To Command And Collar

Her mind blanked as her body tensed. He’d touch her…there. Gritting her teeth, she bent, arching her bottom up and opening herself for his inspection.

A lubricated finger circled her rim. “She has been taken anally?”

“Oh yes. Unless a buyer requests an anal virgin, we feel it best to have each slave prepared.”

The dom’s thick finger pressed against her anus. She wanted to escape, and as if he could tell, he gripped her hip in warning. Then his finger breached the ring of muscle, sliding inside her. In and out before the shudder had even left her body.

“Mmm. Not bad.” He moved away to toss the glove into the waste. “I’d probably have to train with a wider plug to keep from tearing her up, though.”

The thought made her cringe, and anger rose to replace the fear. As if he was that big. But a quick glance at his slacks indicated he told the truth. He could hurt her. Badly.

Grasping her nape again, he guided to where chains hung from the ceiling, between the ones attached to bolts in the floor. He put her into an upright, spread-eagle position, legs restrained widely apart, then tightened the chains on her arms, ensuring she couldn’t move.

She closed her eyes, trying to get to the place where it wouldn’t hurt as much. Not subspace…hardly that. This pain she’d simply endure, going as far away as she could. The boat pushed off from shore, waves splashing on the sides, wind whipping her hair…

After a brief survey of the wall, he chose a flogger and a cat-o’-nine-tails and returned. To her dismay, he ran his hands over her shoulders, her arms, her torso, her legs. Bringing her back to the now, damn him. His palms were rough, his fingernails cut short.

Her body warmed under his touch. Her skin did; her core stayed icy. He repeated the process, rubbing the strands of the flogger over her. He’d chosen medium weight, deerskin leather, not one with knotted strands, thank God.

He flicked the ends, and they pattered against her back like fat raindrops. She jumped, then relaxed as the rain of the flogger continued, even and smooth. Almost comforting.

He moved to her front, hitting her lightly. “Where are you from, Kimberly?”

Doesn’t matter. I’m in hell now. She stared over his shoulder at the wall of whips and floggers.

“Kimberly?” he repeated in a deeper voice.

Her words stuttered out as if dredged from the ocean depths. “I…from Atlanta.” No, that was wrong. Mom’s in Atlanta. Why do I feel so lost? “I work in-”Savannah. The strands hit her breasts, and she jumped, feeling something unwelcome bloom inside her, something more than pain.

“You do have a little bit of a Southern accent.” He stopped and studied her for a minute. His eyes… How did he make them change from gut-chillingly mean to snuggly kind? He stepped forward, again close enough for her to feel the heat he radiated, and then stroked a hand down her hair. “Little slave, I’m going to ask you a question. Whatever you answer, there will be no judgment or anger on my part. I simply need to know how you want this to go.”

She frowned. Why did he keep wanting to talk? But she could answer a question-as if she had a choice. She nodded.

“Bueno.” He hesitated a moment, as if searching for words. “I think I can make you respond.” He curved his hand over her cheek and brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “Make you enjoy the flogging. Make you come. Or I can simply flog you until you scream in pain. I… That is not my way.” His eyes darkened, his jaw tight with anger-but not at her, somehow she knew. “You have had much taken away. To be forced to respond might be more damaging than enduring the pain. So I will let the choice be yours. Which would you prefer?”

She hadn’t had an orgasm since her capture, but his touch and the authority he wore so comfortably yet used in an almost…caring…way were drawing her. A prisoner effect, undoubtedly, to cling to the one man who treats you like a person. As he waited, so horribly confident in his skills, she had the gut-twisting suspicion he could make her come. Here. Make her reveal her inmost self in front of the slavers. The Overseer. She shook her head and whispered, “No.”

“No to what?”

“Don’t make me… Just hurt me, okay?”

“You don’t want an orgasm. You’d rather have the pain.” He waited for her nod of confirmation, and his mouth twisted as if he tasted something foul. “Then I will ask this of you. When it truly hurts, please scream. It’ll get us both out of here sooner.”

No. She wouldn’t make a sound. Begging, screaming, whimpering was admitting defeat. With each beating, she hung on until the pain overwhelmed her and flattened her mind into pure instinct. Now he ordered her to give in early?

The little piece of her that was still Kimberly said no. Never.

Yet he’d given her this choice, tried to make this easier for her.

Or was his kindness a trick?

She couldn’t keep her own arguments straight. “Okay.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master,” she added so quickly her tongue faltered.

“Very nice.” His mouth curved before he kissed her again, his lips warm against her cold ones. When he stepped back, his posture altered: Clark Kent to Superman. The concern he’d shown disappeared from his face.

Why had she revealed so much-told him anything? He’d played her for a fool.

He moved with controlled power as he shook the flogger out, then disappeared behind her. Blows hit her upper back, on each side of her spine, on her bottom. The tails thudded lightly across her skin in a steady slow rhythm. Then faster.

All too soon, her back and bottom began to burn. He remained behind her, building up to a thorough flogging.

“You’re damn good at that, Master R,” the Overseer said, his oiled, knifelike voice making her cringe. “But I’m surprised you’re not fucking her, like the other two.”

“Please, call me Raoul,” he said, never missing a stroke. Everywhere he hit was starting to really hurt.

And then he changed his stroke so only the tips struck her skin, and the tapping sensation changed to stinging. Much, much worse. Her hands fisted.

“I rarely fuck in public,” Master R said. “If she’s not talented now, she can learn.” His voice sharpened. “Right now, I want to hear what she sounds like when she screams.”

Through the swirling redness in her brain she caught his slight emphasis on the word. Scream. He’d told her to scream.

No. Never.

“Let’s try the cat.” The blows stopped. Footsteps. A different swishing sound. Her courage fled. A cat-o’-nine-tails. She tried to brace herself.

It hit, ripping across the skin on her upper back like claws. Left, then right. Oh God! Her jaw clamped shut, not letting the sound out. She stared at the wall, her shoulders on fire, and could almost hear his voice: Do it.

His next blow was harder. She felt the sting and burn of torn skin. Scream, Kim. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He struck across her upper buttocks, and this time, as the pain exploded through her, she forced a shriek past her clenched jaw. Another two blows fell, ripping into her body like fire. The wall of silence broken, she sagged and screamed again. A trickle of liquid ran down her back. Her blood.

He stopped. Oh God, he stopped. Tears rolled down her face, splattering on the floor. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard him say to the Overseer, “Quite a melodic scream. I noticed she serves nicely as well, and that’s important to me. The clumsy blonde would be unacceptable.”

“I like a master who knows what he wants. Too many impatient idiots purchase blindly.” The Overseer laughed. “But it makes for good return business. They break their toys and have to buy a new one.”