Naked Nights

by Vonna Harper

  Her world became a hazy red as he continued to deny her the ability to breathe. She tried to suck in air, but his cock took up too much room. No matter how much she struggled, he continued to force himself on her. Blow after blow rained on her hips and buttocks.

  “Worthless whore. Stinking trash.”

  Come. Please come. Then let me go.

  Either he couldn’t guess her thoughts or he didn’t care. She suspected it was the second. The beating intensified. Was he angry at her and if so, why? Desperation banked inside her, making it impossible to think of anything else. Her head roared while the need for air made her sick.

  Too far gone to consider the consequences, she threw herself to the side, twisting away as she did. She lost her balance and would have fallen if he’d let go of her hair. It didn’t matter because suddenly she could breathe. Hanging helpless in his grip, she stared up at the man who’d turned into a monster. Even though she still couldn’t see clearly, his smile made an impact. Garbled sounds erupted from her.

  He stepped back, lifted a leg, and kneed her in the chest, releasing her hair as he did. The blow knocked her onto her back with her legs and arms trapped under her.

  “That’s how it’s done.” He stood over her and started in on her breasts with the whip. It didn’t matter that he’d taken something off the blows, her breasts were on fire. Hating her existence, she flailed about like a bug caught in a spider’s web. “Got it, do you? You’re nothing, nothing.”

  “That’s it, damn it!”

  Master’s voice barely penetrated. Even when he stepped into her line of sight, she didn’t have enough left to think about him. Robert tapped her cheek with the whip, making it sting.

  “I told you, that’s enough!”

  Suddenly Robert seemed to levitate. One moment he was looming over her, the next Master had grabbed him around the waist and lifted him. The whip clattered to the floor near her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Robert spluttered.

  “Stopping something that should have never started.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I don’t care,” Master said. “You can try to feed me that line of bull until hell freezes over and I’m not going to buy it. She could have been seriously hurt.”

  Marina knew better than to lift her head, but had studied her surroundings when Master had brought her in here. She’d noted three middle-aged men in leather recliners. Not long ago she’d been a quivering, silenced ball of misery in a room made for punishment and control. She wasn’t deluded enough to think this might be an improvement, but at least this opulent room featured a picture window that faced the ocean. Maybe she could throw herself at the glass. Even if she cut herself to pieces, at least she’d die free.

  “Robert would never damage valuable property,” a man she couldn’t see said. “He has too much of a stake in Carnal’s finances.”

  “He’d lost control. Look at her. She’s bleeding.”

  After untying her and removing the disgusting O gag, Master had told her to go into the bathroom. She’d been shaking so much that at first she’d been unable to focus on her image in the mirror. When she had, she’d wished she hadn’t. A half-dozen thin cuts on her thighs and hips seeped blood. The outsides of both breasts were scratched, prompting her to gently wipe them with a cool, damp washcloth. Fortunately, she’d barely been cut there but bruising had begun.

  Master hadn’t come in with her, opting instead to continue arguing with Robert. Both men had cursed, but, although they’d been talking about her, she’d been unable to focus on what they’d been saying.

  She’d still been in the bathroom when she’d heard a new voice. Master had ordered her to join Robert, a newcomer, and him. After she’d obeyed, he’d clipped a leash to her collar. The newcomer, the elegant woman she’d seen when she’d first been brought to the Carnal facility, had commanded her to turn in a circle. As she’d complied, the woman had taken pictures of her.

  Now, not long after the woman had left, she, Master, and Robert were in the room with the massive window. Everyone else was sitting, while she’d been ordered to kneel. Master was behind her, his legs out of reach. Strangely, his presence comforted her.

  “We’ll have the cuts treated,” the man who’d started the conversation said. “There won’t be any scars.”

  “It didn’t have to happen,” Master countered. “She didn’t do anything to deserve being treated like that.”

  “And your point is?” Robert snapped. “Tray, you know there doesn’t always have to be a reason for punishing a slave.”

  “He’s right,” another of the men interjected. “You understood that going in. Robert’s particularly good at the art of keeping a trainee off-balance, which leads to dependency.”

  That didn’t make sense, not that anyone cared what she thought.

  “She’s my trainee. The rest of you signed off on her, which means any and all dependency she experiences should be directed at me.”

  “Until it’s transferred to whoever buys her,” the new speaker said. “Look, Tray, every trainer is granted a certain amount of leeway when it comes to technique. We asked Robert to provide a demonstration of a proven technique because we’ve seen signs of an inappropriate relationship between you and your subject.”

  “Inappropriate?”

  “You want an explanation? All right, here it is. Dependency and emotional attachment are two distinctly different components. A slave must comprehend that a master provides everything, even the air she breathes. She becomes conditioned to turn to him for the most basic of needs and will do everything she possibly can to avoid his displeasure. She may be terrified of him, but she understands she needs him to stay alive. There’s little room for hatred in that scenario.”

  The more she concentrated on what was being said, the more she wanted to be anywhere except here. Somehow, before she became too cowed to try, she’d escape.

  “We don’t want to see emotional attachment between trainer and trainee, because it complicates an owner’s domination over his slave.”

  “I don’t give a damn about her,” Master said, “so don’t go thinking I do.”

  At his words, pain stabbed her. She tried to tell herself that was what she wanted to hear from the man intent on changing her but couldn’t.

  “You might not believe you do, but you’re human and you’re working with another human being. Rest assured it’s something we’ve all been through.”

  “That’s right,” Robert said. “Tray, right now you’re thinking I’m a bastard because of how I worked her, but think of my technique as a necessary element in self-preservation. If you’re going to be as successful at this as we believe you’re capable of being, you must emotionally separate yourself from your trainees. In part that’s accomplished by focusing on the various steps. You didn’t think about your opponents’ personal lives when you were facing them on the football field, right?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  Was Master still looking at the naked and whip-striped ass she presented to him, or had he lost interest in her?

  “Exactly. Training slaves isn’t any different. You can’t completely control how a slave sees you. Some become more emotionally attached to their trainers than others do. You’ll learn to adjust your techniques to account for that. The more you distance yourself from them the easier your job will be.”

  She didn’t care who was talking. Surprised as she was because the men were saying what they were in her presence, she felt removed from it. Any day now she’d find a way to get free. In her mind’s eye she envisioned herself racing naked and barefoot down the beach while Master pounded after her. His greater weight would slow him. She’d get away, hide somewhere until it got dark. She didn’t care whether she had to stay awake all night as long as, come daylight, she was far from this horrible place.

  Free.

  Never to see Master again.

  “Our intention isn’t to belabor the point,” one of the men said. “It’s v
ital that any and all disagreements between Carnal staff members are resolved. Then we move on. Tray, how would you like to see this handled?”

  When Master didn’t immediately respond, she risked lifting her head and glancing back at him.

  “I’m going to explain something I don’t believe anyone in this room is aware of.” For a moment he locked his gaze with her, then dismissed her. “The public sees football as a contest between aggressive men. To a large extent that’s true, but behind the scenes we’re, in essence, pawns. Owners have the final word in everything, including whether we go on working. Football was my life. It was the only thing I wanted to do.”

  “If I was built like you,” a man said, “I would have made the same decision.”

  Master shook his head. “Maybe you wouldn’t have if you understood the sacrifices. For me…” When he looked at her again the others ceased to exist, but then the moment ended. “There’s more to me—and to every man who puts on a uniform—than a physical body. I wanted to get a certain someone to notice me. Putting on that uniform was how I chose to try to accomplish that.”

  Had he succeeded? His tone and somber expression made her wonder if he hadn’t.

  “My years of being paid handsomely for my services in exchange for giving up the right to say who I worked for, under what circumstances and for how long are behind me.” Simply by planting his hands on the chair arm and sitting straighter, he became even larger.

  “I’m going to make mistakes, but I pride myself on being a quick study. Go ahead and offer suggestions about how I can improve my performance. I know I have a lot to learn. Just keep your hands off her.”

  Because you want me to yourself?

  She paid little attention to what was said after that. Maybe it didn’t matter, because not long after, Master pulled her to her feet and led her out of the room.

  “That’s it,” he said when they were in the hall leading to the space that had become her world. “It’s back to being you and me.”

  She wouldn’t be alone. For as long as Master chose to keep her with him, her life would revolve around something other than earning a living at a career fraught with danger, a career that could end with a single spill.

  “Master, thank you.”

  He stopped so abruptly she nearly ran into him. “For what?”

  “Saving me from—”

  “You aren’t saved. Don’t you get it?”

  Her hands burned with the need to touch him. “Anything’s better than having Robert—”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The trainee hadn’t objected when he’d ordered her to sit in the chair designed for restraint and stimulation. Despite Carnal management’s insistence that her cuts and bruises were no reason to suspend her training, he’d pretty much left her alone for three days after Robert had laid into her. This morning’s examination had assured him that she was basically healed, due in large part to the cream he’d been given.

  Three days and nights of minimal contact had helped him as well, not that he’d ever tell her. Against advice, he’d given her reading material and had set up a TV. He’d spent some of his time surf fishing but had also worked out and gotten caught up on sports news. He’d commented on some posts his sister had left on her Facebook page and responded to the email from his mother. There’d been nothing from his father, and he hadn’t bothered sending him one.

  As he strapped down his slave’s arms and legs, he compared her leery expression to his sister’s wide grin on her Facebook page. If anyone did this to Sara, he’d kill the bastard.

  Then why are you—

  “You were too independent,” he told her. Anything to silence questions he didn’t want to ask, let alone try to answer. “We men are simple creatures. All a lot of us want from women is a little consideration.”

  A shudder sent her breasts into motion. Thinking to get her to concentrate on today’s lesson, he secured her collar to the chair’s high back.

  “Not all women pay for that lack or perceived lack of consideration, but you obviously pissed off the wrong men, men determined not to let you get away with it.”

  “They had no right.”

  She hadn’t spoken since he’d walked in, which must be why her voice distracted him from tightening the waist restraints. He’d have to look closely to see the whip marks and, fortunately, no longer had to apply medication to them.

  “Right has nothing to do with it. You are where you are.”

  “You’re responsible for this, not them.”

  He’d been warned not to allow a slave to get lippy, so why was he allowing her to get away with it? “I could argue with you, but I’m not in the mood.” He positioned one of the horizontal straps fixed to the restraint chair over her upper arms just above her breasts. “It’s time for yet another demonstration of what your body can be made to do.”

  Eyes wide, she looked down at herself while he tightened the strap so it compressed her breasts. The chair had been designed to keep a slave’s legs widely spread, with the opening in the seat directly below her crotch. He probably hadn’t needed to strap down her ankles, calves, and thighs, but studying the contrast between her muscled legs and three wide black strips of leather, he was glad he had. The more effort he put into getting her ready for action, the better. She was becoming dehumanized, which was what he needed to have happen if he hoped to reach his goal.

  His sick goal.

  No! He had to find a way to stop such thoughts from intruding.

  She could no longer move. There wasn’t a part of her body he hadn’t restrained in some way. Granted, she could still talk, but he could change that at any time. For now, however, he needed to pull more out of her. Leave her with even less she could call her own.

  A few days ago he might have filled her in on what he intended to do, but if there was one thing he’d learned from that debacle with Robert, it was to proceed with confidence. Otherwise, those judging his performance might spot or believe they’d spotted a weakness. She might too.

  He pulled the device designed to plug a slave’s holes from under the chair so she couldn’t see what he was doing. She strained to swivel around toward him but only succeeded in tightening her bonds. He’d already taken the case containing the various dildos and butt plugs out of the dresser so it would be within reach.

  “You’re going to tell me some things.” He opened the case. “No matter what’s happening to you, I expect you to answer my questions.”

  “What questions? You already know everything about me.”

  He didn’t know nearly enough. Leaving her to worry about what he might or might not say next, he set out the various tools. They screwed into the base and could be electronically lifted into place and set into motion. He chose a medium-sized dildo and a plug marginally larger than the one she’d worn the other day.

  After securing them to the base, he slid everything back under the chair. Still kneeling, he used the remote control to start the invaders moving upward. When they touched her, he stopped the motion so he could manually open her butt hole. He watched the pre-lubed plug disappear into her. Her toes curled and she lifted her heels off the floor. Otherwise, nothing moved.

  “Now for—” he started, only to shut up. Damn it, not telegraphing his intentions was harder than he’d told himself it would be. Surely it wasn’t because he was still taking pity on her. He’d gotten past that, right? Everything from now on was about—about what?

  Why did these lapses keep happening? After all those years spent learning from an uncaring bastard he should have had the technique down.

  “Why?” she asked. “That’s what I’ll never understand, why you do things like this.”

  The air seemed to swirl around him. He was caught in an unanticipated tornado with bits and pieces of himself slamming into each other. Hadn’t he put his years as a well-paid indentured servant behind him? He thought he had. Now he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to that point. That’s what
the damn tornado was all about—the truth demanding to be acknowledged and him not wanting it to happen.

  The plug was in place, buried in her and waiting to be put to use. Next would come the dildo then he could watch her suffer—make her talk. As soon as he touched her sex lips in preparation for drawing them apart, he encountered moisture. He collected a little and placed his fingers under her nose.

  “You want to explain this. What have you been doing when you’re by yourself?”

  “Nothing, Master. I haven’t touched—”

  “Spontaneous excitement?”

  Her head drooped a little, stopped by her restrained neck.

  “I’m serious, slave. Give me an explanation.”

  The way her lids started to close, he thought she was trying to separate herself from him. Then she seemed to gather strength. Even constrained the way she was, he remembered how she’d appeared as her horse had trotted into the winner’s circle, head high and back proud.

  “I have a woman’s body,” she said. “It responds in ways I don’t always understand.”

  “And what is it responding to right now? We haven’t gotten started.”

  “Haven’t we?” She tried to look down at herself. “Maybe this is anticipation.”

  Not dread but eagerness, interesting. “Are you saying you want this?” He again reached for her labia.

  “Yes,” she muttered.

  Most slaves didn’t admit to their sexual weaknesses so soon—at least that’s what he’d been told.

  “Then I won’t disappoint you.”

  She made no attempt to move as he slipped the dildo into her. Like the plug, it had come pre-lubed, but thanks to her body’s juices, that turned out not to be necessary.

  How would she react if it was his cock?

  In anticipation of what today might require of him, he’d masturbated last night. He could have made use of one of the complex’s slaves, but that would entail some measure of communication and he hadn’t felt up to it—not with someone he didn’t give a damn about.