Rough Play (7 page)
Authors: Christina Crooks
She stared at him, feeling the panic rise. She craved him. She wanted nothing more than to bring the scenes in that movie to life.
She backed away.
Martin’s brows knit in concern. “You’re pale. Let me out.”
“Hell no.” She took another step away. “If Gail’s here, I’ll find her on my own. If she’s missing, or if she’s hurt”—she turned, spoke over her shoulder—“the police will be the ones interrogating you.” She walked quickly away, deeper into Subspace.
5
G
ail had to pee.
ail had to pee.
She drew her legs up tighter against her chest, pushing herself as deeply into the farthest corner of her sheet metal–lined cell as she could. A small, irregular square window at eyeball height let in the only dim light from the larger space.
She’d repeatedly tried the old, narrow door. Rattled it, pulled it, pushed it. Finally kicked it with all her strength. For all its age, it was solid and solidly latched.
She eyed the two buckets near the door. One contained clean water. She’d been instructed to use the other when needed.
When, he’d said. Not if.
Anger, always present in her lately, it seemed, spiked to rage. “I have to use the bathroom!”
No one answered.
The handsome blond with the angelic eyes—Kartane, he’d called himself—didn’t answer.
Neither did the heavy-handed drunk jerk who’d tried to haul her away outside the club.
Her intended date, a man who lost interest in her within a personal record of a minute or two, certainly didn’t answer.
No one cared. No one had ever cared for her, not for as long as she could remember. Gail sank lower into depression. It had to be her fault. She was the common denominator. Was she repulsive? She must be.
Once upon a time, it hadn’t mattered what anyone else thought. People were wrong, shallow, short-sighted, stupid. But the longer she spent alone, friendless and without a mate anywhere on the face of the earth, the more it started to matter. She should’ve mended all those breaks with family and friends who’d displeased her.
It mattered now especially. There was nobody to look out for her.
Nobody but her dating coach.
Charlotte had tried to talk her out of coming to Subspace.
Well, she hadn’t tried hard enough, Gail decided.
Gail leapt to the door, slammed her hand against the metal. It made an ear-splitting gong. “I don’t want to pee in a bucket! Let me out of here. Let me out!” Surely the annoying sound would bring someone. She banged again.
The sounds were a cacophony magnified by the near tomblike darkness. They echoed in the larger underground space outside her cell. She listened but no footsteps approached. She could hear the muted murmurs and occasional spike of laughter from distant people, and the persistent deeper thump of bass. From the Subspace club or from some other building? Too far away to do any good, at any rate.
There were some closer, less identifiable noises. Scrapes and metal rattles and the periodic gurgle of water, perhaps in the overhead pipes? She knew she was still underground. But where exactly?
She turned to squint in the darkness at the two white plastic buckets.
Perfectly ordinary buckets. Useful for basement storage of bulk products, for carrying gardening seeds and supplies, for various and sundry tasks like capturing the bagged crap from the grassy walk where her neighbors’ dogs insisted on shitting. She didn’t get along with her neighbors. She didn’t get along with anyone.
But that didn’t mean she should have to piss in a bucket.
At first she’d let Kartane lead her down some stairs and through the club’s labyrinth of chambers. She’d been infatuated with his looks, his attentiveness, his sympathy after Martin rejected her.
He’d taken her to that one dirty chamber with the old furniture. A storage room, she’d thought at the time, but on second thought it’d looked more like a dusty museum. Strange shapes. Old things. It was while looking at what could only be an open iron maiden with real spikes that she’d finally come to her senses. Balked. She’d surreptitiously speed-dialed Charlotte.
He’d never even slowed. The phone fell from her hand when he slung her over his shoulder and simply carried her the rest of the way. She’d bumped her head on a sharp edge on a sloped ceiling, but despite the dizziness that threatened to drag her into unconsciousness she heard the sound of wood grinding against rock. A door, a secret door. There’d been a tunnel beyond it, twists and turns, then this place. Wherever it was.
She eyed the buckets. Her scheduled date hadn’t been as politically progressive as she was—she found that out right away, since she liked to ask about it first, get it out in the open. It was a priority for her. Things had sure gone downhill fast. She resolved anew never to have anything to do with men who didn’t share her politics. It never worked out.
It was all Charlotte’s fault. Gail would tell her so right before firing her, then maybe having her arrested by the police who’d show up soon.
Any minute.
Kartane actually expected her to use a bucket. It would be unhygienic. Simply the idea was the most humiliating thing ever to occur to Gail in her entire life. Where the heck were the police?
She jumped at the door the moment she heard the footsteps. “Help! I’m in here! Over here, can you hear me?” She banged her fist against the metal roughly bracketing the thick door.
The door flew open and more light illuminated her cell. She backed away.
Kartane stood, his eyes narrowed. “I believe I told you to be silent.” The now-familiar spicy scent of his cologne wafted from him. His shirt was streaked with brown dirt. His blond hair no longer lay neatly, instead tufting up in unkempt little spikes. He still seemed angelic-looking, but like a fallen angel now.
There had to be some mistake. No one so pretty should look at her with such anger and contempt.
His lovely eyes pinned her. “You will do what I say.” A simple statement of fact.
He looked at her crossing and uncrossing her legs. His smile made her heart leap inappropriately, and his voice was pure caramel in its amusement. “You have to use the bucket. Proceed to do so.”
Gail tried not to be too obvious about squeezing her thighs together. Tried to speak with dignity. “I have to urinate, yes. May I use the facilities, please?”
“Manners. Very nice.” Kartane examined his perfectly manicured nails. “A good start. My answer is no.”
“Why not?” she shouted. She couldn’t help it. Her need was urgent. His denial unfathomable.
“This is your last warning: No more loud noises. I find loud noise in women unappealing unless I’m causing them more directly. To answer your question, because you will leave your old life behind. The bucket is a symbol. One of them.”
She glared at him.
He smiled politely. “You thought you were so sneaky. Your phone call to Charlotte failed. She was the only person looking out for you, wasn’t she?”
She tried to hide her dismay. “How do you know her? Anyway, no, she’s not the only one. As a matter of fact, I have a number of people who will miss me very shortly. My . . . I was supposed to meet my friend for drinks later tonight. She’ll call the police.”
He smiled more widely. “You’re lying. Lying is punished severely.”
Gail edged away from him until the wall of metal pressed against her back. “Punished?” She hated feeling so intimidated. She’d thought herself insulated from such unpleasantness as this. Through the ugly fear and the pressure in her bladder, she found the strength to push her body straight and tilt her head up at Kartane with what she hoped was coolness. “Charlotte got my call before you disconnected it. She’ll look for me, it’s her job. And you, if you’re not completely stupid, you’ll realize I don’t belong here.”
Kartane ticked off another finger. “Disrespect. Another punishment.” He tilted his head, and the wavy blond hair caught the dim light. “You have spirit. It’ll be a pleasure to break you.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he continued. “Did Charlotte tell you we were once married? Earth-style, legally and all? I didn’t think so. We were meant to be together from the moment I hired her at the magazine.” He twisted his fingers together, then turned his interlaced hands so one set of fingers lay on the bottom, crushed by the top. “She was my secretary. Like in the movie? No, of course you haven’t seen that one. But I knew when I spanked her she wouldn’t quit or sue. She knew when I tied her up and took a whip to that sweet ass I’d never let her go. But then, ultimately, I did,” he mused. “I’m beginning to regret letting her go.”
“You let her go because she needed something different?” Gail guessed. “She got tired of playing games?” She couldn’t imagine Charlotte enjoying being whipped and dominated. Not for very long, not even to stay married to this handsome man. What woman would?
Kartane laughed with abandon. “Tired of playing games? Quite the opposite. I wasn’t playful enough for her.” His laughter faded. “Not nearly enough.”
His gorgeous blue eyes, bright white teeth, and his profile when he angled his head back to check on something outside her cell, astonished her anew. Such a handsome man. He could be a model. He’d sire beautiful children. He’d told her he was politically progressive and that he liked kids and wanted a large family. He couldn’t be all bad. Or be that good of a liar. Could he?
She supposed he could. She still had to pee.
She recalled one other thing he’d said. “You’d told me you were a switch!” Switches didn’t have to be in charge, they could be the submissive and obedient ones in BDSM. She’d read about it online.
Maybe all she needed to do to get out of this horrible place was show a little assertiveness.
Not a difficulty for her. “You, worm!” She assumed a pose she’d practiced early tonight before her mirror, widening her stance, throwing her shoulders out, and putting her hands on her hips. She knew she looked stern and impressive. “I don’t belong in a cage. Get your ass over here, kneel, and beg my forgiveness. Maybe I won’t punish you too hard.”
Her heart leapt with sudden hope as he immediately moved forward.
His fist crashing against her cheek knocked her sideways. She clutched at the smooth metal walls to control her slide to the dirt floor. She saw stars as she shook her head, trying to focus. Her cheek flared with pain.
She fingered her face experimentally. “You son of a bitch!”
“Disrespect will be punished. You’ll learn. Or you’ll die.” He was as impassive as a cruel master training a puppy. Worse. Puppies were too cute and fragile to hit that hard. She wasn’t cute.
Horror began to sink its poison talons into her. She’d miscalculated severely. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.
He nodded. “You’re not entirely foolish.”
“I’m not f-foolish. I’m dyslexic but I have a genius-level IQ.” Her voice was subdued.
He patted her on the head, distracted. “The lesson was necessary. You’re a spirited animal.”
“I’m not an animal.” You asshole, she wanted to add, but bit the words back. She looked up at him, cautious.
He nodded again, approving. “Better. And, you’re wrong. All women are animals. Men as well. All of us culturally indoctrinated to believe ourselves otherwise. Women are simpler animals with slave hearts. A real man knows his mastery of females. A female such as yourself, who’s never been forced to be a woman, will naturally have difficulty adjusting. You have nowhere to run. Eventually you’ll submit to me, beg to be my slave, and strive with every fiber of your being to please the one who broke you.”
“Broke me?” She scrambled sideways to put distance between them, struggled to stand.
He was on her immediately, his hand tight around her throat as he threw her down onto her belly. His voice remained calm. “Down, bitch.” When she didn’t stop struggling, his grip tightened.
In her fear, her bladder let go. As she felt the warmth of moisture soaking her pants, she heard him laugh. “Just an animal. A smart and spirited animal. One of an ill-trained lot of runaways, throwaways, and hookers nobody will miss. If you’re fortunate, you might aspire to become my First Girl. After you’re broken, of course, my silly genius.”
He was crazy. Charlotte had once been married to this insane monster? Rage and fear and humiliation hovered in her mind like bees circling each other, buzzing, distracting. It made her thoughts more sluggish than normal. Kartane was no switch. He was nothing she could immediately understand. But she had to try to reason with him. “Please, Kartane. You don’t want to do this.”
He shook his head regretfully, and she dared to hope again. But when he laced one hand into her hair, pulled her up to her knees, and yanked her head back to examine her face, she couldn’t miss the insane light that sparked and whirled in his beautiful blue eyes. “Slaves address all men as ‘master.’ ”
She sealed her lips stubbornly.
“You refuse? Do without dinner.” When he let go of her hair she slipped back to huddle in a befouled, smarting ball, snot dripping from her nose, afraid to look up or say a word.
“Excellent.” He cocked his head, listening. A smiled played about his lips.
Through the haze of pain and confusion she heard it.
“Master! Master! This girl would serve you tonight.”
“Master! This girl would please you better, with a sensual whip dance!”
“Master! This slave girl bellies to you, craving only your touch! I crawl!”
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