Enslaved (4 page)

He was as relentless with his fingers inside her as he’d been with his hand on her ass. Over the roar of blood in her ears, dimly she heard Sam bark, “Don’t come. You may not come.”

Was he joking? She must have heard it wrong. And anyway, if he didn’t want her to come, he’d better stop whatever the hell it was he was doing to her. Oh, god, it felt good. So incredibly, amazingly intense, like nothing she’d ever experienced. She no longer even tried to control the writhing and shuddering of her body as he wrested the powerful reaction from deep within her.

“Fuck. Oh, god, yes,
fuck
!” she heard herself shouting as her body went suddenly rigid, impaled against his hand. Beyond control, she began to thrust and gyrate as spirals of fierce, nearly intolerable pleasure wracked through her body.

When she was finally able to stop the trembling that had overtaken her, she lay like a rag doll, her legs akimbo, her head hanging half off the bed. His fingers were still buried inside her. He moved them just slightly, but it was enough to set off a series of tiny convulsive shudders, aftershocks of the intense orgasm. Maybe, it slowly occurred to her, it wouldn’t be quite so terrible to be this man’s “sex slave” for the next thirty days.

He pulled his hand away, but she felt too limp, too sated, to move. Standing, he leaned over her, slipping his arms beneath her and lifting her from the bed. He set her down none too gently on the floor.

“Kneel,” he commanded. “Get on your knees, forehead touching the carpet. Go on, move!”

His words penetrated the endorphin-induced fog, the words burning it away. Though her limbs were heavy from the powerful orgasm, she didn’t dare disobey. As she scrambled into the humiliating position, he said, “I told you not to come. It was a direct order.”

Rae lifted her head. “I couldn’t help it. Whatever you were doing, it was just—I couldn’t stop my body. If you didn’t want me to come you shouldn’t have—”

Sam knelt suddenly beside her, jerking her head back sharply by the hair. She cried out but he kept his fingers entwined in her hair. “Don’t you tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” he hissed. “You will learn to control your body. You will come when I tell you and not a moment sooner, no matter what is happening to you. You are my property now. My sex slave. You do my bidding. I decide, not you. Do you understand?”

It was a direct question.

“Yes,” she managed. “I understand.”

And to think, a moment before she’d thought this wouldn’t be so bad.

“Kneel up, hands behind your head, knees spread wide so I can see your cunt.”

Sam stood over Rae, his cock throbbing at the sight of the naked girl at his feet. She was one of those women who was always perfectly put together, her hair hanging in a glossy curtain just to her shoulders, the flawless makeup, the shiny lips as forbidden as Eve’s apple, the supple curves of her youthful body hidden in linen and silk tailored to taunt without revealing much.

Now she was his—naked and at his mercy, her hair tousled, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, no trace of lipstick on that pouty mouth. She stared up at him, biting her full lower lip, the fear in her eyes like an aphrodisiac.

When she didn’t react immediately to his dictate, Sam bent down, again seizing a fist of hair to jerk her upright. Rae gasped, a small cry of pain that made his cock harden. He forced her into position, pulling her arms and jerking them up.

“Hands behind your head, fingers locked together.” He moved to stand directly in front of her, using his foot to push her thighs apart, forcing her to expose her trimmed pussy. Her face was flushing a deep pink and her dark blue eyes flashed daggers. He would break down her defiant resistance soon enough.

“This position is called kneeling up, and when I give the order, you obey without hesitation.” He crouched in front of her, leaning close so their faces were nearly touching. She leaned away and he slapped her cheek, not too hard, but hard enough to make her cry out. She dropped her hands, putting them up as if to ward off a blow.

He wasn’t surprised at this completely undisciplined reaction; indeed, he had expected it. “Back into position,” he ordered, his voice low, its power palpable.

“Sam, you’re scaring—”

“The rules. No speaking unless—”

“I can’t do this!” Rae hugged herself, rocking on her knees. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, her mouth trembling. “Please, Sam. Can’t we work something out? I want to please you, to—to serve you, but you’re scaring me. Please…”

If she’d been his lover, he would have scooped her up into his arms and kissed her, whispering that she was his lovely, brave girl who could do this for him, for them. But she wasn’t his lover. She was being punished, and had to learn to obey.

This was the moment to establish his complete dominance and make it quite clear just who was in charge. “You
will
please me,” he informed her. “And you will serve me. On my terms, not yours. Despite your promise to obey, in just the short time you’ve been in my dungeon you’ve proved yourself worthless. You’re untrained and disobedient at every turn. You’re begging for punishment. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you can’t or won’t follow the simplest of commands.”

He reached down, pulling her to her feet by one arm. Roughly he hauled her along toward the St. Andrew’s cross. She cried out, struggling in earnest as he forced her against the wooden X frame, but she was no match for his strength. He positioned her facing outward, her lower back resting against the intersection of the crossed wood, which would give him ample access to her ass as well. It wasn’t long before he had her properly restrained, her wrists bound high over her head, her legs stretched wide and secured at the ankles by thick leather straps.

He stepped back, watching her. Her chest was heaving, her tears leaving black trails of mascara along her cheeks, her hair falling into her face. He crossed his arms over his chest and let her cry.

He waited until her sobs subsided into hiccupping whimpers before approaching her. Gently he smoothed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. Using his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. She turned her head away at his touch, closing her eyes.

“Rae, look at me.”

Slowly she turned her head toward him, but kept her eyes lowered. He put a hand on her throat, forefinger and thumb just below her jaw line, forcing her head up. His grip was light, only a slight pressure, but enough to make the point that, if he wanted to, he could choke the life out of her.

“Look at me,” he commanded again. “Now.”

Slowly she looked up, meeting his gaze. Her lashes were wet with tears. Sam kept his hand at her throat as he stared into her eyes, searching for the spark. There was fear, yes, and still the fire of defiance, but beneath it—something else?

He cupped her breasts, one in each hand. They were perfect, round and heavy, the heft pleasing in his hands. The nipples perked like the dark pink tips of number two pencils, perfect for clamping. One day soon, when she was further along in her training, he would have her offer her breasts to him. She would hold them up and beg for the cut of the cane against the soft, creamy skin.

For now he contented himself with tweaking her nipples, pulling them taut and savoring the swell as they engorged at his touch. Leaning down, he flicked her right nipple with his tongue, drawing a circle in the puckering skin around it before lightly biting the hard nubbin. He pulled it with his teeth, just hard enough to elicit a small, delicious gasp of pain. He did the same to her other nipple, leaving them both erect.

Using his middle finger, he stroked along her cleft, lightly teasing her clit, then pushing inside her. He felt the involuntary clamp of her vaginal muscles around his finger. Gently he moved inside her, feeling the walls moisten and heat.

On an impulse he leaned down again, kissing her mouth. She kept her lips closed until he pried them apart, forcing his way between them with his tongue. She submitted—what choice did she have—but she didn’t kiss him back.

No matter. She wasn’t his lover.

She was his slave.

His possession. His to use, to train, to discipline and to punish.

“It’s time, Rae. It’s time for punishment number two.”

~*~

Sam stepped back, his eyes on her as his fingers moved down his shirt, opening the buttons. He pulled it off, revealing his broad muscular chest. He unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops. He folded the belt in half and flicked it in the air, creating a snapping sound that made Rae jump.

As he moved closer, Rae gasped and turned her head away, screwing her eyes tight, her hands curled into fists of fear over her head. She expected to feel the sharp sting of the leather belt against her body, but instead she felt it being pressed against her throat, just above the collar already in place. She opened her eyes in surprise, only to realize he was binding it around her neck, buckling it behind her around the wood, restraining her by the throat. The belt was thicker than the collar beneath it, the leather tight and constricting.

Rae realized she was panting, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. “Please,” she begged. “Let me down. I can’t do this. Please…”

Sam didn’t reply. He left her, walking across the space toward a large cabinet. Rae strained to see what he was doing, barely able to turn her head within the confines of the belt at her throat.

He returned with what looked like a small whip. He flicked it in the air near her and Rae startled, jerking in her restraints. She coughed as the belt, tight at her throat, pressed against her larynx from her sudden movement.

“Why are you being punished, Rae?”

“Please, let me down—”

The movement was sudden. He struck her cheek with his open hand, the sound sharp and explosive in her ear. “Another fucking word that isn’t a direct response to a question and I’ll gag you, got it? You aren’t going to be let down until you’re done receiving your punishment. Now answer the question. Why are you being punished?”

“I—I don’t know.” Rae’s mind was whirling, her heart beating high in her throat.

Sam leaned in close so she could feel his breath on her cheek. She tried to turn her head away, but the belt restricted the movement. She closed her eyes.

“It’s because you spoke out of turn, Rae. You can’t seem to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

He stepped back, again flicking the whip in the air, the leather braid so close she could feel the swish of air it caused near her thigh. In spite of her fear, Rae stared at the little whip, mesmerized. At last she tore her gaze away to look at Sam, who was smiling, a slow, easy smile that would have been sexy if his eyes weren’t so hard.

“You said this morning I couldn’t just tie you up and give you thirty lashes, remember?”

Was it really only this morning? Only this morning that she’d awoken, thinking about how in just another few weeks she’d finally be out of the jam she’d backed herself into? Was it only this morning she’d blithely sailed into Sam’s office, only to be blindsided by his accusations and ultimatums?

Another slap to her cheek jerked Rae back to the present. “Answer. The. Question.”

“Yes!” Rae gasped. “Yes, I remember.”

“And you were wrong, weren’t you?”

God, I fucking hate you.
“Yes.”

Sam nodded, cocking an eyebrow. “Thirty days, thirty lashes. I like it. That’s what you’ll get now. Thirty lashes, one for each day you are here. You’ll count for me. Count out loud each stroke of the whip you so richly deserve.”

He flicked the tail so suddenly she didn’t even realize he’d done it until the line of fire moved over her thigh. “Ow!” she cried.

“Count!” he barked.

“One! Ow! Two!” The second stroke licked her other thigh, leaving a trail of pain.

He moved behind her, the crack of the leather against her ass making her jump in the split second before the pain registered in her brain. “Fuck!” she screamed.

“Fuck is not a number,” Sam replied, his tone amused. “So we start again at one.”

Rage edged its way past fear at that moment. If she could have, she would have strangled him. Instead, as the whip curled cruelly around her left thigh, she cried, “One!”

Ten more blows, five on each ass cheek, though the order was random. Each time the leather struck, Rae jerked against her restraints and cried out, the belt at her throat choking her. Desperately she tried to keep count, calling out the numbers, tears of impotent fury coursing down her cheeks.

He returned to face her. This time the lash caught the underside of one of her breasts, snaking over the skin. Rae screamed.

“Count,” Sam hissed.

“Twelve,” Rae cried quickly, terrified he’d make her start over. “Please,” she entreated. The whip struck, finding her other breast. She screamed, unable to help it, but she managed to gasp, “Thirteen.”

He struck her thighs, a stripe of fire on each leg before again moving behind her. For a while he concentrated on her ass, which was easier to tolerate than anywhere else, though it still stung plenty. At twenty-eight he returned to stand in front of her. She was breathing hard, dizzy with pain and fear, her body slicked with sweat.