Natural Submission: Book 1 of the Submission Series

Copyright 2014 Cordelia Caldwell

All rights reserved

Cover Design:
Tugboat Design

Formatting:
Tugboat Design

Editor: C. Bates Jr.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions of this book in any form whatsoever.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For you my love.

Prologue

K had never thought much about human trafficking before, the fancy word for what the police were using to refer to slavery - until it happened to his sister. K's family was an active bunch. It was like they were a magnet for scandal, but after two heart attacks (or “events” as the doctor referred to them) K wasn't sure his father could take one more.

I could go undercover as a buyer,
his Uncle had said. They were at the family estate inside his father’s study. The green glass dome lamp was on, shining over the bare oiled desk. The ice in his uncle’s glass clinked - scotch, the good stuff. It swirled like a golden lava in the glass before it slid over your tongue and evaporated, leaving a smokey flavor behind. It was also a one way ticket to forgetfulness. K just looked at him without speaking, the bottle stopped above his own glass mid pour.

K appraised his uncle again, in the right light he could be kin to George Cloony, having at his age a good solid build and steel gray hair with deep blue eyes. His suit was cut in a way that reeked money, family money, old money. It was in a conservative, but trendy shade of grey, his white collared shirt loose at the neck. Yes, he would make a very good “buyer” - if he wasn't hopelessly gay. The Organization didn’t sell men and they vetted their buyers, vetted them quite thoroughly. There was no way K’s uncle would get past the gilded gate. He’d end up getting himself killed.

For a moment K’s shoulders drooped, it had always been
him.
For years he had stood up for his family, his uncle in particular. His uncle wasn’t exactly what one would call conservative when it came to his lifestyle. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t spotted for who he was immediately, everyone in their social circle knew about his preference and the press as well. K had never questioned it, even when he’d been a kid and taken a couple knocks in the head for it.

The old taunts rang in his head,
does that mean you’re a sissy too?
Kids were so fucking unoriginal. He straightened,
no, he wasn't a sissy
. But growing up with someone with a flamboyant lifestyle along with a somewhat absent father had not exactly left him “in touch” with all of his feelings. As far back as he could remember, he had just always seemed to be the one that had to fill the void with everyone, everywhere. He’d handled things by pulling into himself, burying himself in his work. His sister, she had taken the opposite tact. She’d chosen to live life on the wild side and now, she’d disappeared. They had reported her absence to the police, then the FBI had taken over the case. But after so long, K's mother was in despair of ever seeing her only daughter again.

Eventually he couldn't handle it anymore. The operation known simply as The Organization was spreading through DC’s surrounding suburban counties and growing by leaps and bounds every day, spreading like an itchy, burning rash and there didn't seem to be anyone able to stop them any time soon. His uncle was the bravest man he knew, and he
was
right about the fact that something needed to be done, he was just not the one to do it. No one would ever believe he’d be interested in women.

There was no one else. He’d already let his sister down, let her down in the worst possible way, when she needed him the most. The only thing K hated more than mistakes was repeating them, if no one else was able to find his sister, he’d just have to do it himself.

“Goodnight.” He mumbled to his uncle before departing the study. Tomorrow they’d all wake up and he would be gone. His uncle would put two and two together, then he’d tell the others. His mother would panic, but there would be nothing she could do.

He couldn’t help but understand her position, if he wasn't careful, his mother would lose both of them.

8 months later - undercover

She was so pretty, like an angel. Her hair was a golden halo around her behind the wheel of her SUV as it moved up the road. Her mouth was open as she sang along to whatever was in the radio swaying a bit back and forth.

K smiled as he peeked at her through the window of his truck. K didn't smile much these days. They hit a hill and her truck slowed, he slowed with it a bit hoping to catch another glance, then downhill. That truck of hers was a real mess, he turned his radio down so he could focus on - well, his stalking. He could hear some squeaking coming from somewhere under the hood, but the beauty inside was ignoring all of it as her slender fingers tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel. The storm, her mess of a truck, the creepy guy (that would be him) now riding along side her, maneuvering through the other motorists, trying to keep her in view. A “cup half fuller” if he ever saw one; her shoulders were bobbing now to the music he could
just
hear coming from the truck’s cab.

One of the other drivers finally became impatient with his antics honking at him and giving him the finger. K's instincts were to yell something back, but he
was
being kind of a jerk. He looked over again to see if he could catch sight of her again. It felt good to smile but then, angels always put him in a good mood.

The rain continued to come down, eventually it turned to sleet, then ice. If he had been more focused on his driving and less on the angel he would have noticed the curb. It came on him suddenly, out of nowhere, it forced his truck into hers.

It forced her off the road.

Part l: Winter

Chapter 1

Francine’s mouth was dry and her skin cold, her stomach felt like she had swallowed knotted ropes. It was the worst fear she had ever experienced and she trembled with it. Around her neck was an iron collar and it was attached to a chain in the ceiling. Her arms were bound behind her back and she was kneeling on the floor. Her eyes were blinded by a black mask already damp with her tears which at this point was probably more of a blessing than a curse. She really did not want to see what was going on around her.

 It was unbelievable that this type of thing really went on, but then, here we were. One moment you’re out driving to what you hope will be a new life, and before you know it you’re run off the road by a black pick up. When the cop appeared to help she thought she was OK. Then after he’d checked her license and registration he’d covered her mouth and nose with some kind of smelly inhalant and she had woken up here chained to the ceiling.

The man pulled her mask off and stared into her frightened face. He had dark olive skin and was wearing a conservative, expensive suit. He had spent some time whispering what would happen to her in her new life. His graphic descriptions were quite cruel and had gone on for what seemed like hours. She had long ago ceased the fight against the tears that streamed down her face from the sheer exhaustion and terror she was experiencing. Her skin had been bruised by their rough handling and they knew her name, her background, that all her family was dead, that no one would be coming for her, looking for her.

She was a lost soul, they could do anything they liked to her and would, and she was not missing that he was getting a kick out of it. Sick bastard. She could see it in his dark eyes under his perfectly manicured hair. Slowly, finished scaring the stuffing out her he stood up leaving her a sobbing mess on the floor before pivoting on his heel and finding the floor before brutally turning off what was left of the light leaving her in the darkness.

“Did you have to do that?” Armin Ashkar left the room and heard the door lock behind him. Behold, it was the incomprehensible K. Now wasn't this a surprise?

“What are you doing here?” he asked genuinely surprised. Armin wondered how long K had watched him and for how long through the double paned glass... creepy bastard. Now, he was continuing to watch the new, soon to be slave continuing to sob softly, laying on her side.

Armin didn't like K, they were polar opposites, different in every way. Unlike Armin who took great pains with his appearance and did what he could do to stand out in a fashionable and lavish way, the man known simply as K was the exact opposite. K always dressed very non-descriptively, hell everything about him was discreet, from his color pattern, usually if not all black than the occasional dark green or maroon sweater or pullover. K kept his dark brown hair cut very short. He always spoke softly and did nothing to bring attention to himself or to stand out. Today was no exception, he had not gotten creative. Black jeans over serviceable black boots and a black pull over that fit his tall muscular frame. He continued to stare through the small window in the door with his dark flat brown eyes.

The two men also differed in their dealings with women in a major way. Armin got off on fear, it was his drug, his kick, and while he knew that K was into bondage and other things he also knew that K was disgusted by Armin’s hobby. K had gotten the attention of The Organization just long enough to gain employment with his incomparable accounting skills, but even though everyone knew K had dominant tendencies he’d never seen him anywhere near their actual “merchandise” before. No, K was extremely disciplined, mainly a numbers man, keeping his hands clean of the day to day workings of the business, leaving that up to the real men like Armin, while he was somewhere at a desk running numbers. To see him down here, checking out one of their actual packages, asking questions?
What the hell?

“Maybe I just like blonds.” he said as fallacious as ever.

“Well you can like them all you like,” said Armin “I’m quite sure this one is going to be out of your price range. They found some interesting reading materials in her car. Word is she might be an actual submissive.” Even K’s immovable expression couldn't totally disguise
that
tic. “Yeah,” pushed Armin. “Bidding could go real high, I doubt an
accountant
is gonna have a shot.”

Feeling superior he took great delight in adding, “We pay you well, but not
that
well.” With that he gave K one of his disdainful looks and walked away.