Chapter Six

“But Simon I do love you! Truly I do!”

Simon put Ashley’s hands at her sides for what felt like the millionth time, removing them, he hoped with finality from his chest. At the moment, they stood overlooking the city landscape in the midst of his rooftop hydroponic paradise, but she was ignoring the view and all he was trying to tell her about the growing techniques employed. This little nature tour had been Nigel’s idea, part of her gentle reconditioning as he put it. Frankly, he would as soon toss the girl out on her ear, send her packing in the foolish little car he’d been forced to hide in his own garage.

“Ashley, I must insist that you stop this foolishness. As Doctor Owens explained to you, what you are feeling is the residue of a particular trance that I employed upon you the other night. I did so carelessly, and for ignoble purposes. In the manner employed, it should have loosened you up for a night of passion. Instead, it seems to have unleashed something deep in your subconscious.”

She threw her arms around him. “That’s right. I am Tia and you are my lord, the Pirate Captain. You have not yet seen the truth of my visions, but it is only a matter of time.”

Rice clenched his fists, resolved to resist the soft, sweet presence before him, so full of life, so utterly confident of this magical concoction she’d spun from the Slaver’s Trance. Really, he’d never seen anything like this. Not even the Grand Masters who had taught it to him in their secret Tibetan temple had spoken of such a possibility as past life regression—her as a pirates’ whore, and him a swashbuckler. It was pure nonsense.

A good lesson, that’s what he’d learned. From now on, he’d stick to whores.

Ashley’s succulent, tiny mouth was at his ear lobe. “I beg you, rape me again, milord.”

“Ashley, do not try my patience this way, I’m warning you.”

Ashley was on her knees, working the clasp of his pants. “All this greenery,” she proclaimed, her voice a raspy chill down his spine. “It reminds me of our island. Where you made me your slave.”

Simon accepted the open-air caress because he was not that much of a gentleman. There was no one but his servants here, and as for his morality, it was of a different sort than that practiced by lesser men. A self made billionaire ten times over, a former street fighter and back alley boxer from Liverpool, who’d been nicknamed the Tiger for his cruel tenacity in both business and pleasure, Simon Rice was the kind despised and feared, but ultimately respected by his adversaries. As for women, he bought and sold them. Literally.

Grunting ever so slightly, Simon sent his seed shooting into the girl’s mouth. A nymph, fifteen years his junior. A child in all but legality. “Enough,” he declared as she had the audacity to kiss his feet. “This encounter is at an end. You will go home tomorrow.”

“Please, milord, no.” She wrapped her hands round his calves, preventing his escape. “Allow me to stay and serve you.”

Simon cursed himself. He should have put her in a hospital that very night, or at least sent her packing the next morning. What had possessed him anyway, to rescue her in the first place from those buffoons at the club? She’d have done well to taste the lash for real, so she could get this romantic slavery nonsense out of her brain.

“Very well, Ashley, if you are so hell bent on staying, there is something I would have you see this afternoon.”

“Yes, milord.”

He lifted her to her feet; she weighed nothing and she was maddeningly desirable in the shorts and t-shirt he had ordered his secretary to purchase for her as part of her temporary wardrobe. “It is not going to be pleasant, young lady,” he warned. “So you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

She lowered her head, the smirk firmly in place. “I shall take a nap, then,” she declared. “To prepare myself. And besides,” she added, a twinkle in her eye. “I must check in with my Captain.”

He scowled at the blatant reference to her recurring dream world. A dose of reality was what she needed, and she would get a large one today. Let her see what real slavery is like, he told himself, and then she will return to her senses and go back to her white bread world.

Simon considered the matter further, along with others as he leaned over the wall, fifty stories high. Perhaps he was growing soft, refusing the girl’s proffered virginity. Had he gotten so comfortable as to deny his basic needs? Why was he so attached, bothering to consult a battery of counselors and psychologists about her state of mind, the evident shock over losing a fiancée, the sudden adjustment to discovering a sibling, and the…

Simon jerked his arm at the sudden caress. It was Ashley, touching him gently with her delicate hand. “Will you rest with me,” she asked, eyes brimming with tender hope, “just for awhile, milord.”

He smiled in exasperation, running a finger over her cheek. What a strange effect the girl had! He would almost miss her come tomorrow when she was gone, safe in her mother’s house, hating him profusely as he knew she would by day’s end.

I should shatter her illusions myself, he thought grimly as he let the barefoot Ashley guide him reverently to his own bed. I should rape her myself. Then again, it was hardly her fault that her heart had been torn open, and not merely by one man, but by two. Yes, he decided, as he lay down and let the girl put her head gently on his chest, he was definitely getting soft.

***

Andrea checked the number on the door, matched it to the one scrawled on the piece of paper Lucas had given her. Adjusting her dark glasses—the ones she wore to cover her sleep deprived eyes—she tapped her small fist on the graffiti covered surface. To say she was nervous would be an understatement. Showing up in a neighborhood like this, in a short leather skirt and clingy blouse after a full night of sexual torture was risky enough. But when the person you were looking for was someone even the likes of a Lucas Petrocelli said was a ‘mean hombre’, you were taking things to a whole new ‘edge’.

The risqué outfit was Lucas’ idea. “Don’t even go near the guy unless you’re dressed to play. If he finds out later you’re a sub and you held out on him he’ll do things that’d make me blush,” he’d said.

She knocked again. Why Lucas had sent her here, to a private investigator and one-time white slaver named John Falcon was beyond her. The man’s name and address, however, had been her reward for a night spent in chains, her body at the full and merciless disposal of he and Bosco. She never had made it to the pretty brass bed, although the two of them took turns sleeping on it while the other used her. The last hour she dozed a bit, still hanging from the ceiling, while both of them slept.

“Talk to this guy,” Lucas had said, dangling a business card at her once they’d let her down and allowed her to dress. “Tell him your sister caught the eye of the Tiger. He’ll understand what that means.” He held the card a moment longer, frustrating her attempt to take it. “And remember, Andrea, don’t even try to bullshit this one. It’s ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ all the way for you.”

Bosco had been waiting for her at the door. Taking her in his arms, he’d delivered a deep tongue kiss as he slid his hands up under her dress, taking a full proprietary squeeze of her inflamed buttocks. Still primed and needful, Andrea draped her hands onto his neck, giving him fuller access. She was a slut for wanting him to take her all over, she decided, especially when her sister needed her so bad.

“Christ,” Lucas had yelled at Bosco, “let her go already!”

“All right, all right. But you better tell her the one to watch out for is the Tiger. I’m serious, Andrea. He’s a bleeding one-man army. If we’d have known who he was in the first place, we’d never have messed with him. Lucas here is lucky to be alive, the way he went after him.”

Lucas was still yelling at Bosco, telling him to mind his own damned business as she closed the door behind her on her way out.

Andrea knocked a third time, more loudly, the corners of her eye watching the dismal corridor for unsavory characters. Why an investigator, someone whom Lucas supposedly respected lived in a tenement house was beyond her.

She shrieked as the door whisked suddenly open, a hand grabbing her from within. A moment later she had her back to the apartment wall, a gun pointed at her stomach, through the silk of her blouse. A man, shirtless, in stained jeans and a two-day growth of beard, his long mane of hair wild at the shoulders was glaring at her, pressing the barrel of the silver gun. His eyes were brown, and his chin was strong and noble.

He was gorgeous.

“You don’t look like a cop,” the man said at last, after a panty wetting thirty seconds of silently sizing her up. “How about the IRS. You with them?”

Andrea tried to focus respectfully on his face, and not on his long sculpted torso, the nipples perfectly round on his perfect pecs, the hair delicious and soft, trailing down in a mouth watering tuft under the waistband of the jeans, down to where his healthy package beckoned.

“Lucas sent me,” she said, not sure if he was joking. “I’m a client.”

He raised an eyebrow, doing something wicked to his dimples in the process. Tucking the pistol in his pants, just to the left of his crotch, he laughed dryly. “A client. That’s a good one. You drink coffee?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips.

Andrea couldn’t hold out any longer. “I’ll drink whatever you tell me to,” she rasped, slipping to her knees. “My name is Andrea. I’m a submissive, looking for my sister. She disappeared two days ago.”

Her lips trembled at the touch of his bare foot. She hoped she was doing this right. Closing her eyes, she kissed his bare skin as she imagined him making her suck his cock, or else the silver blue barrel of his pistol.

“Good,” he said, ignoring her ministrations. “Coffee it is, then.”

From her position on all fours, she watched him walk to the kitchen of the tiny apartment and flip a switch on the coffee maker.

“Come on in and find a seat,” he told her, gesturing to the living room, which consisted of two folding chairs and about fifty boxes in various states of unpacking. The only other furniture was a lap top computer plugged into the wall.

Andrea sat gingerly on one of the chairs, perching on the edge, her bare thighs cold on the metal. She’d tried to dress appropriately, wearing stockings, garters, no panties and a half bra, one that brazenly displayed rather than protected her cleavage.

“Thank you,” she said softly a moment later, as he handed her a cup of coffee, continuing to ignore her kinkily prepared body. So far, she noted, he wasn’t acting anything like a dominant. Was this one of Lucas’ gags? Or was this man Falcon making her sweat, forcing her to bare her soul and then wait till he was good and ready for her—like a cat, toying with its prey, sharp claws visible but not yet applied?

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, taking the mug in both hands as he leaned down towards her, powerful muscle visible under his golden flesh.

“I hope you like cream and sugar,” he quipped, pulling up the other chair to sit across from her. “Since you said you were submissive, I didn’t bother to ask.”

She looked at him strangely. Was this a joke, too? Were he and Lucas in on some kind of game at her expense? Because if they were, this was very poor timing. “Look, Mr. Falcon,” she bristled, “this may seem hilarious to you, me showing up here dressed like a bimbo out of some old detective movie, but my sister’s life is at stake, so if you can’t help me, please tell me now and save me some time.”

Falcon eyed her, leaned back in the seat, looking bored. “The door’s right over there if you’re not happy with my services.”

Andrea’s jaw set hard and fast. “You’re right,” she agreed, rising to her feet and handing him back his precious coffee. “I’m not.”

“Maybe if you called me master,” he suggested.

She flashed him a hateful gaze. “Fuck you,” she hissed.

A smile crossed his lips. “Well, all right,” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh “So you have some spunk after all.”

“Excuse me?”

He handed her back the coffee. “Sit down, Andrea.”

She did so, her heart still racing.

Falcon ran his hand over the back of his neck, flexing his biceps in the process. “There’s one thing you need to know about me up front. I don’t play bullshit S and M games anymore. I’ve seen too many people get hurt. But if you’re serious about needing a detective who knows the scene, I’m your man. And as you can tell by looking around, I need the work.”

Andrea laughed, feeling the tension melt away with his self-effacing humor. Not to mention what he was doing to her with those eyes, their color brown and warm as the liquid she was staring into to keep her equilibrium.

“I was an asshole about the coffee,” he observed. “Do you want it different?”

She took a long, delicious sip. The apology was sweet, she thought, but truly the thought of him making it for her, taking away her choices and giving her what was best made her tingly and weak all over. “It’s perfect,” she smiled.

Falcon crossed his long legs, leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “So tell me about your sister.”

Andrea told him the whole story now, as she sipped her coffee demurely. As he asked her pointed questions, especially about the club and her sister’s connections to Lucas, she did her best to be his equal, the savvy, demanding client who’d pay any price to get her sister back. The last part was true, but as for being equal, Andrea would far prefer to he at his feet right now, or kneeling so she could look up at him and answer his questions.

Lucas’ cryptic message about the Tiger seemed to bring the most reaction. The darkening of Falcon’s eyes and the tight knitting of his brow told Andrea he knew precisely what that meant. After awhile, the questions wound down and he grew silent, almost brooding. It was all she could to keep from going to him, to console him, to soothe whatever pain was so deeply etched in his face.

My body was made to please this man.

She shifted in her seat. What a strange notion! He was attractive, of course, and she was wont to give herself to any man with a spark of self-confidence, but this was ridiculous. Was it her lack of sleep, her fears for Ashley? More likely it was the way he’d put her off, she concluded, the way he’d made submitting to him an impossible fruit. Talk about a good way to drive a submissive crazy, she mused.

Falcon was leaning forward, putting his hand on her wrist. “This may not be easy, but we can find her. If you’ll trust me.”

Andrea nodded, trying to keep her polite, vanilla smile plastered on her face. Trust him? She’d lay down her life for him, not to mention spreading her legs at the snap of his fingers. “I do,” she said, “Trust you, I mean.”

“Good.” He flashed a perfect smile. “And I’m glad we cleared up the other thing, about the domination. Lucas is quite a kidder, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she agreed, hiding the hole in her heart. “He certainly is.” I’ve misjudged him, she thought as she left. He isn’t so strong. Pity for him, because now she’d have to bring him down, the way she did with Tom. No middle ground, sin boldly.

***

Ashley chose the prettiest dress from among the ones Simon had provided her. She was going out with him this afternoon, so she took her time picking the perfect one. It was blue, very conservative with a hemline just above the knee. She complemented it with the pearls he’d provided, and a pair of matching shoes. It made her laugh when she thought of him telling her he didn’t want her and she should go home, when all the while he was doing things like this, buying her clothes and jewelry said something very different.

It was important to look her best for Simon. And in a strange way, for Tia, too, who was leading such a harsh existence back on the island. The slave of pirates now, she would never know such finery as pearls nor even the dignity of an untorn, unstained garment. Kept naked or in rags, Tia’s only ornaments were her chains, and of course the bright silver nipple rings her lord had given her. Unless of course one counted the brand, seared into her skin her first morning in the camp, designed to remind her that the previous night’s debauchery at her expense was no exception, but rather the rule of her new life. She wore it proudly upon her ass, a permanent sign of her lord’s possession of her body and of her soul.

Ashley drew a deep breath. Just before she’d awoken from her nap with Simon, Tia had been gathering the wood for a bonfire. There was to be a big celebration tonight, an announcement by her captain of an upcoming sea voyage, a mission of plunder on the bounding main. Tia was working her hardest, for she knew soon the decision would be made as to which of their treasures to keep and which to leave behind. The value of gold or silver is obvious and indisputable, but a female is only as valuable as her ability to work, to sexually please the man or men to whom she belongs.

Strive hard, little Tia, Ashley sighed, until I am with you again. They were together often now, for each time Ashley went to sleep, her dreams took her to the island.

Checking herself in the mirror, Ashley had to admit, she had done well. Hopefully, Simon would agree. Unlike Tom, he was really a man, a man who desired to see his woman dressed to please. She knew this about him instinctively, as surely as she knew that he was the reincarnation of the Pirate Lord and that fate had meant them to be together always.

She went now to the living room, so that Simon would not have to wait on her. Tom allowed her to keep him waiting constantly, and she’d grown to despise him for it, she knew that now. She knew lots of things now, like how she didn’t hate her sister so much as envy her ability to admit her needs. If Tom could master her, then Ashley wished them well. Truly. For if Tom had loved her, or if she had loved him, then it would have been Ashley on the bed that night, bound in leather, surrendering to his pleasure.

“You look incredible,” Simon declared, stopping short as he came into the room, dressed in a white suit and gray tie.

Ashley blushed and lowered her eyes, for while not begrudgingly offered, the remark had a feel of confession about it, as though he’d been compelled to declare her indisputable beauty. “Thank you, milord.”

“It is I who should thank you.” She’d thought it elegant to wear her hair up, and when he rewarded her with a light touch of his fingers on her neck, she swooned, knowing it had been the right choice.

“What you see today will disturb you, my dear,” he said, the sadness of self denial evident in his eyes, “but it is what I must do to convince you to leave me.”

“As you say, milord,” she replied softly. “I am yours to command.”

The limo ride was sweet for Ashley, as he allowed her to lay her head against his shoulder for much of the way. When she desired to go to sleep, however, curled up on his lap, he told her no, that he had no intention of having her go back there right now, meaning the island. Her disappointment at not being able to discern Tia’s progress was far outweighed by the joy of having her will thwarted by this strong, protecting man, who though he protested indifference, he nonetheless betrayed his care for her at every turn.

Letting the sound of the car lull her to a state of trance-like peace, Ashley nestled in beside Simon, so stiff and formal. As she stared at the carpeted floor, she thought how one day he will have me down there, pushing himself into my spread legs, showing me that I am his. The idea made her warm and wet and kept her occupied the rest of the trip.

Their destination was a hotel of sorts, though Simon assured her the guests were anything but tourists. Its location was in a less savory section of the city, not altogether far, she noted, from The Edge. There were men in suits at the front entrance, muscular men whose stances suggested their brute strength was reinforced by concealed firearms.

It was unlikely anyone would challenge these men, and yet the doors were locked nonetheless. A great fuss was made over Simon and Ashley as they entered, which pleased Ashley, for she enjoyed seeing him relish in his position as the boss. At his side, she felt like a captive queen.

“We will be taking a tour,” he explained, ushering her by the elbow towards the elevator. Ashley absorbed the surroundings as they walked, stunned by the elegance of the furniture, high Victorian, upholstered in red velvet. The carpet was also red, and there were exquisite paintings, some originals from the looks of them. She could hardly believe such a shabby brick exterior concealed such opulence.

“Eighth floor,” Simon said to the elevator attendant.

Ashley had thought such luxuries as manned elevators a thing of the remote past, but somehow in this setting, it seemed appropriate. There was no one in the corridor on the eighth floor. Ashley marveled at the chandeliers and mirrored walls, though it seemed a little sad to see all this beauty hidden from public view.

Simon stopped in front of one of the long row of ornately carved doors and pulled out a key, from a ring in his pocket which one of the men downstairs had given him. The jingling sound was sexy, and it made her think of chains. She tucked her arm more tightly into his as she imagined Tia, her newly browned skin covered in a sheen of sweat as she writhed beneath her lord, her passion restrained by the metal on her wrists and ankles, and by the links running across her captive body.

The girl was waiting for them inside the room. She was lovely, a slender dark haired girl wearing a long, low cut gown, cut elegantly to cinch her tiny waist and emphasize her full breasts. She greeted them upon her knees, and Ashley wondered if she was so displayed at all times, or if she merely assumed the position upon entry of a guest.

“Mr. Rice,” she said, her cheeks flush, her smile concealing little of her trepidation. “What a surprise.”

Ashley inhaled the girl’s heat, her helpless fear. How exquisite that fear seemed in this wonderfully gilded room, trimmed in gold, a magnificent four-poster bed dominating the classic décor. Simon Rice had taste, wicked taste to be sure.

“Colleen, I wonder if you would fetch us drinks? Champagne, if you please.”

The girl was on her feet at once, scurrying with a purposefulness that belied Simon’s casual request. It had been an order. An order given to a slave. Ashley felt the heat surge through her loins as she noted on the girl’s trim ankle, just above her delicate high heel, a ring of steel. As she moved, there was a drag of chain, and Ashley realized she was shackled to the foot of the bed, limited in her motions by the generous length of glistening interlocking rings.

Simon and Ashley sat on the divan, across from the bed. When Colleen had brought the drinks, he invited her to stand before them, arms at her sides. Simon wished her to tell her story, but first, if Ashley would be so kind as to help her undress?

“Is she your slave?” Colleen asked, as Ashley rose smoothly to do Simon’s bidding.

“No,” he replied stiffly. “Please proceed.”

Ashley’s eyes met the slave’s, a single glance exchanging more than she could ever say in words. They were sisters. Ashley smiled shyly as she moved to help her pull up the gown. It came off in a single, graceful motion, a motion designed to please the man before them. Beholding the girl’s alabaster beauty (she was nude save for garter belt and stockings) Ashley sank to her knees, intent on stripping her clean, bare before their master.

Stealing a glance at Simon’s obvious hard-on, Ashley put her face to the girl’s inner thigh, kissing, delicately. She would use her teeth, to lower the stockings. The only hindrance would be Colleen’s shackled left ankle. They would deal with that in time.

“Tell us how you came to be here,” Simon said, trying to maintain an air of business.

Colleen began to speak, her voice slightly breathless as Ashley worked her tongue and fingers up and down her legs. The particularities were lost as Ashley focused on the feel, the texture of Colleen’s skin. She had been a model, or aspiring to such when a man offered her lucrative work in a strip bar. She’d fallen in with hard-core elements, and had ended up selling herself to support a drug habit. As her debts mounted, the ‘note’ on her was bought up by an agent of Rice’s, who determined a more permanent solution.

“Turn around for Ashley,” Simon commanded.

Colleen obeyed, revealing perfect cheeks, the left incised with a small mark, a trident emblazoned in a circle, the whole of it consisting entirely of deep grooves burnt into the girl’s flesh.

“What is that mark?” Simon asked, taking the tone of an interrogating attorney who already knows the answer to every question he asks.

“It is my brand,” Colleen said, her voice a rapturous whisper.

“What does it mean?”

“That I am the property of Trident Entertainment.”

Trident. Ashley had heard of it. A subsidiary of an even larger company, on a global scale which her mother—and therefore she herself—had stock in.

“What is your function?”

“To serve the clients of Trident, providing one hundred percent customer satisfaction.”

“To what are the customers of Trident entitled?”

“To use my body in any way which pleases them, so long as they do not draw blood or inflict permanent damage as defined in usage contracts.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Six months, sir.” Colleen shifted uneasily as Ashley kissed the brand, ran her cheeks across its hardness.

“And before that?”

“A brothel in Tijuana.”

Ashley was licking her now, running her gritty tongue over the grooves of Colleen’s mark.

“And the terms of your service there?”

“I was chained to a small cot. For roughly fifty cents I could be used in any orifice.”

“Were you clothed?”

“I was naked at all times.”

“What you describe is illegal, is it not?”

“The police were among our best customers. I was often raped by their batons as well as their cocks.”

“Touch yourself, Colleen, massage your clitoris, and tell us, what is your future?”

“I—I belong to Trident,” Colleen shivered as she placed her hands where he had told her, her backside undulating invitingly before her master.

Unable to resist, Ashley crouched between Colleen’s legs, intent on licking her clit from behind.

“Ashley,” Simon said sternly, “come back and sit down. Now.”

Ashley obeyed, though it seemed inappropriate for her to sit on the couch, fully clothed in the presence of another of her kind. A naked slave.

“Turn about, now, Colleen. Lie on your back, draw your legs to your chest and bring yourself to orgasm. As you do, tell us again, what is your future.”

Her breath came in short spurts. “Trident owns me,” she said. “My future is in their hands.”

Simon reached across to grab Ashley’s hand, preventing her from touching his clothed penis. “Pay attention, Ashley. Colleen, will you ever be free?”

“No,” Colleen declared, “no, sir.” She tossed her head from side to side, a pretty, wicked owned slut in high heels, showing off her pussy as she stroked for them.

Ashley sighed, feeling the juices between her thighs. “Please,” she begged Simon. “May I get down and suck you?”

“No!” Simon roared, rising to his feet. “Have you understood nothing? Must I go to the next level in this little demonstration?”

Ashley felt herself grow feint as he took the belt from its loops. On the floor, Colleen continued her motions, lost in her own forced pleasures, oblivious to the pain she might be about to receive.

“Simon, please don’t!” Ashley cried, interposing her kneeling body between Rice and his intended target. “Beat me, instead! It is I who deserve your wrath!” She put her hands to the neckline of her dress. “Say the word, and I will tear the clothes from my body. Teach me, Simon. Teach me to fear your belt, teach me to fear your cock. Teach me as you taught Tia.”

He very nearly struck her then, his manhood surging as he beheld the small, vulnerable target below him: the girl, crouching, head to the floor, enticing, maddening ass poking in the air, soft, silky hair in disarray at his feet. Compared to her, what other woman mattered? What was Colleen or any of the others in this place, or in the brothels and clubs he owned or even the harems he stocked for Middle Eastern sheiks? They were nothing, that’s what they were, nothing in comparison to the infuriating, tempting, insolent, virgin Ashley.

Simon roared in rage as he snapped the belt down onto the floor, avoiding both girls. How he longed to release his fury, his passion on this virgin imp. How would she look submitting to him he wondered, her angelic face lit up and dreamy as he filled her to the quick with his aching cock. Like the Pirate Lord, when he took Tia.

Simon pressed his fingers into his skull. Now she had him thinking like this, dreaming of her ridiculous ghosts! And what was he doing here, anyway, playing house with a Trident whore, trying to please Ashley and convince her to pretty please go home now? For heaven’s sake, was he no longer a man?

If ever there was a time to get his house in order this was it. Lifting Ashley to her feet, he told her that the games were over. She was playing at something real and dangerous and it was time for her to make a choice. Thrusting his ring finger in her face, revealing the non-descript triple bands, each in a different base metal, he said, “Do you see this? This is a symbol of Trident. Trident is not just videos and pop music. It’s flesh trade. High end. This woman here belongs to me, Ashley. I could do anything to her, anything at all and get away with it. The law means nothing. And I like it that way. Do you know why I was at the club that night? Because it’s mine, Ashley. I own it. And do you know what I did to the men who wanted to hurt you? Nothing. As far as I was concerned, you got what you deserved for coming in there. The only reason I intervened was that I wanted you myself. That’s right, I smelled out your virginity, and it tempted my jaded palate. I was on the way to conquest, when you slid into the stratosphere on me, spouting all that stuff about pirates. Not wanting a lawsuit, I nursed you back to health. Well now I’m done, and I want you out of my life. And don’t say a word about love, Ashley. I love no one. I don’t even like women. I own them, I fuck them. I sell them. That’s all. Are we clear now, once and for all?”

Ashley lowered her head to the floor at his feet. “I do not wish to leave. I wish to be owned by you.”

“Very well then! Colleen, you are my witness. I tried to employ reason! Get up, Ashley, we are going to make your wish come true.”

“Do you mean it?” she asked, as he dragged her down the hall by the arm, having left the hapless Colleen on the floor, still recovering from her flood of climaxes.

“Never more serious,” he assured her. “When we are done with you, you will make Colleen look like a dominatrix by comparison.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, as she stumbled to the car. “Thank you, a thousand times.”

“Don’t thank me, girl. You haven’t a clue what you have let yourself in for.”