Judgment (10 page)

"Yoke," he ordered, and she snapped around on her heels, hurrying to the back of the room to fetch the device from the wall. Her eyes briefly found mine. For a moment, I thought I saw sympathy, but then her face smoothed into an emotionless mask. She must have been wondering which of us was fated to be strapped into that awful contraption ...

God knows, I was!

But Master Deaton had other ideas. Instead, he said,

"Desire, come here."

A lovely, dark-haired Midpoint from the farthest row stood up. Tall and serene of face, she made her way slowly to the master's dais.

I had to get out of here. Everything in me was screaming to flee, but for Desire it was too late. She climbed the dais to stand before the vengeful master, who towered over her by at least a head.

"Turn and face the room."

As she faced us, Master Deaton lifted the back of her skirt, baring her firm, shapely buttocks. He stroked them with his hand.

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"Hardly a mark left from your last whipping," he mused aloud. "I suppose that makes this overdue, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Desire obediently replied. Her expression never changed, but I thought for a moment I saw her mouth tighten a little at the corners.

Impotent anger and flighty panic left me trembling. The last thing I wanted to hear was the awful whir and whip of that cane in Deaton's hand as it met unfortunate flesh, but I was as transfixed as the other Lessers watching from their desks.

When Dawn brought the yoke to the dais, Desire held out her arms and the device was strapped to her shoulders and wrists. This truly was an implement of torture. After my first hour in one, I could have sworn my arms were leaving their sockets, but Desire never made a sound. Her face remained serene, expressionless.

"Lean forward," Master Deaton said, and she bent at the waist. When her hips and shoulders were nearly aligned, he stopped her. "That's enough."

The weight of the yoke made holding such a position a hellish effort to say the least. After only a few seconds, even from the back of the room, I could see her beginning to shake from the strain.

"Thank Red for your punishment," Master Deaton told her.

My stomach lurched when Desire's lovely brown eyes found mine. Though there was no sign of accusation within them, I felt a stab of guilt as she dutifully said, "Thank you."

The master stood back, measured air and with a lunging step forward, he thrashed into the pro-offered buttocks with a 87

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vigor that nearly had me jumping from my skin. Desire's body jolted from the impact, but her face never changed in expression. I flinched more than she did as the second and third stroke fell. My hand flew out to grab the door handle as the fourth knocked her a step forward, and for the first time, she reacted to the pain. Her eyes closed and she slowly exhaled the breath she'd been holding. The fifth stroke brought a sheen of moisture to her eyes, but the sixth, the last and most vicious one, made her jerk and gasp. No one moved, and for a while the only sound was Desire's raspy breathing.

"All right, stand up," said Master Deaton. "Turn and show your marks."

Harnessed as she was, Desire had to bend her knees before she could raise herself and the heavy yoke to stand upright again. My knees wobbled as I saw the dark lines the cane had clawed into the very base of her buttocks. In view of all, the welts puffed her skin and began to turn purple.

"Come here, Red," Master Deaton said softly.

My stomach dropped all the way to my toes. I looked down at the yellow slip I was holding in my shaking hand, then the door handle which I clutched white-knuckled, and then to the six rapidly purpling marks swelling upon Desire's backside. I almost wet myself right there.

"Red." Master Deaton lowered his head, his black eyes drilling into me, the very picture of the devil incarnate. "Come to me."

Flinging open the door, I ran.

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The Detective and his friends leaned back on the table,
looking at one another as well as at me. "Who is Daymon
Tane, Callie?"

"My Master, sir." My voice softened as I said it, and I felt a
warm tingling within as I thought of him.

"Is he the one who abuses you?"

I blinked in confusion, thinking perhaps I had
misunderstood him. Very carefully, I raised my eyes so that I
looked just past his shoulder. I could see his face this way,
read his expression, and yet remain respectful. "I am not
abused, sir."

The Detective leaned his elbows on his knees, his large
hands clasped in front of his mouth.

"Callie," he began hesitantly. "When we brought you in,
there were welts as thick as my finger all over your backside."

I smiled with pride at this and smoothed my hand back to
touch my tender flanks. That was the problem with welts:
they faded too quickly. In a few more days the majority of the
bruises would also be gone, and then I would be pale and
smooth all over. I wouldn't even have the pleasant, red
warmth of a well-spanked bottom, and the thought of it made
me a little sad. I couldn't remember the last time I was
completely without mark.

"They are almost gone now," I said, gingerly touching the
worst spot down on my thigh. Then my smile faded and my
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eyes teared; I was so terribly homesick. "Will I go back to my
Master soon?"

The Detective reached over to cup my chin. "Honey, I'm
going to make certain that you never go back to that bastard.

Don't worry, he won't ever lay a hand on you again."

Shocked, I pulled my face from his hand. My mouth
gaped; I couldn't breathe. Had he driven his fist into my gut,
it couldn't have felt any worse than the pain and panic and
fear that burst through me.

I leapt to my feet, startling them all with my horrified
scream. "Noooooo!"

* * * *

An instant later, every training room door swung open and the masters stepped out into the hall. I barely dodged past Master Boyden without being grabbed, ducked around a corner, and crashed into a guard. We both went down in a tangled pile of arms and legs, but I was back on my feet and fleeing down the hall, I think, before he quite realized what had knocked him down.

I hit the Pit at a dead run, ducked past the eight barrack doors, and scrambled up a flight of steps at the other side of the room. As I was nearing the top, I felt the ominous tremor of someone mounting the stairs behind me and my panic intensified.

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My escape was a doomed attempt from the start. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know where the mountain entrance was. I could have been running in the opposite direction, losing myself deeper in this nightmare. All I know is I burst out of the Pit, flew around a corner and collided straight into the arms of the Mountain Lord. The force of the impact knocked him back against the wall and me flat on my rear on the hard, stone floor.

I screamed, my hands and feet scrambling clumsily to get away from him. I rolled onto my hip, ready to gain my feet and run again, but the hall was full of guards and masters.

Master Deaton, his cane in his hand, was in the lead. He did not stop when he saw Tane, as the others did, but came steadily right for me. I did not realize I was cowering, panting and whimpering, against Tane's legs until I felt his hand snag the scruff of my uniform and pull me to my feet.

"We must be getting soft to let such a little infant this far out of the Pit," Tane said mildly, shaking me by my clothes.

Breathing hard, as much with anger as the exertion I'd just put them all through, Deaton was not amused. "This one requires extensive whipping."

"Yes, we really have been too lenient with her," Tane mused, and I closed my eyes. Already I could feel Deaton's cane biting savagely into me. It would be unbearable. I would scream and weep as they laughed and made their sport of me. Hot tears fell from my eyes as the Mountain Lord pronounced my sentence. "Three for leaving Master Deaton's class, another three for leading us this merry little chase, and three more for running into me. I'll give them privately in my 91

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quarters. Also, I think a session with the Demerit Cane is well in order. Master Willhite, you are the Black Master this week?"

From the back of the group behind Deaton, Willhite pushed his way to the front. "Yes."

Tane nodded. "Whip her well and whip her low. I want marks that will last for weeks."

"I doubt that's going to be a problem."

I groaned, low and long.

"I am her barracks master," Deaton said, his eyes still locked on me, his anger terrifying with its intensity. "I believe I am entitled to some of these cuts."

Transferring his grip from my clothes to my arm, Tane only said, "I assume she fled because she was being punished."

"Yes."

"When you get her back, by all means, give her her due. I think between the three of us, we can teach our little mischief-maker how to behave."

"That's one mischief-maker who's about to get a very sore tail," Master Willhite joked to Deaton, who continued to glare at me and remained unamused.

Once again, I found myself taken to Tane's private chambers. I went docilely, my failed escape attempt leaving me tired, frightened and completely dispirited. He took no chances with me, locking the door behind us, though he needn't have bothered. I was too depressed to try again.

"What am I going to do with you?" he said, cupping my cheek with his hand.

Fighting tears, I begged him, "Let me go."

He smiled. "No."

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He caressed the bow of my lips, my chin and the bridge of my nose. He stripped me of my drab uniform and left me standing before him nude. "Bow," he directed.

I lowered myself to my knees, bending down to lay my forehead before his feet and clasping my hands behind my back. I had to close my eyes to keep back the threatening tears.

"Rise," he told me.

Taking two deep breaths, I sat back on my heels, my eyes still closed so I wouldn't have to see his face as I spread my knees wide apart.

After a long pause, he said, "Present."

I turned a slow, hot shade of red, but again obeyed. As my fingers opened wide the pink lips of my sex, I lifted my hips up and out, laying my shoulders so far back that they almost touched the floor. He made me hold this position until the strain left the muscles in my back and legs aching. I grit my teeth, panting with the effort it took to hold myself thus.

Seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes dragged themselves agonizingly one after another into forever. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over my skin. I groaned.

"Stand," he finally said, and I collapsed backwards into a heap on the floor, a sweating, panting, shaking mess of flesh.

He smiled, waiting, the epitome of infinite patience as I rolled onto my side and wearily climbed to my feet. "In the trunk at the foot of my bed, there are two sets of leather wrist straps.

Fetch them and take them to my bed."

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On aching legs, I obeyed without a word. I knew what he wanted. The moment had come. I was going to be beaten again.

"I want you on your stomach," he instructed. "Your bottom needs to be well-raised on a few pillows."

I arranged the bed as he directed, but if he was surprised by my compliance, he did not show it. In fact, he seemed to expect it. My tears threatened, but I refused to let them fall as I lay down with my hips elevated high on that small mountain of pillows. And I made no protest at all when he strapped my wrists together and fastened them to a hook below the mattress line in the headboard. Burying my face in my arms, I waited for him to just get on with it. But he wasn't inclined to simply allow me to hate him. Instead, he caressed me. His warm palms wandered over my skin, giving my traitor's body ample time to remember his touch. It responded despite my unwilling mind, my nipples peaking as he stroked me, massaging my shoulders, my back, my waist.

He caressed me all the way to my toes.

"The Elites already dislike you, you know." He worked his way back to my shoulders, then slipped his hands under me.

Cupping my breasts, he rolled the stiffened tips between his fingers and gently plucked at them. "I know the sensual skill level of every female I train. I know them when they first come to me and again when they leave. I have already surpassed my quota with you, and I feel no inclination to stop. They are understandably jealous."

He stroked my ribs and waist, and slipped down between my legs to fondle my plump bottom. His fingers slipped down 94

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my bottom crack to part the folds of my sex. He knew exactly how to touch me. To my shame, I heard the wet, slick sound of my own arousal as he caressed me, and I hated him for that.

And he could hardly help but notice my state. "This is a pleasant surprise. You weren't trying to escape after all, were you? You were instead running to me for help, to beg me, please, release you from this unbearable, sexual ache."

I closed my eyes, hot tears falling to the mattress as he found my clit and his slippery fingers roved over and over the sensitive tip. My hips were soon moving against him, and I was choking on desperate whimpers of need.