by Kitty Thomas
“You could have tried. You could have given me a choice.”
“You had a choice. You kept going back to Anton. You wanted the things he did to you. I saw the way your eyes lit up the few times I got angry with you and didn’t let you push me around, but it didn’t matter. You would have fought me. Anton, Gabe, and Lindsay are friends of mine. They offered to train you so I wouldn’t have to break you myself.”
She stared at his feet. “You’re fucking crazy,” she whispered
He sighed. “And you’re planning your escape.”
“Hell yes, I am.”
“Lindsay warned me this might happen. Do not push me, Vivi. I love you, but don’t think for one minute I’ll tolerate you giving me an ounce less respect than you gave those men.”
“Love. Do you even know what love is?”
“We’ll deal with this when we get home.”
When they arrived at the house, he had to drag her inside.
Michael led her down the hallway toward the basement. He retrieved a key and unlocked the door, then she was being pushed downstairs. Her eyes widened when she got to the bottom. He’d turned it into a dungeon.
“How long have you been working on this?” she asked.
“Months.”
The level of premeditation shouldn’t have shocked her, but it did. He removed the leash and took the little ring off. Now it looked like any other piece of expensive jewelry. “You will never remove this collar without my permission. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she mumbled, still not meaning it.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master.”
He attached cuffs to her wrists, and then raised them over her head to attach to a sturdy metal hook in the ceiling.
She could feel his anger pulsing off him as he ripped her panties off and went to get a cane. The first whack made every nerve ending in her body light up and cringe away from him.
“Who do you belong to?”
She shook her head. “This is abuse. This is fucking abuse. You sick fucking bastard.”
Michael moved to stand in front of her, his hand gripping her throat. She tried to avoid his eyes, didn’t want him to see the lust in them. Didn’t want to feel the lust at all.
“Look at me or I promise you will regret it. You know what I’m capable of now.”
She turned her gaze to his, letting him have the full force of her hatred.
“Is this abuse, Vivi? Or is it abuse to just let you rot away and die like you were doing? Did you like that feeling? Do you want to live a lie with me while we both fucking rot away from the inside? Or do you want something real? TELL ME!”
“I can’t . . . this is wrong.”
“I watched the videos. I saw everything that went on with you and them. I saw how you surrendered. I saw the wanton, slutty way you behaved. I jerked off to it every night. This is in you. You’ll give it to them, to strangers, but not your own goddamned husband?”
“They didn’t betray me. They were bad to begin with. I thought you were better than that.”
He wrapped his arms around her, burying his head in her neck. “Oh, I can be good. Submit to me and you’ll never doubt it again, but you had to see what lengths I would go to. You are mine. You will acknowledge you are mine. I am your master, and if you don’t learn it today, you’ll go back to the house and be trained until you do learn it.”
She wanted to give in. So badly. What he’d done was so wrong, but the throbbing between her legs hadn’t stopped since he’d revealed himself in the limo. So who was the sick fuck? Him or her? Both of them? Who the fuck cared anymore?
She’d wanted the safety of Michael but the control of Anton. And now the reality slammed home that he could give her both. Was she really willing to throw it all away? For what? For pride? For some philosophical viewpoint on rights? For social acceptability?
The tears sprang from her eyes, wetting his suit.
“That’s it, Vivi. Let it out. Who do you belong to?”
“You, Master.” She felt the little surrender, the first small step to bonding with him, as she’d bonded with her trainers. Though this would be more, and that both thrilled and scared the hell out of her.
“Good girl,” he cooed in her ear. His hand moved down to cup her sex. “Who does this belong to?”
“You, Master,” she said, her voice stronger this time.
“From this point onward, your body’s responses belong to me and whoever I share you with. Whether I want you to go for a week without coming or come every ten minutes, you’ll do it because you’re mine.”
“Share?”
“We’re going to be alone like this for about a month. When you’ve fully bonded to me, once a week I’ll send you to the house to play. You are my slut, and you’ll spread your legs for whoever I say. If I want to add more people to that list I will, and you’ll gladly comply. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
He chuckled at the breathy way her voice came out. “Such a dirty slut. I should have done this a long time ago.”
“So you didn’t really pay them?”
“I paid them to train you. They’re running a business, and I don’t mooch off my friends.”
The silence stretched between them for several minutes. “Vivi, I’m giving you one freebie. I won’t punish you because I understand why you’re upset and why you feel you have to fight so hard. But don’t believe I’ll go easy on you. Forget our previous relationship. It doesn’t exist. I am the man who bought you today. You’re safe with me, but I won’t let you use my love for you against me.”
She sagged in the chains, making bargains with herself. She told herself she’d surrender to him for a week, maybe two and see how it went. She could always leave him. But even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere. She was only appeasing the newly risen banshee, shutting her up so she could quietly kill her again, this time forever.
He unlocked her wrists, rubbed them, then carried her upstairs. His fingers fumbled over the corset.
“Master?”
“Yes, pet?”
She flushed at the new endearment. “Did you pick this collar for me?” Her fingers grazed over the jeweled band.
“I did.”
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
He nodded and guided her to the bed. “Tomorrow I’ll lay out the rules. I also intend to do every filthy thing that was done at the house, and more. But today has been hard for you. I’m sorry you were so scared. I’ll be gentle today.”
“Please don’t be gentle.”
He smiled. “There’s my little slut.”
Michael bent her over the bed and took what was his. She writhed and moaned like a bitch in heat as he coaxed her body to obey.
“This was well worth the cost of training,” he said.
Vivian should have been pissed at that, but the training came back to her as if today had been a glitch. She bucked underneath him, unsure if she was fighting to get away or fighting to get closer. Every thrust sent her soaring higher, wanting to give him more.
“Come, Vivi.”
It had been six weeks since he’d last fucked her. The headboard of the bed thumped against the wall in rhythm to Michael’s thrusts. She came for him, moaning his new name.
Epilogue
6 weeks ago . . .
Michael sat at the card table at the club with Gabe, Anton, and Lindsay, the poker cards dealt.
“You’re always so sour now,” Gabe said.
Michael knew he was sulking, but he couldn’t help it. He’d grown tired of Vivian acting like he was a villain for wanting to screw his own wife. The horrors. He wanted her, not his secretary, not the slutty waitress who kept bringing his drinks. Her.
“You never should have married that girl,” Lindsay said, seeing through to the root of things. The doctor was far too perceptive for his own good. Always with his shrink hat on.
“That girl, is the woman I love,” he ground out, irritated.
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“But she doesn’t give you what you need,” Anton said, flinging his chips to the center of the table.
Michael tossed his chips in and fought back the urge to yell at his friends. He’d met Anton’s slave one evening when Vivian thought he was at the gym. He’d watched her lovely submission, she way the word Master tripped off her lips, even with a stranger present. He’d grown hard watching the way she’d knelt at his friend’s feet.
Anton had asked if Michael wanted to use her, that she’d be happy to oblige him. Looking into her eyes, she’d seemed excited and turned on by the idea. He’d refused the offer, knowing it would only make him more bitter on his return home.
He laid his cards on the table and curses filled the air as he pulled the chips toward himself. “I want what you have,” he finally said. His eyes leveled on Anton.
“There is no way your wife will put up with you having a slave.”
“She will if she’s the slave.”
All three of them looked at Michael as if he’d grown a third head, and perhaps he had. It took a few drinks and an hour to bring them over to his plan and orchestrate how each of them would play their role to train his wife.
“I won’t do anything different from what I normally do,” Anton said, “If I don’t think she needs this, I’ll let her go. I won’t take a woman who isn’t wired to submit and turn her into this. Not even for you.”
Michael nodded, fighting back the eye roll. Anton fancied himself a civilized monster who played by a code of ethics that precluded him from taking a woman without deep needs to submit, using too brutal punishment, or selling them to anyone he hadn’t properly checked out.
If Michael hadn’t married Vivian, he’d probably be working in Anton’s house of debauchery right now, taking innocents and molding them for a life of sexual servitude they’d been trained to enjoy.
A few days later . . .
“Honest opinion,” Michael said into his cell phone when he knew Vivian had enough time to leave Lindsay’s office in the city.
Lindsay sighed over the phone. “Honestly? I’m not sure. She’s so tightly wound. I gave her Anton’s card. He’ll work it out from there.”
A few hours later he called Anton. “Well?”
The man chuckled over the phone, then the richly accented voice said, “Oh, she’s a submissive. She came for me like a rocket and I think forgot during that time that I’d closed off her escape. She didn’t put up much of a fight.”
Michael smirked. “What now?”
“Now, we wait. She’ll be back, and when she’s ready I’ll take her to the house.”
A few days later . . .
The four of them sat in the sauna at the club while Michael pumped Anton and Lindsay for more information.
“What happened exactly at the restaurant, Lindsay?”
“She’s not ready yet. But I can see it in her eyes. We’ll get there,” he said.
“You need to leave town,” Anton said.
“What? That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I don’t think she’ll let herself go fully until she doesn’t have to face you every night. Just take away her ability to pay me, and invent a business trip.”
Michael took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh.
“It’ll be worth it when we finish with her. Trust me.”
A few weeks later . . .
Michael was in Mexico lying on a private beach, trying not to think about what was going on with Vivian when his cell rang. Anton’s number flashed across the screen.
“Yes? Is she okay?”
“Calm down. She’s fine. I just have to move the timetable up. I’m about to take her to the house.”
His chest tightened and for a brief moment, he considered backing out. But he was too committed. If they stopped now, she’d be like an unfinished piece of art. And it would hurt her. She’d have to be put into therapy for shit he’d initiated. By this point it was more merciful to continue the conditioning.
“Why are you taking her so soon?”
“She’s a loose cannon. I won’t compromise my operation on this, Michael. I’m taking her to the house. Don’t worry, it’ll just be me, Gabe, and Lindsay. We’ll take good care of her for you.”
“I want to talk to her before she gets there.”
“Call in thirty minutes. We’ll be on the road.”
A few days later . . .
Michael was livid. “I’m coming over there right now. I’ll fucking kill that bastard!”
Anton’s voice slid over the phone in that calming fashion that always somehow convinced Michael everything was okay. “Brian has been dealt with. He won’t touch her that way again.”
“He’d better not. It’s one thing for you three. You’re like brothers, and you know I don’t mind sharing her with you. But I hate that fucker. I’ve hated him since college. I don’t know why you employ him.”
“Relax. Everything is fine.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Gabe took care of her. She’ll be ready for you in a few weeks.”
Today . . .
Michael sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Vivian’s hair as she slept. Her collar glinted off the light of the lamp. He’d known this would be difficult. Could he have trained her himself? Probably not. He wouldn’t have had the stomach for it. And she never would have believed in it.
The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He disentangled his limbs from Vivian’s and moved into the hallway.
“Yes?”
“How is she?” It was Gabe.
“It was both easier and rougher than I expected. She seemed to submit to me, but there was a fight first.”
The other man sighed loudly over the phone. “Don’t let up on her. Don’t let her get away with a single thing or you’ll lose everything we did. I don’t know why the fuck you didn’t just come to the house as one of her trainers. It would have been a more controlled circumstance, instead of springing it on her like this.”
Michael gave a non-committal grunt, and Gabe let the issue drop.
“Lindsay wants to know if you’re bringing her back for visits.”
“In about a month. I told her then she’d go to the house weekly.”
“How did she feel about that?”
Michael scrubbed a hand through his hair, “She was trying to be nonchalant. I guess she doesn’t want me to be jealous, but I could tell she’s excited.”
He talked to Gabe for a few more minutes and then disconnected the call. His mind went back to the other man’s accusation about why he’d handled things in the end as he had.
They would never understand. Michael needed one moment with Vivian where she didn’t have anger or assumptions about him, where she was his slave and he was her master without any other layers of bullshit.
When Anton had brought her to him and she’d knelt at his feet and offered herself to him as his property, when she hadn’t known it was him, it was honest. Her fear, her surrender, everything.
The moment the blindfold came off, things got complicated, as he’d known they would. They would eventually get back to that place where she understood herself as his slave and not his wife pretending to be his slave. But either way, he would always have that one moment.
Where it was real.
It made the entire fucked-up thing worth doing all over again.
BOOK TWO: Broken Dolls
Prologue
“Get out, you fucking whore!”
Mina scrambled to wrap herself in the bed sheet. She dove for the ground as a vase smashed, dumping shards of glass into her long dark hair.
“If I’m a whore, it’s only because you threw me down on my knees in front of your friends, chortling about what a good little submissive slut I was!”
Shut up. He’s going to kill you if you don’t shut up.
She was still bleeding from Jason’s whip. Why rile him more now?
“You dare speak to your master this way?”
She cringed
as he raised his hand. “I-I’m sorry. Please.”
He wasn’t her master. He wasn’t her fucking anything. It was a game they’d played. A game she’d played with other men before him. And it always ended here. How could this be right? How could this be normal if it always ended in abuse?
Surely Jason had cured her of the last vestiges of whatever fucked-up sexual fantasies swirled inside her head. This could never be real.
The people she knew in the lifestyle—they were all liars. They must be. What pain were they hiding behind a mask of perfect submission and the ideal dominant who seemed kind yet always in command?
In public anyway. When the parties were over and the doors closed, didn’t the masks come off to reveal the twisted truth beneath?
Most relationships weren’t ideal. Didn’t everybody wear a mask? Wouldn’t conflict be that much more explosive inside this type of dynamic? How screwed up was she that she wanted to make herself so vulnerable to the people who always hurt her no matter how much she begged for kindness?
Next week would someone see one of her newest scars? Would Mina insist it was consensual? All to cover up the fact that somehow she’d allowed herself to become this… this thing.
“You’re not a real sub,” Jason bellowed, as he ate up the space between them in two long strides. His face was red and contorted in rage. The official insult of abusive dominants everywhere: You’re not a real sub.
How many times had he said this now? How many times had she forced herself to stay to try to prove to him that she was good? That she was real. That she was worth more.
His large hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing. And for a moment, everything that had ever happened in her life rushed out in a sprawling pointless vision before her. One long fucked-up slide show of pleasure and pain.
“I want you and all your shit out of my apartment. If I come home from the gym tomorrow and I find any of it or you still here, what happened tonight will look like a romantic candlelit dinner. Do you understand me?”