SubmissivesSurrender Page 4

  Her attention locked on his command of her, she swallowed to moisten her throat. She felt liquid, the parts of her all blending together into a hot whole. “I don’t know if I can. I want to but I’ve never experienced—”

  “Thank me first.”

  Pain seized her breasts only to slide away a little before she could determine what he’d done to cause the discomfort. She rose onto her toes then settled down to keep from swaying. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Think. Give him what he wants. “For claiming my body.”

  “Hm. And why is that a good thing?”

  Not only was he confusing her, the needlelike sensations on her nipples under his fingers made thinking all but impossible. Much as she wanted the discomfort to end, she also longed to trace it to its source.

  “You’re taking me on a journey. One I need.”

  “Did you feel this need before someone told you about dominants and submissives?”

  Good question. Maybe, eventually, she’d give him credit for it. “I think maybe yes. I’ve been looking for something in an intimate relationship, something I haven’t found.”

  Her admission caught her unprepared. Seconds passed before she realized he was no longer manhandling her breasts. Although they still burned and pulsed, she didn’t want the sensations to end.

  “I’m wondering the same thing about myself,” he muttered, “but at the moment I’m not interested in self-analysis. I’ll accept your expression of gratitude for what it is, roleplaying. But this is the last time. From now on I want genuine responses.”

  What could be more genuine than letting him cuff her and manhandle her breasts?

  Chapter Four

  Rico had stepped back so he could study the helpless woman standing before him. Against everything he believed about himself, he loved how she looked with her arms trapped behind her while naked from the waist up. He’d gone to strip clubs a few times as the guest of his clients, but although his alcohol-buzzed body had responded to female flesh, in hindsight he’d wished he hadn’t let himself be talked into it. There was something off-putting about a room full of horny men ogling women who danced naked for a living. His family would have been disappointed in him and that factored in.

  Thank goodness they couldn’t see him now.

  Good thing they had no idea what was going on inside his body and brain.

  “I don’t give a damn how you pay the bills,” he told his captive. “The roles we assume when we leave here couldn’t matter less. We’re in the moment, exploring.”

  He left her to mull over what he’d said and walked over to the table filled with everything he guessed the well-equipped dom needed. His fingers grazed several dildos and lingered at a silver butt plug he couldn’t imagine using today.

  Today. What about tomorrow?

  The question briefly distracted him from making his decision, but he soon selected a blindfold, nipple clamps and rope.

  Holding up the items so she could see, he pointed at the bed. “Over there.”

  As her mouth opened and shut, he was put in mind of a fish out of water. She was out of her element all right. In contrast, as the moments ticked by, he felt less and less unsure of his role. He’d go with the flow, let the baser nature he was just now exploring dictate.

  “In a democracy,” he said as she positioned herself at the side of the bed, “at least in theory everyone has the same rights, but we aren’t operating under those rules and guidelines. I’m a dictator or maybe a land baron. You’re beneath me as is almost everyone else I come in contact with.”

  “Maybe you’re a warlord.”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to think about that.” He dropped the rope on the bed and showed her the nipple clamps. “My understanding of warlords is they spend an inordinate amount of time running swords through people. If I did that to you, I wouldn’t have any use for these.”

  She hadn’t taken her attention off the clamps since he’d held them up. Goose bumps had broken out on her shoulders and breasts, but her dark eyes spoke of something other than fear.

  “I think I’ll stick with being a land baron. You can be my serf or indentured servant. Better still, I’d prefer your family owed me for letting them farm a few of my acres. I took you in exchange for the lease fee. You belong to me for as long as they use the land.”

  She licked her lips. “I’m confused. I thought you were a dom.”

  “I’m changing things around a bit. However, if you’re ready to call yourself a submissive, we can stick to that.”

  He could tell she was running the word submissive around in her mind, trying it on to see if it fit.

  “I’d rather be your hostage.”

  That way she wouldn’t have to assume responsibility for anything that happened. All right, if that’s what it took for her to immerse herself in the experience, he’d accommodate her.

  “Fine. A hostage it is.” He draped the silver nipple clamps over her naked shoulder and presented her with the red blindfold he’d chosen. He’d never worn a sleep mask but figured that was what the designer had originally intended it to be used for. Her eyes widened and then narrowed.

  “I’m the leader of a band of primitive raiders. We attack villages when everyone is asleep, kill the men, grab everything of value, and take off with the good-looking women.”

  She still looked as if she wanted nothing to do with the blindfold but at least her expression relaxed a little.

  “My father is the village chief,” she said. “He and the other elders have hidden the clan’s jewels and gold. Instead of using torture to force them to reveal the hiding place, you’ve taken me.”

  His palms started to sweat. He had no trouble imagining himself mounted on a black stallion naked except for a loincloth with a spear clutched in his fighting hand. “You fought like a warrior until I knocked you out, tied you up, and threw you belly-down behind me on my horse.”

  This time when her eyes widened, they stayed like that. “You and the rest of the raiders took me and the other prisoners into the mountains. The rest of the women will be passed around, but you have special plans for me.”

  What plans? Think. “Indeed I do.” Stalling, he pushed her down until she was sitting on the bed. He didn’t ask her permission, just slipped the blindfold over her head, trapping and flattening her hair as he did. The elastic back and curved face design sealed the mask over her eyes. Gasping, she shook her head. Nothing moved.

  Trying to put himself in her place, he ran his knuckles over her left cheek and down the side of her neck. She shivered. Her legs slid apart a few inches. Unfortunately the damn skirt prevented him from seeing what mattered.

  “My intention is to train you to function as my sex slave.” He spoke around his racing heart and despite his now painful hard-on. “When I’m certain you’ve embraced your new role, I’ll present you to your father so he’ll comprehend the consequence of his resistance.”

  She again shook her head, not in an attempt to get rid of the blindfold but because he suspected she was trying to deal with something inside her. “My father might not care. Only his sons matter.”

  Despite the heady rush of power coursing through him, her words pulled him from the sensation. “What about your father, Karmen? What kind of parent is he?”

  “Loving.” She sighed. “Both of my parents are. I was— This is roleplaying.”

  Relieved because he didn’t want her to be the victim of a dysfunctional family, he slipped back into the role he was determined to maintain. He was a raider, an expert horseman and swordsman who believed women had been put on earth to serve him.

  “You’re my hostage.” Giving weight to his words, he closed his hand around her throat and despite her instinctive struggle easily pushed her back onto the bed. Having her arms secured behind her forced her to arch her body. Her breasts flattened out a little. He sat beside her, and when his greater weight caused her to roll toward him, he rested a hand in the space between her breasts to an
chor her.

  “Fortunately for you,” he continued around numb lips, “I’m a rarity among raiders in that I regularly bathe. I also keep my nails short and am free of diseases. I don’t have scurvy.”

  “That’s a relief.” Her laugh lacked conviction. Judging by the cadence of her breathing and random jerking of her legs, he guessed what she was feeling had nothing to do with fear.

  Well maybe a little, he amended. After all if he were in her position, unable to see or use his arms, he’d be tense.

  Time to change that.

  “Now that I have you in my cave and have taken a good look at you, I realize I’ve made off with a true prize.” He spread his fingers so his nails pressed against the insides of her breasts. She sucked in a long breath.

  “Why?” She looked at him, or rather she tried to. “Because I don’t have scurvy either?”

  “That’s part of it.” He’d never had his hands on a helpless woman. Hell, the handful of times the fantasy had tried to take hold in his imagination, he’d shoved it away.

  Fantasy, he reminded himself. Both of them exploring something that had no place in the real world and Unchained allowed in a safe environment.

  “I want my captive to fight because I’ve fought all my life and don’t know any other way of relating to the enemy. But from the moment I first touched this captive, I sensed something was going to be different.”

  “Because I’m not fighting. I didn’t try to kill you.”

  Were they building on a fictional scenario or were their words designed to take them on their own shared journey? He tried to imagine what it was like not to care whether another human being lived but he’d been raised by a supportive and compassionate family.

  “Of course,” he reminded her, “as a tested raider I know not to give my captives a chance to get their hands on weapons.”

  She nodded and continued staring sightlessly in his direction. “That’s why you’ve tied me up. You’ll keep me like that until you can trust me, which will take a long time.”

  Her white skirt and leather sandals stood out in contrast to the images taking form in his mind’s eye. Keeping one hand nestled between her breasts, he reached under and behind her waist for the skirt zipper. She sucked in an unsteady breath but didn’t try to wiggle out of reach as he tugged the zipper down. In fact, he was pretty sure she’d lifted her ass off the bed a little to help him.

  “One thing I always do,” he said, “is keep my female hostages naked.”

  “So your men can ogle them?”

  “Hmm. That factors in but mostly I’m determined to impress upon the females that I consider them inferior. Clothes give status and offer privacy. Nudity is a core element in teaching helplessness.”

  Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell. Now that he’d started in on her skirt, he had to finish the job but it didn’t have to happen right now. Let her anticipate.

  Let him focus on the moment.

  “A raider knows how to break down his hostages. I learned from my older male relatives and other warriors and was a quick study.”

  She shifted her weight a little, making him wonder if she was getting uncomfortable. Pretending to abuse her was one thing. Actually doing it went against everything he believed about himself.

  “What about pain?” she muttered. “Is that how you break down a hostage and turn her into a sex slave?”

  I don’t know. I hope there’s a manual for that. “Each captive is different,” he came up with. “I need to spend time with you, discover your strengths and weaknesses. Capitalize on your fears.”

  When she sucked on her lower lip, he guessed she was trying to analyze what he’d told her. He was pretty sure a true raider wouldn’t engage in conversation with a prisoner.

  “I’m not afraid of much,” she told him. “I’m okay with snakes and insects.”

  “What about the dark?”

  She rubbed the back of her head against the bed. “Like this?”

  “Like this.”

  He’d kept his hand between her breasts during their exchange and still hadn’t attempted to pull off her now loose skirt. Maybe, he pondered, he was delaying taking the session to the next level because he wasn’t sure how well he’d handle it. Seeing her stretched out before him and waiting for his pleasure hammered at his senses. He wanted to take her. Hard. No seduction. No foreplay. No approval on her part.

  Barbarian style.

  Chapter Five

  Darkness clutched at Karmen. She felt not just trapped by the blindfold but by herself as well. Not long ago she’d been an independent and fully functioning modern woman, but she was helpless now. Prisoner and future sex slave to a raider and maybe a warlord.

  Judging by how her nerves kept firing, she concluded her captor was staring at her, not that she expected anything else. His hand between her breasts weighed her down and her breathing snagged every time his fingers pressed against her flesh. What a liar she’d been when she’d told her students what a pro she was when it came to self-defense. She couldn’t even get herself off the damn bed.

  If she wanted to.

  Maybe, she concluded as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright, he’d tapped into her thoughts. If he were capable of mining her deepest secrets, she stood no chance against him. She’d become his slave, his pet.

  “Stand up,” he commanded.

  Missing his touch, she scooted to the edge of the mattress and planted her less-than-steady legs under her. The movements caused her loosened skirt to twist and bunch. She’d felt the mattress rise shortly after he’d sat her up, so she knew he was no longer sitting next to her.

  “That garment has no business in a cave or on horseback,” he informed her from what sounded like at least a half-dozen feet away. Not having him close so he could in essence serve as her eyes unnerved her. “Get rid of it.”

  “You want me to—”

  “Absolutely. And I don’t have much patience or time.”

  Of course he had time. What else could he have planned for today?

  The thought of what would happen once their time together in here was over caused her to moan under her breath. She’d already come so far with this man. If he walked out of her life—

  “Now.”

  Wondering if he’d slap her, she awkwardly grabbed the back of her waistband and pushed the skirt down over her hips. When she’d reached as far as she could, she moved her linked hands to one side and then the other, easing the loose fabric even lower. After she’d done all the damage she could with her fingers, she bounced up and down. Inch by slow inch the skirt headed for the floor. When it slid over her calves and pooled on top of her sandals, she stopped moving and concentrated on acceptance. Then, careful not to get tangled in the garment, she stepped out of it.

  “There.” She was surprised by the pride in her voice.

  “Progress, not perfection. You know what comes next. Get at it.”

  Had she color-coordinated her underwear this morning? Unable to remember which pair of bikini panties she’d grabbed on her way to the shower, she settled on a mental image of a minimum of black that barely covered the essentials. The village chief’s daughter she’d been pretending to be wore animal skins and nothing under. The woman probably never saw herself as an object of desire, poor thing.

  Acutely aware of her newly revealed flesh, she extended her fingers searching for the elastic.

  “No,” he said. “Not that yet. Get rid of your shoes first.”

  His command stopped her, separated her a little from oversensitive nerves. At first she couldn’t think how to comply but after too long, she sank to the floor using the bed for support as she did. She tucked her legs under her and reached for the strap at her heel. She didn’t particularly care what she was doing, just how much of her body was on display. Her breasts jiggled, and she couldn’t hold in her stomach while contorting. When she bent her neck, her hair slid over her cheek, prompting her to try to blow it away. After pushing off the first shoe, she
shifted to her other hip and strained to repeat the maneuver. Finally she was done. No other task lay ahead of her—except for her briefs.

  “Don’t make me have to spell it out. Keep going.”

  Don’t order me around. Telling herself that all the straining was responsible for her anger, she felt with her shoulder until she encountered the bed. Again bracing herself against it, she pushed herself to her feet. Although she tried not to picture how she looked with her ass in the air and her boobs dangling, she couldn’t push the images aside. Sweat coated her armpits while moisture of another kind stuck her panties’ crotch to her sex.

  A damn mess. That’s what she’d become.

  An excited mess.

  “I wish I had a camera,” he said. “That way you could study yourself afterward. I want my captive naked. Do it.”

  He didn’t have to say that, darn it, because she was already trying to ease the elastic over her hips. If not for her childbearing hips, she wouldn’t have any trouble getting rid of the last bit of modesty she possessed. Grunting, contorting, and cursing under her breath while shaking her body finally resulted in the nylon hanging up over her crotch.

  “I can’t.” She wiggled her fingers. “There’s no way I can…”

  “At least you get credit for effort. Come here.”

  No! The bed was her anchor. It kept her from becoming disoriented. Still her captor had commanded and he’d punish her if she didn’t obey.

  Punish?

  Yes. Sometimes a dominant/submissive relationship called for punishment—like the nipple clamps.

  Feeling as if the top of her head might explode, she slid her bare feet over the carpet. Her panties had turned into a weird restraint, making it necessary for her to take tiny steps. She wished he’d say something so she’d know whether she was headed in the right direction. She thought she heard him breathing but maybe that was her. Every couple of feet, she tugged at her cuffs. If only she could reach for him!

  When a masculine hand landed on the top of her head, she nearly choked from trying not to squeal.