by Vonna Harper
After the three were out of the plane, he stepped into early morning sunshine. Marina’s handlers were carrying her by her shoulders and ankles to a waiting SUV. He couldn’t stop staring at her naked ass.
He’d done this. Taken away her freedom.
His hard-on returned. He had to forcefully remind himself that it was vital for Carnal to see him as a competent trainer and not some oversexed boy.
“You want her in the dungeon or a training room?” the man holding her ankles asked.
“A training room,” he said, because the dark dungeon with its cages set him on edge. No way could he work in there. “I want to get started as soon as possible.”
“I don’t blame you.” The man plopped her buttocks onto the SUV tailgate and cupped his palm around what he could of her mons. “Damn, but I love this job.”
Tray clenched his fingers. “Don’t.”
The man withdrew his hand. “Sorry, man. I was just getting a sample. Some trainers pass the merchandize around. Obviously you don’t.”
Maybe, eventually, he’d offer Marina to those who worked at the facility, but not now. One reason he’d been drawn to the job was because he needed to prove, maybe just to himself, that just because his playing days were behind him, was no reason to plop his ass in a chair. He could have gone into business or climbed onboard the speaking circuit, even tried his hand at acting, but none of those possibilities appealed. He still needed physical activity, and the thrill that came with pitting himself against an opponent.
Granted, there wasn’t much of a physical matchup between Marina and himself, but there was more than one kind of competition. He intended to win this one.
Once Marina was in the back, he climbed into the passenger seat. The handlers explained that once they were done with this run up to the facility, they’d return to the plane for the equipment and overnight bags he and Robert had brought with them. They’d also grab Marina’s belongings and place them in Tray’s room. As they started up the short climb to the sprawling facility that overlooked the Pacific Ocean, Tray tried to remember what of her things Robert had selected. There was her laptop, purse, and a few personal items, including some clothes so it would appear as if she intended to be gone for a while. Her cell phone was at the bottom of the outhouse. They’d left her truck with the keys in it in a low income part of the next town north of where she lived. Chances were someone was already driving it and getting their fingerprints all over it.
The coastal Carnal facility had once belonged to an investment company that had used the eight-bedroom monstrosity to wine and dine high rollers. The company had gone bankrupt during the recession and Carnal had picked it up for pennies on the dollar. Since then, the basement-wine cellar had been converted into a dungeon. Half of the bedrooms now served as residences for trainers while the others had been modified for training purposes. There was a large kitchen and a great room, complete with fireplace adjacent to a cedar deck. A forty-step walkway led down to the isolated beach surrounded by vegetation made lush by the Pacific Northwest climate.
“How’d you get along with Robert?” the man behind the wheel asked.
“What do you mean?”
The man shrugged. “I’ve been working here for going on three years and he still treats me as if I don’t know shit.”
“There were some rocky moments, but he knows what he’s doing.” He glanced behind him and noticed that Marina was shivering. It was warm in the SUV, so fear must be responsible.
“Will he be overseeing you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Good luck if he is. Of course, you’re more intimidating than most, so maybe he’ll treat you like an equal.”
If Robert rode him too hard, he’d tell him to back off. On the other hand, like he’d just said, Robert knew the ropes when it came to slave training. He’d put up with enough hard-ass coaches to know how it was done.
They pulled up at the back of the facility. Tray got out and opened the back door. “We’ll take care of her,” the driver assured him. “Unless you want.”
“I want her to see what she’s up against.” After reaching in, he spun her around so he could get his hands on the sleep mask. She was a delectable package all right, with a bit of mystery thrown in, because she was still wearing her top. Despite her rough night, her long, thick hair felt like silk. The rope around her neck stood in sharp contrast to her tan body. He started to unhook the mask, only to stop and reach into his pocket for his cell phone. He took several pictures of the helplessly bound package before unfastening the mask. The moment it was off, he aimed the phone at her face. He snapped three shots as she blinked repeatedly. Her eyes were darker than he remembered, full of disbelief, horror and hatred. The hatred fascinated him.
“You’re here,” he said unnecessarily. “Get used to it.”
He stepped back so the handlers could take over, then nearly objected when they freed her legs. It belatedly dawned on him that they wanted her to have to walk to her prison. Her legs nearly gave out as they stood her upright. After a moment, she flexed and straightened her legs, glaring at him the whole time. Saliva trailed from the gag and some had dried on her top.
Curious about her reaction, he reached behind her head and loosened the gag. She didn’t wait to see what he had in mind but spat it out. Her head up, she licked her lips.
“Interesting,” the shorter man said. “I thought she’d start screaming. There’s a lot of that around here.”
Tray shook his head. “So far, she’s been pretty quiet.”
“That’ll change once you start working on her.”
Thinking Marina might beg for an explanation, he continued his perusal of her, but she only studied her captors in turn. He’d figured her emotions would be simple with fear front and center but, unless he was wrong, defiance was wrapped in with her loathing of him. His job included wrenching defiance and hatred out of her on the way to subservience. Right now he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He took hold of the neck rope and started hauling her around to the metal side door used by slaves and trainers. At first she resisted, but it didn’t take her long to figure out how little chance she had of fighting him. Something about dragging her behind him put the final pieces of the puzzle together for him. His little slave in training was finally here. From now on he’d be in control in ways he hadn’t been when football management could buy, sell or release him. He was no longer a well-paid but disposable athlete. He was in charge of another human being.
The slave door was constantly monitored, so, after ringing the buzzer, he waited for the door to swing their way. The two who’d come for him and his captive might have already been back in the SUV in preparation for retrieving what remained in the plane. Except for when he’d taken her to the outhouse, this was the first time he’d been alone with his captive.
She’d back-stepped after he stopped leading her. As a consequence, the rope from his hand to her neck was tight and she reminded him of a reluctant dog or about-to-bolt horse. Her nostrils were flared, her eyes wide and mouth parted. Seeing her tremble, he nearly told her what to expect, then remembered yet another of Robert’s warnings which was to always keep the slave off balance and guessing.
The door opened and he stepped into a windowless office. A fifty-something woman sat behind a teak desk with video monitors all around. Everyone called her Mrs. Johnson. All he knew for sure was that no one wanted to get on her bad side, in large part because she was the facility’s financial officer. He’d never seen anything approaching a sense of humor from her, and she always carried a switch. He’d watched her use it on more than one slave. She was good with it, damn good. And ruthless.
“I have her paperwork.” Mrs. Johnson removed several pages from the printer and slapped them down on the desk near where he stood. “Robert said he’d sign them, but as the slave’s primary, that’s your responsibility.”
He switched the lead to his left hand and leaned over so he could read the docum
ent. The rope connecting him to his captive trembled. The document contained a lot of legal verbiage about his financial responsibility should the subject be injured, followed by a lengthy confidentiality statement. In essence, Carnal operatives would take him out if he so much as said a word to law enforcement. The statement wasn’t necessary because Robert and others had made it clear that certain powerful members of the legal and political systems throughout the country availed themselves of Carnal’s services.
“Do I still have room three?” he asked as he signed.
“Let me look.” Mrs. Johnson tapped her keyboard. “Yes, it’s ready for you. I had to replace a camera, but it’s been tested.” Head cocked, she studied Marina, who was trying to take in the entire room. “She a jock?”
“In a way. She’s a jockey.”
Mrs. Johnson snorted. “Was a jockey. Not every potential owner wants a slave with muscles.”
I do. Surprised by his thought, he nevertheless shrugged. “They prefer someone soft? Where’s the challenge in that?”
“Spoken like an athlete. Look, I had reservations about letting you become a member of the family not because I wasn’t certain you could do the job, but because I’m not sure you know your strength. It’ll be interesting to see what you do with her.”
Mrs. Johnson didn’t intimidate him. The less he had to do with her the better, and if she came near Marina with her whip, he’d stop her and deal with the consequences. As he studied his half-naked captive, he wondered if she fully understood how many cards were stacked against her. Not only was she a prisoner in a facility designed to contain captives, the few free women here were part of the power structure. They didn’t see the slaves as their equals in any way. In essence, Carnal existed as its own country with its own rules and ways of enforcing those rules.
Mrs. Johnson jerked her head at a camera on a tripod to the left of her desk. “Get her over there and get the hell rid of her clothes.”
Marina sucked in a noisy breath. Determined to prove he knew what he was doing, he grabbed her hair and hauled her in front of the camera. When Mrs. Johnson handed him a pair of scissors, he slit Marina’s top from hem to neckline. He lifted the ruined garment off her breasts, then positioned himself behind her and pulled back on her arms so her breasts thrust forward.
“Nice knockers,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Bigger than I thought they’d be.” She pushed a button. The camera made clicking sounds. “Turn her around.”
Marina continued to noisily suck in air while he did as Mrs. Johnson had ordered. Until this moment, he’d been aware of how tired he was, but suddenly it didn’t matter. He felt alive in ways he hadn’t since his playing days. He slid the top down her arms, fisted her hair, and forced her to slowly turn her back to the camera. He didn’t wait for another command but bent her forward and kicked her legs apart. The camera swept down her spine and over her buttocks before settling on her now exposed pussy.
“Get rid of that bush. Do you know whether she’s ever taken a cock up her ass?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Hmm. Small as she is, she’s going to have trouble accommodating you. I’ll send in an assortment of butt plugs. Make sure she wears them.”
Marina whimpered and tried to straighten. Seeing other slaves locked into contraptions that kept their holes plugged was one thing. Subjecting Marina to the same thing was another. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this gig after all.
The hell I’m not.
Damn it, he had to stop thinking of her as Marina Stenson. From now on she was simply a slave in training. That would do the trick. The owners of the three teams he’d played for hadn’t felt a moment of remorse when they’d given him his well-compensated walking papers. That had been business. So was today.
He hauled her upright. “You need anything else?” he asked Mrs. Johnson.
“Not now. I’ll be in later.” The corners of her mouth opened in a poor imitation of a smile. “Have fun.”
Chapter Six
The cell—Marina didn’t know what else to call it—wasn’t much larger than her own bedroom, but the only resemblance was that both had a bed. The space Tray had just pushed her into did nothing to calm her nerves. She didn’t dare speak for fear she’d start to beg. Pride was all she had left.
She was naked except for the fabric hanging off her cuffed wrists. Being able to see and having the gag out of her mouth felt wonderful, as did the loss of the straps that had been around her ankles for so long. Even though she should’ve been trying to make sense of what had happened when they’d come inside, her mind kept closing down. The mental numbness wasn’t that different from what she experienced right before a race. During those seconds as her mount strained to start running, only becoming one with the horse mattered.
This wasn’t the same as perching on a thoroughbred’s back. For one, nothing about right now had been her idea.
Tray closed the door behind her, positioned her in the middle of the room and stepped back. She’d whimpered when he’d forced her to lean over so that horrible woman could take pictures of her private parts, but she wouldn’t make that sound again.
At least she prayed she wouldn’t.
Neither would she acknowledge her helplessness, she vowed, as she took in this new space. In addition to the bed with its metal head and footboards, there were two chairs. One appeared comfortable while the other—oh, God, the other looked like a torture device. It was made of wood and metal and had been welded to the floor. Instead of a seat, there was a cutout. A metal post extended from the floor to just beneath where the seat should have been.
Despite her frantic attempt to keep her mind blank, she got it. Dildos could and undoubtedly would be attached to the post. Leather straps were fixed to the chair arms and legs. Other straps dangling from the chair back were designed to go around her neck. Once in it she’d be unable to move. The only other piece of furniture was a tall, narrow dresser with a half-dozen drawers. Maybe they held clothes, maybe something else.
A closed door opposite the bed momentarily distracted her. Then she forced herself to acknowledge the rings and chains attached to the walls. Other chains hung from the ceiling. Cameras had been mounted in every corner.
There was a window, small and so high she wouldn’t be able to see out. It was open and the glorious scent of the sea drifted in. Knowing she could smell but not see the ocean nearly brought her to her knees.
Please don’t do this to me! I haven’t done anything to deserve this. Why do you hate me so much?
He opened the door opposite the bed, revealing a large bathroom complete with glass shower. “We’ll be sharing this with another trainer and slave. First order of business, getting you on the toilet.”
Trainer. Slave. The words crashed into each other in her mind and shattered. This wasn’t happening! She was having a horrible nightmare.
Then Tray yanked on the neck rope while jabbing a finger at the bathroom and her desperate lie died. Between fear and thirst she could barely swallow. She wasn’t sure how she managed to walk and not shuffle. Eyes downcast, she sat on the toilet. At least the bathroom smelled like cleaning products, unlike last night. Her bladder immediately let go. She steeled herself for him to wipe her again. Instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a key.
“Stand up.”
Urine dribbled down the inside of her left leg as she obeyed. When he lifted her bound hands and unlocked the cuffs, she caught sight of a camera near the ceiling. Metal now dangled from her left wrist. Her arms fell to her sides and the burning sensation in her shoulders made her gasp.
“That’s what I figured would happen,” he said as he yanked off her ruined top. It fell to the floor and he kicked it into a corner.
When he started rubbing her shoulders, she did all she could do not to cry out, but before long, circulation was restored enough that she could flex her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” He re-cuffed her hands in front, then lifted them and knotted
the neck rope to the cuff chain so her hands were anchored under her chin. “Now it’s time to get you cleaned up.”
As he removed his clothes, she backed away as far as she could. It did no good because she still felt his heat. Ignoring her, he turned on the shower. That done, he faced her. He’d been imposing earlier, but that was nothing compared to what she was seeing now. He didn’t exactly have a six-pack, but only a thin layer of fat lay over his hard-muscled body. His shoulders and chest were massive, his neck thick. Auburn hair dusted his chest and what little he had in the way of a belly. More reddish hair framed his erection, as if challenging her to ignore the message behind his hard-on. Of course she couldn’t, any more than she could pretend he wasn’t now staring at her as if he owned her.
His brows were thick and dark, and he needed a shave. She’d spent much of the past few years competing against men barely any taller than her. Maybe that was why she couldn’t wrap her mind around her captor’s size and undeniable strength. The bathroom wasn’t large enough for the two of them, and yet obviously he intended to share the shower with her.
A plea for mercy pressed against her throat. At the same time, an unwanted tingle whispered to life between her legs. Tray was all sex, commanding sex.
And she knew or thought she knew what he wanted with her.
“Take a look at it.” He cradled his cock and aimed it at her crotch. “Before long you’ll be begging for it. On your knees and begging.”