Enslaved Read online

In the kitchen, past the hallway Roman referred to as the butler’s pantry—despite his lack of a butler—that connected the dining room to the kitchen, Trevor overheard Mrs. Marsh say, “Careful, girl. Don’t spill that coffee. Go on, dear.”

  Roman looked at the door leading to the butler’s pantry with anticipation on his face.

  Elisabeth emerged from the swinging door wearing nothing but a nervous smile and holding a pot of coffee and a tray with skim milk and sugar substitute. As different as Roman and Trevor were, it was one of the few things each of them at the hedge fund had in common—a taste for fine coffee messed up with some chemicals and fat-free milk, a leftover taste from their time with the same overzealous weight trainer.

  “Good morning, Elisabeth,” Trevor said. He wanted to get up and hug her, ask her if her first night with Roman had been okay. A quick glance at her revealed no new obvious bruises.

  As she bent to pour him his coffee, he saw a couple of new marks on her ass. Okay. She didn’t seem the worse for wear.

  “Good morning, sir,” she said. “Thank you for letting me serve you this morning.”

  Trevor looked at Roman, sure those words had to be something he’d told her to say, and saw that Roman was nodding his approval at her.

  Moving carefully around the table, she poured Roman’s coffee, then set down the pot. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

  “Yes. Go sit at your Master’s feet while I explain to him my theory about Pavlov’s dogs and how it might help you.”

  She sat naked on the floor by his feet and looked up at him with an anxious smile. Trevor ran his hand over her hair, delighted that she was doing this. He imagined her heart as being a tightly locked box, that—with training, he could open.

  As Roman explained that Trevor would have to cause her physical pain for her submission, instead of for her disobedience, the light clicked on in Trevor’s mind. This could really work.

  Carefully, testing the theory, Trevor stopped petting her hair and instead tugged it sharply, forcing her head back so she was staring up at him.

  He looked down at her beautiful face, keeping his hand tight in her hair. “Do you agree this might be what you need?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Roman called her over to him, and Trevor reluctantly released her. Was he imagining things, or did she look excited to leave Trevor’s feet and walk over to Roman?

  Probably not imagining things. Roman held up a wooden paddle that he must have had under his chair.

  “For your submission, one smack,” Roman said, lifting the paddle in the air.

  “Each,” Trevor added. He wanted to paddle her too, to be the one putting that look of anticipation on her face.

  Roman shrugged. “You heard him. I would say bend over the table but I’ve learned from experience that only results in spilled coffee and milk, and you’d be amazed how many women have cried over spilled milk in this room.”

  “Where do you want me, sir? I could hold on to the chair.”

  “Would you like to paddle yourself too? Or can you let me be the Dom for a moment?”

  Trevor laughed at Roman’s easy attitude. If it had been Trevor, he’d have just said sure, but perhaps letting her top from the bottom ruined it a bit for her too. No wonder Marc hadn’t been invited. This meeting was about training Trevor how to dominate Elisabeth, and if they spoke about work at all he’d be surprised.

  “Over my lap,” Roman said, moving his chair back from the table. He adjusted his linen napkin to cover his pants. “This is so you don’t get my pants wet.”

  “Who, me?” Elisabeth looked over at Trevor with a conspiratorial laugh. Trevor took a sip of his coffee and smiled. Yes, she was surely wet for the paddling. And if Roman’s theory was correct, soon she’d get aroused just by submitting to him.

  The sharp slap of the wooden paddle on her white flesh made Trevor jump from the noise, along with Elisabeth’s muffled yelp.

  He set his cup down. “My turn. Come over my lap, now.”

  “No rubbing,” Roman warned her just as her hand was about to rub her reddened ass cheeks.

  “I will gladly come over your lap, sir,” she flirted, emphasizing the word come.

  Every neuron buzzed in Trevor’s body as she laid her beautiful naked body across his lap. Roman passed him the paddle across the table, and Trevor took the moment to run his fingers down her ass and feel the heat rising off it from the one stinging slap Roman had delivered.

  He paused. As much as he wanted it to, he couldn’t let breakfast and a training session devolve into them both getting off on her usual pleasure: pain.

  “Roman’s reddened your ass enough. Get up and ask Mrs. Marsh for—what’s she got, Roman?”

  “Probably fruit next.”

  “Fruit, then. When you bring it back, if you do it well, I’ll give you your paddling.” Trevor looked over at Roman, who smiled and gave him the thumbs-up sign, knowing that Elisabeth couldn’t see it with her head down.

  She sat up on his lap and pouted. “But you said one smack each. You owe me one.”

  His first instinct was to pull her back over his lap and give her enough of a spanking that she’d regret arguing with him, but as soon as he started to pull on her arm, Roman stopped him with a raised hand.

  “Trevor. Don’t let her control the relationship. It’s not what she wants and it’s not what you want.” To Elisabeth, he said, “You’re topping from the bottom again and trying to get punished. Instead of being naughty to get a punishment and having him upset with you all the time, wouldn’t you prefer to get your punishments for being good, so both of you are happy? That’s a much more balanced relationship. Besides, you don’t need another Daddy.”

  “No, I don’t,” she replied, but she got up and went into the kitchen.

  Trevor watched her red ass as she sashayed back into the kitchen.

  “See?” Roman said. “The training is having an effect already.”

  “You should be a therapist. A marriage counselor or something for kinksters.”

  Roman shuddered dramatically. “The M-word. You’re not seriously considering marrying her, are you?”

  “I didn’t move her into my home to get a shot with her for nothing.” Trevor sipped his coffee, hoping his anger at Roman’s comment wasn’t apparent. He couldn’t get used to Roman’s blasé approach to women, when all Trevor wanted was to find the right girl. After his marriage to Cynthia, he swore he wouldn’t become a jaded old bachelor like so many of his friends from college who’d been burned by marriage the first time around.

  The answer would be simple, or so he had assumed at the time. Find a sub and marry her, because she would understand him and his needs, unlike Cynthia, who acted like he was crazy for wanting to tie her up before sex.

  What he hadn’t realized at the time was that “find a sub” was like saying “find a woman”—there were plenty out there, but not every woman who shared his sexual orientation was the right fit for him.

  Elisabeth, on the other hand . . . something about her drew him in from the start. Seeing her with her ex-Master at WhipperSnapper, watching the joy she took in the games they played, and seeing her laugh and be what he’d since learned was her usual feisty and adorable self.

  And when she finally let him steal a kiss . . . it was perfect. If only she’d let him steal her heart, too.

  She came back from the kitchen with two bowls of sliced cantaloupe and a serene expression on her face, one that was probably the result of her doing the breathing exercises he’d seen her do when she got angry or upset. Had what he’d done made her that upset?

  “Elisabeth,” he said, taking her arm as she set the fruit in front of him. “I think what Roman said makes sense. It’s a way for us both to be happy, together. What do you think?” Even though he wanted to be her Dom, or at least he thought he did, he also wa
nted her input.

  She looked over at Roman and set his fruit in front of him. Finally, she nodded.

  With an audible sigh of relief, Trevor pulled her over his lap and paddled her as hard as he could, once, then twice. Reaching down between her legs, he slipped his finger inside her wet pussy. She gasped and then groaned with disappointment when he withdrew his finger and held it up to look at her arousal, evident in the shiny dew on his skin.

  Elisabeth stood up on his lap and looked away, a flush spreading across her face that almost matched her the one on her ass.

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Trevor said. “I love this.” He licked his finger clean before delving into the fruit.

  “Roman, I’d like to borrow your guest room for a moment with Elisabeth, if I may,” Trevor said after breakfast.

  “Of course. Take the one in the west wing, I think that one has clean sheets. She is yours after all.”

  “I don’t suppose that’s true, yet.” Elisabeth surprised herself with her words.

  “We’ll have this conversation in private. Let’s go.” Trevor led her up the stairs to the west wing guest room, which did indeed have freshly laundered sheets on the bed. As usual in Roman’s house, the curtains were drawn, bringing the morning down into the night.

  She smiled up at Trevor to ease the hurt lining his face, to soften her explanation. “This is the twenty-first century. No one can truly own someone else, not without her consent. I could leave right now and go get a job waiting tables or something, live in some crappy apartment and make a life for myself. You may have paid off my creditors and brought me into your home, but I don’t owe you anything.”

  “You’re upset that I made you leave. I get that. So why are you doing this? Why are you letting Roman train you?”

  “For you. Because I want to. I don’t owe it to you, but I want to give myself to you. I want to try, Trevor. I’ve only ever wanted physical pain. I’m tired of being afraid of being hurt, emotionally.”

  “Oh, honey,” he whispered. “I know how you feel.”

  “Do you?” He couldn’t, could he? Could he be as scared to fall in love and get hurt as she was?

  “Kneel on the bed. Now.”

  She did, her pussy dampening at his words.

  “Lie on your back, and keep your legs spread, knees to your chest,” he ordered.

  She obeyed, her pussy revealing her desire, throbbing from the earlier bruises.

  “You like to be hurt, but you don’t like getting pleasure, or being treated right? Why?” he asked, bringing the belt down onto her inner thigh. She gasped with pleasure-pain.

  “I’m damaged goods, perhaps?” she shot back, and was rewarded with another stinging lick of the belt on her other thigh. “I’m scared, sir. But I’m trying. I am.”

  “I’m scared too. But the fact that you’re trying . . . it means a lot to me.” With a smile, he brought the belt down flat on her exposed clit and she moaned with the pleasure that only that sort of pain could bring.

  “Oh my God, fuck me please, please fuck me Trevor, Sir, I want you,” she pleaded, barely aware of the words coming from her mouth, she was so inflamed with desire and high on the endorphins from having her pussy whipped.

  Trevor pulled his pants down, not even bothering to take them off, and slammed inside her, fucking her hard, grabbing her still-wet hair and holding her face to his as he kissed her.

  “I’m not going to stop fucking you until you come,” he growled in her ear.

  “Just hearing you say that makes me ready to come,” she breathed, and proved it as he thrust deeply inside her once more, her entire body clenching around his cock, until he couldn’t help but to climax as well.

  She crossed her legs over his back and held him close to her, panting, milking him of every drop of his come. “Now who’s got who?” she laughed, even though she knew he was strong enough to pull away from her legs if he wished.

  “You’ve had me from the start,” he whispered, and collapsed next to her.

  Later that afternoon, Elisabeth walked down the steps to Roman’s infamous dungeon. He hadn’t let her wear clothing all day, and since he kept the house at a cool temperature suitable for a man in clothing, her nipples stayed in a state of erection all day from the chill in the air.

  Seeing Trevor that morning had been wonderful. Even more wonderful had been when she finished serving the two men and Trevor gave her a long kiss good-bye. But he hadn’t invited her to stay for breakfast with them. She ate alone in the kitchen, sitting on a dish towel for “sanitary reasons” per Mrs. Marsh.

  If Trevor thought that things could work, why had he only fucked her at Roman’s instead of bringing her back home with him? Why didn’t he move her out of the Pink Room and into his own master bedroom?

  Yes, he had invested a lot of time and emotion to have her, but Trevor would get rid of her in an instant if he thought she would cause him heartbreak like his ex-wife did. And if things didn’t change dramatically, not only would she end up breaking his heart, but she wouldn’t be able to walk away unscathed herself, either.

  Who would have thought that agreeing to give Gregory a chance at happiness would give her a chance at it as well? Roman’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you listening, Elisabeth? Sit in the chair.” He gestured toward an intimidating-looking bondage chair with black buckles and thigh straps.

  She sat, feeling the leather on the chair, cool at first, then warm against her skin. “What now?”

  “We’re going to play a game.”

  The glint in his eye sparked a rush of fear through her. “I’m going to lose, aren’t I.”

  Cuffing her ankles to the chair, Roman forced her legs apart until she sat in a decidedly unladylike position. “If you were playing for my sake, then yes. But you belong to Trevor, not me.”

  What sounded like it could have been a hint of jealousy tinged the edges of his words. But that couldn’t be right. Roman didn’t want her, that was why he was in charge of training her. Trevor hadn’t sent her to be trained by Marc, she’d noticed. Perhaps Marc was more likely to become attached . . . but not Roman. No.

  “Since we’re doing this for Trevor, you both will win. You and I . . . we’ll play a game, and in the end, you will win.”

  “I’m up for it,” she said, the leather pressing tightly, comfortingly, against her wrist as he cuffed her arms in place.

  He laughed. “Good, because you don’t have much of a choice at this point. Try to move.”

  His words aroused her more than he knew. Or perhaps he did know, which is why he said them. To be bound, helpless, unable to move while pain was inflicted on her—it was her fantasy come true. When she was forced to make herself come, it was to memories of being tied onto a Saint Andrew’s Cross and whipped. She bucked her hips up as she struggled in the bondage chair, unable to free herself.

  “Ah, you need those thighs restrained so you can’t move your hips,” he murmured, and found more straps hanging from the chair to bind her with.

  “I can move my head, is that okay?”

  “Yes. Unless you’d prefer I strap your head to the chair, electrocution-style.”

  Hmm. Trick question? She wasn’t supposed to backseat-dominate. “Whatever you decide, sir. It’s your game.”

  He smiled and pushed her head back against the high-backed chair. “Good girl. Learning already. How’s your ass?”

  “Sore, sir. Thank you.”

  When Roman strapped her head to the chair, she couldn’t help but imagine she looked ridiculous, but the erection tenting his pants told another story.

  “Did Trevor give you permission to fuck me?” she asked, suddenly wondering if they had even discussed it.

  “He gave me blanket consent to train you as I see fit, including sexually, as long as you don’t safeword out. I can do whatever I want to you except
for one thing.”

  She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell her what he couldn’t do. But he just shrugged as if it didn’t matter anyway and walked over to a chest of drawers.

  What would he pull out? The masochist in her imagined all the incredible torture devices he must have.

  Please be nipple clamps. Or more hot wax.

  What sort of game would they play with her tied to a chair? Not much of her body was available to him, except for the junction of her spread legs.

  Ah. Pussy torture. Nice.

  But the thing he pulled out wasn’t an instrument of pain, it was an instrument of pleasure. A vibrator—the kind that moved inside with a pink plastic dildo as bunny ears would vibrate over her clit—looked harmless, but she knew from experience it packed an orgasm-inducing punch.

  “Why?” she sighed. “Why do you care so much how I feel about receiving pleasure?”

  “I don’t. But Trevor does. He’s a nice guy like that.”

  “Maybe I like guys who aren’t so nice,” she countered. She’d certainly never been with someone as caring and protective of her as Trevor.

  “Enough talking, Elisabeth. Here’s the game. For every orgasm you give me, I’ll give you pain in kind afterwards. When you’re not riding a sexual high anymore the pain will be even more intense.”

  Well, that’s a plus.

  She tried to nod, but her head was strapped to the chair. The quick reminder of her helplessness made her wet, ready for the vibrator.

  Roman didn’t know that though, so she watched mutely as he rubbed lubricant over the head of the dildo.

  “Ready?”

  “No,” she lied.

  He smiled and flicked her clit with his fingertips, sparking a brief moment of beautiful pain-pleasure within her.

  “Just do that to me. That counts as my pleasure, right, sir?”

  With a hard thrust, he pressed the vibrator inside her until she moaned, until the rabbit ears nestled against her clit, and then he turned the toy on.

  “When will you learn to stop telling me how to do my job, Elisabeth?”