Chapter Five

Ashley moaned in her sleep. Fitful, half dream, half terror. The images, the sensations, repeating over and over. She was on the shore, in the wet flimsy dress, barefoot. A hundred times, climbing out of the water, coughing, shivering, even in the hot sun. And always, always the man is waiting, bare-chested, in boots and breeches, a sword belt slung across his waist. She knows he will be there, and yet each time it feels brand new.

She screams, but he merely grins, his face largely obscured by the leather mask, his brown eyes flashing, rapacious.

“You are mine,” he says each time, uncoiling the rope, flexing his impossible biceps, tanned by the blazing heat.

Ashley tries to run, sometimes past him, other times back into the sea, but he catches her always, holds her fast like a rag doll. Her struggles only cause her to rub against him, quickening his breath, hardening his cock. His muscles are like iron, and her own flesh can but yield in response.

“Do you lay as good as you fight, milady?” he asks, his voice hot and strong in her ear, his breath vaguely tinted of rum and flavored by the scent of his skin. He is male, all male. No shame, no apologies for his hard cock and his primeval desire to take what is his due: a vibrant female, unattached, in her sexual prime. Sometimes he tears off the dress, other times he makes her strip, as he watches, clenching the rope in one hand, the other gripping the curved sword. He could cut off the garment as easily, if he wished, or slit her open like a ripe melon.

The dress has no buttons so she must pull it over her head. She is so scared, so weak yet her belly burns and her thighs moisten. The material is saturated, it slips from her hand landing with a splash in the shallow water. At once the fresh air tingles on her skin, her naked skin.

“Put down your hands, wench!” he commands when she tries to cover herself, shielding her nude body. It had been difficult, trying to hide both breasts and vagina, but now she must show both. ]

“Back straight,” he growls, pressing the point of his fearsome sword to her throat. It is a sharp sensation, causing her to suck in her breath.

“What is your name, girl?” the pirate demands, his eyes hot and flagrant on her body.

She tells him ‘Tia’ and he repeats the name, smiling slyly as he slides the tip of the blade over her cheeks and under her left ear. “Are you going to be a good girl, Tia?”

Ashley pulls her head back, trying to avoid the subtly sliding metal, cold to the skin and razor sharp. The pirate moves the blade to a point under her chin, forcing her onto tiptoes. “Don’t move again, Tia. Not without permission.”

It is real. So real…

“I-I’m sorry,” she winced, feeling the point prick her skin like a needle.

“I asked you a question, wench.”

Ashley nibbled her lower lip, sucked in a shivering breath as the sword began to trace itself down her neck, between the hollow of her breasts, finally coming to rest at her belly button. Her nipples throbbed as she imagined what he could do to her there or a half dozen other sensitive places.

The question, he’d asked a question!

“I will,” she stammered, calves strained as he raised her higher on her toes, the blade back under her throat.. “I will try to be a good girl.”

Behind the mask he frowned. Drawing a dot of blood at her belly, he said, “Trying is not good enough.”

“I will be good, then!” she cried. “I will—only please don’t hurt me!”

“Tia will be good,” he corrected. “Tia will be a good lay for you and your crew.”

When Tia failed to respond promptly, the blade sliced the air and found as its new target her left nipple. The merest inclination of his wrist, the tiniest amount of pressure and she would be sexually scarred for life. “Forgive me, sir,” she begged, “but I—I mean, Tia is a virgin! She doesn’t know how to please men!”

The pirate grinned. “Better still,” he said, swinging the sword back into his scabbard. “This will make good sport. You have twenty seconds.”

“Twenty?” she repeated numbly, her palms still plastered to her hips. “Sir, I don’t understand.“

She watched him remove the sword belt and take off his leather vest. “To run,” he finally told her, as though she were an imbecile, “I am giving you that long for a head start. Now run!”

Tia shrieked as he struck her buttocks with his hand, delivering a cracking blow. When he raised his arm a second time, she took off. But where to go? Through the jungle. That was the only way. The undergrowth was rough on her feet. There were briars and brambles, too, which scratched and abraded her bare skin. Twice she fell, her nude breasts and sex crashing ignominiously onto the jungle floor.

Each time, she got back to her feet. She was prey. Naked, hunted prey, and the predator was hot on her trail. She could hear the pirate behind her, moving efficiently, minimally, making only the tiniest sounds.

He is playing with her. Circling round, herding her. She hears him on one side, then the other. In the end she spins helplessly, teetering on the brink of collapse. She will die out here. She has no hope. Head throbbing, she tries to escape again, and this time she succeeds, covering unbelievable ground, the way she could in school, when she ran track and field. At last, she feels herself alone. There is sand beneath her, again marked with claw prints. Something lives here, something big. There is a cave, at the bottom of a large cliff. She looks up at the treetops, and she realizes there is something worse than being hunted by a lust-filled pirate.

Being alone.

“Help” she begins to cry, but before the sound has escaped her throat, he is there, behind her, his hand over her mouth.

She relaxes against him, relief overcoming her fear and sexual terror for a brief second. “Thank God,” she whispers, when he releases her for air. “You are here.”

He turns her to face him, holding her fast by the upper arms. The mask is gone, she sees his face, ruggedly handsome, fierce and marked by a long scar.

“I give myself,” she whispers fiercely, looking into his black eyes.

But the pirate only shakes his head, his brow narrowing, the jagged scar on his cheek lengthening perceptibly. “You do not give. You are taken.”

Ashley moans as he thrusts his tongue between her lips, savaging her mouth. When he releases her, there is a trickle of blood at the corner. Gripping her arms like steel, like shackles of flesh, he forces her down, onto her knees and then onto her back. His rod is huge and punishing and he shows no mercy for her tender virgin sex. At first stroke she is made to the take the length of him, his muscled body pressing her hard, breasts to knees.

As he continues to plunder her depths, she avoids his eyes, ashamed, because of the slickness of her canal, her vulnerability, her complicity.

“Don’t look away,” he commands, and Ashley has to bare her soul, revealing her every emotion, to the precious depths of her maidenhood as he studies her expression, reading every nuance, down to the very shading of her eyes.

“Please don’t,” she begs, offering a last scrap of resistance to preserve her shattered honor.

The pirate shows no mercy. Dissolving her protests in the echo of his guttural roars, she feels herself drowned. Twice he makes her come, a mere slut on her back in the clutches of a ferocious captor. He is a pig, an animal, using her poor body as a cushion to pleasure himself as he punishes and pummels her violated flesh.

“Do not look away,” he repeats again and again, forcing her to give him her soul. Ashley looks at him through moistened eyes, her mouth soft, rounded, opened like a flower. Below, she comes again, and again, a stranger to her own traitorous body, lost and broken until finally he claims his prize, building to a monstrous orgasm. Alert, obedient, she receives him, hands overhead, palms up, eyes clear and cooperative, cunt overflowing with submissive juices.

Her body is wracked with pleasure, wracked with sensation, sandwiched deliciously and agonizingly between a wall of muscle and a layer of dirt and sand and palm leaves. She writhes, caught in a whirlwind, rising to heaven, spiraling upward into the impossibly blue sky, up towards the impossibly yellow sun of her visions. Grunting in pleasure, the pirate holds her wrists fast; she cannot ascend, and yet she pushes to the limits of ecstasy.

His breath hot in her ear, bolstering the unspeakable passion, he whispers harshly, “This is to prepare you to lay for my crew. You will serve them all.”

It is a rocket’s blast, the secret overdrive. Tia explodes again, and in this moment, she is born anew, born a woman, a slave, a dream to be exploited. Obediently, she waits beneath him, beneath the one who is her lord and master.

Meanwhile, somewhere above and beyond the island, tethered in soaked sheets of silk, in the bed of the mysterious Simon Rice, the brain, body and soul of Ashley Van Voorst Daniels is trying to separate out from the dream. To return to reality, seeking to communicate, to surface, using the only language possible: namely that of self generated, spontaneous orgasms.

Once or twice, for a split second each, she surfaces, expelling invisible brine from her lungs, coughing the unreal sea air, which has become unwieldy in her lungs. There are voices, brief and somber; Ashley hears and tries to incorporate them.

“Simon, we may need to get her to hospital.”

“Nonsense, Nigel. The effect is temporary. She will recover any moment. See how already she is subsiding?”

The one called Nigel, who had a stethoscope that touched her belly like the pirate’s sword, sighed. “I don’t know, Simon. I’m a doctor, but I’ve not seen the likes of this. It’s virtual psychosis. What on Earth possessed you to use the technique on a girl this inexperienced in the first place? I mean, she’s lovely, of course, but this could cost the woman her sanity.”

“Really, Nigel. You exaggerate. All you need do is give her a shot of something, bring her round. Smelling salts, even.”

“Honestly, Simon, which of us is the physician? It will take time, I’ll have to bring her out slowly. In the meantime, I suggest you give some serious thought to how you might control your libido in the future.”

Simon muttered a curse, tried to shake her. “Nigel, I need medical help, not moral advice! Ashley, wake up, will you!”

Ashley blinked and then she was Tia again, being roused from slumber.

“Wake up, wench!” the pirate commanded, kicking her in the side with his boot. “Do you think you earned your rest with a single, light fuck?”

“Ow!” she wailed, as he brought her to her feet, his hand twisted in her dirty, stained hair. “That hurts.”

The pirate silenced her, bowing her back, till she was looking up at the darkening twilight sky. She had passed out, apparently, after her lengthy usage.

“So you think you understand pain, lazy slut? Think again!” Using his free hand, he grasped her swollen sex. “I promise you, Tia, the day will come when you will beg for a night as easy as this! Now stand up straight and put your hands in front of you, wrists crossed!”

Tia obeyed. Using the rope, he twisted a knot round her neck like a collar, then ran the free end down her back, cinching it between her legs before tying it off again round her proffered wrists. Using the free end, he fashioned a leash, by which he could pull the girl and utterly control her. It was a cunning tie, for unless Tia moved fast enough to keep the rope slack on her wrists, it would press painfully between her vaginal lips.

“This is your incentive,” he told her, tugging the rope hard enough to chafe her divided sex. “Keep up with me, or your cunt will feel the difference. And with as much spreading as you’ll be doing tonight, you won’t want to start off already sore and red.”

The pirate smirked, enjoying her shame and dismay at the mention of further rape to come. “Then again,” he observed, shortening the leash till she was inches from his face, moaning in misery. “You could always ask the men to use your other holes instead. Isn’t that right, Tia?”

“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth, trying desperately to close the distance between them and ease the pressure on her groin.

He laughed as she managed to sidle herself against him, sliding her hip in next to his, her sweaty, soiled flesh against his muscled thighs. “You’re an eager little slut, aren’t you?” The pirate held a finger to her lips, pressed it till they parted. “Show me how you will honor our cocks tonight, Tia.”

Tears in her eyes, lips trembling, she opened for him, knowing instinctively what he meant her to do. Taking the finger deep, she caressed it, encouraging him to exploit fully her soft warm mouth. Below she felt the rope tighten, like a lover, merciless and snakelike. Eyes glazing, heavy lidded she worked rhythmically towards her own release, a roped slut, sucking her rapist’s finger.

At the last second, he prevented her from coming.

“No, little Tia. Not yet. Later, beneath the moonlight, as you writhe under the whip, dancing before our campfire. Then we will all hear you howl.”

Swollen in her heat, he made her follow him. With every step, staggering, running, seeking to keep the leash slack, Ashley threatened to explode. Her cunt, her breasts, every inch of her ached with need. She hadn’t even known the fullness of an orgasm till he’d raped her an hour before, and already she craved more. How much more would he teach her, how much more would he demand of her?

The pirate’s footsteps were sure, steady. She watched the undulation of his buttocks beneath the trousers, the crush of his booted heel as she labored behind him. How erotic he seemed, how vastly superior, by virtue of his sword, his clothes. Would she ever again earn the right to be clothed or would she serve naked all her days? And what exactly would her life be like now?

The island was large, the journey so painful that it seemed to stretch for hours. He allowed her rest on several occasions, at one point permitting her to go to her belly to take water from a tiny stream. It was a valuable lesson for Tia, for she learned that as a pirate’s wench, she was required to pay for food and water with the only coinage she would ever be allowed. Namely, her own body.

On her knees, still bound and naked, Tia took his cock deep in her captive throat, showing her gratefulness for the few sips of water she’d been allowed to slurp up noisily like an animal. She’d been made to say certain words, which she’d been told would be the same each time.

“Tia begs to suck the cock of her lord,” she had mumbled, and then repeated more vigorously after a corrective slap across the face. “Tia asks humbly to swallow the manhood of her lord. Tia offers her mouth, freely, to be used as a second cunt.”

The words of submission and humiliation hung in the air, burning in her belly as the Pirate Lord had his way with her, using his hands in her matted hair to direct her motion and directions. Tia did not dare to gag or protest, but took him smoothly, cooperatively. Her passiveness seemed not to soothe but rather inflame him, however, resulting in the plowing of her jaws as the tip of him pressed the very back of her throat.

Though he had not demanded it, Tia raised her eyes, straining to see above his massive, hirsute chest, up to his jaw line and face. If only he could see her submission! Alas, she realized, he soon would; for had he not said there were many she would serve under his supervision?

The Pirate’s emission was like an explosion, a surging of seed that blasted the back of her tender throat. Her head immobilized, she gulped obediently. Had she even dreamed of denying him the fullness of his pleasure, the presence of his hands on the side of her head were there as a potent reminder that she was his to use as he pleased.

Tia had tried to raise her head, as a means of bonding, hoping to see some sign that she had pleased him, but she found herself cuffed once again. Her face belonged at his feet, he told her, that she might kiss his boots.

“This you do for me alone, do you understand?” he said sternly, when she had bathed his foot sufficiently in her saliva. “As a sign, before and after pleasuring me that I am your lord.”

Tia shivered, a weakness surging through her, pleasurable and electric. This was her lord. This one man alone whom she would obey. Though others might abuse and use her, he alone would have command. How she longed for him to use her further, to teach her the meaning of his lordship. Even now, her roped pussy gaped and ached, saturating the coarse fibers with tender female juices.

“Come girl,” he barked, when he had taken all the water he desired for himself.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, rising from her knees, not daring to ask for another sip herself. “Tia obeys.”

She tried to stand prettily for him, holding her body in a way she hoped was enticing but not insolent. If the Pirate was pleased, he showed no sign of it, grunting idly as he tugged the invasive leash to get her moving. Tia did her best, aching and sore, to keep up. She had to run to match his steps. With each stride, her painful, swollen breasts bobbed up and down, the nipples burning like nubs of fire. Meanwhile, trails of her own arousal were drying up and down her inner thighs. Tiny mosquitoes began to nibble there.

Ahead she heard the sounds of laughter, deep and raucous, the voices of strong men. The trees gave way and there was a soft light against the starry sky. A fire, huge and orange, billowed and crackled against a backdrop of surging white, gray water. It was the ocean. They must have crossed clear to the other side of the island, she thought. There was sand again, gritty and sensuous under her bare feet. The Pirate dragged her directly to the fire, round which swarmed his men, two dozen at least.

The smell of rum hung in the air, and the sweet burning of roasted pig upon a spit. There were musical instruments, crude and high pitched, and a general spirit of celebration. All eyes, however, were on their captain, and upon his captive. Raising a proffered bottle high in the air the Pirate toasted their health, and praised them for their glorious service. As the men swarmed round her, groping and touching, Tia realized they were celebrating the taking of her ship. One man, a pot bellied knave with a huge scar on his chest and a broken nose was wearing her mother’s necklace. Another wore the brass-buttoned coat of her fiancée, who had been a lieutenant in the king’s cavalry.

Tia—which she remembered now was short for Antonia—wept openly. Her tears invoked laughter, and rough handling from several of the men.

“Give the wench something real to cry over!” the pot bellied man boomed.

Tia looked forlornly at the Pirate Captain, her lord, as he cut loose her rope bonds with a dagger.

“She is yours,” he cried, raising another toast.

From behind a man hollered, issuing a high-pitched war whoop. Scooping Tia from her feet, he carried her to the fire, throwing her down on her back. She was close enough to feel the heat of it as they spread her legs, one man each upon her ankles. There was a never ending supply of cocks now, as Tia took them, one by one, so many that the semen overflowed, coating her inner thighs and eventually caking and crusting over. At the same time, two other hands held her wrists painfully wide over her head, giving full access to her tits. As many men as fucked her took equal delight in mauling and abusing the tempting, helpless mounds.

To encourage the use of their mouths and teeth on the new slave, a steady supply of rum was poured over her pale torso. There were comedians in the lot, who discovered they could soak their cocks in the fiery liquid, compelling Tia to take it down her throat as she licked at their erections. She didn’t like the taste at all. It was harsh and cruel, and far too masculine. When the bottle was empty, its contents clinging to her ravaged body, they used the bottle itself, compelling her to take the neck of it in her mouth and belly. They seemed to draw special delight from compelling her to lick off her own juices from the smooth glass.

This inspired them to fetch another slave, a girl whom Tia remembered from the ship as the niece of the captain. Tia gasped in horror as she saw the girl’s stunningly long blonde hair had been hacked off to just below her neck. She was naked, in irons, and on her small pert breasts, Tia saw dangling a pair of gold nipple rings. There were also marks, crisscrossed over her flesh, evidence of her having tasted the lash.

They made the girl sit on Tia’s face, so she could devour the contents of her sex. Over and over, she kept apologizing to Tia for the horrible act they were being made to perform, but what could either of them do? They were slaves now. Tia had no choice but to lick, and the girl no choice but to come and come as the many rough hands tormented them, compelling their unholy obedience.

When the men grew bored of this exercise, someone shouted out that it was time for the wenches to dance. Tia felt a chill down her spine, for she remembered what her lord had told her about the dance, how it would be a writhing under the lash, beside the firelight, and how she would be made to howl in sexual heat even as they tortured her.

“Be strong,” Tia whispered to the blonde, who was just eighteen. “We will survive this.”

“You hope so!” bellowed the pot-bellied man, as he pushed them forward into a ring of pirates.

The object of the dance was to move sensuously enough, pleasing the men sufficiently so as not to draw jeers, and with them the swift action of the Whip Men. These were the burliest of the pirates, most skilled in their devilish art. The blonde was shy, and suffered worse, receiving stripes fore and aft. Tia fared better, being able to watch the face of her lord, off to the side and therefore to display her submissive passion. This was no guarantee, however, for it seemed a pleasing slave could be struck also, to increase her passion.

Tia moaned, the firelight tickling her breasts, warming her gaping cunt as she swayed in time to the music, displaying herself in fullest passion to the men who’d raped her and would rape her again. Naked, writhing as if on a blade, Tia gave of her deepest soul, drawing their interest long after her hapless female shipmate had been dragged off to serve the resurgent tide of hard cocks.

Tia gave way to the sensations as if in a dream: pleasure and warmth, limbs caressing the rum soaked air, spikes of pleasure and pain as coiled black things hissed and teased, claiming of her flesh what they willed. On and on she danced. Hands above her head as though bound, back arched, stretching and seeking, unable to keep herself from silently begging the lash. Again and again, it found her, across her breasts, searing her nipples, striping her thighs, tenderizing her ass.

“Touch yourself!” someone cried. “Make yourself come!”

“Yea,” drawled another, clearly drunk. “Use your little finger and pretend it’s Little Willie’s cock!”

There were roars of laughter, but the Whip Men took it quite seriously. Like a rain, the blows fell until at last Tia obeyed. Hand stuffed in her crotch, panting and moaning, she forced her own pleasure, till she was a ball of need, collapsed upon the sand, twisting and rolling and coming. They had to pull her hand out of her insatiable crotch, and when Tia looked up, able to focus at long last, she saw to her shame that the blonde was watching, pity in her eyes.

Tia lowered her gaze, losing herself in the men’s pleasure. This was what she was, she realized, a pleasure slut, a pirate wench. Between death and dishonor, she would choose this, her complete debasement.

“I don’t know about you,” the pot belly said, “but I’d like to try a piece of that tight ass!”

A cheer rose from the crew, a sound such as she’d never heard before. It was raw, cunt shattering and primeval. She was still shaking from it when they put her into her next position, on all fours, face down in the dirt, her own hands spreading her virgin ass cheeks.

“I am first,” she heard the captain say, her lord. “I am always first.”

Tia wept with joy, feeling infinite release and peace. It was only right, after all, that the first to rape her anally should be her master, the man who’d tamed her. Tia shuddered as her lord’s dick claimed her puckered hole, loosely lubricated by a smearing of pig’s grease. She was coming again, magically, over and over even as he inched his way forward into her, masterfully and potently. The Pirate Lord kept her on this brink, until at long last, he let her slip from consciousness.

This time, at least, she had earned her rest.

As Tia slid away, Ashley felt herself separating out. Beginning somewhere outside herself, she began to smell the coffee, wafting to her nostrils, coming from a kitchen, far from the island, far from the swirling waters which had claimed her so long ago, at the café, back when Simon had told her to put her hands on the table.

“There you see,” she heard a voice. “She’s coming to after all. No harm done.”

Ashley gasped, opened her eyes, her dreams fulfilled as she beheld him. The Pirate Lord who was also Simon Rice. The man who had saved her and stolen her heart.

“I love you,” she said, out loud.

“Hmph,” she heard a second man say, the man with the stethoscope, his voice dripping sarcasm. “No harm done, you say?”

***

Andrea had no patience for the bouncer tonight. Brushing past the girls ahead of her, who'd been stopped for an ID check, she waltzed through the door into The Edge, telling the leather covered man with her wiggling ass what he could do if he wanted to stop her. Of course he could have easily done so, but why should he? Andrea was a pretty, sexy young woman and the world belonged to her type. She’d been trying to convince Ash of this, but now she’d be really happy just to get her sister back at all.

Libby had told her she had complete faith in her, which meant a lot, especially at a time like this. Coming back to The Edge was not one of Andrea’s smarter ideas, and if she had any common sense she’d have told the cops about the matchbook instead of trying to track her sister down on her own. She hoped there was some logic to it—like maybe she could get information the cops couldn’t—but then again, it could just be another sign of her instability. A masochistic streak that had opened wide after the night she saw her father training ‘ponies’ and which had been growing ever since.

It was just past ten and the crowd was still light. Andrea had been here a few times before, most recently hooking up with Lucas Petrocelli, a small time hood with a major Napoleonic complex. He and a couple of his ‘business’ partners, an Australian named Bosco and an Englishman named Reed had done a pretty intense scene with her a week ago. They were the ones who’d shown her that The Edge had a secret back area known affectionately as The Hole where hardcore players could live out their fantasies in rent-by-the-hour dungeons.

From what she’d heard, this place was world famous, drawing not only bikers but elite corporate types as well. There were also rumors that the place had ties to real world white slavery. It was this last possibility that so completely terrified Andrea. As naïve as her virgin sister was, Ashley was a prime candidate for some of the sharks she’d seen lurking in the dark waters of this establishment.

Andrea bypassed the bar and decided to sneak back to the dressing rooms, where she might find out something useful from one of the girls. She’d talked with a few of them before, pumping them for information about the stripping business, as well as their participation in the S and M lifestyle which at The Edge was a prerequisite for employment. There was a blonde, named Busty and a pretty, classy brunette named Shade who were really open with her.

One thing they hadn’t known too much about was the whole horse angle, putting women in bridles and so on. Busty told her it was called pony play, and it was kind of a subculture of the BDSM world. It wasn’t something she’d do herself, but she had no hang-ups about it. Currently she was living with a man named Sal, a male dominant who kept her naked and collared at home. Just talking about that made Busty get all flush and wet, although Andrea didn’t quite get it. She’d seen Sal; he was bony, a chain smoker, and a total computer geek.

Shade said you had to find your own master, suitable for your own particular needs. “You gotta be careful, though,” Shade told her, massaging her aching calf muscles, left leg thrown over the table one night after closing. “It’s hell being a submissive female in a world like this, let me tell you.”

When Andrea asked why that was, she replied, “Because men are natural assholes and being a dominant is just one more excuse for them to act like assholes and get away with it. You see this?”

Shade had showed her the scar, across her stomach where a man had lashed her with a bullwhip—which in the world of flagellants was like King Kong was to monkeys.

Andrea checked the dressing room and finding none of her friends, decided to sit and wait. It didn’t take long to attract attention. Unfortunately, it was of the wrong kind.

“Enjoying the show?”

Andrea bristled at the hot breath on the back of her neck. Accent aside, there was only one man she knew who would be this into her from behind. “Hello, Bosco,” she replied joylessly, not even bothering to look. “What a surprise.”

“The real surprise is seeing you, sunshine.” Lucas Petrocelli sat down heavily next to her, all business.

Andrea forced a smile. “You need to lighten up, Lucas. Life is short.”

“Yours could be real short.”

Andrea studied him. He wasn’t just being his usual dominant jackass self, he was mad. “Why’s that?” she asked, trying to feel him out.

“Cause I don’t like dick teases,” he said, laying his thick, ring covered fingers on the table.

Her a dick tease? That certainly wasn’t a fair charge. Not after what she’d put out for them already. Hell, she hadn’t been able to walk straight for twenty-four hours. The English prick had actually marked her up with one of his stupid whips. So what in blazes did the big lug mean, unless…

Andrea felt the blood drain from her face. What if they’d run into Ashley last night? Did she dare ask them directly and risk telling them she had a twin? No, not till she knew for sure exactly what their connection to her sister was. Clearing her throat, she decided on a more subtle, sexier approach. “Guys,” she sighed. “I know I owe you a big, big apology. But I can explain it, really”

Bosco swung himself onto one of the other chairs. “This should be good.”

Yes, it should, she thought, wondering what excuse she could make up for an offense she hadn’t committed. “I wasn’t myself last night,” she said coyly, playing for time.

“Bullshit,” Bosco countered. “You just saw a better deal that’s all. Left us bloody high and dry didn’t you?”

A better deal. Andrea felt her heart skip a beat. What had Ashley gotten herself into?

“Depends what you consider a better deal,” she purred, running her finger down Bosco’s ubiquitous beer bottle.

It was Lucas who grabbed her hand. “We’re not playing games, lady,” he said, his eyes burning holes. “You disrespected us last night, and tonight you’re stupid enough to show up again. What am I supposed to do about that?”

Andrea felt the warmth spreading down her chest, even as her panic rose. Lucas was dangerous as hell, but he was also a strong, sexy man. And if she played her cards right, she could get everything she needed. “You’re supposed to punish me,” she replied, her voice husky.

“Now we’re talking!” Bosco nodded, running his hand up her unclad thigh, up under the hem of the black dress which was the duplicate of the one she’d bought for Ashley, the one that was supposed to make them perfect twins for a night out on the town.

Andrea ignored the boyish Australian and concentrated on Lucas, who was still clenching her hand, firmly but not painfully. He was the one she had to deal with. “Think how could it could be,” she offered. “Now that you’re pissed at me. Come on tell me about last night, every detail, get yourself real riled up, and then we’ll go in back. Like before. You, me, Bosco and Reed, too, if he’s around.”

“Reed bailed on us,” Lucas said, yanking her hand towards him, far enough to make her lean over the table. “Bosco, pinch the lady’s nipples for me.”

Bosco’s eyes lit up. Looking around a few times, to make sure no one was watching too closely, he licked his lips and slipped a hand down the bodice of her dress and under the silk bra. He gave the left nipple a good tweak, then grabbed the right while Lucas talked.

“Lady, do we look like idiots?” Lucas said, now that he had her full attention.

Andrea shook her head no, trying to mask the pain, block it out.

“Then why do you treat us that way? You think I’m buying word one of this bullshit story you’re spinning here?”

“No,” she winced.

He nodded, thrust out his lower lip. “Good. Now we’re starting to communicate. So here’s how it’s gonna work. You’re gonna tell us the truth, and then if it’s not something really impressive, like how you ran off last night to join a convent, we three are going in back and you’re gonna show us just how sorry you are.”

Bosco snickered. “A convent, that’s good, Lucas.”

“Shut up,” Petrocelli sneered, “and put an ice cube in her cunt.”

Bosco wrinkled his forehead. “What did you say, man?”

Lucas used his free hand to slide his mixed drink across the table to his friend. “A cube of ice,” he repeated, basic enough for Bosco to understand. “I want you to take one of these with your hand and put it inside the vagina of the little slut sitting across from me, capeesh?”

Bosco licked his lips as his pupils narrowed. Andrea could see the idea intrigued him in a sick sort of way.

“Lucas, please,” she cried, trying to free her hand. “I’ll tell you the truth!”

“I know that,” he agreed, tightening his grip. “But it’s a Roman thing, early cosa nostra. Never question slaves except under torture.”

Bosco was working on fishing out an ice cube.

“Spread your legs,” Lucas told her, and she did.

Andrea’s panties were thin little things, but they proved just the ticket for holding the ice against her pubic mound. Bosco tucked it up inside, patted her pussy, then smoothed her dress back down.

She was in agony within the first ten seconds. At the same time, there was something so incredibly arousing about these men doing this to her in public, albeit in a club for S and M aficionados.

“So, Andrea,” Lucas beamed. “Shall we start from the beginning?”

She nodded, her lower lip pressed between her top and bottom teeth as waves of hot and cold vied for possession of her fever-wracked body. Between her still twanging nipples and her frozen cunt, she was a blithering mess. The truth. She had to tell the truth. She wanted above all to protect her sister, but this was a man’s world and she was the kind of woman who couldn’t help but belong to whatever man was strong enough to stake his claim. And at this moment that man was Lucas Petrocelli.

What a little fool she’d been trying to fool him earlier!

“I have a twin,” she blurted, trying to squirm into a comfortable position. “She was here last night, pretending to be me. I don’t know what happened, but now she’s gone. I came here to find her. It’s the truth, I swear it! Please, Lucas, take the ice out! I’ll do anything you say! I’ll be your slave!”

Lucas leaned forward, a thin, malevolent smile on his face. “What do you think you are now, Andrea? My accountant?”

Andrea put her head to the back of his hand, kissing it profusely. “I’m your slave now, yes,” she agreed, realizing her mistake. “Please forgive me, master.”

“I know what happened to your sister,” he told her.

Andrea’s eyes watered. “Please, master, I need to know.”

“Punishment first, girl.”

“Yes, master,” she shuddered, anticipating a night of sweet, sweet torment. “Thank you, master.”

They made Andrea precede them to the rear door. The melted ice had soaked her panties and left a wet spot on her dress. Combined with her own juices, all that liquid left her feeling hot and vulnerable. She kept her eyes to the floor, Lucas having forbidden her to look anyone in the eye. At the entrance to the dungeons, the guard ignored her, letting the two men hustle her through as the property she was.

“We brought your sister here,” Bosco said, leaning over to talk directly in her ear as they grabbed her on either arm. Andrea nearly swooned from the mix of powerful emotions. Fear for her sister, guilt for herself, and above all a sick, sweet self loathing for what she was doing now—playing sex games with men who for all she knew had done something terrible to Ashley. It was the ultimate aphrodisiac: giving herself to men like this, throwing every caution to the wind. It made her dirt, lower than dirt.

“This time it’s no holds barred, sheila,” Bosco said, pushing her against the wall as soon as Lucas had closed the metal door to the room. Andrea put her hands to his chest, half-heartedly fending him off.

“I want a kiss this time,” he demanded, his pelvis thrusting hard against her, his eyes fixing her like steel. “No more holding out.”

Andrea’s resistance melted on the spot. So Bosco had gained the secret of dominating her as well, she thought, lowering her hands to her side and offering her lips, tenderly, meekly.

Bosco took her hard, seizing the breath from her mouth and pressing his knee between her thighs. “I’m going to take you in the ass tonight, too,” he said when he’d released her.

Andrea’s legs were like rubber. Unbidden, they gave way beneath her. Hearing Bosco demand yet a second pleasure she’d refused previously was too much for her. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, as she slid to the floor, the wall at her back. “I am yours.”

“Hey,” complained Lucas, who was watching events unfold, arms folded over his chest. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“Considering how flaccid you were with that little redhead in your office this morning, I was wondering that myself,” Bosco said.

Lucas threw up his hands. “Hey, I was on the phone to the boss in Chicago. You try concentrating on a blowjob doing that!”

As the men laughed and joked with one another Andrea took off every stitch of her clothes, so that when they finally turned their attention back to her they found her naked, kneeling, head to the floor, arms prostrate in front of her. When they are done with me, she thought, I will know where my sister is.