Carnal Captive (29 page)

“Interesting,” he said. “Are
—were
the horses hers?”

“No. They belong to the property owners.” Mr.
Jones
handed him another picture. In this one, the little house was
to
the left w
hile
a much larger home
dominated the area to
the right. “She lived in a guest house. The fencing encloses some five acres.”

Having spent
most of
his life in one city or another, he could barely wrap his mind around own
ing that much land
.
Tempted as he was to
ask what the property owners did for a living
,
he knew
Mr. Jones wouldn’t tell him.
Hell, he didn’t even know
which
state his slave came from.

“She lives—lived there alone?”

“Of course. We don’t go after females with family
,
close
friend
ship, or male
ties. Loners fit our requirements.
When they disappear, no one
sounds the alarm
.
”

Surely someone
had reported her disappearance. But that too was something he knew better than to question.

He turned his attention back to the place his slave had called home.
The house appeared
to be around a thousand square feet in size although the wrap-around porch made it difficult to be sure. A
comfortable
chair
on the porch
with a
nearby table
faced downhill. He easily pictured her sitting
outside
at the end of the day watching the horses while sipping on a glass of wine. Maybe she stayed out there until the sun set, thinking
her thoughts and making
plans for the
next day
.

Plans that no longer existed.

“As you can tell,” Mr.
Jones
said, “the property owners left much of the natural vegetation in place. The p
hotographs don’t
show it, but there’s a seasonal creek. I don’t know if the owners thought the fence would keep
wildlife
out, but the
Carnal employee
who took the
shots
reported seeing several doe and fawns on the property.”

Which meant his slave ha
d watched the deer. Enjoyed their presence.

“The place is in the country,” Mr.
Jones
said unnecessarily. “I’m assuming the owners rely on a well. I’ve never had one but wouldn’t want to be worrying it might go dry.”

He didn’t give a damn about wells. “What about inside her place? Did your
employee
get in it?”

“Of course.
W
e learn absolutely everything possible about the subject before taking
it
.”

She wasn’t a car, she was a human being.

At least she’d been before she’d become
his
.

Unnerved by the unwanted thought, he accepted the next three photographs. One showed a
neat,
cozy
living room
d
ecorated
mostly
in
greens and browns.
The kitchen was spotless, making him wonder
what kind of
cook
she was—had been
.
She slept in a single bed.

“That’s it?” he asked, forcing his attention off the bed with its brown and cream spread.

“No. There’s one more room.
Normally we don’t pass on
information about the slaves’ prior lives, but she was self-employed and worked out of the house.
That worked to our advantage because there wasn’t an employer checking into her whereabouts.
”

Bay didn’t understand the spark that went through him as
his host
extended
another
photograph toward him.
Whoever had taken
it
had used a wide-angle lens. There were large windows on two sides. A desk held a computer and
elaborate
looking printer. She’d placed an
easel
near one window
. A canvas
was
propped
on
it
, but he couldn’t tell what, if anything,
had been painted
.
A nearby t
able
was
littered
with brushes, paint tubes, thinner, and
p
allet knives.
More canvas
was
stretched over frames
were
stacked under the table.

“She’s an artist,” he said.

“Was.”

“Was she good?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Yes, it did. 

Perhaps Mr.
Jones
had read his mind because
t
he
older man
frowned and shook his head. “I strongly suggest you focus on your
slave’s
future.
Her
past has no relevance. With your purchase, you’ve set in motion the potential for pleasure unlike any you’ve ever
experienced
.
Most
men
are hardwired for dominance. That’s what made you successful on the football field, right? Your refusal to let anyone get the best of you.”

“I’
d forfeit a paycheck if I did
.”

“
It wasn’t just about money. You
liked being
in charge.”

Football was more complicated than that, but he wasn’t in the mood to spell out
the details.

Mr.
Jones
glanced at his watch. “Your slave and her handlers will be here in a few minutes. There are just a few more points I want to cover. Number one, client satisfaction
is essential
. Any time her behavior needs
correcting
, let us know. If you grow bored with her, which happens, we’ll be happy to broker a sale.”

“For a price.”

“Of course.” If Mr.
Jones
took offense, he gave no indication. “After all, you can hardly put up an ad that says used sex slave for sale. You haven’t asked, but I want to assure you that law enforcement isn’t looking for her.
As I said, h
er being self-employed simplified things.”

“Did it?”

“Yes.” Mr.
Jones
leaned forward again as if eager to share information. “We cleared her place of all personal items
and made
it look as if she’d
unexpectedly
packed up
a
nd t
aken off
.
She failed to deliver
some
consignment
artwork. Of course
that person
was upset
.
W
hen he got in touch with her landlord and learned
she
’d
left owing rent
, everyone chalked her lack of responsibility up to artistic temperament. Her final
posting
on her Facebook page said she was heading for the Rockies looking for inspiration.”

Bay guessed Mr.
Jones
wasn’t telling him the whole story about what Carnal Incorporated had
d
one to cover their tracks. It was better if he didn’t know.

“I take it her paintings were included in what you took. I want them.”

“Of course. You’re entitled to everything, even her panties.”

Panties.
He was trying to wrap his mind around that
when
the
door to his left opened and Damek and Reno walked in.
Both men carried clipboards.
His slave trailed behind them on her hands and knees. She was naked of course—except for the bands around her wrists, ankles, and neck. Unlike the last time he’
d seen her when she’d been so dirty it had been off-putting, her
dark
hair
gleamed
and lamplight glinted off her flesh.

No one spoke as Damek and Reno sat down and she pos
itioned herself inches from h
is
legs. She slowly lowered her forehead to the floor, revealing her back and fading whip marks.

“Forgive me if we repeat ourselves,” Mr.
Jones
said, “but we’d rather do
that than leave out
details. Taking a lump of clay and transforming it into
something
productive is a complex
operation
. We take great pride in putting out quality products. I wasn’t involved in the day-to-day training so will leave the details to those who were. Damek, why don’t you begin.”

The trainer
glanced at
his clipboard. “The subject came to us with no preconceived notions of what was expected of her. She was
in
deed
a lump of clay. For the most part, we’re satisfied with what she’s become. I doubt if she’ll ever fully overcome her disinclination
to perform oral sex, but she has learned to internalize her objections.”

As Damek continued, Bay split his attention between the trainer and his naked
property
. If he didn’t know what Damek was talking about, he’d surmise the man was
d
escribing
a horse he wanted to sell
. Despite her loathing of oral sex,
Damek
believed
her technique w
as satisfactory
. Through the use of larger and larger ass plugs, her rear hole had been stretched to accommodate a determined man.

“If given a choice, which she wasn’t,” Damek said, “I’m certain she
’
d prefer vaginal sex, but she
knows
to immediately present herself for ass fucking.
Let me demonstrate.”

Rising, Damek walked behind the slave. “Present,” he ordered.

Head still down and hair shielding her features, she reached behind her and spread her ass cheeks, widening her stance as she did.

“Join me, please,” Damek said.

Bay did. Looking down at the gaping hole, he felt disconnected from what was happening. He’d
dated
two women who were into anal sex, at least that’s what they’d told him. One had talked him through the process, assuring him all the while that he wasn’t hurting her and
that
she’d given herself an enema in preparation for the evening’s adventure.

Thanks to that indoctrination, he’d believed he knew what to do
when he hooked up with her friend
later
. Other than grunting like a stuck pig, the second woman hadn’t
given any indication
how she felt about the act. He’d boasted
to his teammates
but hadn’t gone looking for any more rear door action.

Determined to make tonight real, he swept his hand over her crack. She didn’t move.

“Let us know if you
desire
more response
.
” Damek said. “Some masters want their slaves to participate in t
he acts
. Others just
require
a handy hole.
There’s a lot to be said about sticking it to someone who doesn’t want to be stuck.
”

“She’ll respond,” Reno said, drawing Bay’s attention to
him
. “To both pain and pleasure. Right now she’s zoning.”

Hadn’t that happened
earlier
?
“
Is she
?”

“
It’s
her protective mechanism
.
” Damek again glanced at his clipboard. “Once we determined what she was doing, we
concentrated
on
making
her stay in the moment via constant discomfort.
Remarkable progress
has been
made.
However, we have to admit that
more work needs to be done
before she’
ll
become a
true
participant in whatever sex acts you choose.
”

“Participant?” 

Damek gave him a sideways look
.
“It’s up to you, of course. Let me add that slaves who are given the opportunity to climax are more docile and eager to please than those who are denied what might be the only job perk.”