“Put your head back further, Em. Part your lips.”
My eyes fluttered shut. The shame, the heat was too much.
“Chest out. Legs further apart. Keep caressing your hair. That’s it, good. You have a hot little body, Em. It should be on display at all times. In the hands of many masters I know you would be forbidden clothes all together, with the exception, of course, of your collar and chains. And perhaps a nice tattoo. On your breast or belly. Something pretty and feminine.”
A wave of hot weakness coursed through my center. I’d worked my whole adult life to be considered for my mind, my professional skills and here I was eager and aroused to be viewed as an object of pleasure. A little toy for a man’s enjoyment. Licking my lips, I felt my hips begin to gyrate, very slightly. Without realizing it, I had begun to assume a certain expression and posture usually reserved only for trained slaves.
“My God, Em,” he hissed, admiration and lust thick in his voice. “You’re a damned natural. I always knew you would be. I should have collared you myself all those months ago when I had the chance. You were born for steel; bred for the whip.”
I wanted to inquire as to exactly what he meant about acquiring me himself, but the man had other plans for me. Snapping the belt against my thighs, just hard enough to get my attention, he said, “Grab your nipples, Em. Squeeze them.”
I shuddered as my fingertips closed over the tiny nubs. It was like there was a direct line of pleasure from there to my cunt. “Oh, Randy,” I breathed. “This feels so good.”
The belt landed firmly on my left hip and thigh. “Quiet, girl. You’ll talk only when spoken to. Close your eyes again and squeeze harder. “Harder,” he repeated, his voice moving to a new place, somewhere over my shoulder.
The pain ratcheted higher and higher. Compounded with this was the terror induced from no longer knowing where he was in the room. Why wouldn’t he reveal himself? Why wouldn’t he just take my sex and get it over with?
Fire seared my buttocks. I stumbled forward.
“Position,” Randy reminded me, retracting the belt from my enflamed skin.
I did my best to put my bare feet back in place. It was all I could do to keep from screaming and running to the door in panic. Though I knew, of course, that would be useless and would only get me in more trouble.
“Hands behind your neck, fingers interlaced,” Randy barked. “Buttocks out thrust.”
It was an exquisite feeling, knowing I was leaving myself open for another lash—inviting it even—with my twinging, no doubt reddened flesh pushing towards him. And my breasts and cunt—how could he resist slashing at these if he came round to the front of me again?
“You are a sloppy girl, Em,” he observed, his voice trailing off into the background. “Undisciplined. And you’re a busybody to boot.”
I could hear him at the wet bar, pouring himself some kind of drink. My own lips were parched, but I dared not speak a word.
“You always know what’s best for everyone else, don’t you?” Ice tinkled in his drink. “Heaven help any one who stands in your way. And that included Gustav Rainier, didn’t it? Except you made a little miscalculation there. Rainier isn’t like the rest of us. He’s yet to be emasculated by our politically correct man-hating society.”
Just then the air kicked on, wafts of coolness pricking my damp flesh.
“Take me for instance.”
I stiffened, feeling his presence directly in front of me.
“If you were to beg me not to beat you, I might well give in. Try it, Em. Say ‘I am a female slut, please do not beat me.’”
“Please,” I began, starting at the sudden touch of his finger on my cheek. “I—I am a female slut. Please do not beat me.”
“Open your eyes, Emerald.”
Randy stood in front of me, a thick glass in his hand. It was full of a clear liquid, buried in ice cubes. “Those of us in the Cartel know what women want, Em,” he began, raising my chin to meet his cold, steel eyes. “And you do, too. That’s why you fight it so hard; you don’t want to accept it. Doesn’t it just kill you, though, seeing girls crawl back to men who treat them like shit, over and over?”
I watched mesmerized as he took a single ice cube and held it in front of my belly. I inhaled, retracting my concave abdomen, but not far enough to avoid the contact. Warm shivers vented my body as the ice kissed my skin, branding me with searing cold.
“You always think your patients are crazy, or misled, Em, but the truth is, girls are programmed to submit. It’s their nature. Yours, too.”
I whimpered as the ice cube traversed my belly, up and over my left breast to the nipple. He left it there, allowing the tiny drops of water to run down my captive body.
Randy leaned close, his breath an inch from my lips. “You’ll lose your bet, Em. I promise you that.” Taking another cube, he thrust it on my other nipple, freezing it as effectively as he had the first. “How does that feel? Cold enough for you?”
I looked meekly into his eyes, nodding tentatively. If only I had use of my hands, my voice. If only I could slap him, grab his gun, kick him, run, anything. But why couldn’t I? That was the million-dollar question.
The fact was, the only thing holding me in place, next to fear, was the bizarre determination, the almost palpable need on my part to obey.
“Have a drink, Em.” He put the heavy glass to my lips. Rivulets of scotch splashed my tongue. I swallowed what I could, but some of it ran down my stomach and legs. “That’s a bad girl,” he chided. “Wasting good liquor.”
Randy popped the nearly spent cube into my mouth and fished for another. This one was destined for the hollow between my legs. When I tried to scream, he covered my mouth.
“No noise, Em, remember? Or do you need another kiss of the leather?”
My eyes pleaded desperately; I’d do anything to avoid any more blows from his belt.
“That’s better,” he crooned, releasing my mouth and cupping my breast. “Now let’s see you show this ice cube a good time, huh?”
Randy was frigging me with it, making me hot and horny at the same time he was torturing my vagina. When he moved it over my tiny little clitoris I swooned. Unable to help myself, I followed his hand forward as he retracted. A few skillful manipulations of my clit and tits on his part, and I was frantically humping his hand, pushing my pelvis in and out, taking the cold, deadly cube deeper and deeper.
“Look at me, Em.”
I did so, feeling a depth of shame and surrender too deep for words.
“Tell me you still want to be free,” he hissed. “Tell me you’re going to just blow off Gustav Rainier at the end of the month and thumb your nose in his face.”
My answer came in the form of a shuddering climax so powerful, it nearly knocked me to the ground. As it was, I had to lay my head on Randy’s shoulder until it subsided. Even so, I did not take my hands from behind my neck where he’d told me to place them.
Randy muttered a curse under his breath as he accepted my limp and proffered body. “Jesus Christ, I would have married you,” he confessed, scooping me into his arms. “I would have made you my own. For life. My one and only submissive mate. The one thing my ex-wife could never be.”
Laughing to himself, hiding his own pain, he tossed me down onto the bed on my back.
“Why don’t you?” I croaked, risking certain punishment. “Marry me, I mean?”
An odd smile crossed his lips. “Because,” he replied. “You are Rainier’s property now. Whether you know it or not.”
“No, Randy, it’s not. . .”
I was going to say ‘it’s not too late,’ but the sentence was never finished.
“This is for your own good,” he interrupted, shoving my own wet panties in my mouth and securing them with tape. “To teach you never again to try to escape from your master.”
He had the leather cords and bracelets in the bag, along with the riding crop. Evidently the plan had been to beat me all along. Like a rag doll, he put m
e to my back and tied me down, spread eagle to the comforter. The bonds were drawn tight. My belly was pressed like a drum, so too my thighs and breasts. For several minutes he ran his hands over my back and buttocks, lightly, as though he were still mourning the life we might have had together.
With a deep sigh now, he rose from the bed. “The sooner you learn to submit, the better,” he assured me. “Rainier’s not sentimental like I am. Just forget about escaping, okay? His organization is bigger than you can ever imagine. I’m just one tiny little cog in a huge wheel.”
The whip made the belt feel like a love tap. Drool and tears and screams poured into my soiled underwear as he visited my buttocks with a vicious slash of the horrid device. I was sure I would die of pain, but as he plied me for a second blow, he slid a finger in my cunt, inducing yet another unwanted, mind blowing orgasm.
“You see that? You’re a slave already, Em. Face it.”
This time he lashed the meat of my thighs, sending explosions down my leg. At this point I would have betrayed my own mother to get him to stop.
“Pity I can’t fuck you,” he said after the third blow, a cross-wise slash across both cheeks. “But that privilege belongs to your new master alone.”
I shook my head vigorously. Why did he have to be Rainier’s lackey? He was an officer of the law. Armed with a gun. If worse came to worse, we’d make a run for it. Head for Mexico, maybe. We could play master and slave out in the desert somewhere, or he could pimp me on the streets of Tijuana.
Anything, anything at all to stop the pain.
“We’ll go for six,” he said, landing the fourth just below the second on the back of my legs. “Then you’re going to get dressed and go back home and wait for Gustav to call you. You hear me?”
“No. Fuck me. Fuck me, first,” I cried incoherently into the gag.
Randy delivered the final blows in silence. I heard him walk away, the bathroom door slamming behind him. Still tied down to the bed, my body on fire, I wept into the comforter, praying for release, any kind of release.
No longer did I care for freedom, but only for satisfying my need for sex. I didn’t want to be untied; I wanted to be taken. I wanted Randy’s cock from behind, coming down on me, filling my quartered sex, his body lying heavily on my whipped flesh. In utter submission I would come for him, sealing my own slavery.
But Randy had said I would never belong to him. He’d claimed that I was Rainier’s and not his. What a tragic thing to know! I loved Randy, I was sure I did. I wanted him, wanted to belong to him.
And yet, that hateful voice of reason in the back of my mind told me, if this was the case, why hadn’t I pined for him all along? Even more to the point, why had I dumped him so abruptly and never looked back?
It wasn’t love. It was lust. Sexual needs born of my nascent slavery. I was bonding to whomever would beat me, whomever would chain and own me.
This was Rainier’s doing. All of it.
“Go straight home, Em,” said Randy, removing the bonds and putting them back in his bag. “Do you hear me?”
His hair was wet. He looked like he’d splashed prodigious amounts of cold water on his face. Pulling out the wadded, sopping panties, I defied him. “No, Randy, I won’t until you give me what I need, what we both need.”
He fought me at first as I grabbed for him, but I knew enough about a man’s body to slow him considerably. Tearing at the buttons of his shirt I bared his chest and suctioned my mouth to his nipple. A gasp proceeded from the back of his throat as he grabbed my upper arms.
He held me at bay, anguish etched in his face. “This. . . can’t . . . be, Em,” he breathed, the words coming in staccato bursts.
I looked up at him with pleading, subservient eyes. “Yes, master. It can.”
Randy threw me down on my back. Immediately, instinctively, I spread for him. There was a condom in his pocket, which he readily applied. Palms over my head, in complete submission, I awaited my fucking.
He took me in a single motion, easily parting my well-lubricated opening. My legs wrapped round his back, drawing him deep as he could. His clothes were still on, which made me feel even more like his whore. His toy. Twice I came before he reached his own orgasm, so eager was I to give myself.
His explosion was titanic as he drove me deep into the springs, imprinting their outline on my enflamed, tender buttocks. Over and over I called his name, interspersing it with the provocative title, master.
“Stop saying that,” he replied at last, lifting himself off of me and zipping up. “I’m not your master; I told you that. Your Rainier’s chattel; and he’ll claim you soon enough.”
I looked at him, spent and back in his rational mind. I was losing him! “Don’t leave me,” I begged.
Randy frowned as he tried to close the ruined shirt. “Damn,” he muttered.
“I’ll pay for that,” I promised.
He shook his head. “Where you’re going, you won’t have money, kiddo. Where you’re going, you’ll be the currency.”
Chapter Six
There were roses waiting for me back at my building. Dozens of them, enough to fill half the lobby.
“A gentleman brought them by,” the doorman explained, eager to share the experience. “He was quite a fellow. Very cosmopolitan. And by the way, Dr. Tallow, he made a point of telling me about the other night. Quite a thing, wasn’t it?”
The doorman’s face was lit with conspiratorial sympathy, though I hadn’t a clue what his was alluding to. “What are you talking about?” I stammered, still feeling the wash of embarrassment in his presence on account of him having seen me covered in sperm last night.
Not to mention the fact that I stank of sex, my request for a shower having been refused by Randy.
The man laughed knowingly. “Oh, it’s all right, I heard all about the little prank, with the icing, on your face I mean. And to think you’d fallen asleep in the car and didn’t realize what had happened till you got upstairs.”
The man glared intently, waiting for me to laugh, too.
“Yes,” I nodded numbly. “Yes, of course. Quite a . . . a silly thing, really.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he beamed, grabbing the nearest floral arrangement. “Now how about if I start helping you get these upstairs?”
I thanked him, wondering whether he was so stupid as to believe such a story or whether Rainier had just paid him off a huge amount of money to make him believe. I was still wondering when I opened the door and saw the man sitting on my living room couch.
“He wanted to surprise you,” the doorman nudged. “Well, I’ll just leave you two love birds alone now.”
“Hello, Emerald. I’ve been expecting you.”
“You should,” I said stiffly. “It’s my apartment.”
Gustav Rainier smiled, subtly, in that way of his which always managed to highlight his dimples. “I am aware of that, yes.”
“Then you are aware also that it is considered a crime to enter someone else’s domicile without their permission—regardless of whether or not you hoodwink the doorman?”
Rainier picked an invisible piece of lint from his black trouser leg. Combined with the black silk shirt, pearl gray tie and jacket, it made for a devastating effect. “Actually, your superintendent gave me the key,” he indicated matter-of-factly. “Immediately after I purchased the building.”
I clenched my buttocks, still aching from the whip. My skin was clammy. The scent of lovemaking hung thick upon me. “I hate you,” I blurted. “I despise you, in fact.”
He pursed his lips, nonplussed. “Were you my slave, Emerald, you would be punished for such a statement.”
“Oh? And how much worse could you do to me than your lackey already has?” I defied.
“Do you mean Detective Meyer? But I gave him no instructions, my dear. He simply called me to say he was returning something of mine. I offered my thanks,” he shrugged. “Nothing more.”
“As if I believe you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a s
hower. That is unless you intend to strip and beat me, too?”
“If that is your wish.”
“My wish?!” I scoffed. “The only thing I wish for is that you never came into my life. Or Krissy’s either!”
“Krissy is happy now, I told you that.”
I moved perilously close, extending my pointing finger in the vicinity of the man’s face. “No. Krissy is brainwashed. You’ve kidnapped her and mentally and physically tortured her. And I promise you, for that you will pay.”
“What will you do exactly?” he queried, merriment dancing infuriatingly in the corners of his devastating blue eyes. “Go to the police?”
My lower lip began to tremble the way it always did when I was furious. “You think you know everything about women don’t you?” I accused, abruptly changing the subject.
He folded his hands behind his head. “I know enough. For example, I know that despite your resolution to be rid of me, you are still hopeful of winning me with your charms, enhanced as they are by your post coital glow. The trouble is, if you ever did seduce me, you would have to fight like hell the even deeper urge to kneel at my feet and submit yourself to me completely.”
My eyes beamed like lasers. “I’ve had enough of you, Gustav Rainier. Get out now!”
“We will go together,” he spoke softly, but with deep authority. “As soon as you’ve changed and dressed for dinner.”
A half dozen choice expressions popped into mind only to be suppressed prior to verbalization. In the end I simply scowled at him and stamped my foot. The genuine delight on his face indicated he’d enjoyed catching me in a patently female response. “I swear to you,” I hissed. “If you say one thing about me being cute while I’m angry, I’ll. . .” the thought trailed off into nothingness.
And just what would I do? I thought glumly as I skulked off, feeling like a five-year-old being sent to bed.
“I’ve taken the liberty of selecting an outfit for you,” Rainier called out. “You’ll find everything you need on the bed.”
The man was insufferable. He’d actually gone through my wardrobe, selecting a black party dress, one I’d bought a year ago on a whim and never worn. With it were the wispy black heels and a wicked lace push-up bra I’d purchased to match. The only thing missing was underwear. Though I couldn’t really say I was surprised, I lifted the dress twice and looked under the bed to verify the lack of panties.
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