Natural Submission: Book 1 of the Submission Series (2 page)

* * *

Sleet had made the road slippery and K was exhausted, distracted. It caused him to hit the white SUV that had swerved and crashed on the side of the road with the flat tire. He had pulled over, cursing himself, not wanting to break cover. He thought he was lucky, a cop had gotten there before he even had a chance to turn around, offering to help the attractive blond who had hit her head on the steering wheel, and was not moving. The sight of her there, not moving, after she’d been so energetic moments ago had caused on feeling guilty as hell and had raised all of his protective instincts. The cop should have been the solution to the problem right?

Wrong,
he had been so wrong. How was he to know this little “operation” had expanded to dirty cops? Now it was his fault she was here and would get sold away. Of course, he was here to help bring the whole operation down, and to save the family business at all cost. Not to get distracted by one trembling mouse, no matter how frightened she was, but this was just too much, it had to stop. There was something about this one, something that reminded him so much of his sister. But his sister had never been the girl he’d seen in the truck. The one who was carefree and singing, whose spirit was bright enough to light up a dark road, and the darkened soul riding along next to her.

He kept his eyes on the naked blond behind the door knowing he wouldn't have much more time to study her. This was the room where would be buyers could come and take a look at the merchandise, and then the bidding would begin and she’d be gone forever. His angel, Francine Anderson was 5’6”, about 140-150 lbs. The Organization’s medical scan also revealed she was clean and healthy inside as well, good thing, or she’d be dead by now, like so much damaged goods.

It was completely by luck that he’d been able to locate his sister, the FBI had taken it from there. Afterwards they’d wanted him to get into protective custody immediately, and out of harm’s way, but K had insisted on staying. His sister still had no idea it was his ingenuity that had saved her ass. Once he’d gotten in so deep though there was no way he could pull out. Not when there were so many others.

K was smart, he’d always been smart. There was a way to shut this down, but it could only be done from the inside and he just needed more time. During this time there was no way his loyalty could be questioned. If he got involved with any of these women he’d be risking everything, but he just couldn't shake the guilt that came with knowing that she was here...because of him.

To save her would go against all of his survival instincts, would risk everything he had stood for his whole life but right now as he looked at her shivering in the cool room everything else flooded from his mind. He wanted to get a blanket and wrap her in it. Stop her shivering. This is why he never came down here, never made contact with any of the women unless they were being handed over to the FBI. How long would he be able to continue to see this
shit
and maintain his sanity?

The building was heated, but his world was always cold, literally and figuratively. Word was it would be one of the harshest winters Riverland County, Maryland had ever seen. They had already began to get snow and winter had barely begun. Francine’s shapely legs were pulled up against her body to try to preserve her meager warmth. Even he had noticed the drop in temperature as he had descended the stairs from the offices above to visit these darker rooms below. Again, he was torn between admiring her and wanting to cover her up. The Dom in him couldn't help but admire her nice full breast and hips, and the little devil on his shoulder whispered how lovely she’d be in his bed. He sighed, it was that devil that caused him to be a distracted driver - which is why she was here in the first place.

Her hair waved up falling down her back and looked soft to the touch, her skin soft and smooth like a pearl, her hands and feet slender and elegant, lips like a pink rose petal. He remembered her seeing her in her old white SUV singing merrily away as he passed her and then she passed him on the road as drivers do. He had taken his eyes off the road for just one moment and then- the accident and the description, the one that had described his angel to a tee. When he’d heard it, it had raised a scary flag in his head. It had forced him from his desk, from the order of his numbers, down here in the bowels of the building. He’d descended, his dread increasing with every step, but he’d forced his feet to move, forced his hand to turn the cold knob and enter the corridor, with it’s harsh fluorescent light. He hated it down here. He passed two brunette, a redhead. They were saving more and more of them, but there were never any guarantees. Sales could happen quickly, they didn’t know who all the buyers were.
It wouldn’t be her
he’d said to himself, his boots quiet on the cemented floor, Just one more cell... And then, there she was. His angel, grounded and in shackles. His breath caught in his throat, his mouth was already dry, then his blood began to heat,
that beast
Armin was tormenting her. K had wanted to tear him apart, and this wasn’t the first time.

Wanting to tear Armin a new asshole had almost caused him to blow his cover more than once. Seeing him near his angel - Francine. Her name was Francine, almost caused him to lose it...again.

He just couldn't let it happen, couldn't let them give her to
him
- The Boss
.
That was the worst part of this whole mess, and this was a bad mess. The Boss was one of the cruelest sadist in The Organization. The only thing he liked more than hurting women was money, and as the man’s accountant K would know. The Boss would sell his soul for a quick buck.. along with his mother and first born. K was sure of it.

To just allow her to be handed over because a couple novels had been found in her car? She would never learn true submission with someone like The Boss - if that was even something she truly wanted.

The wheels of his mind continued to turn. He’d never asked for a “package” before, so they’d probably be glad to sell her to him, but where would he keep her? Then the lightbulb went off, with all of his family’s holdings, there
was
a place, but could he do it? Certain -
arrangements
would have to be made, he could start
preparing
the place now, and it would require a certain amount of
meanness
, even from him. Then there was still the issue of the risks, for him. He’d be risking his family’s whole future to save one girl. After all those unmarked graves existed for a reason...

 He was riveted by her, her frightened hazel eyes, the shaking hands, the tears. The cruel relish the slavers took in the thought of “upping her price” because a “real submissive” might have actually fallen into their laps.

In their business a “real submissive” did fetch a high price indeed, but again, a few novels in a suitcase didn't mean she was a real submissive. She might have only been curious about the lifestyle, lots of people were. Someone might end up paying her “slave price” and then be even more angry when they realized they had nothing but a frightened “vanilla” on their hands. His hands tightened back into the angry fist it had been when he had come down here and see her with Armin. Someone could be
disappointed
, then she’d be one of those poor girls that went into that “silent night” washed up on a foreign shore somewhere or buried in an unmarked grave.

A background check had already revealed she had no one,
no one
left. He stood on the other side of the door, listening. She was crying again, trying to keep it quiet, the sounds tugged at his heart. Unlike so many of the other women here when the operation came to a close, there would never be anyone looking for her, wondering what happened to her, waiting for her safe return home.

He knew she thought she was already lost.

Chapter 2

He hated the drug they gave women to make them compliant after a sale, it was utterly unmerciful. It would be easy for him to take advantage of her, but that was not how he wanted to begin their physical relationship. She really was so pretty, like an angel lying against the bed spread her golden hair like a halo around her. Soon she would begin to come to and he’d have to do something to alleviate her suffering.

So he’d decided, the best thing to do, was not to let her come to. He’d brought a powerful inhalant to keep her knocked out. There were only a very few women the FBI had been able to recover from future masters, but they always took this tact. The inhalant was safe. She’d sweat, she’d twist, but eventually she’d wake up and they could try to establish the parameters of their relationship.

Usually it was nurses, acting in shifts, but in this case he was the only game in town. It would be a long night.

Chapter 3

The next morning Francine sprung awake pulled from her sleep in a panic, but the bedroom she laid in was silent. She hadn’t falling then, endlessly through a dark void like her subconscious would have had her believe. She simply laid here, in this bed. She felt like she had dozed for what she felt was only a short time, but her twitchy unused muscles told her it was not. They had that same ache they got when she took to bed with a cold that she wasn’t able to shake right away.

Sunlight streamed through the windows. She was alone, no sign of her mysterious new captor. She loosened her death grip on the bed clothes that she had taken while “falling” through her void and tried to give her speeding heart a chance to settle in her chest while she looked around the room. It was a simple room, faded hardwood floors, thin brown curtains over and nondescript color beige paint covering the walls. There was a bedside table and simple brass lamp on either side of the bed and an area rug stretched out under the bed in a dark maroon color. It was a room of simple rustic comforts, off to the side was what looked like a closet, and a door that she assumed was locked. Another door was open and led to the bathroom. Now that her heart had slowed she realized the bathroom and the relief it provided would be a welcome release.

Cautiously, she placed one pale leg on the floor, warily trusting her body after the effects of the drugs and, last night flashes across her mind, the being taken, being afraid, ending up here,
focus Francine.
Her legs were a bit shaky, but strong, as they supported her weight. She’s rested well enough to be able to stand, and for that she was really grateful. She was feeling more like herself then before her whole ordeal began, she even realized she was hungry, then fear rose in her like a sticky wave. She glanced at the window again, taking in the logistics of her situation. She was on ground level, she was naked, someone had undressed her and her clothes were nowhere in sight.

Even from here she could see past the thin curtains and the hostile terrain. Everything outside the window was covered in white and was still frigidly cold, naked how far would she get? The next immediate thought was that she would still try. She’d rather die than suffer through what her captives had said that she would if she was not able to gain her freedom.

She glanced at the foot of the bed and saw that someone had left a large soft black towel and a matching fluffy black washcloth for her. Then almost immediately she realized how sticky she was. A shower, there would be one in the bathroom, right?
Focus Francine!

Slowly she tip toed over to the door. It was locked.
Well that was fucking predictable.
She crept over to the window. It was unlocked, but was old and would make a noise going up. The window hadn’t been updated, and on the top sat a lock that turned with your thumb before the window slid noisily upward, the white paint would flake off if the window was pushed up too hard. She’d of still tried to make a run for it, but the path from the window went straight past the kitchen, and she could see someone there. She couldn’t get a good look, but there was definitely a shadow. And who knew how many there were? Then she remembered...K. That was her new “Master’s” name. K, just a letter.

Creepy.

The slavers had said there’d only be one, the mysterious K, but how was she to know for sure? Maybe a couple of them went in for a discount rate. She shivered at the thought. He - they, whoever, had to know about the unlocked window. Maybe someone else was keeping an eye out. With the locked door it was certainly a possibility.

She looked back on the bed the folded towel. It looked almost innocuous, but it wasn’t. She shouldn’t be accepting anything until she knew what she was dealing with. She knew what Stockholm Syndrome was along with “cognitive dissonance”. One minute you’re desperately trying to escape and the next BAM! Your kissing your captor’s feet. It could all start with something innocent like a towel, and then it was all over.

She sat defiantly on the bed, pulling off the homemade quilt and wrapping it about herself. Somewhere a clock marked the time with the usual steady insouciant clicks, paying no heed to the distress around it. It was going to drive her crazy, like that poor woman with the yellow wallpaper. Looking to her side she noticed the old fashioned wooden clock on the night stand. She should just take it and throw it across the room. That would
teach
it!