Unbound; The Dominator III Page 20

  He took the whip from my hand and moved toward Cleo.

  “No, M-master. I can do it.”

  He handed it back, a small smile on his face but that smile did not touch his eyes. And then he looked deep into my eyes and the expression he gave me told me I wasn’t doing a very good job here. I needed to do better.

  I had to obey him. I had to be 100% Felicia.

  “Do you understand why you’re being punished, bitch?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said softly, seeming like she didn’t give a shit.

  “Tell me why you’re being punished.”

  “For disrespecting you, sir. I apologize.”

  She didn’t look sorry.

  “And for disrespecting my wife.”

  “Yes, sir. My apologies for disrespecting your wife.”

  The way she said wife was like it was a foul word.

  “Does she seem sorry enough, beautiful precious wife? Should we skip the punishment?” he asked me.

  I opened my mouth but my voice failed me.

  “Answer me truthfully or you’ll get a punishment, too, my baby. And not one of those ones you like.”

  “She doesn’t seem sorry, Master. But, I think we should sk---”

  “Whip her. We’re not skipping,” he cut me off.

  I was frozen.

  “Now, Angel.” The authority in his voice gave me no choice but to comply, “And don’t just whip her. I want you to break her.”

  I lashed out and caught her thigh, leaving a red mark.

  She barely flinched. I looked at her face. Her face was like stone, but her eyes were filled with hate.

  She was enthralled with Donavan Frost? All the time she’d supposedly spent with him before me would mean she could take the pain of a whipping. My attempts to whip her were probably laughable to her.

  He couldn’t come unless he was hurting someone while he came and while the whip wasn’t his favorite with me, he used it on her a lot, according to Kruna lore. She could withstand a whole lot more than my sad attempts. I’d heard that he’d been credited with toughening her up substantially when he was first promoted to the role Gan Chen how had. No way would I be able to break her.

  “Again,” Dare ordered.

  I did it again and caught her stomach. She grunted in a way that Dare might think was pain but I knew that grunt. She thought I was a joke.

  A bright red mark was left behind.

  “How do you feel about the things she did to you, Angel?”

  “I…” I was having trouble forming a coherent sentence in my brain, never mind on my tongue.

  “Tell her!” Dare demanded, anger in his voice.

  “I hated it. She was horrible.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She screamed in our faces, she beat us, humiliated us. And worse.”

  “Wasn’t that just her job?” he asked, “Strike her again.”

  I pulled my right fist up to my left shoulder and then thrust the whip at her and it was harder this time, leaving a bigger mark across her hip. She was holding her breath, gritting her bared teeth, still looking at me like I was sludge beneath her feet.

  God, I hated her. She was a horrible bitch. She didn’t need to be that mean. Other trainers weren’t that mean after breaking a slave. Once you were broken it just wasn’t a necessity.

  And most of them hadn’t previously been a slave, like Cleo. Her being a former slave should’ve meant that she’d be a trainer who tried to do better. We were broken, why did she need to keep pushing us lower and lower into the gutter?

  “Tell her. Tell her exactly what you think of her. Now!”

  “Tell me, Felicia. Listen to your Master, you worthless slave, you,” Cleo taunted, “He should be whipping you for being such a worthless---”

  I snapped, like the straw had been dropped on my back and it broke my self-control.

  “You fucking bitch, you!” I mocked the way she used to speak to me, “You made everyone afraid to even look my way. I was treated like a leper in here because no one wanted to be nice to me because it would piss you off. For someone who endured all we endured, you’d think you’d be a little nicer to us!”

  She laughed. Laughed. Like I was a little idiot.

  “May I speak freely, Master Ferrano?” Cleo grunted.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Go for it,” Dare invited, “but be prepared for consequences.”

  He stepped outside.

  Cleo glared at me and spoke low, “I never break for this place, except for Mister Frost. You may have a high pain threshold but mine is higher. I love my job. Fuck you, Felicia. You are not better than me now you have a master. You still a sub little bitch who suck cock and spreads legs to earn your meals. I make little weak bitches like you break and cower. I am good at my job. I worked hard so I could earn my meals through showing my power, not by being weak. Being me is much better than being you. Your Master is too easy on you. Look at you now.”

  I let my wrist fly and the whip lashed across her chest. She startled and winced. I did it again, in nearly the same spot.

  “You fucking bitch,” I let it fly again, flicking my wrist harder, and it lashed across her face. She gasped and blood trickled down her cheek. I did it again and again and she slumped.

  “I might be weaker than you but you taught me some of your best whipping skills, didn’t you?”

  I felt Dare behind me. He was back.

  She did, for a reverse role-playing party. Not all the sirs participated but some did and we’d all had training to take part in. I’d been praised for how easily I’d picked it up. I had only whipped for the one party, several months before Dare, but I remembered the technique.

  I flicked harder. She winced with the pain as the dragon’s tail nailed her in the throat.

  “Stop,” Dare said.

  Dare moved to her and unbuckled her wrists and her feet.

  “Fight back and I’ll knock your teeth out,” he clipped at her.

  Cleo was panting.

  “Tell me you fuckin’ understand me?” Dare had her by the throat and he squeezed.

  She sputtered, “Y-yes, sir.”

  He threw her over the bench, stomach first, and secured her wrists and ankles with restraints that were dangling from the side of the bench.

  “More,” he ordered.

  I felt a little sick. She was bleeding.

  “Do it. She gets ten lashes across her back. For all she’s done to you, to the other girls here when they didn’t deserve it. Now.”

  I looked at the blood on her face and I choked on emotion.

  “Felicia!” Dare snapped that horrible awful name and hearing it in my Master’s voice made me snap back into slave mode and do what I was told.

  I was Felicia. Obedient slave.

  Lash after lash came down on her back, her backside, the backs of her legs. I forgot to count. I was just whipping. And crying. And seeing a movie in my head playing through so many times where she’d screamed in my face, backhanded me, denied me food, made me do more exercise. Sometimes she’d make us exercise until we dropped.

  She’d made me exercise until I’d puked bile on an empty stomach more than once. She’d grab nipples and twist them in punishment. She’d throw us in the basement shower stalls and throw high-pressured cold hoses on us, and then whipped our over-sensitized skin afterwards. Taunting us. Calling us names. Telling us that we were worthless.

  She would straddle my face and make me give her oral while she pulled my hair painfully if she didn’t think I was good enough at it. She’d put a strap-on massive dildo on once while punishing me, raping my ass while choking me and laughing while she did it.

  I heard a voice, “Stop,” the voice said. That voice was far away. It barely registered.

  I didn’t stop. I watched her skin break under the whip. I wished I’d frozen her skin first, like she used to do to us to make the whipping hurt even more. Beautiful crimson appeared under each lash. I kept going.

&n
bsp; “Baby, enough.”

  I kept whipping, crying, shouting expletives, seeing the beautiful crimson.

  “You fucking!” Strike on the legs. “Fucking rapist bitch!” Strike across the lower back. “I fucking hate you. What you’ve done to us, you cunt.” Lash across the side of the face. “You fucking wretched piece of raping shit.” Another lash across the face.

  “Oi!” Dare had my wrist and he grabbed the whip out of my hand. His arm was bright red. He’d taken a lash while stopping me.

  I started struggling.

  “Felicia!” That snapped me back where I was, to my reality. I felt my disobedience wash over me. Regret. I struggled against my master.

  He took a lash in stopping me! My God. I stared at the red on his arm and then my eyes moved to Cleo.

  Cleo was bloody and sobbing, her hands clenched into fists in the shackles that held her arms tight.

  I was panting. My heart was racing.

  I felt what I did to her penetrate. Her back and legs were a mangled mess. Half of her face was coated in blood. Her throat was bleeding.

  I went weak in the knees. He supported me. I sank into him, put my forehead to his chest.

  He tipped my chin up and looked me in the eye. I couldn’t read what was in his eyes.

  He kept my tipped-up chin high and held it there, giving me a look that bolstered my strength. He gave me a little nod and released my chin. I kept it up high. I knew that’s what he wanted.

  I moved toward her.

  “You broken yet?” I hissed.

  “Yes,” she choked.

  I leaned over and spit on her face, “It’s definitely way better to be me than to be you. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I then strutted out ahead of Dare. I was cool, calm, and collected on the outside. Inside, I was as close to a nervous breakdown as I could probably get without actually falling to my knees and having a complete and utter meltdown. I had to make it to bed. I had to close my eyes and go to sleep. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to process. I needed to just walk. One foot. The other. The other again. Walk to my room. Get to my room.

  Rafe stepped into the hall from another room down the hall and gave Dare a nod and then he moved past me toward where Cleo was. We were a few doors down when I saw two medical staff members moving down the hallway. They only just barely registered.

  I walked and walked and finally found myself at the door. I reached for the knob.

  “Babe, this way,” Dare urged and touched the small of my back and led me in the other direction. I’d been going to the slave quarters. It must’ve been out of habit, out of being on autopilot.

  I wasn’t doing X to Y. I wasn’t even back at A to B. I didn’t know where the heck I was or what the heck I would do next.

  He led back to our suite and once inside, I heard the door shut behind me. Dare was behind me.

  I spun around to face him.

  “I…. I can’t believe you made me do th-that…”

  His expression dropped.

  A rushing of white noise filled my ears, my brain. Opaque spots were floating in front of my eyes.

  I collapsed.

  Dare

  Angel went down. I caught her before she hit the floor. She was out. Fuck.

  I’d seen only black from the moment I returned to that dining room and saw Rafe Ruiz, leaned in, an inch from her ear, talking to her. The look on her face, his proximity, and all of that on top of all I was already dealing with? It crashed down on me then, at that second, like a black curtain of anger.

  Cleo?

  I’d felt like it had to be done. That cunt needed punishment and by my ordering my wife to do it, I’d show them what they wanted to see. I’d agreed with Gan Chen when we’d spoken in the hall outside the dining room.

  Having Angel punish Cleo would put Cleo in her place. He’d told me I could do whatever I felt needed to be done. In fact, harsh punishment would be appreciated, since several slaves had witnessed Cleo’s attitude since we’d arrived and action had to be taken.

  They’d be pulling her from her current position, handling, training, and managing and correcting slaves. She would be put somewhere else on the resort. But, only if she got back in line. She was apparently behaving like she’d never behaved before, so they were putting her in line or she would be put out of her misery.

  Having Angel punish her at my command would show I was Angel’s master, she was my obedient wife, and that bitch would get what was coming to her. Even more, my Angel would get something cathartic out of it. Revenge. Pay that bitch back for her bullshit treatment of the Kruna victims. If I were Angel, I’d wanna pay that shit back. For sure.

  So, in the heat of the moment, my anger at all we were dealing with, I thought I’d done something good for her by giving her what I figured I’d want in her shoes.

  I was wrong. As she opened her eyes, in my arms, I knew just how wrong. Really fucking wrong. I hadn’t thought like her. Just because I figured I’d want that didn’t mean it’d be what she would’ve wanted. I’d made irrational decisions through blackness.

  Her body started trembling and her eyes were filled with accusation. I’d abused her trust. Horribly.

  “Sweetheart…” I whispered.

  The trembling had started low and was revving up like someone turned the volume up. And it kept going up.

  Her chin was trembling, her eyes were wet, and then she started to grab for my shirt.

  I lifted her wrists up over her head and pinned them under one hand and my other hand went into her panties. Her skirt was up around her waist.

  “Kick your shoes off,” I told her. She jerked around, crying.

  “Shh, it’s okay.”

  I leaned down and took her shoes off for her. But when I’d let go, she started to fret, to hyperventilate, so I grabbed her wrists and re-pinned her.

  “Shhh, I’ve got you. Open up.”

  She spread her legs wide. The thought of cameras occurred to me but she still had her panties on, just me with my hand in them. She was not wet.

  “Feet together.” She put her soles together so that her legs were wide. She was sobbing.

  “Baby, I’ve got you. Okay?”

  She nodded, her eyes bloodshot, her chest moving up and down quickly.

  I kissed her tears. Her eyes were fixed on something. What? I followed them to my forearm, which had a thick red welt from when I reached and took that whip from her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and chewed her cheek.

  “Stay still. Let me make you come. You’re such a good girl. My good girl.”

  It wasn’t very convincing.

  I tightened my grip on her wrists and then I circled with three fingers around and around her clit. She closed her eyes tighter, her facial expression like she was in pain. She lifted her bottom up a little, moving into my hand.

  “Look at me.”

  She obeyed. But her eyes…they were looking right through me, like she didn’t even see me.

  “I want you to come for me. Calm down and concentrate on what my fingers are doing. What are my fingers doing?”

  “Trying to make me c-come.” She groaned and her mouth opened.

  “Yeah, baby. Making you come. My good girl. Moan for me. Say my name. Tell me what you want.”

  She was not wet.

  I leaned over and sucked on my fingers and then worked them into her. I kissed her, teasing her lips open with the tip of my tongue as I worked my middle finger inside her and pushed against her g-spot.

  “Ah. Yeah, Master…” she whispered against my mouth, “Right there.”

  I kept that finger there and put my thumb to her clit and strummed and stroked it.

  “Master. Please don’t stop. Don’t. Ah! Damn it.” She got a frustrated look on her face. She’d been at the edge of that cliff but hadn’t gone over.

  Her body went from lax to tight and she shifted, blew hair out of her eyes, used her upper arm to rub her nose and then blew her hair out of her eyes again. She was havin
g trouble. She began breathing harder, almost hyperventilating, but it wasn’t with an impending orgasm. This was stress. Full blown anxiety attack and I wasn’t doing anything to help.

  I let go, grabbed the crotch of her panties, and yanked it forward without pulling them off so that I could get my mouth to her clit.

  “Fuck, you taste amazing,” I told her.

  She let out a whimper. I worked her with my tongue and seemed like she was getting closer. But then she started to fret, like she didn’t want it.

  I flipped her over onto her belly and lifted her hips.

  “Master,” she pleaded. I don’t know if she wanted me to hold her down again or what but I wanted to make her okay, so I was trying something else, something that’d maybe be a different pattern.

  “No. Stay like that.” I worked my suit pants undone. Shit, I wasn’t even fully hard. I grinded against her ass, my dick still in my pants. I grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her up by it. She was supporting herself on her palms. I held her tenderly by the throat and grinded a few more times.

  Shit, I loved her. I needed to make her okay. I’d fucked up really badly and now I was on the verge of an anxiety attack, too.

  What good was I? I fucked up and now I couldn’t calm her down and I could barely get it up. And people were listening. Not just that, they might even be watching.

  “Beg,” I demanded. She usually got off on that. I usually seriously got off on that, too.

  “Pl-please.” She whimpered.

  This wasn’t her normal begging style. Fuck, but we were both struggling here. And if someone was watching this on camera, they might be able to tell.

  Motherfucking Feds listening to me fail at fucking my wife. That reminder got me hard, my dick taking it as a challenge, and I pushed into her, getting resistance as she was still mostly dry.

  She winced.

  “You did good, you’re okay. We’re okay. Yeah, babe?” I asked.

  She nodded, saying, “Uh huh” as she supported herself, hands on the bed. I got into a rhythm, moving inside her.

  “Tighten for me. Milk my cock,” I said.

  She didn’t.

  She lost her balance and fell on her face. Instead of moving, though, she just stayed there and wept into the pillow.