feet under her which prompted him grasp her bent elbows and lift. Shoulders back as if she had something to prove, she started toward the bathroom. Seeing her limp made his stomach grind.
Once in the bathroom, he freed her wrists and slid the rope off her waist. Then he leaned against a wall. Shoulders still back, she rubbed her wrists. Was she waiting him out, wanting him to bring up last night? By his reckoning, the standoff lasted the better part of a minute. Then she sat on the toilet and peed, watching him the whole time. After flushing the toilet, she eased over to the sink and washed her hands. Only then did she look at herself in the expansive mirror. Nostrils flaring, she touched the cut on her cheek.
“I didn’t mean—“ Shocked, he pushed away from the wall. “Into the shower, now.”
According to her file, she’d held her own during the daily workouts. They’d found her to be strong with admirable endurance. Watching her gingerly lift her legs as she stepped into the shower, he was hard-pressed to reconcile what he was looking at and her reputation as a runner. She touched her breasts with the soapy washcloth, winced.
“Go on,” he demanded. “What are you thinking?”
“You want to know, Master?”
Of course she was afraid of him. “Yes.”
“What if I say something you don’t want to hear?”
He was used to staring at other big, aggressive men, not a naked and whipped woman. “I won’t hurt you.”
The way she looked at him, he knew she was trying to decide whether to believe him. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Master.”
“Don’t I?”
She brushed her cheek with the washcloth. “When the handlers whipped me, it hurt, but they didn’t injure me.”
“I don’t see any broken bones, damn it.”
“No,” she whispered. Instead of going on, she put down the washcloth and started shampooing her hair. Thinking that long hair would give him another way to control her, he’d stipulated he didn’t want it cut. Hers had some wave to it, making him wonder what could be accomplished with a professional cut.
That was something else he hadn’t thought about. How the hell did a master handle his slave’s personal grooming? He made a mental note to ask Carnal staff about that followed by a reluctant return to the debate that had kept him awake most of the night. Should he tell anyone what he’d done?
Although soap obviously stung her, she didn’t rush her time in the shower, but then he wasn’t in a hurry to face the rest of the day. Only a day ago he’d fantasized about endless hours of being sexually stimulated by a willing and cowed slave. He knew he’d come hard and fast at first. Then they’d get onto the fun stuff—for him anyway. He’d looked forward to judging her performance and punishing her any and every time that performance fell short of his standards. Hell, he’d make her suffer no matter what she did simply because he could.
Because, finally, no one was there to make him follow the damn rules.
Steam enveloped him, drawing his attention back to the room. She’d stepped out of the shower and was holding a towel long enough to cover her pubic area to her breasts.
“What did they tell you about covering yourself?”
“That I should never…”
She hated having to say those words. Strange. He’d think that after not wearing a damn thing for weeks she’d have gotten used to parading around naked. Besides, she had a beautiful body—all except for the bands circling her neck, wrists, and ankles.
And the countless marks he’d left on her.
“Come here.”
After a too-long hesitation, she did as he ordered. Breathing in her freshly washed scent, he pulled the towel out of her hands and began drying her off. Watching her reaction, he lightly patted her cheeks. She didn’t wince. However, she sucked in her breath when he ran the towel over her whipped shoulders. His cock brushed against her. She trembled but whether from fear, anticipation—yeah, right—discomfort, or something else he wasn’t sure.
“Spread your legs.”
A barely audible moan slipped from her. “Master?”
“Don’t think, just do.”
The instant he touched her pussy, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. His intention had been to determine whether she was hurt there. When she remained in place and her breathing leveled out, he tried to relax. Instead, he wanted her. Now. Here.
A marriage of pain and pleasure was responsible for Carnal Incorporated’s impressive track record of turning out well-trained sex slaves. With her body so sensitive, would she be even more receptive to sex?
Working slower than his cock wanted, he repeatedly glided the towel over her crotch. She’d curled her fingers into fists when he started. Now, moment by moment, they straightened. Her breathing picked up, and she swayed slightly. A part of him acknowledged he was trying to atone for last night, not that he’d tell her.
Curious about how she’d react, he carefully worked the towel down the inside of her right thigh. Reaching her knee, he moved over to the other leg and began an upward journey. She widened her stance, continued to sway. The height discrepancy meant he had to crouch and bend over at the same time. His back objected.
“Into the bedroom,” he ordered.
Her repeated blinks said she hadn’t expected him to speak, maybe because she’d slipped into the zone her handlers had warned him about. Knowing his tender administration might have been responsible confused him. Did he want to do that to her?
Instead of answering the question, he took hold of her hand. She stumbled, prompting him to look back at her. She’d tripped over the towel. Stopping, he studied her.
“What?” she asked. “What is it, Master?”
Wrapping my mind around what’s mine. “Turn around. Slow with your hands behind your head.”
A mix of anger and defeat chased away her blissful expression, but she knew not to object. Once again her head went up in that prideful way they hadn’t been able to beat out of her. Stepping away from the towel, she complied. He almost laughed at her attempt to move at a military cadence. Didn’t she know she’d always exude sexuality? Her breasts—damn but they were fine! Even with the marks. Higher and firmer than the silicone jobs he’d had more than his share of access to. Should he have them pierced? Would they look any better? The question distracted him from what she was doing. By the time he’d pulled his thoughts back to reality, he found himself looking at her back. Tanned flesh stretched over her spinal column and ribs before flaring out to encompass her buttocks.
Her whipped buttocks. And thighs equally marked, if not worse.
He’d done that to her.
Clamping down on where his thoughts were going, he walked over to his medicine cabinet. The damn thing looked like a pharmacy. He selected a jar with cortisone and a topical anesthesia as the active ingredients and returned to her.
“What’s that?” She backed away.
“Stand still and hands behind your back, damn it.” He unscrewed the lid. “What the hell do you care? It isn’t as if it’s your body anymore.”
Yes, it is, her eyes said. Jaw clenched, she watched as he dipped his finger in the cream. He wasn’t interested in conversation because that ran the risk of leading to an apology.
Her skin wasn’t broken in many places, but he rubbed the cream everywhere the flesh was red. She kept her hands where he’d ordered her to place them, making him wonder if she was afraid she’d touch him in gratitude otherwise.
Like hell.
Despite his impulse to do so, he kept his fingers off her sex, and if he spent more time than necessary on her breasts, well, he’d paid for them, hadn’t he?
Finally he screwed the cap back on and put the jar away.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.
When had anyone last said that to him? Fighting the thoughts knocking around inside him, he snagged her wrists and pulled her arms down and behind her. He stood over her with her breasts pressing against his middle. “We’re not going to talk about what happened, got it. You belong to me. That’s the only thing you need to concern yourself with.”
Eyes wide, she looked up at him. “Yes, Master.”
Seeing those eyes and her slightly open mouth was his undoing. Suddenly his lips were against hers. There was nothing soft about his kiss, if he could call it that. Damn it, he’d take whatever he wanted from her! With her hands useless and his body blanketing hers, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do. Just the same, she needed to understand the depth and breadth of his mastery.
Ignoring the strain in his back, he increased his punishment of her mouth. When she tried to turn her head to the side, he clamped his teeth around her lower lip. “Don’t you dare,” he muttered.
Fast learner that she was, she stopped resisting. Feeling her sweet, pliable body under his quieted a little of the quick rage that had brought them to this place. She still smelled of soap and shampoo, and her body—his really—was magic beneath him. Grabbing her around the waist, he hoisted her to his shoulder and carried her into the bedroom. He threw her onto the bed and stepped back. Her mouth looked bruised.
“Look at this.” He held up his cock. “And tell me what you think.”
She scrambled onto her knees. “I, ah, it excites me, Master.”
“The hell it does.”
Splitting her attention between his erection and his expression, she nodded. “I know what I must do, Master.”
“You’re damn right you do. This morning you’re going to fuck me.”
“In my pussy?”
Given how last night had turned out, no wonder she was asking. “Yeah. I think so.”
“May I lubricate myself. It would—you’d enjoy yourself more if I was wet there.”
“And you wouldn’t hurt. Yeah, I want you wet but I’m going to do that, not you.”
Her hands fluttered over her shaved mons.
“On your back. Hands above your head and legs wide.”
“Are you going to tie me?”
She had no right asking, damn it, but now that she had, he had to consider his options. “Just do it!”
Watching him, she obeyed. Her legs shook and her fingers clenched. All those nights of imagining having her like this and he couldn’t make up his damn mind. Looming over her small form, he pictured her with her limbs stretched wide. Once she was like that, he could do whatever he wanted. If he decided to dry hump her, he would. Let her beg and whimper, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him.
What if that tore her? How long before he could have her again?
Again the image of his slave spread-eagled and helpless on his bed sharpened in his mind. He could beat her at will, clamp or tie her nipples. Once he’d shot his wad in her, he might shove vibrators in both holes. He’d turn the suckers on full force, then sit back and watch the show.
Listen to her scream and beg.
Sweat ran down his sides, and his temple throbbed. Pain in his cock had him looking at the white indentations his fingers were creating there.
If he was capable of squeezing his cock that hard, what might he do to her?
“I’ve changed my mind.” Looking around, he locked onto what the decorator had called a reading chair. The only thing he’d done with it was toss clothes on it. “Get up.”
Chapter Twenty-six
There was something of Damek in Master Bay. Shari hadn’t wanted to draw comparisons, but she had no choice. Both men had complex personalities. More to the point—and more for her to concern herself with—they couldn’t always control their impulses.
At least she felt less vulnerable now that she was no longer on the bed. Yes, standing before her master as he settled himself into the overstuffed chair was unnerving, but anything was better than feeling like a squashed bug.
Not only was he in superb physical condition, he carried himself with a confidence she could never equal. It wasn’t just the difference in their size. Other football players might be as strong, but no normal man stood a chance against him. He’d accomplished everything an athlete could, excelled at a sport where only the most skilled survived.
“What are you thinking?” he demanded.
She swallowed. “I was admiring your body, Master.”
“Were you.”
Holding out her hands, she continued. “I can paint with these but that’s nothing—“
“Used to create, slave.”
Despair so swamped her she wasn’t sure she could go on standing. The bedroom window was open, giving her a hint of the world beyond captivity. If she had to kill him to regain her freedom, that’s what she’d do. Somehow.
He pointed at his cock. “I’m putting this in your pussy. Get ready for it.”
Her trainers hadn’t allowed her to stimulate herself, but she hadn’t forgotten how. It didn’t matter that she lacked the courage to meet his eyes. She’d look at the rest of him while doing as he’d commanded. They’d shaved her pussy yesterday morning, yet she felt a little roughness. Would Master order her to keep herself bare or would he take over the chore?
Not a chore. Pleasure. For him.
No, damn it! This was her time. Her reward for surviving so much.
Licking
three fingers, she caressed herself. If only her master’s body wasn’t so distracting. Closing her eyes to slits, she glided her fingers over her labia. To her surprise, her clit pulsed, prompting her to lightly touch it. Flames flashed. When she slid a finger into herself, the fire spread out in all directions. Driven by the intensity of her need, she trapped her clit between the thumb and forefinger of her other hand.
Her body twitched. Not trusting her ability to stand, she leaned her hip against the arm of the chair her master sat in. His breathing was ragged, almost as wild as hers. Shaking off her awareness of him, she dove into selfishness. Both of her hands were barely enough, even burying two fingers far into her vagina didn’t satisfy her strange raging need.
A rolling whimper not twisted by pain slipped past her lips. Hunching over, she pressed her hands against her pulsing sex. Moisture flowed from her hot opening. The smell assaulted her.
“Easy,” a masculine voice said. “Not yet.”
A million years and a million worlds ago she’d loved foreplay. No matter how much her body craved release, it also craved the long, almost painful climb. Whoever was speaking must know that about her. When these exquisite minutes were behind her, she’d thank him for knowing so much about her.
“Share yourself.”
Share her body. With her master. Had anything made more sense or taken her farther? Beyond knowing how to answer her question, she shook herself a little free of the fiery web she’d spun around herself. Master Bay was holding his hands out to her. Not caring what he’d think, she placed her juice-soaked ones in his.
“Shit yes you’re ready.”
He parted his legs. She slipped into the space he’d created for her and was still getting used to the feel of his legs against hers when he released her hands and lifted her onto his lap facing him. Her knees found a home between his thighs and the chair arms.
“Put me in you.”
Straightening, she cupped his cock in both hands and guided him into her sopping hole. Her tissues strained to accommodate him, and she threw back her head so she could focus on the delicious sensation. His fingers pressed against her hips. His bulk and length touched every cell of her sex, left nothing unclaimed. When she’d settled around him as much as she could, she slowly straightened, closing her inner muscles around his cock as she did.