“Tell me you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry Master.”
“After each stroke of the cane, I want you to say: ‘I’m sorry I lied, Master. Thank you for teaching me.’ ”
“How many?”
“Until I think the lesson has been driven home.”
The welts he laid on her ass came down in beautiful, perfect lines. The music of her screams and the obediently repeated verbal offerings drove him into a frenzy. When he’d marked the whole of her ass, he moved down her legs, then took advantage of the spreader bar to give her a few sharp raps on the inside of each thigh. That elicited several pained howls.
Finally, when she was shaking so hard he knew it was only the hook and the heels that left her upright, he put the cane down and stepped back, admiring his work.
“Well, kitten, you survived your first physical punishment. If you behave like the good girl I know you can be, these types of visits to the dungeon will be rare.”
Grace flinched as he ran his fingertips over the heated welts. Then he got down on his knees behind her and trailed his tongue over each of them, causing her to shiver. He fingered her wet slit and tongued her, lapping at the liquid dripping from her pussy. Before she could come, he stood and pressed himself against her back, his lips grazing her ear.
“If I let you down, are you going to be a good little whore for me?”
“Yes, Master.” She let out a pained hiss as she pressed her ass against him.
He chuckled. “Already forgetting the welts I just left on you?”
“N-No, Master.”
His hands came around to her front, kneading her breasts and tweaking her nipples into hard little points. Then came the nipple clamps. Her crying had stopped until he put the clamps on, then the sobbing came back. It seemed half was in response to sensory overload and half was in anticipation of what might be coming next.
He unlocked the cuffs and took the spreader bar away and removed her from the hook. “Go get on the spanking horse.”
She whimpered at the order, but she went, too scared to defy him with so many cane welts lining her ass and no unmarked spaces left for him to hit. He hadn’t bothered to untie her wrists yet. She struggled up onto the spanking horse, straddled it, and allowed her bound arms to fall over the top end of the bench.
He flipped the switch and smiled at the way she bucked against the vibrations, grinding her hot little cunt against the vinyl, trying to come.
“Pace yourself, kitten.” He had no intention of letting her have a quick come and roll over to sleep. He intended to use her until dinnertime, which was still another hour away.
As she rocked and rubbed against the bench, Asher massaged lube into her ass, finger-fucking her tight hole. He wasn’t sure which she liked more, having something in her ass or having her clit vibrated. After a few minutes of her lovely begging, he replaced his fingers with a narrow glass toy, working it in and out of her.
“Please . . .”
“Please, what?”
“Fuck my ass.”
“You’ve got fresh welts, kitten. If I fuck you, my body pounding against them will hurt.” Those words only made her wetter.
“Master, please.”
He laughed. “Well, you can’t say I wasn’t trying to be merciful.”
He stopped teasing, lubed his cock, and seated himself fully inside her. She whimpered and writhed as he started moving. Her head was turned to one side, and he watched the confused play of emotions across her face. The feeling of his fullness inside her ass, the pain of the welts being repeatedly bumped, the intense pleasure of the vibrations as each thrust pushed her thighs apart more and caused her clit to make harder contact with the padded bench.
“Come, kitten, and I’ll empty inside you.”
She let out a guttural moan and obeyed.
Eleven
Months passed, and Asher finally put Darcy behind him. She would always hold a piece of his heart, but she was his past. Grace had continued to flourish under his care. Her nightmares had ceased, and it didn’t seem that her former master haunted her anymore.
After the day at the brander’s office, He’d feared he’d lose his progress with her, but the brief and unsettling exchange hadn’t managed to take away her overall feeling of safety.
He absentmindedly ruffled his pet’s hair. She knelt on a pillow next to him in his study, wearing a bikini and tan-colored pants. She’d been lonely, so he’d invited her into the study with him while he took care of a few matters with his investment portfolio. Grace kept herself occupied, painting a little clay pot she’d made. She’d been lining her windowsills with them for weeks now. Their happy presence made her room seem even brighter and just a touch bohemian, as if she’d become a true islander.
The brand was almost fully healed, leaving behind a clean scar of his estate symbol. Asher stroked his mark, and she smiled at him.
This was the scene that was interrupted by a knock on the front door at four o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon. A few sharp words were exchanged down the hall by William and whoever had come calling. Moments later, footsteps pounded down the hall, and two island officials stood in the doorway. One flashed a badge and the other produced a document.
“Asher Collins, you’re under arrest for the murder of Darcy McDonald.”
Their words turned the room into a vacuum where no air seemed capable of penetrating. Grace dropped the pot she’d been so carefully painting, and it shattered on the hardwood floor.
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“Forget it.”
Her face fell. They both knew nothing would ever be done about her breaking the little pot. Whereas, before the words “you’re under arrest” had pressed into the room, she would have been caned for the infraction, or at the very least made to write lines or stand in a corner for a couple of hours. There wasn’t time for any of that now.
He didn’t bother stalling. What was the point? The more worked up he got, the more upset and agitated Grace would become. He could at least go away with dignity. His chest tightened as he looked down at her. She was moments away from uncontrollable sobbing fits. The moisture had gathered around the corners of her eyes, threatening to launch the tsunami of grief.
They must have found Darcy’s body. So much time had passed; he’d thought it was over. Ironic that the moment he found himself finally able to move on and bury the guilt, her body should surface. It was as if she were punishing him from beyond the grave for loving Grace. For replacing her.
He could almost hear her voice in his mind.
Wasn’t your purpose to atone? Not move on and live happily ever after?
He moved to the front of the desk. “I’d like to request that you set my slave free off the island. Send her to live with her friend.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible under the circumstances,” one of the uniformed men said. “According to the law, in a situation like this, the individual under arrest loses all human ownership privileges, and the slave reverts back to being the property of her former master.” He looked down at the document he’d shown a moment ago. “That would be Lucas Stone. He’s already been notified and has requested that she be returned to him.”
Asher bet he’d been notified. He’d probably spent every waking hour since the elevator incident, searching for the body.
Grace crawled to him and latched around his leg like a small child intent on stopping his progress out the door. She let out a blood-curdling shriek and kept repeating the word, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”
He would have ordered her to pipe down and show a bit of decorum but he couldn’t have reached her even if he’d tried. She’d gone somewhere inside herself. The vocalizations surfaced from wherever she was, but if he spoke, he knew she wouldn’t hear him. If it was possible, she seemed to be in worse shape than she’d been in the day he brought her home.
“You can’t mean to give her back to him. Whatever you think I’ve done, that’s not Grace’s sin. She’s an innocent in this. Stone abused her. He left scars on her. If you have any decency at all, you won’t send her back there.”
Asher wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to admit to killing Darcy. In the first place, it hadn’t been his hand that had delivered the fatal blow. It didn’t matter how responsible he knew he was, he wasn’t about to say anything that sounded like a confession. Whether they had the body or not, he would hold his tongue until he had further information in case there was still a way out of this.
One of the officials wrapped a hand around Grace’s arm and jerked her to her feet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Collins. The law is the law. And unfortunately we have no legislation protecting the general welfare of slaves short of not killing them.” He gave Asher a dark look as if to say death was far worse than abuse.
She was still chanting, “No, no, no, no, no,” like a crazy person. Asher couldn’t say he blamed her. A similar chant had started inside his own head, only he’d managed to keep it inside. For now.
“Let me just have a few minutes to speak with her alone, to say goodbye.”
The officials exchanged a glance and shrugged, seeing no harm in it. One of them seemed sorry to be returning her to a man who might have been hurting her. “Fifteen minutes. We’ll be waiting for both of you by the front door.”
***
As soon as they were alone Asher hauled back and slapped her. He needed Grace to be lucid and to get over whatever hysterical episode she was having. They didn’t have time for it. Her hand shot up to her cheek and her eyes immediately cleared and went to his. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t say anything. She just stood there, quiet and waiting, and at least seemingly in control of herself for the time being.
“We don’t have a lot of time here. I need you to listen to me.” He unlatched the window and pushed it open. “You have to leave right now. Go to the dock and use my boat. It’s not meant for taking far out to sea. Just take it out about a mile and then circle to the other end of the island where the trees are denser. You’ll see the huts that the natives live in. A friend of mine, James, lives with them. He’s got blond hair and brown eyes. I want you to give yourself to him and do whatever he says. He’ll protect you.”
Asher pulled her against him, knowing he was probably crushing her, but she seemed too dazed to protest. He inhaled her coconut-scented shampoo. She smelled like the island. When she didn’t immediately answer, he shook her.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice was so small. He would have given anything to change things. Why the fuck hadn’t he and James put the body in an incinerator like they had some sense? No body. No crime. But no, they’d stupidly buried it. Hadn’t they watched enough television to know nothing ever stayed buried? Hadn’t he known on some level that this would come back to bite him at the worst possible time? A part of him had wanted to get caught back then, but that line of self-destructive thinking had ended the moment Grace entered his life.
She reluctantly pulled out of his embrace and started to climb out the window, her movements stilted and robotic as if she were on autopilot. He was thankful the study was on the first floor. At least she wouldn’t have to negotiate a high drop.
“Grace?”
She turned. The plea in her eyes startled him, as if she might beg him to run with her. But he couldn’t. It was too risky. The officials wanted him more than they wanted her. He was the criminal in their eyes. She would only cost them reward money.
“You know I love you, right? I loved you from the first moment I saw you. If I never see you again, I needed you to know.”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. “I love you too, Master. Maybe not from the beginning. I was too scared in the beginning.”
“I know.” He would always wonder when she’d started to fall in love, but he couldn’t afford that kind of self-indulgence right now. Every minute they took talking was a minute she couldn’t make her escape. He pulled her to him again, his mouth crushing hers, tasting her, probably for the last time. “Go,” he whispered into her hair.
When she’d gone, he watched out the window as she ran to the pier. Every few minutes he glanced down at his watch. He could barely see the boat, a small speck on the water. He wondered if he’d even hear it start up. A few minutes later, he did hear it. From the study, it was a tiny sound, no louder than the buzz of a bumblebee. Then the little white speck moved away, and he couldn’t see it anymore.
Finally, he closed the window and latched it back. No sense giving the officials any help. He pulled the book out of the bookcase and was staring down the stairs five minutes later when the men knocked on the study door.
“Time’s up.”
“It’s open,” he said.
The door swung in, and the two uniformed officials stumbled into the room. “Where is she?”
Asher glanced up. If they bought that she’d escaped through some secret door or tunnel under the house, it would buy her a little more time to get farther around the island.
“She’s gone,” he said with a shrug.
One of the uniforms punched him in the jaw, and his head reeled back. He just laughed.
“We’ll have you charged with helping her escape in addition to the murder charges.”
“In the first place, I haven’t murdered anyone,” Asher said. “And in the second place, Grace is not a criminal.”
“She’s a runaway slave.”
“She was merely following her master’s orders. She wasn’t breaking Eleu laws.”
The official cuffed Asher using more force than necessary, then patted him down and led him outside while his partner took the bait and started down the dungeon steps in search of his pet. Idiots.
***
Grace stared at her master’s house until it became an indiscernible dot on the horizon. She’d wanted to shout that he hadn’t killed Darcy, but she’d been so panicked that every time she tried to make a word come out, the only one that would make it past her lips had been,
no.
Thankfully, since Asher had slapped her, she’d snapped out of whatever that was and was at least able to focus on the task at hand.
She was far enough out now that she cut the engine and let the boat drift. A part of her was tempted to leave and never set foot on the island again. But it was far too dangerous. She had no idea where she was or what direction would take her back to the mainland. If she went the wrong way, the boat would run out of fuel and she’d be drifting out at sea, at the mercy of the elements.