Chapter 1
Jack
(Twenty-Seven years old…)
I wipe the corner of my mouth and throw the napkin on the plate, before I go back to staring out the window. Winter is almost over and soon the roses will bloom again. I need to go trim the bushes and trees.
It’s one of the few pleasures I’m allowed.
If I cooperate, I’m allowed outside to tend to the gardens and my greenhouse. If I have to stay locked in this house every single day, I’ll lose my fucking mind. I’d rather spend my days outside being a gardener, than being this pathetic excuse of a man that allows others to use him.
But as long as I obey, David remains safe and cared for. In the end that’s all that matters. I don’t put up a fight and let those rich fuckers have their way with me, and David is spared.
I’m one of the few slaves that are allowed to move freely around the estate. But if I don’t cooperate, the few privileges I have, will be taken away.
I know they want me to fight back. They are just waiting for me to step out of line so they can beat the shit out of me. These fuckers get off on inflicting pain.
The only reason I have not killed anyone yet, is because I’m constantly warned that David will be sold into a life of slavery, should I not obey every command given.
I submit to them because of the promise I made to my dying mother before they burned her like she was nothing but trash. It’s my responsibility to keep David safe, and as long as it’s in my power to keep that promise, I will.
The last time I felt any resemblance of safety was when Momma was alive. Not a day has gone by that I don’t miss her. Years later, and I still have nightmares of that horrible day. I can still smell her burning flesh.
Slowly, I stand up. My body feels like it weighs a ton. It feels like I’m constantly surrounded by a cloud of ash. Thoughts of escaping this house of horrors are all that keep me sane. Soon, David will be finished with his studies. I’ll escape this hell hole and go find my brother.
Leaving my room, I keep my eyes down until I’m outside. I walk straight to my greenhouse. It was given to me when Cameron realized he could make a lot of money with me. He won’t admit it to me, but I’ve heard him brag that I’m his greatest asset.
Watering plants always calms me. I remove any dead leaves with a gentle hand. I love being surrounded by nature, as it reminds me that somewhere there is life, even though I feel dead inside. In a way I get to live through nature, drawing off its energy and vibrant colors. For a moment, I can lose myself in the beauty around me, almost forgetting where I am and what my life entails. Sometimes I wish I could be a flower, only blooming once before dying and nourishing the ground with its remains. It’s better than what I am – nothing more than an empty soul that’s stuck in a ravaged shell.
There was a time I thought Cameron was my father. Fuck, was I wrong. After Momma died he told me that I’m nothing of his. Only David is his son. He said Momma had me before she married him. I don’t know who my real father is and I don’t fucking care. All I care about is David’s safety and keeping my promise to Momma.
When I’m done watering all the plants, and my small collection of bonsai trees, I walk over to the rose garden so I can trim the bushes. Because of all the gardening I do, I’m built well. Unfortunately, it makes me a huge favorite with Cameron’s clients, men and women alike.
Mistress Claire is the only regular I can stomach. Master and Mistress Westbrook are the ones that make my skin fucking crawl. I’m normally good at switching off, but with them it’s impossible.
In the beginning I was consumed with disgust and hate. Fuck, I wanted to go crazy with rage. I quickly learned that fighting back was a huge turn-on for these fuckers. The harder you fought, the worse the punishment.
A few months ago, I stopped getting hard and none of the clients could get me to climax. That wasn’t good for Cameron’s business, and now I’m forced to take medication before every party to ensure my cock is hard. But no one can make me come and it feels like I’ve regained some fucking power over my body. They can fuck me all they want, but I get the satisfaction of not coming. It’s a small win for me.
Getting lost in tending to the rose garden, I work until sweat drips into my eyes. I stand up and take off my shirt, wiping my face and neck.
For a few precious minutes I forgot that I’m nothing but a sex slave. The weight of the perverted and demeaned life I’m forced to live makes my bones feel like lead. I have to get ready for tonight’s party. Another night of torture.
This life is all I’ve ever known, but there has to be something better out there. This can’t be all there is to life.
Voices sound up behind me and I turn to see Cameron heading in my direction. Just the sight of him makes my blood boil with rage. As always, Sven, Eduardo and Luca are following him. Luca joined his team of bodyguards four years back. Sven and Eduardo aren’t that young anymore, so Cameron is bringing in fresh blood. I’m surprised that he has kept Sven and Eduardo for so long as nothing ever lasts around here.
Today, Cameron is accompanied by a woman and man that I haven’t seen at any of the parties. The man hovers to the woman’s left, his eyes taking in the grounds and mansion. He could be her husband, but my guess is that he’s her bodyguard. He gives off the same vibe they all normally have. He has hooded eyes, a tense body, and an attitude that clearly warns everyone to not fuck with him. I’ve learned that the worst of the worst have guards to protect them, because they have so many enemies.
“This is the slave I was telling you about,” Cameron says, stopping a few feet from me. He never comes too close. I can see the fear in his eyes when he looks at me. He knows it’s only a matter of time before I will get my chance to kill him. David is his only weapon and soon that will change.
Resentment and hatred swirl in my stomach, as I drop to one knee. I lower my head until I’m staring at the ground. “Master,” I grind the word out, making it sound like a curse.
The more compliant you are, the better things will be for you. But fuck, I can’t spit that word out and make it sound like a prayer. To hell with all of them. They can do what they want to my body, but I won’t let them have my soul.
“As you can see, he is in excellent condition.” You can hear the arrogant tone in Cameron’s voice, as if I’m a possession.
Soon, I’ll get to rip his rotten heart from his chest, and watch as his lifeless blood drips from my fingers.
I hear the woman clearing her throat and then she asks, “Do you have many male slaves?”
Cameron chuckles darkly. “No, he is my only male slave. The males can be quite troublesome, and to break them takes much more work than with the females. Most of the men die, but if you get it right to train one … it’s a beautiful thing. This one has been with me since before he could walk, so it was easy to train him.”
“Stand, Slave!” Cameron barks.
Aggression ripples over my body and I have to close my eyes to keep from attacking the bastard. I rise to my full length, but I keep my eyes lowered. They love seeing the fight burn inside of me. They thrive on knowing I’m a wild beast that they can fuck around with. I’m the perfect adrenaline rush for them.
Cameron waves a hand over the length of me. “He is trained well, as you’ll see tonight at the party.”
“What time does the party start again?” The woman asks, and for the first time I glance up. Our eyes meet and I feel a wave of satisfaction when fear makes her brown eyes widen.
Dark brown hair falls in soft waves to her shoulders. I’m caught off guard by her beauty. She’s by far the youngest Mistress I’ve ever seen. It’s normally the older women who love to come here, because they won’t get fucked by a younger man elsewhere.
“Eyes!” Cameron snaps. The command makes Sven take a step in my direction.
My eyes shoot to Cameron, and I glare darkly at him before dropping them to the ground.
I take a deep breath and dig deep to keep myself back.
“It’s okay,” the woman whispers. She surprises me by closing the distance between us, until I catch the faint floral scent that hangs around her. “You have my permission to look at me,” she murmurs.
I let my eyes travel up her body, until I reach her face. Her skin has a healthy glow to it, as if she spends a lot of time outside. Not at all pale and worn from old age, like I’m used to seeing.
She looks up at me and I see something I haven’t seen before in a Mistress’ eyes. It’s the same look Olivia gives me when I’ve been beaten. Concern. Why the fuck would this woman be concerned about me? It makes me feel uncomfortable, and I let my eyes dart over her head, focusing on the apple trees in the distance. I can deal with lust or hate filled looks, those I’ve dealt with all my life.
“I want him,” she says, her tone determined. It’s a pity that such beauty hides just another perverted soul.
“How much for a night with this slave?” the man asks.
“Mr. Ryland,” Cameron says. Every word drips with greed. He’s about to make a lot of money. “As I’ve told you before, this slave is one of my greatest assets. A night with him is quite costly, but well worth it.”
“We’ve paid to attend your party,” the woman snaps. “We can afford any price you ask for him.” She sounds pissed and insulted that Cameron would think they can’t afford me. I’m used to seeing that reaction from the women who come here. They all fucking think the sun rises and sets with them. Arrogant bitches.
Cameron laughs, and I feel him step closer to us. “Mrs. Ryland, I’m sure you can afford him, but let’s talk business inside. The slave needs to go prepare for the party.”
“You may leave, Slave,” he snaps at me.
I walk away without another glance at any of them. My time will come. I just need to hold out and not lose my calm. Only a few more months and I’ll get my revenge.
I shower, brush my teeth, and shave before I apply one of the many aftershaves I have.
Cameron makes sure I have everything. I live in the mansion, and should I need anything, it’s given to me. I can have everything, but my freedom. But even if Cameron offered me my freedom, I wouldn’t leave without David, and the bastard knows that.
Cameron gives David everything. I’ve been told that he’s currently studying. Sven updates me on what’s happening in David’s life. I get photos to show that everything is going well with him, but I’m not allowed contact with him. I’m just waiting for David to finish his studies. He deserves a chance at a good life.
I take a pair of jeans from the closet, and drag them on. That’s all I get to wear at parties, a pair of worn jeans.
I walk over to the table where the medication has been left. I pick up the glass of icy water and take a sip to wet my throat, before I swallow the pills. Placing the glass back on the tray, I stare out the window until my sight blurs. I don’t see anything as my mind begins its process of shutting down.
There’s a knock at the door and I turn to see Sophia come in. She’s been here as long as I can remember. Sophia’s mother was also a slave that got pregnant from one of the Masters. Her mother died giving birth.
Sophia is one of Cameron’s favorites and in charge of the other slaves. I’m always amazed by how happy she looks. I don’t understand it. How the hell can anyone be happy with being a slave to another person? To be fucked and tortured all your life? It’s no life at all.
She smiles brightly at me. “You ready, Jack?”
I glare at her before I grab the leather bands from the dresser. Sophia takes them from me and straps them around my wrists. She has the same leather collar around her neck.
The other slaves have metal collars that chafe at their skin. Sophia and I are the only two with black leather collars. Sophia sees it as an honor, where it’s nothing but a curse to me. The only difference between the metal and leather collars, are the price people pay for us.
I suck in a deep breath of air, before we walk to the grand room where the parties are always held. The other slaves are already there seeing to the desires of the guests.
Four guards stand outside the huge wooden doors and one goes to open the door so we can enter. There are guards everywhere, both Cameron’s guards and those of the guests.
As soon as we step into the room we lower our eyes. Sophia goes to her podium on the left side of the room. I fist my hands as I walk to the right side where my podium is.
Sophia kneels with her face down and her ass in the air so her pussy is on full display to whoever wants to see it.
I kneel down on my left knee, and placing my right hand flat on the podium, I keep my eyes on the red velvet floor.
I hear murmurs drifting closer to me and it makes my gut pull tight with tension.
“Have you placed our stake?” I hear Mistress Westbrook’s grating voice.
I close my eyes as a sliver of despair grips my chest. This woman is a demon. She doesn’t buy me for the fuck, but to see how much she can torture me before I’ll break. She wants me to lose control.
“I have, Sweetness,” I hear Master Westbrook say. They are filthy rich, always winning the auctions.
The night continues, dragging by painfully slow. The air is filled with the muffled moans of the slaves, and the raucous laughter of the perverted men who have come here to fulfill their sick fantasies.
I hear Cameron’s dry laughter close by. “Bring the slave to Mrs. Westbrook.” He chuckles greedily. “My dear, seeing as you got so close to winning the slave for the night, I’ll allow you thirty minutes with him for half of what you staked.”
“You’re so generous,” Mistress Westbrook sneers and I can hear her irritation drenching the words. She has never lost before and I can’t stop myself from wondering who won.
It happens a lot where Cameron will offer me for thirty minutes to the person who came second. He makes almost double the money then.
“Get up, Slave!” Sven barks.
I grind my teeth as I get up. Anger coils inside of me, desperate to strike at anyone who dares to come near me. It takes every bit of strength I have to keep the beast in me from ripping them all apart.
I follow Sven over to Master and Mistress Westbrook’s table. Just the thought of what’s coming makes bile rise in my throat.
The tables are round and shared by four people. The table tops can turn, with restraints for our arms and legs, so we can be displayed to the perverted fucks that paid for us.
There are an assortment of whips, canes, crops, and paddles against the walls for the guests to use on the slaves.
“Your slave, Mistress,” Sven says.
Reluctantly, I lower my body until I’m back down on one knee.
“Thank you, Sven-dear,” Mistress Westbrook purrs, as her red high heels step into my line of sight. Her hand comes to rest on my head and then she pats me as if I’m some animal she can tame.
“I wish Cameron would sell this slave to me. There is so much I’d like to do with him. Oh, the pleasure I’ll get from breaking you.”
While my head is bowed, I suck in a few breaths of air. I close my eyes and do my best to clear my mind.
“Get on the table, Slave,” she commands.
As I get up the music changes to something slow and sad. Cameron does this so the winners will take the slaves they’ve won to the rooms designated for them. As far as I know, Cameron never takes part himself. This is all about money for him. He proved that money flows through his veins the day he sold my mother, his own wife, to the highest bidder. That’s the night she was beaten to death.
Thoughts of my mother make my focus splinter. I clench my jaw as I settle down on the table. They never bother to tie me down. They love to test me, to see if I’ll snap and try to defend myself.
The table vibrates as someone gets on it. The person crawls up my legs, and then Mistress Westbrook’s face hovers over me. Her mouth is drawn down at the sides with smugness, while excitement burns in her eyes. She sits back on my thighs as she begins to unbutton my jeans. I stare up at the ceiling and keep still. I won’t give her any satisfaction of seeing how much this kills me.
Mistress Westbrook yanks the jeans down baring me to the room. She only pulls the jeans down to my thighs, not bothering to take them off all the way. I’ve been whipped, flogged, and caned by this woman. She has left bite marks on most of my body. I’ve learned to expect anything from her.
She takes hold of my lifeless cock. She hates that I don’t get hard for her.
I feel rubber bands being slipped over the length of me, one at the base of my cock, and the other right underneath the head.
“I got you a present, Slave,” she purrs, as she begins to stroke me. Her grip tightens when I don’t get hard. The pills take longer to work every time I take them. “Tonight, these Electrosex bands will make you hard for me,” she barks angrily.
An electric charge shoots from one band to the other, pulsating through my cock. My whole body tenses as the pulse sizzles all the way to my groin. I wish I was tied down. At least then, I’d have something to hold on to.
Disappointment and shame wells inside of me like thick sludge that threatens to pry the air from my lungs, as my cock starts to harden.
“Look how hard you’re getting for me,” Mistress Westbrook purrs. When I keep my eyes on the ceiling she snaps, “Look at your hard cock.” My eyes leave the spot on the ceiling, and I let them travel down my chest, past my abs, to where my cock is standing rock hard. I abhor that she managed to get me hard.
I feel degraded as she strokes me a couple of times. Another electric charge shoots from one band to the other, this time stronger, and it makes my cock throb. I sink back onto the table, desperately trying to distance myself from my body. The electric pulses come faster and stronger, and I clamp my teeth together so I won’t orgasm for her.
She’s had my blood, but never any of my orgasms or emotions.
My heart starts to beat faster and frustration burns through me. I have to hold out. Fuck, I can’t let her win.
The pulsing becomes a living nightmare, as sweat beads all over my body.
I clench harder on my teeth as my control starts to slip.
“I believe your thirty minutes are up. The slave is mine now,” a soft voice says.
“This is ridiculous!” Mistress Westbrook cries. “I’m sure you can wait another ten minutes.”
“No, I paid for every minute,” the woman says, her voice unwavering and carrying a bite of anger.
I feel a small hand rest on my shoulder. “Get up and take that thing off.” I shoot up and almost yank the Electrosex bands from my cock, which is still throbbing something fierce.
I slip from the table, my legs shaking as I pull my jeans over my aching flesh. I’m in such a hurry to get away from Mistress Westbrook that I don’t even bother with the buttons.
Mistress Westbrook comes to stand in front of me. Her face is tight and caked with make-up which only makes her look older.
“I’ll see you next week, Slave,” she spits out the words, clearly upset that she didn’t get her way.
A cool hand slips into mine, making my eyes jump to the other woman. I’m shocked to see that it’s Mistress Ryland. Her eyes are filled with anger as she glares at Mistress Westbrook.
“Not if I have any say in the matter,” Mistress Ryland whispers darkly.
She tugs my hand lightly, and it’s with overwhelming relief that I follow her out of the room.
My eyes drop to our hands and an uncomfortable feeling stirs inside of me. No one has ever held my hand. I resist the urge to pull away from her.
I’m well aware of the fact that she only reaches my shoulder. She’s so small it would be the easiest thing to snap her neck. The thought makes me wonder where her bodyguard is.
Glancing at her, I can’t help notice the huge difference between her and Mistress Westbrook. I actually prefer them ugly, it’s easier to switch off then.
There’s something about her that sets her apart from all the other mistresses. She has a confidence that shows with every step she takes. She doesn’t have that cruel, or lust filled gleam in her eyes, that the others normally have when they look at me. I’ve never seen someone like her, and I’m not sure how to handle that which makes me feel very uncomfortable.
She leads me into a room, and there’s still no sign of her bodyguard as she locks the door behind us.
She stands with her back to me when she whispers, “Please go take a shower and wash that women’s touch from your body.”
I don’t reply. We are only allowed to talk when asked a direct question, not that I have anything to say to these people. I go into the bathroom and strip out of the jeans. I’m thankful for this moment. I need it so I can regain my composure.