Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  I bit my lip and dropped my eyes. I couldn’t tell him the truth…that I refused to enjoy them, even in the few instances when the sex was decent. I couldn’t tell him that his patrons disgusted me, the way they looked through me, and used me. That I felt strangely sexy all the time, but not because of them.

  “Do I treat you poorly?” he asked.

  “No, Master.”

  He was thoughtful and quiet for a moment.

  “I thought if I allowed you to keep your few, precious things…your language…your books, you might be more comfortable, but all it has done is made you hold on to the past. You must let it go, Angel. You will never leave my home. I have spoiled you. The others…” His voice trailed off, as if gathering his thoughts about the other slaves. “They came from poor circumstances. Terrible lives. They were grateful when I took them in—grateful to me. But with you…” He touched my head. “I wanted to win you over. For you to see how good life can be for you here. But you cling to your past and cannot see the beauty in front of you. What must I do to win your loyalty, Angel?”

  I looked at him, and I swore his eyes held a sort of desperation, or maybe exasperation. I bit my lip, unable to respond because I had no answer to that question.

  “Do you know what my business partners do in cases like this? They sell their slaves to rougher masters who can handle them. Shall I sell you?”

  “No! Please!”

  “Other masters drug their slaves. Make them rely on them to feed their addiction. Those slaves will do anything to make their masters happy. Is that what you want? Do I need to drug you?”

  “No!” Panic flooded me at the thought of losing my mental facilities to an addiction. “Master, please. No drugs!”

  “I fear you must learn the hard way.”

  A sound escaped the back of my throat. I wanted to speak out again, to apologize and beg, but I held my tongue as he continued.

  “There is no reason why you should not enjoy the attentive men I choose for you. From now on, if you are too stubborn not to come for my patrons and you find yourself needing release in the evening hours, you must practice self-control. Or, if you’re willing to swallow your leftover pride, you may call out to me and I will be notified. I will send someone of my choosing to pleasure you. How does that sound?”

  Awful. Like it would never work.

  “Bueno, Maestro.” It was so strange to speak Spanish to him, but I did. “I will never, ever touch Josef or myself again. I swear—”

  “Silencio.” His voice. So soft. It sent a chill down my back because I knew what was next.

  “It’s time for your punishment.”

  He let the words settle over me, making my breathing ragged, tremors of sickening anticipation lancing through me.

  “Vamos.”

  When he said let’s go, I followed, crawling, terrified of what was to come. It would be worse than the belt, that much was certain. Would they cane me? Scar me?

  All for three orgasms? Josef was wrong. It wasn’t worth it. Not to me. I could never let myself get to that desperate state again.

  When we got to the punishment room I felt numb and stiff all over. I don’t know how I got myself to crawl inside the dark, creepy room with its black walls and gleaming instruments.

  I sat at Marco’s feet barely containing my urge to grab ahold of his ankle and beg for mercy.

  “Are you ready, Angel?” he asked in Spanish. Always in Spanish now. I missed my mother tongue already.

  I needed to answer, but all that came out was a strangled whimper as I shook my head.

  “Look up, beautiful.”

  Slowly, warily, I raised my eyes and I nearly vomited. Two chains hung from the ceiling. In the chains was Josef. His arms were spread and he stood on the balls of his feet with his calf muscles flexed. Naked.

  My eyes shot to Marco and he petted my head.

  “Don’t worry, Angel. You will feel no pain.”

  My head whipped back to Josef, his back to me, his head hanging, his muscles tensed. Yes, I would. I would feel pain, and Marco knew it.

  “What do you think?” Marco asked me. “Ten lashes for every orgasm the two of you had? Forty total?”

  “No, Master, please! I’m sorry!” I threw myself on his feet now, pressing my cheeks to his shoes, hugging around his ankles.

  Luis pulled me off him and forced me back on my heels.

  With a nod of his head, the giant, nameless man who I thought of as Brutus, stepped forward. The man who whipped me. The man who people only spoke to in nods. A big, scary, hairy bastard. He held a thin, leather riding crop in his hand, and with a whizzing sound he whacked Josef across the middle of his back with it. Josef hissed through his teeth and clenched his fists. I covered my mouth to hold back pleas to make it stop. I tried looking away, but Luis pushed my face back up to the horrid spectacle.

  With each lash Josef’s resolve weakened and his pain-filled noises grew louder. Red markings began to show, vivid across his smooth brown skin. Moisture filled my eyes, but didn’t fall. The worst moment was when someone murmured “twenty” and I realized we were only half-way through. It felt like he’d been hit a hundred times already.

  I wanted it to end more than I’d wanted my own whipping to end six months ago. This was all my fault. This is what my stubbornness had caused. Josef’s knees gave out after the thirtieth hit and his holler was so sad, like a young boy. Brutus kept going, cracking Josef across the shoulder blades with a sickening sound.

  I dry heaved into my hand, swallowing back down the small amount of burning bile that came up.

  At forty strikes Marco whispered, “Done.” And I swear, he sounded tired. He’d stood there with his hands behind his back the whole time, watching with that sad disappointment. It dawned on me that he didn’t want us to have to be punished, but he had to keep order. The rules and punishments were meant to keep the hierarchy of his establishment running smoothly. I’d tried to derail his hierarchy, and had been fighting against it all along, and for what? It hadn’t helped me get rescued. It had only cause me and my friend pain.

  Marco went to Josef’s side. “Do you wish to fuck the girl now?”

  Josef could barely respond. “N-no, Amo.”

  “Bring him to the clinic and have the nurse care for him,” Marco said to Brutus. “No pain medication.”

  Brutus nodded and uncuffed Josef, who fell in a panting heap, his face sweating and pinched. Sweet Josef. My heart broke, and I wondered if he’d ever be able to forgive me. Brutus half-carried him from the room.

  I watched Marco’s feet.

  “Do you think I spoil you, Angel?” he asked gently.

  I answered him with truth, speaking to him in Spanish just as he spoke to me. “Yes, Master. And I appreciate it. I’m so sorry. I will not disobey you again.”

  “Hm. You have not eaten today. Are you hungry? Remember, I require the truth from you in all things.”

  The last thing I wanted now was food, but my stomach gnawed with emptiness, despite the churning I still felt. “Yes, Master. I am hungry.”

  Marco gave a small nod to Luis. “Feed the girl,” he told him.

  Luis came and stood in front of me. I was thoroughly confused when he began unbuttoning his pants. And then I was presented with my “meal.”

  Holy. Shit.

  Part of the hierarchy at the villa was that slaves were prized gifts for the patrons. Being made to pleasure one of Marco’s men was demeaning. I batted away my pride and went up on my knees, taking Luis’s cock in my hand first then my mouth. He grasped the back of my head and pulled me forward, being rough, probably because of how much I’d teased him over the months. Definitely wouldn’t be doing that anymore.

  When he spurted into the back of my throat, I swallowed, trying not to gag.

  I kneeled again, waiting.

  “Still hungry?” Marco asked.

  “No, Master.” And it was true. I wondered if I’d ever have an appetite again.

  He was quiet a long
time, and fear filled me, zinging around like a damned pinball. I had a feeling Marco still wanted to drive home a point with me.

  His next words proved as much.

  “Your anal virginity is highly prized, yes?”

  Oh, dear God.

  “Yes, Master,” I whispered, voice shaking. I closed my eyes.

  “Why do you fear it so?”

  “I don’t know, Master.” Part of my reason used to be that anal sex was taboo. It’s not something anyone I knew did—and my friends were pretty open about their sexuality. I knew one person who’d done it, as we learned in a drunken game of Never Have I Ever. But here it was the norm, so it wasn’t much of an excuse anymore. “I think it will hurt.” In truth, it was the last thing I had that was still mine.

  “It may hurt at first, yes. But like all things, you can grow to enjoy it if you get past the barrier you put up in your mind about it.”

  I nodded, although deep down I wanted to beg not to let it happen. I knew it was only a matter of time.

  “You are still not ready,” he said. “Mentally. But someday you will be.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I said, trembling with relief. I wasn’t ready, and I was so grateful he saw that, and in his own strange way respected it.

  He still spoiled me.

  Marco petted my head and I leaned into his hand, wanting to be his good puppy.

  “Today,” he said, “we begin your mental preparation.”

  I stilled, heart accelerating.

  Marco held out a hand and I took it with hesitation. His was hot; mine was freezing.

  He led me to a leather-covered table with a bottle of lube and a strange looking black plastic thing. One end of it sparkled like a diamond. Marco had to tug my hand when I slowed. He patted the table.

  “Lay on your side with your back to me.”

  I crawled up, eyeing the cone shaped “toy.” I wanted to kick it away.

  “This is a medium anal plug,” Marco explained.

  Oh, damn. That thing looked big. I made a whispered sound of fear and Marco hushed me, guiding me on my side. I lay how he told me to and closed my eyes. He pushed my panties down over my cheeks and I was so tense. His fingers were firm, but gentle as he applied a generous amount of lube. I clenched my glut muscles, my heart thundering, and Marco made a sound of disapproval.

  “You must relax or it will hurt worse.”

  I tried to relax. I really did.

  I felt the tip of the plug pushing in, and at first it was like a finger. Then I began to feel fuller. As he pushed more there was a sudden sharp, stretching pain. I gasped, wanting to scream.

  Again, Marco hushed me, running his hand down my hair. He kept the plug in me at that uncomfortably stretched point, but didn’t push any farther. It was like he was letting my body get used to it. After a minute he pushed a bit more until I gasped again in pain. How did people have anal sex? This freaking hurt!

  On and on it went until the thickest part of the bulb stretched me. I held my breath, prepared for him to push it all the way in, but instead he slowly pulled it out and pushed it back in. He stroked my ass with it, each time making me suck in a breath as it stretched me to the thickest point.

  “You are very tight,” Marco whispered. His hand lifted hair off my sweating forehead, and it felt good to have him pay attention to me like that. “Relax. Let yourself feel every movement.”

  I inhaled a big breath and exhaled, trying to relax. When he began to move the plug inside me again, a little faster now, in and out, I was shocked to find my breaths quickening. Okay. I didn’t hate it. He took his time with me and I moved my hips to meet his thrusts. Now that the pain had subsided, it was…nice. Then he gave it a deep push and I cried out, feeling my asshole close tight around the thinnest point. I was panting. The diamond stuck out, nestled between my cheeks, and I felt so intensely full.

  Marco leaned close to my ear. “Never make me punish you again, Angel. I promise I will never go easy again.”

  “Yes, Master,” I breathed.

  “You will wear this plug when you visit your patron tonight. And Angel?”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Do try to enjoy it.”

  I nodded. Marco looked at Luis. “Take her to the slave quarters and bring me Perla.”

  Luis nodded and helped me down from the table as Marco walked out. I’m not sure, but I think Marco was turned on by the whole plug experience too. He never took any of the slaves except Perla and girls brought by other guests. He seemed to enjoy those little gifts, new girls in his bed, but when it came down to it Perla was the one he came back to. I didn’t think it was love. Maybe more of a comfort thing. He definitely treated her like a slave, but behind closed doors…I wondered.

  Out of Marco’s site I was allowed to walk, but walking with a butt plug in was strange. It was impossible not to think about it—not to concentrate on the fullness, and how nerve endings inside me were being rubbed and nudged in the most satisfying way. By the time we made it back to slave quarters my inner thighs were wet.

  Damn it.

  Score for Marco. Because tonight, for the first time, I would go to a patron seeking release. I didn’t know if I’d be able to find it once I got there, but I knew I’d never look elsewhere again. Despite what Josef said, it was not worth it. Not to me.

  In Colin’s five years as an undercover agent he’d helped incriminate hundreds of underworld criminals, but it wasn’t enough. For each thug arrested a new one would rise up in their place. There was a never-ending line of evil men feeding off innocents—taking what wasn’t theirs—ruining lives for the sake of their personal gain.

  Being submersed in that world was wearing against the structure of Colin’s mind. Too often he found the lines blurred between them and himself. Too often he felt like one of them. He came home to his small, sparse apartment at odd hours, and lost himself in canvases. Colin painted shadowy people in black, grays, navy blue, and deep purple. He couldn’t bring himself to use bright colors when the world was so dark.

  The art world was fascinated by his dark collection, and began calling him “Shadow Man” and “The Dark Artist.” He didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. He painted to release his demons. He painted to lose himself, close his mind off to the shit he saw and heard every day.

  Now and then he met women at bars and took them to hotel rooms. In a life where everything around him was hardened, he enjoyed the softness of a woman—the way they gave themselves to be overpowered by him. But the women he’d met always wanted more from him. His worst mistake had been leaving with a stunning brunette from a gallery showing. She now showed at every function with hopeful eyes. He ignored her, because he could never be what she needed.

  At twenty-eight Colin was already considering retirement. He had more money piled away than he knew what to do with, even after splitting half the inheritance with Graham, who was swiftly pissing it away on drugs. Therapists and counselors had made little leeway with his brother, and Colin was at a loss. He had no idea how to talk to the boy who used to look up to him, but now looked through him with glassy, bloodshot eyes. Visiting him was fucking depressing.

  It’d been awhile since Colin heard from Agent Abernathy, and he was getting restless, so when he got the text that morning he was out the door in five minutes. Outside in the pale Glasgow sunshine, he groaned. He’d forgotten it was fucking Maydaze. The May Day Rally and Parade was taking place in the city, bringing out hundreds of families. Colin kept his head down and shoved his hands in his pockets as he shouldered his way through the smiling faces. The happy folk music clashed with the dark soundtrack of his life, playing in his head on repeat.He had to remind himself that these were the very people he lived his life secretly protecting.

  But damn. Sometimes the ignorance and cluelessness of people pissed him off.

  He was a right grump this morning.

  Colin slipped into a back alley and made his way to the door of their meeting place. With a backward glan
ce to be sure he wasn’t being followed, he knocked three times, paused, then twice more. Abernathy let him in and locked the door behind them.

  They met in a back office of an old steel mill, which was now used for lumber storage. Colin sat across the metal desk from Agent Abernathy and nodded.

  “What’ve you got for me?”

  Abernathy wasted no time. He pushed a newspaper and several pictures forward. Colin took the paper first, reading the headline where his boss tapped a finger. It was about the missing American girl, Angela Birch.

  “Aye. Heard about this. Unlucky. They thought she was dead. I take it they’re wrong, as usual?”

  Abernathy sighed, sitting back. He was looking ragged these days, really showing his age.

  “Her parents don’t believe it, and I agree with them. Too much funny business with the Mexican police. The boy she went missing with, Fernando Ruiz? The FBI say he was spotted in Thailand. His father, Marco Ruiz, owns nightclubs in several Latin American cities and in Spain. We believe it’s a cover for a drug ring and sex slavery.”

  Colin’s stomach soured as he picked up the three photos of Angela Birch and studied them. She looked sweet. All-American smile. Happy brown eyes. A girl with a bright future and loving family, stolen. Colin rubbed his face. He hated this shite. It never fucking ended.

  “How long’s she been gone?”

  “Seven months,” Abernathy said, sliding another picture forward. “Ruiz has a Spanish villa on the Mediterranean sea. We believe if he has her that’s where she’d be, but we can’t get near it. He’s got local authorities and even government officials in his pocket.”

  A familiar buzz began inside Colin as he looked at the gorgeous seaside estate. It was the feeling he got when an especially tough case was presented.

  “Think you can work your way into this place? Won’t be easy, that.”

  Colin grinned. He loved a challenge. Taking risks was just about the only thing that got his blood pumping these days. And judging by the look of Marco Ruiz’s stronghold, this would be his largest and most dangerous undertaking yet.

  “Aye. I’m in.”

  Agent Abernathy didn’t look at all surprised. Colin never turned down an assignment, but they both knew this was no ordinary job. This one was delicate, and would take time.