Enslaved (4 page)

“Does everyone know I’m your sex-slave?” It wouldn’t bother her if they did know, but if they didn’t, discretion that had never been an issue at Gregory’s house would be required here.

“It’s none of their business. Is that what you think you are? My sex-slave?” He sounded amused.

Someone knocked on the door to her bedroom. Stepping out of the bathroom in her underwear, she peered through the peephole. Trevor—cell phone still to his ear.

“I’d like to be your sex-slave, sir,” she replied.

“Then unlock the door, and kneel on the center of the bed.” His voice sounded different now, the same voice she recognized from the club as he’d flogged her, asking her how she was doing. A voice filled with arousal. “And keep your eyes shut.”

So they would start today. Right now.

Chapter Two

E
lisabeth unlocked the door and went to the bed, kneeling. She remained as motionless as possible, her eyes shut, to give Trevor the chance to see her before she saw him. What was going to happen? To spend one evening getting flogged in public was one thing, but to be alone in a bedroom with a Dom she’d met once before was another.

The door didn’t squeak on its hinges as it opened, but she heard it quietly latch shut. And a click as the lock turned in place.

She trusted Gregory, and Gregory said to trust Trevor. Which is why she shouldn’t be so frightened suddenly. Weren’t they just bantering on the blue cell phone not a moment before? Yes. She could trust Trevor. She must—at this point, there was no going back. Or was there?

Breathe.

So now she was alone now with him. With Trevor.

Elisabeth could sense he was quite close to her, despite being unable to see him, her eyes still shut. A whiff of expensive cologne that reminded her of something—someone?—and then the heat of his hand on her chilled face. She whimpered, scared now.

She didn’t know this man. What he was into. What he’d do to her, or make her do to him. Men had some kinky tastes, that she did know.

“Are you okay doing this?” he asked. “Do I have your consent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Open your eyes, Elisabeth. Look at me.”

She obeyed, and saw he’d dimmed the lighting, casting the guest bedroom in shadow, though still softly lit. Sconces on the walls threw golden highlights across the mahogany furniture.

“You look frightened,” Trevor whispered. “Were you scared I was going to slap you?”

Why would such a gorgeous man want her, when he could have anyone? His dark hair, neatly trimmed, contrasted sharply with green eyes the color of the emerald ring her mother had given her before she passed. Of course, that emerald was of poor quality, cloudy with flecks of—

“You need to answer me when I ask you a direct question,” Trevor prompted.

Well, then. Let the games begin.

“I forgot the question,” she lied, and gave him what Gregory always called her “brat face,” but that she preferred to think of as a cheeky grin.

“Then I imagine you’re not too frightened to continue.”

Elisabeth laughed. Trevor was totally different from Gregory. From the flogging he’d given her at the club it was clear he knew what he was doing. So what did he need her for? Certainly not to practice on.

“Keep laughing, princess.”

She promptly shut her mouth, her gaze flickering involuntarily over to the large duffel bag on the low dresser across the room. He’d brought it in with him.

“I don’t like to slap faces, but I will make it difficult for you to sleep comfortably tonight.”

“Sorry, sir,” she replied, as nonchalantly as possible, hoping to make it clear she wasn’t sorry. Her nerves continued their skitter jangle, but now she was in her element. She knew how to force a man to earn her respect.

Technically she was supposed to submit to and respect him automatically because Gregory had ordered her to, but that’s not how it worked for her. Never had.

“No you’re not,” he said.

“I’m not,” she agreed. “I’m a fucking masochist. A pain-slut, remember? Do your worst.”

Trevor reached out casually and grabbed her by her hair, twisting the black strands in his fingers until she felt the sting on her scalp. “As you wish.”

Nice.

He led her up off the bed by the hair, toward the dresser, toward the black duffel bag.

“You’re in luck tonight, Elisabeth. You get to pick some toys, and I get to decide how they’re used. Deal?”

“We don’t need to make a deal. You own me tonight.”

“What’s your safeword?”

“I never safeword,” she said. “Never. I told you I like it rough.”

“Well then you might need a safeword if I become a little too kind. I’ve been known to do that once in a while.” As if to prove his point, he let go of his iron-grip on her hair.

She resisted the urge to rub her tingling scalp. “Fine. Just in case you get a little too kind and I need you to stop so we can reevaluate, my safeword is
Teotwawki
.”

“That’s not Japanese, is it? Because Roman’s the only one who knows Japanese.”

“It’s an acronym. I didn’t make it up. It stands for The End Of The World As We Know It. Teotwawki. Because if I use that safeword—”

“I get it,” he said. “Very cute.”

“It’s not fucking cute. It’s my safeword, and I’ve never had to use it.”

“I don’t intend to push you past your boundaries just because you’re living in my home,” he said softly, as if soothing a frightened cat. “I have more space than I know what to do with in this house. We should be clear, though, that you being here isn’t a burden on me. Money means nothing.”

“Money only means nothing if you’ve got a lot of it. I have nothing. My net worth is negative, actually, although creditors have no way of reaching me anymore so that’s not an issue.” Why were they talking about money, when he should be fucking her senseless? Was the sight of her, near-naked on the bed, not enough to make him want her?

“Ah. I was wondering why you lived with Gregory.”

“He was my Dom, and yes, he took care of me. But now I’m worth nothing to him either.” She touched her neck, feeling the bare skin where her collar once lay.

“That’s not true. You’re worth so much to him that he let you go so you could have a chance at finding happiness. You’re worth . . . a lot.”

“A price above rubies,” she quoted, one of the few biblical phrases she remembered because she liked the idea that a good woman’s worth was a price above rubies, even if she probably wouldn’t qualify as a good woman. Not with all her kinky fuckery. Well, all that submission had to count for something, right?

She unzipped the duffel bag and grinned, looking at Trevor like they were two kids about to play a really fun game. He grinned back.

“You pick four items. Three you want and one that you would rather avoid. And don’t tell me which is which.”

“That sounds awesome.”

“Hard limits?” he asked.

“Don’t kill me, don’t accidentally kill me, no scat, no golden showers, no fire, no blood play,” she rolled off quickly. “Don’t hold my head under water, and don’t leave me alone if I’m gagged because whenever I cry my nose gets all stuffy and I can’t breathe.”

She’d learned that last one the hard way. She hadn’t even been alone, just gagged, and the caning Gregory gave her got to be too much and before she knew it Gregory had to flip her onto her welted back and rip off the gag as she gasped for air, snot running down her face. From that point on, Gregory always put a mirror on the ground where he could see her face when he stood behind her, and he never gagged her. Instead, he soundproofed the bedroom.

“I know that one already,” Trevor whispered. “Gregory cares a lot about your safety. He considers it his responsibility as your former Master to continue to keep you safe.”

Elisabeth shook her head to rid herself of the memory; it was killing the mood.

“Tonight you’re my Master,” she said, wanting to get back on track.

“That’s right. Now choose or I’ll choose for you.”

What to choose, when she had to choose one that she didn’t truly want? Nipple clamps, absolutely, because a clamp anywhere at all was her idea of a good time. Spreader bar, because she loved being restrained that way. A vibrator that looked powerful.

Lastly, a short cat-o’-nine-tails with knotted leather ends.

Trevor raised his eyebrows at her choices.

“What can I say? I told you I’m a masochist.”

“That you did.” He took a step back, staring at her appraisingly. “You look so cute and proper.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not.”

He reached toward her, wrapping his arms around her back.

“Please don’t kiss me,” she whispered. “I’m not ready for that.”

Instead, he unfastened her bra and let it fall to the bed. “I haven’t earned that privilege yet?”

Elisabeth didn’t answer. Gregory never kissed her either, and it had been a long time since she’d had a man’s mouth on her lips. Especially a man like Trevor.

“I like those,” he said, nodding toward her surgical-steel nipple piercings shining in the glow of the wall sconces.

Fear took hold of her, out of nowhere. This was happening. But what? What was happening? During her time with Gregory, they’d fucked, but he was gay. This was different. Trevor was looking at her with lust in his eyes.

Maybe she was a tiny bit terrified of him after all.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, slowly unbuttoning his shirt without taking his eyes off of her, as if she might get away somehow.

“Thank you.”

Trevor reached for the nipple ring she wore in her left breast, giving it a slight tug that sent a ripple of pleasure through her. “You mean, thank you
Sir
.”

Elisabeth smiled. There was no need to worry. As long as he took charge, she’d be safe with him. Gregory told her so and she trusted that, at least. Breathe. This was going to be fun.

“Yes, my mistake. Thank you, sir.” Oh hell, he had an amazing body underneath that fancy shirt. Muscles, tight and tan, his abdominal muscles striated and so fucking hot.

Trevor carefully laid his shirt on top of the dresser to avoid wrinkles, and pulled her toward him, surprising her with the sudden motion.

Now that she stood before him barefoot, in only her panties, she had to look straight up at an unnatural angle to see his face.

“How tall are you, sir?”

Trevor reached up between her thighs, sliding his fingers past the elastic on her panties. Would he notice the cheap material?

He smiled. “You’re wet for me.”

“I can’t help it, sir, I apologize.” Her own desire embarrassed her. She’d rather be the sort of sub who focused solely on her Dom’s needs. Getting hot and bothered made her feel . . . dirty, almost.

“I don’t want you to help it.” He lifted her off the floor, holding her against his bare chest. His incredibly muscular, hard bare chest. Her breath caught in her throat as he gently laid her on the bed.

“And I’m six foot four. I give every girl I’ve ever dated a neck ache within two days.”

“Good thing I like pain,” Elisabeth mused.

Trevor lifted both her legs with one large hand and swatted her bottom once, hard. “We’re not dating. A sex-slave is not a girlfriend. And I’m going to give you some very lovely pain tonight, if you want it.”

“Yes, sir. You know I want it. May I take off my underwear?”

His words about her not being a girlfriend should have stung, and maybe that’s why he said them. But they didn’t. She wasn’t silly enough to think that just because he’d invited her to stay at his home so he could have 24/7 access to her body meant that she’d become the next Mrs. Brooks. And yes, she knew there had been one before.

Apparently Trevor wasn’t interested in marriage. But a collar? Would he ever let her wear his collar, if she pleased him enough?

“Take them off,” he ordered, and she almost tore her panties in her hurry to remove them. If only he would take off his pants and underwear too . . . she glanced at his pants, wondering if he’d get the hint, but either he didn’t or he didn’t care to undress further.

“I like your choices,” he said. “We’re going to have fun with these, including the one you’d rather avoid. I think I can guess which one, but don’t tell me.”

She didn’t answer, just spread her legs, revealing her fresh Brazilian wax. The Korean lady who waxed her always got a big tip—money from Gregory, since she had none of her own.

Trevor ran his finger along her wet slit, smiling as if in appreciation. “Is it cliché if I tell you your pussy looks like a fresh peach?”

“Totally cliché, sir. It’s all right, though, I don’t mind.”

He fastened one end of the spreader bar to her ankle, forcing her legs even wider, until her other ankle could be secured on the opposite end. With her legs spread wide open, she felt completely exposed and vulnerable.

Which of course, only made her hotter for him.

“Nipple clamps for fifteen minutes, by my phone’s timer,” he said, as if he were a doctor prescribing her medicine. Which, in a way he was. Pain was her medicine, the only kind that worked. As long as he understood that about her, they’d get along just fine.

“Yes, sir.” The first clamp bit into the tender peak on her breast, reigniting the pain she felt when Gregory first pierced her nipples last year. The second clamp did the same, but the bilateralism of it did something to make the pain turn to pleasure more quickly, as if the neurons in her brain understood what was happening. She moaned in excitement.

“Too much?” Trevor asked, concern creasing his face.

“There’s no such thing as too much. Like I said,
hurt me
. I love it.” She grimaced in pain. “That was my happy face. Got it?” She purposefully left off any show of respect, didn’t say sir.

He held her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “Elisabeth, breathe through the pain, and listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You could choose to leave if you wish. But you’re here. You’re choosing to stay, at least for the time being, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you stay in my house, you go by my rules.”

“Yes, sir.” Now he was turning her on for real, making her ache for his domination and discipline.

“Rule one: You respect me. You submit to me. You do as I say because if you are in my home, you are choosing to be my sex-slave. Key word
slave
, even if you haven’t decided to give yourself to me fully.”

“Fully?”

He shook his head. “Rule number two: You can do what you like as long as you are always available to me when I call. So keep your phone charged and on your body at all times, like everyone else who works here.”

“Do I work here, sir?”

“If that’s how you want it to be, yes. You work here as my sex-slave. Maybe someday that will change, maybe you’ll find something about me that you like other than my money.”

“I’m not . . . I’m not getting paid, am I?” She didn’t think she would be. She didn’t want to be. No one falls in love with their whore. No one collars their whore.