Without a Net (14 page)

“Into the bath with you,” Milan ordered, and he gestured toward a tiled area with a handheld shower nozzle connected to a low faucet. It was probably a dog bath. Ollie ached to disobey, but this wasn’t the time, so he stepped over the two-foot wall and into the tiled area. Ellia turned a switch on the wall, and chains lowered.

“Go on,” Milan said, and he raised an eyebrow in challenge. Ollie knew he didn’t have any choices here, but he hated the illusion of choice as Milan forced him to participate in his own captivity. It was a ploy, no different from the lack of sleep or the way they kept him from calendars or clocks. He had to choose his battles, and he wouldn’t win this one. So Ollie reached up and locked the cuffs around his own wrists.

Milan smiled and then patted Ellia. “Make him beautiful, pet.”

She nodded, her black pigtails bouncing. Ollie wasn’t surprised when she turned the switch again and the chains lifted his arms into the air. Only then did she come and start unfastening and unbuckling all the bondage gear. She took off the cock ring, and Ollie sighed with relief as his cock was finally allowed to go soft. He felt bruised. Everywhere, including his soul.

When she took the plug out, he wanted to bless her. Only, she quickly inserted something else and began to inflate it. Ollie protested behind his gag, but she kept on stretching him until his ass was stuffed. And then she turned on the water.

Ollie screamed, but she just washed him. She climbed in the shower with him, using the handheld shower nozzle and soap that smelled of ginger and mint. The water filled Ollie until his stomach was round and cramps rolled through him so strongly that he hung from the chains. While she did turn the water off, she didn’t let him expel it.

Curling his hands into fists, Ollie could only endure. After washing off the worst of the mud, Ellia put the showerhead back in its holder on the wall and directed it at Ollie’s stomach. The hot water pulsed against his sore muscles. Now the cramps and the water were in a battle, with Ollie twisting to try to get the heat to hit where it could relax the worst of the cramping. Meanwhile Ellia plopped down in the shower and picked up one of his feet.

She was wearing a tail butt plug, and the black hair swirled around her as she scrubbed his heel. Ollie blinked down at her, wondering how long she planned to keep the enema in before she let him push it out. Surely she didn’t plan to give him some sort of pedicure while he was suffering.

And clearly he was wrong. Ollie had to writhe and suffer as she clipped his nails and filed his heels. She then got up, her long horsetail dripping water as she reached for a bottle. Ollie could read
depilatory cream
on the side, and he groaned. He hated that shit. However, she hadn’t asked his opinion. She turned the water off and used a wooden spoon to smooth the strong chemicals up his legs. With the heat of the shower gone, the cramps grew worse, and Ollie twisted in pain, and that led to Ellia fetching a spreader bar and locking his ankles in place.

Then Ollie could only stand still as Ellia stripped him of body hair and washed him again. When she finally allowed him to release the enema, she hid behind a plastic shower curtain as he spewed foulness so bad he nearly gagged, but then she was back, rinsing him down with hot water and giving him a third washing. She forced him to kneel and washed his hair and shaved him with a straight razor before giving his hair a trim and plucking his eyebrows. Ollie was a pretty man, which was exactly why he never fixed himself up. He didn’t want to draw attention to his physical traits, but now she carefully applied eyeliner, and she was using the professional stain that lasted for days.

Ollie was going to look like a whore.

And then it occurred to him that he was. Oh, he wasn’t getting paid, but it was pretty obvious that Milan expected him to serve whichever guest Milan gave Ollie to. The worst part was that Ollie couldn’t even try to get any information out of Ellia because she was clearly gagged under the mask. She would sometimes make little grunting noises, but that was it.

Eventually she had him clean, inside and out. His body hair was gone, his dark, unruly hair tamed, and his eyes painted. Then she came back with a mask. It was black with silver trim and shaped almost like a corset. The bulb gag went in his mouth, and then she wrapped the rest around, and Ollie figured out the evil nature of the thing.

The narrow part went around his neck, and then it flared out so it rested on his shoulders, forcing his head high and keeping his neck from turning to either side.

Ellia went behind him and carefully tightened it, her fingers smoothing the leather and tugging it into place. Soon the leather pressed against his cheeks, and Ollie could not move his head at all. Something clicked, and he suspected the whole thing was now locked. Ellia vanished again, and when she returned, she had a butt plug with a long, curled tail that matched Ollie’s dark hair. She had to work to get it in, not because Ollie was fighting, but because it was truly a monster plug. It pushed against his prostate, and his poor confused cock was getting hard again.

Ellia rewarded him by rubbing his newly dehaired balls. They were so sensitive that Ollie was fully erect before he knew it. That was when she stopped. While Ollie sometimes played with orgasm denial when he had a partner he trusted, he resented the hell out of it now. The next time Ellia came back, she had an actual corset, again in black and silver. She wrapped it around his waist and pulled on it…hard. Every time Ollie breathed out, she tightened it more until Ollie struggled in fear. Eventually, she secured it.

Now Ollie had to take careful, small breaths. Even if Ollie wanted to fight, he couldn’t. He’d pass out if he tried walking fast. Ellia added a set of Gates of Hell with the silver rings wrapping around his erection, although it was large enough that it wasn’t going to pose the danger those things sometimes did. She then used a thick strap to lock the gates to the butt plug, and she attached both of those to rings on the corset.

By the time she unhooked his wrists, Ollie knew he had no hope of fighting. He was trussed up so tightly he was as good as helpless. She added wrist and ankle cuffs and led him to a mirror on the other side of the room before making him kneel.

Ollie moved awkwardly because he was so constrained, but she pulled him up and made him kneel again several times until he could manage it. Then she added a leash to the neck piece he wore and clipped it to the wall.

Ollie could easily unclip the leash, but he had no step two to his plan, so he didn’t. Instead he kept his hands on his thighs and studied himself. His waist was pulled impossibly tight, and his blue eyes were carefully outlined in black with subtle shadow on the lids. With the black mask covering the bottom half of his face and his dark hair arranged in artfully messy waves, his blue eyes stood out. And so did his pert nipples left exposed by the low line of the corset. He looked like a sex worker. Correction, he looked like an exceptionally expensive sex worker.

Before too long, a harried man in the same black pants and white shirt all the men wore hurried in. “There you are. Up, up,” he ordered as he grabbed the leash and led Ollie into the house. “I will not have you embarrass this house, so remember to move with the tail. Never too fast, never slow enough to tangle the strands. More sway in your walk, please.”

Ollie would have considered this new handler one of the nicer trainers, only that “please” came with the sharp bite of a whip. To avoid more pain, he did put more wiggle in his walk, and suddenly his tail jerked and hit the backs of his knees.

“Too much. Work with it. With it,” the man said, and Ollie expected another hit, but maybe he had worked out the pattern quickly enough. They reached a huge living room with three separate seating areas and a stage along one wall. Ollie had a very bad feeling about what happened on that stage.

“Your guest is still being uncooperative, so we have a little time,” the trainer told Ollie. “I need you to practice your walk. Every time you reach the vase with lilies, go to your knees and wait for another order to return to your practice.”

What the hell was going on that a guest was being uncooperative? Now a slave being uncooperative made sense. At this point, all he could do was go along and try to avoid any permanent pain or damage while he waited for a chance to escape, and this was not it. So he walked, his trainer at his side to enforce the rule that Ollie be graceful, but the men in the training room had already taught Ollie his lesson well enough that he earned very few whip marks for his time.

The trainer’s phone rang, and he answered quickly before grabbing Ollie’s leash and heading out another door. He listened and then thanked the person on the other end of the line before turning his attention back to Ollie. “Take the guest’s bags whether he wants you to or not. Masters do not carry things,” the trainer said, clearly rushing. “If there is no seat, and there likely won’t be, go on your hands and knees for him to sit on you. Follow every order. Stand unless you are alone and he shows you interest, in which case you go to him and kneel. Understand?”

Ollie would have nodded, but the neck corset held his head too tightly. Soon they stood at the front door, and a carriage pulled by two women dressed as horses in harnesses came up the drive. Ollie blinked at the man in back.

“Dan, this is unnecessary,” the guest said, not waiting until the women had stopped before he jumped out of the carriage.

“Master Goode, it is very nice to have you join us.”

It was Travis. Mr. Goode was Ollie’s upstairs fucking neighbor. What the hell was going on, and who could Ollie beat some answers out of? The latest trainer—Dan—stepped forward and held out a small controller that Ollie recognized too well.

“I’m not here for pleasure,” Travis said without taking it. Now that he was standing in Milan’s territory, Ollie recognized the similarities, the surety they both had and the way they commanded attention while seemingly not paying much attention to the rest of the world. Even when Ollie had first met Travis, he’d seen that amazing dominant energy, but he hadn’t recognized that Travis was a shade Dom who took rather than asking.

“You know the master’s rules, Master Goode. Your needs will not go unmet. Besides, we have an abundance of toys that desire to be played with.” Dan held the controller up higher, and Travis took it.

“Milan still has good taste in toys.” Travis studied Ollie for a moment. “Get my bag,” he ordered, but he didn’t seem to recognize Ollie. Ollie hurried to do as ordered, especially since he knew the controller Travis held could cause him enough pain to make him piss himself. Ollie didn’t know which of the pieces of bondage gear he wore had the electrodes. He seriously hoped it wasn’t the gates locked around his cock, but if Ollie needed to put an electrical leash on someone, that would be his first choice.

“Where’s Milan?” Travis asked.

“By the river.”

Travis walked away, and Ollie hurried to follow, but Dan called out. “Sir! You know Master Milan is not amused by demonstrations of impatience. If you go to your room and refresh yourself after your trip, he will likely be in a far better mood.”

Travis turned around slowly, and then he walked toward Dan. No, that wasn’t a walk—it was stalking. Dan held position, even when Ollie was cringing for the man. “I understand you follow Milan’s orders,” Travis said in a terrifyingly soft voice, “but if you try to manage me, I will string you up and whip you until you remember why most submissives prefer to have a safe word. Understand?”

Dan swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you take my bag to my room, and I will go find Milan.”

“Yes, sir,” Dan said, and he lowered his gaze. When he looked up, Travis was already striding way.

“Hurry, give it to me and get after him,” Dan said in a desperate whisper. Ollie handed over the bag and trotted to catch up with Travis. Yes, he was light-headed with the effort, but maybe he would get some answers if he was there when Travis and Milan met.

Chapter Twelve

Ollie was breathing fast through his nose by the time Travis reached the riverside where Milan waited. He sat on the back of a well-muscled submissive, and Ollie remembered what Dan had said. Choosing a shady spot, Ollie went down on his hands and knees to give Travis a seat. He considered writing in the dirt—a quick
help
or his name, maybe. How big of a hint would Travis need to recognize him? Because Ollie was almost sure the man didn’t. Ollie wished he could see Milan’s reaction, but the neck brace kept his face toward the ground.

“You are still impatient,” Milan said.

“I’m not here asking you to train me out of my bad habits. You’re playing a game here, and it’s going to get you killed.”

“By them? I doubt that.”

“Don’t!” Travis snapped.

Ollie took a quick breath. He had trouble imagining anyone yelling at Milan, but Travis clearly didn’t mind. For a time there was silence, and Ollie could only hear the heavy breathing of the other submissive and the rustling of leaves above them. Even the river was running slow and silent.

Eventually Milan spoke in that quiet, sure tone of his. “I will not be frightened away by brutes who believe that power is in a gun.”

“Then you might end up dying because of those brutes and their guns,” Travis said. Without warning, he sat on Ollie’s back, right between his shoulder blades. The position meant that Ollie’s arms held most of their combined weight. “If they can’t control you, then they’ll get you out of the way.”

“I’m harder to kill than that.” Milan sounded amused. “It’s not like they’ll stroll in here and fire their weapons.”

“Do you think they’ll just surrender their weapons at the gate?”

“You did.”

“Because I know you, because I trust you, because I’m not here to blow your head off for being a stubborn old bastard.” Travis shifted, and Ollie bit down on the gag as he struggled.

“And here I thought you had turned your back on me.”

“Christ.” Travis said the word softly, almost prayer-like. “You knew I wasn’t going to become one of your followers. I told you that the first day I walked in here.”