Sedition (20 page)

He stops moving completely. “All right, then. Go. Your turn. Keep moving until you come.”

As hot as the orders not to move had gotten me, the order to move is even better. I thrust my hips, squirming and writhing underneath of him, growing more and more frustrated as I struggle to find the exact right angle.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he teases. “Move it, Sascha. Show me how bad you want it.”

I renew my efforts, uncertain whether to try to take his cock deeper inside of me or to increase the friction between him and my cock. I wonder if he’s purposely making it difficult, and I groan in frustration.

“I can’t,” I whine, feeling a little humiliated. “Please, just fuck me?”

“It would be very unfortunate for you if you can’t,” he observes. “Because you are going to lie there and continue to fuck yourself on my cock until you come.”

The casual indifference in his voice is offset by the smirk on his face, but the statement is enough of a threat that I take it seriously. I work myself up and down on his cock, his eyes never leaving mine as I struggle.

My hard work finally pays off, and I feel the familiar sensation as I’m about to come. I keep going, following his orders exactly and continuing to ride him as my orgasm approaches.

“When you come, you will continue to work yourself on my cock,” my master informs me. “You will not stop until I finish.”

I nod slightly in acknowledgement, his words barely understood as ecstasy rips its way through my body, threatening to reduce me to a limp pile of mush. But my master’s orders ring in my ears and I force myself to keep going, keep raising my hips and grinding into him as he starts to thrust into me, meeting me at every stroke, filling me deeper than before and drawing whimpers of pain and pleasure.

After what seems like forever, he comes, and in my haze I keep going, rocking up and down on his cock even as the warmth of his come fills me.

“You can stop, Sascha.”

I freeze, shuddering and panting beneath him. A part of me wants to go on fucking, now that I’ve gone on this long, even though I know it will be a while before I can even think about coming again. I don’t ever want this to stop.

Still, my master slips out, gently easing my legs down. “Relax,” he orders, noticing my tense muscles. “And don’t move.”

He gets up, returning with a towel to clean me up. I stay where he ordered me to stay earlier, unsure of whether we’re still playing this game or not. That, and I seem to have lost all voluntary control of my muscles.

Once we’re cleaned to his satisfaction, he lies beside me in bed.

“Come here,” he beckons, tugging on my arm to prompt me to roll toward him.

I curl into his embrace and he kisses me, slow and sensual, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head. I hesitate briefly before kissing him back, deciding that I’m done with the fucking game, I just want to kiss him. He doesn’t complain, just keeps going until we’re both breathless.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mutters when we finally move apart. “You’re mine for good.”

At some point, long ago in my past, those words would have driven fear into my heart. Now they just feel right and safe and comforting.

“I like being yours,” I admit, wriggling closer to him, wanting to feel him this close to me all the time. I drift off to sleep, secure with my master’s arms around me.

Chapter 17
Volunteer

I wake before Sascha the next morning, taking a moment to run my hand through his hair. He used to wake up when I did this; now, he just leans into it, peaceful and content, falling back asleep instantly. I am so glad to have him back, and I am determined to keep him safe in the future.

By the time I emerge from the shower, he’s awake, and I smile at the sight. I missed him so much while he was gone.

“Cash, I want to do it,” he spits out, quickly, like he might reconsider.

“If you’re using that term in the vulgar way I think you are, I doubt we’ll have time for much more than a quickie,” I point out, selecting an outfit from my closet. “I have a meeting this morning, can’t be late.”

He grins at me. “No, well, yes, but that’s not what I was talking about. The thing with Torenze. I want to do it for you. For the project.”

I freeze for a moment before turning to face him. “You don’t have to do that,” I assure him, turning back and picking out a shirt. I’ve just gotten him back; there is no chance that I’ll let him be put in danger again. Oliver won’t just fuck him, he’ll torture him, and he’ll enjoy every minute of Sascha’s screams.

“I want to,” he insists. “It’s important. It could help.”

I turns toward him again as I slip my shirt on. “It
will
help, that’s a given. It may even secure him on our side. But we don’t know yet if there are other ways.”

He stares at me, resolute.

“He’ll hurt you, Sascha.” It’s not a threat or a warning, it’s a fact. I don’t want to scare him, but if scaring him keeps him safe, I’ll accept him being scared.

“I know,” he says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. “I’ve been hurt plenty before. I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I tell him, shaking my head. Sascha thinks he can handle it, because all he’s seen is a businessman with a fetish for humiliation. I’ve seen the full extent of Oliver’s interests. He was my mother’s right-hand man, her best torturer, the one she sent her most disobedient slaves and her disobedient son to for correction.

“I won’t ask this of you. Besides, I thought you were rather opposed to being lent out?” I remind him, hoping to change the subject. “I won’t have you miserable like you were last time.”

“I didn’t think I had a choice last time,” he reminds me. “This time I know I have a choice, and I want to do it. For you. For the project. I’ve worked on it for months with you; I’m invested in this, too.”

I don’t have time to argue with him, and I do appreciate the offer, so I come to sit next to him, taking his face in my hands. I stare into his eyes, amazed to see how completely dedicated he is to this. Stubborn boy. I sigh, brushing my lips gently against his.

“We’ll talk about this tonight,” I concede, fully intent on scaring him away from the idea. “Limits, boundaries, goals. I want you to think
very
carefully about this; once I’ve made the offer to Torenze you will not be allowed to back out. If it means tying you up and dragging you over there, I’ll do it.”

“You won’t have to,” he promises. “I’m in.”

“Just take the day and think about it,” I reiterate. I know Oliver, I know the sorts of things he’ll do to Sascha. I saw the way he looked when I beat him that day; the lust, the desire to hurt him more. He’ll do that and so much worse if I let him.

I receive a disturbing com on my lunch break. My mother has befriended our secretary, who is more than happy to tell her I’m on my lunch break.

I wish I could get our secretary fired.

Instead, I answer.

“Cashiel, does the name Lisa Dover-Gabbamonte mean anything to you?” my mother asks, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary for her to com me in the middle of the day and harass me about my slave’s evil sister-in-law.

“No,” I reply, because she knows I do.

“Don’t lie to me, Cash,” she cautions, her voice thick with threat. “I’ll have to come over and wash your mouth out with soap.”

As if she didn’t do that enough when I was a child.

“What do you want?” I ask, tired of the game. “What did that little bitch say?”

“Language, Cashi,” she chastises me, making me wait before revealing the purpose of her call. “It seems that Ms. Dover-Gabbamonte recently acquired a slave who she thinks fails to meet the high standards of the Miller System. I assured her that our standardized program was guaranteed to produce high-quality personal attendants, and that any deviation from the normal quality was likely a product of the slave being improperly handled by its owner.”

I seethe, contemplating who I’d like to hurt more, Lisa, or my mother. “Perhaps you should advise her to lodge a formal complaint with the licensing agency,” I reply.

“I have friends on that advising board,” my mother reminds me. “I could exert some influence.”

“What do you want?” I repeat.

“I want you to stay away from my business,” she replies, just as cold as she’s always been. “There are rumors, Cash. I want you away from my business, and away from the other people who are involved in the industry. That includes Oliver Torenze.”

She’s threatened. I’m actually threatening her and I haven’t done anything yet. If she wasn’t so terrifying, I’d be thrilled. “Or what?” I challenge her. “You’ll get all the people who hate me into a room to yell at me at the same time? I’m not a child, anymore. You have no say over my life.”

“You’re awfully attached to that slave of yours,” she comments. “It would be a pity to see your little toy get taken away. After all, an uncontrollable slave looks bad not just for the Miller System, but for the country. We are built on the backs of the Demoted.”

“Sascha is not uncontrollable!” I snap.

“An investigation of your home would answer that far more objectively, don’t you think? What would your little research associates say about that?”

“You’ve already demanded entry into my house,” I reminded her. “What, are you sad you couldn’t find anything that time? Or are you planning to plant some sort of evidence. You couldn’t get me locked away last time; it won’t work this time, either. You have no say in the licensing process—you’re nothing more than a corporation, selling a training project. You might think you’re important, but legally, you’re no better than I am.”

“I’d make sure to bring a friend with me, this time,” my mother warns. “You’ve never been very good at making friends, but I am. There’s a certain judge who just adores the slaves I produce, and who would be thrilled to help one of his idols strengthen her position. Perhaps he could accompany me?”

I slam my com device down and block her from comming me again. It’s childish, but I can’t tolerate her taunts. Investigations are usually reserved for cases of hoarding or money laundering, but with the right influence, she could arrange it. The only thing that makes me slightly less afraid is the fact that I know she would take it public, destroying my image again instead of focusing on real legal repercussions. She claims to love me too much to see me locked away forever, but I just don’t think she can stand to have her name associated with real crime.

Still, I need make sure my project is safe. More importantly, I need to make sure Sascha is safe. A few months ago, it would have been easy, but there are so many records and half-funded accounts sitting around. I consider my options, and I am left with only one. I pick up my com device again and make the connection.

“Cashiel, my boy, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

I feel sick as I hear Oliver’s voice, too friendly over the phone. I explain my dilemma; the mess with Lisa, buying Sascha back, the threats from my mother, the issues with the project. I hear him laughing.

“I can have it all taken of, Cash,” he says soothingly, the way he used to talk to me when he was teaching me the philosophy of the re-education center. “Kristine won’t bother me; I’m too high-profile, and I don’t have a little pet to worry about. You want a partner; I’ve always enjoyed working with you. Far more than your mother, especially after she put me out on my ass. Let’s do this together.”

It’s so easy to let him carry me. “What do you want in return?”

“A small cut of the profits, when they come in,” he suggests. “Say, a quarter of them. And part ownership of our brand. I think Torenze & Michaud sounds nice, don’t you? Or even the other way around. This is your baby. I’ll let you have first billing.”

“Okay,” I agree. Suddenly, it doesn’t sound so bad. Partnering with Oliver has never been as painful as fighting with my mother.

“But I want a little symbol of your trust,” he adds. “I scratch your back, you give me something to scratch mine.”

I’m silent. I will not give him Sascha. He must realize he’s gone too far, because he laughs again.

“Not give, I misspoke,” he says quickly. “Just borrow. Just for a night.”

Sascha offered this morning. Can I really make him go through with it? “Let me think about it,” I say, torn between the paucity of options. But I’m not dismissing him like I normally do.

“I’d make sure my alliances were established before doing things that could get me into trouble, Cash,” he cautions. “Haven’t you learned not to show your hand so early in the game?”

“I’ll com you tomorrow to discuss the details,” I promise, committing to a time. “Will you wait that long?”

“Of course,” he replies, like we’re friends. “I look quite forward to it.”

I’m tense when I come home, picking at my dinner and snapping at the single person who dares to com me with a question about work. I don’t quite snap at Sascha, but I come close a handful of times, enough that he starts getting nervous.

“Torenze?” he asks.

I scowl as I nod. “Him. My mother. Mostly my mother.”

Sascha looks at me, questioning. I don’t want to lie to him, but I don’t want him to worry about this either, not when it might blow over.

“She’s heard rumors of what I’m working on, and she’s trying to make trouble,” I explain vaguely, leaving Lisa out of it for now. “Oliver could shelter the data and the funds that we’ve collected; even if there was a formal investigation, there would be nothing to tie back to me. The problem is, he’s not sure he wants to partner with me just yet.”

“So make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Sascha encourages me. “Me. You know he wants me, and you know that him getting his jollies off is worth far more to him than exposing you. He’s pestering you because he can, and because you have something that he wants. Get him to join you, like you said, and he’ll be in your pocket.”

“Friends close and enemies closer, huh?” I muse.

“It’s the logical solution,” he says, like it’s that easy.

It would be, if I didn’t know Oliver’s history. He worked with my mother to break down even the most difficult of slaves, zeroing in on their biggest fears, humiliating them, torturing them until they broke, often in more ways than one. I know I should tell Sascha what he’s getting into; my plan for tonight was to terrify him with stories of what Oliver did to the slaves, and to me, but that was before I thought I’d really need him to go through with it. The stubborn boy will probably continue to insist that he can do it, and he’ll be so much more anxious. Being made to wait can be its own form of torture.