“And who made that rule? Doesn’t sound like Daniel Broc.”
“I made that rule. She’s another man’s whore, not mine.”
“And she’s the one that turned you safe and sane?”
He laughed. “Yeah, she’s the one that made me give up that nasty gig.”
“You ever wonder what it would be like if you’d made her yours?”
“Yeah. I did that once and gave up. It didn’t take much thought. Shelly and I would tear each other apart in a week. Not a hard call to make.”
“But you loved her…maybe still love her?”
Daniel shrugged. “Yeah, I love her. But I’d have no patience with her. Soon as any female starts the finagling and the whining and the manipulation, I get pissed. Shelly wouldn’t be any different. Some women you use and let them go; it’s better for everyone that way. Let the memory of the moment fuel a little lust, but you take it to whore, who’s just a whore, not someone you care about.”
“And that’s the essence of Daniel Broc and women,” Marcus nodded. “So how about that drink? If it’s not too early for you.”
“Not too early for me.” He strode to the drink cart and poured a Scotch for himself, Bourbon and water for his friend. After handing the drink to Marcus, he downed his own, poured himself another and sank into his leather sofa with satisfied sigh. “Now, maybe you can tell me why you’re here?” He looked toward the man and waited as Marcus Rathburn shifted in his seat, uncomfortably so. He looked thoughtful, almost troubled, his mood changing from his earlier lighthearted amusement to something far more serious.
In his mid-thirties, the lanky Marcus had the body of a basketball player: nearly six feet four, lean, muscled with long arms and legs. His grey suit was perfectly tailored, in fact everything about him from his short dark hair to his cleanly shaved face to the manicured nails were perfectly groomed. He pulled off the look with a certain savvy that speaks of wealthy circumstances and the arrogance that wealth breeds. All the bells and whistles turned an average looking guy into the handsome kind of man women fight for in bars and at fashionable DC parties.
Such a contrast to Daniel Broc who never made his appearance his concern. He spent his life in jeans and t-shirts, adding a leather bomber jacket when it was cold enough to need one. He had the suit, the tux, the sport coat and fancy shirts in his closet—pushed way to the back. He rarely wore them. In fact, he would have been happier in the military fatigues he’d worn when he was in the Middle East than anything else. He had, grudgingly, made some changes moving from the terrorist environment in which he thrived for over twenty years back to the civilized world. In his late forties he was too old to change. DC life would never be a comfortable fit, but he made do, just as Michelle Monroe would make do once she finally accepted the hand fate dealt her.
“So what’s this about? Why the sudden visit?”
Marcus took another moment to collect himself, taking a sip of his drink, thrumming his fingers on the armrest of the chair. Seeing that he had the full attention of his host he announced with a bit of dramatic flair, speaking in hushed tones, “It’s a delicate business, Daniel. I’m cleaning up a rather precarious situation for an old friend.”
“Someone I know?”
“Someone you’ve likely heard of. Baron Brauer?”
Daniel nodded. He’d heard the name but he didn’t know the man.
“Wealthy. Reclusive. A real player in his time. And a bonafide male supremacist in his personal life. Lived in a huge mansion up north with a bevy of females who gave up normal lives to ride on his coattails and live as subjects to the man’s rule. Very high protocol in the bdsm world. He made submission a thrill—for most of them anyway. I’d say most will tell you they enjoyed their lives as his slaves. Once they gave themselves to him he controlled every aspect of their existence with an iron fist. Slaves were slaves to him, nothing more. This was no game in his mind; to Brauer it was the way the world should work. Men in charge, women lowly and subservient. Whatever the Baron demanded, his slaves were quick to act or risk long sessions of pain and sensory deprivation in his dungeons. He was so far from politically correct they don’t even have a name for his breed of men. Misogynist, comes closest, I guess.”
“You make it sound like a crime,” Daniel interjected with a bit of wry disdain.
“Yes, well…” the younger man seemed momentarily vexed. “I’m not sure it’s accurate. I think in part he actually loved women—in his own weird way.”
Daniel let out a belly laugh. “There were suspicions that your Baron was trying to send his castoffs into my territory. Never documented, or course, and he fell of the radar; probably got scared. Nevertheless, I’m well acquainted with the kind of man he was, being one myself—although that misogynist label seems a bit unfair. I don’t hate women at all.”
Marcus fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.
“But, go on with your story,” Daniel prompted, “you speak of the Baron in past tense?”
Marcus’ expression lifted. “Yes, that’s appropriate. Brauer died two months ago.” He sighed as if the remembrance of the man was actually painful. “He left a terrible mess. Hadn’t done a thing to prepare for his passing. I was his friend, of sorts,” he seemed to have trouble even admitting this. “At least I knew about his lifestyle. For that reason I was contacted by his family. He has several siblings, nieces and nephews that are in line to inherit his vast estate, but they want nothing to do with his kinky sexual proclivities. Basically, they’ve hired me to clean up his affairs, which include removing all traces of BDSM activity from a very sizable mansion and its many outbuildings.” Marcus frowned. “He had everything from human pony rings, to kennels,” he shook his head, “such a shame, those beautiful dungeons dismantled. I have a private auction of toys and bondage furniture scheduled for the end of the month. Nice stuff. You might want to see if there’s anything you’d like.”
Daniel responded with a sneer. “I doubt it. I have all I need to make a sub suffer. Sometimes the back of my hand does the trick all by itself.”
“Yes, I saw that slap across the mouth. Nice.” Marcus smirked. “However, some men need props.” He laughed.
“So what about this assignment of yours includes me?” Daniel eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Marcus only came calling when he was in serious need.
“I have everything pretty much handled. However, in addition to the house, it’s also been my task to see that the women, Brauer’s slaves, are appropriately taken care of—you know, guided back to the real world without tainting the Brauer family name. That hasn’t been too much of a problem. Brauer had a revolving door of sub females. For most, a little cash in hand sends them happily on their way. Only two were with him long enough to forget what life was like in the real world. His long term girlfriend and slave, Brigitta, is settling in pretty well in a small town not far from the mansion. She was with him since her early twenties. She’s over forty now, got a sensible head on her shoulders and enough skills to be gainfully employed. With the money Brauer left her she’ll be fine. I imagine after a year or two of grieving, she’ll be looking for another man to own her.” He paused a moment and lifted his glass. “How about another?”
Daniel moved to his feet, fixed the drink, waiting for Marcus to continue. The man’s sudden silence was almost deafening.
“So?” Daniel nudged him.
Marcus eyed him grimly, took a gulp of his drink, then after setting the glass down on the table beside him, he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, keeping his voice lowered. Walls have ears, he’d explain if asked. “It’s the second girl that’s my problem and why I’m here. Why I need you.”
Daniel cast him a sharp glare, “Hold it right there. If you’re trying to pawn some woman off on me you’re asking the wrong man.”
“It’s not that, Dan. Not exactly. Just hear me out. Please. These are unusual circumstances.”
“I’ve lived my life with unusual circumstances impinging on me and I’m rat
her glad to be free of them. I don’t even let my girlfriends spend the night most of the time.” He hated the sudden tickle of interest the mention of the girl provoked; an automatic response, he was sure. But he had no interest in some man’s leftover slave.
“Please, I’ve come all this way. You need to let me finish.”
He didn’t need to do anything he didn’t want. But out of friendship he conceded to listen, although his annoyance showed. “Go on then,” he bit off tersely.
Marcus looked at him relieved. “He called her El, just El. I don’t have any other name. His brother Robert was her guardian from the time she was ten. He was her stepfather, had been married to her mother for over fifteen years. She got pregnant during a brief rift in their relationship then died just shortly after the girl turned ten. Robert had grown rather fond of her, so there wasn’t any question that he’d take over her care, although he had no practical experience with children and very little understanding of the girl and what she needed. He kept her in strict boarding schools for several years then later hired a fulltime tutor who lived with them. I gather there wasn’t much interaction between the two. From what little I could glean from Brigitta, the girl was a little odd. Reclusive. Silent. Moody. Which is not surprising given the strict regimen of her life. If Robert had had his way, she would have gone to college, made a career for herself and been adequately pushed into the real world with all the tools she needed to survive.” He paused for a moment but with no comment from Daniel, he continued. “Obviously, there were a few key ingredients missing from such an emotionally empty upbringing…even though the girl hadn’t seemed to need the kind of nurturing most kids need. She was just naturally…odd. I guess that would describe her best.”
“And how do you know these things?”
“I spoke with the other women at Brauer’s mansion, all of them. A couple, Brigitta in particular, managed to have a few real conversations with the girl, though none would call her close, or even a friend.”
“How did she end up with the Baron in the first place?”
“Yes, well…that’s what I’m getting to. She was headed to some Ivy League college, which Robert arranged and paid for. She was eighteen, entirely innocent, and the minute she landed in the dorm room she apparently freaked out. He had to remove her, however he had nowhere to take her. With her in school, he planned to spend the next six months based out of London, traveling extensively through Europe and the Middle East. He couldn’t take her with him. He’d closed down his house, let the servants go, and he was afraid to leave her on her own. So, he took her to his brother’s estate, knowing that the man would at least keep her safe. The plan was for Brauer to provide for her, at the same time keeping her away from the D/s aspects of his lifestyle. It wouldn’t have been too hard. Brauer had a ‘vanilla’ wing in the house, a place where normal people could visit and never know that the estate was run by unpaid slave labor. The set-up was quite convincing. I attended one of his parties. Congressmen. White House aides. Labor leaders. Not one guest had a clue that the perky young females dressed in crisp grey uniforms and white aprons lived in crude slave quarters in his cellar and were routinely punished for misdemeanors, or just for sport, if Brauer was in a sadistic mood. It was a fascinating game to watch since I knew the other side of his life.
“El was to be as sheltered as Brauer’s houseguests while she was there—and she was for a time. She had her own quarters away from the rest of the house; another tutor was installed; she was even offered daily piano lessons, which she seemed to enjoy. She remained shy and aloof, barely able to hold a conversation. However, despite her seeming detachment from the people around her, she was quite curious. Perhaps she suspected something peculiar about Brauer—who knows what motivated the girl. Maybe something tipped her off, maybe a slip in the game plan. Maybe it was just idle curiosity. Whatever the reason, she began making late night trips through the house, peeking here and there, darting around corners, hiding in shadows like a ghost. First time Brigitta caught her, that is exactly what the woman thought—that she was a ghost. Said it scared her half to death. But she didn’t actually catch her. The girl was off too fast to be cornered. This went on for some time, months I guess. She was quite cagey about her explorations. For days at a time the staff saw nothing then there’d be a sighting, some fleeting glimpse around the corner and gone. I guess it caused quite a stir and much discussion as soon as her pattern was established. In fact, it was a hot topic between Brauer and Brigitta. Brauer wanted to give up the pretense and let her know what he was about, but Brigitta was adamantly opposed, and apparently carried enough weight with the Baron to have some influence. She believes that Brauer was nursing his own fascination for the girl, something he kept well hidden to most who knew him, except Brigitta—she likes to think that she knew him better than anyone else.”
Marcus let out a sighing breath and continued. “Brauer was on the lookout for her. He spent some hours after dark tailing her journeys. He finally met her face to face in one of his dungeons. He found her fingering the equipment with a great deal of interest. And strangely, she was naked at the time. The rumor that had been circulating about the house was that their midnight elf had tossed her nightgown aside and had been running naked through the corridors. Brauer confronted her and—this is strictly hearsay—she told him that she wanted to be like the other women in his house. He grilled her, trying to find out what she’d learned of his lifestyle during her late night jaunts. She confessed that she’d seen dozens of punishment scenes, watched Brauer’s slaves eating from dog dishes, peered in on their communal baths, even witnessed a variety of sexual situations. She knew every secret passageway and hidden staircase in the house. Nothing escaped her notice.
“One thing led to another and she became Brauer’s newest girl. He resisted—Brigitta was adamant that I know that. But the girl would not back down from her desire to be enslaved. She wanted simple clear cut rules; she craved someone who could tell her what to do; and she was shameless from a sexual point of view. Brauer was not about to turn the girl down when he had a readymade slave in El who needed little training and asked for almost nothing. She seemed to thrive in the most austere circumstances…the more ascetic and rigorous the better. She became sexually adept and craved punishment—obviously she was masochistic—and she spent long hours with Brauer involved in both activities. Sometimes he just liked having her around. She started out living in the house with the other slaves, but over time, she gravitated to the kennels where she stayed when Brauer didn’t have need of her.
“Her service to him continued for at least four years—but I’m guessing it was longer than that. I’m not totally clear on the timeline. No one seems to be able to pin it down. As close as I can figure, she’s twenty-five, twenty-six, maybe a little older. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. When I arrived at the estate to inspect the grounds, I found El in the kennels. Brauer’s dogs had already been taken to a breeder.” Marcus lifted a brow, adding scornfully, “Interesting that he made immediate provisions for the animals, but made very little for his slaves, and none for El.”
“And she’s there now?”
“She is. I tried to talk her into sleeping in the house. But she refused. Brigitta tells me she hadn’t lived in the house for over a year. Wouldn’t step foot in it unless she was on direct orders from her master. The last six months of his life he was quite sick so she wasn’t summoned even once. She was fed and otherwise left to her own devices.”
“So she’s been locked up for six months?”
“No. Once it was clear that Brauer wasn’t long for this world, Brigitta, along with the other slaves, decided to keep the kennels unlocked. El was well aware that she could move back in the house if she’d wanted to but she stayed there sleeping on a concrete floor with nothing but a flat pillow and an old blanket—mind you, the kennels were heated so she was hardly cold at any temperature. She ate from dog dishes as she had before. I gather that she helped care for the dogs while she was
there…”
“And was she used as their bitch?” Daniel shot off the question before Marcus finished, then he waited, paying as close attention to the man’s body language as he did the verbal reply. He wanted the truth. He could usually tell if Marcus was being straight with him or fibbing.
“No, I’m quite sure of that,” his friend came back without blinking an eye. “One kink that Brauer didn’t touch. Though he liked to use the kennels for certain slaves, ones like El who craved that kind of sparse environment or others he was grooming as human pets. Some were sent there for punishment, but for El it was home. She saw no need to change her life just because Brauer was sick. But with the doors now unlocked she had free reign of the estate. She could be seen roaming the gardens in the day—something familiar to her. She often helped the gardener with his chores, even before Brauer got sick. But now, she was roaming at night. She had ways into the house that no one knew about and sometimes spent hours searching through the mansion, almost as if she were on a mission to find something important.”
“Anyone ever ask her?”
“She rarely gave anyone a direct answer to any question—Brauer, maybe. But he was too sick to care about anything. I understand that some nights she watched him sleep, though she’d tiptoe out of the room if he stirred. She didn’t want to be seen, still afraid to violate her master’s rules. Since his death, the kennel remains her home, the estate her playground. She wanders it freely with not a stitch on, which has proven a particular problem for the heirs. They don’t see the charm in that. They’re appalled, and they want her gone, along with every last vestige of Brauer’s bdsm life.” Marcus chuckled darkly. “Isn’t it strange…they’re quite like the Baron in their own way. Not one ounce of real concern for the girl, she’s less human to them than she was to Brauer, another unwanted piece of property to be thrown away like useless garbage.” He shook his head, putting a bit of sadness into his expression. “She needs a place to go, Daniel,” he looked toward the man and didn’t say another word.
Little Savage Page 2