Carnal Slave (9 page)

Positioned as she was, she could see the roof’s underside. The beams looked substantial, and she didn’t note any gaps between the barn and the sky. Why hadn’t whoever had turned the barn into a training facility at least put in insulation?

Because they see us as animals.

She jumped and again tried to lift her head when he placed something warm and damp over her crotch. Just like that she understood he was going to shave her, return her to the state Mitch demanded.

Was Mitch responsible for her being here?

She tried to hold onto the horrible thought only to lose it as Master Damek pressed the wash cloth against her mons. The gesture was so intimate. Keeping a hand over the cloth, he held up something for her to see. It was the same brand of razor she used.

Maybe it was hers.

Was Master Damek or someone else from Carnal responsible for bringing them? Maybe Mitch—
Mitch! Did you do this to me?

Shortly after lowering his arm, she heard the hiss of an aerosol can. Master Damek removed the washcloth and squirted shaving foam over her. Praying for a way out of the next few minutes, she closed her eyes. As a child she’d learned to imagine she was playing in the woods when her parents started lecturing, but she’d lost the skill—either that or dread kept her in the here and now.

Master Damek moved to one side of her gaping legs, probably to keep from obscuring the camera’s view. She wondered if another camera might be trained on the rest of her. No matter how she tried to remain inside her mind, the instant he touched her with the razor, she flinched and opened her eyes. Something dark was attached to one of the rafters behind her, probably a camera lens.

Master Damek attacked her stubble one small section at a time. Between the scraping sound, the way he stretched out her skin with his finger, and the running water he was using to occasionally rinse the razor, her mind was on overload. She would stay as still as possible to avoid being nicked, but her vaginal muscles kept clenching. No way could she stop shaking.

She hated it that he wasn’t saying anything. Damn him, he wasn’t remaining quiet so he could concentrate on his task. Instead, the damn bastard was using silence to undermine her, to break her into even more pieces.

Damn bastard.

As far as she knew she’d never mentally called anyone that. She certainly hadn’t said the words aloud. Something about having them reverberate inside her strengthened her. She wasn’t as destroyed as she’d thought.

Fucking bastard. I’d kill you if I could.

“Yeah. More like it.” He slapped her denuded pussy with the flat of his hand. “Just about done.”

A short while later he’d wiped all the shave cream off her. He’d even applied something soothing to her flesh.

“What do you say, slave?”

Don’t make me—
“Thank you, Master.”

“You’re welcome.”

Damn you for playing this sick game!

Master Damek’s fingers closed around her labia, and he drew the loose flesh away from her body. Alarmed, she tried to turn to the side.

“Get used to it, slave. This—“ He tugged. “will belong to whoever claims you once I’m done with you. He might want you ringed here.” He pinched.

Ringed!
Damn him for digging at her sanity! Damn him for existing.

Maybe she should be grateful when he stopped pulling and lightly trailed his fingers over everything he’d exposed, but with each touch, her loathing of him grew. He was so fucking self-assured. If the tables were turned, she’d wrap a wire around his cock and—His cock would soon be inside her. She’d never been more sure of anything. She was going to be raped, no doubt about it. She could either fight or accept the inevitable. If she accepted she might enjoy the act, at least a little. If she’d led him to believe he’d broken her down, he might not restrain her.

Thinking of anything else was better than focusing on what he was doing. As a result, she wasn’t ready when he slipped a finger into her opening. Just like that it felt right. Good.

Reward for what she’d endured.

“Keeping a slave aroused and thus off-balance has long been one of my preferred techniques.” He began rotating his finger about inside her. “Each subject is different which is good. Otherwise I’d get bored, but they all have one thing in common. Do you want to know what that is?”

“What, Master?” she asked because that’s what he expected of her.

“They’re sexual beasts which means they have no defense against this.”

Before she could wrap her mind around what he was talking about, he abandoned her channel and pressed his sticky finger against her clit. No matter which way she twisted, her mons remained trapped under his finger. All too soon she admitted the futility of resisting and sagged in her bonds. He started rubbing her nub. Overstimulated, she again fought to get away only to have him clamp a hand over her belly and push down, sealing her to the table.

Helpless and needful, she bleated like some trapped animal while this man who knew so much about her pushed her back to the edge of the too-familiar cliff.

She’d surrender. Let him rule her. Pleasure would be her reward, her escape. For a few precious and necessary seconds she’d be what he’d called her, a sexual beast. Panting in anticipation, she again submitted to his greater strength and knowledge. His finger slowed, but she didn’t care because release was only inches away. Her blood raced.

“Shit no!” Grabbing the rope around her breasts, he lifted that part of her body off the table while repeatedly slapping her pussy. “Not going to happen, slave, not again.”

#

Willow knelt on old burlap in front of Master Damek. She still wore her rope bra and her hands were tied behind her. Worn out as she was, she was grateful she didn’t have to stand.

Even though he was sitting in a lounge chair, he was still taller.

After unhooking her from the gynecological table, he’d commanded her to walk around the large room several times with her arms at her sides. Her confusion had soon turned to comprehension. He’d wanted her to concentrate on the feel of a shorn pussy and the unyielding rope bands around her breasts. He’d also wanted her to gain a greater understanding of what the too-big space represented. She’d recoiled from the various bondage and torture devices.

When she’d returned to him, he’d tied her hands behind her and ordered her to remain where she was while he retrieved something from a refrigerator. While waiting, she’d watched the other trainer release the woman from the sawhorse, connect a leash to her collar, and half walk, half drag her through the curtain. This time the other woman hadn’t lifted her gaze from the floor.

Settling her buttocks on her heels, Willow watched as her master pulled the lid off a plastic container. After bracing the container between his knees, he unscrewed the fresh water bottle he’d taken from the refrigerator and held it up. Loathing both of them, she scooted forward and tilted her head up. He began pouring water into her mouth. After a few swallows she couldn’t keep up with the flow. She swallowed frantically but close to a quarter of the bottle’s contents dribbled onto the floor.

“It’s hell being dependent on me isn’t it.” Master Damek shook the last few drops on her breasts. “Get used to it. In fact, its damn time you fully wrapped your mind around dependency. Freedom’s behind you.”

Hopefully he didn’t expect a reply because her mind had gone blank. Drinking had made her even more aware of her empty stomach. It took all her strength to keep from toppling over.

Smiling in a way that made her wonder if he knew her better than she did herself, he pulled the container from between his legs and placed it on his thighs. He kept his knees together.

“Come and get it, pet.”

Was
pet
worse than
slave?
Later, when she could think, she’d ponder the question.

Defeated, she leaned over his legs and extended her head toward whatever he’d decided she could eat. Her breasts dragged along his thighs, and his knees pressed against her belly. He tipped the container toward her a little.

Her hair was in her eyes. A few strands settled on the food. Sticking out her tongue, she tried to lap but couldn’t quite reach what looked like gruel.

“Let me help.” His voice was laced with sarcasm as he gathered up her hair. His legs parted, and she sank into the space he’d created. His legs surrounded and trapped her, but she shook off the realization and buried her tongue in the cold, tasteless mess. The bowl was wide enough to get her mouth into, but some of the awful stuff stuck to her cheeks and chin. She was off balance, incapable of straightening without use of her hands and dependent on his body to keep from falling forward.

Blinding tears prevented her from seeing him clearly. Her nose started to run. Her breasts, knees, arms, and shoulders ached, and everything still stung from the whipping. She wouldn’t think about how things felt between her legs, she wouldn’t!

The bowl was shallower than she thought, either that or she’d gulped the mess down.

She’d started running her tongue around the sides when she caught herself and stopped.

Realization of how close she was to his cock reasserted itself, and she managed to sit upright by bracing herself against his thigh. He clamped his legs against her sides preventing her from backing away. After brushing her hair back again, he tossed the container toward a wall.

“Look at it, slave.” He indicated his cock straining against his jeans. “That’s an occupational hazard for me, but I’m not ready to ram it in you. By the time I do, you’ll be begging me to.”

The hell I will!

She must have given away what she was thinking because he slapped her cheek. Either that or he’d inflicted pain for pain’s sake.

“I’ve worked with a lot of submissive women, slave. You’re at the top of the list. Do you want to know how I can make that observation so soon into our time together?”

She didn’t of course, but she might not survive if she didn’t understand. Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

“For one you aren’t cursing me. Number two, you haven’t tried to escape.”

Hadn’t she? Besides, what would have been the use?

“Third, not only are you already calling me Master, you’re thinking of me as one.”

He was right, and much as she wanted to call him a bastard, it wouldn’t change anything.

“We could spend time psychoanalyzing you, determining what role your upbringing played in the woman you became, but I really don’t give a damn.”

Because she wasn’t a living, breathing human being to him. He saw her as a subject, maybe a lump of clay he was molding. Done in, she broke eye contact only to wind up looking at the bulge in his jeans again.

“Your training begins tomorrow,” he said and stood. Gripping her hair again, he hauled her to her feet. The way he positioned his hand at his side, she was forced to walk bent over.

Pain-borne tears stung her eyes. Yet despite her humiliation, she vowed to never cry in front of him again.

Somehow she’d prove him wrong. She
wasn’t
a submissive.

When he reached a table filled with whips and other awful things, he hauled her upright and held on with one hand while he sorted through the deadly collection. He picked up a collar.

Unlike the first one, this was much narrower—and metal, not leather. With rings imbedded in it. He took a long time fitting it around her neck. Turning her so her back was to him, he locked it in place.

“Thank you, Master,” she forced herself to say when he untied her hands. Then she saw what he intended to replace it with and wished she could take back her words. He circled her wrists with thick, heavy metal bands and locked her arms together in front via a short substantial chain. Too tired to hold up her hands, she let them sag. Once he’d left her alone—please let that be his intention—could she reach her sex?

A fresh wave of exhaustion teased at her as he attached a leash to her collar and led her out of the training room and into her stall. As he’d done before, he connected the other end of the leash to one of the ceiling chains. He shoved her so she landed on the bed. Rolling her onto her back, he untied the
bra
.

The door clanked behind him.

“I told her I knew everything about her, but I’m starting to think she’s more complex than I was led to believe.”

“What do you want, a puppet?”

Damek switched his cell phone to his other ear and accepted the beer Stoker handled him. “Of course not,” he told Reno. “She intrigues me.”

“So are you going to change your usual methods to adjust for what you’re learning about her?” his fellow Carnal trainee asked. “Maybe she’s playing you. You’re getting senile and so confused you won’t have her figured out by the auction. She’ll nip and pee like a puppy. You won’t earn a dime off what she goes for. It’ll all come my way.”

“In your dreams.” He’d called Reno mostly to re-establish his mindset—and to talk a little shop. “She’s submissive all right but not down to her core. I see it in her eyes. It’ll be interesting to see if I can push her past that.”

“And then what?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked even though Reno’s tone had clued him in.

“You have to ask? I pulled you off one slave before you killed her. This time I’m not around to stop you.”

It won’t happen again,
he wanted to say, but the beast that was his temper had broken loose more than once. He changed the subject by asking Reno how he was doing with his trainee. Reno didn’t tell him enough to build a real conversation on, probably because Reno was still thinking about the
incident
. The only thing Damek really remembered of that day was growing irritation with a trainee’s inability to follow simple directions. Everything in the wake of his pissed state was foggy—up until Reno had hauled him off a suffering, sobbing slave-in-training.

Damek finished his beer during a discussion about the organization’s decision to close down a Midwest training facility because of access issues. Then, although it was only partly true, he told Reno he had paperwork to do.