To Command and Collar [Masters of the Shadowlands 6] (16 page)

Chapter Nine

The next morning, Kim went down to the beach. The gulls cried overhead, and gray-brown willets foraged in the shallows. The tide was coming in, the waves slowly reclaiming the sand as she was reclaiming more of her life.

I had sex
. She grinned at the sun. Its rays warmed her skin, and she bubbled with life, feeling as if she’d taken a huge step forward.

Heck, she had. She shook her head, unbraiding her hair so the wind could ruffle it with salty fingers. Master R liked her hair. Liked her skin. Said she was lovely, and his face held no untruth.

She rolled her eyes. He was her master. Why would he bother lying? It wasn’t as if he had to talk her into bed, right?

He liked her. He’d taken more care with making sure she was satisfied than anyone ever had. And then at the very end, he hadn’t stopped—he’d made her serve his own satisfaction, and that had been as fulfilling as getting off herself.

She headed for the Adirondack chair. Weathered white with age, it ruled over its section of sand like a beach throne. She dropped onto it, then squeaked. A little sore maybe?

God, she’d gotten off so thoroughly she still quaked inside. And she wanted to do it again. Wanted those strong hands on her, to feel his biceps bunching into concrete when he lifted her, to trace the ridges on his stomach. This morning, when he’d washed her—more intimately than ever before—he told her she was filling out and he liked her soft ass sized for his big hands.

He scared her and excited her and made her want him.
Want him
. As the sun disappeared behind a cloud and shadows slid over the sand, a chill raised goose bumps on her arms. Life wasn’t all sun and pretty waves. The clouds came, storms drowned ships, and people moved on.

You realize he’s just doing his job, right? Don’t go all teenage-girl gaga over him
. Her inner cynic’s interjection was like a cold dip in the water. And was right, unfortunately.

Master R liked her, but he was in this to shut down the slavers, not to start up a relationship with a messed-up woman. He’d never talked about being together after this was over.
She watched a tiny hermit crab peek out of its stolen shell and retreat again, hiding in the secure spiral. “Yeah, me too, little guy,” she whispered.
Don’t get too far from safety
. Falling head over heels in love with Master R would be…pretty much…the worst thing she could do.
He wanted a slave.
She hated even the word.
So. Once they pulled this off, she’d go home to Savannah. To her real life.

* * * *

Christopher Greville leaned back in his office chair as his majordomo entered. “You rang for me, sir?”
“Dutton, when I was doing the accounts, I found a large deposit into the Owner’s account.

It matches what I paid for a certain slave.”

The majordomo’s swarthy face flushed. One of the more satisfying retainers Greville employed, he handled the household accounts, which included the purchase of slaves and any equipment needed for them, like the heavy dog kennel, the whips, and gags…

Greville smiled. The new slave had arrived two days ago, a big-breasted blonde with such an ear-piercing scream that he’d been forced to gag her the first day to preserve his ears. After he and his staff had played for a while, her voice had changed to a pleasingly hoarse sound.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Dutton said. “I forgot to mention it. After much stalling, the Overseer provided a refund for the black-haired slave. The one who—” He broke off.

The one who’d dared to attack her master. To stab him. Greville ran his fingers over his gray suit, feeling the lingering tenderness in his shoulder. The memory of pain as the knife punched through his skin still brought him up short on occasion. The little fuckhole had—
“Refund.”
“What refund? Dahmer gave you a refund for a dead slave?”

“Oh, she didn’t die, sir. She’d bled quite a bit but was still alive when we handed her over.” Dutton’s expression faltered into worry. “You did tell us to get rid of her, sir.”
Not dead
. She’d stabbed him, and she wasn’t rotting in a grave? “I meant
kill
her. Fuck her to death or beat her to death.” His temper surged; he forced himself to stay seated. “She’s alive?”
Dutton’s face paled, and he took a step back. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t realize.”
Greville stared at him and then smiled coldly. “Of course you didn’t. I obviously wasn’t clear.” He nodded a dismissal and watched the majordomo quietly leave. Incompetent bastard. He’d be six feet down and feeding the worms before this week was out.
The fuckhole was alive. Greville turned to the computer and brought up the Association numbers shared with premium buyers. After using the code to get the right phone number for the current date, he punched it in.
“Yes.” Dahmer’s number. Dahmer was a typical flunky, but an efficient one. He’d definitely improved the quality of slaves in the Southeast quadrant.
“Greville. I just discovered I received a refund from you. When I questioned my staff, I found they hadn’t disposed of the merchandise—as should have been done—but had returned it to you.”
“That’s right.”
“Their actions were incorrect. Return the merchandise to me for proper handling.” He would cut pieces from her body—a finger, an ear, a toe—and see how long he could keep her alive. Maybe let her choose which part she’d sacrifice each day. But he’d take her tongue first. And her teeth. Make a
real
fuckhole.
“I can’t do that. It’s been resold.”
Greville’s jaw clenched, and his voice came out raw. “Buy it back.”
A pause. “I can try. As it happens, I’m scheduled for a follow-up with the buyer tomorrow.” Dahmer sounded annoyed, as if Greville would give a damn. “But he won’t hand her over for the same price. It’ll cost you.”
He’d hear her scream. See her eyes wide with agony, fighting to escape the pain, the dismemberment.
See the light go out
. “Do it.”

* * * *

The day for their trip to the Shadowlands finally arrived.
Pity eating like a worm in his heart, Raoul kept his little submissive busy with cooking and cleaning. In the afternoon, he’d given her final instructions on high protocol and how an owned slave should behave in public. They’d practiced until he was satisfied, and she’d felt comfortable.
“Time to leave, Kimberly,” he called. A minute later, he heard her footsteps on the stairs.
She looked adorable. The black dress laced tightly, pressing her breasts upward, her nipples barely hidden by a froth of white lace. The ruffles at the bottom came to the crease below her ass. The token white apron covered the front. Garters held up white fishnet stockings over

her lovely legs, and she wore high-heeled fetish shoes. He knew her pussy was bare, and he had the urge to toss her onto the table and take her from the rear.

Maybe he’d buy the costume from Z. But, no. She wasn’t his. The knowledge she’d be leaving soon didn’t sit well in his gut. “You look beautiful, cariño.”
An attempted smile was her response. He watched as she took the final few steps to stand in front of him. Body rigid. Cuffed wrists at her sides, hands fisted. Visibly fighting not to flee. It wasn’t him she feared. “Kimberly.”
“M-master?”
He sighed, hearing the return of the stuttered word. “Does the Overseer carry weapons?”
A blink of confusion. “No. I don’t think he’d want anything a slave might grab and use against him.”
“Will he have his guards at the Shadowlands?”
“You said only him.”
“Then, chica, if for some reason you couldn’t disable him—and you might do fairly well now—do you, by any stretch of the imagination, think he could beat me in a fight?”
“I—” Her gaze moved over him as if comparing their sizes, Raoul perhaps a couple of inches shorter, but far more muscular. A few lines eased from her face. “No. He couldn’t, could he?”
“No, I think not. So…we must suffer his presence and be polite, but cariño, no matter what happens, he will leave by himself, and you will still be with me.” Raoul tapped a finger on her chin. “I promise.”
Her lower lip quivered. When she tried to smile, her courage broke his heart. “Thanks. Master.”
He nodded. “Good. Now let’s get this done.” He picked up the black leather collar from the counter. The moment of revulsion and a memory of Alicia disappeared as he looked into Kimberly’s clear blue eyes. The disconcerting desire to have her kneel, to request his collar, to kiss it, was so strong his hands shook slightly.
No, this was merely part of the costume.
Not real, Sandoval.
Her big eyes fixed on his face as he buckled the leather around her throat. Z had even provided a tiny gold padlock.
Damn him
. It snicked shut, the heady sound of submission much louder in his head than in reality.
As he stepped back, he saw her hands trembling. Apparently the collaring affected her differently. “Ah, gatita.” He tapped her nose, the teasing gesture enough to break her paralysis. He pressed the key into her cold little hand. “Your apron has a pocket. Put this inside it.” He leaned forward and whispered, “But don’t let Dahmer see it.”
Her fingers closed, and she gave him a jerky nod, and then slowly, a real smile appeared, like the sun from behind the clouds.
Alas, the smile didn’t last long, and the night drive to the Shadowlands seemed to drag as she became increasingly tense. All he could do was hold her hand and remind her of his presence.
In the parking lot, the headlights of Raoul’s car illuminated Dahmer. He stood beside his own vehicle, which was probably equipped with all the jammers that had frustrated the FBI. But the Feds would lie low now until the auction.
With an effort, Raoul pulled his emotions under control. He had a role to play: master of the slave who he would call girl and nothing else, reminding them both of their places.
He got out, nodding at Kimberly to follow. As he took his toy bag from the trunk, he worked a smile onto his face before turning. “Dahmer. Good to see you.”
“Thank you.” The man wore casual dom clothing. Black khakis, black T-shirt. He glanced up at the mansion. “Great place.”
“It is.”
And you taint it with your presence
. “Let’s go on in.”
Raoul headed for the building, glancing back once to check Kimberly. She followed a step behind him, eyes lowered, lovely in her silence and obedience. He could see the tiny tremor as she breathed.
Hang in there, sumisita.
“No restraints or gags for your slave?”
“No need. She won’t try to run.” He gave Dahmer a cruel smile. “Not anymore.”
“Ah, yes. I heard about your methods of control. I’m surprised she healed so quickly.”
What methods
? Raoul shrugged, not wanting to know. “I feed her well.”
“That’s a fine costume—although I’m surprised she’s not naked.”
“Only at home, not in public.” Raoul walked beside Dahmer up to the front of the Shadowlands. “I keep my toys to myself. But when we’re alone, I prefer naked—for the view, the access, and if disciplining is needed, it can be administered without any great effort.”
The Overseer barked a laugh. “You’re definitely experienced.” He stopped and looked around at the dimly lit grounds. “I like the isolation here.”
“No neighbors to complain about screaming.” Raoul turned his palm toward the ground, and Kimberly sank to her knees. “Very pretty, girl.”
She glanced up long enough to meet his eyes, his approval and acknowledgement lending her stability.
“You compliment her?”
“Of course.” Raoul told the man the absolute truth. “The mark of a true slave is her desire to please her master. If I don’t tell her when she’s done well, then how does she know to repeat it? She works hard to earn a ‘very good.’”
“I never thought of it that way. Then again, most buyers are into pain. They don’t care to train a slave for more than sex and screaming.”
“That’s a shame.”

With her legs feeling as spongy as a jellyfish, Kim was grateful Master R had ordered her to kneel. She felt safer with his legs shielding her. She stayed rigidly in position, taking slow breaths, trying to conquer the nausea and panic from seeing the Overseer, from hearing his horrible voice.

God, she’d known she’d be scared. But she hadn’t realized how her physical reactions— hands and legs shaking, cold sweat despite the muggy air—would somehow make her internal fear worse.

She sure hadn’t expected the anger that beat like a red-hot hammer against her chest. She stared at a white jagged-edged rock, the focus of a landscaped garden plot. Her fingers curled as she saw herself picking it up, slamming it down on the monster’s head. She tried to imagine how it would feel, the way he’d fall forward, the sound he’d make…

But then Master R would be furious she’d ruined everything, and—she sighed.
He wouldn’t be furious, Kim
. He’d be disappointed in her, and the thought of seeing unhappiness in his eyes calmed the storm inside her. Eventually the Overseer would get his due, but first they needed to save the others.
Suck it up, wuss.

I want to go home
. She pushed the longing away and concentrated on breathing. The smooth concrete was warm against her legs and Master R’s dark voice a calming touch on her fears. She kept her gaze down but her head angled so she’d see if he motioned for her to do something.

His tiny gesture had her standing before she even thought about it, and she realized the FBI agent had been correct. Anyone watching would notice how attuned she was to Master R. The time she’d lived with him, being corrected, learning to watch for the unobtrusive movements he used to direct her—none of it had been wasted.

As they took the last few steps to the Shadowlands, she chanced a reprimand and glanced around quickly, remembering the other submissives’ intriguing stories.

The lights from the landscaping smoldered against the thick stone walls. The black ironwork on the doors and the heavy wall sconces didn’t help lighten the effect.
Neither did the huge security guard inside the door, whose brutish features would be more suited to a medieval torturer. He glanced at her, then the Overseer. “Good evening, sir,” he said, his voice a match for his size. “Are you lost?”
Master R moved into the room from behind them. “Not lost, Ben. These are my guests for tonight. I cleared it with Z.”
“Master Raoul.” The man’s pleased smile turned him from terrifying to something entirely different, like a dog so ugly and sweet it was cute. “It’s been a while since you were here.”
Master R ran a finger along Kim’s collar, brushing her skin. “I had someone keeping me at home.”
“’Bout time.” The pleased look she got from Ben made her smile, before she remembered her place. She dropped her gaze.
“Dahmer isn’t participating, but Z wants them both to sign the papers.” He glanced at the Overseer. “As a guest, you’re not required to show ID, but you’re not allowed to play either.”
“Very cautious,” Dahmer said. He glanced through the papers Ben handed him and signed with a scribble. Kim followed suit. The releases were much like other clubs’, although more thorough, especially in the list of infractions and various punishments.
She looked up to see Ben studying her. “Great costume—and you may keep your shoes on too.”
Master R told the Overseer, “The owner likes submissives barefoot or in blatant fuck-me stilettos.”
No club she’d been to had been quite so strict. Then again, she’d never been in an exclusive club like this one.
They stepped through the inside door and into chaos. Kim froze at the sounds of pain and screaming and the slaps of implements on bare flesh. Perfumes had no chance against the scents of leather and sweat and sex.
A little ways into the room, a woman with her arms restrained over her head was being penetrated by two men. Kim swallowed. Oh God, obviously fucking was allowed in the club. The atmosphere thickened, affecting her air supply.
Master R wrapped his arm around her waist. “Relax, gatita,” he murmured in her ear. “The last dom who tried to force a submissive against her will was tossed out the door. I think someone busted his fingers with a cane before that—probably Z or Nolan. Everything here is consensual. Do you understand?”
Consensual. Not slavery. Only what both people agreed to. She nodded.
“Good. May I have my arm back?” His amusement tipped her fear onto the manageable side, and she realized her fingers were digging holes in his wrist. “Sorry, M-master,” she whispered.
He winced and sighed. After glancing at the Overseer, who was a few feet away, watching a domme attach a chain between her submissive’s hair and clit clamp, Master R said, “Give me a number, Kimberly.”
Her anxiety went down a notch. He’d remember to check her fears. He hadn’t forgotten. She opened her fingers on her bare thighs, showing six, then lowering it to five after another breath.
He smiled at her. “Brave sumisita.” He nodded to tables of food and drinks in the left corner. “Munchies are there which we might enjoy later.”
She doubted she’d ever be hungry again.
In the right corner was a tiny, crowded dance floor pulsing with the Sisters of Mercy gothic rock. An immense bar occupied the center of the room with a bartender equally as big. The roped-off scene areas ran down the left and right walls and across the back. The corners held fancy spiral staircases. “What’s upstairs?”
“Private rooms for people who don’t want to play in public—or who prefer somewhere quieter afterward.” His chin tilted toward a domme helping a sweat-covered, lash-marked sub up the stairs. The man dwarfed the slender woman, but there was still no denying who was in charge. “Z and Jessica live on the third floor.”
Wouldn’t that be cramped? But the clubroom was huge, so the third floor was probably ten times the size of her duplex.
“I see Master Sam has already started,” Master R said to Dahmer. “Why don’t we get a drink and go watch? I can introduce you afterward.”
“A fine idea.” The Overseer glanced at her dismissively. “Do you need to gag her?”
“I have one if it becomes necessary,” Master R said, patting the toy bag slung over his shoulder. “Will it be necessary, girl?”
She shook her head, her fear unfeigned.
“Let’s keep it that way,” he snapped, his voice cold enough to give her chills. To her dismay, he snapped her cuffs together in front of her. But when he clipped a leash to her collar, she felt disconcertingly better. A leash meant they were attached. He’d not be able to leave her.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes showed he understood.
Behind the bar, the craggy-faced bartender had his arms around a tall submissive whose golden brown latex dress matched her hair. He released her and grinned as they approached. “What can I get you, Raoul?”
“A glass of red for me and a bottle of water for the girl.” Master R gestured to the Overseer. “And a martini for my guest. Dahmer, this is Cullen, one of the Masters here.”
“Welcome to the Shadowlands,” Cullen said and glanced at the submissive. “Andrea, see to it, please.”
“Yes, Señor.”
As the bartender engaged Master R and the Overseer in conversation about the local BDSM scene, the woman filled the men’s orders. Then she set a bottled water in front of Kim.
“Thank—” Kim broke off quickly.
Master R glanced over. “You need to be gagged, girl?”
She shook her head frantically.
He ignored the big submissive’s frown and turned back to the men.
Kim sagged against the bar.
How could I forget
? If she messed up again, he’d have to gag her. She stared at the bottle of water, knowing she’d heave if she tried to drink.
“Still got Glenlivet back there?”
Kim froze at the familiar voice.
Jessica
. Oh God.
Don’t talk to me.
She didn’t. The little blonde gave Kim the polite nod of a stranger and climbed onto the adjacent barstool. “Hey, Andrea, Master Z sent me to get drinks.” She scowled. “His usual, but I only get water.”
The lady bartender sniffed. “You probably only deserve water.” She leaned an elbow on the bar in front of Kim and faced Jessica, which turned her back to Master R and the Overseer. “Hi, Kim,” she said in a very low voice, looking at Jessica.
Kim’s eyes widened as she realized the submissive knew her name.
“Yeah, we know what’s going on.” Andrea laughed loudly and poked Jessica in the shoulder. “I don’t believe you did that.” Her voice dropped again. “The Masters found keeping secrets from their subs didn’t work out.” She and Jessica exchanged sardonic looks, and Kim remembered Gabi’s hair-raising stories. “Anyway, just know we’ll keep an eye on you.”
Jessica nodded, her voice equally quiet. “One of us will stay beside you if for some reason Raoul can’t.”
That had been Kim’s worst fear, to be left unprotected. Tears stung her eyes.
“Stop that,” Jessica said, half an order and half in sympathy, then slapped the bartop, saying in a normal voice, “Hurry up, or Master Z will think I was gossiping.”
Andrea smirked, setting a bottled water on the bar. “And you aren’t?” She snagged a bottle of Glenlivet and poured a shot, saying quietly, “Master Nolan’s sub, Beth, is here too.”
Jessica opened the water. “Yeah. You’re part of our club now. So you get supported whether you want it or not.” She took a gulp of water, picked up Z’s glass, and told Andrea, “Later, girlfriend,” before swaggering across the room.
Andrea said, under her breath, “That’s one soft-hearted bantam rooster.”
The laugh Kim tried to suppress came out sounding like a sneeze.
Master R gave Andrea a frown. “Don’t bother my girl.”
“No, Sir,” Andrea said. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.”
The big bartender reached out a long arm and fisted her hair. “More respectful, love.”
Andrea winced. “Yes, Señor.” Her golden-brown eyes focused on Master R. “Please forgive my rudeness, Master Raoul.”
Master R gave her a cold look. “Maybe add a reprimand from me to your next scene, Cullen.”
“That’d be my pleasure, buddy,” Cullen said with a grin. “I figure an extra-big anal plug would be appropriate.”
Andrea’s eyes turned anxious.
Master R led the way across the room toward the back. Kim was glad she’d left the cap on her drink, since the tugs on the leash made the water slosh in the bottle. She unobtrusively glanced around, trying not to wince at the sounds. Groans from the right where a slender domme in a red latex dress was dripping wax over a man’s engorged cock. Farther away, the rhythmic whap of a cane, and then a woman’s whimpers when her dom changed targets and slapped the cane lightly over her breasts.
Near the end of the room, Master R stopped where a silvery-haired man in well-worn leathers was flogging a sub on a St. Andrew’s cross. “That’s Sam.”
“Very good. Let’s watch him work.” The Overseer took a chair close to the roped-off area, Master R the one next to him. Kim knelt at his feet, keeping her master between her and the Overseer.
Master R plucked the bottle from her hand, opened the top, and gave it back, all without looking at her. Or so it seemed.
She edged close enough to feel his leg against her shoulder and hip. Just the sensation of touching him eased the knot inside her that tightened every time she heard the Overseer’s sleazy voice.
As the doms watched the scene in silence, Kim struggled to ignore the sound of the lash and the submissive’s crying.
I’m not here. Open the throttle and hear the roar of the boat; feel the spray cooling my face, the wind whipping my hair.
After a bit, she tilted her head, able to watch the scene out of the corner of her eye.
The slight movement drew the Overseer’s attention. When he looked at her, the sensation was like foulness brushing against her skin. “She looks very good, Raoul. Good enough I’d like to buy her back from you. With the training you’ve done, she’d bring you a pretty profit.”
He wanted her back? A tremor ran through Kim, and her mouth went dry. Auction her off… Her breathing started to increase despite her attempts to—
A jerk on her hair broke the pattern. Scalp stinging, Kim pursed her lips and exhaled.
Slow. Slow
. She sagged against Master R’s leg. Somehow he’d seen her panic when he was paying her no attention.
A little pat on her head rewarded her. “Sorry, but I spent too much time training this one. I’d hate to start over.”
“But you could get a beauty of a slave with what you’d make on this one.”
“Not interested,” Master R said, an irritated snap in his voice. When he turned to watch the scene, the Overseer gave up and did the same.
Kim forced her fists to open so her hands would lie properly on her thighs.
The flogging lasted far too long, and the submissive’s sobs turned to screams as she struggled to evade the pain. On and on. When the poor woman eventually hit subspace and no longer felt the pain, Kim could relax.
After freeing the glassy-eyed sub, the dom bundled her into a blanket and sat her on the floor. Unhurriedly, he gave her some water and fed her bites of chocolate before putting the candy in her hand. “You okay for a minute, girl?” Looking like an old cowboy, he had a voice as rough as his appearance.
“Yes. Thank you, Master Sam.” The submissive kissed his hand. “That was wonderful. I feel all…open…again.”
As she nibbled the chocolate, the dom wiped down the play area and packed away his tools.
Kim concentrated on him, trying to ignore the Overseer’s discussion of the scene. Trying to ignore that it would soon be her turn to be watched. And Master R had never told her what he planned.
“All done?” Sam asked the submissive. He helped her to her feet, ran his hand over her abused back, and grinned at her flinch. “Off you go then.”
She kissed his hand again and walked away, only a slight wobble in her gait.
“Will she be all right?” Master R asked, the concern obvious in his voice. Kim wanted to hug him. If he could, Master R would probably take care of the whole world.