by Kitty Thomas
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
There was a long beat of silence. A silence so loud, it hummed and almost turned into its own sound.
“Well?” he demanded, as if she really were the stupidest female he’d ever encountered.
She looked up to see the impatience behind his eyes.
“Now,” he said, his tone turning harsher.
She dropped to the floor feeling as graceful as a T-Rex and crawled awkwardly over to him. The smell of freshly cleaned leather reached her nostrils as she arrived at his feet. She bent and brushed her lips over the supple leather of each boot, then waited as commanded for further instruction.
“I’m going to ask you a question and the only thing I care about is honesty. There is no correct or incorrect answer.” He paused for a moment as if letting her prepare herself for his next words. “Are you wet right now?”
Dripping. “Yes, Sir,” she said so softly she wasn’t sure he could hear her.
“Are you ashamed of that?”
Slow tears slid down her cheeks at the soft words. “Yes, Sir.”
“Don’t be. That’s just how you react to this kind of stimuli. Stop worrying about what it says about you or how weird you are, or anything else. Just be. Not a single person here is going to judge you for it. We are molding you into what we want you to be. Obeying us pleases us. Forget everything from before. It won’t serve you here.”
She’d had her hands in her lap, staring at his boots, listening as the words fell over her. One half of her wanted to rebel, scream, fight, because she hadn’t said any of this was okay. The other half felt peace for maybe the first time ever, no longer drifting in some listless sea unsure of her purpose and unable to find one.
Vivian wanted to grab the peace and never let go, but she was afraid if she did, she would lose herself completely. She was scared to look in the mirror and see a shell instead of a person, a set of conditioned responses instead of a personality. She wanted to pour all of this out on Gabe, in hopes that he would understand or comfort her, but she couldn’t.
Not only because she might be punished for speaking out of turn, but because entrusting him with her deepest feelings and fears only moved her in the direction of that fear. The only self-protection left was keeping her feelings and thoughts to herself, even as she knew they would be changed by these powerful men holding her prisoner.
She flinched when she felt his hand unexpectedly petting her hair.
“There’s a lot going on in there, isn’t there?” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Everybody feels these things in the beginning. You’ll be just fine. I promise.”
Promises from a criminal––from one of a gang of criminals––weren’t as reassuring as promises from someone sane and upstanding would have been. But criminals and victims were all she was surrounded with anymore.
She felt him tugging gently at her and pulling her to her feet. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the cuff. She stared at his big hands as they encircled her wrists. To an untrained eye, her gaze averted from his might have been seen as submission, but it was embarrassment, shame. She knew Gabe must know it. He’d seen this too many times. But he didn’t taunt her; he just inspected her wrist.
“You’re a little chafed. You must toss and turn like a madwoman in your sleep.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I’ll have someone come by to switch this out for a cuff made out of something softer with a lining, so it won’t hurt you.”
She looked up, shocked. “Thank you.” She hadn’t expected the small kindness or the concern.
He held her gaze trapped in his. “I told you, we aren’t complete monsters here. We are selling healthy, well-trained slaves to men who can afford the very best. We are not selling broken dolls no one wants to play with.” He took her hand and led her to the bathroom.
She felt herself once again falling under this bizarre seduction. The way she’d let herself go with Anton on the massage table until forced orgasms seemed like an idea she’d thought up.
And now, she felt herself being seduced once again, first by the gentle lovemaking of Annette the night before, and now by Gabe. The house must be run like a well-oiled machine. Everything so calculated. How many different trainers would she have? And would each of them possess this much self-control?
Even when Anton was angry, he’d used enough restraint to keep himself from harming her. He’d seemed upset to be causing her distress, which felt at odds with the situation. If one didn’t want to cause women distress, a great first step would be not running a training camp for sex slaves out of your mansion.
Vivian wondered if Anton could truly care for Annette. Had they forged a bond stronger than the kind of puppies and kittens love she’d had beaten into her brain by fairy tales and Disney movies? Could she have the same? Did she want the same?
She watched as Gabe stripped off his clothes and started the water in the shower. His tan highlighted muscles he’d obviously worked hard for. She wanted so badly to ask why he, Lindsay, Anton . . . why any of them would take a job like this or start a business like this. They could have anyone they wanted.
Vivian took his offered hand and let him guide her into the shower, let him position her, and place her hands flat against the tile. She listened to the click of the shower gel lid popping open and then the squirt as he squeezed some onto a loofah.
He lathered her body while his back took the hot, pounding of the spray, then he put the loofah aside and used his hands to massage each inch of her, kneading her flesh and turning bathing into foreplay. His hands played over her breasts, tweaking her nipples, then plunged between her legs and the cleft between her cheeks. He was more gentle as his hands moved over the bruises Anton had given her.
He bent next to her ear, his voice low. “Last night, we had a contest. Whoever could jerk themselves off the fastest while watching you and Annette going at it, would win the right to bathe you every morning until you’re sold.”
She felt her knees start to give out, not wanting to support her weight anymore, but a strong arm gripped her around the waist and held her steady. She couldn’t stop the desperate little sound that left her mouth.
“I feel much the same way, lover,” he growled in her ear. “And of course, that was only one half of the prize. The other half, is that I get to have you bathe me.”
His fingers slipped between her legs, stroking her. “If you get close, you ask me to come. If you come without my permission, you will be punished.”
She bit her lip and nodded. He continued the teasing torment but didn’t let her get close enough; he wanted her on the edge, and she knew it. He wanted her so horny she’d do whatever he asked, so lost in the haze of unrestrained arousal, she wouldn’t have time to analyze it and feel ashamed or traumatized.
He moved her under the water to rinse her, then placed the loofah in her hands. “Lavender is a bit girlie. I’ll bring my own tomorrow. Today, I don’t mind smelling like my newest toy.”
Being called his toy should have pissed her off. It should have hurt her. But all it did was start that mindless hum between her legs. The feeling was so strong she started to rub herself against his thigh.
“Don’t be naughty, Vivian. Touch me. Wash me.”
He switched places so she was under the water and positioned his hands on the wall, spreading his legs so she had full access.
She lathered him using the loofah as he had done, then switched to massaging. He let out a hiss of air when her hands were on him. Vivian felt a surge of feminine pride that she affected him so strongly with a simple touch.
Her hands slid over his broad chest, his back, his neck and shoulders, his legs. She rubbed and stroked everything but the one thing he wanted stroked. He let her play and tease at first, but then his voice came out hard.
“Your hands. On my cock. Now.”
“Yes, Sir.” As the words fell from her mouth, they sounded h
usky. Was she flirting with him? She was undeniably attracted, but if there was a rulebook out there with behavior tips for captivity, flirting with one of your captors was probably on the don’t do this list.
But she couldn’t help it. He was right. She wanted him. She wanted Anton. She wanted Lindsay. If that made her a slut, fuck it. If that made her a whore, who cared? It wasn’t as if she were being given a choice in this charade to begin with. Clearly she’d been wired all wrong, but if that would protect her, why not embrace it?
A throat cleared. “Vivian?”
Had she really just gone off on a mental vacation and forgotten the impressive cock in her hand? “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I think you want to be punished,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.
She didn’t reply to that, mainly because she wasn’t sure which answer would be the lie. And she didn’t feel like exploring it when she had something much more interesting to explore.
He was thick and hot in her hand, and she could barely wrap her fingers around him as she started to jerk him off. His hips began bucking against her as she found a rhythm.
“Vivian, look at me. Look in my eyes.”
Please, no. She wanted to hide. She’d become an expert at the art. Don’t make this more real. Not yet, she silently pleaded, still staring at his cock bulging in her grip.
“I won’t keep giving you warnings and second chances. Look in my eyes, and don’t look away.”
Vivian obeyed. His eyes were wild and lust-filled. She wasn’t sure what hers held, but she didn’t want him looking that far into her soul to see the jumble of conflicted emotions.
Their gaze was locked for what felt like hours, but was probably only a couple of minutes. His eyes said, Accept this.
She wanted to.
For a moment the two of them were suspended in time, not even the hot pelting of the shower existed. Then he ripped her hand off his cock and spun her around, bending her at the waist so her hands were flat on the tub beside her feet.
With one sharp thrust, he was inside her. Vivian’s walls contracted around him. He was at just the right angle, hitting her g-spot over and over until she couldn’t think or remember her name. Right before he came, she did, mumbling incoherently. When he’d finished, she froze, her breathing heavy, her anxiety rising. Waiting for it.
“I believe I told you not to come without permission, did I not?”
She trembled, barely holding herself up. He was still inside her, his hands on her hips.
“Yes, Sir.” The waterworks started again.
“Crocodile tears won’t garner you pity. You receive mercy in this house through obedience.”
She tried to stop crying, but it was one thing to take punishment on unmarred flesh. On top of bruises was more than she could cope with.
He pulled out of her and shut off the shower, then scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom. He held her in his arms, both of them still wet and dripping and let her cry on his shoulder.
She was whimpering and babbling, “Please, Sir. I didn’t mean to. I’ll be good. I still have bruises from before, please . . . ”
“Did I say I was going to hit you there?”
“You said earlier you’d flog me.” Her words were muffled into his shoulder, but he seemed to hear them, or at least get the gist of them.
“But I didn’t say I’d flog your ass. You’ve got a lovely back I can use for a canvas, do you not?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The door opened then. Vivian looked up to find a man she hadn’t seen before, standing in the doorway with a silver bracelet in his hand. Vivian burrowed back into Gabe’s neck.
“You’ve got this one crying already?” the man remarked, impressed.
Vivian heard the other man’s footsteps moving closer and found herself cringing away, burrowing so hard against Gabe, she may as well have been clawing to get inside him.
“Not now, Brian. She needs more time. You start in on her before she’s ready, and we’ll break her too far. Anton won’t be pleased.”
Brian cursed. “But I like new toys.”
“Did Anton even say you could play with this one? As far as I’ve been told, he wants only me and Lindsay touching her.”
“That’s not how he normally does things.”
Vivian could feel Gabe’s shrug against her skin. “Talk to Anton. Leave the bracelet with me.”
Brian made an agitated sound and left. When he’d gone, Gabe pulled her away from his shoulder. “You will be punished for the shower incident, but I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet, so you’re safe for now. All right?”
She nodded as he wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
“Give me your wrist.”
He unlocked the plain, silver band and secured it around the offered wrist. “We’ll lock the other chain around your other arm when you’re to be confined to your room. This band will allow you to go outside to a certain point and around the mansion. There is an invisible fence. If you cross it, you’ll be electrocuted.
“It will incapacitate you. We’ll come get you, and the punishment will be worse than anything you can imagine. The mansion and grounds are equipped with security cameras, and if we see you fiddling with the bracelet trying to get it off, you’ll face a similar punishment. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Sir. I can leave this room?”
He chuckled. “Well, I certainly wasn’t going to serve you breakfast in bed. There are some gym clothes in one of those drawers.” He pointed.
She looked away, not wanting him to know she’d already checked out everything in both rooms. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.
“Put them on, and I’ll take you to breakfast,” he said.
Vivian unfolded herself from his lap and went to the drawer to get dressed. She knew he admired her bruised ass as she walked away from him. She could feel his eyes boring hot little holes through her skin. Tension and uncertainty hummed through her while she slipped the clothing on.
“Socks and shoes, too. A bit after breakfast you’ll be sent to the gym to train. We can’t sell flabby merchandise. And with the food here, it’s easy to get flabby.”
It was hard to assimilate everything. Gabe made her feel weirdly safe. He’d just protected her from being molested by Brian. And yet, he’d just done much the same thing himself.
If she was going to the gym after breakfast, it made some measure of sense that she’d be wearing gym-appropriate clothing. But she still found it hard to believe any of them would allow her the small measure of dignity normal attire afforded.
Gabe had retrieved his clothes from the bathroom. She glanced shyly at him as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“If you have any questions, I’ll allow them right now. I know a lot of this must be confusing and weird for you.”
Also criminal and evil, but she was trying to put that part on a shelf, since whining about her captivity wouldn’t change the situation. She sifted through the questions that had bubbled to the surface since she’d been brought here, trying to find the most pertinent ones that hadn’t already been answered. Even if he was allowing her a question and answer session, his patience wasn’t infinite.
“What happens out there?” she pointed at the door. “How do I act?”
“Outside this room, you’ll meet others like you. Try to get along. Some of them can be nasty, and more than one has been confined to her room for a week at a time for bad behavior. If you want my advice, interact as little as possible. They don’t concern you anyway.
“Show respect to the men with proper address. They won’t do anything too extreme to you out there. If they want to use you they’ll bring you back to this room, or in some cases their room. You won’t be expected to kneel or anything like that outside of these specific areas. When you are bought, your master might want something different. That’ll be out of our hands.”
“I thought only you and Lindsay were allowed to touch me?”
“For now. That may change. I’m not sure how Anton wants to handle you. Anything else?”
“No, Sir.” It was a lie, but there was no way he could answer every thought flying through her head to her satisfaction.
11
In a mansion one might think the appropriate word would be kitchen or dining room or––considering the size of the space––dining hall. But it was more of a cafeteria. The room was large and noisy with a brunch buffet set up on one end.
Vivian was left to help herself with a parting warning from Gabe that if she overdid it past what she could work off in the gym, they’d restrict her eating. That threat held some level of menace considering the vast spread of food available. The mansion must have a few top chefs.
Hell, for all she knew, Gabe could double as a chef. Or that Brian guy. The more she explored, the more she felt like Alice down the rabbit hole. A stoned caterpillar wouldn’t have shocked her at this point, and she would have gladly requested some of whatever he was smoking.
She looked at the many tables scattered about the room. There were around thirty girls eating and chatting. A few sat alone, looking uncomfortable. Maybe new like her? Or maybe women who had been burned by the nastiness of some of the others.
At the center table, Vivian easily spotted the queen bee. If there was such a thing as an alpha slave, she was it. Several girls crowded around the table hanging onto
the queen’s words. A moment later, they all laughed and looked over at Vivian, predatory interest in their eyes.
Vivian ignored them and loaded up her plate. When she turned, she was surprised to find the queen bee had gotten up from her table and now stood only a few feet away.
The woman had raven locks that fell to her waist. Her features were statuesque, and she appeared to be in her early twenties. “Wow. They’re just bringing in anything off the street now, aren’t they? What are you? Like forty?”