Chapter Six

Each day came with something new. Over and over, Kim had to remind herself why she was doing this. For the others. For Linda and Holly. And really…for herself, as well. To have a part in hurting the slavers, in wrecking their business, would be healing, would show that she wasn’t a nothing, but was a person who needed to be taken into account. She struggled on.

She managed the loss of her clothing—barely—although she doubted she’d ever get used to being naked when Master R was in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. At least he allowed her to dress when other people visited.

Since he often conducted business at home, he and the FBI made Gabi and Faith wear shirts with his company’s green logo so they’d appear to be his employees. Gabi bitched about the boring white shirt—and a matching green streak appeared in her hair beside the blue one.

Slowly, Kim got accustomed to Master R’s hands on her body, washing her, massaging her, holding her. Each night, after receiving a good-night kiss that grew more demanding, she’d sleep in the nude, curled in his arms, and wake with his erection pressing against her buttocks. He terrified her and made her feel safe at the same time, and wasn’t that weird?

Each morning they’d discuss her day and her tasks and anything else he expected. If she made a mistake in her posture or did something wrong—like the drawer where the silverware went—he’d calmly tell her how he wanted it done. He didn’t yell, didn’t call her names, was always polite.

When she’d broken a cup, she’d frozen, expecting him to yell, if not punish her. He only told her to put shoes on before she swept it up.

The only thing that brought her close to being disciplined was rudeness. Being disrespectful was definitely one of his crash-and-burn offenses. But even then, he stayed calm. Consistent.

If only he’d stop adding things she had to adjust to.
Yesterday, before lunch, the scum-sucking algae eater had buckled leather cuffs on her wrists. As she’d tried to remember how to breathe, he’d informed her he wanted tacos from his mamá’s special recipe. By the time she’d figured out all the spices—like what was wrong with the little envelopes of seasoning?—and had the meal set out, she’d almost forgotten about the cuffs…until he clipped them together in front of her. Couldn’t move, couldn’t get away. Megaclaustrophobia. He’d had to help her to her knees beside the table.
But as she’d knelt beside him and he’d fed her, her shaking had disappeared. Why did taking food from his hand no longer make her feel humiliated, but cared for? Because he selected the best pieces for her? Because his attention was fully on her? Lunch hadn’t been so bad after all.
Today, everything had gone downhill… First, he’d buckled the damned leather cuffs on her wrists after their shower in an automatic way that said she’d be wearing them a lot. Dammit.
Fifteen minutes ago, he’d given her his I’m-going-to-be-mean-to-you smile and clipped the cuffs behind her back, held her while she panicked, and then frowned at her. “You will do squats until I tell you to stop. We’ll build up both your leg muscles and your courage.”
In the empty part of the weight room, surrounded by the scents of rubber mats and steel, she managed a few squats. Bending her knees, she did another and straightened up slowly. That was seven. How many more is he going to make me do? She scowled at him as the first drop of sweat rolled down her neck.
Ten squats…fifteen. Her thighs burned with pain. Drown him anyway.
Over by the rack of dumbbells, Master R was doing biceps curls. His pumped-up arms were huge. The way his darkly tanned skin stretched so tightly over the muscles made her fingers itch to touch. Besides, anything would be better than this squatting garbage.
He glanced over where she stood, her legs quivering until she was afraid she’d fall. “You can do another, cariño.”
So not happening. “What does cariño mean?”
“It means sweetheart.” His lips quirked. “Now stop stalling and push those spaghetti legs.”
Yeah, drown him and let the crabs eat him, no matter how many affectionate things he called her. After hauling in a breath, Kim blew her sweaty hair out of her face, checked her balance, and bent her wobbling knees again. Down. She gritted her teeth and straightened. The cuffs didn’t matter anymore, except if she fell, she’d not be able to catch herself. Her thighs burned, and sweat trickled down her back and between her bare breasts. She stuck halfway up. Groaning, she pushed determinedly and made it all the way to standing, sucking air like a landed fish.
A minute later, as her breathing slowed, he said, “Another.”
“Damn you, I can’t. Are you fucking blind or—”Oh shit. Oh no. Her breath strangled in her throat as his eyes chilled, and his jaw turned stern.
“That was very disrespectful, Kimberly. Do I swear at you?” He didn’t move toward her, but pointed to a bench. “Bend across the side of that.”
No. She took a step back. Her heart had been fast; now it slammed against her ribs as if desperate to escape a cage. “No. Please. I’m sorry. Master, I’m sorry.”
“I know, chiquita. You will still be punished.” He picked up heavier dumbbells. His left arm curled up slowly, straining, then down, before he glanced over at her. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
No no no. Her feet felt as if he’d clamped weights around her ankles. One step. Another. Her wrists were still restrained behind her, and her legs shook, making her stagger like a drunk. As she tried to kneel, her knees gave out and hit the rubber matting with a painful thump. Fighting tears, she pressed her bare shoulders and face to the cool bench padding. Naked. Restrained. Her pulse was an ocean of sound in her ears.
She turned her head and watched his reflection in the wall mirrors. He didn’t pay her any attention. At all. His right arm curled up, down. The other arm. His concentration remained on his exercise, as if she’d become invisible. She wished she had. Really.
The weights went onto the rack. Clank. Clank. Her stomach tightened.
He walked to her, his approach like the darkening atmosphere before a storm. Swinging a leg over, he straddled the bench beside her. She craned her head to see his face.
“If you are sent somewhere for punishment, you will take this position.” He grasped her around the waist with merciless hands, sliding her forward until her hips met the edge of the narrow bench. Her head and shoulders hung down off one side; her knees barely touched the ground on the other.
His palm pressed firmly on her low back, and he set his foot on her calves. Immobilizing her.
A whimper escaped her as she tried to struggle.
He merely increased the weight on her. “Only three this time, chica. Count them for me.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. She tensed and heard him sigh.
“I’m sorry, gatita, but we both must observe the rules.” His incredibly hard hand slapped her left butt cheek, not gently at all, and the stinging pain burst through her.
She jerked and gasped…and wasn’t allowed to move.
“Count?” he prompted.
“One.”
Thickening silence.
“One, Master.”
“That sounds much nicer, don’t you think?” His next spank landed on her right butt cheek. Sheer burning.
She yelped, and tears filled her eyes. It hurts. Her shaking increased. “Two, Master.” Only one more. She could handle another.
The third swat was over both her cheeks on the under curve. The pain sheeted through her in a hot wave, and she sobbed, tears spilling down her face. Her bottom burned as if she’d sat on coals.
Silence.
Damn him. “Three, Master.” The fire started to fade.
“Tell me what you did wrong.”
“I cursed at you and refused your order. I’m sorry, Master.”
His hand rubbed her throbbing bottom. “Yes, I think you are.” Then, to her horror, his palm moved between her legs and over her pussy, and when she tried to evade, she realized his foot and left hand still held her down. His ruthless fingers touched her, slid…slid between her labia, inside her and back out. “You’re also wet, little subbie.”
Her resistance disappeared like sand washed away on the shore. Filthy slut. Dirty fuckhole. Not worth—
A stinging slap on her sore buttocks knocked the thoughts out of her head.
“I recognize that look now,” Master R growled. “You’re a sensual, delightful woman, Kimberly.”
The conviction in his voice smoothed the self-loathing away, but then his fingers ran between her folds again, teasing her entrance. “You’re also submissive. I don’t know if pain from the spanking turned you on today—we’ll find that out—but we both know that being mastered is something you like. Something you need.”
His fingers stroked her intimately, and a shudder ran through her as heat pooled in her lower body.
“We both know I will give you what you need.” A pause. He cursed under his breath. His hand moved away, leaving her aching. He rose and walked across the room.
What had happened? With her hands still locked behind her back, she struggled to a standing position, grimacing at how her legs shook. He faced the blank wall, not moving. Was he mad? Had she done something? Only she hadn’t. Like the tide coming in, anxiety flowed in and out, each time adding more.
When he strode back to her, his face hard with anger, she flinched…but held her ground.
His expression cleared. “Ah, chiquita, I am sorry. I’m not displeased with you. Not at all.” He cupped her cheek, infinitely gentle, his big hand hot against her chilled skin.
She wet her dry lip. “Then what?”
“I’m angry with me.” His mouth tightened as he met her gaze. “You are…appealing, gatita. You’re submissive, brave, beautiful. You give of yourself without holding back.”
He really sees me like that? And yet… “Is that bad?”
“I am supposed to push you, but only so you can perform for the Overseer. For that one time, you must show your training, be comfortable in the role of my slave, comfortable with my hands on you, no?”
She nodded, thinking back over the past week or so and… Damn, look at me. Restrained and spanked. Naked. Seeing a pissed-off master and not running for the nearest door. Her spine straightened a little.
His eyes lightened. “Yes, you’ve done very, very well, and I’m proud of you.”
She felt as if she’d swum into a sunny patch of water in a cold ocean. Wouldn’t last, couldn’t see the bottom, but so warm… “Thank you, Master.”
He winced, leaned forward until their foreheads met. “Yes, that is the problem. I forget you are not truly mine. Kimberly, I should not have touched you so intimately.” He straightened, holding her gaze. “There is no need for us to have sex for you to handle a visit by the Overseer.”
“No. There’s not.” Her surge of relief could have been expected, but not the regret. Yet she realized her body was coming back alive, belonging to her. Her pussy still throbbed, and under his controlling hands, she’d felt beautiful. Sexy. Not a thing or an animal, but a desirable woman. Sex with Master R would be…scary. Maybe wonderful.
“It is part of a dom’s nature to push. To give you what you need, to help you past your limits. But I don’t have the right to do that to you.” He turned her around and removed her cuffs. “It will not happen again, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”
God, had she ever heard a man apologize so sincerely—let alone a master? He’d bought her, was trying to keep her safe. That he felt so guilty now seemed wrong. She turned and clasped her arms around him, resting her cheek on his shoulder to hide how her treacherous tears were spilling over again. “There’s n-nothing to forgive.”
He sighed and wrapped her tightly against him, holding her for a long, happy minute. No one in the world hugged as well as Master R. After a kiss on top of her head, he grasped her shoulders to frown at her tears.
Wiping her cheeks, she managed a gurgly laugh. “On second thought, you can apologize for walloping me. I’m going to have trouble sitting.”
His quick smile was like glimpsing the sun on a cold, foggy morning. “You earned the punishment, chiquita. Now go swim a few laps in the pool to cool off.”
“Yes, Master.” As she started out of the room, he didn’t follow. She hesitated. He hadn’t even turned to watch her. His gaze had returned to the wall, and he looked…unhappy.
“Gatita, obedience is required,” he said quietly without moving.
This time, she left.

* * * *

On Wednesday, Raoul walked into the dungeon room. At breakfast, he’d seen the calendar and realized it couldn’t be much longer before the Overseer would call. The thought soured his day but reminded him not to let up on Kimberly. So he’d told her they’d play in the dungeon today.

What could he use that wouldn’t terrify her? He opened the toy cabinet doors and frowned at the shelf where the gags were supposed to be. Empty. Madre de Dios. Eyes narrowed, he surveyed the shelves. In the row of nipple clamps, the wicked-toothed clover ones were missing. The next shelf had lost the midsize and larger anal plugs. The big dildos as well. The posture collar. In fact, anything that might cause a little slave some distress had disappeared.

His laugh broke the silence in the room and lightened his mood. Sneaky brat. Did she think he wouldn’t notice the missing toys? Or had she simply not been able to deal with the nastier implements? He glanced at the wall. She hadn’t removed any impact toys. Then again, he’d mentioned he wouldn’t flog, whip, or paddle her.

When she needed punishment, he’d use his bare hand. As he had the other day.

Such soft skin. He remembered how his hand had left marks on her curvy ass, and his cock stirred. He shook his head. Touching her so intimately had been a mistake, not only in exceeding his promises, but also because he couldn’t forget the silkiness of her bare skin and how wet and hot her cunt had been around his fingers. Her arousal despite her fears.

She’d submitted so sweetly. She hugged him after his apology, showing a nature both giving and forgiving.
And not mine. Keep that in mind, Sandoval.
However, it appeared he’d pinken her pretty ass again today.
He grinned. Warning her of his plans for dungeon time had been a mistake.

* * * *

Kimberly pushed a little farther back in the closet, feeling like a complete idiot. What have I done?
First she’d stolen some of Master R’s toys and hidden them.
God, she’d only planned to check what was in the cabinets because he said they’d use the dungeon today, and she…she needed to know.
Only there had been an anal plug, a huge one, and maybe if she removed it, he wouldn’t notice. A dildo had joined it, and then her inner coward had come unhinged. She’d filled a plastic bag with everything she didn’t want him to use. And then hidden the sack.
How could she have thought he’d be blind to half-empty shelves?
That was bad enough, but to hide. Like, okay, on her first day here, she’d spotted this little corner closet under the stairs—so very Harry Potter-like—and also noted every single place a person might hide and all the exits as well. But she hadn’t thought about any of them since.
Not until today when he’d said “play in the dungeon.” God, with every passing minute, her dread had grown. After hiding the toys, she’d tried to clean the kitchen, to read, to do laundry, but her feet had carried her here as if she had no control over them at all.
Despair filled her as she heard Master R’s footsteps. So distinctive. Not quiet or sneaky, but solid. Even. Unstoppable.
Get up, she told herself. Go out and beg forgiveness. Do it now. Her body didn’t move. Her inner coward shrank further inside its cave.
He wasn’t calling for her. Oh God. Was that good or bad? How mad was he? She started to shiver.
The door opened. Light shone through the spaces between the clothes. Surely he wouldn’t spot her in the corner.
A grunt of satisfaction. His big hands grasped her arms and pulled her out of her hiding place.
She went limp, unable to stand, but he hardly noticed. He lifted her far enough to view her face and sighed.
Her trembling didn’t stop, but tears brimmed in her eyes as she realized his disappointment in her. He wasn’t mad, and that almost…almost made it worse. She firmed her knees, managed to stand, and earned herself a nod.
With one hand firmly curled around her upper arm as if he no longer trusted her not to run, he led her to the tower room. The place he liked to use for their talks.
He took the chair, pointed to the floor.
Blinking away tears, she knelt clumsily and lowered her head. Her throat clogged as the silence turned thicker. Heavier. A tear escaped. Another.
And then, as if a storm surge sent waves crashing over her barriers, she started to cry. “I’m s-sorry, Master. I…couldn’t.” Why didn’t he hold her? The need for his arms pulled at her, shaking her like a loose sail in the wind.
He gave her only a touch, his finger lifting her chin. He leaned his elbow on his thigh and studied her. “Couldn’t what?”
Couldn’t face the dungeon, talking about it, seeing your disappointment. “I—” She cried harder, unable to say any of it.
“Carajo,” he muttered, and she flinched at the Spanish F word. “Tell me—clearly—why you hid from me.” He waited, offering nothing more as she struggled for control.
Her breath hitched, but she managed to whisper, “I was scared.”
“I realize that. Why didn’t you talk to me?”
Talk to him? Her brain stopped as if it had floated to the end of an anchor line. “I-I don’t know.”
His finger stayed under her chin, keeping her face exposed to him. She blinked the water from her eyes, needing to see his expression. Hard…but not cold. He had on the you-screwed-up dom face, but he wasn’t angry. Why isn’t he angry?
“Have I asked you to let me know when you’re getting too afraid?”
She tried to nod.
His eyes chilled.
“Yes, Master.”
“I make you so fearful you cannot speak with me?” She heard his unhappiness in his tone, in the slowness of his phrasing.
Her tears started up again. “No, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”
This time, he framed her face between his hands, using his thumbs to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “Then talk to me now. Explain so I can understand.” Releasing her, he set his forearms on his knees and waited.
Why hadn’t she gone to him? Talked to him before she got too crazy in her head? He always listened. He’d hold her during panic attacks. He’d go slower if she was really scared. But… “I wasn’t thinking. I just hid.” Had he maybe not seen the missing toys? God, let her have a chance to put them all back first.
He frowned at her. “When you were little and scared, who did you run to?”
“Mom.” What did that have to do with anything?
“Not your father?”
Like he would have helped. Her laugh sounded…odd. She shook her head.
“Why?”
How to explain their family? “He… When I was younger, he treated me like a son. Boys don’t get scared.”
“No?” His mouth twitched. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her brain started to kick in, erratic as a motor with some salt water in the fuel. Other fathers hugged their children…both sons and daughters. They’d comfort them and hold them if a baseball smashed into them or when a big dog chased them. Her father hadn’t been…fatherly.
“At first, he treated you like a son. What happened when you grew older?”
Her own fault. Her own choice. She didn’t regret it. “I decided I was female and started dressing like one. Helping my mother. So I was…nothing to him.”
Master R was frowning again. “You would have been a beautiful little girl. How could any papá not be proud?” His knuckles stroked her cheek, and she…yearned.
“I guess you had a good father,” she said.
“I did.” His fingers ran through her tangled hair. “Kimberly. Terror can make us like children. If you didn’t run to your father—a man—to comfort you, and considering your experiences with men recently, I understand why you hid.” His level gaze held hers. “But, chiquita, you must understand that while you are here, I expect you to come to me and share your fears. Even if I am the one causing them.”
Why did his uncompromising look make her heart stutter? “Yes, Master.”
The corner of his mouth curved. “I like all the Masters I’m hearing right now, slave.”
She flinched, chilling as if arctic water was seeping into her core.
His eyes narrowed. “This is the type of thing we discuss.” He paused. Then his voice hardened. “Slave.”
He rarely called her that horrible word. Surely he couldn’t understand the effect on her. How could he?
Now he expected her to talk as her insides shriveled like a jellyfish on dry sand. Can’t talk. She pulled in a breath. Must talk. I’m braver than this. Her shoulders straightened a little. Gabi would tell her to pull up her big girl panties and spit the words out. “The word. Slave.” Could she bleach her mouth out? “I never liked it even…before. Now it makes me sick to my stomach. Ugly.” She bit her lip and forced the rest out. “When you call me that, it’s…worse.” As if her security blanket had a snake on it.
“Mmm.” He picked her up, tucking her easily onto his lap and against his chest.
Every muscle in her body relaxed at the enveloping comfort of his embrace. A reward. He was rewarding her for her honesty. Manipulative? Kind of. But she’d take it.
“You don’t look sick when you say master.”
“It’s not the same—not ugly.” She rubbed her cheek on his chest; his faded T-shirt was soft over his solid pectorals. His masculine scent mingled with that of the laundry soap and had come to mean safety. “I like the master word.” She considered and added, “Although sometimes I want to throw things at you when you make me use it.”
His laugh sounded different, deeper, when her ear was pressed to his chest. “Bueno. Is submissive better than slave?”
“I guess.” She tried to imagine him calling her that. “It’s kind of blah.”
“Mmm. Perhaps sumisa—or even sumisita? It means little submissive in Spanish.” He shifted her so her face snuggled into his neck. “Someday we’ll discuss why I think the word fits you.”
Sumisita. It sounded…sweet somehow. He’d called Gabi chiquita a couple of times, so that term didn’t seem very special. Gatita was…more hers. And sumisita was more…ownery. His way of saying “mine.” “I like that, Master.”
“Good.” He tipped her face up. His approving kiss made her feel as if her boat had entered the harbor.
“I put a blank journal in your sitting room,” he said. “And a limit list as well. You know what that is?”
A list of BDSM activities where a submissive could check off what she might be interested in trying…and what she absolutely wouldn’t do. Sometimes a club dom would hand her one. She nodded.
“Fill out the list, and we will discuss it.” He tapped her nose. “I doubt we’ll actually play much, but we have reached the point where I need to know more about what bothers you.”
“And the journal?”
“Is mostly for you. Faith agreed you should use it.” He paused. “I want you to write one page for me every day, and we’ll read it together each night. The rest is only for you; I won’t ask to see the other pages.”
A journal. Bleah. “I get Faith’s reasons. But why a page for—to—you?”
“To avert problems like today.” He stroked her hair gently. “There will be things you need from me. Thoughts you can’t speak but might be able to write. So. You will fill the page, even if your words seem foolish to you. Clear?”
“Yes, Master.” Homework. Frigging what-I-did-on-my-slavery-vacation homework.
“Such a pout,” he murmured and kissed it right off her lips. His lips were warm, firm, controlling. His hand tightened in her hair as he took her mouth, punishing before he finished in gentleness.
Her head swam as if she’d downed three quick drinks.
When he pulled back, his gaze smoldered with as much heat as she had simmering inside. His expression hardened. “Now about what you took from the toy cabinet…”
She buried her head in his neck. Oh God.
“Bring them here and lay out everything neatly on the ottoman. For your punishment, you will pick one of the toys—just one—which I’ll use on you sometime in the next few days.”
“When?” she whispered.
“Wrong response. Try again, sumisa.”
“I’m sorry, Master.” More. She should say something more. “Whatever Master wishes.”
“Very pretty.” He kissed the top of her head and set her on her feet. “Off you go now…and, Kimberly?”
Trying to remember what all she’d taken—that huge dildo, definitely don’t want to pick that—she turned. “Yes, Master.”
His lips quirked as if he was trying not to smile. “Next time when I say we will play, I do not mean hide-and-seek.”