The woman’s coolly beautiful stare unnerved her.
“Okay. Um, excuse me. I want to make sure you’re all right with this. If you’re not, we can get you out of here. Right now.”
The woman looked at the man, now standing behind her, his pants pulled up. Her eyebrows raised in question. He nodded permission.
She spoke even as she turned back to Charlotte. “This girl is happy to serve. Her master’s smallest whim is her highest law. There are penalties for breaking the law.” She shrugged, a graceful and economical movement of one shoulder. “You are interrupting.”
“Yeah. Real nice. I try to save you and this is the thanks I get.”
“Ignorant bitch.”
“What? What did you call me?” Baffled, Charlotte stared at the sweaty naked woman at her feet.
The man nudged the slave with his boot. A warning. “She’ll be punished for speaking to you that way. A slave doesn’t so address the free.”
The woman didn’t seem worried. Her eyes glittered, avaricious. “Yes, Master.”
“Answer the free woman’s question.”
“Yes, Master.” Her gaze pinned Charlotte again. “This girl called you an ignorant bitch, because you don’t understand. This girl does not compromise on her femininity as you do. This girl is not confused, or unhappy, or trapped in a maze of societal conditioning with inconsistent directives and standards for women. This girl is not artificially inhibited. This girl has no need to try to become a man, knowing herself naturally a slave, as you do not yet know yourself. Free Woman, this girl is wise in the ways of men, and intimately knowledgeable about her own needs as well. As one of the free, you’ll never know true womanhood or the rapture of being owned, body and soul, submitting wholly to a master who accepts no less.”
Charlotte blinked. “You don’t seem very submissive to me.”
“True. This girl merits severe punishment.” Her eyes glittered again. She half smiled. “This girl enjoys not-enjoying it. If you can comprehend such a thing. Are you finished interrupting?”
“Okay, all finished.” Charlotte backed away so quickly her movements jarred her. She knew she looked comparatively graceless, not to mention stiff and awkward. “Have at each other. Violence galore. Enjoy.” She turned, trembling with both recognition and horror.
The saucy slave girl reminded her of herself, at least a little bit.
“Okay, Kartane. Time to go.”
He nodded. “If you wish. But things are about to get . . . interesting.”
Against her better judgment, Charlotte looked back.
“Master, don’t, please! This girl is sorry!”
This time Charlotte could hear the false note in her voice. The slave girl undulated in a seductive arc with the crocodile tears on her cheeks making them glisten. She looked undeniably alluring.
“Not sorry enough,” the man said. “Belly position.”
She lowered herself to her stomach, every movement graceful with a show of reluctance. She truly was beautiful and talented, Charlotte had to admit, riveted despite herself. She flinched empathetically when the man pushed the girl onto her side with his boot, transforming all that grace and beauty into an ungainly sprawl.
The slave crawled back up into position, weeping. “Punish this girl severely for having disappointed you!”
“You presume to tell me what to do?”
“No, Master!”
“Then you’re saying you don’t merit punishment?”
“No, Master!”
“I should feed you to a sleen.”
Charlotte whispered to Kartane. “What’s a sleen?”
He whispered back, his breath warm on her ear. “A sixlegged beast with enormous claws. It eats meat.”
A creature from science fiction. Gorean fiction. It’d be ludicrous, if it weren’t for the very real violence.
“I’d like to see the others on you. You’re welcome to her,” the punisher invited the other men. They smiled and stirred, many rising with lecherous expressions. Those closed quickly on the nude figure.
“No, Master! Please, this girl wants only to please you!”
He pushed her beseeching hands away. “I know what you want. Not that your wants are relevant. Perform well, and you will please me.”
One older man grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulled her back by it. Her body arched into a bow, then she fell again onto the furs.
The woman struggled and cried out when two men held her pinned, one for each arm. She snarled and bit one when his arm came near her mouth.
A third kneed her legs open while unzipping. His breath came hard, excited. The girl jackknifed her body trying to escape her fate, but he shoved her back down brutally, covering her body with his, wormed between her legs.
The crowd of men surrounding her blocked Charlotte’s view. She blinked and took a step back in an attempt to make sense of it all. She angled her head away, needing to not see anymore.
She could hear, though.
“It hurts, please,” the slave gasped, then whimpered and grunted in time with what Charlotte presumed were the hard, punishing thrusts. “Please, oh yes, please.” The woman’s voice hoarsened to a slavish, purring moan.
Charlotte raised her fist to her mouth, bit on it. Why the hell was she responding this way? Was she slave-hearted, too?
“I need to go now.” When Kartane didn’t move, Charlotte realized she’d whispered. She cleared her throat, spoke again. “I need to go home now.”
“Yes.” His voice was soft, too. When his gaze met hers, she could see the fire in him. The scene had affected him as well.
She had to pull her gaze away. It wasn’t Kartane she wanted.
“Of course,” Kartane said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. He paused, then shrugged. “Follow me.”
She glanced back one last time. The punishment continued. All of it was consensual, she reminded herself. Everyone involved wanted it. Charlotte had zero place here, among these kinds of people.
Or did she?
All the four kneeling slave girls still held their poses, hands on thighs.
All but one.
Charlotte’s eyes locked with the most distant slave, a petite dirty blonde whose silky poncho covered more skin than the others, pooling around her thin legs. Her eyes pleaded with Charlotte before she turned her head back to the empty seat before her.
Charlotte stopped. Watched. Did she just see a wordless appeal for help? Surely not. Charlotte had publicly offered to rescue the punished slave on the furs. That would’ve been the time for the kneeling woman to speak up, to object, to ask for help.
The woman didn’t turn her head again. Motionless.
“Kartane,” Charlotte began.
He stopped, backtracked. “Yes?”
“Those woman, the ones kneeling there. They’re all volunteer slaves? This is consensual play for everyone? Not just the dancer.”
His lips thinned. “Yes. It’s what they want.”
“Because all women have slave hearts,” she said, testing.
He looked at her. “Are you coming to believe they might?”
She answered carefully. “I believe some might.”
His smile, when he bestowed it on her, was truly warm. “You’ve come a long way on your own.”
“Maybe.” She spared one more glance at the smallest slave. Still as a statue. “Maybe not. Don’t misunderstand me. These games of yours aren’t for me.” Her skin prickled with horror at the thought of being bound and branded, punished and used, all at the whim of a man who considered it biologically ordained.
“Aren’t these games for you?” Kartane used his softest voice. “Surely a little bit? You seemed quite riveted.”
“Not exactly. Not by the ceremony, or the permanent hierarchy you believe is biological.” She cut herself off. She glared at him. “You love that part, though, don’t you? ‘Master’ this, ‘Master’ that. I’m just glad it’s consensual, this time.” Her voice held censure.
“We’ve
discussed that again and again. I’ve apologized too many times. You drove me to it. No, you listen to me. You taunted me for not being dominant enough. That’s difficult, isn’t it, Charlotte? Accepting part of the blame?” He held her stare, not backing down this time. “When you brought home toys for me to use that didn’t get you off, when you orchestrated scenes of violence and scenarios of abduction and that didn’t get you off either, what did you expect me to do? I’ve never backed away from a challenge in my life.”
“I didn’t ask to be tied up and tortured for two days. I never wanted a brand,” she snarled.
“I regret hurting you. I’m sorry for my mistakes. I only wanted to please you, so I asked around. I found the fetish scene. I found . . . well, it doesn’t matter. Done is done.” He offered her a small smile of regret, a ghost of its former self. “At least we’re friends now.”
Suddenly Charlotte felt exhausted. If that woman wanted rescuing, she should be way less subtle; Charlotte was hardly in a position to determine nuance among Goreans, especially after the dressing-down by the dancer.
Her small aches and pains from Subspace plagued her all at once, as if adrenaline and lust had kept them at bay. Now they insisted on being heard.
“Let’s go,” she said, and let Kartane lead her toward his car. As she went, she realized something else.
Despite all the single men and women in one room together, her X-rated movie vision hadn’t paired off any. The movies in her head remained dark and still, here.
At least, they did until she pictured Martin.
A movie snapped to life, placing Martin squarely in the role of slave-chastiser, and herself under him as the naked slave struggling and moaning on the furs.
“Okay. I have a problem.”
“Excuse me?” Kartane asked, his familiar voice dispelling the visions.
“Nothing.” She marched after him. “Nothing at all.”
17
Martin stood outside the building into which Charlotte had disappeared with Kartane. As he struggled with whether or not he should go in after her, Ratty joined him.
Martin stared at the slender man. “You followed me here? What’s wrong? What is it?” He looked at the door, then back at Ratty. “Did Amethyst send you?” He didn’t have time for this.
Neither, it seemed, did Ratty. “Kartane went in there?” He moved past Martin, tried the door. It started to open.
“Wait! You followed him?” Martin lowered his voice, darting a glance at the door. The beat of music and the sound of many voices wafted out. “Why?” He eased toward the door. “What are they doing in there?”
“To answer your first question first, I followed him because I want some Gorean pointers.”
Martin’s head whipped back to Ratty. “Huh?”
“To answer your second question second, I don’t know what they’re doing and I don’t care. It’s Kartane I need to talk to, and talk to him I will.”
Ratty went to push open the door.
“Hey!” Martin was obliged to shout in a whisper. And follow. As soon as they were both in the entryway, he moved swiftly to block the smaller man.
“Is this Amethyst’s idea?”
The explosive curse had Martin covering Ratty’s mouth. “Shh! Quiet!”
Ratty knocked Martin’s hand away. The skin of his face had turned a deep red. His words, when he spoke, were carefully measured, controlled: “It is not Amethyst’s idea. It is my idea.” He visibly gathered himself together. “Amethyst seems to think Kartane’s dangerous.”
“I think she’s right.”
“Amethyst seems . . . afraid . . . of him. Angry and afraid and very aware of him whenever he shows up at Subspace. All her bluster, all her cursing.”
Martin nodded. “You might be onto something with that. Why do you want to talk to him then?”
“Because one respects what one fears. I want her to respect me,” Ratty said simply. “If it takes becoming a belligerent Gorean, that’s what’s going to happen.”
It was Martin’s turn to curse. “You’ve got to be kidding. She doesn’t want that.”
“What does she want? Huh? What? I’m having some trouble figuring it out!”
“Shhh!” Martin looked, but the hallway was still empty, and the voices far away. “What does she want? She wants Subspace. She lives for what goes on there—the fire-dancing, the play, the power games—and she’d spend all day and night there if she could. Romantically?” Martin glanced at Ratty. “You think she wants a Neanderthal like Kartane?” He started to smile. “You don’t know what she likes to do for extra cash, do you? She’s a dominatrix. A pro domme. Guys come to her for abuse. They go to her place, let her kick them around, humiliate them, make them lick her boots. They pay her for it.”
Ratty blinked. “Yeah. Well, I’m not surprised. She has a strong personality. But I’m not licking her boots. She can lick my—”
“You don’t get it. She’s a switch. Playtime means going both ways, top and bottom. She’s played with you every night this week. She’s into you.”
Ratty spoke heatedly. “She’s evidently into bootlickers. I don’t intend to be one.”
The music suddenly shut off.
Both men crouched, ready to flee.
No one appeared.
“We’re trespassing,” Martin whispered.
Ratty whispered back, “So leave.”
“I’m not going until I see Charlotte’s okay.”
“Awww! That’s so sweet. You like her. Martin and Charlotte, sitting in a tree . . .”
“Shut up. Let’s just take a look. Quietly.”
Martin picked his way more slowly and carefully in the deeper quiet. It unsettled him, until he heard talking. Two women. One of them sounded like Charlotte.
Because it was Charlotte. Martin stared, transfixed by the sight of Charlotte bending over a naked woman laying on furs. Talking to her.
Martin conquered his surprise, ducked behind a stack of file boxes just outside the large room. He yanked Ratty after him.
They peeked around the corner.
Now the naked woman was struggling, being held down by four men. One of them prepared to fuck her. Martin goggled at the sight, jerked his gaze away. Where the hell was Charlotte?
Not fifteen feet away, she stood with Kartane. Her clothes were on and she seemed tense, but not afraid. Was she okay with what was happening? How could she be? But then again, she’d just talked to the woman. If he knew Charlotte even a little, she’d been making sure the woman was on board with it all.
Which clearly she was. Martin’s experienced eye picked out the slave girl’s real pleasure even as she faked another cry of distress.
Kartane certainly seemed pleased. Martin could see his dick bulging at the crotch, and the little looks he kept tossing at Charlotte. Charlotte didn’t notice.
“Please tell me you don’t still want to join the Gorean club,” Martin whispered. “Amethyst won’t respect you for it. That crowd of dorks think of themselves as sword-wielding barbarians. They convince gullible submissive women into morphing on demand into wanton slave girls.”
“Sounds kind of fun.” Ratty’s chin was set in a stubborn line. “At least they get the girls.”
“They hurt the girls,” Martin countered. “Look.”
The action on the furs riveted them both. Martin had to wipe the sweat from his eyes after a minute. Jesus. The slave girl was flexible, he could say that for her.
After a time, Ratty spoke, his voice thick. “She doesn’t seem too . . . hurt . . . to me.”
Martin conceded. “Not exactly hurt, this time maybe. But you have to take my word for it they do hurt their slaves. They crush their independence totally. It’s a total power-exchange type of relationship. There’s no switching places, no time-outs, and no relaxing of discipline. And, this crowd?” He indicated Kartane and his friends. “They’re extreme for Goreans. They’re hardcore. The regular ones at Subspace go too far, if you ask me.”
“May
be I’m not asking you.” Ratty’s eyes were glued to the slave girl’s plight.
“I thought you liked Amethyst. You think she wants that?”
“I don’t know what she wants!”
“Shh! Well, I don’t either completely, but I know it’s not that.” Martin hissed the words, hauling Ratty farther back into the shadows. “Look. She wants you. She just needs more time.” Martin hoped it was true.
Ratty blinked, looking away from the slave girl. “Charlotte saw us together.”
“Yes. You and Amethyst have good energy when you play.”
“No. I mean, Charlotte saw me and Amethyst together. In her movie visions.” Now Ratty looked at Martin. “She saw Amethyst performing cock-and-ball torture on me. This coming Christmastime. I don’t want to be a bottom.” Ratty paused. “At least, not exclusively. But I’m pigeonholed as a subbie little bottom boy, and will remain so if Amethyst can’t let herself bottom to me for real. To respect me, trust me. Fear me.” He turned again to the Goreans. After a moment, he added, “Maybe all women secretly crave dangerous Neanderthals.”
Martin stared. “Charlotte has visions?”
“I thought we were talking about me,” Ratty complained. “I might walk right over to those guys any minute. Just go on over and introduce myself. I’ll say, hello, take me to your leader. I want to be a Gorean. Or something like that.”
“You won’t, though.” Martin hoped he was right.
“I won’t, though,” Ratty agreed. His eyes broadcast regret. “I grew out of Dungeons & Dragons years ago.”
Martin tensed. “They’re leaving.”
Kartane and Charlotte were saying their good-byes, which meant Kartane would see them in about five seconds. The file boxes provide inadequate coverage and they had no time to move. Martin tensed, trying to think of an excuse for them being there. The coat. No, not good enough for trespassing.
There was no excuse.
Suddenly Charlotte called Kartane back. Martin spared a moment to check. Was she getting together with Kartane now? Had she been enflamed by the sight of the punished slave girl?
Kartane clearly had the same thought, all but skipping back to her. What a jerk. He’d better not—no, Charlotte was pointing to one of the red-clad kneeling women. More Gorean slave girls in short silky dresses. Pretty skimpy outfits for such a cool night, but undeniably attractive on their young, fit bodies.
Rough Play Page 16