Enslaved (8 page)

And now what was she? She’d voluntarily consented to be his slave, his property, for the next month! She was naked and chained in his basement and not a soul other than Sam knew where she was…

What if he never let her go?

Rae stiffened, her ears perked toward the sound of the basement door opening at the top of the stairs. The overhead light flicked on and Rae squinted against the sudden brightness. She heard Sam’s soft but heavy tread on the carpeted stairs. She watched him come into view but she didn’t move. As he approached the bed, she shut her eyes. She opened them just a slit, just enough to see his form through the latticework of her lashes.

He was shirtless, dressed in loose-fitting pajama bottoms, his feet bare. He sat on the bed beside her, his weight making the mattress shift. She held her body stiff to keep from rolling toward him.

“Good morning, Rae,” he said softly. He stroked her cheek, his touch light on her skin. Despite her rage toward him, and her fear, Rae couldn’t deny the sudden pulse at her sex his touch caused. What was wrong with her? She
hated
this man.

“Wake up.”

His voice remained soft, but there was command beneath it. She let her lids flutter open and looked at him, saying nothing. He reached for her sheet and she clutched it instinctively to stop him, but he simply pried her fingers from the fabric and pulled the sheet away.

“Turn over. I want to inspect the welts.”

Welts!
Rae rolled over on the bed, feeling the heat of a blush on her cheeks as he ran his fingers over her back and ass. Her skin tingled to his touch and then, when his hand moved over her right thigh, she winced with pain.

“Nice,” he pronounced. “You have some lovely marks this morning. You should be proud.”

Proud? Proud he’d whipped her to the point of marking her? Rae was glad her face was averted so he wouldn’t see the scowl of furious indignation his words provoked.

He pulled at her shoulder, rolling her onto her back. “Time for a shower.” As he spoke, he pulled a key ring from his pajama pants pocket and inserted a small key into the padlock that held the chain in place at Rae’s collar.

He led Rae to the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower stall. She stood, waiting for him to leave. Instead he closed the toilet lid and sat down on it. “I—” Rae began, before catching herself. “May I speak?” she forced herself to say instead.

Sam smiled. “Yes.”

“I, uh, I need to use the bathroom.”
So get the fuck out of here.

“You can pee in the shower,” he said, not moving.

Rae crossed her arms over her chest. “I need to use the toilet,” she said, her intestines suddenly cramping.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. “I see,” he said. He stood, lifting the toilet lid and gesturing with a hand for her to sit. “Go ahead then.”

Rae waited for him to leave, but he just leaned against the sink, watching her with an amused expression. “I need privacy,” she finally blurted.

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Slaves don’t get
privacy
, silly girl. In fact, this is a perfect lesson for you. I should have thought it myself. Sit your sweet little ass down on the toilet and do your business. You have nothing to hide in front of me. Nothing. So hurry up, or I might change my mind.”

For the second time that morning Rae felt her face heating with embarrassment, while anger boiled in her gut. Her intestines cramped again and his threat lingered in the air between them. Reluctantly she sat on the toilet and willed her body to relax enough for her to move her bowels in front of Sam. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was no big deal. After all, after yesterday what was left to hide? If he got his rocks off by watching a woman take a dump, well, it just confirmed what a sick bastard he was.

She managed to go at last, wiping herself quickly and reaching back to flush the toilet. She stood, closing the toilet lid, averting her eyes from Sam’s penetrating gaze and his superior, obnoxious smile.

“Lift your hair and turn around so I can take off your collar,” Sam ordered. “Remember, you are never, ever to take it off yourself. If I ever find it off, I’ll lock it in place.” Rae didn’t reply, since no question had been asked. She merely turned as instructed, gathered her hair into a makeshift bun and let him unbuckle the collar, which he set down on the counter beside the sink.

Sam held open the shower door and then took his place again on the toilet seat, his eyes fixed on the clear glass of the stall. Trying to block his presence from her mind, Rae lifted her face into the hot, delicious spray. He’d allowed her to bring her own soap and shampoo when she’d packed her things, and she supposed she should be grateful for that small comfort.

She shampooed her hair twice, letting the hot, soapy water sluice over her body as she rinsed. She squeezed a dollop of conditioner into her palm and pulled it through her hair before taking the bar of soap and lathering it over her skin.

Her next step in a normal shower routine would be to shave her underarms and legs, but there was no razor in the shower and she realized she hadn’t packed hers. Suddenly she recalled his statement the night before about her being “properly groomed” in the morning.

She glanced sidelong at him. He was watching her, one hand resting lightly over his crotch, the other stroking his chin. She turned her back to him, lifting her face again into the shower spray, not yet ready to think about what proper grooming might mean.

“Turn off the water and step out.”

Reluctantly, Rae did as she was told. She stepped, dripping, onto the bathmat. There was a pile of towels on the counter beside the sink. Sam stood and handed her one. “Wrap your hair. Then stand at attention, hands behind your head. I’ll dry your body.”

Rae started to retort that she’d dry herself, thank you, but her words died on her lips as her gaze met his. She bent forward, catching her wet hair in the towel and winding it around her head. She straightened, goose bumps rising on her wet skin. Sam moved toward her, his gaze shifting into a glower. “Position,” he snapped.

Rae put her hands behind her head, hating him anew. Sam rubbed the towel over her skin, drying her body and limbs with the soft terrycloth. He drew the towel between her legs and beneath her breasts while she stood, stiff and awkward with her fingers laced behind her neck.

When he was done, he picked up the collar. “Arms at your sides,” he ordered, again buckling the collar into place around her neck. He took another towel from the counter and spread it over the bathmat. “Lie down on that towel while I get things ready.”

Without waiting to see if she obeyed, Sam turned toward the sink and opened the cabinet beneath it. He pulled out a large plastic bowl and a black leather shaving kit, from which he took out a razor, a small plastic bottle of baby oil and a tube of shaving cream. Turning on the tap, he ran it until steam rose and then filled the bowl, squeezing some of the oil in before setting it on the floor beside Rae. He reached for a washcloth and dropped that into the water as well.

Rae was lying on the towel, jittery with nervous anticipation. What was his plan? How did he expect her to shave lying down? Why the fuck had he waited until she was out of the shower to give her a razor?

“Please, Sam, uh, Sir,” she began. “May I speak?” Jesus, it felt stupid and humiliating to have to request permission just to speak. Of course, that was his plan, to make her feel like shit. God, she hated him.

“Yes,” he said after a beat. “What is it?”

“It’s just, I can shave better standing up. It would have made more sense if I’d shaved in the shower. I—”

“I’ll be shaving you. Your job is to lie there and keep quiet. We’ll do your underarms first.”

Rae sat up, the blood in her veins suddenly running cold. “No. Oh no. You can’t shave me. I’ll do it.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed into a V over his eyes, which grew dark. “Excuse me,” he said quietly. “Are you saying
no
to me? A slave does not say
no
, Rae. A slave does what she’s told. You’ve just earned your first punishment of the day, little girl. Knowing you, it won’t be your last.”

Rae shook her head, aware she was treading on dangerous ground but unable to stop herself. “You might cut me! Please,” she pleaded. “Let me do it. Please.” She heard the quaver in her voice. No way was she going to let this man near her with a razor! She hugged herself, her lips pressed into a hard, determined line, barely managing to hold her panic at bay.

“Rae, listen to me.” Sam’s voice was firm. “This isn’t up for negotiation. Every morning I’m going to groom you, do you understand? I’m going to shave your underarms, your legs and your cunt. Every morning. You can either lie down and offer yourself to me, or I’ll tie you down and do it by force. Do you understand?”

Mutely, Rae shook her head. A tear rolled down her cheek. Sam reached out, tracing its track with his thumb. “You’re afraid of being cut?”

She started to nod, then shook her head, afraid to admit it, afraid to let him know of her vulnerability. The sight of her own blood terrified her.

“It’s okay.” Sam crouched in front of her and cupped her shoulders in his big hands, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’m not going to cut you, Rae. Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve shaved a woman. I know what I’m doing and I won’t hurt you. But this
is
going to happen. This morning and every morning that you’re with me. We can do it the easy way, or we can make it just as hard as you like.”

Rae bit her lip, his words whirling through her brain. Something in his tone made her know there was no negotiating this one. She wasn’t going to get out of this, no matter how scared she was. At least she still had some control, in that she wasn’t tied down.

He pressed against her shoulder and Rae let herself be pushed back against the towel, though her heart thumped like a bird beating its wings against a closed window. Even though she was lying down, she felt dizzy and a little sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes against the dizziness. Was it possible to faint lying down?

“Relax,” she heard Sam say. “Take a deep breath. Go on, breathe. Hold it for three seconds and let it out. Deep breaths.”

Rae forced herself to draw in more air, to slow her ragged breathing. She counted to three and exhaled. “That’s better,” she heard him say. “Again.” In and out she breathed, counting and exhaling, willing herself to relax. She kept her eyes closed, soothed in spite of herself by the sound of his voice, deep and gentle. “Breathe. Yes, that’s good. Again.”

After a while, she did feel calmer. Her heart had slowed to a beat closer to normal and she didn’t feel so dizzy. “Much better,” Sam said. “I’m going to do your underarms first. You just stay still and you’ll be fine.”

She didn’t resist when she felt him lifting her arms over her head, stretching them out on the bathroom tile. She startled when the warm washcloth moved over her left armpit. “It’s okay,” Sam said. “You’re doing fine.” He rubbed some of the shaving cream into her skin. “Now, stay still. I’m going to use the razor. I promise not to hurt you.”

She felt the cool blades drawing over her skin in smooth, even lines, and then the washcloth again, warm and soft. He did the other underarm and then patted them both dry. “Not so bad, eh?”

Rae opened her eyes. Sam was smiling at her and she almost smiled back. Instead she closed her eyes again, turning her face away. “Legs next,” she heard him say. “Put your feet flat on the floor, knees wide.”

The razor moved in slow, careful strokes up and down her calves, followed by his fingers. Again he patted her dry. “Lift your hips,” he ordered. “I’m going to put a folded towel under you so I have better access to your pretty little cunt.”

Rae thought about refusing. Shaving hadn’t been part of their bargain, at least not in her mind. But as she thought over the terms of their peculiar agreement, they had been absurdly vague. His words played in her head.
You’ll be my sex slave. My toy to do with as I will. You’ll serve your time naked and chained.

Still reeling from the shock of his catching her out, she hadn’t exactly had the leverage or been in the frame of mind to insist on a specific contract for her “punishment” as he’d termed it. And wasn’t it better to be lying here, clean and relatively safe, rather than locked in some prison for god knew how long? At least this stint was brief, in the scheme of things. She would get through these few weeks and then she’d move out of New York and put Sam Ryker out of her mind forever.

Sam placed a folded towel under her butt and pushed at her knees, forcing her legs farther apart. He took a pair of small barbers’ scissors from the shaving kit and carefully trimmed her pubic hair. Rae bit her lip and clenched her fists, trying to keep perfectly still as the sharp scissors snipped close to her skin.

When he was done, Sam draped the warm, wet washcloth over her pussy. He pressed his palm over her vulva and moved it in a slow, sensual circle that, in spite of her fear at what was to come, felt good. After a moment, he removed the washcloth.

He squirted baby oil onto his fingers and more directly onto her pubic mound. He ran his lubricated fingers gently over her outer labia, coating them with the soft oil. He picked up the razor and Rae’s eyes widened, her chest tightening with apprehension.

“This is a real trigger for you, isn’t it?” Sam spoke in a musing tone, and she got the feeling he didn’t really expect an answer. “We’ll have to explore that more,” he added, still as if to himself. He looked at her directly, adding, “I’m going to shave your cunt now, slave. Stay still and relax.”

Rae had no choice but to comply. She closed her eyes again, trying to let her mind drift away, but her every nerve and muscle was strained as he ran the sharp silver blades again and again over her mons and labia until she was smooth as a baby.

Again he draped the soft, wet washcloth over her skin, pressing his palm against her clit. He removed the cloth and ran his fingers over her denuded sex. “Perfect,” he said softly. “Now you’re properly groomed, slave girl.” He stood and reached an arm down, holding out his hand to her.