Betrayed by Love (9 page)

“Better,” Wilcox said, releasing her nipple. His fingers settled possessively on her belly, then slid toward her sex.

Savannah’s skin crawled and she couldn’t hide her disgust or her fear anymore.

“Roman! Roman! Help me. Please, someone, help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, begging for salvation.

Wilcox let her scream. Leisurely he went to a tall wardrobe against the far wall and opened it. When she saw what was inside, Savannah screamed louder. Wilcox selected a long, thin piece of wood. It dangled from a hook by a leather strap attached to the handle.

“Roman, Roman!” she screamed.
Save me, save me. I love you, you love me, save me.

Part of Savannah couldn’t believe this was happening. The part of her that lived in a world where rules and custom protect a person from unwanted contact and deemed an uninvited touch not only taboo but illegal couldn’t believe what was happening.

But a different part of her knew that she was powerless. She was in a position of weakness and vulnerability.

He could, and would, do whatever he wanted with her.

Wilcox carefully shut the wardrobe doors and turned. He swished the cane through the air.

“Please, don’t,” she whispered.

He slashed the cane down on her thighs. It wasn’t a light blow meant to pinken the skin or raise welts. It cut her, leaving a bloody stripe.

She came up against the bonds. “Fuck you! You’re a degenerate asshole. This is sick and wrong. You’re pathetic, a pervert who gets off on hurting women who are better than you. You’re a small-dicked asshole, and no women in her right mind would ever willingly give herself to you. Fuck you. Let me go, you pathetic son of a bitch!”

Another blow cut across her thighs.

She squeezed her eyes closed and tears rolled along her temples into her hair.

“Why are you crying?” he asked gently, petting her hair.

“Why? Why would he do this to me? He loves me,” she choked out. The pain from the cane was unending, still radiating along her skin.

“Loves you? Maybe.” With the same calm deliberation he’d shown taking it out, Wilcox put the cane away. “He did this because you may be a pretty woman, but you will be an exquisite slave.”

Savannah’s breath caught on a sob. “No,” she stuttered out, “no. This is just a game. All this was just a game, good sex. It’s not real, not serious.”

“If that’s true, why are you here?”

She sobbed in response. She turned her head, trying to hide her face against her shoulder, but he caught her chin. When she jerked her face away he grabbed her with both hands, squeezing her head.

He brought his face to within an inch or hers, spit flying from his lips as he spoke. “You listen to me. You will be a slave—a beautiful, obedient slave. You think this is about you and your wants. The only thing you should want is for your Master to be pleased. And for now, I am that Master.”

He shoved her face to the side and stood. Savannah took a few shuddering breaths.

“That was the cane. You saw it used last night for play punishment. The stripes you just received were real punishment. Fair as you are it will probably scar. Let it be a reminder to you to behave. If you pay attention to your training and obey, I won’t have to do that again.”

He undid the top two buttons of his shirt and Savannah closed her eyes. He was undressing. Next, he would rape her.

She opened her eyes when she heard a snap and saw he was pulling on rubber gloves. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up.

He returned to the wardrobe, again taking his time. This time he opened one of the interior drawers.

“If I am to train you, I must first get to know you.” He set several things down on the table near her hip. A tube, a small flashlight and…a speculum? She peered at it before decided that yes, it was a speculum. She had a panicked moment wondering if he was going to rip her open with it, but it didn’t look any bigger than the one her gynecologist used.

“I am going to know your body,” he trailed a hand down her belly to her sex, “inside and out.”

He walked around the bottom of the person-shaped table. He activated some motorized bit and her legs were drawn farther apart. He emotionlessly pried the lips of her sex apart and rubbed each lip in turn, inspecting it. He then pulled back the hood of her clit and inspected that too.

It was uncomfortable and humiliating, but not the horrifying torture she’d expected after the cane. Wilcox’s clinical detachment was much easier to deal with than the insane fervor he’d shown when talking about what a wonderful slave she would be.

Savannah closed her eyes and started to paint. In the dark of her mind, she painted pictures. When that wasn’t enough to block out the feeling of his lubricated fingers sliding into her, followed by the cold speculum, she started to sculpt. Sculpture was a new art for her, and she found it more engaging than paint.

She envisioned a statue of a wave, just cresting to break. What would she make it out of? Clay. Too earthy. Papier-mâché? Too lumpy. Fabric, stiffened with liquid plastic and draped, would be perfect.

Her mental exercise wasn’t enough to distract her when he forced her mouth open with a spreader, when he forced a dildo between her teeth and over her tongue, making her gag and choke as he tested how well she could handle a cock.

When he moved on to something else she blinked away tears and tried again to paint, but as the hours passed the painting became darker, the sculptures she created in her mind twisted and terrifying.

Savannah survived that night. She survived, but she broke.

* * * * *

Roman sat on the side of the bed, his head in his hands.

He couldn’t do it. He didn’t care if Savannah was a born submissive, didn’t care if she would be happier as some sort of full-time sex toy. He wanted his Savannah back, the girl who painted while sitting in the sunlight, the girl who kissed him as if nothing else mattered.

This was all his fault. He’d introduced her to this world. It was his desires that had pushed them into doing this. He knew Savannah would have been just as happy with a completely vanilla sex life.

He’d done this and now he wanted to undo it.

He’d get her away from Wilcox, take her home. If she really, desperately needed this, he’d learn, they’d learn. The important thing was that they do it together. He remembered the sound of her moaning in pleasure and calling Wilcox Master.

Teeth clenched, he paced their room, forcing himself to stay there, not to interrupt something that would bring her so much pleasure. He picked up her pillow. It smelled like her.

That was it, he couldn’t stand it. He wanted her, wanted his Savannah.

He turned to the door and sprinted from their room, down the stairs, through the playrooms to the hidden door. He pounded on the door, knowing it was hopeless if Wilcox was in the inner, soundproof room.

But the door opened. Wilcox stepped back and ushered him in, saying, “How fortuitous. I was on my way to locate you.”

“I can’t do this,” he said. “I know you said she needs this, she’d be happier like this, but I want her back. She’s…perfect, as she is. You have no idea how perfect she is. She shouldn’t change.”

“You cannot undo what we’ve started,” Wilcox said, taking a seat. Roman remained standing. He looked at the door to the inner room.

“She never wanted this. I did. Give her to me. If she really needs and wants this, I’ll do it for her.”

“Your statement tells me you don’t understand this way of life at all.” Wilcox got to his feet and went to the door. Roman stepped up, confident he could bum-rush the other man and get into the room, but he didn’t open the door, instead he unlocked the cover on the control panel.

“I’m sorry to tell you that Savannah has decided to stay with me.”

“What?” Roman’s heart stood still. He looked at the window, which was still shuttered, then at Wilcox. “No. No, she’s coming with me.”

“Perhaps it is best you hear for yourself.” He turned to the control panel and after a pause said, “Savannah, Master Roman is here. What is it you wanted to tell him?”

“Roman!” Her voice was tinny and crackled with static. She sounded terrified. “You’re a degenerate asshole.” It wasn’t terror he heard in her voice, it was anger. There was a pause then, “You’re pathetic, a pervert who gets off on hurting women who are better than you. You’re a small-dicked asshole, and no women in her right mind would ever willingly give herself to you.”

There was a click and Wilcox said, “That’s enough, Savannah.” He locked the control panel, then turned back to Roman, shaking his head. “You must understand, after time in my company she’s realized how weak a Dom you really are. She’s angry over it. I will, of course, punish her for forgetting to call you Master. She still has a long way to go.”

“Let me—let me see her,” he whispered, heart breaking.

“No. You should leave. I will give you one of my slaves to toy with for the rest of your time here.”

“Savannah. I have to take her home with me.”

“Why? Didn’t you say she’s an artist? She can work here. Send her things; she can paint as a reward.”

This was madness. He felt like Alice fallen through the rabbit hole. What had happened to them in the past forty-eight hours? When they’d arrived, Savannah clung to him, nervous even to be naked in front of everyone, and now she was begging to stay and be trained as a slave.

He felt small and stupid. He was too weak for her. Her words,
pathetic, a pervert
haunted him.

“Fine, keep her,” he growled and walked away.

He didn’t see Wilcox opened the blinds or the smile on his face.

Savannah lifted her head when light filled the room. She blinked in time to focus and see Wilcox in the other room. There, on the other side of a glass window, was Roman.

She cried out to him. She wept for her lover, her beloved, to save her, but he walked away. She watched him disappear. The small glimmer of hope that he’d come for her died when he closed the door behind himself, leaving her with Wilcox, who looked sternly at her through the window.

Savannah closed her eyes.

The door opened. She was mentally numb. The pain and horror of everything that was happening was too much. Her nipples and clit, doused in chili oil as one last punishment before Wilcox left, felt as though the flesh were being eaten away by acid. Her entire body was sweaty and hot, save for her face, which was wet with tears.

Wilcox knelt before her, a rag and a small carton of milk in his hands. He opened the box, dipped the rag in the milk and began to wipe away the oil. The relief was so great Savannah almost fainted.

“Oh yes, how very beautiful you are,” he said. “Did you see who was there a moment ago?” Savannah stared into middle space and didn’t answer. She wasn’t being defiant; she didn’t have the heart for it. She simply had no more to give. “He came to tell me something, and I’m afraid it will hurt you. More than anything I could do.”

His face was sympathetic but his eyes glittered with pleasure.

Please, no
, she thought. Whatever it was that brought that look to his eye would be something horrible.

“You see, I let Master Roman use one of my slaves while I trained you. It seems he’s decided he would rather have her than you.”

He lies.

“He’s told me to keep you.”

Roman loves me.

“You don’t believe it. I understand. Perhaps it is best you hear it yourself.” He pulled a small recorder from his pocket.

There was a crackle, then Roman’s voice. “Keep her.”

Savannah’s heart broke. She screamed and screamed, letting out the anguish that was tearing her up. She’d been betrayed, utterly, terribly, betrayed—by the man she loved. He’d lured her in, convinced her to try to do things she normally wouldn’t, and in the end he threw her away, like so much garbage.

He took out the ball gag so her screams echoed through the chamber. He unbuckled her, slapping her and laughing as she struggled to get away. She’d been depending on Roman, on his coming for her. This trip had been for the weekend, nothing more, and she’d been able to hold on to the idea that there would be an end to her torture. But now that hope was gone.

Wilcox didn’t see the couple standing in the outer room, their eyes wide as they looked through the glass into the training room. He didn’t see the look in their eyes when they realized she was far from willing. He didn’t see them watching as he strapped her facedown on the table and beat her ass with a paddle before forcing a monstrous plug into her.

He didn’t see them hide as he left the room, nor did he know they watched him hang a ring of keys on a hook hidden behind a painting.

The Stalwoods waited for Mr. Wilcox to leave before they retrieved the keys and let themselves into the room. They took Savannah away, Robert scooping her up as though she were a broken doll. When she begged them, in a voice nearly gone from all the screaming, to take her away, they did. When she told Karen that Roman had done this, had given her to Wilcox, traded her for one of Wilcox’s own slaves, they smuggled her out of the house into their car. They stopped only long enough for Robert to grab his wallet and keys, and for Karen—an IT administrator—to log into the laptop she’d noticed set up in a dark corner of the room. She’d deleted the still-recording video, then crashed the whole system, but not before copying the contents to the external hard drive that sat next to the laptop and taking it with them.