To Command and Collar
Page 53
He ran his hands over her, pleased with his handiwork, even more pleased with her gasp as his thick calluses scraped her abused skin. Her ass pushed back as if begging. He straightened and turned her head. Still mostly in subspace. Aroused and needy.
Damned if he’d fuck her here, treat her like that, but he could at least ease her, give her relief. And if he walked around with a boner for a while, it wouldn’t be the first or last time. He bit her neck, reminding her of his presence, emotionally ground-tying her so she didn’t detach entirely.
“You gave me your pain.” His voice came out raspy. “Now give me your pleasure.” His rough fondling of her breasts brought forth a moan, and when he reached down to her swollen, wet pussy, she was right with him. Her body showed her need; her eyes showed her submission.
Surrounding her with his body, reading the tightening of her muscles, hearing the faint noises in her throat, he stroked over her engorged clit, working her up and up. Was there anything more satisfying than moans after screams? He kept her on the edge, savoring the quivers of her inner thighs around his big wrist, then stroked firmly.
When she came—her hips bucking, her pussy creaming over his hand—her wailing moan ran down his spine.
He leaned against her curvy back and her lush ass, pressing her into the cross as he nuzzled her neck, adding sweetness to the ending.
* * * *
Don’t look at the cage in the corner. Don’t look at Lord Greville . Kim stared at her knees, controlling her breathing. Controlling the panic was like piloting a boat in a tropical storm, trying to keep the bow headed into the seas. The counselor’s suggestion of imagining Greville with a rabbit-sized dick, whiskers, and a fuzzy tail didn’t help at all.
The men talked. Lord Greville had a voice like his whip, cutting and ripping, leaving bloody flesh behind.
The Overseer’s voice was an oil film on water, suffocating all life beneath. Her chest tightened.
When Master R spoke, the sound washed her clean, let her breathe. His knee pressed against her shoulder, bumping her now and then as if to keep her in the present. Her shoulders straightened. Pay attention. He’ll need your help.
“You’d said that buying damaged merchandise might have been a mistake, so this is your opportunity to find a slave more suited to your needs,” the Overseer said, still trying to arbitrate.
“I see. I did complain about the damage, didn’t I?” Master R sounded so reasonable, they probably didn’t hear the tight thread of anger underlying his words. “You’re offering to buy me a different slave?” She felt the vibration as his fingers tapped on her leash. “I wouldn’t mind owning one with a curvier figure. Big breasts appeal to me.”
What? After a moment of fear—then a sense of insult—she understood he was stalling for time. He could do no less, although all she wanted was out of here. The sickly sweet scent of Lord Greville’s cologne filled the air, and she breathed through her mouth, trying not to gag. The sounds of screaming came faintly past the closed door. The auction was going on.
“Well then, we should be able to work something out.” The Overseer sounded relieved.
“Perhaps. Unfortunately, the slaves here are masochists—not anything I’m interested in. What other auctions do you have coming up?”
“I—Well, the next will be in October. The black-and-white affair, featuring blondes and brunettes, with a sampling of black women as well.”
“I definitely like blondes. That might work out quite well.” Master R rose. “In October then. And Greville there will buy whatever slave I wish in return for the girl.”
The leash tightened; Kim started to rise.
“Unacceptable. I’ll take possession of her now.” Lord Greville’s voice was flat.
“Leave me without a slave? I think not. October.”
“I’ll buy her outright then. How much?”
“Still leaves me without a slave.” Master R pulled, and Kim rose to her feet, staying a step behind him.
“The hell with this. Just take her.” Lord Greville motioned to his men.
Master R dropped the leash and shoved her toward the door. “Run!”
She scrambled away, expecting him behind her—only he wasn’t. He’d charged the bodyguards. She hesitated and—
The Overseer slammed into her, knocking her into the wall. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back against his body.
No! She jammed her elbow into his gut.
He folded over but still clung to her hair.
Screaming, she ignored his grip, curling her fingers into claws.
Two against one. Dios . A big fist grazed Raoul’s face, leaving a burn in its wake. He spun and kicked the other guard in the gut, knocking him on his ass. Spin back, block another fist, try for a knee. Missed. The guards were both damn good fighters. Scarface’s return punch nailed him in the jaw, stunning him.
Raoul shook his head and half-blindly punched back, feeling the impact and crunch as his fist hit a nose. A bellow. Hot spray of blood. He twisted to check the other.
And then something punched him from behind, high on the right shoulder. He jerked around to see the Greville bastard jump away.
The skinhead swung. When Raoul blocked with his right arm, pain sheeted into him like all of hell had opened. He grunted and continued, but his block held no power, and the man knocked him into the wall. As he hit, fire ripped through his shoulder. His knees gave, dropping him to the floor.
“You knifed him good, Lord Greville.” Scarface stepped sideways as Raoul pushed to his feet.
Greville. He’d attacked from behind like a feral cur.
The two guards had him bracketed, his back to the wall. He could feel the knife, still stuck in his shoulder. Pain shot through him with every movement.
As the two glanced at each other, trying to synchronize their attack, Raoul darted a look across the room. Dammit, Kimberly hadn’t run, and Dahmer had grabbed her.
Still looking, he faked a grin, and Skinhead fell for it, glancing over his shoulder at Kimberly. Raoul stabbed rigid fingers straight into the bastard’s throat and felt the cartilage break.
Scarface yelled and lunged. Raoul tried to block, but his right arm failed—fucking knife— and a roundhouse knocked him sideways. He staggered, fell onto his hands and knees.
“Use the knife and just kill him, you incompetent turd,” Greville said coldly. “I’ve got better things to do.”
When two more men ran into the room, Raoul knew his—and Kimberly’s—chances of survival had just died. Run, gatita, dammit, run.
Scarface jumped forward and ripped the knife from Raoul’s shoulder. Pain burst like fireworks. Before the guard could step back, Raoul slammed his fist straight up into his balls.
With a choking gasp, Scarface fell to his knees, grabbing his groin. The knife clattered to the floor. A fucking steak knife from the dinner tray.
Raoul tried to snatch it and got kicked in the ribs. New guards. His hand skidded on the blood on the floor.
Heart battering at the inside of her ribs, Kim stared across the room at the group of men. Lord Greville’s bodyguards were down, one on his knees moaning. Between two new men, Master R pushed partway up and dived at Greville, hitting him in the stomach, knocking him down.
Swearing, the new men grabbed his arms, tearing him off Greville, holding him between them.
Face dark with rage, Greville staggered to his feet. Using a handkerchief, he wiped blood from his mouth, looked at it. He bent and picked the knife up. “Hold him good—I’m going to gut him like a trout.”
“Nooo!” Her shriek stopped everything.
Lord Greville turned, taking his time, Kim could tell. Playing her. He glanced at the Overseer who lay a few feet away, moaning, hands over his face. “Worthless bastard.”
She didn’t look, wouldn’t look at the Overseer or her bloody fingers. Could only think of Master R. He’d die because of her, because he’d tried to save her. My fault. “Please, don’t kill him. Please!”
Lord Greville tilted his head. “You care for him?” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Oh, I like that. Yes.” He pointed his knife at her, then the cage in the corner. “In.”
A cage. Her breath stopped. Darkness, no light at all, the scent of a basement, excrement, urine, blood. Wire under her fingers, around her, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t straighten her legs. An ocean pressed on her chest, flattening her lungs. Air gone. No… She felt a breeze from the open doorway behind her—she could run. Run.
She edged toward the opening.
Master R was fighting madly, drawing everyone’s attention. His gaze caught hers, and he jerked his head toward the door. An order matching the one that every nerve in her body was screaming. Run.
“Hold him, dammit.” Lord Greville sliced at Master R with the knife—the blade scraped over the leather vest on the left, then cut viciously over his right ribs. A huge, long gash.
He made no sound, but Kim saw him jerk. A trickle of red spilled over the edge of the gaping flesh; then blood flowed.
Sobs choked her; tears blinded her. He’d die; he was dying. “No, no please, oh God, no. Please.”
Lord Greville glanced over his shoulder. “The cage or I cut him into little pieces in front of you. Crawl, fuckhole.”
She did, her hands numb, her heart hammering too violently. None of it mattered. The cage surrounded her.
Damned if he’d fuck her here, treat her like that, but he could at least ease her, give her relief. And if he walked around with a boner for a while, it wouldn’t be the first or last time. He bit her neck, reminding her of his presence, emotionally ground-tying her so she didn’t detach entirely.
“You gave me your pain.” His voice came out raspy. “Now give me your pleasure.” His rough fondling of her breasts brought forth a moan, and when he reached down to her swollen, wet pussy, she was right with him. Her body showed her need; her eyes showed her submission.
Surrounding her with his body, reading the tightening of her muscles, hearing the faint noises in her throat, he stroked over her engorged clit, working her up and up. Was there anything more satisfying than moans after screams? He kept her on the edge, savoring the quivers of her inner thighs around his big wrist, then stroked firmly.
When she came—her hips bucking, her pussy creaming over his hand—her wailing moan ran down his spine.
He leaned against her curvy back and her lush ass, pressing her into the cross as he nuzzled her neck, adding sweetness to the ending.
* * * *
Don’t look at the cage in the corner. Don’t look at Lord Greville . Kim stared at her knees, controlling her breathing. Controlling the panic was like piloting a boat in a tropical storm, trying to keep the bow headed into the seas. The counselor’s suggestion of imagining Greville with a rabbit-sized dick, whiskers, and a fuzzy tail didn’t help at all.
The men talked. Lord Greville had a voice like his whip, cutting and ripping, leaving bloody flesh behind.
The Overseer’s voice was an oil film on water, suffocating all life beneath. Her chest tightened.
When Master R spoke, the sound washed her clean, let her breathe. His knee pressed against her shoulder, bumping her now and then as if to keep her in the present. Her shoulders straightened. Pay attention. He’ll need your help.
“You’d said that buying damaged merchandise might have been a mistake, so this is your opportunity to find a slave more suited to your needs,” the Overseer said, still trying to arbitrate.
“I see. I did complain about the damage, didn’t I?” Master R sounded so reasonable, they probably didn’t hear the tight thread of anger underlying his words. “You’re offering to buy me a different slave?” She felt the vibration as his fingers tapped on her leash. “I wouldn’t mind owning one with a curvier figure. Big breasts appeal to me.”
What? After a moment of fear—then a sense of insult—she understood he was stalling for time. He could do no less, although all she wanted was out of here. The sickly sweet scent of Lord Greville’s cologne filled the air, and she breathed through her mouth, trying not to gag. The sounds of screaming came faintly past the closed door. The auction was going on.
“Well then, we should be able to work something out.” The Overseer sounded relieved.
“Perhaps. Unfortunately, the slaves here are masochists—not anything I’m interested in. What other auctions do you have coming up?”
“I—Well, the next will be in October. The black-and-white affair, featuring blondes and brunettes, with a sampling of black women as well.”
“I definitely like blondes. That might work out quite well.” Master R rose. “In October then. And Greville there will buy whatever slave I wish in return for the girl.”
The leash tightened; Kim started to rise.
“Unacceptable. I’ll take possession of her now.” Lord Greville’s voice was flat.
“Leave me without a slave? I think not. October.”
“I’ll buy her outright then. How much?”
“Still leaves me without a slave.” Master R pulled, and Kim rose to her feet, staying a step behind him.
“The hell with this. Just take her.” Lord Greville motioned to his men.
Master R dropped the leash and shoved her toward the door. “Run!”
She scrambled away, expecting him behind her—only he wasn’t. He’d charged the bodyguards. She hesitated and—
The Overseer slammed into her, knocking her into the wall. He grabbed her hair and yanked her back against his body.
No! She jammed her elbow into his gut.
He folded over but still clung to her hair.
Screaming, she ignored his grip, curling her fingers into claws.
Two against one. Dios . A big fist grazed Raoul’s face, leaving a burn in its wake. He spun and kicked the other guard in the gut, knocking him on his ass. Spin back, block another fist, try for a knee. Missed. The guards were both damn good fighters. Scarface’s return punch nailed him in the jaw, stunning him.
Raoul shook his head and half-blindly punched back, feeling the impact and crunch as his fist hit a nose. A bellow. Hot spray of blood. He twisted to check the other.
And then something punched him from behind, high on the right shoulder. He jerked around to see the Greville bastard jump away.
The skinhead swung. When Raoul blocked with his right arm, pain sheeted into him like all of hell had opened. He grunted and continued, but his block held no power, and the man knocked him into the wall. As he hit, fire ripped through his shoulder. His knees gave, dropping him to the floor.
“You knifed him good, Lord Greville.” Scarface stepped sideways as Raoul pushed to his feet.
Greville. He’d attacked from behind like a feral cur.
The two guards had him bracketed, his back to the wall. He could feel the knife, still stuck in his shoulder. Pain shot through him with every movement.
As the two glanced at each other, trying to synchronize their attack, Raoul darted a look across the room. Dammit, Kimberly hadn’t run, and Dahmer had grabbed her.
Still looking, he faked a grin, and Skinhead fell for it, glancing over his shoulder at Kimberly. Raoul stabbed rigid fingers straight into the bastard’s throat and felt the cartilage break.
Scarface yelled and lunged. Raoul tried to block, but his right arm failed—fucking knife— and a roundhouse knocked him sideways. He staggered, fell onto his hands and knees.
“Use the knife and just kill him, you incompetent turd,” Greville said coldly. “I’ve got better things to do.”
When two more men ran into the room, Raoul knew his—and Kimberly’s—chances of survival had just died. Run, gatita, dammit, run.
Scarface jumped forward and ripped the knife from Raoul’s shoulder. Pain burst like fireworks. Before the guard could step back, Raoul slammed his fist straight up into his balls.
With a choking gasp, Scarface fell to his knees, grabbing his groin. The knife clattered to the floor. A fucking steak knife from the dinner tray.
Raoul tried to snatch it and got kicked in the ribs. New guards. His hand skidded on the blood on the floor.
Heart battering at the inside of her ribs, Kim stared across the room at the group of men. Lord Greville’s bodyguards were down, one on his knees moaning. Between two new men, Master R pushed partway up and dived at Greville, hitting him in the stomach, knocking him down.
Swearing, the new men grabbed his arms, tearing him off Greville, holding him between them.
Face dark with rage, Greville staggered to his feet. Using a handkerchief, he wiped blood from his mouth, looked at it. He bent and picked the knife up. “Hold him good—I’m going to gut him like a trout.”
“Nooo!” Her shriek stopped everything.
Lord Greville turned, taking his time, Kim could tell. Playing her. He glanced at the Overseer who lay a few feet away, moaning, hands over his face. “Worthless bastard.”
She didn’t look, wouldn’t look at the Overseer or her bloody fingers. Could only think of Master R. He’d die because of her, because he’d tried to save her. My fault. “Please, don’t kill him. Please!”
Lord Greville tilted his head. “You care for him?” A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Oh, I like that. Yes.” He pointed his knife at her, then the cage in the corner. “In.”
A cage. Her breath stopped. Darkness, no light at all, the scent of a basement, excrement, urine, blood. Wire under her fingers, around her, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t straighten her legs. An ocean pressed on her chest, flattening her lungs. Air gone. No… She felt a breeze from the open doorway behind her—she could run. Run.
She edged toward the opening.
Master R was fighting madly, drawing everyone’s attention. His gaze caught hers, and he jerked his head toward the door. An order matching the one that every nerve in her body was screaming. Run.
“Hold him, dammit.” Lord Greville sliced at Master R with the knife—the blade scraped over the leather vest on the left, then cut viciously over his right ribs. A huge, long gash.
He made no sound, but Kim saw him jerk. A trickle of red spilled over the edge of the gaping flesh; then blood flowed.
Sobs choked her; tears blinded her. He’d die; he was dying. “No, no please, oh God, no. Please.”
Lord Greville glanced over his shoulder. “The cage or I cut him into little pieces in front of you. Crawl, fuckhole.”
She did, her hands numb, her heart hammering too violently. None of it mattered. The cage surrounded her.
