Enslaved (8 page)

Chapter Four

“I
’ve never been paddled before, sir,” Andrew said, the fear obvious in his voice as he stared at WhipperSnapper’s famous black leather spanking bench. After hours, the club was silent, only the sound of the young man’s uneven breath to be heard.

“It’s only a paddling,” Gregory reassured him. “It will hurt. Maybe you’ll cry. But you won’t be harmed by it. I want to give you something to remember me by every time you sit down until I can see you again.”

“That paddle looks . . . intimidating.”

Gregory laughed. “You’re only going to make it worse for yourself, the longer you wait to grab hold of that spanking bench. How can you call yourself a sub and never even have gotten a proper paddling?”

“I don’t know, sir. It never came up.”

“Well,” Gregory said, gently cupping the boy’s cock. “It came up now. Admit it. Say, ‘I want you to paddle me, sir, because it turns me on.’ ”

Andrew took a shaky breath and held on to the spanking bench as if it were a life jacket. “I want you to paddle me, sir, because it turns me on,” he repeated dutifully.

Did Gregory detect a note of arousal in there? Definitely.

“I love this ass,” he said, pulling Andrew’s black trousers down, followed by his gray boxer briefs. “This ass is perfect for spanking.”

For a moment, Gregory just rubbed Andrew’s beautiful bottom, smacking it lightly with his palm, enjoying the feel of it beneath his hand. If only he could fuck this ass. . . .

Soon. But not yet.

With a loud crack, Gregory brought the paddle down on Andrew’s ass, eliciting a delightful choked wail.

“Now, now, don’t hold back. You know the club is soundproofed. And that was just the beginning.”

A sob escaped Andrew’s lips, but his cock was still erect, dripping pre-come onto the black leather of the spanking bench.

“Where are we, Andrew? Use your colors.”

“I’m good,” he said shakily. “Green for go, sir.”

And with that, Gregory brought the paddle down on the already-blushing skin of Andrew’s ass cheeks.

“W
hy did you ask me if I think Gregory deserves a soul mate?” Elisabeth asked Trevor, who was studiously tying her wrists together and attaching them to one corner of the four-poster bed.

“I think the better question is, why didn’t you ask that of yourself?” Trevor stood back and studied his handiwork. “Struggle.”

She tried to move her wrists, yanking on the ropes. They didn’t budge. “I’m all yours.”

“You need to be preparing yourself for where this is going. Gregory will be moving on, and so should you.”

“Move on from here?” she asked, horrified. She’d been trying so hard to be good for him. . . .

“Don’t be silly. I’ve just begun courting you.”

Elisabeth gasped as two of Trevor’s lubricated fingers slipped inside her pussy. “Is that what this is? Courting? Are we in a kingdom that I didn’t know about? Back in olden times?”

Trevor smiled, pressing a third finger inside her. “I consider myself to be a bit old-fashioned, yes.”

“Because me going up to you at WhipperSnapper and telling you I’m a pain-slut is how Grandma used to do it.”

“It was a perfectly old-fashioned way to meet,” he teased, and now four fingers were deep inside her, filling her. “I saw you first and asked for an introduction. I chose you before you even knew I existed. Now relax your muscles.”

“Oh my God,” Elisabeth breathed. She knew where he was going with this. Her arms pulled against their restraints despite how much she loved the erotic pain of being fisted. “Trust me, sir, I knew you existed.”

And there it was, his thumb, his hand pressing slowly inside her, past his knuckles, opening her wide until his fist was inside her cunt.

“How is that?” he asked.

“Horrible. Wonderful.” She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “Permission to come, sir?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Her vaginal wall muscles clamped around his fist, her entire body spasming with an orgasm that was at once painful and exhilarating. When he removed his hand, she screamed as if she’d birthed a child.

“That was beautiful, Elisabeth. I love your orgasm face even more than I love your so-called happy face.”

“Which happy face?” she asked, completely forgetting how she bratted him that first night.

She winced as he gave her a hard, swift smack on her clit with his still-slick hand.

“That one.”

G
regory’s apartment in the city felt roomier, too roomy, in fact, without Elisabeth around. She often used to follow him around from room to room when he was home, always looking for attention or for a way to be naughty. He loved a brat. Most men and many Doms didn’t, but any excuse to skip straight to the fun was good for him.

He knew Andrew was living in an apartment in the Village. Would he consider moving into Gregory’s building on the Upper East Side? He’d inherited it from his parents, and while its worth was considerable there was no reason for him to sell it and move, since it suited his needs perfectly.

It was a bit soon to ask Andrew to be a live-in slave, surely. He didn’t seem to be the same sort as Elisabeth, who begged for a slave contract in exchange for his total dominance over her. Gregory hadn’t realized her mother had just passed away when he first took her in or he would have insisted she give herself time to grieve and go through the mourning process before making life decisions like that. The girl didn’t tell him that one important fact until nearly six months later, when they had already developed a routine and a fondness for each other.

No, Andrew was a different sort. More of the type of guy who’d appreciate romance. Going out on dates. Dinner and movies, perhaps. What did one do on a date with another man? When he was in college and completely closeted, he dated girls and fucked guys. This would be his first real adult relationship with someone he had strong emotional feelings for.

A little late to the party, but better now than never. He still had the best years of his life in front of him. Especially if he could share it with a guy as cute as Andrew. Ugh, cute. What a horrible word to describe another grown man, but it fit the kid, for God’s sake. So. Fucking. Cute.

With a sigh, Gregory stood and stretched. He’d already gotten into his robe and slippers for the evening, but he’d have to get dressed to go out again and see Andrew at WhipperSnapper. Unless Andrew wanted to come to him after work . . . then the robe could stay, or be discarded as necessary.

“I
t’s time for Elisabeth to learn how to ride,” Trevor announced to Adele, and almost instantly, arrangements were made so they could go back up to his stables.

Elisabeth’s lower lip, which he could see she’d touched up with lip gloss during the car ride, dropped ever so slightly as the scenery opened up to the beautiful rolling hills of the countryside and the rustic stables that housed the horses. The night was still young, and if he could get her on a horse soon, she’d experience her first ride at sunset.

Perfect.

“Let’s go meet the horses,” he said.

“I want to, but you should probably know I’m kind of scared of heights.”

“A horse really isn’t that high up. Let’s just try it and see how it feels. How does that sound?”

“Like an order from a Dom?”

Trevor laughed and let Willa out of her stable, giving her some sugar cubes and petting her mane before he saddled her up, making sure the saddle wouldn’t slip. “We’re losing light. Come on, you’ll love it.”

“Okay, sir. I’m ready.”

“Elisabeth, meet Willa. Willa, meet Elisabeth.” With that brief introduction, which had the intended effect of putting a smile on her face, Trevor hoisted her into the saddle. “How’s that feel?”

“Hurts a bit between the legs,” she replied, grinning. “I’ll be walking bowlegged after this.”

“Not after this, but maybe after tonight,” he joked, taking a riding crop off the wall on the rare chance that Willa needed a tap to move along. “Do you want to change position?”

“Are you kidding? I love pussy torture. Bring it on.”

Trevor scoffed. “Language!” He covered Willa’s ears as if she were a child instead of an old horse.

Slowly, Trevor led Willa out of the barn, constantly checking to see how Elisabeth seemed to be fairing.

“Okay?”

“It’s great! I want to run!” she said.

“You mean, gallop?”

“Yes! I want to gallop.” She looked out over the hills with a glint in her eye.

“You have to crawl before you can walk, and you have to trot before you can gallop.”

Elisabeth wasn’t even looking at him, just out at the green pasture. “What?”

“You’re not ready for that,” he warned.

“Come on, Willa!” she yelled, but the horse stayed still. Elisabeth tightened her legs, her heels pressing against the horse’s flanks. Willa neighed and jolted forward.

“Whoa, girl,” Trevor yelled, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. With a gentle jump over the low post-and-rail fence outlining the training area, Willa went from zero to galloping across the fields in the blink of an eye.

“Elisabeth, hold on,” he yelled, although he knew there was no way she could hear him above the sound of the horse’s hooves and the wind blowing across her face. The sun was setting but now it didn’t seem romantic—it seemed like he had a very short window of opportunity to get Elisabeth back to safety before nightfall. Unlike in the city or suburbs, nighttime in the country was dark. Very dark.

He ran into the stable and grabbed Flash, his favorite horse, and one known for both following direction and being fast. Right now Trevor needed both. He mounted the horse bareback, no time for a saddle, and gave a tap with the riding crop along with a yell that Flash seemed to intuitively understand meant
Follow that girl.

It didn’t take long for Flash to catch up with Willa, who had stopped galloping and was now wandering slowly in a circle.

But Elisabeth wasn’t on her.

“Trevor?” Her voice sounded shaky, breathless. “I’m here. I’m fine. Just twisted my wrist a bit I think.”

Oh, thank God. He dismounted, and bent down, lifting her off the grass. “What were you thinking, galloping off like that?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Willa seemed like she knew what she was doing, and it felt like we both wanted to jump the fence and run around a bit.”

Trevor wanted to yell at her, to let out his frustration. She could have been severely injured. Instead, he would speak quietly, so she’d have to strain to hear him. The sun had set completely; they were alone in the field with only the moonlight and the two horses milling about. The stables, painted red, now looked gray in the dark and in the distance.

“You disregarded me when I told you that you weren’t ready to gallop. If you agreed to let me teach you how to ride, you should have been smart enough to take my instruction.”

She looked up at him from the grass, that twinkle still in her eye. Or was that moonlight? “I’m sorry, sir.”

“No you’re not. But you will be.”

Elisabeth stood slowly, her gaze dropping to the riding crop he held in his hand, hitting his own thigh rhythmically with it to get the feel of it. Good. She’d noticed.