Tender Mercies
Kitty Thomas
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 Kitty Thomas
all rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Publisher's Note:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Contact burlesquepress@gmail.com
For M, who “gets me”.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the following people for their help and contributions in the making of Tender Mercies:
Beta Readers: Michelle, Annabel, Emma Petersen, Fallon, Claudia, Cara, & M.
Copyediting: Natasha
Cover art: Robin
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction, and the author does not endorse or condone any behavior done to another human being without their consent. This work contains subject matter which is not appropriate for minors including depictions of abuse, slavery, dubious consent, and anal play.
Prologue
“Darcy.”
She turned at the sound of Asher’s voice and smirked, wiggling her ass at him.
He sucked in a breath at the sight of her. Her long, elegant limbs, the supple leather collar, the black heels. The slutty kitty outfit he’d dressed her in, complete with a tail he’d inserted an hour before his friend had arrived. Though he wasn’t sure outfit was the proper term, as what she was wearing was little more than black satin ribbons that crisscrossed her body, leaving exposed everything one would wish to see. Her dark mahogany hair fell forward over her eyes, giving her a look of demure submission that was so beyond the truth of his playful Darcy, it was laughable.
“Be a good kitten, and crawl over to James.”
She made her way across the floor toward their guest, the bell he’d added to her collar jingling the entire way. As Asher watched from across the room, he could see the evidence of her arousal, her skin glistening with the telltale signs of her growing excitement. She loved it when James came over. Such a little exhibitionist.
James sat perfectly still, Asher’s bullwhip draped across his lap. His eyes dilated, and his lips parted in a grin.
“Sir,” Darcy said, bowing her head.
“You go far too easy on her, you know.”
Asher shrugged. “I’m sure you intend to remedy that problem in a few moments.”
It was true, he was a bit tame with her, but she knew she was his. He had the paperwork to prove it; he owned her and could do whatever he pleased. His kindness wasn’t motivated by lack of right. And yet he’d been far more lenient than was probably advisable.
She’d charmed her way into his heart, and because her masochism surpassed his sadism, it was difficult to truly punish her. He’d gone so soft on her that he sometimes sang her to sleep when she asked. He couldn’t bring himself to deny her anything, and now she was so spoiled that drastic measures had to be taken to correct the situation.
“James is going to punish you with the bullwhip,” he said, the amusement gone from his voice. “You pushed the boundaries too far this time. For god’s sake. We were in public. Smarting off to me like that? It wasn’t your wisest move.”
She went quiet, her delicate body still, her eyes on the floor. Her anxiety seemed to hum like a thousand buzzing bees. There was a faint tremor. She was genuinely afraid. Yes, the weight of the situation had finally landed on her. Tonight wasn’t about play.
He considered calling it off, his stomach going queasy over the possibility of truly hurting her.
James caught the change in his posture. “Relax. I know what I’m doing.”
“How much training have you had with that thing?” he asked, his eyes not straying from the huddled form at James’s feet. Asher had practiced and practiced, but he’d never been able to bring himself to start practicing on a woman. James had.
“Enough.”
“How many live human beings have you practiced on?” He looked up at his friend, still unsure of the course he’d chosen, but determined he wouldn’t be the one led around on a chain.
“Five. I know what I’m doing.”
“Very well.”
“Master?” Darcy said.
“Yes, kitten?”
“Will you stay with me?”
He nodded, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. “After tonight I expect your behavior to change. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Master.”
Asher watched grimly as James rose to his feet. The trembling in his slave had reached its zenith, and he wondered if she was milking it, trying to play on his feelings for her.
“Are you backing out?” James asked.
She looked up, the hope naked in her eyes, as if she might beg him. And if she did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to ignore her entreaty. But she remained silent, and her eyes went back down as she seemed to try to control the shaking. No, she wasn’t faking it.
That knowledge made him want to stop the punishment before it began, but where would they go from here? If he showed weakness when she obviously now needed a firm hand, would either of them be satisfied again?
It had to happen.
James stood and pulled Darcy to her feet, leading her to the wall against which the St. Andrew’s Cross stood. He secured her wrists and ankles to the frame so she was spread-eagled. Asher came up behind her and pulled her long hair out of the way, leaving her back exposed. She shivered.
“Do it,” he said, stepping back to give James room to work.
The first snap of the whip landed perfectly across her back, eliciting a shriek unlike anything he’d heard from her before. Then the tears started coming, possibly the first real ones she’d cried in his care. His cock twitched as she pulled against the restraints, her fear and pain intoxicating. He’d forgotten this need to possess completely, for a woman to be this helpless and dependent on his kindness. The dynamic with Darcy had just never been that way. Not until now.
A few more lashes had her begging and blubbering. “Please, Master, make it stop. Please. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve learned your lesson?”
She nodded vigorously.
He looked to James who shrugged, seemingly unconvinced that this would make much difference in the grand scheme of Darcy’s misbehavior.
“One more,” Asher decided aloud.
The next strike drew blood and a scream so loud it nearly busted his eardrums.
“Well, that one did it,” James said.
“Indeed.”
They worked together to untie her, and she collapsed in Asher’s arms.
“Go to your room, and don’t come out. I’ll come up for you in a few hours.”
“But Master, I . . . it hurts.”
“I’ve coddled you far too long. Punishment is supposed to hurt. Things are changing between us. Go.” He pointed to the staircase. Her face fell, and she winced as she hobbled across the floor and up the stairs, gripping the rail that ran along the stone wall as if for her life.
For a moment, he considered helping her, but he stayed where he was, watching her, wondering if she was exaggerating her pain now for his sympathy. Once she’d gone, he and James retired to the study for drinks.
It was late into the night when he found her sprawled on the floor in her room, asleep. So like Darcy to be a drama queen. He picked her up and moved her across the hall. She groaned in pain as he settled her under the covers with him. The groan ended his suspicions that she was just being dramatic. Maybe he shouldn’t have let James go so hard on her.
He turned on the bedside lamp to inspect her back. Something looked wrong. Felt wrong. He shook her. “Darcy, look at me.”
She opened her eyes with some struggle, her gaze glassy and unfocused, and the sickening thought came over him that she might not have just gone to sleep. She may have passed out from the pain. Alarm grew as he sifted through all the schooling he’d stopped using when he’d decided to ditch pre-med for business. Internal bleeding.
Possible scenarios presented themselves. Cracked rib? Punctured organ? She was so sluggish. Had she tried to come back downstairs to him? How had she even made it to her room? Had she tried to call out, and he hadn’t heard her?
Her eyes drifted shut, and he shook her again. “Darcy!”
“Master . . . I’m hurt.” Her hair cascaded over her back as she struggled to turn toward him, life slipping out of her more quickly now. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, a million apologies and whispered endearments. What the hell have I done?
“William!” he shouted, “call for an ambulance!” The servant raced into the room, already punching numbers on the phone. It was futile. Help wouldn’t arrive in time; he knew enough to know that. It was far too late for gallant rescue.
He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t close his eyes to her pain and the gravity of the life he’d just, in effect, taken. The life of the woman he loved.
“Master?” she whispered.
He cradled her in his arms, his thumb stroking over her cheek. His look of regret told her everything she needed to know. “Yes, baby?”
“Sing me to sleep?”
It was the last time he ever sang.
One
Grace Warner logged on to her instant messenger. Lucas wouldn’t be on for another fifteen minutes, but he hated when she was late. Am I really going to do this?
From the time she’d learned of Eleu, she’d become obsessed with it. A real place where it was legal to belong to someone. The independently-governed island was kept secret, even among the kinky set. But she’d discovered it. She felt like Columbus.
How could this place exist? How could she never have known about it? At first, she’d thought her friend Lainey was just fucking with her. She’d laughed it off so as not to give away any clues of her naïveté. Privately, she dug until she found the confirmation she needed. And now she’d met a man online who actually lived there and wanted her to come to him.
Pictures had been exchanged. Naughty webcam sessions had taken place. And now he wanted her to make the choice to hand him her freedom. And the fucked-up part? She wanted to. He was rich. He was gorgeous. And he had a voice that reached inside and flipped some switch that made her want to kneel at his feet.
She wasn’t uninformed about the laws of Eleu. She knew the risks. She couldn’t appeal based on her rights as a citizen of any other country, because former citizenship was renounced at the gate. There wasn’t even a single embassy. Tourism wasn’t permitted.
No one would come rescue her, so she had to be sure. The only law pertaining to the safety of slaves in Eleu was that you couldn’t kill them. If her master broke that law, that was it. Game over. Whether he was imprisoned for the offense or not, her life would still be forfeit.
She wiggled her toes––nails still wet from a fresh coat of petal pink––and looked at the clock again. Ten more minutes.
Her cell rang, and she jumped. Lucas rarely called on the phone, preferring the visual stimulation of webcam. He’d said they’d talk in instant messenger tonight; he had some work to do. She’d been disappointed but hadn’t made waves about it, afraid he was getting bored with her. Tired of waiting and all her caution.
The number that lit across the screen was Lainey’s.
“Hello,” she said, bracing herself for more of her friend’s attempts at deprogramming.
Lainey sighed over the phone.
“You just called to breathe at me?” Grace said, her eyes trained on the clock. Eight minutes.
“What do you know about this guy?” It was the question that had been asked and answered at least a hundred different times and ways, but no answer satisfied her.
“Lucas Stone. Owns an Internet company. The main focus is his social networking site. He’s 38. Non-smoker. Pisces. He’s got a dog, Australian shepherd. His sister is a flight attendant living in Greece. He’s a Buddhist––”
Lainey interrupted the Lucas Stone resume. “No. What do you really know about this guy?”
“I know we’ve been talking online for a year, I can’t find any criminal dirt on him, and he’s getting bored waiting. I think if I don’t go to him, he’ll find someone else.”
“So?”
Grace sighed. “You just don’t understand.”
Lainey was kinky, no doubt. But she didn’t have the kind of needs Grace did. She was more about kink in the bedroom and nothing more. Her mention of Eleu had been in more of an offended feminist can-you-believe-those-psychos way than real interest. She hadn’t counted on the idea lighting something inside of Grace and not fading.
“It’s too dangerous. I don’t care how long you’ve been talking or how kinky you are. You can live in a consensual 24/7 relationship here, where you’ll have legal recourse if the bastard tries to really hurt you.”
“Just like battered wives and abused girlfriends do? If you’re with a dangerous man, laws won’t protect your rights. You know that, and I know that. You either end up with a useless restraining order and a psycho that kills you anyway, or the battered wives’ version of Stockholm Syndrome.”
“Grace . . .”
“Safewords don’t make you safe. If you’re with the wrong guy playing kinky, you’re fucked anyway. I’ve taken every precaution I know to take. I’ve checked out everything there is on this guy. He’s squeaky clean.”
“Maybe too clean,” Lainey said, as if a man were evil by virtue of not having a criminal record.
Five minutes.
“I have to go. He’s logging on in a few.”
Lainey seemed as if she were going to argue, but instead disconnected the call without even a goodbye. Lainey was the only one who would fight her on this. Grace’s parents had died in a car crash, and her brother was too coked out of his mind half the time to understand what was going on in his immediate reality, let alone a thousand miles away at her house.
Another minute passed and she saw Lucas’s Internet handle, Stoneman, flash across her screen.
Stoneman: Hey, pet. Been waiting long?
Gracie343: Only about fifteen minutes.
Stoneman: *chuckles* If only you were as eager to hop on a plane as you are to message me.
Gracie343: You know why I have to be careful.
Stoneman: I know. And you aren’t wrong. A woman disappeared here. Several of us think her master killed her, but they haven’t found a body.
Grace’s hand trembled a little as she stared at the words on the screen. Perhaps Lainey was right. Maybe she should find some nice master at a club somewhere who would follow the laws of safe, sane, and consensual or be ostracized from the ranks. She shook off the paranoia. If Lucas was bad, he wouldn’t be telling her about some girl that may have been murdered. It would hardly get him closer to getting her on a plane. She changed the subject.
Gracie343: You really haven’t taken a slave during the time you’ve been talking to me?
Stoneman: Nope.
Gracie343: Why not?
Five minutes passed before the little bar on the screen lit up and dinged at her.
Stoneman: Sorry. Had to let the dog out.
Grace waited another endless minute while the text at the bottom of the chat box said: Stoneman typing . . .
Stoneman: It’s a long process. There are occasionally sales on the island, but most men who want one do what I’m doing, find someone on the outside willing to be brought in. I know it’s a big risk. I don’t think I’d want a slave that agreed too quickly. It wouldn’t mean as much.
Gracie343: Okay.
So maybe he hadn’t found someone else. Or maybe he had. He could have a harem full of slaves and she wouldn’t know until she got there. Would sharing bother her? She wasn’t sure it mattered if she was willing to do this for real. And it wasn’t as if she was leaving much behind. A single family member. A single friend, unless you counted co-workers, which Grace didn’t. As for her career, the exciting world of retail wasn’t exactly setting her world aflame. Even if it was a high-end boutique with a twenty percent employee discount. Whoop-de-do.
Stoneman: I really need to get some work done. Going to have to close out the messenger.
Gracie343: Are you mad at me?
Stoneman: No, pet. But I’m not waiting forever. This long-distance domination isn’t cutting it for either of us. I want you in my bed. I’ll give you another month. But if you aren’t on a plane . . .
Gracie343: I know.
Stoneman: Are you going to be on that plane, Grace?
She stared at the chat box for a good three minutes. Then he logged out, perhaps tired of waiting on her answer. Maybe pissed. She didn’t know. She waited another thirty minutes like a pathetic puppy to see if he’d come back. Finally, convinced he was gone for the night, she signed out of the chat client.
***
Seven days passed and Lucas hadn’t been online. Grace had sent emails but stopped after three messages, deciding two was pathetic but three was just psycho.
He was definitely punishing her, giving her something to think about. She’d called out sick, unable to focus at work, and was currently flopped across her bed like she’d had a fit of the vapors.
A knock sounded on the door, and she wiped her eyes.
“Open up. It’s me.”
Lainey. Just what she didn’t need. Grace lay there for another few minutes, trying not to breathe, as if her friend had suddenly developed superpowers and would be able to hear her from out in the hallway.
“I know you’re in there. Mrs. Daines said you’ve been holed up in your apartment all day playing depressing music.”
True. Radiohead qualified as music to slit your wrists to. She knew she was being emo, but she just wanted to wallow in it for another day or two.
“Open up or I’ll go to the super. You know he’ll let me in. He thinks I’ve got a nice ass.”
“Fucking God, just GO,” Grace shouted from the bed. She was now hanging half off, her head leaning back, almost touching the floor.
“I’m going to get the super. I’m going to go get sexually harassed now, just for you.”
Grace rolled off the bed and struggled to stand. When she opened the door, Lainey stood there with a smile on her face.
“Put on something that screams submissive toy. We’re going to the club.”
Grace groaned and turned away. If it were any other person, the club would mean a trendy indie band and tossing back a few margaritas or doing body shots off each other, if they were feeling especially frisky. But Lainey meant the BDSM club.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Grace said.
“Well, I wasn’t being covert. I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
“I want Lucas.”
Lainey rolled her eyes and steered her by the elbow back into her bedroom where the kinky clothes lived. “Lucas hasn’t contacted you in a week. He’s done with you. Which, in my opinion, is for the best. Eleu isn’t safe, and you know it. You don’t want that life. Don’t get confused on the difference between fantasy and what’s real. It’s fine to fantasize, but this isn’t what you want.”
“No. It’s not what you want. Don’t project.” Grace didn’t have the energy for a fight, but she wasn’t going to have Lainey acting like everybody wanted and needed the same things just because it was more convenient for her worldview.
“Eric Tatum is an investment banker. He’s a respected member of the community. He’s looking for a 24/7 sub. Just meet him. Talk to him. Play with him a little. See if something clicks.”
Grace flopped back on the bed again as Lainey pulled out an outfit.
“Black is so overdone, but it’s slimming.”
“I’m a size six,” Grace said, her words coming out muffled against the arm she’d dramatically thrown over her face. She was plenty slim enough and not in the mood to play kinky Halloween dress-up for a pretend master at the club.
“Just put it on. If you don’t like him, I won’t bother you anymore. You can go back to wallowing about how your one shot to give up all your freedom to a probable deranged lunatic on an island on the other side of the world was lost to you forever.”
“I hate you,” Grace said. But she took the outfit. If being a walking cliché for one night would get Lainey off her back, she’d gladly comply.
***
Edge was located on the far end of town in a renovated chair factory. The club had three levels meant to correlate with various membership dues. Though it was really more of a way to funnel money into the club, many of the higher-tier members considered platinum membership like some badge of true kinkiness.
The tiers were silver, gold, and platinum. Grace and Lainey were silver members, which gave them access only to the main level. Gold members got access to the main level and the second floor, and platinum members got access to everywhere including the premium dungeons. Whatever that meant.
Grace had stuffed herself into a leather corset and boy shorts. Fishnets covered her legs along with thigh-high boots. Her hair was in a high ponytail that threw a little I Dream of Jeannie into the look.
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Well, you look great. You loved that outfit when you bought it,” Lainey said.
A year ago, when I was still playing. Since Lucas and the possibility of Eleu she’d lost a lot of interest in costumes and props and protocol. It seemed all so fake. A bunch of scenes. A bunch of play actors waltzing across a stage where they competed for the really real kink prize.
Grace’s arm went numb when Lainey squeezed it and wouldn’t let go. “He’s here,” she breathed.
“If you’re so excited, why don’t you go for him?”
“Oh, I wish.”
Grace turned to see a man standing in the corner that fit the tall, dark, and handsome cliché as if it had been stereotyped especially for him. He raised his shot glass and nodded before downing the drink and setting it on the counter, his eyes never leaving his prey as he moved toward them.
Last year she would have hyperventilated at the idea of a guy like that showing her even that small bit of attention, especially considering your average master didn’t have the self-control to put down the corn chips and beer, judging from some of the beer guts she’d seen.
“You don’t mind if I whisk her away, do you, Lainey?” Eric said when he reached them.
Grace arched a brow. “Don’t I get a say in any of this?”
His eyes swept over her. “You’re here aren’t you? And you’re dressed like you’re interested.”
She shrugged, already ready to go home. Lainey moved between them, linking their arms in a blatant attempt at matchmaking. “Go, Grace. Have fun. What harm is it going to do? If Lucas IMs you again, you can always go back to talking to him.”
Grace’s eyes widened and she looked quickly to Eric. But he just chuckled. He’d clearly been informed of the Lucas situation. She wanted the earth to open and swallow her. It was looking less like a set-up and more like an intervention by the minute.
Before she could form a reply or a good line to get her out of the club, Eric was leading her toward a set of stairs behind a gold rope.
“Where are we going?”
He simultaneously flashed his pass to both her and the bouncer. “The platinum level.”
Ugh. He was one of those.
As if reading her mind only to find her insanely adorable, he laughed and shook his head.
The difference in the lower level and the main level was like the difference in steerage and first class on the Titanic, except in this case, the luxury was below.
The décor was plush and decadent, while still being scary as hell. The contraptions upon which both men and women were being bound and whipped were complicated and ornate. Eric took a glass of champagne off a tray and handed it to her, his shrewd eyes taking in her reactions.
“Intimidated?”
“No,” she half lied. The half part was the impressiveness of the setup only. She’d tried a 24/7 relationship with all the props and protocol. It had left her cold because at the end of the day, she could leave him and go back to her former life.
Eric maneuvered her to a private booth out of the way.
“I’ve done the 24/7 thing before,” she said when they were settled.
“Oh?” he said, not betraying any emotion on that topic one way or the other.
“It was all just a game. A big, elaborate game.”
“And you want it to be real? That’s why you’re willing to risk everything to go to Eleu?”
Grace took a sip of the champagne, trying to hide her surprise when it turned out to be high quality. Platinum level members might not be more kinky than others, but they certainly were getting a different experience at Edge.
“Are you going to mock me or tell me how stupid I am?”
“Not at all. I understand completely. But are you sure you can’t have that kind of bond with someone here?”
“And that someone would be you?”
“I’m looking, yes. But I’m not offering anything until I find the right person. I know at least that you’re serious if you’ve been considering going to Eleu. Though I do think you have things a little confused.”
Oh, here we go. “How so?” she asked, careful not to betray her annoyance with his paternal manner.
He leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed over his chest, a pose no doubt meant to showcase his manly masterfulness. Grace waited for the strutting peacock routine to run its course.
“I think,” he said, “that reality in social situations is constructed and propped up by the group. For example, marriage is real because everyone in society agrees it is. Ceremonies and legal marriage contracts are just a way to prop up the reality. We have the same thing in the kink world with our clubs and protocols and titles and labels. It’s all just social reinforcement. But is a law really more real than a relationship? Who has the real relationship? A couple who hates each other but nevertheless are still bound by a piece of paper, or an unmarried couple with a real bond?”
An intervention was exactly what this was. She hoped he wasn’t about to demonstrate why he was real to her on one of the pieces of expensive dungeon equipment. A spanking horse less than five feet away had just been abandoned. Grace’s eyes kept drifting to it.
Eric pulled out a card and pushed it across the table. “Call me when you’re ready to consider what I’ve said, and we’ll talk further.” He slid out of the booth.
“That’s it?” she asked, her mouth gaping a little.
“I’m not here to win you, just to pass along a little common sense and hope it takes.”
The condescension in his tone pissed her the hell off. She stood and folded the card into a tiny square. “I’m sorry you wasted your time, Mr. Tatum.” She dropped it into the champagne flute and went back upstairs to the silver level.
Lainey was waiting by the gold rope like a vulture. “Well?”
“I’m going home. Don’t ask me to come here again. I’m done with this fake bullshit.”
***
Three weeks later Grace had slipped further into a funk. Work, home, frozen dinners, sleep: that was life now. She’d avoided Lainey as much as she could, not wanting to be subjected to any more of her set-ups. The truth was, if she hadn’t crumpled the card and embarrassed herself by acting like a child, she might have called Eric.
If the island was no longer an option, he certainly seemed like he had it together. And in order to even be a platinum member of Edge, there couldn’t be any red flags. The club was careful about that. It was one of the reasons it was considered a relatively safe place to play and meet up with potential dominants.
She couldn’t bring herself to go back to the club because she was afraid she might run into Eric, probably with whoever he’d chosen to be the illustrious submissive of Mr. Investment Banker, a slap in the face she could do without. If she went back, it would be obvious she was on the prowl for a dominant, and he was off the table now––especially after that little scene the night she’d met him.
She wasn’t sure what the plan was now, but her dreams of the island had grown murky and disjointed. Where once they’d been vivid and so real she could swear she was awake, now they were a passing shadow that blurred around the edges, then puffed out of existence altogether.
While she was contemplating her lack of options for a kinky future, the phrase, Stoneman has logged in, flashed across the bottom of her screen. For a moment she didn’t breathe. He’d obviously been avoiding her, and if logged in, he’d been logging in invisibly. Or from a different account. Would he message her? Should she message him first?
The lit-up smiley face beside his name shone happily back at her while her stomach twisted in knots trying to figure out how not to fuck this up. Or even if there was a this to fuck up. Maybe he was just checking something on the account and then he’d be gone again, forever. Five minutes passed in limbo. Right as she was about to type something lame like hey, his words popped up on the screen.
Stoneman: I’ll ask again. Are you getting on that plane, Grace?
She sucked in a breath and stared at the screen. He couldn’t start with the easy questions.
Gracie343: I thought you were done with me. I haven’t had time to think about it.
Stoneman: I call bullshit. I doubt you’ve thought much of anything else.
Gracie343: I didn’t know it was still a decision for me to make. I haven’t had the opportunity to think about it like I would have if I hadn’t thought you’d abandoned me.
Stoneman: You didn’t like me pressuring you. Now you don’t like me leaving you in peace and not pressuring you. Time’s up. Are you coming or not?
Gracie343: When?
Stoneman: I’ll buy you a ticket for tomorrow. Planes don’t land directly on Eleu, so you’ll have to take a short boat trip.
Gracie343: How can I trust you when you’ve acted like this? You expect me to put my life in your hands now?
Stoneman: We’ve talked for over a year. We’ve sent pictures. We’ve been on webcam. You’ve been given enough information about me to verify and confirm and check for a criminal record. I’ve given you the tools to do that. I’m no more dangerous than any other man you could meet in a bar.
Gracie343: Except for the fact that you’d own me, and I wouldn’t have any legal rights.
Stoneman: Which you’ve told me repeatedly that you want. Time to put your money where your mouth is. Would it be easier if you saw my face again? Do you want to talk on webcam?
Gracie343: Okay.
A few moments later she pressed Accept on the video call.
“Hey.” His intense brown eyes drank her in. “You’re dressed.” He sounded disappointed.
“So are you.”
He shrugged.
Though they’d played on webcam, he hadn’t allowed her to use titles. No Master or Sir. Because he said it wasn’t real. He only wanted a title from her if she came to the island. It had been a hard thing to get used to, and if she went to him, the complete shift in their dynamic and where the power rested would be even harder to get used to.
“I won’t be an easy master,” he said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She sighed. “Are you trying to scare me off?”
“No, I just want you to know what you’re getting into and come to me of your own free will. So should I buy you a plane ticket?”
“Can’t I have more time? I didn’t know I’d ever hear from you again.”
He shook his head, his face growing stern. “Absolutely not. You’ve had a year. You’re either in or you’re out. Take the risk or stay where you are. Make a choice now, Grace.”
She took a deep breath and looked around her apartment and thought of what very little she had to leave behind. Would she regret it if she said no and never spoke to him again? Or if she said yes and things went south? Everything about him had checked out. He’d admitted he wouldn’t be a pushover. He’d given her plenty of time to make a choice. Hadn’t he acted in good faith? She twirled a strand of hair around her fingers and finally nodded.
“Okay.”
“Good girl.”
Two
Eight months later, Grace had her answer. She’d regret it more if she said yes and things went south. Reality was perhaps a crueler master than Lucas, but not by much. The day she’d gotten on the plane, she’d mailed a letter to Lainey, the content of which still made her cringe:
I know you were only trying to help with Eric, but I want something real. By the time you receive this letter I’ll already be on the island. I’ll miss you. Maybe he’ll let me instant message you sometime.
But that never happened. She’d begged and pleaded, thinking perhaps if she were good enough, he’d let her use the computer, let her contact someone from the outside world. Lainey had been right. Reality hadn’t been what she’d wanted, unless it was a reality she’d orchestrated with the circumstances that turned her on. This did not turn her on.
She wished more than anything that she hadn’t been such a brat to Eric, that she’d just tried things with him. If she had, maybe she would have fallen in love. Maybe he could have given her something that would have made her happy. Having only lived in one 24/7 relationship, she hadn’t been equipped to judge them all. Eric could have been different.
This realization came far too late as she hung in the chains in Lucas’s dungeon where she was beaten and violated, moving from the nightmare of being awake to the nightmares of sleep on an endless loop. As it turned out, he had no other slaves, at least not at the moment, though she desperately wished he did. Anything to cause him to turn his attention and obsession onto someone else. Anyone else.
She shuddered as she thought of her first day in Eleu.
***
“You understand the rights you are relinquishing and that you no longer claim citizenship in any country?” The question came from an older man with kind eyes.
Grace nodded, her stomach doing a little flip from both excitement and nerves.
“You are here of your own free will?”
“Yes.”
“No one has coerced you in any way to come here?”
She thought for a minute. Had Lucas coerced her? Their last video call had seemed pretty high-pressure. Then again, he’d waited a year, showing a level of patience that had surprised her. And he’d spent a full month away. It was pretty hard to coerce someone when you weren’t even talking to them. If she’d been wired any other way she would have gotten back out there, started looking for someone else and given up the fantasy of the island.
“Miss?”
Her gaze shot back to the customs agent and she flushed a little. “No.”
His eyes seemed to delve into her soul, as if trying to determine if she spoke the truth and if she showed any signs of distress. After a few moments, he nodded and slid an official-looking piece of paper across the desk.
“Sign this and hand over all identifying cards and other similar materials that you have on you: driver’s license, passport, etc.”
She read the paper, knowing what it said already. Lucas had emailed her a copy of the form several months prior. Still, she read it again just to be sure. She hesitated for only a moment before scrawling her name across the bottom, making her now and forevermore subject to the laws of the island. Her hand shook a little as she slid the requested materials back across the desk.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “There are few laws that will protect you here.”
“I’ve known him for a year.”
That seemed good enough for the agent.
Once she was finished there, she was taken directly to Lucas who was waiting out back, dressed in an expensive, dark suit. His eyes practically glowed in anticipation of possessing her.
She’d goggled at the size of his house when they arrived and bent to scratch the Australian shepherd behind his ears. The dog jumped on her and licked her face.
And that was the end of normal and safety.
She was taken to the incinerator in the basement. He took the things she’d brought to the island and tossed them in. They were things that reminded her of home, things that gave her comfort.
Her hand flew to her mouth as her belongings went up in flames.
“That life is over,” he said gruffly. When the tears flowed freely down her cheeks he said, “I told you I’d be a hard master. You should have listened to me and taken it seriously. Strip.”
Grace felt numb. Her first instinct was to run, but even if she got out of the house, this wasn’t her homeland. There was no one who would save or protect her here. She’d be a runaway slave, punished in whatever way their law dictated. There was nowhere to go.
As if a switch had flipped, she went into survival mode. The idea of happiness and contentment leeched out of her like so much petty frivolity, replaced by a need to appease him, to do whatever it took to stay alive. She hurriedly took off her clothes.
“Jewelry, too,” he said.
She took out her earrings and handed them over, then looked down at the garnet ring on her hand.
“Please, not this one. It was my mother’s.”
He’d already tossed her clothing and earrings in the fire, and now his hand was out, waiting for the ring. “Now!” he barked. “You don’t want punishment on your first day.”
She struggled to get the ring off and gave it to him, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see it tossed in to be destroyed with everything else that held meaning to her.
“I don’t understand . . . why . . . why are you being this way? You weren’t like this before.” She knew she sounded naïve and stupid, but she’d thought she’d been so careful, so smart about everything. But how smart was it to fly thousands of miles to give yourself over to a practical stranger to do with as he wished? Of course he would be decent online, where he had no power.
Her eyes focused on the ground, unable to look at him after she’d walked right into his trap. She jumped when he laughed.
“Sweet, little Grace. I like slaves who are careful, who agonize over the decision. You’re the one I had to fight hardest to acquire. I found several potentials to replace my last slave, but they were all too stupid. After a week they were ready to come here. But you . . . you were different. You were a prize worth owning.”
“What happened to the last slave?”
“Oh no, pet. You won’t have an easy slip into peaceful death with me. I sold her last week. I won’t be at all surprised if he kills her, though.”
The tears fell silently, and she had to take slow, deep breaths to stay quiet. She didn’t resist when he put her in a cold, dark cell and left her for the night.
***
He’d left her there three days, feeding her bland food through a slot in the door. It was as if he were sending her the message that she wasn’t all that important; he wasn’t so taken with her that he had to play with her right away. She was expendable and easily forgotten.
When he’d finally stepped into the room, she’d been so desperate to please him, to gain any level of favor at all to improve her situation, that she’d obeyed him without question. But nothing was ever good enough. Nothing had stopped his cruel words or his brutality. The words “good girl” hadn’t passed through his lips again.
The door to the dungeon creaked open, snapping her back to the here and now. She knew it would hurt worse if she tensed, but she couldn’t stop herself from holding her body rigid. If only she could just relax and let the pain wash over and pass through her.
“Have you had time to think about your mistake, pet?” Pet. The word was such a mockery. An endearment from before, a word that indicated some level of care and affection. And yet there was no care or affection between them. There was only sadism on his part and desperation and fear on hers.
“This slave begs forgiveness. She won’t be bad again.” She couldn’t stop trembling in the chains. No matter how many times this happened, the terror didn’t stop. She kept hoping she’d become desensitized to it, that by some miracle she could learn to hover outside her own body so that whatever damage was done couldn’t touch her but would only touch the body of that girl, the one that wasn’t really her. It would be bad enough to just watch. But if she could watch and not be, that would be better.
“Are you sure? I feel you should be past the point of breaking dishes when I bring you food. How do I know this isn’t some rebellion on your part?”
She remained silent because it was the smart thing to do. She’d long ago learned that when in doubt, just be silent. Her master loved hearing himself speak. When he wasn’t calling her pet or telling her she was a worthless piece of shit, he used the word you, as if only when he spoke to her did she have form or life. When she spoke of herself, it was always in third person, as if she were an inanimate object that could not have thoughts or feelings or needs. If she ever spoke the words me or my or I, the punishment was swift and severe. He’d broken her of the habit of seeing herself as a person in the first two weeks.
Even her name felt like some disincarnate thing that had long been separated from her being. Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. Just a sound. An odd sound. She could barely remember what it meant. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. Grace was like pet. And she could only handle being slapped with one of those words right now.
The whip came down over and over. He’d stopped speaking, more interested in hearing her screams and begging. She always begged; she couldn’t help it. And it only made her more ashamed that she would give this monster anything he wanted, that she would continue to play into his hands so predictably.
She could feel the trails of blood flowing down her back when he stopped. Then he was inside her, fucking her. She couldn’t bring herself to think the word rape, even though she knew. To heap that ugly word on top of everything else was the last little straw that would make her mind come undone.
“So wet,” he growled in her ear. “You like this shit, don’t you, pet?”
She shuddered as the tears fell harder. No matter what a sick fuck he was, her body still responded. Her kink had never been something she’d seen as an aberration or something that was wrong with her before Lucas. But now, in light of how he’d broken her, how could she see herself as anything but disgusting? Because no, she didn’t like this shit, and yet, her body answered his as if together they were a symphony of something beautiful, the kind of something she’d hoped they could be but weren’t.
Lucas gripped her throat hard enough she knew there would be a bruise. “Answer me, slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she gasped out. Only because it’s what he wants to hear.
“Tell me you’re mine, you worthless slut.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “This slut is yours, Master.” Only because it’s what he wants to hear. She had to hold onto that thought and repeat it in her mind so she wouldn’t forget. Her body may have submitted to him, but she hadn’t yet lost her mind. She prayed she could hold onto that one secret space within her. The thoughts Lucas could never know about. The thoughts of him dead and broken before her. And somehow being free of him. He always kept her locked in the dungeon when he couldn’t watch her because deep down he had to know she wasn’t really his.
When he was finished with her, he unlocked the chains and let her fall. “Clean yourself up. We’re going out.”
The sound of his boots receded, and the door slammed behind him. Normally those were the sounds that made her body unclench and allowed her to relax, but not tonight. He wasn’t done with her yet.
She lay on the stone floor, catching her breath. There was a crude shower and toilet on one end of the room, as well as a sink and a cabinet that contained first aid supplies. Over the sink hung an old mirror, the one thing in the room that allowed her to witness the life slipping from her day by day. The only evidence she had that she wasn’t already dead.
Showering would hurt too much. She’d have to run water in the sink and clean off the best she could. The bandage supply was running low. She’d have to ask for more soon, something she dreaded. Asking for anything only meant more suffering for whatever it was that she needed. He always made her hurt before he gave her anything. He wanted her to remember he was God. But how the fuck could she forget?
The one reprieve was that he wouldn’t beat her again, at least not across her back until it healed. He’d find other punishments to torture her with instead. Things that wouldn’t leave marks. Or he’d leave marks elsewhere. He didn’t seem to want to kill her or physically damage her beyond repair. It was a bad sign that she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
***
Lately Lucas had been taking her out a lot more to clubs and parties. She wasn’t sure what that meant. Each time, she was afraid he’d share her with another, but so far that hadn’t happened. Tonight it was a large brick building with a circular driveway. Cars were parked all the way out to the road. All black luxury sedans. It looked like the secret service was having a dinner party.
She huddled beside her master outside, nothing but a black velvet cloak and slippers to separate her from the chill in the night air. The palm trees towering overhead rustled in the breeze. Whispering about her.
The door opened and a butler took Lucas’s coat and Grace’s cloak and slippers. She looked down at the ground, wrapping her arms around herself. She’d never get used to being like this without clothing to shield her from strange, prying eyes. They went down a flight of stairs until they were in a large, dungeon-like room. There were many men down there––too many to count––and about five other slaves.
Lucas surveyed the room, and then picked a couch to sit on. He snapped and pointed at the floor. She knelt on the ground beside him, her breathing coming fast. Her master seemed to have a new sense of purpose lately. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but each time he brought her to one of these mysterious functions, he seemed more focused.
At previous gatherings they’d stayed on the fringes, observing. Now he seemed in the thick of things, and several men came up and spoke to him. Grace couldn’t follow the conversation because they were speaking in the language native to the island. Lucas had been careful to only speak English to her, obviously not wanting her to understand when he spoke to others.
She flinched and cringed away when several of them touched her. Some took her chin and forced her eyes to theirs, turning her face this way and that, running their fingers through her hair. Others stroked her breasts and between her legs. The latter action brought a chuckle. Though Grace didn’t understand the language, she knew they were remarking on how aroused she was.
Each time a different male approached and started touching her, she was afraid Lucas would allow the man to borrow her. But they simply conversed with her master for awhile and then nodded and walked away.
Hours drifted by. There was dinner and drinks in a dining room, followed by more talking. No food was brought to her. She knew something important was being discussed. Was she being sold? It was the only thing that made sense in light of the business-like way the men all behaved.
She tried to think what that would mean for her. To be sold. She’d given up her silly fantasies. The reality was that she was chattel and whether it was Lucas or someone else, it was going to be bad. It was never going to be okay. The best she could hope for was to survive, though she wasn’t sure survival was the best outcome anymore.
Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a figure standing in the doorway, a man who’d decided not to dine. Something compelled her to look up, and when she did she was met with the most brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen, eyes that stared at her so hard she had to turn away. But it wasn’t fast enough.
Lucas had seen.
He rose from his chair and jerked her to her feet. The back of his hand came across her face so hard and fast she lost her breath. Voices that had been speaking ceased as he gripped her throat and pulled her close, his mouth pressed against her ear.
“Have you taken a liking to Asher Collins?” he whispered. “He’s the one I told you about last year. The one who killed his slave. Be thankful I’ve let you live, pet. You seem to have particularly dangerous taste in men.”
He shoved her back to the floor, and conversation resumed as if this were all no big deal. Just business as usual. Just how one treated a slave. She didn’t make another sound as the tears rolled down her face, so as not to call his attention again. Though she tried very hard not to, she couldn’t help looking to the doorway one more time. But the man was gone.
Three
Asher sat quietly in his study, a glass of scotch in one hand. He’d been staring at the fireplace flames for a solid hour since he’d gotten back from the showing. There had been several slaves on offer this season, and although he hadn’t spoken with any of the owners, he’d hung back on the edges, observing.
It had been almost a year since he lost Darcy. Since I killed her, he corrected himself. It may not have been his hand that landed the fatal blow, but it was still his fault. His fault for not taking her complaints seriously and getting her help. Nothing would ever change that.
He hadn’t spoken to James since they’d buried the body together. As the dirt had covered her, his friend had made some offhand remark about going to live with the natives. Asher thought he’d been kidding, but then he didn’t return to his home.
Though they’d been best friends since college, doing everything together––including getting rich and coming to Eleu––after Darcy was in the ground, the cord was severed. Asher hadn’t been able to bring himself to turn his friend in, but he couldn’t look in his eyes or hear his voice again, either. It seemed James felt the same way.
For months Asher had stayed in, not receiving visitors. Gradually his need to possess a woman, the same need that had brought both he and James to the island, started to reassert itself. Now he was bargaining, making a list of rules and safeties so he could trust himself with another life.
He could own another woman. No, she wouldn’t be his Darcy. She’d be whoever she was. Maybe he’d love her and maybe he wouldn’t, but he still had needs, and right now the most powerful need he had was to move on. Perhaps atone.
One side of his mouth quirked wryly at the idea of atonement. As if anything could pay for what he’d done. The only thing that moved him forward was knowing that what happened with Darcy would never happen again because he wouldn’t leave his slave unmonitored after punishment, and he would mete out all punishments himself. He would take the responsibility, as he should have to begin with.
He shut his eyes against the memory of Darcy dying in his arms. The tight feeling he got in his chest when that memory came forward had dulled only slightly in the intervening time.
Asher set the scotch on the table beside his chair and got up to pace. Sitting still was impossible when he was on the cusp of bringing a pet into the house. He’d seen the one he wanted: Lucas Stone’s slave.
He’d watched from a distance, growing increasingly agitated at the way Lucas treated her and all the men who walked by to paw at her. Of course, nothing they were doing was illegal. Many had argued for anti-cruelty laws, but the policy changes always got shot down. After all, one slave’s cruelty was another’s happy existence. They had chosen this life after all. They’d known the risks. They were all questioned and psychologically assessed before being allowed to stay in Eleu, as were the men.
Lawmakers had argued that with cruelty laws, a slave would be able suddenly to appeal to someone to rescue her from this or that. Many would work the system to their advantage and end up the ones with all the control and power. Masters would fear punishing a slave as he saw fit because she might tell the authorities that she’d been cruelly tortured. And wasn’t that the world in which they’d already lived? A world of choices and freedoms submissives had wanted to hand over and dominants had wanted to take? Wasn’t this the utopia they’d always dreamed of, where they could each follow their own perversions without anybody else’s nose in them?
He didn’t entirely disagree with the current policies, but even so, there were slaves who had fallen through cracks, who were being brutalized in ways they’d never genuinely signed on for, who’d been victimized by monsters who had slipped through the psychological screenings at the gate. Lucas Stone’s slave was one of those victims. Asher had seen it in her eyes.
And the fact that her back had been bandaged on the night of a showing––by her from the looks of it––was bad form. Any master who would show his property with the intent to sell right after he’d left marks wasn’t fit to own another person.