Jessica

Where am I?

For that matter..... who am I?

My body feels cold, and I open my eyes to find myself naked, shivering, and lying on a filthy scrap of cardboard in what can only be described as a cage. I can't call it a cell, it's too fucking tiny to be a cell. In fact, as I start to look around, it looks like someone locked me in a dog pound from hell.

The room isn't that big, about twenty feet across and maybe thirty feet long. On three sides of the room, away from the double door that looks like it's solid steel are cages just like mine. Most of them are filled from what I can see, some of them girls like me, naked and just standing or sitting on their scraps of carpet. Some of the cages have girls that look like they're not so much sleeping as they're knocked out. Most of the cages are too small for them to even be laid out properly, their arms and legs just stuffed in at uncomfortable angles.

What happened?

I try to think back, and all I get are fuzzy, swimmy images. I was on a beach.... somewhere with a lot of old buildings.... a man, offering to buy me a drink..... a nightclub.....

I feel like it's starting to come back to me, but it's still so jumbled, and I'm still not sure what the hell's going on. I remember a little bit more about myself, like the fact that I'm American, and I just graduated from Rutgers in December.... I came to Europe for a vacation... but there's still so much...

A thick, fearful moan comes from my right, and I notice for the first time the men that are in the room. One look, and I can see that they're criminals of some kind, their upper bodies covered in crude but distinctly patterned tattoos, twisting and interlocking over their chests, arms and even for some of them on their hands and necks. For most of them, their skin is swarthy, almost with an interior shine that at first glance you'd think would be sweat, but seems more likely to be oil. It's really far too cool to have anyone sweat, even if they're sort of clothed and I'm as naked as the day I was born.

The moan comes from the girl at the end of the line, one of two cells that're maybe slightly larger than the rest because they make up the bottom of the U-shape in the cells. She's awake but looks groggy, not fully aware of where she is. Then again, I'm not too sure of where I am.

“What's wrong, baby? You were loving it last time,” one of the thugs down on the end say in a heavily accented voice. If I were to make a guess, I'd say the Middle East, but I'm no master of languages. Well, at least I don't think I am. For some reason I think I like chemicals, whatever that means.

“No.... I said no..... last time too,” the girl futilely protests. “I don't want....”

“Don't you get it yet? You don't get to decide what you want any more,” the same thickly accented thug says before smacking one of his compatriots on the chest. “Hassim here's never had a Canadian girl before. It'd be impolite to say no. You fuck him good, you get better owner for later. We put in good word for you, you get kind owner who pays big money for you. Big money owners take care their slaves, don't want to lose their investment.”

“Really?” the girl asks miserably, and the thug nods. I can tell that he's lying, I can hear it in the mocking tone of his voice, but this girl is too dulled to notice, or maybe she's too broken down to think clearly and she believes the lie. Instead, she nods, her spirit broken as she backs up the few feet that her cell gives her. Hassim opens the cage door, already reaching for the belt on his filthy, crusted work pants, and even here, halfway down the line, I can see the disgust on the girl's face as she sees whatever it is he pulls out.

“Don't worry, it look bad but feel good,” the English speaking thug says as Hassim takes the girl and pushes her to her knees. “It's just a scar, not a disease.”

I can't watch any more, I'm too horrified even though maybe there's a lesson in this that I can use. Instead I turn away, forcing my eyes shut but unable to block out the sounds of the girl's cries of pain.

“Hey, new girl.... hey, the tag says Jessica.”

Jessica, that's right. My name's Jessica, Jessica Prince. I open my eyes to see another thug outside my cell, an amused smile on her face. He's not the same one that was speaking before, he's skinnier, and while he's still thuggish, his accent's different, and he looks slightly more intelligent. “You look like you don't like the fun and games. What, are you some stuck up tight cunt?”

“It's fucking disgusting,” I reply, staring at his hideous face. “That's not fun and games. She's getting raped.”

“And it won't be the first time. It sure as fuck won't be the last,” the man says, laughing. “You new, so let me explain. This is the slave pens, where we gather our shipment to send to our customers. I hope you like hot, because you're going to be very, very hot in a few months in your new home.”

“Fuck you,” I growl, spitting at his feet. “I'm an American citizen, you can't do this to me.”

“Ooooh, an American citizen!” the thug taunts, stepping back and raising his hands as if he's afraid. “Hey guys, we got a real American citizen here!”

A few of the other thugs, hearing their compatriot's laughing jibe, turn, intrigued in the new entertainment as apparently Hassim raping the Canadian girl has gotten boring. About half of them, four or five, peel off to come over, their eyes drinking me in greedily as they look me over from head to toe. As they do, they make comments like I'm some sort of animal at a 4H Club show.

“E un culo fabuloso!”

“She real woman, not girl.”

“Pretty face... very pretty face.”

“She's a ride and a half!”

There's other comments, but I can't understand them, or perhaps the language or accent is too strong for me to pick up. All I know is I can feel their eyes roaming over me, and it disgusts me.

It's not that I'm naked. I'm proud of my body, and they're right, I am a real woman, more woman than these fuckwits can handle. What disgusts me is that they think that they're able to handle me. They think that I'm nothing more than big tits, a good looking face, and a sweet ass. They think that I'm easy to deal with.

Wait, where the hell is all this coming from? Doesn't matter, I'm not gonna stop.

“You limp dicks look like you couldn't last two minutes with me,” I taunt back, feeling my anger rising. I see one of them that I couldn't understand, but I can understand the look in his eyes and way he's licking his lips. “If you even got a chance. What'd you last there, Mushmouth? Thirty seconds, if you even got it in?”

The men, those who understand English at least, laugh. It seems I'm entertainment. The man I taunted is needled by his friends in another language. I can tell pretty much what they're saying. Hey man, she's punking you out. You gonna take that?

“You get ready, bitch. I start you training, show you real man,” Mushmouth says in broken, angry English, going to my cage door. He shrugs off his shirt and takes off his belt, I guess he doesn't want to waste any time. Whatever. One of his buddies opens the cage door and I back up the little bit I can, I don't want him anywhere close to his friends when that door closes. “Yeah, that what I thought. All talk, no....”

More of my memories sort themselves out, and I know all my fight knowledge comes from Steet-Fu, but I've seen the 'pimp slap' a hundred times in my life. I roll with it, taking it close to my neck instead of across the mouth before I kick across with my left leg, stomping the thug on the inside of his knee. His leg buckles, his head pitching forward into my rising elbow. His nose blooms red, and he staggers back, groping for the cage door to be let out by his compatriots. More of my brain clicks back into place, and I realize where I get my attitude from.

“All talk, no bite? Try you all talk, and no balls. I'm from Jersey, bitch. Step to me, you gonna find out. How you doin'?” I growl, pissed. My accent only gets really bad when I'm pissed. It's like the angrier I get, the more I sound like I'm from the Shore.

The thugs harass and laugh at the now angry Mushmouth, who's still holding his nose. He wipes the blood away from his lip, sneering, spitting something in his native language which the leader laughs at and points before translating for me.

“You need big training,” he says, smirking. “That's fine, we have ways of breaking even the most hard headed.”

Mushmouth crosses the room, opening a metal locker that's near the door and takes out a black object I can't see very well until he turns around, letting the coils droop to the floor, and I shiver, this time in real fear. A whip. No, oh Jesus above no.

The lead thug sees my reaction and chuckles. “You had your chance,” he says as Mushmouth cracks the whip, which is easily as thick around as my wrist at the base before tapering to a split tip, the very ends glinting with pieces of metal. “You have no chance now.”

The cage door opens again, three of the thugs swarming me before I can do anything. I try and fight, kicking and twisting, but they overwhelm me, one of them hitting me above my left eye, sending stars shooting across my vision and stunning me while they drag me to the middle of the room. There's a bar there with rough steel shackles on the ends, and even though I try, there's too many of them, and I find my hands locked in, with my ankles soon following even though I didn't see the shackles down there at first.

The thugs back away, the leader going over to a crank on the side near the steel cabinet and hoisting the bar up above my head, stretching me until I'm just on my tiptoes and he stops, looking around at the other girls. Those who are awake, at least those I can see, are all watching, and I see that a few of them are looking at me with terror, while another few are looking at me with mute pity and acceptance.

“All you bitches, listen up!” the thug leader yells, looking around. “Here's the facts: you will be put on The Sultan's boat, you will be sold to the markets, and then to your owners. There, they know what a woman's role is, and if you give them any lip like this stupid bitch, you will get punished, even worse than this dumb cunt!”

“What are you going to do?” some girl asks, she's got a British accent, although she's behind me. “Kill her?”

“That'd lose us money. None of you bitches are that much of a pain in the ass. No.... but a good whipping and then me and my boys running a train, that won't be too much of a problem at all,” the leader says almost with a laugh before turning to Mushmouth. “Make sure there isn't too much scarring. Oh, and I get first crack at her asshole, you want that, you go second.”

Mushmouth nods, grinning. “No... I want to see her blood. See her cry. Pussy just fine for me. No big scars.”

“Then have fun. I'll just watch,” the thug says, and the other men laugh, backing away into a circle as Mushmouth flicks his hand, the tip of the whip cracking the air near my face but not actually hitting me. Mushmouth laughs, blood dripping and staining his teeth as he does.

“Fun times.”

Rodrigo

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” I say, the words familiar and oddly comforting in my mouth as I kneel in the confessional, even though I know the man I'm confessing to is hardly one to judge my morality. While Parrochia del Carmine isn't the closest Catholic church to my villa, it is the only one in Caccamo that has a priest who's both fluent enough in English to listen to my confessions, while at the same time 'safe' in the eyes of my superiors in Il Rete, or The Network. Father Giacomo has a brother who works for The Network, and while I'm not too sure how he balances his duties to God with his duties to The Network, that doesn't disturb my sleep any. Just the act of confessing helps enough sometimes.

“Of course you have, Rodrigo,” Giacamo says with a chuckle. He spent fifteen years living in the United States, ministering to mostly Hispanic churches in the Arizona and New Mexico area before coming home to Sicily, so his English is relaxed, with a little bit of accent that reminds me of home. “You come by confessional at least twice a week having sinned. Although I sometimes think you just use my confessional as a decent halfway stopping point on your runs. What is your confession?”

“I... I have deep unrest about my duties to my brothers today,” I admit. “The girls are being taken. From what I understand, roughly two dozen women will be taken to the markets.”

“And so you have two conflicts,” Giacamo says. “Loyalty to those you've sworn fealty towards, and a feeling of pity for these women.”

“As always,” I whisper, bowing my head. “These women, almost all of them do not ask for what will happen to them. And you know the type of men we're sending them to. They're animals.”

“They would say the same about you, Rodrigo. And while I do not like your choice of customers, you must remember, the Bible gives very clear rules on slavery. It does not condemn the act. So taking and selling the women, there is no conflict with the Bible. As for what their new owners do with them, that is something that they must settle with the Lord in their own time,” Giacamo says, his voice placating while at the same time grating. I hate when he's full of shit. “Still, do not think me heartless, I understand. Even the Church itself would have reservations about your business today. Then again, Joseph was sold as a slave, and look what happened to him. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“So what should I do, Father?” I ask, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the wall of the confessional. It's cool and slightly rough, and I wonder for an instant how many thousands of foreheads have been pressed against the same spot on the old wood. “Whom shall I serve?”

“In all matters my son, you should serve the Lord. And to the Lord, you have sworn an oath. That is paramount.”

“My penance?” I ask, knowing that Giacamo isn't going to offer me any comfort today. Not in this matter. Then again, when you have The Network making sure you and your family all live quite well, I guess comfort is a relative term.

“For doubting your own oath, one Our Father. Actually, make it three, and three Hail Marys, just to cover yourself on what I'm sure you aren't telling me about,” Giacamo says. Despite his... unique perspective on the Church and on doctrine, he does have a good sense of humor, and in a lot of ways I like him. Not today, but most days. “Try not to indulge in your baser nature too much between now and Sunday. Now go.”

And sin no more is omitted, as Giacamo always does. There's no point. I quickly leave the confessional and kneel at the main altar, getting my penance out of the way before getting up and leaving, pausing at the offering box to put a hundred euro note in. Maybe it's blood money, but maybe not. I'd like to think that the offering box at least is used to help Caccamo's poor and needy.

I leave the church, pausing to roll my ankles out and put my headphones in before I start running again. Caccamo, Sicily is a hilly town, dominated by the thousand year old Castello de Caccamo, an ancient Norman design from when those people swept through this island of conflict and war stretching back into antiquity.

I keep up my run, leaving the main portion of Caccamo and jogging past the carabinieri station, giving the Italian police a proper finger as I do. Even after three years, I find it hilarious that the national police have a commando station less than a half mile from my destination. In fact it's at the station that I turn left, off of the provincial highway and onto the secondary road that leads me towards my destination, the property known within The Network as The Farm, for it's where the seeds are planted, and where the harvest is taken.

I pause at my truck, a nod to my heritage in that it's one of the few American trucks in town, an emerald green Ram crew cab that can more than handle the travel from The Farm to my own private villa and anywhere else I want to go. It's not the sexiest of the vehicles in The Network in Sicily, but it is the one I prefer for 'work.' In the back, I open the toolbox in the bed to pull out my towel, letting the relatively cool mid-winter air play over my skin as I wipe off. In Caccamo, even in the middle of winter, it doesn't get anywhere near cold during the day, although it's still a pretty good idea to wear warmer clothes at night. Finishing my toweling, I take a quick sniff before deciding that, at least for the rest of the day's work, I don't fucking need to worry about it.

“You know Rodrigo, you keep stripping for me, I'm going to take that as an invitation,” a lilting Greek accented voice says behind me, and I turn to see one of the other members of The Network, Larissa 'The Dryad,' watching me with a smirk on her seductive face. She and I have traded sexual taunts and other jokes for two and a half years now, ever since I got to Sicily, and it's become sort of a game. We both know that neither of us wants, or could afford, to get involved with the other, even for fun. Inter-office romances would be stupid within The Network, and especially with a seductress and assassin like Larissa. Besides, for some reason I just like her more in a friendly way than in a I want to fuck her senseless way.

“Larissa, there's a dozen men on The Farm who would be more than happy to accept your invitation,” I joke, changing my mind and grabbing the can of Axe I keep in my truck kit and giving my armpits a quick spritz. “I'm just the only one smart enough to not get caught in your web.”

“Which is why you're about the only man on The Farm I respect,” Larissa says, her seductive teasing immediately shutting off. It's one of the unique things about her that took me a while to get used to, but now I appreciate. She can go from flirty to professional in a single second. “How was your training run?”

“Decent. Father Giacamo was his normal self. You know, before I went into confession he asked if you were going to come to church soon. I didn't have the heart to tell him that you've probably never been inside a church. You're Greek Orthodox, right?”

Larissa laughs, her distinctive violet eyes crinkling at the corners in good spirits. “I am, but oh, I've been in a Catholic church, and a few times, the Church has been inside me. Work is not always unpleasant. As for Giacamo, I'd go to confessional more often if I didn't have to listen to him jacking off in his side of the booth while I tell him what I get up to. As it is, it's just a game for me.”

I laugh, taking out the short sleeved denim workshirt I wanted for today. Moving days are the day I like least at The Farm, and so I treat it like real work, in a real work shirt. Larissa doesn't turn away or even smirk as I pull my shorts off and pull on my black jeans before changing from my running shoes to the boots that I wear for The Farm. When I'm done, I brush off my hands and put my workout clothes in my toolbox, ensuring the smell of my sweat doesn't stink up the cab of my truck. Closing the lid, I turn around again and see Larissa smirking, shaking her head back and forth slightly, the long black hair that I know has bewitched many a victim, some fatally, swaying.

“You know Larissa, you'd have less problems with Giacamo if your confessions didn't sound like The Best of Penthouse Letters,” I joke. “Well, right up until the point you kill them.”

“Ah, but at least they die with a smile on their face. Besides, I've been told I'm the closest a person can come to God, so I just save them a lifetime of disappointment afterwards,” Larissa says with a touch of pride. “By the way, what did you think of my idea this morning?”

“About you giving some of the girls hints?” I ask, and Larissa nods. “Well, I'll admit I had some thoughts about it during my run. Part of me laughed as I thought of the girls killing their new owners if they get pissed at them. The Sultan can brag all he wants about his clients knowing how to handle a woman, but knowing that if they treat them wrong, they could die? How to bring feminism to the Mideast.”

Larissa laughs as we leave my truck. For a while I thought she was a sociopath. But there isn't really a definition for her. I just know that for her, she's probably laughing at the idea of inflicting that much death on a widescale basis. It certainly isn't because she's a feminist. Well, then again since she holds herself equal to any man, and in my estimation she's better than a lot of the men that we both work with, maybe she is.

“Rodrigo, you amuse me, your sense of humor. So rare here, so American.”

“Maybe that's why you keep inviting yourself to my villa,” I point out, and Larissa laughs again. “What?”

“Admit it Rodrigo, you and I will never go to bed together, but you like my company too. I think I entertain you as much as you do me.”

I think about it, then nod. “Perhaps. At least, you're one of the only people I wouldn't shoot on sight for showing up at my place uninvited. Still then... why do it? Why this new idea of becoming some sort of teacher?”

Larissa shrugs. “I can't keep seducing and killing men and women forever, Rodrigo. Besides, it adds a shine to our merchandise, getting us more money.”

“You're hardly old, Larissa. In fact... well, this might be dangerous, but I have no idea how old you are even. I always pegged you for being a little younger than me, say twenty five or so?”

Larissa laughs loudly. “And you say you never flirt with me. No, you and I are about the same age. And I'm not saying I'm ready for the retirement home, not by a long shot. I was thinking more along the lines of danger.”

“That I can understand,” I admit. “Do you think that the girls would be willing to learn?”

“Not every girl we sell is kidnapped, you know,” Larissa responds matter of factly. “I checked with your boss, he said that about twenty percent of the girls he transports are actually volunteers for the life. A lot of it depends on where they go. Russian girls and Slavic girls practically volunteer to go to the Americas, even to South America. Rodrigo, life in America isn't perfect, but some of these girls, especially the Slavic girls... trust me, for them even a Mideast harem is a step up.”

“Careful Larissa, you sound like you're feeling sorry for the girls. I might accuse you of having a heart if you do,” I tease, and Larissa rolls her eyes. “Honestly Larissa, if that's what you want to do, I see no reason to oppose it. I'm sure there's going to be rules put in place so you don't damage The Network's merchandise, but I don't see a reason why The Sultan or Rachmaninoff would object.”

“I appreciate it,” Larissa says. “I know that in The Network you're not quite on their level, but you do have Rachmaninoff's ear as well as working for Scoglitti. A good word from you would be appreciated.”

“Of course, Larissa. For now, we have work to do. The Sultan's men have been preparing the girls for transport, and I don't trust that crew of vipers,” I say.

It's no secret among The Network, while I can work with The Sultan, and have for years... I hate the bastard. We're all criminals, but there's lines you don't cross. The Sultan does all the time though, he's truly someone who doesn't give a single fuck except for money and power. He'd serve his own mother a vial of flesh eating bacteria if it made him enough money. If he didn't have the connections to the Mideast....

“I'm going to speak with Rachmaninoff this evening, he invited me to dinner,” Larissa says, giving me a knowing smile at my comment. She has no fondness for The Sultan too, although considering that Larissa is Greek, and The Sultan a self-described Persian, that animosity is practically in the blood between them, I suspect their ancestors were probably hacking away at each other at Plataea. “By the way, are you open for a visit in a few days?”

“You're going to come whether I say yes or no, so just send me a text message when you plan on arriving,” I wave off, making Larissa laugh. The first time she broke into my villa, I nearly shot her, only her superior position within The Network's hierarchy and her high level of training preventing me from killing her. Now though... well, at least she doesn't damage anything too expensive when she breaks in. Sometimes she offers to pay for it too.

We make our way towards the far side of The Farm, which actually does have some legitimate agriculture on it. It's probably just my biased opinion, but the olive oil that comes from the grove that grows on the eastern rise of The Farm is the best in all of Sicily, and the pigs that are raised to dispose of those things that The Network would prefer to be disposed of make some damn good bacon too... once you get past their diet.

“You know Rodrigo, you're looking tense,” Larissa says as we go down the short hill to the small barn that is where the girls today are being kept. “You really should look at indulging some more. Seriously, nothing better for me than a good orgasm.”

I shrug, not wanting to tell her the truth about my feelings or my sex life as we reach the door. She helped me a little when I was setting up my villa, but since then, she and I haven't discussed the details of that side of my life.

“Either way, let's make sure that The Sultan's men...,” I say, sliding the steel door back on its track. The words die in my throat as I see the men gathered in a rough circle, a girl strung up on the bar and shackles there. “What the fuck are they doing?”

“Girl broke Kahled's nose,” one of The Sultan's men says, pointing across the way. “He's going to whip her.”

I look and see Kahled. Brutish, stupid, and sadistic to an obscene degree, his lower face is sheeted in reddish blood, an angry leer on his face. He flicks his whip, teasing the girl, who's naked and tied up in such a way that I can't see her face. Still, as soon as she opens her mouth, I hear it. New Jersey, maybe the Bronx, but if I had to lay money, she's from northern Jersey.

“Fuck you, ya bastard. You gonna do it, then do it!” she yells. “But the first dick that tries to get in me I'm gonna snap off with my pussy!”

Larissa, who is standing next to me, chuckles. “Well, there's one who's either going to get herself killed or get herself married very quickly. Look at that body.”

I take a moment to look at the girl, and I have to admit, she's got an ass that artists would die to carve. With thick blonde hair that glows even in the dim light of the slave pens, she's beautiful, the sort of woman that I can tell is used to having men beg for a chance to worship her. Even from behind I can feel a surge of desire, in front of me is a real woman, one of a rare and disappearing breed in a world obsessed with fake plasticky 'models' and surgery. Not this woman, she's all natural and I want her, I want to bury my cock balls deep inside her.... and I haven't even seen her face yet.

“Wait!” I call out, my voice piercing the hoots and taunts of The Sultan's men. Kahled looks over, his lip twitching in anger when he sees me. He knows that I'm not his boss' favorite person, but at the same time, I'm nobody to be fucked with.

“Sir, Kahled deserves his retribution,” Leon, the man in charge of The Sultan's men, says in Italian. “She broke his nose when he went into her cell.”

“Then he got what he deserved for being sloppy,” I reply in English. Almost all of the men in The Network can understand English, even if some of the lower ranked ones don't speak it too well. “Besides, I can see it in Kahled's eyes, he's not interested in training. Let me guess.... wanted to dip his wick in the merchandise?”

Kahled's eyes glare at me, and I smirk, he knows I pegged him right. I walk forward, past the girl without looking at her, directly into Kahled's face. “She let you get off with a broken nose, Kahled. Do you think The Sultan will let you get off with marking her?”

“Some like marks on their slaves,” Kahled replies in his hesitant, thickly accented English. He's got a point, I've unfortunately seen over the past three years what some of the owners do to their 'property.'

“Well, let's see if this one is worth marking or not,” I say, holding my hand out. It's a risk, I'm pushing it as it is for some reason, but something in that woman's voice makes me want to push the line. Kahled though tightens his grip, and I know that he's not going to give up his weapon, not without me knocking him the fuck out, and there isn't need for that.... yet. “Fine. But it stays down until I say so. Or else you answer to me.”

I'm not in his branch within The Network, but I do command respect, and I have a reputation of someone not to be fucked with. Kahled nods slightly, and I turn around.

Oh.

My.

God.

The blonde hair still frames her face, which looks like it's been carved by Michelangelo himself, lips that, even if one side is starting to swell from taking a shot, are flawless. Her gray eyes are intelligent, this is obviously no dumb bitch from the Jersey Shore despite her angry words when I came in. They flare with rage and anger, making them even more beautiful.

The rest of her is just as perfect, the sort of woman that any real man should want in his life. Large, generous breasts, a flare to her hips and thighs that makes my cock stir in my pants... but still, it's hard to tear my eyes away from that face. She's scared, she'd be an idiot not to be, but she's got guts, enough to stare down what's now nearly a dozen of The Sultan's men and call them out. It's magnetic practically.

“So what the fuck you lookin' at?” she asks, and I can hear it. She's used to men being intimidated by her, either by her brains, but most likely by her body. I can understand why, it's a body that once you see, let alone touch, is going to haunt your dreams and fantasies for the rest of your life. I know men who would literally sacrifice their lives for a chance with a woman like this, and in this instant, I'm not too sure they'd be that far off. More than that though, this woman knows it.

Because of this though, she's severely disappointed by the world. Never meeting her match, I can read her like a book. She came to Europe because, regardless of whatever excuse she used when she booked her flight out of Newark, her life bored the shit out of her. Even now, facing a dozen of The Sultan's thugs and sailors, she's bored by it.

What she needs... is training. Not the brutal, unthinking training that Kahled wants to inflict, like a child smashing a toy that it cannot fully appreciate.

What this woman needs is real training.

The sort of training that I can provide. The sort of training that so many have begged for, and none have been able to take. The sort of training that only the strongest of women can endure. I need a woman who can endure that training in my life.

But looking at her flawless, voluptuous body, I see my own desires mirrored. I see a woman who needs completion. In the spirit and strength I see in those lustrous gray eyes, I know that what this woman needs.... is me.

“Gentlemen... I believe I have a business proposal for you.”

Jessica

“Well, let's see if this one is worth marking or not,” the powerful man says, holding his hand up to take the whip from Mushmouth, who I guess is named Kahled. Kahled's hand tightens though, and after a moment the man lowers his hand, nodding his head slightly, as if he just doesn't really care. “Fine. But it stays down until I say so. Or else you answer to me.”

He turns around, and my throat instantly goes dry. His intense eyes are nearly as black as his hair, with a jawline that looks like it could be used to chop wood it's so strong, sensuous lips that twitch when he sees me, his tongue coming out I think unconsciously to lick his plump lower lip. He's picked up a scar somewhere underneath his right eye, about two inches long and decently healed, but it's still there, a bone white smile in his tanned skin.

The rest of him is just as powerful and perfectly put together, his arm and chest muscles straining against the fabric of his denim work shirt, his thighs making the black denim he's wearing swell.

He looks at me, and I can tell... this man wants me. But not like any man who's begged me to fuck them before, not at all like the dozen or so assholes who want to rape me. This man wants me... but he wants me his way. It scares me but at the same time excites me, and I open my mouth, my fear talking. “So what the fuck you lookin' at?”

The man's lips twitch in desire and amusement, and he actually chuckles. “Gentlemen... I believe I have a business proposal for you.”

“A business proposal?” the lead thug says, switching to English again. I guess when they're talking about the merchandise, they like to discuss things in English. “What sort of business proposal, Mr. Rodrigo?”

“Yes,” Rodrigo says, walking around me, studying me like the thugs did, but this time, I don't feel the same sense of disgust that I felt for the thugs, who never could have handled me. In fact, frighteningly, I feel a deep sense of self awareness. This is a man who can appreciate a woman like me, and I can feel his eyes burning into me as he walks around. I try to follow him, turning my head as best I can, and the whole time his face never loses the appreciative but amused look that it's had for the past ten seconds.

“Mmmm, yes indeed. You see Leon, while Kahled might want to punish this woman, he's far too clumsy to damage such an flawless beauty. You damage the merchandise, you lose money for yourself and your capo. And you... men,” he says in such a way as to make me very certain what he thinks of Leon, Kahled, and the rest of the men, “you men are not up to the task of training such a wild stallion. You'd only hurt this one's value.”

His words twist inside me. On one hand, I'm pissed off to be talked about like I'm a new car on the lot, like I might or might not come with power steering and in-dash navigation. But in his eyes, in the command in his voice, another side of me likes what I'm hearing. It's the side of me that's never been truly satisfied by a man, the dark side that I've never let even my deepest girlfriends in college know about, the side that wants a man like this.

“So what you saying?” Kahled says, dropping the whip, his hand clenching in a fist. “You want girl?”

“Who wouldn't?” Rodrigo says as if Kahled had asked if he wanted chocolate chip cookies. “Here's my offer. Give me this woman, take her out of the shipment. I'll train her, and then when The Sultan delivers her to a new owner, she'll be much, much better to him.”

“Fuck you, I'm nobody's toy,” I hiss, and Rodrigo looks back at me, my next words dying on my lips when I see the expression in his eyes. They burn with intensity, both challenging me and telling me to shut the fuck up at the same time for my own damn good. I shut my mouth, at least for the moment.

“Training this one could be quite a challenge. But I've got time,” Rodrigo says, turning his attention back to Leon and Kahled. “Now let her go, she's coming with me.”

“Fuck this! I want blood!” Kahled says, pissed off. From out of seemingly nowhere he pulls a knife, I think it may have been my his waist but I'm not sure, stepping towards me. “I'll cut this bitch!”

Rodrigo grabs Kahled's wrist and twists, the knife clattering to the concrete floor before Kahled's flipped, a bone somewhere breaking when he lands in an ungainly thump. Kahled screams, and I see a few of the girls who'd been watching me smiling, cheering Rodrigo in the background.

Rodrigo doesn't let go of Kahled's wrist but instead kneels on the side of the man's head, pulling until Kahled passes out. When he's out Rodrigo lets go and stands up, two of Kahled's friends checking on him before dragging him away. Rodrigo gets up, the only mar on his body being a little bit of dust on his knee, and looks back at Leon, who's pissed.

“The Sultan will hear about this!” Leon yells, his lip curling. “You cannot fight one of The Sultan's men and get away with it!”

“He can, if you pull your head from your ass,” the woman's voice says behind me as she steps around me. When she does, I realize she must be with Rodrigo, she's so beautiful. The hair's different, and her skin isn't so much tanned as a slight olive tone that I've always associated with, ironically, Greek women, and she's built like something from their mythology, a body and face worth starting a ten year war over. They must be lovers, there's no way that a woman like this would ever end up with a man other than someone like Rodrigo. “After all Leon, your man pulled a knife and attacked a more senior member of The Network. I'd suggest you think about that before you make threats about tattling to your.... leader again.”

Leon's lip curls in anger, and he looks from the woman to Rodrigo, taking a deep breath. “Perhaps The Dryad has a point. But I cannot let this woman go for free.”

Rodrigo laughs, nodding his head. “It always comes down to money, doesn't it, Leon? Fine. Then I'll pay, full standard price for a girl like this. We can agree to let Rachmaninoff set the price. Then, when I've either trained her or broken her, The Sultan agrees to broker my reselling her. The risk is all mine then. What do you say? Full value, and you don't have to worry about feeding or caring for her on the trip overseas, and nobody else gets anything broken.”

“It's a generous offer Leon,” The Dryad says, looking the two men over. She turns and comes over to me, studying me carefully as well. She hums to herself in appreciation, and I realize I'm a little taller than her. Not much, but a little. “You know that Rodrigo's position within The Network means he could demand much more if he wanted.”

Leon looks at Rodrigo for a moment, holding his eyes for a moment before he caves, his face crumbling before he nods, upset for some reason. More than anything though, it proves to me that this Rodrigo is the sort of strong man others listen to. “Fine. But The Sultan will still hear about Kahled.”

“I'm sure he will either way,” Rodrigo says, turning around. “Now, what do I do about you?”

“You can go fuck yourself,” I hiss as he steps forward. Alpha male or not, I'm not about to be fucking sold like a cow. “I'm nobody's slave, you fucking bastard!”

“She's got a foul mouth,” The Dryad says, her deep violet eyes sparkling in amusement. “It might be her only physical flaw. You're going to have fun with this one, Rodrigo.”

“We'll see,” Rodrigo says. “Now, if you'd step back please? And... lock the door. I think this girl needs a first lesson.”

“You mean like these fuckers?” I growl as The Dryad goes over to the door and closes it, a locking sound coming from behind me. “You won't rape me, you limp dicked son of a bitch!”

Rodrigo ignores my angry words, instead disappearing behind me as he goes for something. I hear the metal locker where Kahled got his whip opening again before it closes, and Rodrigo appears again, carrying what looks like a simple poncho. “It is not a fair test to ask you to fight naked, so....”

Someone starts cranking, and the bar that's been pulling me up relaxes. I start to sit back onto my heels, my arms screaming, pins and needles racing all the way to my fingertips as Rodrigo takes a key out of his pocket and holds it up. “Here's the test. I will unlock your left hand, and give you the key, let you unlock yourself the rest of the way. Then, if you can hurt me, if you can cut me in any way, I give you my word of honor, you will be given a full set of clothes, your identification, and put on a plane back to your home. Freedom.”

“If I hurt you?” I ask, and Rodrigo nods. “No rules?”

“Just what I said... for now,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “Trust me, scratching and clawing won't work.”

“We'll see,” I hiss, seeing that I'm choiceless. He want me to fight him? Fine. Jersey's in the house, bitch.

Rodrigo unlocks my left hand while it's still too numb to do anything before he drops the key at my feet and steps back while the bar lowers the rest of the way and I can reach down, unlocking my right hand before I bend over, unlocking my left ankle first before Rodrigo interrupts. “No poncho?”

“Fuck it,” I growl. He obviously likes my tits, most men have since I turned thirteen or so and went from flat chested to B cups in the course of one summer with more to come later. If I can distract him with my body while I go to cut him, then all the better. I unlock my right leg and pinch the key between my fingers, a stubby sharp point as I immediately jump at Rodrigo, aiming for his exposed face.

He wants blood. Fine. I go for the skin, the key's got a decent tooth on it, I can get something...

In a move so fast I can barely follow it with my eyes, Rodrigo's not there, disappearing like a ghost as I fall forward, barely catching my balance. Instead somehow he's behind me, my hand caught in his unrelenting iron grip, his other arm pulling me tight against him.

“You've got guts, I'll give you that,” Rodrigo whispers in my ear, then something slides around my neck, and all I feel is pressure before the world goes red... then black. Just before sleep comes, he whispers again.

“Guts won't be enough.”

Rodrigo

She fights me until the last, which actually in a lot of ways makes it easier, the move comes on faster the more you fight it. Her body presses against mine as I carefully lower her to the ground, looking up at Larissa who looks both amused and disappointed. “What?”

“You didn't have to make it so quick,” she says in her normal unique sense of humor. “I barely had time to ask about a single bet.”

“Yeah well,” I reply, looking around quickly at Leon and the other members of The Sultan's men, “bring me that poncho, and some rope, quickly. She won't be out long, and I want her fully tied up before then.”

“No problem,” Larissa says, turning and barking some orders at The Sultan's men in Arabic, the other language that all of The Sultan's men know. Two of them jump to follow her orders while Larissa brings the poncho over and helps me wrap the woman in it. “Never seen you make such a quick purchase.”

“Didn't exactly have time to haggle over things,” I respond as I wrap the woman up like a burrito, pulling the hood tight over her beautiful face, leaving her just a small breathing hole. I can't afford for her to know where exactly I'm taking her, not yet. After using two of the corners of the poncho to tie it to itself, I tie her upper body in two more places, then once each around her knees and ankles. Not a perfect job, but I think it'll be good enough.

One of the The Sultan's men returns with some flat nylon webbing and I get it around her for a final binding just as the woman starts to stir. I don't have a choice, I put pressure on the side of her neck again until she passes out one more time, but I can't risk it again, it's not healthy. “Can you go get my truck?”

“You're going to owe me,” Larissa says with a chuckle as she takes my keys and leaves. I pick up the girl and heave her over my shoulder, perhaps not the most dignified of carries but effective as I grab her behind her knees and carry her towards the door, using the nylon webbing to help balance her better.

“I'm taking my purchase back to my villa,” I say to Leon, who follows me. “The Dryad will stay and supervise until I come back. If I hear of any of the other merchandise being mistreated while I'm gone... whoever it is will answer to me personally, regardless of if you work for The Sultan or not. Understand?”

Leon gives me a surly nod just as Larissa brings my truck around, grinning when she throws it into park. “Fun! I should get one of these!”

“I keep telling you that,” I comment as she opens the back of the crew cab. The girl on my shoulder starts to stir, her voice slurring. I quickly put her inside and stretch her out, buckling the lap belt on the middle seat around her waist.

“What... who? Fucker!” she starts to yell, and I put my hand on her shoulder, holding her down.

“Listen to me very carefully,” I say quietly, soothingly in her ear. There's a time for iron, and there's a time for velvet, something I know very well. “You're blindfolded for your safety. If these other men thought you knew where you are, they'd kill you regardless of how many asses I can kick, and even I can't handle ten on one odds. Now, I'm taking you to my place. If you stay quiet the whole trip, I'll make your new room more comfortable. If you don't, if you kick or damage my truck, you're going to be thrown in there as naked as you are right now. Your choice, but either way, you're leaving the slave pens as mine. Now, what's your name?”

The woman squirms a little, but stops after a second. “Jessica Prince.”

“Okay Jessica Prince, do you understand what I just told you?” I ask, leaning in close enough that I can smell her scent even over the moldy reek of the poncho. She smells like a real woman should even, rich and authentic. My cock stirs in my pants, and I tell it to shut the fuck up for a moment, I've got more important things to worry about. “Just a simple yes or no will be fine.”

“Yes,” Jessica says, and I pat her on the shoulder.

“Very good. Now, lift your head up, I'm going to close the door,” I say, nodding in approval as she does just that and I get to close my rear door without any issues. I go around to the driver's side, where Larissa is waiting for me. “I told Leon that you'd monitor until I get back?”

“Don't take too long, you wouldn't want Scoglitti or The Sultan thinking you're being slack,” Larissa says with a chuckle, looking in my back window. “She's beautiful. You're going to have a lot of fun with her.”

“I figured that too,” I lie, making Larissa laugh. “What?”

“Just remember, Rachmaninoff will want the money soon. A girl like that, what do you figure?” Larissa asks. “Priceless?”

It's my turn to laugh, Larissa reads me too easily which both scares me and amuses me. “Nothing in our world is priceless, Larissa. At least, not what we sell. But I figure Rachmaninoff is going to want between two and three hundred grand for this one. A fair price, most likely.”

I climb in and pull away, driving quickly. I intentionally bought my villa on the far side of Caccamo from The Farm, a country villa that was nearly totally wrecked when I bought it a year and a half ago. With four acres of total land, and a half acre main property that is ringed by a fifteen foot high wall, it's a beautiful house. From my second floor bedroom I can even look out and see Lago Rosamarina, the artificial lake that adds a majestic splendor to my morning view.

The whole drive, Jessica stays quiet except for a few whimpers of fear, and I can feel for her. She's terrified, and she barely understands how much better she is with me than what The Sultan had set aside for her. She gets jostled a little when I turn off of the paved Provincial Strada and down the dirt road that leads to my villa, but I've made sure the road is graded as smooth as possible considering that I still haven't finished all my renovations.

The gate opens on my remote command, one of my first big upgrades to the house and a useful security feature. I drive through, parking and shutting off the engine to my truck before I turn around. “We're here. I'm going to carry you, there's some sharp stones in the yard, and you don't have shoes. Don't fight me, or I'll drop you on your ass. Understand?”

“Yes,” Jessica's muffled voice says. “Can I see?”

“Inside,” I reply, heartened that she asked instead of demanding. “The blindfold's for my safety now as much as yours.”

I go around and pull her from the truck, carrying her over my shoulder again. I'd like to be more dignified, but that whole carrying a woman in your arms thing doesn't work when her entire upper body looks like a fucked up high school drama club version of a mummy. Still, I'm as careful as I can as I take her into my villa. I've gotten most of it renovated, and structurally it's more sound than it's been since about eighteen seventy.

But there's about a quarter of the first floor that, while strong, isn't finished off yet. It's one of these rooms I put Jessica in, a room that I was thinking of turning into a root cellar or maybe a walk in refrigerator, getting food out here is a bitch sometimes when I'm busy with work for Scoglitti. For now it's a secure storage closet, with just what I need for Jessica until she earns a better place, and until I can trust her more. I set her down and she squawks when her butt thumps off the dirt floor, indignant and surprised. I reach down to open the hole and pull the hood of her poncho off, careful to avoid her mouth in case she wants to bite. She blinks even though there's only a single dim twenty watt light bulb, looking around with a sarcastic fawning expression. “Nice.”

“You behaved on the ride, so hang on,” I retort before leaving, closing the door behind me. The room has a thick steel bolt closure with space for a lock on it, so I quickly run upstairs, grabbing what I need and hauling it down. I open the door to see that Jessica has at least wormed herself into a sitting position, her knees underneath her as I drag the thin mattress through the door and lay it down.

“It gets cold in here at night, and I don't have any clothes for you yet. Use this and this blanket, it'll help for now until I return.”

Jessica looks around, then at me, her eyes still so angry, but also there's fear in there. “So what am I, a dog now?”

“No,” I reply, squatting down and reaching for her ankles. “Here's the rules. They're pretty simple, and you seem smart, even for a Jersey girl.”

“How'd you know I'm from Jersey?” Jessica asks, and I chuckle.

“You've got the accent when you get angry. Now, the rules. You're going to stay in this room until I know I can trust you not to do something stupid. Don't try and get out, the wall behind you is a foot thick, same with the side walls. You behave, you learn to obey and do things right, you get rewarded. You don't, you'll be punished.”

“You mean raped,” Jessica says, and I can see the accusation in her eyes, she's scared of it more than anything else. The relief that washes over her face when I shake my head is clear.

“I don't rape, Jessica. I don't need to, and I don't find it fun or in any way manly. Those pussies at the slave pens are pathetic motherfuckers who aren't even men in my opinion. So no, no rape. You are mine however, and that means I will take care of you and properly train you. Now, just like before, if you promise to behave, I will untie you. If not, I'll drag your tied up ass to the mattress and drop the blanket over you to keep you warm, leaving you here for a while to think shit out. Will you behave?”

“Yes,” Jessica says, her eyebrow lifting when I don't move. “What, I said yes!”

“The proper answer is yes, Master,” I inform her quietly. “Understand?”

“Yes.......” Jessica says, struggling. I can see it in her face, using that word is going to be very difficult for her. It makes it even more delicious, so many women have thrown around that word without understanding just how much meaning it has to me. Not this one. “I guess you need to drag me to the mattress.”

I shake my head, undoing the hitch knot on her ankles before reaching for the knots on her upper body, undoing two of them and loosening the third, which is made up of the poncho itself. Finally, I undo the nylon packing strap, giving her a chance to get out. “You tried, you get something for that. If you wiggle carefully, you'll be able to free your hands and lower arms in about ten minutes. Now, if you want clothes, when I come back I expect to find the poncho folded neatly at the foot of your mattress, the rope that's around your knees on top of it.”

“And if I decide to hang myself?” Jessica asks, and I look up, her eyes following me.

“Going to be impossible to do that with no beams or anything to tie the rope off on,” I reply, standing up and looking her over. “Stay warm, behave, think about the rules that I've outlined, and I'll bring you some dinner when I return. If you behave.”

I leave quickly, making sure the door is closed and the bolt shot across before I jump back in my truck and head back towards The Farm. As I do, my mind ponders what the fuck I just did. First of all, I feel like shit for locking Jessica up. I know it's for her own safety, she's an American woman in Sicily. She's already been taken prisoner once, she's naked, and she's a victim waiting to happen. Still, I'm not in the habit of locking up beautiful young women like fine wine.

Besides, that doesn't explain everything. Why'd I even buy her? Interrupting Kahled is one thing, he's a jackass who would have scarred her for life if not flat out fucked up and maimed her. But buying her? I've never done that before, I've never even thought about it. At least though she's got a much better future with me than she would have had. I've met some of The Sultan's 'elite customers' when they've come to The Farm on 'shopping tours,' they'd have had Jessica beaten severely already. To them, losing a couple hundred thousand euro because they've beaten a girl to death is about as much of a problem as a normal person breaking a coffee mug. Sure, you might get pissed off, sure you might even curse a little, but it's no big thing.

Jessica though... that body, those eyes, that spirit... maybe that's just what it is. She speaks to the other side of me. The side of me that thrills at the thought of her calling me Master, the side of me that wants to see those amazing legs trembling and her breath catching as she explores all the sensations that a human body can provide, that side of me sees her as worth the risk. The side of me that says this woman could be priceless.

Which means I need to be very, very careful.

* * *

“That's the last one,” Leon says as he closes the door on the back of the truck. To anyone who doesn't know the truth, they'd think The Farm was just making a delivery to Termini Imerese, and the paperwork the driver has says that it's a shipment of agricultural products bound for Lebanon.

“Good,” I reply, watching the rest of The Sultan's men pile into their vehicles to go back to their ship. “Anything else?”

“The Sultan will not be happy about Kahled,” Leon says, bringing the subject up again. “You know that, right?”

“I know that if Kahled wants to be a bitch about it, I'll be more than happy to deal with it,” I shoot back. Leon's a passive aggressive type, a wheedler and a whiner. I have no fucking clue how he got so high in The Sultan's operation. “If The Sultan wants to be compensated for his medical care, then he can speak with me personally about it.”

Leon blanches at the threat in my voice, and he nods, getting in the last of The Sultan's vehicles and driving away. I watch them go, feeling bad about what's going to happen to the girls I didn't save. But nearly two dozen girls... I can't. Even if the rest of their lives are going to be most likely nasty, brutal, and short, I can't do anything about it.

In some ways, I wish Larissa were here right now to talk. Yes, she's a seductress and a killer. Yes, one of her favorite things to do is to fuck her targets and then kill them just after they come. Yes, she likes to playfully flirt with me, mainly because she knows I'm fully aware that she's a black widow, and that I'll never let her get close enough to slip a blade into my brain even as I come deep inside her body. But she does have a moral code, and I find comfort from listening to her point of view. And besides, she's one of the people in The Network I actually enjoy spending time with outside of work. Not that I'd ever let my guard down with her.

In any case, I've got other things to do. I leave The Farm and drive back through Caccamo, stopping on the main road at a small women's clothing shop. Caccamo is a city that thrives on two things, The Network and tourism, and most of the modern shopping is further away at Termini. But there's a few stores, like this one, that cater to locals who either can't or won't make the twenty kilometer drive to the oceanside port.

“Bonnanote!” the owner says as I come in, something that I do like about living in Italy. These old school shop owners, they'll yell, they'll haggle, they'll harass you... just like they do with their best friends or family members any time they come into the shop as well.

“Where's your casual things?” I ask in Italian, my accent not quite Sicilian but still clear and sounding almost native. In fact, in Rome nobody asks me if I'm a foreigner at all. In Caccamo they know better than to ask.

“Over here,” the shopkeeper says, showing me the small selection. This is a small shop, this isn't like shopping at a mega discount store. Still, she has what I need, light sweatpants and sweatshirt along with a t-shirt. I wouldn't get Jessica underthings here, and besides, she hasn't earned them yet. “Ah, very good! Your lady will enjoy these!”

“I hope so,” I answer, not letting on exactly who or why I'm buying them. “How much?”

“Forty euro,” the shopkeeper says, smiling when I hand over a fifty and wave off the change. I do my best to make sure the town gets a little bit more of the profits from our activities than what the townspeople might report on their income taxes. It's the Sicilian way. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Ciao,” I greet as I leave, getting back in my truck. Before I start up my engine I reach into my pocket and take out my cell phone, typing out a quick message to an unlisted number.

Shipment leaving Imerese tonight. Heading for Lebanon, bound for Mideast. Sultan is transporting.

I hit send, waiting for the phone to say that the message was sent. I know I won't get a reply, I almost never do. I just get a deposit in my other bank account, and the moral quandary that'll have me visiting Father Giacamo at confession in another day or two, ready to unburden my soul as much as I safely can.

In Caccamo, even the confessional isn't always sacrosanct. And keeping secrets is very important, if I want to stay alive.

Jessica

The blanket helps but isn't really enough when I hear the bolt on the door to my room being drawn back and Rodrigo returns, two bowls of something that smells good in his hands and a bag on his back. When he does, he looks at the foot of my mattress, nodding in approval when he sees that I've folded the poncho and coiled the little bit of rope on top of it.

Not that I didn't think about trying to use it. I even got as far as wrapping it around my neck, but a couple of things stopped me. First, the rope's short, I don't think I'd be able to wrap a knot that would hold me. But secondly, maybe I'm too much of a coward, because I can't stand the idea of dying. Finally, and the part that disturbs me the most... I rolled up the rope and poncho because Rodrigo told me to. The way he said it, his tone of voice, the look in his eyes when he said it, it's all swirled around and around in my head since he locked me up.

“You did well,” Rodrigo says, setting one of the bowls down next to the poncho. I look and see that it's a simple stew, lots of tomatoes and chunks of what looks like pork on top of rice. It's plain, but it smells heavenly, and I wonder how long it's been since I last ate. “Good. No use carrying the bag down as well if you just were going to waste the opportunity.”

“Thank you....” I whisper, trying to force myself to call him Master, I know it'll help me, but I can't. I'm a free woman, I'm nobody's slave. Finally, I nod my thanks again, repeating myself. “Thanks.”

“Hmmm... still making the effort though. Well, you still get these,” Rodrigo says, opening the bag and taking out a set of thin sweatpants and sweatshirt and a thin t-shirt. “Here, go ahead and dress, then eat. We can get to know each other as you do.”

Rodrigo watches me as I dress, his eyes still so studious and perceptive as he looks at me, a small frown forming when he looks over my face. “Come here. Hands behind your back.”

For some reason I obey, and Rodrigo grasps my chin, studying my swollen lip. “Kahled caused that? I thought it might have gone down already.”

“Yes,” I admit. “I don't feel it too much, I heal up quickly. And....”

I stop, and Rodrigo lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Yes?”

“I enjoyed watching you kick his ass,” I whisper, my heart starting to beat faster looking into Rodrigo's powerful gaze. I enjoyed more than that, I secretly admit. Watching him was like watching the real deal for the first time, not some fake. Thousands of so-called men in my life... and I think I'm seeing the first real one I've ever met. “Did you break his arm?”

“His wrist,” Rodrigo says, smirking and letting me go. “We'll keep an eye on that, I don't want you damaged. At least.... not by anyone else. Have a seat, eat your dinner. There's seconds if you want it.”

I sit down, feeling for the first time since I regained consciousness at least somewhat normal, if only because I'm wearing clothes again. Rodrigo watches me as I eat, the same little smile on his face as I try not to make a pig of myself with the stew, it's delicious.

“Here,” Rodrigo says, reaching into his bag and taking out a one liter bottle of water. “Don't chug, but I'll take you upstairs after we get done here to use the toilet and refill the bottle. We don't have a downstairs toilet, so you might have to get used to a bucket for your nightly needs.”

“Thank you,” I repeat, sighing in pleasure. “So... you know my name, you know I'm from Jersey. What else do you know?”

“You're smart,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “I'd say... bachelor's degree?”

I shake my head, a proud little smile coming out as I feel like bragging just a little bit. “No, I just finished my Master's from Rutgers. I'm from around there, I grew up seeing plenty of Giants and Jets games. You ever been?”

I know that I'm half flirting, half trying to gain sympathy. I want out of this room, I want my freedom, and if I have to flirt a little bit, make sure my boobs push out this sweatshirt a little, then I'll do it. There's lines I won't cross however.

“Never been to a Giants game,” Rodrigo says, still watching me. He sits down on the dusty unfinished concrete floor, making sure he keeps himself between me and the door, and I'm pretty sure that the door's open, only momentum keeping it shut right now. Still, there's no way I could get around Rodrigo and through the door before he could grab me, so I use my brain and body for now, hoping for a chance to develop. “So what did you study?”

“Chemistry,” I reply proudly. “I came to Europe for a three month break before going back to start my fellowship and my doctorate studies.”

“So where'd you get taken?” Rodrigo asks. “I know not here, The Network has a hard and fast rule to not shit where we eat.”

I think, I've had time since he locked me in here, and my memories have come back. Whatever it was that they hit me with, it came on hard, but it's gone now. “I flew into Catania about two weeks ago I guess. I don't know how long I was out.”

“Less than a day, if you were taken on Sicily. The drug they hit you with can be addictive, and the slave markets prefer girls who don't have any addictions before they are sold. Continue.”

I take another bite of stew, chewing slowly. “I spent the first two or three days just relaxing, enjoying the beaches, soaking up some winter sun. Jersey's already getting cold and miserable, but the beaches.... I loved rocking my bikini on the beaches. I thought it'd be scandalous, I mean I read so much about how Sicilians can be conservative, but I fit right in on the beach.”

“I'm sure. But you didn't spend two weeks just sun soaking, your skin's too pale for that. You'd either be heavily tanned or sun burnt and blistering,” Rodrigo says. “Let me guess, art museums?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, I went to Syracuse. One of my electives during my undergrad work was Ancient European History, and the idea of getting to go to the same place as where Archimedes lived, the biggest ancient Greek colony in Italy... well, I guess that's not your thing.”

“You'll find yourself very surprised what my so-called things are,” Rodrigo counters, chuckling. “Very surprised. So how was Syracuse?”

“Enjoyable. Obviously the city's been rebuilt dozens of times since the ancients, but Temple to Apollo is still mostly there, along with the Necropolis. That was kinda cool. That night, I was staying at a online BnB rental, and the girl who owned it said that there was a nightclub that was pretty popular. So I went and.....”

“You got caught in the Pitcher Plant,” Rodrigo says, nodding. When I give him a confused look, he shrugs. “The online rental you made, the building is owned by someone who is either in The Network or owes favors to The Network. The club you went to is one of ours, and I'm guessing the drinks you were given were spiked. When you went down, the bouncers had you out the door and in a van to bring you to The Farm probably before Ariana Grande finished singing she wanted to go side to side.”

I sigh, nodding, that's probably exactly how it went down. I still don't quite remember much of the club. “So that's me. A normal American girl from New Jersey with one parent, a dog that's being taken care of by my former college roomie, a huge pile of student loans, and a hobby of drawing because it's cheap and it helps me think. And to be honest I'll do just about anything to go back to all of it.”

“Anything?” Rodrigo asks, leering, and I growl.

“Not that.”

Rodrigo laughs, shaking his head. “Don't worry, as I said I don't find anything in forcing a woman into intercourse. Now, let me give you a few pointers. I live alone here, and my nearest neighbor is quite a good ways away. So even if you want to yell yourself raw during the times I'm not here, you won't be heard.”

“But I'm....”

“I'm not done!” Rodrigo rumbles, his voice rising a little bit and his eyes flashing. “Interrupt me again Jessica, and you will be punished. The information I'm about to give you is going to be very, very important in your new life. And make no mistake about it, the life you had, going to Rutgers, a pleasant if boring future of mixing chemicals and looking for the next great shampoo or food additive... all of that is over! Your life has become much, much simpler, and I think more fulfilling. You belong to me now, and with that there are duties on both our parts. You will do as I command, and if you choose not to, you will be punished. As I said, I do not do sexual punishments. You will never be raped. You will not be 'lent out' to any of my colleagues who come here, and yes, other members of The Network do come to this house on my invitation from time to time.”

Rodrigo takes a deep breath, his voice lowering. “I'm telling you this because despite what you probably think of me, and I'm nobody to take lightly, I'm also more controlled than some of my superiors in The Network. Questions?”

“What's The Network?” I ask, and Rodrigo nods, pleased.

“In the seventies, the Sicilian Mafia was known as Cosa Nostra, 'Our Thing' in Italian. With the crackdown in certain areas, and the spreading of markets, of opportunities, elements have merged with groups from around the world to form The Network, or some of them call it Il Rete, again Italian. I work underneath the Sicilian capo, Il Capitano. You haven't met him, ironically he's not in Sicily often, which is where I come in as his man on the ground in the home province. You met The Dryad, the woman with me today. Other people that you need to pay attention to are The Composer, a Russian man, and The Sultan, the man I bought you from. Be especially wary if The Sultan sends any of his men to this villa, he and I are not on the best of terms.”

I nod, and I see that Rodrigo is giving me a chance to speak. “Do they have real names?”

“You may learn them in time. If they offer it to you, realize that you are both being trusted, and increasing your danger. All of these people, and I, have killed. The Dryad's list is... particularly impressive. Jessica, if you wish to live, and live well, respect them and respect me. You will learn to behave and speak as a lady at all times as well as serve them as I command. If I tell you to go make a grilled cheese sandwich, and you don't know how to cook, you better learn very quickly,” Rodrigo says. “And yes, you will serve me too, eventually in the bedroom as well as the rest of the house.”

“I won't be a sex slave!” I protest, and Rodrigo laughs, getting up and coming over, squatting down in front of me. He puts his finger under my chin, lifting it until I have to look him in the eye, the power of his gaze making my words seem weak, and part of me says that I do want to serve him, that if he says get on my knees, I'm there.

“I can see it in your eyes, Jessica. Like I said, you won't be forced to accept my cock. But then again, you aren't deserving of it yet. And when you are, I won't force it on you. You're going to have to get rid of that outer pride you've got, get rid of that fake armor of bitchiness that's gotten you through your life so far. You're going to have to beg for it.”

I gulp, I can't help it, my body's wanting this man, this dangerous killer who now says he owns me. “And if I don't beg?”

“Then you won't get it. But you want it, I can see it,” Rodrigo says, letting go of my chin and standing up. “Jessica, if you behave, if you choose to serve me well... you'll get everything you've ever dreamed of. I may not look it, I know you probably don't approve of how I've gotten it, but anything you can dream of.... I can give it to you. If you choose wisely.”

Rodrigo backs up and sits down, watching as I finish my dinner. “Good. Seconds?”

“No thank you,” I answer. “It was delicious... sir.”

“Sir? An improvement,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “Come on, I'll take you upstairs to use the toilet, and since you tried to be polite, you can wash up in the sink. I'll get you some toiletries over the next few days, until then you might be brushing with the finger and toothpaste method.”

Rodrigo leads me upstairs, and with every step I'm aware of the raw animal magnetism of him behind me, pulling at me even through my clothes, and I barely notice the layout of his villa house as he directs me to one of the toilets. It's plain but functional, and Rodrigo leans against the door frame while I do my business, aware enough that I can't get away with anything but still giving me a bit of privacy. After I finish he's true to his word, letting me wash up and refill my water bottle and he leads me back downstairs, grabbing the basics for a 'camp toilet' on the way from a closet in the kitchen. When we get to the metal door I pause, not wanting to go back inside. Even if the company is just Rodrigo, it's better than staring at the walls of the room.

“Inside,” Rodrigo says, his voice hard again. When I start to protest he grabs my arm and shoves me inside, his voice dropping and growling. “I told you, Jessica. You will obey me. Because of that... enjoy the darkness. I was going to give you a few hours of light.”

He shuts the door in my face and locks it, the dim bulb over my head going out seconds later. I shuffle my way across the floor until I kick the mattress and lie down, pulling the blanket over top of me. It's eerily silent, the walls are so thick that nothing filters through, and it's only after I've been crying for a solid minute or more that I realize what the sound is.

Rodrigo

The next day, Jessica is still feisty but more cooperative when I turn on the light and open the door to her room. “I have to go into town today, but I will be back by mid-afternoon,” I inform her, testing her as I let her use the toilet upstairs and wash out her bucket after breakfast. “I expect to come back to find your room cleaned.”

“Yes...,” she says again, and there's a part of me that feels for her. She's never had to call anyone Master before, it was even hard for her to call me sir last night. But she hesitates again before closing her mouth. It's encouraging in its own way. I don't want to 'break her,' I want to train her, and proper training can only be done with someone of great spiritual strength. “I understand.”

“Good. I'll see you this afternoon then,” I promise her before closing and locking her door, this time adding a small brass lock that I found in my kitchen. I leave the villa, and instead of turning right at the main road I turn left, heading towards Termini Imerese. In some ways the nearby port town is better than Caccamo. First off, I don't have to worry about shopping in Termini, it's a town that has embraced modernization to a degree that Caccamo hasn't. There's an actual shopping mall, there's regular supermarkets, there's all the comforts that mainland Europeans or North American tourists would come to want on vacation. It's the shopping mall I stop at first, purchasing plain if functional underwear for Jessica along with some basic toiletries. Next I swing by the supermarket, spending an hour going up and down the aisles, getting enough food for myself as well as a beautiful young woman who is going to be pushed beyond any limits she's ever imagined over the next few weeks.

The groceries and other things take up all of my storage box as well as some of the back seat of my crew cab. Termini is not as firmly a Network town as Caccamo even if they are close together and leaving stuff loose in the back is not a good idea. I head out of town, following the coast for a little bit to the west before I come to my morning's destination. The seaside villa makes mine look tiny, a sprawling house that would qualify as a mansion in any country, and a full on estate in some. The sand colored main building dominates a bluff that looks over the Mediterranean, the Italian mainland hazy in the distance.

There's no visible guards, The Network doesn't work that way, but I know from experience that each of the workers is a full fledged killer, there's a reason Rachmaninoff's staff aren't the best cleaners and cooks on the island.

“Comrade Camponini, welcome, welcome,” Rachmaninoff greets me when I'm escorted through the house to his rear terrace where he's sipping his morning coffee and enjoying the sun. Calling me Comrade is a little running joke between us. A lifetime ago, back when he was my age, Nikolai Rachmaninoff was a member of the Soviet Communist party. Now, he's got connections within the new Russian regime that are just as powerful. Still, he likes to play around with the old forms of speaking, especially in English.

“It's a pleasure to be here this morning sir,” I respond respectfully, as I always do. Within The Network I might have power, but I'm no capo, while Rachmaninoff most certainly is. He's perhaps the most powerful of The Network's capos too, a man I don't want to piss off. He's powerful enough though that he can be gracious to the extreme as well, although he has a hair trigger. Also, Rachmaninoff likes to show off his education, so I have to speak more formally than I normally would. “Thank you for having me over so quickly.”

“Please, Rodrigo, I've never gotten used to being called sir in English,” Rachmaninoff says, offering me a seat, and I sit. “Nikolai, if you must. And none of that pirate nickname shit that The Sultan and Scoglitti insist upon. We are men, not boys playing games.”

Despite the fact that The Network cooperates on most areas, like any group, there is internal politics. So, in a mutual dislike of The Sultan, Nikolai and I are the same. Still, I don't trust the Russian, he's far too practical to let his personal distaste for The Sultan ruin a profitable business relationship. I must watch what I say, especially as Nikolai said something about my capo.

“I can understand their insistence upon security though, Nikolai. Nobody wants to be arrested, or under observation from Interpol or other law enforcement.”

Nikolai laughs, leaning back as he strokes the trim beard that, in addition to his name, gave him his nickname. “That is because the rest of The Network exists in countries that don't understand the nature of power. But that's a discussion for another time, or more accurately one that I and Scoglitti have had for years now.”

“Yes, of course Nikolai. I believe there is a matter of money I need to talk about with you.”

Nikolai waves it off, and I'm slightly surprised. “In a few minutes, Rodrigo. The timing of your... purchase yesterday was rather surprising, but it was not the only reason I asked you here rather than just meeting you at your villa or just handling our business over the phone. Have you been keeping up with the news in your homeland?”

“Do you mean the States, or all of North America?”

Nikolai shrugs. “They are interconnected to a degree the Canadians and Mexicans don't want to admit. But recent events in your country have made the opportunities in North America much broader than they were before. I have spoken with your capo, and he thinks that perhaps it is time to look at expanding The Network more aggressively in North America. In fact... that land might need their own capo, or at least a lieutenant who would be very independent and be able to act on his own most of the time.”

I lift an eyebrow, being patient. It's Rachmaninoff's style, to tease along information and reveal himself only when his audience is giving them their full attention. “Such a person would have to be extremely trustworthy. The United States is a large place, with a lot of opportunities and a lot of dangers.”

“True. And of course, having someone with a legitimate American citizenship would also be helpful,” Nikolai says. “Speaking of which, is your passport up to date?”

“Which one?” I ask with a chuckle. “Italian, Spanish, or American?”

“You are fortuitous to legally have multiple citizenships,” Nikolai admits. “It's getting more expensive to get good fake papers any more. So which is it, Rodrigo Camponini or do you like Rod Campion? Just why did your father choose such an abortion of a name for you?”

“I've been in Sicily long enough that Rodrigo sounds natural to me,” I say with a small laugh. “It's impossible to get the nonas around Caccamo to not call me Rodrigo either way. As for Campion, papa thought that by having a more Anglo sounding name, it'd be easier for me.”

Nikolai laughs, shaking his head at the folly of Americans. “In any case, you've been with us for a few years now Rodrigo. And you've worked hard, done good work. When I broached the idea of North America with your capo, Scoglitti immediately offered up your name. While I'm quite sure The Sultan wouldn't let go of his best, Scoglitti's different, he has true old-school honor. He said that he's sure you'll make The Network in America a force to be reckoned with. His exact words were, I believe, that you can be both street tough and board room smart. A useful skill, considering our clientele.”

“I'm flattered, Nikolai,” I reply, stunned by the compliment but hiding it well. Nikolai isn't a man to hand out second hand compliments freely, and Luigi 'Il Capitano' Scoglitti is the same. “I am, however, worried about security measures. As you say, America isn't like Europe, and it sure as hell isn't like Russia, despite the recent changes. The American government is nosy, and expanding takes big balls. But even the biggest balls can be cut off if there's security problems.”

Nikolai nods. “You are correct, but what do you mean?”

“I'm not sure,” I lie, sipping my coffee. Nikolai does have good coffee. “There have been some men on the recent transports that... well, let's just say I prefer to work with men of honor, not men who only believe in honoring money.”

Nikolai lifts an eyebrow, nodding. “That I can understand. And are you worried about anyone specifically?”

“Which capo of this part of The Network is the most driven by greed instead of loyalty?” I ask, refusing to name a name. Nikolai knows who I mean though, but his face reveals nothing as he sips at his coffee before answering.

“Omar Al Gazi has connections throughout areas of the world that have proven... hostile to our respective peoples. It seems that once you admit to liking a little bit of bacon in your soup, you are forever kept from certain things. The Sultan has no such concerns, and can deal with us... and with them.”

I nod, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Still, I need to plant this seed, if The Sultan is going to eventually fall. And more than anything, even more than the offer of being the North American capo, I need to see The Sultan go down permanently. I just can't do it directly, not if I want to see my thirtieth birthday. “I can understand. Still... honor is essential in our line of work.”

“I'll keep that in mind. For now though, let us shift our conversation to a matter of finances. Larissa says that you are willing to pay normal price for this girl?”

“Think of it as an investment. I believe I can train her to be a superior asset to whoever she ends up with. Like my villa. Buy low, renovate, and sell high when I want.”

“And enjoy it in the meantime,” Nikolai says with a laugh, getting up. “I must admit, when your capo told me that you'd bought a villa for a hundred thousand euro, I thought he must have made a mistake and meant a townhouse. Then when I saw what you bought... I had doubts. No longer, I think my next purchase might be along the same lines, you've done well for yourself. Well then, let us go to your now picturesque villa. If I'm to quote you a fair price, I need to see this girl. And I assume you don't have her in the bed of your truck?”

“That wouldn't be very safe, and she hasn't earned the right to ride in the passenger cab,” I joke, standing. “Shall we?”

Nikolai climbs into my truck, waving off his staff member who comes out to go along with us. As he buckles his seatbelt, he turns around and looks at everything in the back of my truck. “Supplies for the Apocalypse?”

“Not quite,” I answer with a laugh as I turn my truck around and head back towards the main road that'll take me home. “But my pantry was mostly empty already, and I needed to get my new slave some items. Nothing much, she's one who will have to be trained slowly, but I have the free time for a little while.”

Nikolai chuckles, shaking his head. “Ah, training girls such as this are a young man's game. At my age, I prefer them already broken in. While a tight slot is always appreciated, I'll trade that for obedient and respectful every day of the week.”

It takes us about a half hour to get to my villa, which Nikolai takes in with appreciation. “You've gotten more done, I think it's now prettier than my dacha along the Black Sea. And you've done a good job with the work, last time I was here the courtyard walls were still crumbling. Have you finished the main house yet?”

“I haven't finished everything, but in some ways that helps. It gives me a good room to put my new girl in,” I say, parking my truck. I have Nikolai wait in my dining room that overlooks what I hope one day could be a grove of olive trees while I get Jessica, who looks up in anticipation when I open the door. I look, and see that her room is almost spotless, pleasing me. “Very nice.”

“Thank you... sir,” she says, swallowing at the last word but making me smile. “I was... bored.”

“Boredom can be a very effective training tool,” I inform her, waving her up. “But I've brought someone to see you. He's from The Network, and he's upstairs. He'd like to take a look at you.”

Jessica gets up nervously, looking at her sweatclothes, slightly ashamed, her bare feet scuffing on the concrete. “Like this?”

“Like that,” I confirm, escorting her up the stairs to my dining room. “Stand right here, don't move.”

Jessica bites her lip but nods, watching as Nikolai gets out of his chair. “Impressive, very impressive,” he says admiringly. “I can see why The Dryad insisted that I come see this very uncommon flower. Have you sampled her delights yet?”

“No,” I comment, remaining standing, watching carefully. “She's not ready yet.”

Nikolai nods, then reaches towards Jessica's breasts. “Even through this sweatshirt these look too perfect for...”

“Don't touch me!” Jessica snaps, slapping away Nikolai's hand before he makes contact. “Motherfucker!”

Nikolai holds his slapped wrist is shock, and in a single motion goes for the gun that I knew he was keeping inside his sport coat. He's got it halfway out before I can close the distance and grab his wrist with my left hand, his gun frozen in the air. “Sir! No!”

Nikolai looks at me, then at Jessica whose eyes are blazing in fury and rage. I take a deep breath and grab Jessica before she can run and fuck this up for her totally. She takes a step, and she's a dead woman, even if she doesn't know it.

“The fault is mine,” I say, letting go of Nikolai's wrist even as I twist Jessica's hand behind her back and bending her over the table. “To make up for this insult, I'll increase the price you set for this girl by another ten thousand euro, directly to you, as well as my sincere apology.”

“And I want to see her punished,” Nikolai says, his eyes still angry but he puts his gun away. “I want to see this child chastised.”

Jessica squirms, but I twist her arm harder, switching hands to keep her pinned to the table with my left hand while I yank her sweatpants down with my right, fighting her kicking legs and pulling them all the way off.

“A child?” I growl, looking into Jessica's outraged eyes. “Yes, she is behaving like a child. And a child gets spanked.”

“No... no... no!” Jessica protests, her words cut off when my right hand whistles down to crack against the perfect curve of her ass. She jumps, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as I spank the other side. I warm her ass properly, switching from left side to right and back, and with every spank, I watch her face carefully. Her eyes soften, and she starts to push back, fighting it, but she's getting aroused. When the tip of my middle finger brushes against the cleft of her pussy, she's wet and open, making the dark passions inside me flare. My cock stirs in my pants and I let go of her arm, pinning her by the waist as I get behind her, looking at the pink-red skin with nearly insane desire. I'm driven almost too far when Jessica pushes back into me, her ass brushing against my crotch. I reach for my belt, ready to fuck her until she's screaming in lust and pain, when a laugh interrupts me.

“Yes... she likes it,” Nikolai says, breaking the spell, and I look up, realizing what I'm getting ready to do. I pull back, laughing shakily to cover up my desire.

“Which is why she's not going to get it,” I say, letting Jessica up. Her hands go to her ass, and she's angry again, angry and horny and embarrassed. “I promised her in my rules that she couldn't have my cock until she begged for it. She's not deserving yet. Besides, it's a bigger punishment to not give this ungrateful bitch what she wants.”

Nikolai laughs, his good humor returned. “As you wish. Okay then, I should charge three hundred for such a rare beauty, but the foul attitude knocks that down. Let's call it two fifty, and with your offer, two sixty total?”

“Very generous, sir. Let me put my toy away, and we can conclude our business,” I say, grabbing Jessica's arm again and pinning her arm behind her back, walking her down the stairs and to her room. I shove her inside, where she rolls out her arm, breathing heavily and crying in anger and pain.

“You...!” she starts, but I slam my hand on the metal door, cutting her off.

“Shut the fuck up!” I half yell, just loud enough to get her attention but not loud enough so that it will be heard upstairs. Yelling at a slave would be considered losing control, and Rachmaninoff must never know that. “I just saved your stupid fucking life, bitch. I told you he was in The Network, and you....! He wasn't going to rape you, or molest you past a little grabby feel that you'd get at a fucking Rutgers game from a drunk fratboy. I have to take care of this, so sit the fuck down. We'll talk when I return.”

I slam Jessica's door shut and lock it, hearing her fists a moment later beating uselessly against the metal as I lean my head against the door, trying to compose myself. My cock is throbbing in my pants, even as on the other side of the metal she screams and curses me. I'm tempted to put her in the dark again, but I decide against it. I need to get Rachmaninoff paid, get him back to his villa... and then I have to decide how I'm going to actually punish Jessica.

Jessica

“You fucking bastard! Motherfucker! Let me out of here! Fuck!” I scream over and over until the shame and anger over what just happened causes me to collapse, sobbing. A little voice picks that time to speak up inside my head.

The hard fact is though, you liked it.

Who the fuck are you?

That's not really important right now. What's important is that Rodrigo was right. You let your stupid fear nearly get us killed.

Yeah well, that old fuck wasn't reaching for your tits. He was reaching for mine.

Whatever. You know what the facts are.

The voice goes quiet, and I sigh. It's right. The fact is... I liked it. In fact, if the Russian hadn't said something, I was this close to asking Rodrigo to fuck me. Even now my pussy throbs in want, my body aches to feel Rodrigo's strength holding me, pinning me, making it hurt as he makes himself my Mas...

No. I won't, I can't call him that. I'm a free woman with a dog, I'm not the dog for fuck's sake! But that word... fuck... that's what I need from him so badly. My body is overriding my brain, telling me that it knows what it wants, and that if it has to beg this man, to call him a title like he demands in order to feel that big cock inside me, then that's what I'm going to do, dammit!

The inner war wages inside me even as I start to shiver. Rodrigo wasn't lying yesterday, this room's cold even during the day, and with just my sweatshirt and no sweatpants, I'm cold. I retreat to my mattress and wrap myself as best I can in my blanket, muttering to myself the whole time. My pussy doesn't help, wanting to do something, anything to relieve the maddening throb inside it, whether it be my fingers, the slightly slick-rough texture of the mattress top, or anything else.

I won't give it the satisfaction, and instead I sit, stewing and occasionally crying. The hard part is that part of me is angry not at Rodrigo for smacking my ass raw, and it's not upset at getting turned on. It's angry because he stopped. It's angry at me. It's angry because I disobeyed Rodrigo's commands, not doing what he told me to do. I was a bad girl, and I got the punishment I deserved, it says.

On the other side of my brain is the side of me that went to classes at Rutgers, that sat in and listened to the lectures from the speakers, the rallies. Rutgers is nowhere near as psycho liberal as some campuses, but still, I heard the stories on both sides, and for the most part I agreed with the side that said that women are supposed to be in control of their own future. Our body, our choice and all that.

I'm still debating inside me when I hear the lock outside my door unlatch, and Rodrigo opens my door, a chair in his hand. He's still pissed, but it's a controlled, focused pissed off, not the angry rage that I saw before.

“Thankfully, The Composer was willing to accept my heartfelt apologies and the extra money only,” he says in a quietly angry voice as he positions the chair and sits down. “Congratulations, you have now cost me more than what I have spent for this entire villa since I first bought it and started renovating it a few years ago.”

“How much? For the villa?” I ask, and Rodrigo chuckles. “What? My father was a real estate agent.”

“Not the question I anticipated, that's all. I paid the previous owner a hundred and twenty five thousand euro and I've spent about the same amount on renovations, all in cash. So you cost ten thousand more than my home. And no, I will not tell you where I keep that much cash around this villa. Now, there's no point to punishing you without telling you what you did wrong and how to do it better next time, so listen up. That man... not only is he in The Network, but he's one of those men that you really shouldn't fuck with. You're very lucky that I was standing where I was, because if I hadn't grabbed that gun, he'd have blown your brains all over my kitchen and not cared beyond if you'd gotten some of your brains on his shoes. And no, there wouldn't be a damn thing done about it.”

“I... I know,” I admit, sighing. “Really, I've been thinking about it. You're right.”

“I'm not finished,” Rodrigo says, his voice hard again. “Part of what happened today is my fault as well. You will have duties to me as my slave, and in return I haven't been clear in my responsibilities to you. Jessica, I will take care of you. As long as you are mine, I will keep you safe to the best of my abilities. But...”

His voice trails, and I gulp. “Yes?”

“But if you disobey me, not only will you be punished, but you put yourself at risk. The man who came today is one of the capos of The Network. Thankfully, he's also one of the more forgiving members as well. If that had been The Sultan or my capo, I could not have stopped them without sacrificing my own life, and that is something I will not do for a disobedient, ungrateful, untrained slave.”

His last words sting, and I look down, blinking away my sudden tears. “I... I'm sorry sir.”

Rodrigo nods, then hums. “Jessica, I paid a quarter million euros for you because you are have the potential to be a remarkable woman. Don't make me feel like I wasted my money.”

I don't know why, but his words strike the side of me that wants to rebel. I'm not something to be bought and sold! “And if I decide to tell you to fuck your money?”

Rodrigo's eyes blaze and he surges across, yanking me off my mattress and staring into my eyes. “You're used to sassing men. You're used to using your brains and body to protect your precious feelings. Get it through your head, you're not a fucking princess. You're mine, and your smart mouth is going to get you punished!”

Rodrigo yanks me down, bending me over his lap, my ass in the air. “Apologize!”

“No!” I yell, squirming uselessly to try and free myself. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Apologize for what you said, and it stops,” Rodrigo says, holding me down. I feel him lift his hand again, and a fresh shock shoots through my ass and up my spine as he spanks me. I stop, my hands freezing straight out in front of me, and I can't help it, I moan lightly. “I knew it the first time I saw you. You enjoy this, don't you?”

Rodrigo smacks my ass again, this time rubbing the curve of my ass afterwards, his hand roughly caressing my burning skin, moving the heat from my ass to between my legs. He caresses again, his fingers caressing between my thighs but not touching my pussy. I mewl and my legs spread on their own a little, my breath catching. “Sir....”

“Apologize and I stop,” Rodrigo says, but now I don't want him to stop. He takes his hand away again only to smack my ass a third, then a fourth time. I'm gasping, my pussy leaking all over his pants, and I can feel him harden underneath me, his cock huge and pressing against my stomach underneath me, a throbbing hot tease of what he says is mind if I beg. It adds to the heat inside me, knowing that I arouse this man, that he's turned on by seeing my ass red and burning, my pussy leaking. “No apology?”

“No!” I hiss, both pride and my desire to feel him driving the word from my mouth. “No apology!”

“All you have to say is sorry, and I stop,” Rodrigo says, spanking my ass again. This time though his hand continues, moving deeper, slipping between my legs and cupping the hot lips of my pussy, rubbing it before he lifts his fingers and spanks me there.

“Argh!” I half scream, pain and pleasure mixing in an explosion in my head. I've never felt this before, and at the first taste, I want it more than anything I've ever had in my life. “Fuck!”

Rodrigo rubs again, the pain disappearing in the hot pleasure of his hand massaging my pussy lips, before spanking my pussy and clit again, tears of pain and lust dripping down my cheeks. This time though he doesn't lift his hand but slides two fingers deep inside me. They sink in with almost no resistance I'm so wet and hot, and I can't help it, a moan escapes my lips. “Yesssssssss....”

“Just think Jessica, how good it'll feel when you actually let go, call me Master,” Rodrigo says, his fingers pumping in and out of me hard and fast, driving me higher and higher. My body loves it, helpless with my ass in the air, everything exposed to Rodrigo as he finger fucks my pussy. “You want to call me Master, don't you?”

“Yessssss....”

It's out of my mouth even before I know it, and Rodrigo chuckles, his thumb coming up to rub my hard clit. He's rewarding me I know, and I give myself over, letting the electricity from my clit combine with the feeling of his strong, sure fingers curling inside my tight tunnel. “Good. Then when you want... you can come.”

Rodrigo's fingers speed up, his thumb rubbing my clit relentlessly. My hips are lifting, my body betraying me and trying to push back into his maddening fingers and thumb. I feel it building, my body so ready to come that I can't bear it, and then Rodrigo lets go of my waist with his free hand and smacks my ass one more time, not hard, but it's enough to send me over the edge. I come, hard, my hands balling into fists and my heart almost stopping as my head, which has been filled with blood from being bent over his knee this whole time, explodes in a tidal wave of pleasure. I've never come this hard before, and my body quivers, shaking weakly as I collapse onto Rodrigo's lap, unable to even hold myself up.

Rodrigo takes his fingers out of my pussy and licks them, humming. “Delicious. Do you have something to say?”

“I... I'm sorry sir. For back talking you,” I say humbly. “It won't happen again.”

“I doubt that, your spirit's far too strong to just change from one light punishment, but that's okay,” Rodrigo says, lifting me like I weigh just a feather and laying me on my mattress. “And next time Jessica, just remember... a single word gets you what you really want.”

Rodrigo stands up, gathering his chair and going to the door. I hold up my hand, weakly getting to my knees. “Sir?”

“The spanking was for backtalking me. For almost getting your ass killed and costing me ten thousand euro, you'll skip dinner tonight as well as have to make do without your pants until the morning. Understand?” Rodrigo asks, giving me a little smile when I nod without giving him any smart mouth. “I'll leave the light on for now though. Lights out at ten thirty, when I'll come to take you to the toilet and check your water. Good night, Jessica.”

Rodrigo

My self control lasts until I get upstairs, then I can't help it, I lay down on the couch in my living room, squeezing my eyes shut.

What the fuck did I just do? I told her she wouldn't be raped, that she wouldn't be touched sexually in any way without her permission, and I intended to keep that word. And both times today that I went to punish her physically, I end up touching her body.

But heavens above, what a body! The way her ass felt under my hand, the silky soft skin that resisted my blows just the right amount. Even when I increased the force I was using, Jessica didn't shy away. If anything, the harder I smacked that heart shaped curvaceous ass, the more she loved it.

And she intentionally didn't apologize, not until after she'd come. I could tell she knew what she was doing, the way she started to try and lift her hips to meet my hand, the way she ground her pussy unconsciously on my thigh, even the way she wiggled so that my cock was being rubbed by the curve of her hip, she knew what was happening, and she never stopped. She even said yes when I started to finger fuck her.

And then... that last yes. I was teasing, trying to rile her up when I asked her if she wanted to call me Master.... and then she said yes. It was her body talking, I knew that as soon as she said it, but still..... she said it. She's like the perfect creation for me. A body built for sin, a brain that's smart and perceptive, and if she's the perfect yin to my yang, I want to know the depths of her soul as well. There's more to this woman than I ever imagined when I said that I'd buy her, which both scares and arouses me.

I lift my right hand to my face again, inhaling the heady, intoxicating scent of her pussy. Even the way her pussy gripped my fingers has left my cock hard as a rock in my pants. She's not virgin tight, but at the same time she's not loose either. When I do get to be inside her, when she submits to me as her Master, then both of us are going to be in heaven.

Master.... just thinking the word has me undoing my belt and taking my cock out. It's hard and throbbing, the front of my underpants already damp and sticky with precum when I wrap my hand around it, jacking slowly. As I do, I close my eyes, imagining what I really want with Jessica....

“Master Rodrigo, how can I serve you?” she asks, smiling at me with those beautiful gray eyes of hers glowing in joy. “How can I make you happy?”

I'm dressed in one of my more formal outfits, a charcoal gray suit with black shirt, while Jessica is gloriously, beautifully naked except for the brand new velvet wine-red ribbon I just tied around her neck this morning, part of a set that numbers nearly a dozen now, simple little things that she appreciates so much. She lifts her head and shows it to me with pride, smiling as I gesture for her to get up. “How do you like your gift?”

“It's perfect Master,” Jessica says, touching the ribbon and smiling. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it, and everything that goes with it,” I reply, cupping her cheek and kissing her. Her lips are soft and succulent, her tongue meeting mine in the middle and swirling around me, but her hands are totally still by her side, she's so well disciplined. When we part, her nipples are hard and her breath is coming faster, but still she just smiles, waiting for my command. “Undress me.”

She does just as I command, taking off my coat and going over to the hangar on the wall, hanging the coat carefully before coming back and undoing my tie, chuckling as she does. “Master?”

“Yes, my pet?”

Jessica takes my tie and puts it over her head, tightening it until it's just underneath her ribbon, the patterned silk hanging between her large, pillowy breasts, and she gives me a slightly saucy grin. “How do I look?”

“I think,” I reply as I take the tie in my hand and pull her closer like it's a leash, “that you know exactly how you look, and that this tie looks better on you than it has ever looked on me. In fact.... I think it'll stay right here for the rest of the night.”

We kiss again, Jessica's hands working feverishly to undo my shirt and pants while we keep kissing until I'm naked, my cock hard and stiff in front of me. Reluctantly I let Jessica break our kiss to hang up my shirt and pants, it's part of her duties after all. When she comes back, she looks at my cock, her eyes gleaming in joy. “For me?”

“All for you,” I confirm, pushing her back to the middle of the room. “Lift your arms.”

She obeys without question, her face secure in her confidence in me as I take the first set of padded cuffs and attach them to her arms before testing the rope. “Comfortable?”

“Perfectly Master,” she says. “Now my feet?”

“Lift your right foot,” I command and again she obeys while I attach the ankle cuffs and go over to the winch on the wall. We could use a motorized one, but both of us like the feeling of watching her be lifted in small increments, the sound of the winch clinking as I lift her arms and legs into the air, spreading her open. We've done this before, she's at just the right height when I stop and come over, her body perfectly positioned for my entrance. “Now... where do you want it?”

“My choice, Master?” Jessica asks happily, and I nod, making her blush. I don't give her the choice all the time, but today's a special night, for many reasons.“First time in my pussy, please?”

“First time?” I ask, chuckling. “And what if I say a second time demands nipple clamps?”

My pet shivers, and I actually watch as a clear droplet of her excitement oozes out of the open petals of her pussy to hang off her inner thigh for a moment before falling to the floor. “Master..... you tease me. You know I love the clamps. But first, please fuck me.”

“First time in your pussy,” I confirm, lifting her slightly in my arms. The suspension rig is sized just for Jessica, the stretch of the ropes giving us the right tension to let me fuck her hard or soft, fast or slow. The ropes even add to the motion of our bodies, swinging a little bit back and forth as I lift her from underneath, my cock driving into her again and again. “Mmmm.... whose is this?”

“Yours, Master,” Jessica groans as my cock stretches her pussy walls again and again. She uses her inner muscles to squeeze and massage me, both of us knowing just how to please the other. I look deep into her gray eyes, eyes that I've come to read like a book. When she's angry or disappointed they're stormy, when she's sad they're dull, but when she's happy, or now when we're together, they glow with an inner light that makes them nearly a pewter-silver, making her normally beautiful face transcend the bounds of human and into the realm of angelic.

“All of you is mine?” I ask as my hips speed up, my balls churning. “All of you?”

“All of me, Master,” Jessica cries out softly as her first climax sweeps over her. I didn't tell her she couldn't come so she's free, her breasts shaking as the spasms sweep over her body. “Oh Master.... Rodrigo... oh I'm always going to be yours.”

“And I will always take care of you,” I promise, my hips speeding up. I can feel my cock rubbing over the part of her deep inside that drives her wild, her eyes widening as I start fucking her harder, growling possessively as I let go with my right hand to grab my tie and tuck it between my teeth before I lift her again, pulling her tight and demanding she watch me. We look into each other's souls as I hammer her pussy mercilessly, the powerful, sexual beast inside me safe to unleash my passions on her. She takes it all, my perfect, sensual pet, absorbing all my passion and giving it back to me as pure ecstasy, both of us crying out again as I find my climax, my cock exploding deep inside her. I hold Jessica still as my come soaks deep into her body, and both of us smile as I withdraw. “That was two climaxes for you.”

“Sorry, Master. You didn't give me a chance to say stop,” she mock apologizes, both of us smiling. “So does that mean no clamps?”

“No clamps?” I laugh as I go over and start letting her legs down. “Surely you're joking. But it does mean that next time, you need my permission to come.”

Jessica shivers again, smiling as her feet touch down. “You know that I can never control coming when you fuck my ass.”

“Well then, that's something we'll have to train, won't we?” I ask as I go to the toy chest and take out the clamps. “Now, just how tight should I make them tonight? Let me think.....”

I blink, and realize that not only did I fantasize, but I've come, my shirt and more splattered with the results of my passionate fantasy. I laugh softly, I don't think I've put a spurt all the way up on my cheek in a long time.

Okay, so I can deal with this. She wants it, I want it too. The only thing will be making sure she is trained properly, and for that, I might need a little bit of help. Thankfully, I've got a good person in mind to help me with it.

But first, I need a shower, some dinner, and then I'll check on Jessica. If she's still behaving, I'll let her wash before going out for the evening. She's still not getting her pants back until the morning though.

* * *

“So did you hear?” Larissa asks as we sit down at the cafe, enjoying a little bit of late night dessert. For a woman who can perform some of the physical feats that I've seen her do and as stacked as she is, the woman's a chocoholic to the extreme. I guess that's the least of the addictions I've seen within The Network.

“Hear what?” I ask, sampling a cannoli. Okay, so maybe I have a bit of a sweet tooth too, but I do work it off. “That you can't resist a good chocolate cake?”

“Very funny,” she says even as her fork cuts through her slice and she lifts it to her lips. “No... The Sultan ran into a problem today.”

“Did he?” I ask, trying not to smile. “Engine problems?”

“Hardly,” Larissa says with a chuckle. “Apparently, and this might need a little confirmation, he had a meeting with the Lebanese Coast Guard.”

“Oh dear,” I reply, smirking. Larissa was one of the first members of the upper echelon of The Network outside of Scoglitti to reach out to me, perhaps because of her unique position within The Network. A total solo operative, she doesn't have underlings like the other capos. The fact is, Larissa earned her position through her ability to seduce her targets. She's a one woman CIA, able to get information for The Network, access to things that we shouldn't.... and she's taken out enough targets that it even give me chills. Yet the funny thing is, she might be the closest thing I have to a confidant in The Network. “So did he get turned away? I know for damn sure they wouldn't take him into custody. Not when he can outgun most of their boats.”

“Oh of course not!” Larissa says. “But at the same time, the ah... clearance fees for The Sultan were supposedly five times what they normally are. To say he's not happy is an understatement.”

“I can understand. Especially since his transport costs are absorbed by him, not us,” I reply, glad that none of the staff speak English. It gives us a sense of security knowing that we're not going to be overheard, even if it's small. We're here late, there's almost no other patrons other than a lovey-dovey couple over on the other side, enjoying some tiramisu at the end of a good date. “He might not make any profit at all on this trip.”

“I'm sure that just breaks your heart,” Larissa teases lightly, finishing her cake. “When Nikolai found out, he and I were discussing some... well, business. He remarked he wondered if you were psychic in some way or another. Apparently you said something about it with him this afternoon?”

“This morning actually, but yes, I mentioned I thought security on certain areas is getting... lax,” I reply. I finish my cannoli and my coffee, glad I have tomorrow totally off. “Shall we walk? Helps with digestion, I've heard.”

“Sounds good,” Larissa says, taking care of the check. I did it last time, we're squared up again. We walk casually along the narrow street, and to be honest, I enjoy it. Maybe Jessica and I.... now's not the time for such thoughts. “So Rodrigo, what set you off about The Sultan?”

“I don't know,” I lie as we turn the corner. “You know I've never really liked him, and I told Nikolai why earlier. But more importantly... well, we are all cocky, it's the only way to survive in our business. But he's gotten maybe... sloppy? Between what I saw his men doing when we were at The Farm and some other things, they're pushing the lines on discipline. And you know my point of view. A man is only as good as his capo. If his men are being undisciplined fuckups... but I've said enough.”

“Enough that you should be glad he's still fucking around in Damascus and I happen to not particularly like him too,” Larissa says with a chuckle. “On a happier note, how's your new purchase working out? Nikolai said that he found her... spirited.”

I sigh, nodding. “She's temptation and damnation wrapped up in a single beautiful package,” I admit. “I can train her, I'm confident in that. However, you did say you wanted to move into teaching some. Maybe you could give me some assistance?”

“I'll think about it,” Larissa says with a pleased smirk. “But unfortunately, I have some business that will keep me out of town for the next week or two. You mind if I pay you a visit when I return?”

“Why Larissa, what's with the newfound respect for the boundaries of my villa?” I ask teasingly, and she laughs. “You've never had them before.”

“Maybe I'm just giving you space to train your new pet the way she's supposed to be. Especially in the ways you want her to specifically serve you. I might not have the... imagination you do?” Larissa teases, and I laugh.

“Larissa, there is nothing that I could do to that girl that you haven't done at least a dozen times,” I joke, and Larissa nods wisely. “You're an encyclopedia of seduction.”

“I like that. A lot better than being called The Dryad,” she says with a smirk. “Well, in any case, I'll come by when I get back.”

We walk silently for a while, up and out of the historical area of Caccamo and along one of the minor roads that radiate out from the area towards the various villas. When we get to the top of a small hillock, I look back and see the castle, which is still lit despite the late hour. “I guess the town wants still more tourists.”

“They've got to spend the money from the national government somehow,” Larissa says with a chuckle. “It's a good town though. Not quite as good as my hometown, but still a good town.”

“You ever imagine retiring to a place like this?” I ask, squatting down and picking up a pebble that I toss into the night. “I mean, really retiring, like getting out of the business?”

Larissa shrugs, her voice slightly sad. “People like you and I Rodrigo, we never fully retire. It's in our blood. Oh, we might semi-retire, there's a man from the town next to my home in Greece that was once one of the most powerful men in the Greek underworld back in the nineties. Nice man, coaches basketball at his grandson's elementary school last I heard. But I could see it in his eyes the last time I talked to him. No amount of basketball is going to replace what this life gives to us. Why, do you think you're going to just make your fortune and then lead the quiet life? According to what I hear, your life might become more hectic than ever soon.”

“Just a rumor still,” I reply, watching the moon. “Just a rumor, Larissa. If the opportunity does arise... would I have your support?”

“Of course, Rodrigo. If anything, it'd give me more excuses to visit America. I could use the practice getting past American security systems.”

Of course she could.

Jessica

My stomach grumbles when the lock on the other side of the door opens and Rodrigo opens the door, a large laundry bag in his hands. He's dressed more formally than I've seen him before, in dark gray slacks, a form fitting pinstriped dress shirt that's unbuttoned at the throat, and black leather shoes that are shined to a nearly mirrored finish. He looks handsome, and almost exactly like I dreamed about him last night. I feel guilty about that, but I can't deny that his tanned skin and lean face were in some good dreams last night. He comes in, squatting down at the foot of my mattress and looks at me levelly. “Good morning, Jessica. Did you sleep well?”

“I tried, sir,” I say, the honorific coming off my tongue a little bit easier than it did yesterday. “But it did get cold in here, I started shivering and it woke me up. I don't know when.”

Rodrigo nods, and opens up the laundry bag, taking out my sweatpants, a pair of white athletic socks, and a pair of simple sandals. “I didn't want to guess your shoe size, your feet are a little bit bigger than normal, so I went with a sandal instead. Later perhaps, we can get you some real shoes. Now, are you listening to me?”

“Yes sir,” I reply. Rodrigo shakes his head, and I feel bad for a moment, then realize what I need to do. If you don't know, ask. “What should I do, sir?”

“When I speak to you like this and you are on the floor, you are to sit on your knees, thighs pressed together, butt on your heels. Your hands should normally be on your thighs, but I'll let you hold your blanket closed for now,” Rodrigo says. “Adjust yourself now, and I'll continue.”

I assume the position Rodrigo wants, and he nods in appreciation. “Much better. Okay, here's my offer. If you can promise to behave, then I'll give you your pants back, along with the socks and the sandals. Also, I made a nice brunch for us. So, your choice Jessica. You can behave and try to act like a lady, and we can eat in the dining room of my villa like civilized people. Or... you can continue to act like a bitch, and be treated like a dog, eating in here. Your choice.”

I swallow and lower my eyes, ashamed at Rodrigo's words. He doesn't say them angrily, he doesn't raise his voice at all, but still they somehow pierce me to my very heart. “I'll behave, sir.”

“Excellent. Then get dressed, and join me for brunch. I'll admit, I slept in a little this morning, I was up late, so it's already nearly eleven. I'm sure you're hungry.”

Rodrigo leads me upstairs, where in the dining room I find a spread that makes my mouth water. Giant fluffy piles of scrambled eggs, slices of ham, fresh fruits, tomatoes, salad... but best of all is the intoxicating smell of freshly baked bread and olive oil, rich and fruity. My stomach rumbles, and I take half a step before I remember what Rodrigo told me. Act like a lady, and I get this. Act like a dog... and I don't want to know what I'll be eating.

“Come, have a seat,” Rodrigo says, holding a chair for me. I feel strange, sitting down in a relatively small but luxurious dining room in sweatclothes and sandals while the most handsome, powerful man I've ever met sits next to me at the head of the table looking like he's ready to walk the runway in Milan. Still, Rodrigo acts as if there's nothing out of the ordinary as he takes the fine bone china plate from in front of me and scoops eggs onto it, along with a slice of ham, some tomatoes, and a piece of bread. He sets it down, the uncorks an earthenware bottle, pouring some olive oil into a shallow bowl before setting it in front of me.

“In the future, I will teach you how to do all of this the way I like it,” Rodrigo says as he repeats it all for himself. “Go light with the olive oil at first. You maybe had some in your previous life, but most people find real Italian oil intense at first. That supposedly extra virgin trash that you can buy at Trader Joe's is utter crap compared to this.”

My hands tremble in my lap as I wait for Rodrigo, who pours me a large glass of juice and a mug of coffee. “While most Italians like the super strong espresso, I think plain Americano is better with brunch. Espresso is reserved for after lunch, and I rarely drink cappuccino. Do you say grace before you eat?”

“No sir.... I don't go to church that often,” I reply nervously, but Rodrigo smiles, relieving my fears. “You don't mind?”

“I go to church religiously, pardon the pun, but I won't force you into any belief that you don't already have. Dig in.”

Each bite is delicious, and I want to dive in, shoveling it into my mouth with both hands, but something inside me makes me stop. Rodrigo said that he wants me to behave like a lady, and a lady doesn't shovel her food in. Instead, I take my cues from him, cutting my ham into bite sized pieces before eating it with my eggs together. Rodrigo nods in approval at my restraint while he does the same.

“So, I'm sure you have a lot of questions,” he says, setting his fork down. “I won't give you all the answers, there are things you will not be allowed to know about me, but today's goal is all about getting to know each other.”

“Really?” I ask, forgetting the sir, but Rodrigo doesn't seem to mind. “Well... okay, you know I'm from New Jersey, but what about you? You sound American, honestly.”

Rodrigo starts to laugh, and I wonder what I said wrong, but his dark eyes are twinkling merrily. “I'm from Camden.”

I blink, shocked. “Camden... New Jersey?”

Rodrigo nods, taking a sip of his juice. “I was actually born in the City of Brotherly Love itself, but I grew up across the river in Camden. So in that regard, I'm nearly as American as you.”

“Nearly?” I ask, and Rodrigo nods. “What do you mean?”

“I have American citizenship, but my mother is Spanish, my father's Italian. He was actually getting his citizenship when I was born. I went to basketball games to watch the Sixers, toured the battleship New Jersey, all of that when I was a kid. I moved to Sicily just about three years ago,” Rodrigo says, his voice pitching lower. “In fact, while I enjoy authentic Italian food a lot, I'm still an American man at heart, at least in terms of what I want to eat.”

I understand what he's trying to say, and I swallow. “What are your favorite foods?”

“Nothing too extreme,” Rodrigo says with a rewarding smile. I'm learning, I guess. “I like to eat healthy, so there's nothing totally out there most of the time. I do have a sweet tooth, but I settle that with going to cafes, sometimes a trattoria. If I indulge here at home, I love getting the makings of a good burger or cheesesteak, which is damn near impossible considering that I've eaten at the real Geno's. But I do my best. What about you, what do you like to eat?”

I'm a little surprised, I thought that the point of this meal was to let me know about Rodrigo, and I can't help it, I smile a little. “If I say I'm used to filet mignon and the finest caviar, would that change what I get?”

Rodrigo chuckles, shaking his head. “No, but the more you behave, the more likely it is that I'm going to treat you to things you like from time to time. Perhaps even filet mignon on your birthday.”

“But you don't know my birthday,” I say, and Rodrigo shakes his head. “What?”

“You have a new life, and so you have a new birthday,” Rodrigo says, some of the merriment dropping from his voice and instead he sounds chilling again. “The day I brought you home, that's your new birthday. The old birthday doesn't matter any more.”

“But... my passport, my identity...,” I start before stopping. “That quarter million was for more than just me, wasn't it?”

Rodrigo nods, his voice still deadly frightening. “The night you were taken, the BnB person probably went through your stuff and took any cash you left behind before turning the rest of it over to The Network. Network men then booked you a flight out of Sicily to somewhere else in Europe or Africa using any credit cards you had with you. Then your passport was put in a bag along with your other documents and a Network operative, most likely a woman in a blonde wig to fool any of the crappy security cameras in the destination, where she'll drop your ID documents in a trash can, take off the wig, and go enjoy a few days in wherever while you go missing.”

“My fingerprints?” I ask, and Rodrigo shrugs.

“Hackers are cheap, and the government doesn't have as secure a handle on their records as they think. We can't get hard copies, but if you landed in an American airport right now, you wouldn't show up on a fingerprint database,” he says.

It's disheartening, but something in the way he talks gives me another question. “So how'd you get into this? I don't mean offense sir, but you don't sound like a dumb street hood. And I've met my fair share in northern Jersey.”

Rodrigo laughs, the ice melting and his warm tones coming back in an instant. His voice twists and picks up the juicy, slurry accent that I've always associated with Philly and Jersey. “Dis betta for yas? I'm headin' down for a night at da bah, youse comin'?”

I can't help it, I laugh, and Rodrigo smiles before switching back to his normal powerful voice, warm and magnetic. “My father thought that education was important, so even though I followed him into the... well, I guess you could say the family business, he insisted that I get a real education. While I stopped at high school, I've done plenty of self study after that. What was it they said in Good Will Hunting? Dropping a hundred grand on a education you could have gotten for a few bucks in library late fees? I took the second path. So while you've got a degree from Rutgers and I've got a degree from the streets, you're right, I'm no dumb goomba.”

“Then why'd you go into the life you did?” I ask. “You're smart, you're charismatic... and why'd you buy me anyway?”

Rodrigo smirks, his eyes glowing with desire that warms me more than the coffee and juice. “I went into this life because it's the life I know. My father was in this life, my mother as well. And before you get into thinking that I'm somehow more corrupt than the people you consider leaders of the world, the world I come from is more deeply entwined in your old life than you ever suspected.

“As for you Jessica, what you really want to know is why I spent a quarter million euros on you and not on any of the other girls that were in that room. You've run the numbers, you've got the brain power that you can do it in your head, and you figure that at an average price of two hundred grand per girl, an overestimate but that's okay, nice round number, that I could have bought each and every girl there, including you, for four point eight million euro. If I paid the same amount as I paid for you, a quarter million, it'd be six million euro total. But I didn't. I chose to spend a quarter million on you. And you want to know why.”

I gulp, nodding. Maybe he's run the numbers before in his head, but it took me a few minutes in the quiet of my room to do the same math in my head. “Yes sir. So why?”

“Instead of telling you... let me show you. Finish your brunch, we have a full day of training in front of us.”

* * *

I haven't been outside in days, and the midwinter afternoon sun feels good even though the air is a little cool. I look around the walled area, I guess you could call it a courtyard but it just seems too big for that word. Fifteen feet tall walls ring the whole area, and the land looks like at some point it could be a garden or even a fruit grove of some type. Rodrigo lets me look around, breathing in deeply before he nudges my elbow, leading me to what looks like a large garage or maybe a small warehouse. “What's this?”

“This used to be the oil press house,” Rodrigo says. “Since buying this villa, I've converted into my own personal uses.”

Rodrigo leads me past the big double doors to a side door, taking a key out of his pocket and unlocking the door. “This door does not connect to the rest of the warehouse, which I've turned into a workout room. I let other members of The Network in there. This room though, only I have the key, and I've only let one other member of The Network in here.”

He unlocks the heavy door and opens it. I pause, frightened. “If I say I don't want to go in there, sir?”

“You don't have a choice, you will at least look in here. Then I take you back to your room until it is time for dinner. But you wanted to know why I purchased you, Jessica. The answer lies inside,” Rodrigo says, his voice pulling me forward. I nod, and step forward to the door, Rodrigo humming in pleasure. “That's a good girl.”

There's no lights on in the room, just the dim afternoon light that doesn't reveal much, and after I'm inside, Rodrigo closes the door, throwing us into total darkness before he turns on a switch, and recessed lights illuminate the room, my breath taken away.

The first thing I see is the padded shackles hanging from the ceiling, almost a mirror of what was in the slave pen, but these look... comfortable? I force myself to breathe and look around, seeing the implements nearly covering one wall. There's no heavy whip, this room isn't for that sort of punishment, but for a more sensual kind. But there's other things that I've seen online, the things that, even hanging innocently on the walls or arranged on shelves, send warm tingles though my body. Blindfolds, silk scarves, vibrators and dildos.... oh my God, are those nipple clamps on a chain? With a cat o' nine tails? My breasts tingle at the thought, and I turn to look at Rodrigo, who's taking in my reaction with his dark eyes, his face a mix of desire, approval, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of vulnerability. I don't think he brings many people here.

“You're into bondage,” I comment, and Rodrigo shakes his head. “No?”

“No,” Rodrigo says, going over to what I thought was a cabinet on the single wall and tugging, pulling down a hideaway king sized bed. “I am dominant, I will be your Master Jessica, but I'm an explorer in sensuality, in the zone where pain, pleasure, sensation and emotion can mix into a release much stronger than anything that normal people can handle because they're afraid. I purchased you Jessica because I am going to push you further than any woman I've brought into this room before. And yes, I'm an expert in each and every item in here. In here, you will experience mind numbing pain, but also soul shattering pleasure. No other woman has been able to take it. But you Jessica... you have the potential to be more than all of those other women put together. I can see it in your eyes, you know that you're a real woman, not some little girl who plays at being a woman but cries like a spoiled brat when she doesn't get her way. You have a world of potential. But you lack something.”

“What's that?” I ask, my breath coming faster and my heart speeding up as I hear Rodrigo describe me. He's not kissing my ass, he's just giving me what he sees as the unvarnished truth, and it's massively arousing, especially with the way he looks at me. Rodrigo steps closer, his body radiating sexual energy, and my pussy starts to grow wet. If he asks right now.....

“You need training and discipline,” Rodrigo murmurs in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “You know it, too, don't you?”

“Yes....” I half moan, caught in his sensual energy like a fly on a web. “Yes sir.”

“But you're afraid too. I can see that in the way you're biting your lip even as your nipples poke against your shirt. You want it, but you're afraid of it, aren't you?” he asks, walking around my body. His fingers brush through my hair and I feel it all the way through my body to my pussy, which is starting to throb lightly with my heartbeat. “Don't move, just answer me.”

I stand stock still, but I don't know if it's because of desire or fear of punishment from Rodrigo if I don't. “Yes sir. I'm afraid.”

Rodrigo leans in and whispers in my other ear, making me gasp. “What are you afraid of, my pet?”

“Being weak,” I whisper, trembling as Rodrigo comes around and looks me in the eyes. “Not being good enough.”

Rodrigo nods, no trace of his normal smile or mocking gleam in his eyes as he looks deep into my eyes, I feel like he's peering all the way into my soul before he answers. “Jessica, it is in your weakness that you can find your true strength. So in this one matter in your new life, you will have a choice. You can go over to the closet, take off your clothes, and lay down on the bed on your back. Or I can take you to your room. You will always have the choice.”

I swallow, looking up at Rodrigo's face, biting my lip nervously. “If I don't obey?”

“Obedience earns you the keys to your maximum potential. Disobedience gets those taken away and keeps you limited. That's more than any punishment I can give you,” Rodrigo says levelly. “The same rules apply that I said outside here, Jessica. I will not sexually assault you, but I will train you. You will be scared, you will be in pain, you will be pushed to your limits. Still, you will have a safe word if you cannot take any more. That word is... Parmesan. And you already know the other word to release the limit on the other side, don't you?”

I nod, hearing it echo around in my head. Master.... if I call him Master, he'll go farther, to a place that my body yearns for even just standing here in front of him. “Yes sir.”

“Then make your choice. Silently, I don't want to hear you speak until you're either lying down or standing at the door.”

I look around at the room, thinking for a moment before I decide to trust my instincts, and I go over to wooden wardrobe that's along one wall and open the door, finding that the inside is totally empty, with four hangars arranged on the bar that hangs at about my chest height with a wooden shelf that's above it. I take off my sweatshirt and t-shirt, using one of the hangars before I take off my sweatpants, more conscious of each square inch of my skin than I've ever been in my life. I hang up my pants and turn around, Rodrigo clearing his throat. “Your socks?”

I look down, embarrassed and laughing nervously as I take them off, my feet cool on the smooth polished wood floor. It's not as cold as my room on the first floor of the main house, but Rodrigo doesn't have a heater going.

The bed sheets are fine silk, smooth and arousing against my skin as I lay down, my arms at my sides, lifting my head to look at Rodrigo who stands at the base of the bed, studying me. He nods, then goes over to the wall, taking two long silk scarves off the shelf. He comes over to my right side, tying one end of the scarf to the eyelet that was originally hidden by the bed's hideaway function. He stretches it out, reaching down and taking my right wrist and wrapping it around before knotting it securely. “Now the other one.”

I cooperate this time, knowing what he wants as he ties my left hand, and I'm stretched out. It's not too uncomfortable, although if I had to stay like this I'd have a problem, it'd probably hurt to stay like this all night.

“You may speak,” Rodrigo says, backing away from the bed and going over to the closet. He unbuttons his shirt, peeling it off to reveal a lean, muscular chest. He's got some tattoos, but his skin is smooth and flawless otherwise, powerful chest and arm muscles that flow down to a chiseled six pack, his ribs just barely outlined against the light tan of his skin. He watches my reaction as he hangs up his shirt, not touching his pants. “What do you think?”

“I... you're amazing, sir.”

“And you are just as flawless in your own way,” Rodrigo says. “Now for one more thing before we begin.”

Rodrigo goes over to the shelf and picks up the blindfold, bringing it over. “Lift your head. I promise you, my hands will not touch between your legs this training session. And you're not allowed to either. You aren't allowed to masturbate, ever, without my permission.”

I swallow, nod, and lift my head, Rodrigo slipping the elastic over my head before darkness descends. Immediately, I can feel my heart pound harder in my chest, and I'm overtaken by a moment of panic before I feel Rodrigo's breath on my ear and he murmurs in my ear. “Remember, in your weakness you will find your strength. And you may continue to speak.”

I force myself to calm, to focus my senses away from my vision. It comes slowly, first my hearing as I hear his shoes cross the tile floor, the leather soles and heels clicking on the smooth floor as he picks up something else. It sounds long, and I wonder if he's going to whip me with the cat when the first light stroke brushes against my thighs, making me jump.

Whatever it is, it tickles, and I'm soon squirming, giggling helplessly as Rodrigo uses it on my thighs, on my stomach, on my armpits and even on the sensitive inside of my arms. “Sir.... sir stop, that tickles!”

“I won't stop until I'm ready to stop,” Rodrigo promises, and suddenly the tickle changes, this time brushing over my already hard nipples. I gasp, electricity shooting through me as the light, maddening sensations shoot from my breasts to the center of my chest and down to my pussy, which begins to throb again, harder and more insistent. I part my legs a little bit, making Rodrigo chuckle. “Do you think I'd let this be dirtied by your wetness?”

“Sir...,” I gasp deeply, the idea making me even more aroused. “Please.”

“No,” Rodrigo says simply, the feathery tickles continuing. As they do, it feels like my entire body becomes an arousal point. The tickles disappear, replaced by even deeper warm throb of pleasure that seems to build near my pussy, just above it. Each of Rodrigo's touches send tingles though my body to this building ball of heat, a fire that I know is deeper than I've felt even last night when he spanked me.

“Sir... oh god,” I moan as he trails the tickler up both of my thighs, barely brushing through my hair before centering around my belly button, “Sir....”

“Let go, Jessica.”

I'm almost sobbing in need for release when the tickling stops and I hear Rodrigo walk away, putting away the tickler before picking up something else. I feel a shift in the bed and I realize that Rodrigo's sitting on the surface next to me, and I realize something else. While I can't see anything, I can sense him. My skin, my ears, my sense of smell, all of it is growing by the second as Rodrigo's fingers brush my forehead, moving a tickling hair out of the way. “Do you want to come, Jessica?”

“Yes sir,” I breathlessly growl, biting back the word that my body wants but another part of me still won't be able to let come out. “I want to come.”

“Watch,” Rodrigo says, lifting my blindfold. He's dimmed the lights but still I blink as my eyes come back into focus to see him so close, his eyes dilated as he looks at my body. He reaches out, massaging my left breast with his right hand, squeezing and making my hypersensitive skin cry out as he pushes the line between painfully squeezing and pleasure. My hips start to lift off the bed, my legs falling open in silent plea for him to pound my pussy with the same strength, whether it be with his hands, his cock... the image of Rodrigo eating my pussy leaves me half sobbing in desire until he flicks my nipple with a fingertip sharply, a steely shock piercing my fantasy and bringing me back to him right here, right now.

“You must learn to not get lost in your fantasies,” Rodrigo growls, sternly angry. “Focus on you, on your body right here, right now! Focus on me, your owner and Master, and the two of us in this instant.”

I look him over, seeing the flush to his chest and the bulge that's clearly outlining his pants, making me lick my lips. Of course he's right, how could I miss something so awesome in a stupid fucking fantasy?

“Sir... is that because of me?”

“What do you think?” Rodrigo says, moving to my other breast and massaging again. He brings both pain and pleasure, adding to it when he spanks my nipples, lighter than he did against my ass but still making my eyes nearly pop out of my sockets I'm so fucking turned on.

“Sir! Oh fuck yes! Yes!”

Suddenly Rodrigo leans in and kisses me, his lips cutting off my words as his tongue invades my mouth. He's powerful, and I kiss him back as best I can, moaning my desire for more into his mouth before he pulls back, his eyes wide in horror. He gets off the bed, quickly composing himself.

“I'm sorry,” he says as he opens the closet and takes out his shirt, pulling it on but not buttoning it. “The rules... I broke the rules, and I apologize. That wasn't being a good Master to you.”

“Sir... it was just a kiss,” I plead, by body trembling on the edge of coming again, I want him so badly. “What's wrong with that?”

Rodrigo shakes his head again and goes to the door, turning at the door and looking at me still spread out on the bed. “Jessica, you must learn... a kiss can be more intimate than any sexual act, and more dangerous than a loaded gun. Think about that for a while. I will return later when I can be a proper Master again.”

He leaves, my body throbbing in need, and as he goes, I feel tears in my eyes again. I want him... I want him so badly. But he's right, I don't want to let go, to let him have me totally. If I do that, there's no defense, no way to stop him from shattering not just my body, but my heart and soul.

My chest twinges, the way I'm tied up makes it harder than normal to breathe, and I'm not used to holding this forced stretch for so long. The cold doesn't help also, and I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe as best I can, hoping that Rodrigo comes back soon.

Rodrigo

After my mistake in the training room, I take a break from sensual training, both to give myself a chance to build my own discipline and to let Jessica fully understand what I demand of her. Still, with long hours to use each day, there's plenty to teach her how to do.

“What's this sir?” Jessica asks one morning when I come into her room with a wrapped package under my arms and my duffel bag on my back. “A pillow?”

“No, that'll come next time,” I say, noting that her room is spotless. Good girl. “Actually, this is for after your shower.”

“Shower, sir? Really?” Jessica asks excitedly, her eyes gleaming. “Why?”

“You did a great job on the laundry yesterday,” I say simply. “You've been trying hard, and you deserve more than just those thin sweats. Keep them though, you're not done with them by a long stretch. Now, come with me upstairs for the day.”

As Jessica behaves better and starts to apply herself to her training, I've given her more tests as well as more privileges, although I still cannot trust her to be out of my sight. I've let her have more time out of her room, for one, joining me most meals in the dining room. In fact, it's been my most effective training tool, just taking away her chance to interact with me. But she has done little to frustrate me in the week and a half since I left her in the training room for four hours while I purged myself of my weakness, ironically in the other half of the warehouse in punishing myself with a workout that left me puking into a bucket before I was in control of myself enough to go back and untie her.

“What is today's agenda, sir?” she asks, an improvement over yesterday when she slipped and called me Rodrigo. A lunch of just bread and water along with only being allowed to use her camp potty in her room for the day solved that.

“Today after the shower you're going to shadow me while I exercise,” I say. “Then later, I'm expecting a visit from The Dryad, she's back in Sicily and sent me a text message, she's joining us for dinner.”

“Should I cook?” Jessica asks, and I shake my head, inwardly pleased. She's already starting to think and anticipate like a lady.

“No, The Dryad doesn't enjoy American style Italian, and I haven't taught you how to cook any Greek dishes yet,” I tell her. “I will have to go out for a few hours in the afternoon to get the supplies I need, so you'll be in your room, then you will shadow me as I teach you. But first... your shower.”

I lead Jessica not to the smaller guest bathroom that I have but to my master bathroom, which when I bought the place was actually one of five small bedrooms that the villa had. She looks around in wonder as I close the door, turning to face me at the end. “This is huge.”

“I enjoy a good shower. Now strip, put your clothes in the hamper there, and I'll hand you the first item in the package.”

While I haven't touched or bound Jessica in the time since I kissed her, that hasn't meant that I haven't kept her aware of the sexual desires that we both feel for each other. It's the main reason I'm having her shadow me in the gym, I don't need someone to load the plates on the bar for me or to towel me off when I get sweaty. But I want her aware of my body, and I want her aware of her own fantastic body as well.

Jessica strips almost eagerly, wanting to show me her sinfully voluptuous form, cupping her breasts as she turns around and sways her ass a little as she enters the clear glass shower cubicle.

“First then... here,” I say, opening my duffel bag and taking out the body wash. “A lot better than simple soap.”

Jessica takes the body wash and inhales the scent deeply, smiling in appreciation. “Thank you sir. It's heavenly.”

I have to agree, as watching Jessica rub the luxurious exfoliating wash into her skin is heavenly erotic. The way her fingers slip and slide over her body from her neck to her waist is so arousing that if I weren't intent on training her I'd join her in the shower. As it is, I I indulge a little by opening the door when she goes to wash her legs, giving me an unobstructed view of her amazing ass and pussy winking at me from behind. “Sir?”

“You're tremendously beautiful, Jessica. I enjoy watching you. Now, get between every toe, because there's something I want you to do next,” I reply, making her blush as she keeps washing. Both of us moan when her hand slide between the generous half globes of her ass, teasing me a look at her most intimate of spaces. “Have you ever had anal sex, Jessica?”

She looks back, her eyes glazed in desire and her breath coming in deep draws as she looks at my cock, which is hard and throbbing in my shorts, shaking her head. “Just my fingers, sir. But I've tried to be good, I haven't masturbated at all.”

I nod, knowing. Her room is so small, the area tight enough that if Jessica did touch herself, I could smell it hours later. “You've been very good, Jessica. Now, the next thing.”

I reach into my bag and take out two items, a shaving gel and a razor. The blade is brand new and fresh, and I hand it to her, knowing that even if it's a safety razor, it's something she hasn't used in a while. Jessica takes it and looks at it with growing wonder, then up at me. “What do you want shaved, sir?”

“If I say your entire body? Head to toe?” I ask, and she grimaces a little, making me laugh. “I wouldn't push you that far or ask you to touch that lovely hair. But I want your underarms, legs... and pussy totally smooth. It is a duty that you'll do at least once a week as needed.”

Jessica nods and doesn't protest at all, taking care of her arms first before her legs before starting on her pussy carefully. I can tell from her comfort with it she's shaved before, but it's been a while, I'd say at least a month since she took the opportunity, but when she's done she's as smooth as silk from all around. “Turn around, spread your ass open and let me see if you need trimmed there too.”

Jessica blushes but obeys, and I'm greeted to the pale pink pucker of her asshole, totally clean and luscious looking. My desire grows, and I lick my lips slowly, relishing the idea of opening her ass to all sorts of delights and experiences she's never known before. “Good. Now one last thing. Squat down... and piss.”

“Sir?” she asks, shocked. I'm not into water sports, but this is a test for her, of her obedience.

“I said squat down and piss!” I repeat, intentionally roughening my voice. “Spray the floor of the shower, and then you'll be done.”

Jessica swallows but squats down, her eyes mixed with shame and desire as she shows me her glistening pussy. Her lips are pale pink and juicy, just the right amount of excess to make them look tasty, the sort of lips that I can nibble and suck on for a long, long time. She closes her eyes and tries, getting maybe a half second squirt out before she stops, half sobbing. “Sir... please, I can't do any more. I peed before you got me out of my room.”

“You did fine, pet,” I say, complimenting her. “Shut off the water, and I have a skin cream for you, I don't want your skin to dry. Then we'll get you dressed.”

Jessica's surprised when she sees what her clothes are going to be, a set of form fitting jeans and a button down shirt. She does a double take though when I lay out the last two items. “Sir... underwear?”

“You've earned them,” I say simply, watching her fondle the plain cotton bikini cut panties and utilitarian sports bra lovingly. “As you get better discipline, the quality of those goes up. I told you, Jessica, everything and every luxury... if you behave.”

“Thank you,” Jessica says, and I hear it in her voice. For most of the week, when she says please or thank you to me, she's being polite out of fear. She's saying thank you because she fears that if she doesn't, that I'm going to punish her. The only time that's changed was when I took her to the training room, when her arousal overwhelmed her distrust and fear. Even this morning, her enthusiasm greeting me I have to balance with the fact she may have been bored silly and even spending time with me can be a break from that particular subtle punishment.

But this time, as she slides her long, feminine legs into the cotton and pulls them up over her generous hips, she sighs happily, a soft whimper of pleasure coming from her lips when she nestles it against her freshly shaved pussy. She pulls on her bra, the fit perfect after she adjusts the shoulder straps before she puts on the rest of her new clothes. Turning, her damp hair still hanging over her shoulder, her eyes go wide when she sees my last set of gifts for her. “Sir...”

“A true lady knows how to keep herself looking good. For that, you need some tools,” I say, handing her the brush and comb kit. “Keep that in your room, and you can use it whenever you want. And this.”

It's my first big test really of Jessica, handing her the running shoes. With them, if she gets past the walls she can easily get away, something that her sandals weren't really meant for. Jessica takes them with respect though and squats down, putting them on and knotting them properly before kneeling on the floor. “Thank you, sir.”

“Come on,” I reply, helping her to her feet. There's a tingly spark of electricity that jumps between us when I help her up, but that could just be static. “You've got more duties to do before The Dryad gets here. Including helping me make dinner. I'll teach you a dish she likes.”

* * *

Larissa surprises Jessica when she knocks on the back door of the villa right at seven thirty, but I'm used to it. I glance at Jessica, who's been mixing up salad dressing in a bowl with a whisk. She's been very helpful and observant, even if I can't trust her with a knife yet. “That's our guest. Please get the door for her.”

Jessica nods, setting down her bowl and going to the back door, opening it to reveal Larissa, who looks like her normal seductive, slinky but energetic self. “Well well, you do clean up nicely,” Larissa says as she looks at Jessica, then over at me. “I think I should have bought her.”

“Sorry, no trades,” I say half teasingly, but still with enough serious edge to let both Larissa and Jessica know I mean business. “She's mine now.”

“Oh really?” Larissa asks, turning to look at Jessica. “Is that true, beautiful? Do you belong to Rodrigo now?”

“He's treated me very well,” Jessica says, her eyes flashing with frustration and anger, but more disciplined than what happened with Rachmaninoff. “I have no complaints there.”

“Right,” Larissa says, chuckling and coming in more. “So what smells so good? Don't tell me you learned how to roast a lamb.”

“Actually, the lamb's been prepared by Jessica here,” I say. “So any compliments, pass along to her.”

Larissa turns to Jessica, who's come back and started on her salad dressing again. “Really? And what did you use to marinate the meat?”

“Lemon juice, garlic, and olive oil... my lady,” Jessica says, squeezing the last bit out from between pursed lips. Larissa laughs, delighted as she turns to me.

“Rodrigo, you've done a remarkable job! Seriously, I thought you'd still have her in some sort of kennel and butt naked most of the time. But you were serious about training her fully, weren't you?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.

“I told you when I got Jessica, I'm intent on training her properly. She's had some slip ups, but overall... she's worked very hard.”

Larissa arches an eyebrow and turns back to Jessica, who's blushing at my compliment. “Why... that's so cute, the way you blush. Tell me pet, do you like what your Master says about you?”

Larissa is pushing Jessica's buttons, and while I could step in, Larissa respects me enough to do so, I think this is a good test for Jessica's training. Jessica stares at her bowl, whisking more quickly. “I've been treated well. And yes, I like compliments.”

“Compliments? So if I said that I'd love to take you to Rodrigo's training room and teach you things about your body that you never even imagined because you're more beautiful than a Boticelli Venus, would you blush as much?” Larissa teases. “I'm highly skilled in bringing intense, mindblowing sexual release to anyone, you know. So speak, pet.”

“Rodrigo may speak to me that way, but you...,” Jessica starts, her eyes blazing at Larissa's jibe before she stops when she sees me raise my hand, not to strike her but in warning. Still, her eyes are pissed, and she stares at Larissa with no fear in her eyes, perhaps not the wisest of things considering what I know, but still... that fire inside her excites me. “I am in Rodrigo's house. I will respect his wishes, for now. But I am not his pet, and I have never spoken that word yet. I apologize for raising my voice.”

Larissa chuckles, then nods. “Apology accepted. You know Jessica, call me crazy, but I like you. You have spirit, and a lot of potential. I spoke with your Ma.... with Rodrigo before I left, offering my assistance in training you. I think I'll extend that offer again. I'm off for the next few weeks unless an emergency comes up. What do you say, Rodrigo? Think you can trust me enough to put your new... acquisition in my hands?”

“I'll think about it over dinner,” I answer, Larissa giving me a chuckle. “What?”

“I won't hurt her, you know. I respect you too much for that.”

“Let's eat,” I reply, finishing cutting the tomatoes for the salad while Jessica sets the table. She behaves exactly as we practiced this afternoon, waiting for Larissa to sit down before she begins serving us slices of lamb, roasted potatoes, Greek salad and wine. When she's done, she stands back, her hands crossed in front of her the way I taught her. “Excellent work Jessica. Prepare a plate for yourself, and then you can sit on the side opposite The Dryad.”

“Oh fuck that,” Larissa says with a laugh, setting her fork down. “I totally didn't think about that stupid code name rigmarole. Jessica.... my name is Larissa. While I don't mind the lady bit, don't call me ma'am. Miss is just fine with me. Or Mistress.”

Jessica nods respectfully, fully aware now after the time we've spent together the weight of what Larissa just offered while tactfully deflecting the insinuation Larissa added at the end. Even I have to smile at that one. “Thank you, miss.”

Dinner is delicious, Jessica did a great job of following the recipe that I pulled up on my computer, and Larissa looks very pleased when Jessica brings out the small chocolate tarts. “You didn't.”

“She did,” I counter. “The cuts are a little rough because I only let her use a butter knife still, but she hand rolled out the crusts herself, did it all according to the recipe we found.”

“My compliments Jessica,” Larissa says, selecting one before Jessica offers one to me and selects one for herself. “Have you always been a cook?”

“No miss,” Jessica replies, smiling happily as we dig in and the dessert is as delicious as expected. “I was a chemistry major in college though. And baking is a lot of chemistry, so it was more fun than I thought it would be.”

“Your new life is going to be filled with such discoveries,” Larissa says, not teasing this time. She finishes her dessert, then sets her spoon down gratefully. “Again, compliments Jessica, and you too Rodrigo. Beautiful, spirited, and can cook? I am certifiably jealous. So my offer still stands, I'd like to help with Jessica's training.”

I think about it, then look at Jessica, whose keeps her composure even as she looks at me, her eyes saying she's not sure. She's been upset by Larissa's sexual innuendo, but she does need pushed. With the next few weeks being busier for me, I need that sort of constant pushing for Jessica, and I make my decision. “You can help, on a few conditions, Larissa. First, that you will not at any time, in any way, touch or sexually stimulate Jessica. I know you, and I know that you want to focus on her training in that area. By the way, that includes toys, too. Any sort of sexual information you pass along must be done using your words and other non-touching means.”

“I can to that,” Larissa agrees. “Anything else?”

“Yes. While you can discipline Jessica, you cannot strike her without my permission. Also, in any lessons of an erotic nature, Jessica is to have a safe word. That word is... hoplite. I don't think that's going to come up in your conversations, will it?”

“Well, I might do a little history lesson on how the Spartans trained their men and women, but no, I doubt that's going to be needed,” Larissa says with a chuckle. “What do you say, Jessica? Rodrigo is going to be busier the next few weeks, it'd keep you out of your room more. And I promise, no hitting you unless you're a worthless cunt.”

“I'm hardly worthless,” Jessica says warningly, but nods. “Agreed. Thank you for the offer, miss,” Jessica says, then looks at me. “Should I clear the table, sir?”

“We'll do that together. But you're washing.”

Jessica

I'm pacing my room nervously two days later when I hear the click of my lock opening and the door slides back and I see Larissa standing in the doorway, dressed in a form fitting pair of yoga pants and long sleeved top, her raven black hair pulled back into a practical ponytail. She evaluates what I'm wearing, then shakes her head. “Nope, jeans won't do. Is that what Rodrigo told you to wear?”

“He's wanted me wearing these more than the first set of clothes he gave recently, they're more durable,” I tell her. I keep my voice polite, but I'm not calling her Miss unless I have to. “Should I change?”

Larissa nods. “Keep the t-shirt and sweatshirt, but change into something more... I don't know, exercisey?”

I pick up my sweatpants from my small folded pile and hold them up, Larissa nodding. “Perfect. I'll give you two minutes of privacy, those jeans look a little tight for the whole rip and replace act.”

My door closes, and I change quickly, actually having ten seconds to fold my jeans and put them away when she re-opens the door. “Impressive. Well, not the sweats, those are discount store crap, but they'll do for today. Okay, let's get to work.”

“What are we going to do?” I ask, and Larissa stops, looking back at me. “What?”

“Has Rodrigo told you about me?” she asks curiously.

“Just that you are also in The Network, and that you are one of the people that I shouldn't fuck with, in his words. Why?” I ask. “Please... I'm trying to be respectful.”

Larissa thinks for a moment, then nods. “Okay, I can see that. Here's the deal. I promised your owner that I would not touch you sexually in any way. That doesn't mean I won't punish you if you backtalk me, if you get bitchy, or in any way disrespect me. I'm here to train you to be the ultimate woman that you can be. There's a hell of a lot to do with that, and if I come off as crude, mean, or unfeeling for you, tough shit. The fact is, you won the fucking lottery, Jessica.”

“The lottery?” I ask, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Rodrigo is one of the best men that you could ever hope to find. Never mind the shithole that you'd have ended up in otherwise. Has Rodrigo told you what happened to those other girls?” Larissa asks.

“No,” I whimper, chagrined for some reason. “What?”

“Twenty three got on that boat. Twenty two survived to Lebanon, where they were put on various transports to the slave markets and private sales that they were being sent to. Twenty survived to the slave markets. Of the twenty, two will last long enough to 'retire' from being whores or repeatedly raped sex slaves to claim a husband of some sort, most likely a lackey of their brothel owner or sheikh who bought them, given as a reward and to free up space for the next fresh faced girl off the transports. Meanwhile, you have Rodrigo. A man who is strong, powerful, smart... he's everything a real man is supposed to be, and everything a real woman wants. And for some reason, luck or just the fact that he sees you as being potentially able to handle his desires, he chose you. Now, as someone who actually thinks of Rodrigo as a friend, or at least as close to that as we can be in this line of work, I take it upon myself to make sure that you're as ready as you can be to be that woman.”

I blink, stunned not only by the intensity of Larissa's words but also by the horrible fate that I just barely avoided. “He said... he's said he can give me all my wildest dreams if I behave.”

Larissa nods, not surprised. “I've had dozens of men claim the exact same thing. None of them have delivered. But if there's a man I know who could actually back up that claim, it's Rodrigo. Now, let's get your ass to training.”

Three hours later, I'm sweating, dust streaking my face as I do another set of freestanding ballet style squats, my toes turned out as Larissa watches me. “Down... good, keep your hips straight, squeeze the muscles inside you... now up! Squeeze, squeeze, you worthless wench!”

My legs, stomach, ass and even my pussy are throbbing, but not in a good way unfortunately. Instead, since starting work with Larissa, we've been doing a combination of what I can only call yoga, ballet, stretching and gymnastics focusing a lot on what Larrisa calls my 'sensual muscles,' kegels being just a warm-up. I thought I was in pretty good shape for a Master's Degree student, but Larissa has me trembling and on the edge of exhaustion. I complete my squat and stop, unable to do any more as Larissa watches me. “You can do more.”

“Can I?” I ask, even as part of me wants to rise to the challenge. “Why are we doing this, anyway? These exercises?”

Larissa laughs, demonstrating the exact same squat that I've been working on for the past twenty minutes with flawless form. “You, despite your natural talent Jessica, need to work on your stamina, and hours and hours more on your sensual muscles since it's more than just your core muscles or your ass or whatever. Rodrigo's taken you into the back room of the warehouse, yes?”

I blush, nodding. “Yes. You mentioned it before. How do you know about that room?”

Larissa laughs. “Who do you think helped Rodrigo find and obtain all the little surprises he has in there? He and I have never played around, never had sex or explored the possibility of a relationship past being friendly even though I know he could rock my world, but we share a similar point of view. The ability to bring the body and mind to that overwhelming climax of sensation, that truly mindblowing experience... I love being on both the giving and receiving end of it. So I knew that if there was anyone who could prepare you for what he has in mind, it's me. And it gives me a chance to work on my training skills. So I asked.”

“Why?” I ask, watching as Larissa continues her poetic, graceful movements. What's left me gasping and straining for each half inch she does without even trying it seems, an amused expression on her face the whole time.

“Because you have potential. Rodrigo and I both have seen it, but it must be developed. If it isn't, you'll be broken. Therefore, I have agreed to help you push your body, to strengthen your mind. So that when you do find the mental strength to submit to Rodrigo, you'll be capable of giving to him as much as he will give to you. Now... let's work on some flexibility, now that we have the muscles nice and warmed up.”

I'm exhausted, frustrated, but at the same time thrilled by the end of the week as Larissa comes to the villa every day, spending hours with me. We do more than just exercise, we do lessons on how to walk in order to turn a man on, whether it be in sandals, running shoes, or even in the pair of high heels that she brings one day. We go over how to hold our body, how to position a hip, how to even eat with a fork or spoon so that every instant I'm supposed to be projecting strength, power, and seductive energy. I've never felt so tired, but at the same time I've never felt so powerful and undeniably feminine.

“The thing about what Rodrigo wants,” Larissa says on the eighth day of our training, “is someone who can be strong enough that you could walk into a room and have every single man's eyes click as they swing over to follow you as you walk through, while at the same time you'll be undeniably his. You're going to be smart, composed, more than a match for any man in the world.”

“But he still wants me to submit to him,” I note, holding the pose that Larissa has me in, my mind focused on squeezing and tightening my sensual muscles, with the promise later of more direct training when I'm ready. I honestly have no idea what direct training means, but I expect that I might just orgasm from it, I feel turned on half the time training now.

“Submission is not a matter of fate, but a conscious decision,” Larissa says with a chuckle, bringing me back to the moment. “Look at me. I know that I'm skilled enough, smart enough, and strong enough to dominate almost any man. In fact, I have dominated some of the most powerful men in Europe. But that doesn't mean for the right partner, I'm not going to submit. Now, enough talk, I want to see another two centimeters of height in your hips. Push!”

It's the one thing that I don't know about Larissa as we continue. She's told me a little bit about her, snippets of her past growing up in Greece, and I get the impression that whatever it is that she does for The Network, it has something to do with the sexuality that oozes out of almost every movement of her body, but I don't know exactly what it is. I can tell that she's dangerous, almost as dangerous as Rodrigo. But at the same time, as long as I try my hardest with the challenges she puts in front of me, I don't feel at all in danger from her. Other than a few harsh words, she's never had to punish me.

Still, I push my hips up a little higher.

* * *

“Good morning Jessica.”

I'm kneeling on my mattress, dressed in my jeans and button down blouse, and when I look up to see Rodrigo standing in my doorway with his slacks and dress shoes on, a undeniable dark thrill goes through me. I've been training with Larissa for two weeks now, and while Rodrigo has been here to wake me up, have breakfast, and put me to bed, he has spent most of the days themselves away doing work, leaving me in Larissa's hands. It's been both maddening and empowering. In the past two weeks, I'm more woman than I've ever been before in my life. But at the same time, I've been kept in my room more, and I've found myself wishing, hoping to see Rodrigo for just an extra few minutes a day.

“Good morning sir. Did you sleep well?” I ask, really meaning it.

“I did, thank you. And how are you feeling?” he asks, gesturing me up. I get to my feet, stopping when I see that Rodrigo hasn't turned his back to lead me up the stairs to the second floor. Instead, he's looking at me, his eyes taking me in... and he likes what he sees. I feel another warm tingle go through me as he steps closer, brushing his fingers along my left eyebrow and making me shiver in desire. “You've impressed Larissa quite a bit the past few weeks. I apologize I've been so busy that I haven't been able to focus on your training as much as I'd like to.”

The greedy part of me, the woman that I was before, wants to make a snarky comment about how if I was so precious an investment for him, why was I being treated so casually, but that part of me feels... I don't know, less than what I am now? Instead I smile gently and nod. “I'm sure that you've been working as hard as you can. And Larissa has been very generous with her time.”

“Like I said, you've impressed her. But today isn't about Larissa,” Rodrigo says, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Today you're all mine.”

I can't help it, the idea makes me whimper in need, and Rodrigo nods knowingly. “First, let's get some breakfast, and then this afternoon... we're going to need to catch up on the training that we can only do together. So make breakfast big, and lunch light.”

I do exactly as Rodrigo says, setting the plates of polenta, ham and fruit down in twenty minutes while Rodrigo watches, reading a book casually while I work. After I sit down, I notice the book, and I can't help it, I'm jealous a little. Rodrigo notices. “Are you into historical fiction, Jessica?”

“Not really sir. I just... forgive me,” I say, remembering my training and picking up my fork and knife to cut my ham. Rodrigo though reaches out, putting his hand over mine.

“No, go on. What troubles you?”

I swallow, setting down my fork and look at him. “I'm sorry sir, but being in my room... there's a lot of hours to fill, and not a lot to fill them. Larissa explained it to me at one point, the idea is to give me clarity of purpose, to allow me to focus. But....”

“But you'd still like to have a bit more entertainment,” Rodrigo says, and I nod. “We'll see. You've made remarkable progress the past few weeks apparently.”

After breakfast, I clean the kitchen while Rodrigo does the dining room. It's actually one of my favorite things to do in my daily duties, because whenever Rodrigo's been here, he hasn't shirked in sharing the burden with me. We also do the laundry, hanging it outside in the courtyard to dry in the sun before lunch, which I can barely touch I'm filled with so many nerves. Rodrigo watches me, his face filled with amusement and anticipation. “Jessica, are you looking forward to training with me?”

My throat is suddenly dry, and I can only nod, looking down at my vegetable soup. Since starting lunch my nipples have been aching inside my bra, and my panties feel like they've been chafing me in the most pleasant way, my stomach fluttering like I would... like I would before a date.

Rodrigo reassures me as he picks up his spoon and takes another sip of his soup. “Me too. The past two weeks have been as difficult for me as they've been for you. Before we begin, I'm going to ask you... are you ready to call me your Master?”

I gulp, shaking my head. I want to... but I'm too scared, too frightened by what that means. “No sir. My body wants it, but... no, I'm not ready.”

“That's fine,” Rodrigo says, smirking in assurance. “You will be eventually. Let's begin.”

When we get to the training room, I see something different, a sort of padded bench that my mind says belongs in a gym more than a bondage room, but I still take off my clothes, touched when Rodrigo turns on a heater. “Last time, I left you in the cold for too long. You didn't complain though, but still... this is to open up our bodies more. Now, bend over the bench on this side and reach out your arms.”

I do as ordered, and Rodrigo takes the silk cord from the shelf and ties them to knobs on the underside of the foldable bed before bringing them to me and wrapping them around my wrists but not tying them.

“Grab here,” he instructs, his voice commanding but still sensual. I take hold, and he nods. “Good. The rule today is simple. No matter what, unless you use your safe word, you're not to let go of these cords. You remember your safe word, yes?”

“Yes sir. Parmesan.”

Rodrigo nods, reaching underneath me to fondle and tease my right breast a little, flicking the nipple playfully when I gasp, but my hands don't let go of the cords. “Very good. Now, spread your legs and put your feet next to the braces on the stand.”

I obey... it feels good to even think those words, I obey. Rodrigo ties my ankles to the metal legs of the stand and I'm exposed. I can feel my hips pressed upward by the padded bench, my pussy and ass exposed to him even as my breasts hang, full and heavy while the blood starts to rush to my head. Rodrigo goes over to the closet and takes off his shirt, leaving him in just his shoes and his pants as he goes over to the shelf and takes off something, bringing it over.

“These will stimulate you with every movement,” he says, holding them in front of my face. “Do you know what ben wa balls are?”

I look at the metallic golden balls, maybe about an inch wide, joined by a cord of some sort, and shake my head. “No sir.”

“Open your pussy, and I'll slip them inside you,” Rodrigo says, standing up. His hand trails down my spine as he does, sending shivers of pleasure through me as he reaches my waist before reversing, stroking back up. He caresses my back again, rubbing my ass at the end and encouraging me to open my pussy to him. “Very good, my pet.”

His words, so offensive less than a month ago, make me whimper in anticipation as he slips the balls into my rapidly moistening pussy. They're cold at first, but warm inside my body, filling me. I'm shocked and trembling when I go to move, and the balls shift inside me, rubbing my pussy and sending my nerves into pulses of pleasure. “Oh god...”

“Keep them inside you, or else,” Rodrigo warns, massaging my ass and making the balls shift more. It's like a slow speed deep vibrator almost, and my eyes are already rolling back into my head as I feel them twist around each other inside my tunnel. “Next is the clamps.”

“Sir... oh fuck...,” I moan as I think of what's next. I've never had them before, but I've fantasized about them, and feeling Rodrigo twist the adjustment knob around my nipples, tightening them until the pain is hot and fiery but mixing with the pleasure leaves me aching, gasping at each breath as the metal chain in between them sways and pulls at my breasts. “Sir....”

“Yes, my pet?” Rodrigo asks playfully, squatting next to my head so that I can look at him. His torso's starting to develop a little sheen of sweat, and I'm aware for the first time how warm the heater he's turned on has made the room. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”

“It feels so good,” I moan. “No... no word.”

“Good. Now I'm getting my riding crop, and I'm going to use it on you. Not hard, but enough that you'll be moved by it. If you let go of the ropes, or if you come before I reach one hundred strokes of my crop, you'll be punished. Do you understand me?” he asks, his voice warm and sensual. “If you last to one hundred, then you can come as hard as you want. Last chance for safe word. Or the other.”

“No sir,” I grit out between clenched teeth, focusing on holding my hands as tightly as possible while Rodrigo chuckles, stroking my hair. He hasn't told me what my punishment is if I let go of the cords... but it doesn't matter, I'm going to make it.

“You're so beautiful, Jessica. I actually hope you make it to one hundred. Tell me, honestly... do you think this arouses me too?” he asks, and I turn my head to him, nodding. “You want to see my cock, don't you?”

“Yes sir,” I moan, the image making my pussy twitch, the balls inside rolling over each other and sending more sparks flying through my body. “But I won't say it.”

“A dare, huh?” Rodrigo says playfully before smiling. “I'm glad to see that Larissa's training hasn't broken your spirit. I don't want breakage, I want submission. Total and complete submission.”

I lower my head, nodding that I understand as Rodrigo gets up and goes to the wall, selecting a light riding crop. “This won't cause damage, just a sting,” he reassures me, swinging the crop. It whistles through the air, but doesn't make any sort of cracking sound as it comes to a stop. “Count them out.”

“One,” I say, and Rodrigo swings, not hard I can tell, but still the leather smacking against my back makes me jump, the motion sending more pleasure tearing through me as the ben wa balls in my pussy and the chain on the nipple clamps both move, electric blue pleasure rippling up and down my body. My eyes shoot open and I gasp, moaning deeply as my pussy heats up more, and I wonder... I was so cocky, but really, can I even last to ten, let alone a hundred?

Still, I'm proud of what I've been able to do the past two weeks, and I'm determined to show my.... I want to show Rodrigo that I can take it. I count off each stroke of his crop on my skin, and he never strikes the same place twice as he moves up and down my body from my knees to my shoulders and back down.

“Ten!” I whimper as he strikes my right hamstring, making my leg half buckle. The balls lurch and the chain nearly sends me over the edge, both of letting go of the ropes but also of coming. I squeeze my hands tight, gritting my teeth as I try to obey Rodrigo's command of focusing on this moment, on the sensations in my body. “Sir... please Rodrigo sir....”

“Are you giving up? Are you too weak for me?” Rodrigo chastises, his voice dropping to dangerous, dark levels, and I shake my head, focusing. I may never call him Master, but I'm not too weak for him. Never.

What follows makes the last training session feel like a warmup, and our first spanking just the tentative first steps as Rodrigo continues. At twenty, I can feel each inch of my skin, even the grip of the floor underneath my toes, and each fiber of the cords in my hands. At thirty my left hand slips, but Rodrigo's wrapping of the cord around my wrist saves me, I'm able to retake my grip before it falls. Forty, fifty, sixty lashes, and my body is washed in pleasure and pain, my skin burning even as my nipples and pussy send ecstasy rolling through my body. My words become little more than gasping grunts, and I can hear the sweat roll down Rodrigo's chest and stomach as he moves around me, striking my ass, my back, my sides.

I should feel worthless, but I don't. With each stinging strike of his crop, I feel instead liberated, stronger. The old me, the one that was worried about student loans and whether I could afford to get the fellowship I wanted is being burned away in the heat of the crop on my back before being washed away in the pleasure that my breasts and pussy are sending through me. At ninety I feel superhuman, grateful to Rodrigo for showing me this part of me, and all I want to do is focus for the next ten strokes so that I can show him that I'm a good girl, deserving and worthy of his cock and his attention.

“Ninety eight,” I gasp in my newfound voice, my body trembling on the edge. The cords are literally shaking, my biceps iron hard I'm pulling on them so hard to keep my grip, and Rodrigo's strike is against my right shoulder. I barely feel it, but still my breasts quiver, the ben wa balls keep up their maddening movements in my pussy, but I can make it. Two more.

“Ninety nine!” I say before the next one, which cracks hard off my ass. I love it, and I barely feel anything as I look forward for the release of the next, final stroke.

“Who do you belong to?” Rodrigo asks suddenly, his heat behind me, his voice deep and powerful. “Are you mine?”

“Yes sir...,” I moan happily, trembling on the edge of total submission. The time for him isn't quite right yet... but it's almost. Rodrigo hums, and I can feel his desire.

“Then... one hundred.”

The crop whistles through the air, scaring me for an instant before it stops, barely slapping between my legs against my clit, and I'm sent hurtling through space, shattered into a million pieces as I come. I'm everywhere, I'm everything, pure joy and pleasure as I want to call out the word he says will bring me even more of this forever and ever, but I can't, I can't breathe. I'm coming too hard, I can't feel anything in my body at all as the whiteness of my orgasm fades to gray, then blackness.

* * *

When I come to, I'm in my room, but things feel different. First off I'm warmer, and I realize that I'm in a pair of satin pajamas underneath a thick comforter. I sigh happily, I must have pleased him very much... but where is he? “Rodrigo?”

The door to my room opens, and Larissa comes in, holding a small camp stool that she puts next to my mattress and then sits down. That's strange.... wait, my mattress is different too, thicker I think. “Larissa?”

“Rodrigo had business to take care of at The Farm,” she says, amusement in her voice. “How do the new clothes feel?”

“Amazing,” I moan happily, before realizing that I should sit up, Larissa is still in The Network and my Rodrigo's peer. Wait, my Rodrigo? I quickly assume my kneeling position, but Larissa waves me off.

“Relax, Jessica. You've earned a little bit of self pampering. I wasn't here when you got started, but I got to watch him carry your unconscious body back here, and I helped him get you arranged. I'm glad he had an extra set of silk pajamas. Actually, I don't think he wears pajamas at all, probably why he had a spare set,” Larissa says. “So... how was it?”

“I've never felt anything like it in my life,” I admit honestly. “Uhm... thank you.”

“For what?” she asks, and I hum, pulling the big comforter up around my neck more.

“If you hadn't worked with me the past two weeks, there's no way that I'd have been able to do it.”

Larissa smiles, nodding. “An honest and heart felt thank you. That's a sign of class that most people never quite get the hang of. I accept. So did you submit?”

“No!” I deny vehemently, then shiver. “I... I was close though.”

“I bet you were,” Larissa says with a chuckle. “Jessica, there's nothing wrong with submitting to him.”

“You say that, but I'm still.... Larissa, I've been held here for a month almost, and the only two people I've seen in that whole time are you and Rodrigo. What if this is just me getting broken down psychologically? What if I'm just getting brainwashed?” I plead. “I mean, you two are criminals.”

Larissa isn't offended, and in fact laughs. “You've finally found the guts to call me what I am without saying it like I'm a piece of shit? You are getting stronger. But I'm mostly laughing because of your worries. Let me ask you Jessica... in the past month, has Rodrigo ever called you worthless?”

“Well, that first few days he was angry at me a lot. And in the first couple of days, he called me bitch a few times,” I admit. “But... well, I think I was being bitchy.”

Larissa snickers, nodding. “We all can be. So, honest question, do you feel like you're being brainwashed? Forced into a way of thinking you don't really want? Sure, your physical freedom is restricted, but has Rodrigo or I ever punished you for your thoughts, instead of your actions?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I've never been punished for my thoughts. Just corrected for my actions.”

Larissa nods, lifting an eyebrow. “So... in helping you find your strength, you're also finding that you want to choose. Jessica, you're close to submitting to Rodrigo because you want to submit to him, that's all. I'll give you some time to think about it while I go get dinner prepared for you. Nothing complex, he's the cook, I can barely make a halfway edible sandwich. Unfortunately, Rodrigo's business will take him long into the night, knowing what it is. I'll be back in about an hour. Until then, relax, recover, and one other thing.”

“What's that?” I ask, and Larissa chuckles. What she's saying is total bullshit, isn't it? But she's making a lot of sense, and I wonder, am I really ready to submit more than physically?

“Rejoice in your strength.”

I'm so fucking confused.

Rodrigo

The stationary shop is small, but it has exactly what I'm looking for. I know that I'm supposed to be at The Farm in twenty minutes, but for some reason I had to stop here in downtown Caccamo at this store, darting inside fifteen minutes before they close.

The drawing tablet isn't that big, in fact it's specifically designed so that the aspiring artist can keep it in a regular backpack, so it's just a little smaller than your average notebook, but the paper is rich and creamy, a real artist's set of papers. It's thick too, a hundred sheets which should give Jessica plenty to work with. I pick it out before going to the front, where the shopkeeper is giving me a wary look. “Anything else, signore?”

“Yes,” I admit, looking around. “I don't know what a good set of pencils for drawing looks like. Can you please put in a set of black pencils and a set of colors that would go well with this paper? I don't really know anything about those.”

“Of course signore,” the shopkeeper says, smiling. “This is a gift?”

“Something like that,” I admit. The shopkeeper smiles and selects an all in one kit almost the same size as the notebook, with four different black pencils, twenty different colors, a sharpener and two erasers. He rings it up, then to my surprise wraps it quickly in tissue paper.

“I can see in your eyes, this is for a pretty girl. Enjoy.”

The rest of the drive to The Farm, I keep glancing at the wrapped package, wondering what the fuck made me stop to buy the set. I could have given Jessica a simple ream of printer paper and plain pencil from my home office, or one of the books in my library. Why'd I stop to purchase her a set of pencils and a sketch book that was nearly sixty euro total? The money's not important, sixty euro is pocket change... but still, why'd I do it?

I park at The Farm and get out, putting the question out of my mind for a while. Thankfully, I don't have as many personal issues about the shipment that's coming through The Farm tonight, The Sultan's beginning to gather weapons from The Network and transporting them again to the Middle East for a big shipment as soon as he can arrange the buyer. It's mostly small arms, but as I walk into the mostly deserted warehouse that is also the slave pens, I'm surprised by three crates that are stacked in the middle. “What's this?”

Leon, who I've come to understand has been promoted to about the same role for The Sultan that I play for Scoglitti, pats the top crate happily. He's one of the two men in here besides me, and I can tell from the way he's looking at the crates he's proud of his work. “British Starstreak-B surface to air missiles. Small, high speed, and can be mounted on the back of a pickup truck very easily. Four launchers with ten missiles each. You're looking at a three million dollars right here.”

“Impressive,” I comment as my blood runs cold. Surface to air missiles? The Sultan's getting into some pretty pricey shit, and the pricier it gets, the more dangerous it gets. “That just came in?”

“Today,” Leon says, smirking. “We will be making quite a profit this trip.”

“Good, after the last one ran into trouble,” I comment, looking over the rest. There's a crate of AK-74's, nothing that impressive, some radio equipment, and then something that stops my heart. “Wait... pills?”

“Counteragents,” Leon says, shrugging. “Apparently someone wants to play dirty where these are going. We get the canisters in right before we actually ship, The Network doesn't want to keep those around here longer than we have to.”

“Jesus,” I whisper, almost unconsciously crossing myself. “Which side is buying?”

“Who the fuck cares?” Leon asks, covering the crate in a tarp. “All that matters is the money, according to The Sultan. Speaking of which....”

Leon looks over at his fellow member, shouting something in Arabic. The man lifts his head up, says something back, and Leon repeats himself, the other man shrugging before leaving. Leon waits until the door closes then turns his head back to me. “I know what you're doing, Camponini. To my boss.”

“And what is that?” I ask, shifting my weight slightly. I guess The Sultan's hearing rumors, or maybe Leon's just trying to show he's not the smallest dog in the yard among the lieutenants for the various capos. Either way, Leon's about to bark, and he needs to learn just how hard I can bite.

“The word's out, Camponini. Trying to make the other bosses lose faith in Al Gazi so you can look good for the American job,” Leon says. I can see that he's got a sap in his right hand, he's doing a shitty job of hiding it, probably because he's not used to dealing with someone who actually has training and isn't scared by his bullshit. “A warning, you don't want to piss off Omar Al Gazi.”

I nod, then strike before he can, my right foot connecting with Leon's stomach. He doubles over and I pound him in the jaw with an elbow strike before throwing him to the ground, flipping him over my leg before mounting him and bouncing his head off the concrete. “You listen to me, and you listen good you little bastard, if you ever come against me again or call my honor into doubt, I'll cut your coglioni off and send them to The Sultan in a box. You can get a good job in your little shithole home country as a puttana castrata. And tell your boss, if he's the one who told you to send this warning, next time he wants to send me a message, he can either send it himself, or he can at least send someone who knows how to handle himself and not just his cock.”

Leon tries to protest and I punch him between the eyes, knocking him out before I get up and leave the warehouse, where I see Leon's co-worker standing outside, surprised when he sees me. “Your friend's inside. He fell down, hit his head.”

I leave and get in my truck, leaving The Farm and heading back towards Caccamo. I'm going to have to send a message on my phone, and I need some time to think about what I want to say.

* * *

I wish I could spend this next day with Jessica, after the intensity of our training session yesterday I feel like we're on the cusp of a final breakthrough, but I can't. Instead, I find myself at a trattoria in Caccamo for a late dinner with my capo, 'Il Capitano' Scoglitti. Getting the name from serving a stint as a commander in the Italian Navy, Scoglitti even looks the part still, with a trimmed white beard that gives him a sort of old fashioned sailor's look.

“Rodrigo, it's been too long,” he says as I sit down in the booth. The restaurant is busy, we're not so late that a lot of the dinner crowd isn't still here, but Scoglitti isn't worried about anyone here reporting what he has to say. Instead, I'm more worried about the cheesy decor. Seriously, who the fuck plays instrumental Sinatra for an Italian restaurant any more unless they want to come off as a joke? “Sadly, business has kept me out of Caccamo for what now, six months?”

“Almost, zio,” I say, using Scoglitti's preferred honorific, 'uncle.' “You look to be in good health.”

“As do you,” Scoglitti says, raising a glass of wine. “A toast. To our continued good health. Salud!”

“Salud,” I reply, drinking half of my glass before setting it down. “When you said you wanted to have dinner, I was surprised. You aren't a man who comes just for the lasagna.”

Scoglitti shakes his head, his smile fading. “No, I don't. Rodrigo, I got word of an incident at The Farm yesterday evening. A certain... accident by The Sultan's assistant?”

“It was no accident. He threatened me, I whipped him like a dog, zio. While I would not like violence between you and The Sultan, I would not be a man if I accepted that level of disrespect,” I say, trying to remain casual. Scoglitti respects the old ideas of honor, courage and pride. There's no reason to whine like a bitch around him.

He measures me with his look, then picks up his wine and takes another drink. “I understand, Rodrigo. And based off of what I know of this Leon and of how The Sultan hires his men, I would not be surprised. By the way, Leon tells a different story, but that is neither here nor there. I wouldn't trust that fool more than you can throw him. However, The Sultan, he is a man of position within our organization. Do you think it is wise to be taking him on? Rachmaninoff told me about the concerns you shared with him, and I have to say Rodrigo, your insight is good. Dangerous, but good.”

“Dangerous? How so, zio?”

“The Sultan is not a man who overlooks sleights, either real or perceived. The danger to you personally is very high.”

Our dinner arrive, pork chops Italian style, and I slice mine open, enjoying the herby aroma that hits my nose. “Zio, if I am to be considered for the honor that you and Rachmaninoff have in mind for me, that takes a man of insight and courage, yes?”

“Of course it does,” Scoglitti says. “But it requires intelligence too. So, is what you are doing intelligent?”

I finish cutting my piece of pork chop and bring it to my mouth, chewing slowly and carefully before I answer. I'm trying to make it look like I'm thinking, but the reality is, I made up my mind on this particular situation long before tonight's dinner. “I think, zio, that the risk is worth the reward, both to myself, and to our organization. If The Sultan wishes to find me... I'm not a hard man to find.”

Over dessert, Scoglitti shifts to the other big change in my life. “So the new girl, she's working out?”

“She's coming along quite well,” I admit. While Scoglitti doesn't know the full depths of my passions, only Larissa has even an inkling about that, he is instead asking if I like my new servant and slave. He couldn't begin to understand how one of a kind Jessica is. “I don't know if it's my skill, The Dryad's skill, or just the girl's natural affinity for her new position. If anything, the only difficulty has been overcoming her background.”

“What do you mean?” Scoglitti asks. “Is she high born?”

I shake my head, smiling. “No, zio. But she's a very smart woman, and coming from where she comes from, she developed a lot of ideas, like how being in service is somehow beneath her or demeaning to her. I've spent most of my time bringing her along slowly to a more... traditional Sicilian point of view.”

Scoglitti laughs. “Don't do that too much, Rodrigo. Or else you're going to come home late one night and find yourself being cursed out and beaten with a rolling pin by the very same woman who is so docile and polite whenever you're in public or when you have guests over!”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No, not that traditional a view, zio. I'm ambitious... not stupid.”

Jessica

“Today is going to be our last day of training for a while,” Larissa says, and I can't help but feel a little disappointment. The presence of the violet eyed beauty breaks up my day, and I do feel like it makes the rest of what I have to do here easier. “I have a job to do.”

“A job?” I ask for a moment as we stretch. “Oh... you mean The Network.”

“The Network,” Larissa agrees. “What do you know of it?”

“Only what Rodrigo has told me,” I admit. “You're pretty much worldwide, or at least Europe and I think the Middle East, maybe more. The Network obviously does human trafficking, but I don't know what else. I'm guessing a lot.”

Larissa laughs, shaking her head. “The slave trade is only a small part of The Network's enterprises. There's drugs, weapons, almost all sorts of smuggling. In fact, about the only thing The Network won't transport is children. That's a line we won't cross. And then there's my specialty.”

“Which is?” I ask, almost immediately regretting it when Larissa laughs.

“Infiltration, seduction, information... and assassination,” she says after she stops. “What Jessica, did you think I got to where I am by teaching sexercise and how to hold your fork properly?”

“N... no,” I stammer, plunged once again into the darkness and horror of my new existence. If Larissa, a woman that in most other areas I like, can have this evil, manipulative side to herself, what about Rodrigo? “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Larissa says, switching up our stretch. “I like my work, and Heinrich Stolzberg is going to die with a smile on his face.”

“A smile... what do you mean?” I ask, unable to stop my mouth. It's like a horror movie, I have to find out.

“I mean that I'm going to meet Heinrich in Zürich, where after bringing myself into his confidence, we'll go out while his wife thinks that he's going to have a business meeting. After he takes me to dinner, I'm going to let him take me back to a five star hotel room, where he thinks that he's going to take charge. Just after he comes, I'm going to kill him. For my work... well, The Network is getting a nice fee for it,” Larissa says. She sees the expression on my face, then shakes her head. “I hope that one day, you'll understand. In the meantime, you've got training to do.”

After her revelation, I don't want to, but I can see by the look in her eyes that if I refuse, I'll be punished. Still, I can't push myself quite so hard as normal. I know that fear is supposed to be a motivator, but the simple fact is, my training sessions with Larissa were one of the times when I didn't feel quite so much like a slave, and more like a real woman. I can see the displeasure in Larissa's face as I slog my way through the exercises, her face clouding the longer it goes on. Finally, after forty five minutes, she throws up her hands, disgusted. “Fine. Get the fuck up! You want to waste your time, that's fine. You want to waste mine? Fuck that. Get to your fucking room!”

Her words piss me off and I turn, my lip lifting, but Larissa doesn't give me a chance to even say anything. Before I know it she's spun me around, my wrist bent at a painful angle and my hand jammed into my lower back, her other arm around my neck. “Don't you ever, and I mean ever, look at me like that again, slave. I've been kind to you, maybe more than I should have been if you're going to fuck up like this. I should break your arm to teach you a lesson. Do you want that?”

“No!” I whine, whimpering when Larissa twists my arm harder. “Please, miss! I'm sorry!”

“I know over two dozen ways to kill you right now, never forget that,” Larissa says, letting go of my arm and shoving me towards the house. “Get the fuck inside!”

Larissa marches me to my room and inside, where she watches me from the doorway. I sit down, tears rolling down my face, and she grunts. “I will inform Rodrigo about this. I don't know how he'll want to punish you, but I'll ask him not to be too strict. You learned your lesson, Jessica.”

She shuts the door and I hear the lock click, sending me into sobs. I feel abandoned, hurt, and afraid. When I calm down, I still feel a dark sadness inside me, and I sit, staring at the spot between my knees on my mattress, wondering. I'm still thinking when the door opens again, and Rodrigo comes in, squatting in front of me. “Larissa told me what happened.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not,” Rodrigo says, chuckling. “I can see it in your eyes. You're hurt, you're pissed off, but you're not sorry for being that way. By the way, I told Larissa that she might have been a little hasty for twisting your arm. Still, she was correct to give you the lesson she did. Stand up, put your sandals on, let's go talk.”

I get up and follow Rodrigo reluctantly upstairs to the living room, where he points to the middle of the room. “Stand there. Okay Jessica, for the next five minutes, you can say whatever you want, I won't punish you. You have questions in your eyes and in your heart. Ask them.”

I swallow, then ask the first question on my mind. “Was she lying? Is she really a killer?”

Rodrigo shakes his head. “She wasn't lying. She's killed... well, I'm not exactly sure how many. Since she and I have become acquainted, I know at least a dozen. Before you ask, yes, I've killed too. And I won't hesitate to kill again if I have to.”

I look at him, horrified and pissed off. “So is that what my future's supposed to be? Is that why you had me training with Larissa for the past few weeks? To turn me into a whore or a killer?!?”

“No!” Rodrigo yells, getting in my face.

“No? So what, if I don't be a good little slave, you're just going to sell me off? Turn me over to The Sultan and let him turn me into a whore? Someone's little fuck puppet? Is that what all our training's been about? Is that what making me come my fucking brains out was for?”

“NO!” Rodrigo yells, grabbing my shoulders. “I did that because I wanted to, because you wanted it!”

“So what? Yeah, I want to fuck you, Rodrigo! But what if I say no? Are you going to get bored? Are you going to kill me? Or pimp me out to get your quarter million back?”

Rodrigo pushes me away slightly, his eyes blazing. “I will never whore you out, Jessica. I told you the first time we went into my training room, that's the one area in your life that will be your choice. If you never want, then you'll stay here. As my servant yes, but not as my sex slave. And I will never let The Sultan, The Composer, Larissa or anyone else take you from me! You're mine!”

The way he says that I'm his cuts my anger to ribbons, and I'm aware of his body, of the way he looks at me, and I know what I need to do. Rodrigo tilts his head when I get to my knees, his expression puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“Making my choice,” I reply, my desire filling me. “Please... Master. I need you.”

Rodrigo's eyes sparkle as he reaches down and pulls me to my feet, looking deep into my eyes. “You realize what you're saying?”

“Yes Master,” I reply, putting my arms around his neck. “I'm begging you, Master Rodrigo. I know you won't promise me safety, I know you won't promise me happiness. But... I'm begging you Master. Please fuck me.”

I get up on my tiptoes and kiss him, my Master's lips soft and supple. More than his cock, I've been dreaming of the one kiss we shared, how he felt on my mouth. His arms come up, crushing me and claiming me as his tongue demands entrance, and I give it to him. Master picks me up and carries me to the couch, his hands mauling my ass as he pulls my sweatpants off. My sandals go flying as he strips my clothes off so quickly I can feel the biting burn of my t-shirt being pulled across the skin underneath my breasts, and Master stops, smirking. “You know this changes things.”

“Yes Master,” I whimper, my pussy flooding with heat as he pulls his shirt off and undoes his pants. For the first time he undoes them, and I get to see his cock. It's perfect, thick and long, with a flared head that I want to feel slamming inside me. “Master...”

“Put your arms over your head,” Master commands, and I happily obey. He takes the scrap that is my old t-shirt and ties my hands together. He stands up, pulling the rest of his clothes off, standing before me a living, breathing god, his cock raging and angry, his eyes possessive. “Is this what you want, slave?”

“Yes Master,” I moan, spreading my legs. “This slave begs you.”

He nods, grabbing my ankles and shoving them next to my head, my pussy exposed to him. Grabbing his magnificent cock, he slides the head up and down my dripping slit, wetting himself and making me gasp. I've been a good girl, I haven't touched myself at all, Master's cockhead sends jolts of electricity through my body. My nipples are tight and my heart hammers in my chest as I look up at him, grabbing my toes with my bound hands when he puts them close enough. Master nods in approval and positions his cock at my tight entrance. “It's going to hurt.”

“I know Master. Please?”

He nods, slipping the head of his cock inside me and leaning forward, looking into my eyes, claiming me as his as I wait for the pain. Suddenly, he drives his cock into me, and the pain is there, fiery and all consuming. I'm being baptized by the pain of Master's cock claiming me, and while tears are in my eyes, they're tears of release as much as they are tears of pain.

Master doesn't pause, his cock slamming into me over and over, my pussy gripping him, doing everything I can to give to him as much as he's giving to me. The pain fades and inside, I thank Larissa for everything she's taught me over the past few weeks. The woman I was before could never have endured, never have accepted Master's purifying pain as he turns it all into unbelievable pleasure. My body is overwhelmed as Master pounds me, his eyes boring deep into mine, a smile on his face. “You like it, don't you?”

“Yes Master!” I moan. I don't know what I feel emotionally, but I know that I need this, this powerful man. I want to serve him, to be taken by his cock, to take his pain and his pleasure.

“Good,” he says, his hips speeding up as he drives into me. His breath starts to come faster, and anticipation fills me. My body trembles on the edge of coming, but Master keeps pounding me, obliterating any resistance I have. I cry out, my pussy clenching around him as I start to come, and still he doesn't stop. Mercilessly his cock slams into my aching body, and his lesson comes through. I'm not mine any more, I belong to him fully. I can come, I can moan and cry out, but Master will claim me until he is satisfied.

I smile as I understand, giving back as best I can and Master grunts, slightly surprised. His compliment drives me to give him my best, in this moment. I don't know what my non-sexual side is going to feel like afterwards, but right now, I'm going to serve my Master.

“Very good,” Master huffs, his cock speeding up. He leans in and kisses me, and this time... there's no pain at all, just pleasure as Master's lips and tongue are softer, not as angry. He's almost tender, and I feel fresh tears trickle from my eyes as I moan deeply into his mouth. Master takes it, his cock shifting slightly inside me, and he starts to swell.

Suddenly I'm on the edge again, and Master stiffens, his balls drawing up tight and I want to clutch him, to hold him deep inside me and keep him with me forever. But Master commanded me and I serve, shuddering as he explodes deep, his cock hot and throbbing as he fills me with his come. I gasp, accepting his precious gift and nursing it deep inside me, overwhelmed. “Thank you, Master.”

He nods, Rodrigo again as he pulls out, stroking my face with a single tender finger. “I promise you Jessica, you will never be forced to be a whore or a killer. If there's any killing to be done in this house, the blood will always be on my hands. You... you're better than that. You're mine.”

I swallow, letting my legs down, moved. “Yes Master. I'm sorry I doubted you.”

He shakes his head, getting up and untying my wrists, kissing the chafed skin before setting them on my stomach. “That's done. Now your new life truly begins. First thing you get to do is clean up... and then we move.”

“Move? Move where?”

Rodrigo smirks, walking away, his ass flexing and drawing my eyes before he looks back and laughs, catching my look. “Later, slave. As for where.... get dressed and you'll see.”