Rough Play (16 page)
Authors: Christina Crooks
The other men lounged in their chairs, the very image of barbarian gentlemen of leisure. Some wore jeans, others kilts, and some seemed dressed for a Renaissance festival with leather pants and chainmail, but all had an air of arrogance she associated with power. The Goreans came in a variety of ages and shapes, but all seemed a little fitter, a little healthier, than the normal guys she knew.
Charlotte noticed four of the women knelt at four different men’s feet, their heads lowered, long hair falling loosely. Their hands lay palm-up on their parted and bared thighs.
Charlotte’s gaze sharpened. Each thigh sported a slave brand. Real ones, if she was any judge, and she figured she was. “Kartane,” she began.
“Unless you’re choosing to leave now, please be quiet? It’s rude to talk during a performance.”
Did the women not mind having the brands? They didn’t seem to. In fact, as Charlotte watched, one of the men patted a blonde on the top of her head as if she were a pet. The red-clad woman leaned into the man’s caress, giving every indication she savored his touch.
Crack!
The dancer yelped, danced faster. She spun away from the whip, her dress swirling up to show bare butt cheeks. Sweat gleamed on every inch of her body.
Charlotte looked from her to Kartane, who now frowned. She wanted to ask what had happened but feared to provoke a reprimand.
Crack!
The dancer stumbled, then spun the other way.
“Clumsy woman,” Kartane declared.
The dancer heard. Not stopping her dance, she tossed her red tresses, retorting, “You’d be clumsy, too, with this oaf whipping you for no reason!”
The men gasped. At her audacity? Charlotte saw their appalled expressions. Yes, appalled she’d addressed the insult with one of her own.
“You should take a whip to her in earnest,” one man declared.
Another shut off the music.
In the sudden silence, Charlotte heard the whispering hiss of leather as the man with the whip coiled the weapon and hung it on his belt. He looked to Kartane.
Who nodded his head. “Tie her for punishment. She dislikes it.” He addressed the men, but rather than waiting, he strode to where different lengths of rope, color-coded, hung on the wall. He selected a short length, tossed it to the nearest man who caught it with a smile. He rose, stepped around the woman kneeling before him. Younger than the whip-wielder, with dark hair glistening with too much oil and dirty jeans that reminded Charlotte suddenly of her landlord, he approached the haughty dancer with eagerness.
His kneeling woman remained in place, still as a statue. All four of them were.
Charlotte frowned, on the verge of protesting. Was this for real? Or was it role-playing?
Watching as the dancer had her dress ripped from her and thrown aside as if it were trash, then forced roughly to her knees, Charlotte was shocked to find her body responding warmly to the violent scene.
“Okay. That’s not good,” she muttered, backing away slowly.
Competently and without a wasted motion, the man forced the girl’s forehead to the floor. “Kneel to the whip.”
“A punishment position,” Kartane explained unnecessarily as he returned to Charlotte’s side.
Incredibly, the woman laughed. She ground herself sensuously against the furs, twitched her glistening ass at the men. “There’s not one among you who can conquer this girl! Do your worst. All you can succeed at is the spoiling of beauty. Silly men.” She stretched sinuously within her bonds and laughed again at the sharp inhales of all the men. One approached with a short, straight whip Charlotte had seen before. Two feet long and wicked-looking. A quirt, Kartane had once called it.
Kartane’s voice rang out sternly in the quiet. “There’s nothing beautiful about a rebellious kajira. I suggest you punish her severely.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, Ubar.” The quirt met the flesh of her ass. The woman made no sound.
It impacted again, harder, and she flinched despite her obvious effort to remain still.
And again. The woman panted, and then: “Is that a little boy? It must be a weak boy, with a limp little weapon.”
The laughs of the men were a goad to the one with the whip. He rained down blows but failed to win from the woman any further sound.
Her ass bloomed with a crosshatch of dark pink welts.
The slave yawned and stretched, making a show of it. Her taut, well-muscled body extended in deliberately provocative ways. She made the rope wrapped around her wrists seem an attractive accessory rather than a forced restraint.
Incensed, the man threw down the quirt. He unzipped his pants, then lowered them to expose his enormous erection.
The slave glanced over her shoulder. Tensed. “You can’t do that.” She began to struggle in her bonds.
Kartane shook his head. “You’re his for the punishing. He can do what he likes.”
“Not in front of everyone!” She wriggled, her face flushing with effort and shame.
The man—the woman’s owner? or was Kartane her owner?—slapped her ass. “Be still and don’t fight me, and maybe I won’t pass you around.”
Immediately the other men started hooting and shouting. “Fight him!” “Kick him in the nuts!” “Fight him, kajira! He likes it!”
She did fight, but there was only so much give in the rope. She fell awkwardly to her side. The music started again, but this time she wasn’t dancing. Her struggles made her body spasm in frantic, violent ways unrelated to the music’s beat.
The woman seemed to wilt, shaking her head. “Please, Master. Please, no.”
The man positioned himself behind her, his erection rubbing between her legs, to the cheers of the others.
Charlotte’s body seemed locked into place. As the simple whipping changed to a threat of violent sex, her own response confused her. The struggle and the dominance turned her on. The woman was just role-playing. So were the men. And yet . . .
Defeated, the woman struggled weakly one last time.
It was completely not okay.
Charlotte had to swallow twice before trusting her voice. She managed to shout, “Stop! Right now!”
16
H
er voice was loud with the power of her dismay behind it. She hadn’t intended the shrill, desperate tone. It served its purpose, however.
er voice was loud with the power of her dismay behind it. She hadn’t intended the shrill, desperate tone. It served its purpose, however.
Kartane looked at her.
The man looked at her.
All the other men looked at her, and even the kneeling slaves momentarily glanced in her direction before returning to their statue-like positions.
But it was the bound woman who spoke first. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
The man poised behind her added, clearly gritting his teeth, “Free Woman, if you don’t like what you see . . . please leave!”
Charlotte trembled with outrage and something more. “You can’t rape that woman.”
Kartane walked to her quickly. “Charlotte, enough.”
“Enough? Look! Do you want to go to jail? Do all of you? Huh?”
Unexpectedly, Kartane smiled. Knowingly. “Why don’t you ask the kajira what she wants.” When Charlotte hesitated, Kartane gave her a little nudge. “Ease your mind. Quickly, if you don’t mind.”
“Then maybe you can drive me home like you promised,” she retorted. But she went.
The woman reclined on her side, showcasing her feminine curves. The long curtain of her hair draped her body fetchingly, feathering over nipples, hips, and slave brand. Her brand, Charlotte noticed, was in the shape of a flower.
The woman’s coolly beautiful stare unnerved her.
“Okay. Um, excuse me. I want to make sure you’re all right with this. If you’re not, we can get you out of here. Right now.”
The woman looked at the man, now standing behind her, his pants pulled up. Her eyebrows raised in question. He nodded permission.
She spoke even as she turned back to Charlotte. “This girl is happy to serve. Her master’s smallest whim is her highest law. There are penalties for breaking the law.” She shrugged, a graceful and economical movement of one shoulder. “You are interrupting.”
“Yeah. Real nice. I try to save you and this is the thanks I get.”
“Ignorant bitch.”
“What? What did you call me?” Baffled, Charlotte stared at the sweaty naked woman at her feet.
The man nudged the slave with his boot. A warning. “She’ll be punished for speaking to you that way. A slave doesn’t so address the free.”
The woman didn’t seem worried. Her eyes glittered, avaricious. “Yes, Master.”
“Answer the free woman’s question.”
“Yes, Master.” Her gaze pinned Charlotte again. “This girl called you an ignorant bitch, because you don’t understand. This girl does not compromise on her femininity as you do. This girl is not confused, or unhappy, or trapped in a maze of societal conditioning with inconsistent directives and standards for women. This girl is not artificially inhibited. This girl has no need to try to become a man, knowing herself naturally a slave, as you do not yet know yourself. Free Woman, this girl is wise in the ways of men, and intimately knowledgeable about her own needs as well. As one of the free, you’ll never know true womanhood or the rapture of being owned, body and soul, submitting wholly to a master who accepts no less.”
Charlotte blinked. “You don’t seem very submissive to me.”
“True. This girl merits severe punishment.” Her eyes glittered again. She half smiled. “This girl enjoys not-enjoying it. If you can comprehend such a thing. Are you finished interrupting?”
“Okay, all finished.” Charlotte backed away so quickly her movements jarred her. She knew she looked comparatively graceless, not to mention stiff and awkward. “Have at each other. Violence galore. Enjoy.” She turned, trembling with both recognition and horror.
The saucy slave girl reminded her of herself, at least a little bit.
“Okay, Kartane. Time to go.”
He nodded. “If you wish. But things are about to get . . . interesting.”
Against her better judgment, Charlotte looked back.
“Master, don’t, please! This girl is sorry!”
This time Charlotte could hear the false note in her voice. The slave girl undulated in a seductive arc with the crocodile tears on her cheeks making them glisten. She looked undeniably alluring.
“Not sorry enough,” the man said. “Belly position.”
She lowered herself to her stomach, every movement graceful with a show of reluctance. She truly was beautiful and talented, Charlotte had to admit, riveted despite herself. She flinched empathetically when the man pushed the girl onto her side with his boot, transforming all that grace and beauty into an ungainly sprawl.
The slave crawled back up into position, weeping. “Punish this girl severely for having disappointed you!”
“You presume to tell me what to do?”
“No, Master!”
“Then you’re saying you don’t merit punishment?”
“No, Master!”
“I should feed you to a sleen.”
Charlotte whispered to Kartane. “What’s a sleen?”
He whispered back, his breath warm on her ear. “A sixlegged beast with enormous claws. It eats meat.”
A creature from science fiction. Gorean fiction. It’d be ludicrous, if it weren’t for the very real violence.
“I’d like to see the others on you. You’re welcome to her,” the punisher invited the other men. They smiled and stirred, many rising with lecherous expressions. Those closed quickly on the nude figure.
“No, Master! Please, this girl wants only to please you!”
He pushed her beseeching hands away. “I know what you want. Not that your wants are relevant. Perform well, and you will please me.”
One older man grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulled her back by it. Her body arched into a bow, then she fell again onto the furs.
The woman struggled and cried out when two men held her pinned, one for each arm. She snarled and bit one when his arm came near her mouth.
A third kneed her legs open while unzipping. His breath came hard, excited. The girl jackknifed her body trying to escape her fate, but he shoved her back down brutally, covering her body with his, wormed between her legs.
The crowd of men surrounding her blocked Charlotte’s view. She blinked and took a step back in an attempt to make sense of it all. She angled her head away, needing to not see anymore.
She could hear, though.
“It hurts, please,” the slave gasped, then whimpered and grunted in time with what Charlotte presumed were the hard, punishing thrusts. “Please, oh yes, please.” The woman’s voice hoarsened to a slavish, purring moan.
Charlotte raised her fist to her mouth, bit on it. Why the hell was she responding this way? Was she slave-hearted, too?
“I need to go now.” When Kartane didn’t move, Charlotte realized she’d whispered. She cleared her throat, spoke again. “I need to go home now.”
“Yes.” His voice was soft, too. When his gaze met hers, she could see the fire in him. The scene had affected him as well.
She had to pull her gaze away. It wasn’t Kartane she wanted.
“Of course,” Kartane said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. He paused, then shrugged. “Follow me.”
She glanced back one last time. The punishment continued. All of it was consensual, she reminded herself. Everyone involved wanted it. Charlotte had zero place here, among these kinds of people.
Or did she?
All the four kneeling slave girls still held their poses, hands on thighs.
All but one.
Charlotte’s eyes locked with the most distant slave, a petite dirty blonde whose silky poncho covered more skin than the others, pooling around her thin legs. Her eyes pleaded with Charlotte before she turned her head back to the empty seat before her.
Charlotte stopped. Watched. Did she just see a wordless appeal for help? Surely not. Charlotte had publicly offered to rescue the punished slave on the furs. That would’ve been the time for the kneeling woman to speak up, to object, to ask for help.
The woman didn’t turn her head again. Motionless.
“Kartane,” Charlotte began.
He stopped, backtracked. “Yes?”
“Those woman, the ones kneeling there. They’re all volunteer slaves? This is consensual play for everyone? Not just the dancer.”
His lips thinned. “Yes. It’s what they want.”
“Because all women have slave hearts,” she said, testing.
He looked at her. “Are you coming to believe they might?”
She answered carefully. “I believe some might.”
His smile, when he bestowed it on her, was truly warm. “You’ve come a long way on your own.”
“Maybe.” She spared one more glance at the smallest slave. Still as a statue. “Maybe not. Don’t misunderstand me. These games of yours aren’t for me.” Her skin prickled with horror at the thought of being bound and branded, punished and used, all at the whim of a man who considered it biologically ordained.
“Aren’t these games for you?” Kartane used his softest voice. “Surely a little bit? You seemed quite riveted.”
“Not exactly. Not by the ceremony, or the permanent hierarchy you believe is biological.” She cut herself off. She glared at him. “You love that part, though, don’t you? ‘Master’ this, ‘Master’ that. I’m just glad it’s consensual, this time.” Her voice held censure.
“We’ve discussed that again and again. I’ve apologized too many times.
You drove me to it
. No, you listen to me. You taunted me for not being dominant enough. That’s difficult, isn’t it, Charlotte? Accepting part of the blame?” He held her stare, not backing down this time. “When you brought home toys for me to use that didn’t get you off, when you orchestrated scenes of violence and scenarios of abduction and that didn’t get you off either, what did you expect me to do? I’ve never backed away from a challenge in my life.”
You drove me to it
. No, you listen to me. You taunted me for not being dominant enough. That’s difficult, isn’t it, Charlotte? Accepting part of the blame?” He held her stare, not backing down this time. “When you brought home toys for me to use that didn’t get you off, when you orchestrated scenes of violence and scenarios of abduction and that didn’t get you off either, what did you expect me to do? I’ve never backed away from a challenge in my life.”
“I didn’t ask to be tied up and tortured for two days. I never wanted a brand,” she snarled.
“I regret hurting you. I’m sorry for my mistakes. I only wanted to please you, so I asked around. I found the fetish scene. I found . . . well, it doesn’t matter. Done is done.” He offered her a small smile of regret, a ghost of its former self. “At least we’re friends now.”
Suddenly Charlotte felt exhausted. If that woman wanted rescuing, she should be way less subtle; Charlotte was hardly in a position to determine nuance among Goreans, especially after the dressing-down by the dancer.
Her small aches and pains from Subspace plagued her all at once, as if adrenaline and lust had kept them at bay. Now they insisted on being heard.
“Let’s go,” she said, and let Kartane lead her toward his car. As she went, she realized something else.
Despite all the single men and women in one room together, her X-rated movie vision hadn’t paired off any. The movies in her head remained dark and still, here.
At least, they did until she pictured Martin.
A movie snapped to life, placing Martin squarely in the role of slave-chastiser, and herself under him as the naked slave struggling and moaning on the furs.
“Okay. I have a problem.”
“Excuse me?” Kartane asked, his familiar voice dispelling the visions.
“Nothing.” She marched after him. “Nothing at all.”
Other books
Within The Shadows by Julieanne Lynch
The First Billion by Christopher Reich
The Cowboy's Rules: 2 (Cowboys After Dark:) by Maggie Carpenter
The Surrender of Lady Charlotte by Lizbeth Dusseau
Time to Play by Sam Crescent
Jinetes del mundo incognito by Alexander Abramov
Tower of Zanid by L. Sprague de Camp
Final Flight by Stephen Coonts
Salt by Jeremy Page
