Rough Play

by Christina Crooks

  Kartane made his way back, stepping carefully on the furs. He moved with a slowness that showed reluctance until he stood before her.

  “If you don’t want to drive me, just say so,” she told him. “I’ll catch the light-rail. If they’re still running this late. You don’t happen to know the schedule . . . um, Kartane? What are you doing?”

  With an economy of motion that spoke of long practice, he turned her while pulling both her arms behind her back. He wrapped her wrists together with a simple figure eight in the time it took her to realize she was trapped. “What the hell? Let me go!”

  “I did, once. True masters don’t release their slaves, any more than they’d give away another valuable possession. You’ll probably be frightened and dismayed to learn I’m a true Gorean master now. But acceptance will come in time. I’ll make you my First Girl.” He sounded sorry.

  Disbelief and confusion roiled her stomach. “Stop joking around.” The tremor in her voice betrayed her. She knew he wasn’t joking.

  “I can’t let you go now.” He pulled her to the edge of the furs, scooped up another length of cord. He knotted it around her neck. “If you scream, I’ll choke you unconscious.”

  She looked at her ex-husband. She saw the truth of his words.

  But even so, when he led her to stairs leading below, she balked. “Please. Don’t. We made this mistake before. You and me. It didn’t work. I’m not cut out for the slave-girl role.”

  “It’s not a role,” he explained. “It’s woman’s nature.”

  “I know you believe that, but it’s not true. I’m unnatural,” she declared, inspired. “I’m a freak of nature, a free woman, a woman who wants to be like a man, no use to you at all.”

  He laughed at her. “Charlotte. I was married to you, remember? What’s more, I saw your response to Talia’s chastisement. I know what your body craves.” He paused, shrugged. “It would be a shame to kill you.”

  She gaped.

  “A captured woman who refuses slavery may be disposed of in any way the captor wishes, so as not to be a burden to him.”

  “Okay. Okay, honey? We’re in America. On Earth. I’m a burden to no one.” She remembered her current clientless state. “Even if I do have to work in fast food for a while. I can take care of myself.”

  “You’d prefer a strong master.”

  “Not at the expense of freedom.”

  “Words. Your body speaks a higher truth.” He grasped a breast with easy familiarity.

  She cringed away to the length of the rope. Her body was neutral to his touch. “We’re just friends. We’re friends,” she repeated, willing him to understand it. “I’m willing to be your friend.”

  “I’m not willing to be yours. You have nobody to claim you now. No family, either.” He looped the cord attached to her neck around his fist. Then again, dragging her closer. “No one to miss you.”

  Martin’s face flashed through her mind. Martin would miss her. Then realization hit her. “You took Gail!”

  He smiled. “Come with me.”

  “No!”

  He stopped smiling. “Come with me, Charlotte. You’re mine. You wear my brand.”

  “You said you were sorry for that! You cried!” She pulled back until her windpipe constricted. “It’s not a brand, it’s a blob of scar tissue. You let me go after you hurt me. Let me go now.”

  “I regret it took me this long to learn my business. Oh, no, not the magazine business. That was a means to an end. The business of owning women, the way they need to be owned, is my calling. I’ll brand you properly, I promise. And then you’ll be used properly. You’ll come to love it. They all do.” He smiled coolly. “Eventually.”

  “This is a nightmare,” she said, strangling on her own words. “Wake me up.” Between the lump in her throat and the tight rope, air couldn’t reach her lungs. The world floated.

  He loosened the rope. “Don’t fight it this time, Charlotte. You won’t win.” She knew he didn’t mean the rope.

  “But I don’t want you. I don’t want this.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She knew he was stronger than her, and on guard, and between her bound hands and the choking collar, she didn’t have a chance.

  She could scream.

  “Don’t, Charlotte.”

  Her shoulders began to slump, obedient. He knew her too well. Yet not well enough. A lethal combination.

  Lethal for her. He might do worse than brand her again. He might kill her.

  She opened her mouth to scream, and his hand was there, sealing it shut, muting the sound.

  “Bad girl,” he breathed, when she’d stopped. “Do that again and I promise you you’ll regret it.”

  She knew he spoke the truth.

  He led her downstairs, then unlocked a heavy metal door, pulling it open and thrusting her through. A tunnel. Charlotte looked around. The rough, unfinished combination of concrete, metal rods, dusty bare lightbulbs, and the scene of dirt reminded her of the room at Subspace. So these were the undertunnels Ratty had talked about.

  “How’d you get Gail down here? Rope and brand her like a steer, too?”

  “Submit, kajira. But not too much. A Gorean master commonly likes a spirited girl, one who fights the discipline and collar, resisting for weeks or months until she is overwhelmed and must acknowledge herself his. She comes to crave her master’s smallest attention, and fears only that he’ll tire of her and sell her to another.”

  “Did you get that from those sci-fi novels? Dominant Weenies of Gor?”

  “Insolence will be punished.”

  “How about the truth? Is that punished?”

  He yanked her forward, harder than necessary.

  Suddenly they were at another door. He unlocked it with a different key. When he nudged it open to push her inside, her first impression was one of scent. Unwashed flesh. Tang of urine. Copper of blood. A whiff of bleach. Food, too, though it smelled oily, as if fried.

  Then she heard the noise. Whips meeting flesh. Shrieks of complaint.

  “Punishment,” Kartane explained helpfully.

  “Great.” She kept her voice light and sarcastic, but inside she quivered with panic.

  He led her to a metal enclosure, opened the simple padlock on the outside of the door. Inside she could see more hard-packed dirt, but not much else in the dim light. The scent of urine was stronger.

  “Go in.”

  “I’d prefer not to.”

  In answer, he merely removed her rope collar and thrust her inside. The door clanged shut, locked.

  She quaked, wrapping her arms around herself, listening to the shrieks of the woman being punished. The shrieks had grown hoarse, but the sharp impact of the whip meeting body didn’t lessen. Charlotte shuddered.

  Minutes later, the door rattled, and she leapt back.

  It opened. A woman was thrust inside but immediately fell to the ground.

  “Wait!” Charlotte said, but the door shut and latched again, leaving her in light still too dim to examine anything closely. Including the woman.

  “Hey.” Charlotte touched her with her boot, gently. The woman appeared to be naked, lying on her stomach, her white flesh catching the light in strips. Glints of sweat or blood pooled in divots and shallow grooves. Charlotte hoped they were shallow.

  “Hey. I think you’re hurt. Say something. Are you okay?”

  The woman groaned. Then, “What the fuck do you think? Am I okay. Are you one of the lobotomized monkeys, or do you still have two brain cells to rub together?”

  “Gail!”

  The woman slowly pried herself onto her side. Charlotte felt the weight of her regard.

  “Charlotte.” Gail managed, with a grunt of pain, to rise to a sitting position. “You are so fired.”

  23

  It was finally Halloween, and Martin sat where he could watch the front entrance of Subspace. He’d sat there since just before the sun went down, until now—hours later—and all he’d seen so far
were far too many costumes of vampires.

  If he saw another glittery fanged creature of the night, he’d stake it.

  His mood was foul. Two days had passed since Charlotte had nailed him in the nuts. They still ached when he moved.

  Not as much as the rest of him, though. His brain and heart especially. He should’ve handled her better. He should’ve handled everything better. Martin swiveled in his vinyl seat, winced. He scowled as he flagged the waiter.

  Instead, Amethyst slid into the booth, across from him. “I have some good news. Want to hear it?”

  “No. Go away.” He paused, looked her over. “You’re not in costume. They shouldn’t have let you in.”

  “You’re not in costume, either,” she retorted.

  “Owner’s privilege. Besides, I’m scary enough naturally.”

  “Har, har. You’d make a good clown.” She grinned.

  In fact, his friend was all but dancing in her seat, her purple locks swinging to and fro. Martin sighed. “Okay. What’s your good news?”

  “I’m so glad you asked! I’ve found a way to buy Subspace.”

  He looked away with exasperation. Toward the door.

  More sparkly vampires made their way past the doorman. Would he even recognize Charlotte if she came in costume? She probably wouldn’t come at all. And he had no way to reach her.

  He remembered Amethyst. “We’ve discussed Subspace a few times, Amethyst. It’s no longer for sale at the moment.”

  She lifted a tiny flash drive on a lanyard loop, swung it back and forth as if she were trying to hypnotize him. Her gaze was certainly intense. “It’s all here.”

  “What’s all there?” He looked past her, glanced again at the entrance. His gaze went back to the small black rectangle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As usual. Where’s Ratty? I thought for sure he’d come for Halloween.”

  Her smile lit her face up in ways he’d never seen before. It made him remember Charlotte declaring Amethyst and Ratty had a lifetime thing. It made him think of Charlotte’s own bright smile.

  It made his heart hurt and his balls ache.

  “Ratty will come in his own time. Ratty’s wearing a special costume.”

  “Not another vampire, one hopes.”

  “Will you please pay attention? Who are you looking for?” she finally snapped when he glanced again toward the door.

  “Charlotte.” His cock throbbed. His balls throbbed worse, of course, but that was to be expected. And was his own fault. “I have some things to straighten out with her. I think she thinks I kidnapped her friend. Well, her client. And it’s true her client probably is actually abducted, since I have the phone. It’s a long story.”

  “My story’s better.”

  Martin glared at her, opened his mouth to tell her how wrong she was.

  She spoke first. “You know I’ve done pro-domme work. The money’s been great and I enjoyed men paying me for the honor of debasing themselves at my feet. Your boss, Richard Corvine, is a bootlicker. One of my regulars. I’ve got him recorded—right here—paying homage to my thigh-highs. On his knees.” She grinned. “I made him state his name and occupation for the record, before declaring him a naughty boy. He’s not a very thorough bootlicker, I’m afraid. He missed some spots. I had to grind him underfoot a few times.”

  Martin stared.

  “So, Master Martin, you don’t have to worry your scary little head any longer about any incriminating photos falling into his hands. He won’t dare to take the smallest action with them once he knows you have this.” She tossed Martin the flash drive.

  He clutched it. “You’re not kidding? No, I can see you’re not. Richard Corvine. The same Richard Corvine?”

  “Petclub tycoon? Yep.” She grinned, smug.

  “I don’t believe it.” He saw her look. “I investigated him from every angle, but everything slid right off the man. He was as pure as a man of God.” Humor bubbled up inside him. “Damn. He’s your boot cleaner, huh? I looked everywhere to pin something on him, then you go and find his dirty secret. It was right in front of me the whole time.”

  “Everyone has secret fantasies. He’s just like most people out there: good at hiding them. Especially the super naughty ones.”

  The black square of plastic rested in his palm. It held the power of freedom if Amethyst was telling the truth. “You’re amazing,” he said with awe. “Relentless and amazing. Mistress Amethyst.”

  He saw her shudder. “Not ‘Mistress’ anymore, please, at least for a while. I promised Ratty a shot at topping me tonight. Can you believe it? So.” She flicked a finger against the flash drive, her nail clicking against it. “This means I get to buy Subspace, yes?”

  “Yes. Yes, gladly.” He cast another glance at the door. A tall man wearing a rubber mask entered. Something about his posture seemed familiar.

  Martin sighed. “I’ll gladly unload this place on you. You offered a fair price.”

  She looked at Martin, her gaze keen. “What’s wrong then?”

  “Charlotte is what’s wrong.” He gave Amethyst an abbreviated version of the scene two nights before. “It ended as badly as it gets. She jumped to the conclusion I’m worse than Kartane.” No wonder she hadn’t returned to Subspace. “He’s the one who took Gail downstairs to the dungeons, he’s the one who hurt Charlotte when they were married, but I’m the one who gets all the blame.”

  “Kartane took her downstairs. Hmmm.” Amethyst nodded, taking it all in. “You still have the phone?”

  “Yeah. All of them. Now that the blackmail threat’s gone, I can bring them in to the police.” He started to rise.

  “Hang on a sec.” A deep frown furrowed Amethyst’s brow. “Kartane wanted Subspace, too. I don’t think he meant to say it out loud, but he once talked about the club as if it was going to be his own personal hunting ground. Soon.”

  They stared at each other.

  Martin’s pulse sped. “You don’t think . . . ?”

  “That Kartane’s your blackmailer? Sure.”

  “How’d he get into Subspace? You’re the only one besides me with a key and the security code.”

  She gave him a slow smile. “Ah, so that’s why you’ve been weird lately. You thought I was blackmailing you. Silly boy.”

  “If I’ve been weird lately, it has to do with more than just you. Self-centered girl. Since you’re so smart, answer the question. How’d Kartane get inside Subspace to deliver the phones?”

  “I have a better question for you. Where’s Gail?”

  Martin swore, rose to his feet. “Of course. We’ve got to get those phones to the police.” He had a thought that chilled him. “What if Charlotte ran to Kartane that night? Jesus, I’m an idiot. He might have taken her just like Gail. We do have to go to the police right now.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Martin turned at Amethyst’s tone, and just stared, open-mouthed at the man who stood before them.

  “I am Ratty of Gor!” Ratty had a cloak thrown back, showing his scarlet tunic, sandals, and the sword in its scabbard slung over his left shoulder. The knife attached to his leather belt looked real. His metal helmet, with its Y opening, covered his tattoos of rats. A pouch at his waist bulged with its unknown contents. “Fear me!” He grinned at them both. “What do you think of my warrior costume? The tharlarion boots were kind of challenging, but I know a place that does soft leather work.”

  “Ratty?”

  “Yes?”

  “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

  “Ah.”

  Amethyst took in his expression. “Maybe you can help us. We were just wondering how someone might enter and leave Subspace without being seen, or tripping the alarm.”

  Martin could tell from her voice she didn’t really expect an answer, had in fact only asked to make Ratty feel included, but the slender man was nodding. “Easy. The Blood Orange room, the really old dungeon? It could be connected up to the Riverport undertunnels. They’re a netw
ork of old tunnels that reportedly go from nearby businesses to the river. Or, they used to before being bricked off.”

  Martin and Amethyst looked at each other. Martin shook his head. “Kartane took her downstairs, and nobody saw her again.”

  “Saw who?” Ratty wondered.

  Amethyst nodded. “It makes sense. We have to look.”

  “Agreed.” The two rushed off.

  Amethyst hurried back, grabbed Ratty by his leather belt, and pulled him along.

  24

  Charlotte finished using the bucket, unable to help grimacing in distaste. The odor cleared her sinuses. The bucket hadn’t been changed since she’d arrived two nights ago. As she made her way across the hard-packed dirt floor, she stumbled over Gail’s bare feet.

  The woman’s lack of reaction showed how much of her spirit had leached away during the past days. “Hey,” Charlotte said as she settled against a metal wall as far from the bucket as possible. “Are you okay?”

  “I want to hurt him.” Gail spoke in a monotone. “Then lock him in a dark cell. See how he likes it.” She moved slightly, and Charlotte heard her bite back a whimper. “He thinks he’s some sort of king. A ‘Ubar.’ He’s crazy.”

  Gail didn’t have to say who she meant.

  Charlotte nodded, then realized Gail might not be able to see it in the dark. “Yes, he is.” Gail’s condition frankly worried Charlotte. Yesterday Kartane took Gail out for another session with something that made an ominous thudding sound. A brick? A rock?

  He’d ignored Charlotte, except for the hot, spicy drinks he watched her swallow. Caffeine? An aphrodisiac? He’d called it slave wine. It wasn’t poison, but neither did it make her warm to him. Quite the opposite.

  What was he thinking? He hadn’t touched her at all. Saving her for something special? Or did he prefer to break only one woman at a time?

  For that was clearly his intention. Gail had told her everything the first night, from Elizabeth’s help trying to escape to the inventive punishments meted out by both Talia and Kartane upon their recapture. “He won’t stop until we beg him to enslave us. Beg for his brand. Beg for his use.” Gail’s tone had revealed the depth of her horror. “We have to get out of here.”