All it was, was an agreement.
I shook his hand and he pulled me to standing. Our bodies were close; I could feel his heat on my chest. We stayed like this. The proximity. His piney scent. Like I could get lost inside of these woods, this house. Like I could lose myself inside of him.
His slave.
“What is slave training?” I asked.
“I’ll show you.”
He pulled me into the hallway. We passed rooms upon rooms. I had a hard time keeping track of the path we had taken. He stopped beside a slightly darker patch of painting in the wall, and pushed it, a trap door sliding open to reveal a dark room. He shoved me in then shut the door behind us.
It was impossible to tell where the trap door was. We were alone, surrounded completely by walls. No visible doors. No windows. A warm glow lit the room, a built-in hidden shelf around the edges of the ceiling, concealing the source of the light. Different lengths of rope, metal chains, wooden canes, a set of handcuffs, and other strange instruments and restraints hung from metal hooks, all above a set of drawers. A leather padded X in one corner. A bench in the other. A human-sized kennel. These pieces of equipment had been at Club Hades. But being here, alone with him? It felt different somehow. Knowing what might happen.
His eyes hovered over a length of rope, but then as if deciding on a faster restraint, he quickly removed a set of leather cuffs from the wall, then opened a drawer and found a set of padlocks and keys.
“Back against the wall,” he said.
A surge of energy ran through me at the words, gripping my stomach. I leaned against the wall, not seeing the set of empty rings above me. He tore the hoodie and the dress from my body with irresistible force. I shivered, the cold air harsh on my bare skin, and held my arms over my chest. All I had were my shoes, socks, panties, and bra.
He gestured to me, bending a finger forward, and I lifted myself from the wall. He reached around and unhooked my bra in one movement. My breasts hung free, full of cold bumps. I tried to cover myself, but he held out a hand.
“Don’t,” he said.
For the first time since we had entered the room, Zaid stared at me, taking me in. With his lips parted, his eyes glazed over my body, the sneakers on my feet, my shaking, cold knees, the black panties. Nothing else. I shook my head, letting my loose hair cover my shoulders and the tops of my breasts, but it was torture not being able to cover myself. Exposing myself to him. A near stranger. Was he enjoying seeing me squirm?
I leaned against my hands, pressing them to the wall. Zaid pulled one hand from my side and linked it into a leather cuff. He buckled it tight, almost pinching my skin, then held the restraint and a padlock up to the ring in the wall. To make the binding, I had to stand on my toes.
“I will ask you three questions,” he said. I watched him, his swift, deliberate movements, the absolute purpose. He was no stranger to this. After he restrained my other wrist, his eyes glanced over my lips, my neck, my breasts. He licked his lips. I looked down; his cock was hard, stretching towards me, aching for my flesh. He had seen those women at the auction, he had seen what they could do at Club Hades. He could have had anyone, and he knew how completely useless I was when it came to this. That I was new. Untouched in this way.
And he wanted me.
“You said you never lie,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
A breath escaped his lips, almost a gasp. He closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “If you say no, I will not touch you in any way that is unnecessary. Discipline is acceptable for our common goal, but I will not overstay my welcome. Our agreement will still stand.”
He circled me, walking back and forth, his breath hot on my skin. He grabbed my breast, cupping it in his hand, pinching my nipple, rubbing it between his fingers. I bit my tongue, not wanting to like it, but I did like it. It felt good to be used. To be seen with those eyes. My nipples hardened and I turned away. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. His lips were parted, his eyes staring into mine.
“Do you surrender?”
His hands felt my hips, grabbing my flesh and bringing me closer. His fingers dug into me, making me feel helpless.
Would I fight this? No. But he knew that answer.
I blushed, tried to look down, but he squeezed my chin. My eyes stayed on his. “Yes, sir,” I said.
“Do you submit?”
Would I give myself completely to his training, his impulses, his desires? I was doing this for Hazel. He slapped the inside of my thighs and I cried out, the shock of the burning handprint like fire. I needed this. I needed to protect Hazel. I could give myself to him. And I would.
“Yes, sir,” I whimpered, my knees quaking.
“Do you want this?”
I stared into him, those eyes peering intome, looking deeper than I imagined. The scar cutting across his face was a shadow from his past, always covering him. Something inside of me—maybe it was the endorphins from the pain, from being bought at an auction, handled by a man who would get what he wanted, or perhaps a fight or flight response—something inside of me wanted desperately for him to keep going, to keep beating me until I collapsed from exhaustion. To rip me apart and build me up again, until I remembered nothing, felt nothing, until I was in his arms, until I felt safe. Home. Something about Zaid drew me to him. I wanted him. Badly. I wanted to know him, to know more about him, to be underneath his control like this, again and again. But did I wantthis?
Not with my sister as the driving force between us. Not like this.
“No,” I whispered.
For a second, Zaid stared at me. Then he removed the restraints without a word, made sure I was steady on my feet, then pushed a tinted section in the wall until the trap door opened. Standing in the black room, I didn’t know what to do. I stared at the empty hallway. Had I truly wanted him to stop? Had he actually listened?
Zaid had meant what he said. He was gone.
