Enslaved (13 page)

“I’m not going to stop fucking you until you come,” he growled in her ear.

“Just hearing you say that makes me ready to come,” she breathed, and proved it as he thrust deeply inside her once more, her entire body clenching around his cock, until he couldn’t help but to climax as well.

She crossed her legs over his back and held him close to her, panting, milking him of every drop of his come. “Now who’s got who?” she laughed, even though she knew he was strong enough to pull away from her legs if he wished.

“You’ve had me from the start,” he whispered, and collapsed next to her.

L
ater that afternoon, Elisabeth walked down the steps to Roman’s infamous dungeon. He hadn’t let her wear clothing all day, and since he kept the house at a cool temperature suitable for a man in clothing, her nipples stayed in a state of erection all day from the chill in the air.

Seeing Trevor that morning had been wonderful. Even more wonderful had been when she finished serving the two men and Trevor gave her a long kiss good-bye. But he hadn’t invited her to stay for breakfast with them. She ate alone in the kitchen, sitting on a dish towel for “sanitary reasons” per Mrs. Marsh.

If Trevor thought that things could work, why had he only fucked her at Roman’s instead of bringing her back home with him? Why didn’t he move her out of the Pink Room and into his own master bedroom?

Yes, he had invested a lot of time and emotion to have her, but Trevor would get rid of her in an instant if he thought she would cause him heartbreak like his ex-wife did. And if things didn’t change dramatically, not only would she end up breaking his heart, but she wouldn’t be able to walk away unscathed herself, either.

Who would have thought that agreeing to give Gregory a chance at happiness would give her a chance at it as well? Roman’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you listening, Elisabeth? Sit in the chair.” He gestured toward an intimidating-looking bondage chair with black buckles and thigh straps.

She sat, feeling the leather on the chair, cool at first, then warm against her skin. “What now?”

“We’re going to play a game.”

The glint in his eye sparked a rush of fear through her. “I’m going to lose, aren’t I.”

Cuffing her ankles to the chair, Roman forced her legs apart until she sat in a decidedly unladylike position. “If you were playing for my sake, then yes. But you belong to Trevor, not me.”

What sounded like it could have been a hint of jealousy tinged the edges of his words. But that couldn’t be right. Roman didn’t want her, that was why he was in charge of training her. Trevor hadn’t sent her to be trained by Marc, she’d noticed. Perhaps Marc was more likely to become attached . . . but not Roman. No.

“Since we’re doing this for Trevor, you both will win. You and I . . . we’ll play a game, and in the end, you will win.”

“I’m up for it,” she said, the leather pressing tightly, comfortingly, against her wrist as he cuffed her arms in place.

He laughed. “Good, because you don’t have much of a choice at this point. Try to move.”

His words aroused her more than he knew. Or perhaps he did know, which is why he said them. To be bound, helpless, unable to move while pain was inflicted on her—it was her fantasy come true. When she was forced to make herself come, it was to memories of being tied onto a Saint Andrew’s Cross and whipped. She bucked her hips up as she struggled in the bondage chair, unable to free herself.

“Ah, you need those thighs restrained so you can’t move your hips,” he murmured, and found more straps hanging from the chair to bind her with.

“I can move my head, is that okay?”

“Yes. Unless you’d prefer I strap your head to the chair, electrocution-style.”

Hmm. Trick question? She wasn’t supposed to backseat-dominate. “Whatever you decide, sir. It’s your game.”

He smiled and pushed her head back against the high-backed chair. “Good girl. Learning already. How’s your ass?”

“Sore, sir. Thank you.”

When Roman strapped her head to the chair, she couldn’t help but imagine she looked ridiculous, but the erection tenting his pants told another story.

“Did Trevor give you permission to fuck me?” she asked, suddenly wondering if they had even discussed it.

“He gave me blanket consent to train you as I see fit, including sexually, as long as you don’t safeword out. I can do whatever I want to you except for one thing.”

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell her what he couldn’t do. But he just shrugged as if it didn’t matter anyway and walked over to a chest of drawers.

What would he pull out? The masochist in her imagined all the incredible torture devices he must have.

Please be nipple clamps. Or more hot wax.

What sort of game would they play with her tied to a chair? Not much of her body was available to him, except for the junction of her spread legs.

Ah. Pussy torture. Nice.

But the thing he pulled out wasn’t an instrument of pain, it was an instrument of pleasure. A vibrator—the kind that moved inside with a pink plastic dildo as bunny ears would vibrate over her clit—looked harmless, but she knew from experience it packed an orgasm-inducing punch.

“Why?” she sighed. “Why do you care so much how I feel about receiving pleasure?”

“I don’t. But Trevor does. He’s a nice guy like that.”

“Maybe I like guys who aren’t so nice,” she countered. She’d certainly never been with someone as caring and protective of her as Trevor.

“Enough talking, Elisabeth. Here’s the game. For every orgasm you give me, I’ll give you pain in kind afterwards. When you’re not riding a sexual high anymore the pain will be even more intense.”

Well, that’s a plus.

She tried to nod, but her head was strapped to the chair. The quick reminder of her helplessness made her wet, ready for the vibrator.

Roman didn’t know that though, so she watched mutely as he rubbed lubricant over the head of the dildo.

“Ready?”

“No,” she lied.

He smiled and flicked her clit with his fingertips, sparking a brief moment of beautiful pain-pleasure within her.

“Just do that to me. That counts as my pleasure, right, sir?”

With a hard thrust, he pressed the vibrator inside her until she moaned, until the rabbit ears nestled against her clit, and then he turned the toy on.

“When will you learn to stop telling me how to do my job, Elisabeth?”

“I don’t like this. It bores me.”

“Bullshit. You don’t think you deserve pure pleasure, but you do. You’re earning it right now for me, and you’ll be rewarded with the pain you really want.”

With the mention of her reward, and the vibrator stimulating her clit until it swelled, she climaxed, gasping as her entire body strained against the bondage chair.

“Did you do something bad? Maybe you have low self-esteem? Tell me, Elisabeth. What do you have against orgasms for the sake of orgasms?”

“You’re not my fucking therapist. My self-esteem is fine. I’m worth a price above rubies, or didn’t you hear?”

He tsked, presumably at her lack of respect toward him, and turned the vibrator on high. “We’ll be here for a while.”

It wasn’t long before another shuddering climax wrenched from her, and she heard herself panting, begging quietly to be let go.

But she didn’t safeword. She never wussed out, especially not from some stupid game of forced orgasms.

“Please, sir, I don’t know why I’m wired the way I am. Don’t try to fix me. Just train me so Trevor will want me back.”

He walked across the room, over to a wall of implements. She tried to turn her head, to see what he had chosen, but she couldn’t move at all. The restriction of her body coupled with the vibrator brought out a third orgasm, her pussy clenching on the dildo inside her.

“Why him?” he asked sharply.

“Wh . . . what? What are you talking about?”

“You obviously suit me much better. I’d happily punish you all day, and I’m sure you could find some other sadists that would too. Why do you want Trevor?”

He turned off the vibrator and pulled it out, leaving her pussy empty, her inner muscles still clenching onto nothingness.

Why? The question hadn’t occurred to her until Trevor had thrown her out of his home and into Roman’s training. But if Gregory thought Trevor was the right one to care for her, then she trusted his judgment, just as she had for the past three years. And Trevor was . . .

“He’s good to me,” she replied. “No wait, that’s the reason I don’t want him.” She tried to laugh but the truth in the joke made her stomach flutter with awareness.

Roman had pulled his shirt off, and his muscles rippled as he unlatched her from the chair with quick, harsh movements. The flogger he’d picked for her lay forgotten at his side.

“Grab the pole,” he ordered, and she turned, disoriented, until her fingers grasped hold of the pole—a stripper’s pole, maybe?—and her naked back faced him.

The energy in the room charged her, the testosterone seeming to come off of him in waves. She braced herself for his cock, for him to ram himself inside her. She’d heard the rumors that the BAD Boys shared women.

But instead she heard the whoosh of the flogger as it rained through the air behind her, the thud as it hit her back. He wasn’t pulling his punches, so to speak, and the follow-through had the effect of pounding her muscles and burning her skin all at once.

Heaven.
Or it would be, if Heaven were Hell.

“You like this, don’t you.” Another strike, and she couldn’t contain her cry.

“Yes, sir, I love it. Whip me, sir, I need it, I love it.”

Suddenly Roman’s mouth was on her neck, his sweaty, muscular body pressed against her back. “You earned it. This is how you get what you want, from now on, do you understand? You obey. You submit.” He touched her chin and turned her head until she looked in his eyes. “Say ‘yes, sir.’ ”

“Yes, sir.” The look in his eyes . . . she knew that look. Desire. Lust. But there was something else there, something she had only seen in herself when she looked at other happy couples and wondered if she’d ever be loved that way, or able to love back.

Envy.

Chapter Seven

G
regory called Trevor’s assistant Adele to set up a brief check-in so he could see how Elisabeth was doing.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gregory,” Adele said over the phone. “I can certainly make an appointment for you to come down and speak with Trevor, but I’m afraid Elisabeth is otherwise occupied.”

Something was going on. He’d promised Elisabeth he’d take care of her, and even though she no longer wore his collar, he still felt the need to uphold that responsibility. “Otherwise occupied? For how long?”

“Um . . . indefinitely.” Adele seemed to cough out that last word. What was going on? “Is tomorrow at eleven-fifteen
A.M.
good for you? I can fit you in his schedule right before lunch.”

“How about right now?” Gregory rose, checking his watch.

“Sir, it’s eight o’clock at night.”

“Metro-North is still running trains. I’ll be there by nine-thirty this evening. If he refuses to open the door for me then that will be his prerogative.” Gregory hung up the phone before Adele could protest.

Where was Elisabeth?

I
t had only been two weeks without her, and yet Trevor felt Elisabeth had been gone for a year. His house, usually lively thanks to Adele and the staff, seemed empty and lonely. He’d bought the estate with the intention of filling it with family, with a wife and someday children, perhaps.

And he liked his space, at least, he used to. Now he wanted the opposite. He wanted Elisabeth, near him always, trusting him as the man she could depend on. As the man who owned her, body and soul.

But he wouldn’t live in an unbalanced relationship. Some people outside of the BDSM lifestyle assumed the Dominant held all the power. It wasn’t true. Others thought that the submissive really held all the cards, another fallacy. A D/s relationship had to be as balanced as ying and yang, with the Dom mastering the sub, and cherishing her, and the sub submitting to her Dom, and respecting him. If one element was missing, the relationship was doomed to fail.

Love wasn’t necessary. Elisabeth had proven that with her years of service to her ex-Master—but finding his true love had been Trevor’s quest ever since Cynthia left him.

Elisabeth had everything he desired in a woman, except that she loved to disobey, to play the brat. He didn’t mind a little bratting once in a while, but a lifetime of tug-of-war with the one person who was supposed to be on the same team as him . . . well, he’d been right to send her away to Roman.

Roman knew what he was doing.

But something was different this time. Both he and Marc had been invited to join Roman when he’d trained other subs in the past, both for her pleasure and theirs, and sometimes just to learn techniques from the best. After all, a cane used incorrectly on a woman’s delicate skin could permanently scar her. Failing to notice even the slightest change of expression on a sub’s face could mean the difference between an enjoyable, consensual scene and a traumatic moment for both Dom and sub.

At first, Roman had invited Trevor to join him, to help him learn how to make both of them satisfied. In that way, Roman was almost like a sex therapist. Trevor laughed, the sound echoing in the empty front hall.

But lately, Roman hadn’t been calling. And Trevor hadn’t seen Elisabeth in far too long. When she was ready to move back in, he’d take her out of the Pink Room and move her into his bedroom, if she’d have him.

Work kept him busy, but his attention kept returning to her.

Fuck.

If he had the guys over tomorrow, he could tell Roman to bring Elisabeth with him.

He picked up his blue cell phone so that Adele could make arrangements.

G
regory tipped the cab-driver who drove him from the train station to Trevor’s estate and walked as calmly as he could up the lighted pathway to Trevor’s front door. To his surprise, the man himself answered it.

“Please forgive the intrusion, Trevor. I was worried about Elisabeth.”

“I understand,” Trevor said, gesturing him inside the huge entranceway. “I’m a bit worried myself.”

“Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry, yes, she’s fine,” Trevor said, and Gregory exhaled. “Drink?”

“I’ll need one after the heart attack you just gave me.”

Trevor pressed a button on a blue cell phone and spoke into it. “Oh, good, glad you’re still in the kitchen. Do me a favor and bring out something for us to nosh on and—” He looked at Gregory. “Sweet or salty?”

“Salty. Whatever.” Gregory’s gaze traveled up to the chandelier hanging several stories above his head. How did that get dusted?

“Salty,” Trevor replied into the phone. “Sure, beer’s good for me. Gregory? Beer?”

What Gregory really wanted was to find out what was going on with Elisabeth, but apparently this involved a conversation over food. “I’ll take a Jack and Coke if you’ve got it handy, but if not then beer will be just fine.”

Trevor nodded and spoke into the phone. “Yeah, a Jack and Coke. Just pour a shot glass of Jack Daniel’s into a glass of Coke with some ice . . . No, you’re a great bartender,” he laughed into the phone. “In fact, I want one too. Thank you.” And just like that, his attention was back to Gregory.

“Sorry about that. Let’s sit and chat.” Trevor led him through the maze of a house to a room with an informal dining setup and cushioned chairs, although Gregory surmised that a mansion like this one most likely had a huge formal dining room as well.

A tray with Chex Mix, pretzels, and chips sat in the center of the table, with two drinks sitting on coasters already.

“Efficient staff,” Gregory murmured.

“Only the best. Cheers.” Trevor raised his glass to clink Gregory’s, but Gregory only stared at Trevor’s face, at the strong features and startlingly gorgeous green eyes.

“Where is Elisabeth? I would like to see her, to vouch for her safety.”

Trevor set his drink down untouched. “She’s safe. She’s with Roman Chase.”

“The one with the hair?” Gregory knew the guy he was talking about. One of the BAD Boys.

“Yes.”

“The one who has a new sub with him every time he visits?”

“That’s the one.” Trevor sighed. “We ran into some issues I couldn’t live with, as much as I want to be with her. She wasn’t capable of submitting to me fully.”

Gregory looked at the tray of snacks and picked up a few chips. “You’re saying she wasn’t trained properly. By me.” He crunched the chips loudly.

“I’m sure she was trained perfectly for you. I don’t know if she’s been testing her boundaries with me to see how far she can go, or what. But I do know that I’ve become too close to the matter to train her myself. Roman is the best in the city for this sort of thing.”

“He’s one of the best, perhaps. Among many. Why him?”

“Because,” Trevor said. “He’s my best friend and I trust him with my girl.”

A
t Roman’s estate, Elisabeth dropped to her knees when he snapped his fingers. At least now she’d earned the right to wear the clothing Trevor had sent over, which helped with the chill in the air.

Weeks of training, of learning to submit to pleasure, and learning to submit just to submit.

True to his word, she had developed a mild Pavlovian response whenever he required her obedience. At first, every time she submitted or obeyed she’d be spanked, or pinched, or subjected to a minute of simply straddling his thigh with his fist bunched tightly between her legs, so all of the pressure landed on her most sensitive areas. A makeshift, portable sort of pony that worked wonders on her.

Then it became only sometimes, so she could never be sure when he ordered her to shine his shoe (already shined, of course) whether he’d thank her and help her up, or whether she’d end up with his foot on the back of her neck. The uncertainty of it all had her in a state of constant arousal.

By the time she overheard Roman in his office on the phone with Adele scheduling a meeting with Trevor and Marc, he was down to “rewarding” her with pain only once during the day for her submission, plus an evening beating that kept her body in a state of blissful soreness despite the relative lack of marks the flogger made on her.

Through it all, Roman hadn’t fucked her once. He made her submit to an orgasm every day, true, but he never had sex with her. It must be the one thing Trevor told him he couldn’t do; it was the only reason she could imagine Roman had for leaving her empty and aching, to go masturbate in the shower alone.

“You’re not allowed to fuck me,” she said as he hung up the phone. She wanted to hear him say it, to confirm that Trevor had kept that part of her for himself.

Roman laughed. “Is that an order?”

“No, sir, it’s a guess.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to fuck you.”

“Even Gregory fucked me, and he was gay.”

Standing, Roman came around from behind his desk. Suddenly she was reminded of his size, his strength. Why would she taunt him?

Because I want him.
God help her, only two weeks of being trained by another Dom and she was developing feelings for him? Desiring him?

She really didn’t deserve a man like Trevor, if she could lust after Roman like that. Or maybe it was because Roman treated her the way she felt she was supposed to be treated, deep down, like an object instead of like a woman worthy of love.

Roman pushed her onto the desk, facedown, and lifted her skirt, baring her ass. He smacked her ass cheeks until they burned, making her wet, eager for his cock inside her.

But what about Trevor?

Trevor sent her away. Away to Roman. If he wanted to train her himself he would have done it, and lately he hadn’t even come by to visit her. And still, a part of her didn’t believe Roman would actually do it. Surely Trevor had told him fucking her was the one thing he couldn’t do.

And then the condom wrapper fell to the floor, and he pushed himself inside her, hard, thrusting his cock into her pussy with a ferocity she’d experienced before only when he’d whipped her.

“No, you can’t,” she gasped, even as her orgasm mounted. He’d trained her properly in that regard as well.

“Yes, I fucking can,” he growled, his breath hot on the back of her neck. He covered her with his body, ramming inside her. It felt amazing, and she wanted—no needed—more.

“Oh my God, yes, fuck me Roman,” she breathed. “Why did you wait so long? I thought it was because of Trevor—” She yelped as Roman slapped her thigh.

“It was because of Trevor,” he said, thrusting inside of her in rhythm with his words. With a low groan, Roman came, his cock pulsating as his come hit the condom. He collapsed on top of her, pressing her body against the desk with his, forcing some of the air out of her lungs so that she panted, listening to the rapid beating of her own heart.

“There’s something different about you, Elisabeth,” he whispered, his lips pressed against her ear. “I’ve never envied another man before. I have everything I could ever want. But I’ve been finding myself jealous of how willing you are to learn from me—for Trevor’s sake. It’s all for him, not me.”

Elisabeth didn’t answer, afraid that anything she said would cut his confession off short. And she needed to hear it, needed to make sense of what was going on between the two of them. What had they just done?