THE IMOGEN SERIES BOXED SET PART I: (Books 1-4)

by R. B. O'Brien

  I spoke with strength, conviction, masking my emotions, my fears, hiding the tears that had so quickly risen in me. "Good morning," I replied without enthusiasm.

  He came over to my bed and sat down, causing my body to roll over against him. He smiled down at me with guarded tenderness and pushed my hair from out of my eyes. "You've been crying," he said matter-of-factly.

  "No," I lied. "I'm just tired." I didn't dare look into his eyes. "How long have you been sitting here? Why?"

  He kissed my forehead and my body tensed, tensed again from arousal, from his close proximity, from the kindness he never failed to surprise me with. "It's okay, Imogen. I know you were crying. I know why, and I understand it. I couldn't sleep. I've just been watching you, waiting for you to wake. I wish things were different…I…wish…" And he stopped himself and rose, leaving an empty imprint next to me. "Please go take care of your personal needs. We have been requested in the main hall," and he left me alone, shivering in bed.

  Luckily, the weather was warming up, but still, having no clothes was painstaking, embarrassing, humiliating. Would this nightmare ever end? I took my time in the bathroom, tending to my hygiene, letting the shower run over my body in relentless hot streams that almost seared my skin. I couldn’t get it hot enough to erase the chill that ran through my every nerve ending, my every vein. I did not want to get out; I did not want to face whatever it was that awaited my arrival in the main compound.

  Erik knocked on the door. "Slave," he spoke coolly. "We mustn't be late. We need to go. Meet me in the living area."

  I shut off the water and let myself air dry before I slowly walked into the living area, covering myself as best I could, allowing my wet hair to fall over my breasts. I heard him sigh heavily as I entered.

  "Come here," he ordered, now fully clothed and even more domineering in his gray uniform. Our class system here was easily definable, and I reddened with humiliation.

  I walked over to where he sat and fidgeted foolishly, trying to figure out what to do. I obeyed like a loyal dog and cursed myself inwardly for my lack of conviction to fight him. Should I stand? Sit? I wasn't physically cold, and yet my whole body trembled from nerves, the goosebumps impossible to hide.

  "Still so shy," he whispered. "It's okay. Come here. I need to check you."

  Check me? Oh god. Now what?

  I stood mere inches from him, the stubble on his face making him look even more intimidating than he was. "Relax," he said softly as his fingers trailed down between my legs.

  He spread me and ran his fingers around my private area, delicately, smoothly, as I tried to remain quiet, unaffected, but my breath betrayed me, and I gasped from holding it. He didn't seem to notice or care.

  "Still smooth as can be down here, Slave. That will be something they could punish you for if you weren't. Come. We must go. We don't want to draw undue attention to ourselves. Your looks will do enough of that."

  I froze. I didn't want to go. I had been safe here with him. What would happen to me? Would I no longer be safe? "Please," I heard myself whisper. "Don't make me go."

  "Imogen. Now try to remember what I've taught you. I have no choice. We've been specifically asked for. We must go. Come."

  "No!" I said with vehemence, and turned away from him. I ran back into the bedroom in which I had slept and slammed the door. I sank into the corner. My heart pounded in my ears. I became anxious, on the verge of a panic attack. I struggled to get oxygen into my lungs.

  He came in and calmly walked over to me, but then I saw his eyes. They looked angry, and I tensed, holding my curled body tightly in my arms to stop the trembling of it as he bent down to grab me. He squeezed my arms tightly, almost hurting me, and lifted me up off of the floor. I held back tears; I would not give him the satisfaction. "Look at me," he ordered. "Listen to me carefully, closely."

  I had no choice. I was too frightened not to look at him. When I looked up, I was met not with angry eyes but with tortured ones.

  "You do not want me to leave you here. You do not want them to come for you. If you choose this path, I cannot remotely protect you. You are my slave, Imogen. If you disobey me, someone will come for you; and someone will take you to do as he pleases. If I can’t control you, they will lose faith in me altogether. I will not ask again. This is no time to be stubborn. Stop it. Right. Now."

  My will crumpled and tears streamed down my face as I tried to breathe. I was so terrified. I was so helpless. I wanted to die; quite literally, my will to live was being drained from me. He was being so cold, so uncaring, so…exactly as a Slave Master should be. Why I had hopes that he would be any different was a figment of my imagination and fairy-tale foolishness.

  He drew me into his arms before I even realized it and held me so that I almost suffocated against his warmth. And the tears spilled freely against him, even as I pushed him away from me. "Stop!" I gasped. I tried to slap him, claw him, kick him, but he held me too securely, I could barely move.

  "Calm down, Imogen," he said. His voice was even, smooth. It would soothe me in any other instance, the deep tenor of it seductive. "I am going to try my hardest to protect you. I am going to take care of you." And he drew me even closer against him until I had no choice but for each muscle to relax against him in his tight-gripped embrace, like a swathed baby in a parent’s arms.

  But even I could hear the doubt behind his words, as he lulled me falsely, his warm breath against my ears and neck, awakening again that one part of my body that pulsed and throbbed with a need I never even knew existed until him. Before I could stop it, he was kissing me, his hands in my hair, tugging, pulling me closer into him, and I was kissing him back without caution, my lips swollen with lust for him. I hated myself in that moment for kissing him, for feeling so attached to him, for needing his comfort.

  "No," I said finally and pulled away breathless. "Stop it."

  He held my face between his hands. We were both panting. He stared intensely into my eyes, boring right into my soul. Whatever my soul told him I don't know, but he abruptly let me go and stood back from me. He ran his fingers through his hair as we both tried to regain composure. Fuck, he hissed under his breath.

  He spoke after a long silence, our breathing the only sounds heard. "Okay," he started slowly. "Remember yesterday and all I put you through. Do your best not to react, Imogen, if the time should come. Do not be stubborn either. Promise me. Look to me and follow my lead."

  I shook. I was so frightened about leaving his side, about what was to become of me. I almost spoke inaudibly but somehow managed. I finally admitted, "Erik, I'm so scared. Please don't let them hurt me. Please, Erik…" Tears fell yet again.

  "Sssh, Imogen. I know. I know you are. And I don’t blame you.” He shifted his body weight from foot to foot, as if his options could be weighed that way. “Come here,” he whispered. “Do not fight me. Sssh. Just come here."

  And again he swept me into his arms, my naked, trembling body caving in, against my better judgment, pushing into him, as my arms found his neck and pulled him hard into me.

  He pushed my face away to look at me. "Do not show emotion. Try your hardest.” He paused. I saw debate cross his features as he spoke ever more quietly. “They don’t think you’re all that capable of real emotion, Imogen. Do you understand? To get a rise. To conquer your people. To make you hurt the way they have felt hurt and betrayed…it’s what we’ve been taught. It’s what we’ve come to believe.”

  I understood that all too well. I had come to believe that about him, about his people too. That they were savages. But this. This wasn’t helping. They were only proving that they were. That they were the animals I had always been taught they were.

  “Come," he ordered, the stoic shade pulled tightly down again. He put me down, and I had no choice but to follow him out the door.

  We arrived into the main complex, and I prayed this was all a nightmare, a dream that I would wake up from in the safety of my husband’s bed, even if he had been one of the
m, even if I didn’t love him or trust him. My parents gave me to him to keep me safe. Surely. Surely this must be a dream. I shook my head as I gazed at the scene before me.

  About ten slaves sat with their new masters. I'm not sure how they were chosen but they varied in size and shape. Skinny to plump. Small-breasted to large-breasted. Most were fair skinned, light hair too, the norm for my people, some long, some short. All seemed well groomed which surprised me. Many were chained or collared, and all sat in deference to the man who had claimed them. Erik and I entered to find only two seats remaining. A large, foreboding man stood at the head of the table, holding up his glass. "Aaah, Erik. We save the best for last I see. I was about to send Stephen to see what was keeping you."

  I looked to the other head of the table and recognized Stephen right away. He had an enormous scar that ran the length of his face, from his forehead to his chin, the scar running right through his lip. The dark circles under his eyes were menacing. I tensed when I noticed the way he smiled at me. He looked at me with such palpable desire, it could have almost been mistaken as anger. It made me sick to my stomach. I tried to keep my eyes lowered. He was without a slave, as was the intimidating man who spoke.

  Erik broke the tension. "Yes, Malachi. My slave was not as cooperative as I would have liked." I couldn't believe he was telling him the truth. I shrunk, as Erik pulled out my chair and turned his attention to me. "Sit, Slave. You have wasted enough time."

  The man named Malachi chuckled loudly and sat back down. "Regretting your choice, Erik? She's a beauty. I could see how you might have been lured. Do not hesitate to give her over for punishment. I can take her off your hands today."

  Erik smiled, pushing me in and then taking the seat next to me. He abruptly grabbed one of my breasts and squeezed it tightly, his eyes penetrating me, as if to say, don't say a word. He then released his gaze and found Malachi's, never removing his grip from my breast. I struggled to remain calm, tensing every muscle in my body to stifle its tremble.

  "I enjoy a challenge, Malachi. You know that about me."

  The men at the table erupted at that, and Erik released my breast, leaving me breathless. I didn’t dare look down at what I’m sure would have been a definitive marking of his nails and fingerprints.

  With a clap of his hands, Malachi drew his eyes away from us to another group of naked women, not seated, who began to serve food to all of us. I recognized too many of them and did not make eye contact. They served fruit and cheese and salmon and poached eggs, and my mouth watered. I couldn't believe the decadence; I couldn't believe I was going to be allowed to eat this way. I imagined coming over here to be whipped, tortured, I didn't know. But I certainly did not expect to be fed like a queen. Waves of guilt washed over me as I longed to eat. The springs went off inside my mouth, and I found it hard not to throw myself at the absurd feast. I panicked I would not be able to control myself in the midst of such taunting, almost cruel temptation.

  Erik made sure our plates were full, talking with the other men in a language I did not understand, while the women ate silently, except for an occasional yelp from a slap or touch they received from their masters. I took a small morsel, trying not to forget manners or my upbringing, moaning in delight until Erik glared at me. I swallowed hard and tried to breathe and calm myself from losing all and complete control of my behavior. It was an arduous, difficult task that took my focused concentration.

  As I opened my mouth to sip the most decadent, freshly-squeezed orange juice, a woman was suddenly thrown across the table on her stomach, forced to bend over, her ass high in the air. The mood shifted and everyone almost froze in place like a tableau. I gasped and almost choked on my juice. Erik squeezed my knee, hard, under the table, a reminder to remain aloof, unaffected.

  Malachi smiled broadly again. "Arthur," clearly addressing the man who had violently thrust his slave over the table. "Couldn't you wait until after breakfast for the festivities?"

  My heart seemed to stop beating. I had no idea what festivities he was referring to, but I knew they would be anything but festive to us, the enslaved. This food. This moment of peace. This lavish spread in front of us. False. A mirage to weaken us, to let our guards down. I should have known better.

  "She needs to be punished, Malachi. She refuses to listen to simple instructions, to follow simple directions. For one, she refuses to keep her legs open as I've requested several times. She doesn't seem to understand her position here. She is far too proud."

  "I see," Malachi said. "And what do you propose we do about this?" He sneered.

  "She needs to be punished. And to teach her her place, I think everyone here should have a chance to do so," he said.

  A sadistic smile crept across Malachi's face. I tried not to stare, but Malachi caught my gaze. "You like this idea, Slave?" He was looking directly at me.

  I looked to Erik for guidance but he was not looking at me; instead, he ignored me, and I floundered to find the right thing to say.

  "Erik, it seems your slave needs reminding to speak when spoken to."

  Erik glared at me, and I immediately spoke up, "I am sorry, Sir."

  Malachi smiled, seemingly appeased for the moment, bringing his attention back to Arthur and his slave.

  The woman was panting, her ass high in the air, Arthur's hands already stroking her round ass cheeks in front of all of us. I couldn't tell if she was excited or scared. The emotions seemed to be so closely connected here.

  "Stay still, Slave," Arthur ordered, continuing to stroke her, as he harshly pushed her legs apart. I heard her gasp and saw her tremble, and I couldn't help but feel both aroused and sorry for her.

  Without preamble, Arthur lifted one hand to smack her very hard on the exposed flesh between her legs, pushing down on her back to steady her body for the blow. She screamed out, and his hand harshly came down again on her in the same place. I shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

  "Look at this everyone," Arthur said. "She is dripping wet. Just look at my hand," and he laughed.

  Like a dog drawn to a bone, I couldn't help but look again. Tears were flowing freely down her blotched, crimson face. She squeezed her eyes shut as he slapped her there a few more times. We could all hear her wetness against his hand. I was utterly embarrassed for her.

  Malachi stood at this point, holding his glass again. "Men!" he announced. "This slave needs to be taught a lesson." He turned to Arthur, "Shall we tie her up over in the corner and let everyone have a chance to punish her?"

  "Yes, Malachi. I think she deserves no less," Arthur said, and I noticed cruelty left his eyes. Instead, I now saw lust.

  "Erik," Malachi said. "Would you please go tie her up in the corner? You are the best with restraints.” Malachi looked to Arthur. “Arthur, what do you recommend for punishment?"

  He smiled down at his slave. "Hmmm." He thrust his fingers into her, slowly, first one, then another followed by yet another, and she squirmed. She howled when I saw him pull out his fingers from deep within her, wet and sticky from her juices, and rammed one into her other vulnerable hole as she remained helpless, stomach pushed into the harsh wood of the table. She flailed her body to get away from him or to get closer to him, I wasn't sure.

  He finally spoke. "She needs to be taught to do as I wish at all times. She likes to find her pleasure way too much, as you can plainly see. I think she should be whipped and slapped through her rise to orgasm, only to be denied over and over, while the other women watch and learn what they can look forward to should they wish to disobey their masters."

  The woman began to beg at this point, and again, I looked away, flushed, embarrassed, and thankful this wasn't happening to me. Erik had left my side to approach the woman, and I thought I might throw up. Would he actually tie her up? Follow Malachi's instructions? I was disgusted and sickened that he was known as "the best with restraints." Who was this man?

  "Just feel her slit, Erik," Arthur said with a bite to his remark. “Everything we know of them is
true,” he continued, seemingly appalled, disgusted.

  And Erik complied. He touched the helpless woman in front of me, slowly and without pause as she moaned against the table, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, her body involuntarily pushing against Erik’s fingers. And I wanted to scream. Was he acting? Was he enjoying himself? I was repulsed that he would behave this way, and yet, somehow, I was mildly aroused and almost jealous. I was sticky between my legs and tried to suppress my involuntary reaction. Oh god. What was wrong with me?

  "Very wet, indeed," Erik said, removing his fingers from her sex, rubbing the moist drops of her arousal between his thumb and fingers with a smirk. Without another word, he dragged her over to the corner and began to tie her up tautly. She wouldn’t be going anywhere. He found my eyes momentarily, and I looked away embarrassed and angry. Oh god. Please make this end.

  Malachi drew our attention back to himself. "Before we begin this slave's torture, I'd like to borrow one of your slaves for tonight, for my pleasure.” He paused, chuckling to himself, drawing out the drama, proving the extent of his power. “You," he pointed directly at me. "And you," he pointed to another woman, a much taller woman than me, but with the same long, very light blonde hair. "Each of you, come sit on my lap during the show. One of you will be lucky enough to come home with me." He smiled wickedly.

  Nobody said a word. I was half hoping Erik would chime in, rescue me, but he said nothing as he finished stringing up the poor guinea pig before us. Her arms were secured above her head, her legs spread and secured to rings in the floor. Any thought of arousal was completely replaced with dread and fear as I thought about the prospect of having to spend a night or more with this man known as Malachi. I was repulsed by him, and I knew he wielded the most power of any man here. He was unattractive in every way; his face littered with pock marks, his arms covered in a forest of dark, coarse hair. But more than that. It was his eyes. Black as night. Void of any mercy.