Which means that all the women I'll see in this place will be human females, without any sort of power in their blood.
I close the freezer, focusing on the injustice of that fact. I almost ask the question out loud to Feltan – why are there no female shifters? But refrain at the last second, seeing how engrossed he is in his book. How likely mad he might be for his human captive to interrupt him.
I pass him, thinking he can't have a high position in his society, with such an unassuming little building. The living room and kitchen, with the open entrance – which I notice has a circular shaped stone propped on the side – is about the same size as the entire top floor of my home.
If I can call it “home” at all. The trafficker took my phone and Kindle away. He even took my watch and the badge on my clothing, which was something I once earned from girl scouts for cooking beans over a campfire.
Weird, I know.
I didn't really go to girl scouts much. Past the living room, I enter a narrow corridor lit by dusty bulbs on strings in the ceiling. I see in total five doors I can walk through, and I take my time opening each one. The first on the right reveals a bathroom, one with a tub and a shower, and even a washing machine and tumble dryer. Okay, I think. I open the tumble dryer and see a few odd socks left in it, and the shower has gels and shampoo, but no conditioner.
There's nothing else of interest, other than a cupboard full of towels and a single toothbrush with toothpaste in a mug – and I quickly relieve myself, before trying out the door on the left. This one looks more like an office and is moderately sized, leaving me to think that his abode is larger than I previously expected it to be. Especially if the other rooms hold a similar size to the living room and bathroom. He doesn't have a computer, but he does have a desk with paper on it, and words written in a language I don't understand. His cupboards also contain documents and bindings. Though he speaks perfect English, and though I can vaguely recognize what the world languages look like, I have no clue what kind of squiggles he's writing in.
The next room reveals a bedroom, a moderately stripped down one, with a double bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers and dressing table with a three-way mirror. I like three way mirrors, because if you adjust them to the right angle, you're looking down into infinity.
I suspect I'd be staying in this room, since the wardrobe already contains a few items of woman's clothing, though they're all slightly too big for my frame. There's a window outside that shows a backyard full of grass, and two grazing mountain goats. I smile briefly at the goats.
The fourth is his bedroom, which has a similar layout to the one I just flipped through, though it has more clothing, more luxuries to cope with. The sheets are a cotton blue, and a desklamp with a book lies on the side.
The last room is a door that leads down a stairwell, into some kind of basement. I feel a slight sense of foreboding as I travel down here, hoping I'm not about to find some twisted torturer's den. I actually grow too nervous and back away, deciding I'll do something else with my time.
Instead, I give myself a quick shower, letting the hot water rinse over my dirty body and erasing the grime from my skin, feeling revitalized and soothed by the effect. The dirt beforehand had been weighing on me, though I hadn't realized just how much until the shower water blasted it all away. Because I don't want to go straight back into my dirty clothes, I use the ones I found in the smaller bedroom, placing on a simple white tunic and a knee-length white skirt. The effect is kind of dull, and the shirt's baggy around my shoulders, but it's a damn sight better than the stench I wore before. I don't see Feltan approach at any point, which adds another layer of relief, because I did expect him to intrude whilst I showered, even imagined it to a degree, since my mind likes to run away with ideas, no matter how forbidden they might be.
My stomach growls a little in hunger, and I consider going back to the kitchen – but not before I've inspected the last room.
The nervousness eats me up inside again as I go down the stairwell, and face the second door that leads directly to the basement. When I take a deep breath and open it, I see a dimly lit room.
There is electricity here, but it feeds into pale orange lights, which give the room a warm, almost ethereal taint. What really draws my attention, however, is that the room is full of odd instruments. There's a bed with handcuffs in the wall. There's a pole in the middle, and a kind of hanging rack, as well as a bench with various items upon it, from what appears to be a paddling tool, to a whip and to a blindfold. There's a screen as well which may be used for hiding yourself as you change.
Oh my, I think, wondering whether to be alarmed or fascinated. There's even a hot tub here with a picture of red roses above it, and massage oils.
In short, the entire room resembles a kind of sex dungeon. I almost squeak when someone emerges from behind an opaque screen – someone who I never spotted before.
The stranger is a man with amber eyes, and he regards me with a curious expression. His face is strong, with a wide jaw and large, sunken in eyes. Blond hair fans around his face, giving him a strange, windswept look. His skin looks fairly tanned in the lighting. His chest is fully bare, showing a masterpiece of physiology, as if sculpted out of marble, without any hairs or blemishes upon it. He has powerful, broad shoulders and thick, tapered muscles spinning down to his wrists. He also has strong, almost tree trunk thighs, that could probably crush a watermelon between them. He's also wearing nothing but what looks like swimming boxers. A sly smile creeps across his lips.
“So, a lamb has found their way into the wolf den? Or are you less of a lamb, and more of a predator yourself?” He strides towards me, and I instantly know that this is what Feltan intended for me to discover. It's fairly obvious that this place is a sex dungeon. And it's obvious that whoever I face now, he's intimately involved in operating it.
He seizes my hand and slowly runs his fingers along it, as if testing out the feel of my skin.
“You're soft. You're not screaming in fear, either. Feltan has mentioned wanting to up the dynamics between us for a while. He told me to wait for a surprise.” The amber eyed man blinks languidly, not letting go of my arm. I feel like I'm frozen under his gaze, unsure what I can do, what I should do.
I can't leave the house, after all. And I suspect that sooner or later, Feltan was planning to introduce me to this person. This... stripper.
“Who are you?” I ask. “Feltan mentioned nothing about you at all.” I figure to start out bold. First impressions are everything. If I'm going to be stuck here, I don't want to be stuck at a greater disadvantage than I already am.
The man nods. “I'm Arula.”
“Elle Anderson. And... I'm sorry, I have to ask. Why are you standing here with just boxers?”
Arula gives me a wry smile. “Feltan scheduled a session with me tonight. He dropped you on me in short notice. Whilst you were having your shower, actually. But it should be workable. I prefer to check with my clients first what they're comfortable with when it comes to sex and pain.” Arula towers over me with supreme confidence, his eyes cool, his expression unashamed, even as he stands there almost naked, bathed in orange light.
I'm facing two different body shapes here. Feltan has a noble, almost dagger sharp appearance with his body, streamlined and incredibly sexy under the tight-fitting clothes he wears. I did try to not pay too much attention to that, but when you've been doing what I do for a few years, you start rating the people you meet almost automatically. It's not always something my brain seems to be able to control. Arula contains more natural muscles, though he's also shorter and broader than Feltan, more... compact. Not huge, not a hulk. Just solidly built.
And great. Now my mind is imagining the two of them together in this chamber. Has Feltan been handcuffed to that bed? Hit with that paddle? Massaged with those oils?
“Okay, human,” Arula says, amused at my scrutiny. “I'm putting you on a test run.”
Before I have a chance to react, Arula seizes me by the
wrists, and drags me over to the bed. I protest, jerk and try to bite him, but he puts me firmly on the bed, with my hands cuffed to the wall. I'm unable to break free, but though I continue trying to kick out at him, he draws out two more chains from the sides of the bed, and clamps each leg in one. The velvet material encased just above my ankle, and I find I'm well and truly stuck.
The speed and confidence he's done this with has left me shaken. With a dark smile upon his plump lips, he runs his fingers through my ear, just as the door opens again, and Feltan steps inside.
“Oh. Starting without me? Rude.” Feltan passes along a smile to Arula, who nods.
“Prince Feltan.”
Hang on a second. Prince? My mind processes the word, baffled. I wasn't aware dragons had royal bloodlines outside of Balteria, and we're in North Dakota. Also, even if he is a prince, shouldn't he be living in better accommodations? I mean, okay, the house is bigger than previously anticipated, but it's still woefully small if you happen to be someone with high ranking in the society you're part of.
Unless it's like some creepy hideout. Because this is located just outside the main town or city or whatever.
Wait, I probably shouldn't be considering this stuff when I'm chained up to a bed, being scrutinized by one almost naked man, a pervert prince, and a room full of torture equipment.
I probably should be screaming a lot. Though screaming generally is only useful if it's going to bring help. I'm not getting help here.
“Have you done anything yet?” Feltan actually sounds a little disappointed.
“Not yet. Also.” Arula seizes a whip from the bench, and folds his arms imperiously at Feltan. “No disobeying my rules. Undress.”
What?
I watch as Feltan nods acquiescence and peels off his clothing, letting it pool to the floor. Hiding under those clothes is the body I envisioned, rapier smooth and well toned, slender like an elf. Both men have such unusual eye colors. Gray and amber, and both with that chilling quality of being able to scour into your soul and dissect it. Emotions both associated with fear and arousal are coursing through me, and it's hard to know which one is most overpowering. Sometimes it's the fear, which leaves me trembling. Or is it the arousal that does that? Is the fear turning me on, or is it something else? Why am I even being turned on?
The conflict continues to wage, even as Feltan turns towards Arula, awaiting his next instuction.
“Slave. Your first job will be to get our guest comfortable. She deserves a warm welcoming. Take this massage oil and make sure you rub it thoroughly into her skin.” Arula picks up a bottle of lavender massage oil and tosses it over to Feltan, who catches it adroitly, eyes wide in sudden fear.
Fear of failing an instruction? I've never actually gone into a master/slave dynamic before in my sexual scenarios. Not to this point. I've acted out some fetishes and kinks for extra money, like a foot job, boob job and anal – but I never took part in a situation where I was a slave or my sex buddy was the slave.
The only place I've seen it is in films and in books.
I shiver as Feltan uncaps the bottle, and I see he's already getting aroused. His erection pushes against his boxers. Arula is more in control, and I wonder how he manages it.
Feltan's gray eyes drill into me. Arula steps to the other side of the bed, right from Feltan – and he makes a tsk sound.
“We have some clothes in the way for our new slave. Let me assist with this one moment.”
He scoops up some of the fabric of my clothes in his hard fists, and I see his muscles tense as he puts all his strength into ripping the material. I gasp as he shreds through the top with ease, though when he sees I'm not wearing any panties under my skirt, his eyebrow twitches. “Oh, my. You are a naughty girl, aren't you?” One finger briefly brushes the hood of my nub, and I let out a shuddering gasp, trying to back away from him. He stops, pursing his lips in inspection. “Sensitive, too. When you massage, Feltan, leave this area for last.”
Feltan nods with a gulp, and my nipples are pebbling under my own powerlessness. Under the fact that these two shifters are going to have their way with me.
What happens if I do resist? Will I be punished?
I suppose that's how this sort of thing works.
I've never tried massage oils before, and when Feltan drips some onto his hands to smear over my body, I'm left with a sticky, warm sensation on my skin. I feel slippery and smooth, and the lavender begins to well up, coating my natural body scent and their manly, brimstone like scents as well, which I suppose is the usual musk of a dragon.
“Gentle, and slow, like this,” Arula whispers, showing with his hands how to cover me. He and Feltan use circular, skin stirring motions, slowly lathering all the oil over my neck, arms and stomach. Arula deliberately makes sure Feltan ignores my breasts and core, focusing on all the other spots and the erogenous zones there. It's hard to keep my cool, it's hard to know if I still need to try and fight them off, or to sigh and relax into it. It would be easier, so much easier, to allow this to happen, to let go of what's hindering me in my mind, of all the things I've clung onto in the past. Easy to forget my mother and father, easy to forget I no longer have a home, easy to ignore all the times I've had guys screaming at me in the club, “Slut!” When really, they're jealous they're not getting any.
I can't quite forget that I'm a prisoner, though. I got taken, drugged, and offered as a tribute to him. A prince. I had thought the trafficker had simply rejected me as the ugliest of the bunch, but it seems Feltan might have seen the experience inside me.
Sex is something I can control. I can tailor my reactions and elicit a response out of the men. Power can be found in the strangest of places.
And, to be honest, I'm curious enough to see where this goes. I don't feel a sense of physical threat to my body. Sure, I'll likely be taken, as part as whatever master/slave thing these two have going on, but I can at least find some enjoyment out of it.
Maybe.
“Now do concentric circles on her breasts,” Arula says, and Feltan obliges. By now, he's fully erect, and the tip of his cock is just poking out of his boxers. There's little lumps on his skin – goosebumps, and Feltan's hands actually tremble as they begin the circles. His hands are so smooth, coated with that oil, and my breasts slip under the massage. I let out a sigh and arch my back, and Feltan's eyes are now fully expanded in lust. I can no longer see the gray, and his jaw is tight, as if trying to contain his arousal within, trying to not let it leak out. His self-control is admirable – I know enough guys who can't exercise the same constraint. My heartrate speeds up when he brushes over my nipples, but under the oil, the stimulus is different. Everything feels connected as the same, rather than electrified target areas.
Arula nods as he watches, a thin smile upon his lips, the amber in his eyes vanished as well. He's not as fully erect as Feltan, but he's getting there as well.
Part of me wonders why I find this so simple, why I'm not hysterical in terror and fear, even though my body reacts to the attention, and my core becomes dripping wet.
That's the thing. My mind wonders why my body betrays me in this way, drinking in the sensations, the smells and the little gasps that escape Feltan's lips.
They're both so damn handsome, actually. It's really hitting me now, because I've been with some good looking guys before, but not ones who are pretty much oozing with movie star quality looks. You know what I mean – the photogenic kind who manage to somehow look dazzling, no matter what angle you catch them at in a photo.
Lying here on the bed, feeling his hands caress my breasts makes it hard to breathe. I keep holding the air in my lungs as if I can hide the emotion inside, because if I hiss it out, they'll know just how much I'm enjoying this, even though I don't want to.
Humans are like that, I suppose. We do things even when we don't want to, and we enjoy things, even when our minds are telling us we shouldn't. I know mine is screaming, but I drown it out with the white noise of the present, of the d
elicious sensations wrought through my skin, and through the thrill of knowing that this will be a new chapter in my sexual life. Something I've never done, despite having been with many men.
My father would probably have a fit, knowing about this. Just thinking about my father sends a stab of sadness and fury inside, and I feel like I have to show him that he’s wrong to do what he did. He can't stop me from enjoying myself, and he can't just suddenly decide I'm not his daughter anymore. I know my mother would be weeping at home, but she never dares go against the will of my father. She's a ghost in the house, merely wandering around and doing her chores like a good Christian wife. She rarely if ever speaks up to her husband, and she always acts weak willed and unwilling to involve herself in anything. I wonder if she might have pushed past my father to call the police, since I am missing, whether my father has, or whether he thinks now so little of me that he has done nothing.
I'd like to believe he still loves me, but his pride has a tendency to get in the way. He would rather die than admit he is wrong. That he made a rash decision. It is that fact that makes me believe I might be lost in the winds to him.
It drags me down for a fleeting moment, before I feel Feltan pinch my nipples, though his grip keeps sliding from the oil.
“Tug off her skirt, but only after you've touched her there, all along her pussy,” Arula says.
“Pussy” isn't a term I like, if I'm honest. I hear it all the time, hear guys boast about getting some, but it has a ring of vulgarity to it that turns me off. It's the same when you see people lick their fingers after they've poked them inside themselves or someone else.
I'm sure some people find it erotic, but I find it plain nasty, and a massive turn off, to see someone prostrating themselves like that as they run their tongue over their drenched fingers.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what, slave?” Arula digs his fingers into Feltan's shoulder, making the shifter wince.
Bad, Very Bad Shifters- The Complete Mega Bundle Page 53