Bran gave me blood regularly, and I grew smarter as well as stronger. I’d destroyed brain cells and hadn’t realized I’d been getting stupider and stupider, but I was fully cognizant when the process reversed, my brain healed, and I regained my intelligence. Concepts I hadn’t been able to grasp at Abbott’s house now made perfect sense with only a glance. Lessons Spencer had spent hours trying to help me understand but I hadn’t been capable of learning.
And I was given new teeth. The process was excruciating and I had to go without Bran’s blood for a while before we started. Somehow, a dentist acquired human teeth, still fresh enough they could go into my mouth and have a chance of rooting. Bran flew me to New York City for the procedure, and twelve hours after the dentist worked nearly that long to put them all in and sew my gums around them, I had to hold Bran’s blood in my mouth for an hour without swallowing. I had to do it every six hours for a while and it was beyond horrid, but it worked. My mouth looked good as new, and my teeth were perfect.
Eventually, I began to crave Bran’s blood, and the taste changed to that of the best steak you can imagine. As with everything else in Bran’s house, I learned control with the help of a whip. Remembering who I was when overcome with blood lust required more though, and Bran added a jolt of electricity when the whip alone wasn’t enough.
Now that I knew about shapeshifters and could smell the difference between human and not, I knew most of the guards were wolves or various species of cat. Bruiser’s an eagle. Marco isn’t human, but I could never figure out what he is.
It was another three months before Bran took me and a human male to his private island. The male had agreed to let Bran hurt him any way he wanted, from Thursday evening until Monday morning, with the promise he’d be completely healed by Monday morning. Bran paid him ten thousand dollars. Once we were on the island, there was no one to rescue him and no escape from the contract. I was never told his name. He was introduced to me as Slave, and that’s what I called him.
This weekend was my introduction to true sadism and masochism. Bran gave me a strap-on setup with an impossibly huge dick — nearly a foot long and thicker than a Coke can once you got past the head. I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.
The man was bound so he couldn’t move and I could get leverage, and Bran paddled me until my strap-on dick was buried all the way in the slave’s ass. The man bled and screamed, and while I felt guilty for being turned on, part of me liked hurting him.
When I was in, Bran screwed my bottom hard and fast, which means I moved around in the slave’s butt. I enjoyed the man’s screams, and when I was close to coming I found myself moving and thrusting to hurt him worse so he’d scream and beg even more.
Later, Bran used the opportunity to test me on all the implements I’d been learning. I made it through the easy ones before he handed me the whip. “Strike him twenty times so blood comes to the surface but the skin doesn’t break.” And then, “Excellent, now break the skin five times, but only a spot, not a lash.” And finally. “Lash him. Tear him open with every strike.”
Bran had me rub his blood into the slave’s back to heal the surface wounds, and one of his people talked me through outfitting the slave as a pony. We forced the slave to carry us around the island while we sat in a little cart.
Surprisingly, I was turned on when we took the man to his outermost edge of pleasure and didn’t let him orgasm, but also when he was allowed to orgasm while we hurt him. It was hot, knowing how much agony he had to be in, and still ordering him to come and watching the battle of emotions — bliss and pain and orgasms.
I didn’t expect Bran to order me to nurse the slave back to health. We stopped the kinds of torture that would leave marks sometime Sunday afternoon, and Bran fed him blood a few times throughout the evening. It was my job to rehydrate him, feed him, and make sure he had his strength back when we arrived back in Chattanooga the next morning. Bran screwed him a few times in the airplane on the way back, and made him crawl and eat from a bowl like a dog, but otherwise, I was in charge. I was intrigued with the pleasure I found in helping him heal from the damage I’d helped Bran inflict.
A few nights later, Abbott arrived with a naked man in a cage. Guards moved the cage into Bran’s living room, and I stared at the prisoner. He’d been totally shaved — even his eyebrows. He wasn’t especially attractive, though not ugly, either. He’d likely look better with hair and eyebrows. If I had to guess age, I’d assume he was somewhere around twenty-five.
“I have rules against people owning slaves in my territory,” Abbott said from behind me, “but there are exceptions. Most of the exceptions exist in this house. This man was told about shapeshifters because his job required he understand the dangers. He discovered the deer enclave and went hunting. Human laws will never touch him because as far as they’re concerned, he killed deer and not people.”
“I asked Abbott to be on the lookout for a new slave,” said Bran, “because I’d like to see you train someone from the ground up.”
It took a minute to soak in. “You’re giving me a slave? Someone to teach? Mold into who I want? What I want?”
“Consider him a loaner,” Bran answered. “It’s possible we’ll sell him into a territory that allows such transactions, or perhaps we’ll keep him.” He shrugged. “If he doesn’t train well and won’t bring much at auction, I may use him to test you after you’re turned, when we think you have enough control to feed from a human without killing, but we aren’t sure. At any rate, don’t get too attached to him.”
“What’s his name?”
“His old name is of no consequence,” said Abbott. “He’ll be known as Suzy — the seventeen-year-old girl he shot and killed while she was in deer form.”
His voice was different. Almost emotional.
“This is personal to you.”
He nodded. “The deer enclave sends me people to feed from on occasion. I don’t require it of them, but they see it as tribute for living in my territory.” He looked out the window and into the rainy night a moment before meeting my gaze again. “Suzy’s mother often comes because she enjoys the experience. I offered to let her kill her daughter’s murderer but she declined. She said knowing he’ll be a slave the rest of his life — locked away where he can’t hurt anyone ever again — would be enough for her.”
Abbott and Bran handled some paperwork, though I had no idea what language it was in. I waited until Abbott left to ask.
“Ancient Romanian,” Bran answered. “There are few humans alive today who can translate, and most won’t even be able to figure out the language, much less decipher it. The paper trail showing he’s belonged to both Abbott and myself will add to his value should we sell him, but it isn’t good to have slave contracts on paper lying around for law enforcement to discover, should they find a reason to convince a judge to award them a warrant.” He shrugged. “Abbott and I do our best to be seen as upstanding citizens and remain on friendly terms with the judges, but one can never be too careful in these days of facial recognition and cameras everywhere. One could move to some god-forsaken third-world country for a few decades to escape arrest warrants, but modern civilization is so much more comfortable.”
“I don’t want to call him Suzy.”
He sighed. “Your instincts are correct. His consequence for murder is a lifetime of slavery. You don’t have to punish him further on top of it. It’s likely Abbott has already tortured him in ways that don’t leave marks. You’ll be establishing a relationship of slave and Owner. What would you like to call him?”
I considered. Suzy. Sue. Drew.
“Do you know what his name was?”
“I do.”
“If it wasn’t Drew, I think that will work.”
“It wasn’t. Tell your slave how you came to the name.”
“Suzy. Sue. Drew.”
The man didn’t respond. Just sat in the short cage and stared at my feet.
“How much would he sell for on the slave market?”
“As he is now? Untrained? Perhaps three thousand dollars. A slave trained by me can be worth between ten and fifty thousand, depending on looks and skills. I split proceeds with Abbott, and I’m aware his intentions are to give his portion to Suzy’s family, should we sell.”
“You’re already so rich you can’t possibly spend all your money. You do this to keep from being bored, don’t you?”
“Not entirely. Surviving in our world means making alliances. It also means finding talent and nurturing it. Slaves and employees who become permanent residents are loyal to me. Those who aren’t are sold or let go. One never knows who’ll fall into a given category until you’re into the process.”
“You’re molding me to be one of your trusted guards.”
“I am.”
“If you have reason to doubt my loyalty, what happens to me for the fifty years I owe you for turning and training me?”
“I’m not wrong very often. You have to know Abbott goes into my people’s heads to verify their loyalty. It isn’t guesswork. If he believes you could easily be turned against me then I’ll either give you your second death or find you a suitable job within my organization in another city.”
I looked out the window. “I appreciate you for finding my talents. I had no idea I was good at anything except being a screw-up. Abbott and Spencer tried to help me, but they tried to make me fit into their idea of who I should be. You didn’t try to force me into a box. You figured out which box worked for me.”
“I’m teaching you what Abbott wanted to. Manners, poise, grace. We haven’t started on your grammar and accent yet, but I believe your accent will resolve when you become proficient in a few foreign languages. Your grammar has improved as your brain’s healed and you’ve been around people who speak proper English.”
“A few languages?”
“Most everyone in my household speaks five or more languages.”
I shook my head “I’m not that smart.” I was way smarter than I’d been before, but no way could I learn a bunch of languages and switch between them like Bran and Marco.
“You know better than to denigrate yourself.”
I took a breath and said the words I knew he required. “I’m a strong, capable, smart woman.”
He nodded and continued. “You won’t have to learn them overnight. Italian and French are the most important, so you can accompany me to Concilio parties and meetings.”
I looked at the cage. “Where do I start?”
“Bruiser likes you, and he doesn’t like many people. I know he’s tough on you when he trains you, but it seems the two of you have developed somewhat of a friendship otherwise?”
I nodded. “He scares me when he’s training me, but he teaches me a lot. He’s a different person the rest of the time. Yeah, I guess we’re friends.” He’d told me he used me sexually the first day because he’d needed to see my response. He hadn’t done so since unless Bran ordered him to because he predicted I’d be able to kick his butt once I was a vampire and fully trained.
“You’ll have access to Bruiser most of the time, and if you request him and he’s assisting me, someone else will come. Use Bruiser and the other guards for at least the first month. I know you can kick ass, but we don’t know your new slave’s fighting skills. As for how to start? See to his needs — water at the least. Food and bathroom if you wish to show kindness — though water and drain, or water and yard are an option if you want him to earn bathroom privileges.” He looked at the slave a few moments, and turned to leave. “I’ll leave you alone with him and will send Bruiser in. He’ll do as you ask but won’t offer input. Don’t ask Bruiser what to do. This is your slave. Your decisions.”
I was smart enough to know this was a test. Vampires have power over humans because they’re so much stronger and faster, and they can see and hear better, can scent emotions. Bran wanted to see what I did with power and responsibility.
I looked at the man, sitting with his legs crossed in the cage, his eyes on the floor. No emotions, as if he couldn’t hear us at all.
“I was given to Bran as a temporary slave,” I told him. “I spent time in a horrid jail cell with no furniture, and only a drain in the floor to pee into.”
No response.
“How long have you been in the cage?”
Still nothing. I heard footsteps and turned to see Bruiser. “Do you have shackles?”
He walked to a wall cabinet and produced iron wrist and ankle restraints.
“Let’s get him into them and walk him to one of the bare-bones cells. One with hooks at the back of the wall.”
“He’ll need full irons to be bound to the wall.”
“Works for me. I’ll want him standing in the center of the room first so I can properly examine him — arms bound over his head. If he remains uncommunicative, he’ll spend the day fastened to the wall and decorated with my whip marks.”
Bruiser helped me get him situated and centered in a cell two floors underground, his arms bound high over his head.
The slave didn’t speak while I tested his butthole to see how many fingers I could easily get in, worked his dick until it was hard, squeezed his balls until tears trailed down his cheeks even though he didn’t actually cry, twisted and pulled on his nipples, tested his gag reflex with a long dildo, examined his teeth and in his ears, and took pictures of moles, freckles, nipples, dick, balls, butthole, and anything else unusual.
Bruiser helped when I asked, but otherwise stood at the door with his arms crossed. Finally, we attached him to the wall — ankles, thighs, waist, chest, biceps, and wrists. Metal bands around each body part was connected to brackets on the wall so he couldn’t move. I’d also inserted a rather large plug in his bottom beforehand, though he’d silently accepted it as well, despite the fact I could see he wasn’t used to being stretched so wide.
I put a straw in a bottle of room temperature water and held the straw to his mouth. “If you don’t drink, we’ll hydrate you with enemas tomorrow.”
He drank half the bottle, and I put it to the side when he stopped to take a breath. I’d brought a short rubber flogger, and I showed it to him. “Makes an excellent cock whip. I wasn’t intent on making you scream and cry during the exam.” I didn’t want to set up a challenge he might be able to win, so I added, “Not especially trying now. It’ll happen eventually, and it’ll make me so horny I’ll probably have to screw someone. If it happens tonight, great — but if it takes me a few days the sounds will be all the sweeter.”
His dick was as limp as they come, and I flicked it. “Kinda pathetic, Drew. One of Bran’s slaves doesn’t have his dick or balls anymore, another still has his balls but not his dick.” I stepped back and swung the flogger. The rubber strands thwacked and a thick swath of pink formed on his limp dick as well as his body just behind it. His balls seemed to have disappeared for the moment. Drew grunted but didn’t show pain.
“Apparently, the one without a dick or balls couldn’t learn to hold his orgasms until he had permission. Now he’s just an ass and mouth slave.” I struck his cock again. “I’m told the other one came to him without his dick, and he has ghost erections he can’t do anything about. He gets horny and can’t come. Must be hell. I’ve watched them milk his prostate with a finger in his ass — white jizz comes out but the guy doesn’t get to have an orgasm when it does.”
Without warning, I struck twelve times and put as much strength into it as I could. Drew shrieked on an inhale and fought the restraints like a wildman, but went back to stone when I finished.
“That was one dozen. Tell me when you last ate.”
Nothing. I struck him twenty-four times and made a mental note to check his wrists and ankles later to make sure he hadn’t injured himself.
“That was two dozen. Tell me when you last ate and what you were given.”
He held out until I delivered sixty all at once.
“I was fed plain oatmeal with hot sauce when I awakened!”
“Tr
y it again. You’ll call me Sir every time you speak.”
“Sir. I was fed oatmeal with hot sauce when I awakened.”
“What were you given yesterday?”
“Some kind of bean with all the wrong seasonings. It tasted like smelly feet, Sir.”
“Bruiser, please have someone bring a mug of the soup of the day down. Probably a few ounces of the electrolyte mixture, too.”
“Of course.”
While we waited, I had other questions.
“I assume you’ve identified as heterosexual?”
He nodded and I struck his cock a dozen more times.
“Aaaaggghhhh! Sir. Yes, Sir!”
“You understand you’ll have to please anyone you’re told to please here, yes?”
He stared at my feet a few seconds before mouthing. “Yes, Sir,”
“Louder, Drew.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to train you to be pleasing to Bran. You’ll learn to be a puppy, a horse, a whore, and dinner.” I didn’t tell him I was going to teach him to crave pain. Probably best he didn’t know where I was taking him in that regard.
A naked slave arrived with the mug of soup, and I asked if Drew was right handed before releasing his wrist. I helped him hold the cup, but let him tip it up to drink from it.
Bruiser fucked the slave’s ass before he let the young man return to the kitchen. I ignored the activity going on behind me and told my slave, “You’ll stay on the wall most of the day, but I’ll instruct the guards to let you down in four hours so you can get a few hours of sleep on the floor. Had you not worked with me, you’d have weights on your balls and I’d have rubbed your nipples and dick with stinging nettles before leaving you for the day, and there’d be no time on the floor.”
I instructed the guards to leave his irons on when they got him down in four hours, and to attach his wrists to his waist. “He isn’t to touch himself. Not his dick, his nose, his ear — nothing except his waist and hips once his hands are attached."
Bruiser waited until we were out of the humans hearing before he said, “You said ass, and hell, and whore, and cock. Bran told me not to make you cuss when I trained you, and wouldn’t let me ask why you don’t. He never said I couldn’t ask if you started cussing, so why did you start?”
An Elegant Weapon Page 6