Terms of Surrender (9 page)

Going to church hadn't forced his father to be less of an asshole and treat his son like a human being. Church hadn’t made his mother more perceptive and less spineless. What was the purpose?

42

Terms of Surrender

He listened to Kate struggling now—damn the woman made such a ruckus!—vowed to punish her impertinence, especially if one of his notorious migraines was the result.

He couldn't understand why any woman would want to escape when he provided everything they could ever need or want, with the one stipulation that they obeyed him.

What was so difficult about that?

Evidently, it was very difficult, if he went by the reactions he'd gotten from all his trainees. If he went by the insolent, murderous look he was now getting from Kate Delaney.

Women today were too independent for their own good, had strayed so far away from their origins, they no longer understood how they should operate, no longer recognized their proper place in the world, or that they needed to respect the lines between submissive and Master. Granted, the lines had been blurred through time, the feminist movement and political correctness—the latter two all-purpose catchphrases for insolence, disrespect, and spinelessness if you asked him—but that's why he was here: to delineate and teach.

His duty was clear, and he took his responsibilities very seriously. Not like Vega, a pretender and wannabe Dominant who let his submissives run roughshod over his innate authority, exes going their separate ways to freely date and fornicate as they pleased when he was done with them. Women like Lorraine. Women like Kate.

Had Kate been his first, he would have taught her to recognize the superiority of a Dominant, the proper way to treat a master. No way would she run around on him, dating the losers at
DMT
or anyone else after he and she were over.

Good thing it was never too late to right a wrong.

He felt her eyes on his back as he bypassed the bed and walked to the remote on the large worktable across the room. He flicked on the TV, then searched through his collection of homemade videos on the adjacent brimful cherry bookshelf for something to watch and put him in the mood to deal with the paramount task of training a willful and outspoken woman.

"Ah, here we go. You should like this. See what your competition looks like." He extracted the video and popped it into the VCR, then sat down in the recliner a few feet away and watched the screen fill with the image of Slany Breeze on her way home from work. Slany Breeze working in her garden. Slany Breeze walking her dog along the beach.

He unzipped his chinos and slid a hand into his fly, grasping a mammoth erection as he glanced over his shoulder to spy Kate's reaction to the video, saw her eyes widen as she stepped up her efforts to free herself from her bonds.

Didn't the woman ever tire? It was a wonder she hadn't already escaped.

No worry. After tonight, she would be too exhausted to think about struggling or trying to get away. Then, he would indoctrinate her so thoroughly, she wouldn't even
want
to leave, would believe being and staying with him was all her own idea.

In time, in time.

He stared at the screen, licking his lips at the idea of taking and owning Slany.

At five-nine and one-hundred-and-fifty pounds, she was bigger than most of his trainees, a change and challenge to which he was looking forward. "Don't you think she's beautiful?"

43

Gracie C. McKeever

A muffled noise answered him as Kate screamed behind the tape.

He sighed, stood, and zipped up his pants.

He probably should remove the tape. She'd had it on so long, it was probably ready to fall off from the sweat she'd worked up unsuccessfully trying the limits of her bondage.

He sauntered to the bed, where she laid naked and spread-eagle, ankles and wrists attached to the old-fashioned cast-iron head and foot posts with padded leather cuffs. He didn't want her to be too uncomfortable, after all.

He stood, admiring his handiwork as she squirmed beneath his gaze, admiring the way her smooth, tanned skin glistened beneath the soft light of the room, admiring her athletic, gently rounded body. Just the way he liked his trainees, the way a trainee needed to be for her instruction.

Finally, he sat down beside her, smoothed moist chestnut tendrils from her face.

She stared up at him, unflinching.

Good. She was learning, little by little, how not to make him angry. Maybe her training would take only a couple of weeks, instead of three and four like some of the others.

"I should leave the tape on, as you haven't been an entirely good little girl, screaming and struggling since I brought you home. What do you think?"

She mumbled something behind the tape that sounded suspiciously like, "Please."

His heart softened just an iota, and he reached across to peel off the tape, but hesitated, fingers poised over her face. "You will not speak unless spoken to. You will address me only as Master. Do you understand?"

Her hazel eyes widened with disbelief—she had such expressive eyes!—and he roughly caught her chin and tilted up her head. "Do you understand, Kate?"

She frowned, then slowly nodded.

He began peeling away the tape, then paused again to say, "Understand that I will punish you for disobedience." He snatched off the tape before she could respond, and she spent several seconds flexing her jaw and moistening her lips.

He followed the trail of her moist pink tongue and instantly hardened.

"May I have some water, please?"

He glowered at her for a long moment before grabbing a fistful of her hair, jerking back her head, and leaning close to her face. "What are my rules, Kate?"

"Sp-speak when spoken to?"

"That's exactly right." He released her and stood from the bed. "You're inexperienced, so I will let you off with a warning for now. In the future, trust me to know what your wants and needs are, whether it be water or food, and to fulfill them without you having to ask."

He went to the small refrigerator in a far corner of the room, retrieved a bottled water, listening as Kate's blood-curdling screams for help pierced the air behind him.

Stupid woman. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

44

Terms of Surrender

Didn't she realize how patient he'd been with her? A damn sight more than he'd been with some of his other trainees, though not as patient as he’d been with others.

He opened the bottle, returned to her holding it aloft.

She glanced up at him right before he dumped half the bottle over her head.

Kate sputtered and released a string of curses and slurs that could have made a hardened vice cop blush.

He smiled grimly as she shouted at him, then strolled over to the worktable across the room and retrieved the roll of duct tape.

He slowly approached the bed, trying to let the consequences of her actions sink in, but when she saw the tape, she screamed louder, fought harder.

"Kate, this behavior isn't going to get you anywhere. This room is very well insulated, soundproof. Aside from that, my house is isolated, so there's not much chance of some idle passer-by or neighbor hearing your cries."

"I don't believe you."

He shrugged.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"I expected more imagination from you, Kate." Why did they all ask the same questions?

"Just know that it is not your place to question why I do anything."

She cursed, bucked off the bed, and his eyes homed in on the thrusting motion of her hips, making his cock twitch.

Damn it, he didn't want to be turned on yet! He had other plans for her tonight.

Annoyed, he gritted his teeth and asked, "Would you like the rest of the water over your head, or do you want to drink it?"

"Drink it," she muttered, and he almost laughed at her pout. Instead, he adopted his most serious expression. Didn't want to encourage the little spitfire.

He sat down beside her, put the bottle to her lips as she raised her head.

She took several deep gulps, then spat her last mouthful in his face as soon as he took the bottle away from her lips.

"You'll pay for that."

"Let me go, you crazy bastard!"

If you only knew what sort of bastard I really am. You will. Soon…soon.

He put the water bottle down on the bedside table, reached for a terry towel at the foot of the bed.

Kate goggled, had only a moment to yelp before he covered her face with the towel and roughly dried her face.

She spat at him as soon as he took away the towel.

45

Gracie C. McKeever

"You are quite the tigress, aren't you? I knew you'd be worthy."

"Kiss my ass, you sick fuck!"

Ignoring her, he carefully peeled back a sizable rectangle of tape, and she briskly swung her head back and forth as he tore it off and neared her with it. It took a full minute before he finally subdued her to put the tape in place over her mouth.

Angry and breathless that a bound, five-two, hundred-and-ten pound female was getting the better of him, he reached out a hand to pinch a bare nipple.

She grunted behind the tape and writhed against her cuffs as he gradually increased the pressure, cruelly twisting her sensitive flesh between his forefinger and thumb before releasing.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she glared at him.

God, she was stubborn!

He reached across her to the nightstand, opened the top drawer, pulled out a pair of nipple clamps, and quickly attached the serrated edges of each around her nipples.

She screamed behind the tape.

"I explained the situation quite clearly to you, Kate. I told you I would punish you should you disobey. You have not only disobeyed, you've been pretty damn rude. Please remember, you brought this on yourself." He stood, sauntered back to the large worktable in the corner, and returned to her, brandishing a large wooden paddle in one hand and a leather flogger in the other.

She gawked, desperately struggling against her bonds anew.

"This first time, the choice of punishment is yours. Which is it to be?"

She shook her head and whimpered.

His cock was rock-hard as he neared the bed, anticipating her capitulation.

Church with his mother and Aunt Priscilla had never been this engaging, necessary, or practical. Never this freeing and empowering.

Lord have mercy, he was going to enjoy this!

46

Terms of Surrender

Jeff Lennox woke from a sound sleep, panting and in a cold sweat.

He opened his eyes and blinked several times, disoriented as his daughter's voice echoed in his brain. Crying, screaming for him again and again to help her, to save her. And he couldn't.

His heart expanded, squeezing tight against his chest and making it hard to breathe. His hands ached, and he realized he had them fisted hard.

Jeff put down the remote in his right hand, then opened his left fist to find deep half-moons embedded in his palm from his short fingernails.

He glanced at the TV several feet away, images of fictional murder and mayhem playing across the screen. He'd woken up this time to some horror movie marathon—popular mythological monsters like vampires, werewolves, and aliens, and real monsters like serial killers and rapists doing their thing for all their blood-thirsty cinematic fans to see.

Just what he needed to fill out his day.

He'd been living with the idea of one really sick killer in his own backyard for years, the son-of-a-bitch that had taken his daughter away from him.

God, he hoped she hadn't suffered as much and long as he was suffering now, wouldn't wish this type of torment on his worst enemy, much more the daughter he'd cherished until the day she'd disappeared.

Jeff Lennox had faith that a break would come, had been tracking the fucker for too long, almost a decade, for there not to be an ultimate payoff.

When he thought about what the bastard might have done to his baby girl, what might have happened to Lorrie after her disappearance, Jeff wanted to smash something with his bare hands. That scared him, because he was not a violent man, never had been.

But lots of things had changed since his daughter had disappeared, last seen leaving her company's holiday party with an unknown man, never to be seen again. At least, not by any of her family and friends.

47

Gracie C. McKeever

He
needed
this to end, didn't know how much longer he could keep up this vigil, this cause, one which the authorities had given up on long ago.

In his heart, Jeff knew she was dead, had given up hope years ago of ever finding Lorrie alive, accepting the inevitable long after his wife had.

So many times during the last several years, he'd wanted to call Linda, commiserate, share what sort of progress was being made with the case. He especially had the need to call her when there was no progress at all, but nipped these feelings as quickly as they arose. He did not want to put Linda through Lorrie's disappearance more than was necessary all over again, did not want to alienate her any more than he already had.

He'd called Linda cold and unfeeling in one of their many arguments before the divorce, knew she hadn't deserved it, knew that if there was anyone around more compassionate and warmer than his wife, he'd like to know him or her. The problem wasn't his wife's lack of compassion, but her abundance of cold, hard logic and the ability to tap into it, to move forward with her life.

Linda had remarried three years ago, had moved on with her life, and had told him he needed to do the same the last time he had called her a little after her wedding.

He used to be able to bounce back from setbacks and move on, too, before his only child had disappeared and become another one of thousands of missing persons filling up the state's police blotter.

Since Lorrie's abduction—he knew there was no other description for what happened to her, that she had not gone away from her family and friends willingly—his sole purpose in life became finding her. Finding out what happened to her at all costs, to the detriment of his health, his marriage, almost to the point of losing his job.