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  I got my degree in business development and marketing from Penn State, and right about the time I decided I didn’t need boys to make me happy, they discovered they liked my skinny body and aloofness. Dinner at a fabulous restaurant and coffee back at my place became standard Saturday night fare with whatever exec was passing through the office, but relationships took a backseat to my career.

  It was a lonely existence and when one of my girlfriends needed a place to crash after breaking up with her boyfriend, I had been grateful for the company. We built a grown-up fort out of ice cream and sappy movies, swearing off pesky boys for good. But soon my friend grew restless, drawn away by five o’clock shadows and multiple orgasms.

  Ever the follower, I tagged along with her to a munch, where a group of kinky folks got together and one of the Doms presented on the topic of informed consent. That Saturday I bailed on my scheduled date with the VP of Internal Development to go with her to the local kink club. Soon I was going a couple of nights a week, and several play partners had narrowed down to one, and next thing I knew, we had signed a power exchange contract and were picking out curtains.

  I had been so sure of myself, smug in the certainty that I was doing the right thing. Powerful during the day and submissive at night—wasn’t that every girl’s fantasy? So I had everything.

  Until my Dom and boyfriend told me I was too needy, too clingy. He was looking for a partner, not a pet. I needed to move out. Obedient to the end, I left, lost and needier than ever. The sweet contradiction of confidence and humility crumbled, leaving only a mess.

  Things blurred after that. There was a gap in my memory, but it was a small tithe for all that had been returned to me.

  I remembered, again, arriving in a cold building. I remembered that none of the girls would meet my eyes, and how that scared me worse than the guns and masks that had come before. I had sworn they would never break me.

  I had been wrong. It had only been the shell of a woman who woke up here under Sam’s reluctant guidance. Unable to speak, unable to remember, unable to even think.

  Not anymore.

  In a sudden motion, I jerked my head back. A crack sounded in my ear, followed by a pained groan. The impact hurt me too, but if there was one thing to be grateful for in all this, it was that my pain tolerance was practically a superpower at this point. When he tried to restrain me by my hair, I felt it rip from my scalp. When he grabbed hold of my wrist, I twisted hard, sending agony through my shoulder by breaking free in the same motion.

  I shrugged off his attacks as if he were a butterfly flapping at my face. After fumbling with the lock, I flung open the lid of the trunk. A whip. That damned collar. There. The leather bundle unrolled, dropping the knife into my hand.

  I whirled, and his look of shock sent dark satisfaction through me. I wondered if this is what the men had who hurt me had felt, the fear of his victim an aphrodisiac to violence.

  “I was worried about you,” he said. “Worried we’d gone too far.”

  His words distracted me. I had suspected he was involved with the men who had held me prisoner, but this was as close to an admission as I was likely to get.

  “Why? Why would you do it?” My voice cracked.

  His lids lowered. “Trust me, you wanted it.”

  I should have expected a sick, blame-the-victim excuse. “I guess that helps you sleep at night.”

  “To be honest, I haven’t slept that much lately.” He paused. “Like I said, I’d been worried.”

  Confused, the knife lowered a bit. He helped men who tortured and raped women, but he worried about us? I would have thought he was batshit crazy except that he seemed perfectly lucid, and definitely regretful.

  A squeak at the door was my only warning. I scrambled for some way to explain, but it was too late. Sam took one look at me and then crossed the room to tackle Brendan. They fought like wild animals, teeth bared and bodies tangling. Blows exchanged almost too fast to count, too vicious to hope Sam wouldn’t be hurt.

  They were lost to their rage, and I knew it was more than this, more than me. It was the woman that came before me, it was years of competing and bitterness, it was being born to a sibling he hated but loving him anyway.

  “Stop,” I whispered. “Stop fighting. Please.”

  I had become irrelevant, standing in the corner. I wanted to make them stop but short of running into the fray myself or stabbing one of them, I didn’t know how to grab their attention. Beside me, a long single-tail lay coiled where I’d pulled it from the trunk. The sight of it normally struck fear in me, but this time there was only sick calm.

  I picked it up and tentatively snapped the whip. The writhing mass of pissed off males moved out of the way, and the leather slapped wood instead. This time I hit Sam on the back. It didn’t slow them down, but when the whip licked the side of Brendan’s neck, he yelped.

  They fought still, but the air had shifted. Sensing weakness, smelling blood, an animal would go for the kill. Instead, they pulled their punches, aimed for sturdier places, blood bonds conquering bloodlust once again.

  With a final surge, Sam pinned Brendan face down on the floor in a twisted imitation of the way Brendan had once held me. Though subdued, he didn’t look at all submissive.

  “You bastard,” Sam said in a low voice that filled the room. “How dare you come into my house. Touch my girl.”

  Brendan’s laugh sent shivers through me. “You think she’s yours?”

  The cool confidence in his voice seemed to give Sam pause. He eased off a bit. “I don’t care what she said. What you did to seduce her. You knew she was mine. You knew I wanted her to be.”

  Brendan’s shoulders slumped into the floor, and he finally looked defeated even as Sam stood. Brendan staggered up, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. “You’re right about that. I knew exactly how much it would hurt to see me with her. Maybe that’s why I did it. Fuck.” He put a fist to his forehead, and he looked so oddly pained that it caused an answering pang in my stomach.

  Even Sam seemed surprised. He eased off and leaned, panting, against the wall. “Get the hell out. Don’t ever come back.”

  Brendan stood. He looked like he was about to fall over, but he caught himself. “Fine. I’ll leave. I know I fucked this up. If she wants to stay here, she can. But I was right about one thing.” The look he gave me caught my breath with its intensity. “She doesn’t belong here.”

  He left, and the door slammed shut followed by the sound of his heavy, uneven footsteps leading away. Then there was only the sound of my breathing, overshadowed by Sam’s harsh breaths.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, but the chill was too deep. “I didn’t want him.”

  He slanted me a look but didn’t say anything. His chest heaved, muscles bulging from the white undershirt he wore. Already a bruise was forming on his cheek.

  “Please, Sam.” My voice shook. “I am yours. That’s what I wanted.”

  “And what do you want now?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know. I just know… I remembered who I am.”

  “Do you?” His voice lowered. “So you’ve got a place of your own. A family?”

  “Something like that. A job, anyway.” A sterile apartment. Shallow friendships.

  His gaze sharpened on the floor. He approached, not looking at me, and knelt before it. The collar lay discarded on the floor. He picked it up with a reverence that made my heart pound.

  I thought… I hoped…

  His head was bowed. “How did you know what was in here?”

  “I’m sorry. I looked in there when you were out. I know I shouldn’t have.”

  He sighed. “You don’t belong here.”

  “No, please. Don’t send me away. I don’t know… what’s going to happen with all that. But I know I care about you.”

  A coarse laugh escaped him. “You care about me. That’s not exactly what I want from you.”

  I knelt beside him, staring at the collar in his hand. “What do
you want?”

  “I want you.” His fingers curled around the worn leather. “But what about your life out there?”

  I bent at the waist until my cheek rested on his knee. “I’ve been gone for weeks. For months. It can wait for one more night.” His hand stroked me hair, giving me the strength to continue. “I know I have to go back, but show me what it would be like to be yours.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I can do it like that. I’m not sure it will be enough for me.”

  Proving I could be just as selfish as any man, any master, I said, “Then do it for me.”

  I had been so sure that this was it, that I would be happy here forever, if he only wanted me. But my memories were a siren song, thoughts of what might have been a sweet and sudden obsession. Like Odysseus, I wanted someone to tie me to the ship, to help me resist because I was too weak to do it on my own. I wanted Sam to keep me, to tie me down and fuck me, if only for tonight.

  Chapter Eight

  I lay on his bed, face down. There were other places we could have played: the spanking bench in the workroom, since presumably it wouldn’t be a gift for his brother anymore, or even the beach where we had played before. But his bed was soft, his scent soothing.

  With my ears plugged and eyes blindfolded, I was adrift before he even touched me. But when he did—ahh, I was oversensitive but with a desperate, almost painful need for more. More, harder, deeper, and that was only his fingers on my sex, sending waves of silky pleasure through me.

  Even when his hands were gone, I floated on the echoes—perfect. And the first light thuds of his palm on my skin were even better. He took his time, warmed me up, built my arousal so hot and so sharp that all I knew was wanting and all I could think was more.

  I strained against the bed, searching for that rhythm, that extra bit of pressure that would push me over. A sharp slap on the inside of my thigh put a stop to that—the light sting reminded me that what I felt wasn’t really pain, that this wasn’t a beating, not really.

  Despite his self-proclaimed status as a sadist, his assertions that he was just as bad as those other men, I knew he was just like me. I was submissive, and he dominant, but we both wanted this frenzy. For us sex wasn’t a train but a roller coaster, and the fear as we approached the top only made the drop sweeter.

  There was a wash of cool air on my burning skin before the kiss of a flogger touched me. He was thorough, marking me with heat, branding me with sensation. Please, oh please.

  After a pause, he started the whip. At first it was an extension of what came before, a continuation of feeling and arousal, but slowly it grew, turned harsh. I tensed, but that only made it worse. Each slash ripped into my skin, tore tears from my eyes because this wasn’t meant to be sexy. It was supposed to hurt, and it did, and what had I done wrong? Should I have been more still, more quiet… no, I had been silent, all this time.

  Maybe he wanted some noise from me, a symbol of my slavery, proof of my pain. Was this the payment for this thing he hadn’t really wanted to do? Or punishment for leaving him after all?

  In the end, it didn’t matter. The cruel bite of the whip pulled soft cries from me, until soft kisses rained down on my forehead, my cheek, washing away the sting of betrayal. The props were the same, the choreography familiar, but Sam didn’t open my skin and leave me in a cell. He was different, wasn’t he? He had to be different.

  The bed dipped, soft flesh pressed my lips. In the universal command of a man to a woman—please me, and I’ll take care of you. More primitive, more painful: please me, and I won’t hurt you. I answered him in the only way I could, with the flick of my tongue and the heat of my mouth and the tears that leaked out of my eyes, dampening the fabric of the blindfold.

  He stroked my hair but didn’t stop his slow slide in and out, validating my feelings but rendering them irrelevant. This was what I wanted, to feel low and cherished at the same time. He tasted like lust and violence, like salt and sweat. His cock was thick in my mouth, hard and soft and powerful, and I filled with a special kind of joy that only came from service.

  Then he was gone, and there were hands on my back, the tender flesh of my ass, my sex. He was everywhere, he surrounded me, and how, how could I leave him? How could I give this up, when I had only just learned its comforts?

  His knees nudged my legs apart, a heavy hand on my hips tilted me back.

  “Please,” I whispered. “Sam.” Then I cringed, expecting a blow, still broken.

  He took the plugs out of my ears, and oddly, everything grew quiet, expectant. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re doing great.”

  “I don’t know… how to be. I want to please you.”

  “You please me, Melody. Just by accepting me, that I want to restrain you, to give you pain. By trusting me, after all you’ve been through. That pleases me more than I can say.”

  He pushed inside me, slowly, steadily, inexorably to the hilt. My mouth opened in a silent gasp. There wasn’t pain now, not even pleasure, only fullness and feeling and a reckless kind of devotion that can only come from intimacy.

  Pulling back out, he paused. “I don’t think I can hold back.”

  I made fists in my restraints, then went slack, allowing his hard use of me—no, wanting it. Needing it, because I wasn’t a fragile woman nor was I a slave. For me consent would always be like fire, warm and necessary and untouchable. This was all I had: wanting a man and having him want me back, yes.

  “Then don’t,” I said. “Take me.”

  Even so, the force of his next thrust took me by surprise, turned me inside out. He didn’t use me like an object, because a thing didn’t need to be mastered. He didn’t use me like a slave, because a slave didn’t need to feel wanted. He used me like a woman, hungry and desperate. I was tossed on the sea of his lust, torn apart by the onslaught of my orgasm, and gently floated back to shore by his low, rumbling groan of release.

  With an air of regret, he pulled out of me and undid the restraints, massaging each limb and kissing the faint red marks left behind. I didn’t feel like a slave but like royalty, constrained by my position but pampered, cherished. Loved.

  “Thank you,” I said, luxuriating in the soft-worn sheets and post-orgasmic rush.

  He only smiled, his hair still askew and skin damp. The intensity from earlier hadn’t abated entirely, instead it was carefully banked within the care he gave me. Even the glass of water he handed me was a symbol of his possession of me—and a stark reminder of the first time I had seen him.

  I had knelt before him, and he had hated it then. I hadn’t understood it, but now I knew it was because it had been meaningless. That blind subservience had been a mockery of the submission he wanted from me. My lazy, sated smile was more potent devotion than I had ever given those other men.

  He sat down beside me and put my hand between his. “What’s next?”

  The words were spoken lightly, but I swallowed hard. “Don’t ask me that.”

  His smile was a little sad. “Giving orders already, subby? I should spank you for that.”

  “Please. Make me stay here. I won’t disobey you.”

  “I should keep you chained to my bed, is that it? Sure, it’s tempting, but I don’t want to be just like those other guys, keeping you here because you’re too afraid to fight for something better.”

  “It’s different.”

  “I see that.” His expression turned rueful. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t.”

  “I want to be with you.” I begged him with my eyes. Just this once, give into me. Just once, let me be in control. Make me yours, and I’ll obey you forever.

  But it didn’t work that way—I knew it didn’t.

  “You won’t make me stay?” I said, knowing the answer, fearing it.

  His expression was opaque as he said, “I won’t make you leave.”

  He would let me stay here, but he wouldn’t stop me from leaving. I almost hated him for a sick, unhappy moment. A cage
d bird always tries to get out, but a good owner keeps it safe. Why wouldn’t he help me? If an animal lives too long in captivity, it won’t be able to survive on its own. Humans were supposed to be more advanced than animals, more humane, but this just seemed cruel.

  But I wasn’t Sam’s pet. He hadn’t collared me.

  It was time for me to go home.

  Chapter Nine

  The air was thick with smog and dense with noise, brimming with the refuse of people crammed too close. Breathing on the crowded city sidewalk was only marginally better than the small aircraft, where the sketchy climate control had left me alternately shivering and sweating my way across the ocean.

  It was surprisingly easy to sneak into the US undetected. I had heard all of the stories about hiding in one-hundred degree trucks across the border, but apparently it helped that my speech was so clearly American or that I was Caucasian. Of course, it also hadn’t hurt that Sam had spotted me several thousand dollars and the name of a shipping business happy to take on an extra hundred and twenty pounds of cargo. They even helped me slip undetected through the airport, although their own asses would have been on the line if I’d been caught.

  Now I was on my own, in this city that had been home, and wondering why, why? What was so special about here? All these people rushing around, and I had nothing to do. Nowhere to go. I had a vague recollection of a white-walled apartment. A slightly stronger memory of a desk where I had spent most of my days and many of my nights, offering subservience to a corporate master alongside thousands of other drones.

  But I couldn’t just walk back into the apartment or show up at work. I had been gone for so long, probably reported missing at some point, but by whom I didn’t know. I didn’t even have keys or any identification at all.

  A woman jostled me, shooting back a dirty look before she resumed her path and her phone conversation. I looked down at myself, wondering what she thought of me. I wore another light dress from Sam’s endless arsenal, this one a light pink with white piping around the edges. It had felt feminine when I put it on. Now its bare arms and short hem felt perverse, like I was on display as some sex object.