Enslaved (12 page)

T
he smell of freshly brewed coffee filled Gregory’s apartment. Ever since Andrew had started coming over straight after work and spending the night, he’d wake up early and do all sorts of things for Gregory, like ironing his shirt and making his coffee. Even better, he did it in just his boxer briefs and a tight T-shirt, which was even more appealing than having him naked. When Andrew still wore some clothing, it provided Gregory with the opportunity to order him to strip.

And that was fun.

Gregory laid his head back on the pillow and took another deep breath, trying to inhale the caffeine from the scent.

“You have to drink it, sir, for the caffeine to take effect,” Andrew teased, coming in with a mug for him. He must have caught him sniffing.

“I never should have told you that I do that,” Gregory laughed, taking the mug gratefully. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir.” Andrew paused. “Permission to sit on the edge of your bed, sir?”

“Granted.”

Andrew sat gingerly, most likely from the fresh lash marks on his thighs and ass.

“I want to do more things for you, sir. Anything at all. I want to serve you, if you’d let me.”

Gregory straightened in bed, grasping the mug so he didn’t spill it. “Are you asking to wear my collar?”

“Fuck. That’s probably not how’s it done, is it? It’s like the girl proposing,” Andrew said, shaking his head as if such a thing didn’t happen on a regular basis throughout New York City. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“You do not tell me what to do,” Gregory said softly. “You cannot order me to forget, nor will I.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m not.” Gregory set his mug down on the bedside table and pulled Andrew down into his arms, lying on the bed. “Why don’t you move in with me, as a start? We’ll take it from there.”

Andrew smiled. “I will be such a good roommate,” he said, kissing Gregory’s chest. “And servant.”
Kiss.
“And lover.”

This time, the kiss traveled south.

T
he following morning, Elisabeth awoke to find Roman already showered and dressed. Her body ached from a night on the hard floor.

“Ow,” she said, getting up.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Shall I get dressed, sir?”

“You don’t need clothing. You’ll be naked today.”

Okay then
, Elisabeth thought.

“Go to the kitchen,” he ordered. “Tell Mrs. Marsh that you’ll be serving my breakfast this morning.”

“Naked, sir? You want me to talk to your staff naked?”

“She’s used to it. You’re not the first one to serve me breakfast naked.” He smiled a bit as if remembering a good time. “But you will be the first one to get one spank with the paddle every time you bring me something.”

“Right. Pavlov’s dog.”

“And we’re having a guest for breakfast.”

“Cannibalism’s a hard line for me, sir,” she joked. It was something Trevor would have chuckled over but Roman looked like he didn’t even hear her.

“Go clean up and meet Mrs. Marsh in the kitchen. Be on your best behavior, because Trevor will be watching everything we do to see if there’s even a chance in hell you’ll ever be ready to go back to him.”

In the cold guest bathroom, she took a quick shower and brushed her hair. There was no blow dryer, so her hair lay wet against her back. She twisted it into a neat braid and dried off. It was so weird to not put on clothes and still be considered done getting ready.

It was too soon for Trevor to see her. The training had barely begun. All she could hope for was to show him that she was trying, for his sake.

And for her own. She wanted to be happy and content. Roman said he could tune her in to her own submissive desires. If he was right, then she could finally have a chance at being part of a loving D/s couple.

Because if she could submit to Trevor, then maybe she’d be able to let him into her heart as well.

Walking down the stairway to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d never had a breakfast before with more at stake.

Chapter Six

T
revor rang the bell at Roman’s house. It would take a while for Mrs. Marsh to answer the door, since she was one of the few staff that Roman kept around and she was always busy doing something else. The woman was so old Trevor felt bad that she had to basically run the household with little help, but she’d been part of Roman’s family’s staff since he was a child. Roman probably trusted her more than anyone else except maybe Trevor himself and Marc.

“Just a minute, dear,” she said, and the door opened. Unlike his own staff, she wore a traditional uniform, as did the housekeeping girls who came by every other day to clean. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned. He stepped inside and looked around at the modern, if unusually dark interior. Was Elisabeth around somewhere? Maybe he’d see her. It would break his heart to see her and leave her there, but still . . .

It was unusual for Roman to invite him for a breakfast meeting without Marc. Usually, if they met with one another for work, they all came together. But with Marc living in his penthouse in Manhattan and Trevor and Roman in Westchester, maybe Marc decided to skip the commute and join the meeting via teleconference.

Roman came down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Glad you could make it.”

“You’re all hyped up,” Trevor laughed. “New investment?”

“No,” Roman said, leading him toward the dining room. “But I figured out how to train your girl. And I wanted you here to watch the first session.”

Trevor’s pulse quickened at the thought. If Roman said he’d figured it out, then there was a real chance. It all depended on how Elisabeth responded. If she was angry at Trevor and took it out by being noncompliant with Roman, then their budding relationship had very little chance of blossoming into something lasting.

But if she was open to it . . . Trevor sat at the table, barely able to contain his excitement at the possibilities. He felt like taking the stairs two at a time himself now.

In the kitchen, past the hallway Roman referred to as the butler’s pantry—despite his lack of a butler—that connected the dining room to the kitchen, Trevor overheard Mrs. Marsh say, “Careful, girl. Don’t spill that coffee. Go on, dear.”

Roman looked at the door leading to the butler’s pantry with anticipation on his face.

Elisabeth emerged from the swinging door wearing nothing but a nervous smile and holding a pot of coffee and a tray with skim milk and sugar substitute. As different as Roman and Trevor were, it was one of the few things each of them at the hedge fund had in common—a taste for fine coffee messed up with some chemicals and fat-free milk, a leftover taste from their time with the same overzealous weight trainer.

“Good morning, Elisabeth,” Trevor said. He wanted to get up and hug her, ask her if her first night with Roman had been okay. A quick glance at her revealed no new obvious bruises.

As she bent to pour him his coffee, he saw a couple of new marks on her ass. Okay. She didn’t seem the worse for wear.

“Good morning, sir,” she said. “Thank you for letting me serve you this morning.”

Trevor looked at Roman, sure those words had to be something he’d told her to say, and saw that Roman was nodding his approval at her.

Moving carefully around the table, she poured Roman’s coffee, then set down the pot. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Yes. Go sit at your Master’s feet while I explain to him my theory about Pavlov’s dogs and how it might help you.”

She sat naked on the floor by his feet and looked up at him with an anxious smile. Trevor ran his hand over her hair, delighted that she was doing this. He imagined her heart as being a tightly locked box, that—with training, he could open.

As Roman explained that Trevor would have to cause her physical pain for her submission, instead of for her disobedience, the light clicked on in Trevor’s mind. This could really work.

Carefully, testing the theory, Trevor stopped petting her hair and instead tugged it sharply, forcing her head back so she was staring up at him.

He looked down at her beautiful face, keeping his hand tight in her hair. “Do you agree this might be what you need?”

“Yes, sir.”

Roman called her over to him, and Trevor reluctantly released her. Was he imagining things, or did she look excited to leave Trevor’s feet and walk over to Roman?

Probably not imagining things. Roman held up a wooden paddle that he must have had under his chair.

“For your submission, one smack,” Roman said, lifting the paddle in the air.

“Each,” Trevor added. He wanted to paddle her too, to be the one putting that look of anticipation on her face.

Roman shrugged. “You heard him. I would say bend over the table but I’ve learned from experience that only results in spilled coffee and milk, and you’d be amazed how many women have cried over spilled milk in this room.”

“Where do you want me, sir? I could hold on to the chair.”

“Would you like to paddle yourself too? Or can you let me be the Dom for a moment?”

Trevor laughed at Roman’s easy attitude. If it had been Trevor, he’d have just said sure, but perhaps letting her top from the bottom ruined it a bit for her too. No wonder Marc hadn’t been invited. This meeting was about training Trevor how to dominate Elisabeth, and if they spoke about work at all he’d be surprised.

“Over my lap,” Roman said, moving his chair back from the table. He adjusted his linen napkin to cover his pants. “This is so you don’t get my pants wet.”

“Who, me?” Elisabeth looked over at Trevor with a conspiratorial laugh. Trevor took a sip of his coffee and smiled. Yes, she was surely wet for the paddling. And if Roman’s theory was correct, soon she’d get aroused just by submitting to him.

The sharp slap of the wooden paddle on her white flesh made Trevor jump from the noise, along with Elisabeth’s muffled yelp.

He set his cup down. “My turn. Come over my lap, now.”

“No rubbing,” Roman warned her just as her hand was about to rub her reddened ass cheeks.

“I will gladly come over your lap, sir,” she flirted, emphasizing the word
come
.

Every neuron buzzed in Trevor’s body as she laid her beautiful naked body across his lap. Roman passed him the paddle across the table, and Trevor took the moment to run his fingers down her ass and feel the heat rising off it from the one stinging slap Roman had delivered.

He paused. As much as he wanted it to, he couldn’t let breakfast and a training session devolve into them both getting off on her usual pleasure: pain.

“Roman’s reddened your ass enough. Get up and ask Mrs. Marsh for—what’s she got, Roman?”

“Probably fruit next.”

“Fruit, then. When you bring it back, if you do it well, I’ll give you your paddling.” Trevor looked over at Roman, who smiled and gave him the thumbs-up sign, knowing that Elisabeth couldn’t see it with her head down.

She sat up on his lap and pouted. “But you said one smack each. You owe me one.”

His first instinct was to pull her back over his lap and give her enough of a spanking that she’d regret arguing with him, but as soon as he started to pull on her arm, Roman stopped him with a raised hand.

“Trevor. Don’t let her control the relationship. It’s not what she wants and it’s not what you want.” To Elisabeth, he said, “You’re topping from the bottom again and trying to get punished. Instead of being naughty to get a punishment and having him upset with you all the time, wouldn’t you prefer to get your punishments for being good, so both of you are happy? That’s a much more balanced relationship. Besides, you don’t need another Daddy.”

“No, I don’t,” she replied, but she got up and went into the kitchen.

Trevor watched her red ass as she sashayed back into the kitchen.

“See?” Roman said. “The training is having an effect already.”

“You should be a therapist. A marriage counselor or something for kinksters.”

Roman shuddered dramatically. “The M-word. You’re not seriously considering marrying her, are you?”

“I didn’t move her into my home to get a shot with her for nothing.” Trevor sipped his coffee, hoping his anger at Roman’s comment wasn’t apparent. He couldn’t get used to Roman’s blasé approach to women, when all Trevor wanted was to find the right girl. After his marriage to Cynthia, he swore he wouldn’t become a jaded old bachelor like so many of his friends from college who’d been burned by marriage the first time around.

The answer would be simple, or so he had assumed at the time. Find a sub and marry her, because she would understand him and his needs, unlike Cynthia, who acted like he was crazy for wanting to tie her up before sex.

What he hadn’t realized at the time was that “find a sub” was like saying “find a woman”—there were plenty out there, but not every woman who shared his sexual orientation was the right fit for him.

Elisabeth, on the other hand . . . something about her drew him in from the start. Seeing her with her ex-Master at WhipperSnapper, watching the joy she took in the games they played, and seeing her laugh and be what he’d since learned was her usual feisty and adorable self.

And when she finally let him steal a kiss . . . it was perfect. If only she’d let him steal her heart, too.

She came back from the kitchen with two bowls of sliced cantaloupe and a serene expression on her face, one that was probably the result of her doing the breathing exercises he’d seen her do when she got angry or upset. Had what he’d done made her that upset?

“Elisabeth,” he said, taking her arm as she set the fruit in front of him. “I think what Roman said makes sense. It’s a way for us both to be happy, together. What do you think?” Even though he wanted to be her Dom, or at least he thought he did, he also wanted her input.

She looked over at Roman and set his fruit in front of him. Finally, she nodded.

With an audible sigh of relief, Trevor pulled her over his lap and paddled her as hard as he could, once, then twice. Reaching down between her legs, he slipped his finger inside her wet pussy. She gasped and then groaned with disappointment when he withdrew his finger and held it up to look at her arousal, evident in the shiny dew on his skin.

Elisabeth stood up on his lap and looked away, a flush spreading across her face that almost matched her the one on her ass.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Trevor said. “I love this.” He licked his finger clean before delving into the fruit.

“R
oman, I’d like to borrow your guest room for a moment with Elisabeth, if I may,” Trevor said after breakfast.

“Of course. Take the one in the west wing, I think that one has clean sheets. She is yours after all.”

“I don’t suppose that’s true, yet.” Elisabeth surprised herself with her words.

“We’ll have this conversation in private. Let’s go.” Trevor led her up the stairs to the west wing guest room, which did indeed have freshly laundered sheets on the bed. As usual in Roman’s house, the curtains were drawn, bringing the morning down into the night.

She smiled up at Trevor to ease the hurt lining his face, to soften her explanation. “This is the twenty-first century. No one can truly own someone else, not without her consent. I could leave right now and go get a job waiting tables or something, live in some crappy apartment and make a life for myself. You may have paid off my creditors and brought me into your home, but I don’t owe you anything.”

“You’re upset that I made you leave. I get that. So why are you doing this? Why are you letting Roman train you?”

“For you. Because I want to. I don’t owe it to you, but I
want
to give myself to you. I want to try, Trevor. I’ve only ever wanted physical pain. I’m tired of being afraid of being hurt, emotionally.”

“Oh, honey,” he whispered. “I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” He couldn’t, could he? Could he be as scared to fall in love and get hurt as she was?

“Kneel on the bed. Now.”

She did, her pussy dampening at his words.

“Lie on your back, and keep your legs spread, knees to your chest,” he ordered.

She obeyed, her pussy revealing her desire, throbbing from the earlier bruises.

“You like to be hurt, but you don’t like getting pleasure, or being treated right? Why?” he asked, bringing the belt down onto her inner thigh. She gasped with pleasure-pain.

“I’m damaged goods, perhaps?” she shot back, and was rewarded with another stinging lick of the belt on her other thigh. “I’m scared, sir. But I’m trying. I am.”

“I’m scared too. But the fact that you’re trying . . . it means a lot to me.” With a smile, he brought the belt down flat on her exposed clit and she moaned with the pleasure that only that sort of pain could bring.

“Oh my God, fuck me please, please fuck me Trevor, Sir, I want you,” she pleaded, barely aware of the words coming from her mouth, she was so inflamed with desire and high on the endorphins from having her pussy whipped.

Trevor pulled his pants down, not even bothering to take them off, and slammed inside her, fucking her hard, grabbing her still-wet hair and holding her face to his as he kissed her.