After two months of intensive BDSM training at The Compound, Hailey Davenport is ready to be placed with a Master to whom she will promise complete sensual submission and obedience. Thinking her contract has been purchased by the kind, older gentleman at the auction, she is surprised to be whisked by private jet to the Malibu home of a reclusive movie star.
Ronan Wolfe is devastatingly handsome, wildly famous, hugely successful, and utterly miserable, trapped in a plastic world of Hollywood typecasting and more handlers than a prized race horse. Hailey, a quiet, self-contained yoga instructor from a small Vermont town, doesn’t own a TV or computer, and rarely goes to a movie. Ronan is shocked but pleased to realize her focus is entirely on their D/s connection—she knows him only as Master Ronan. Their relationship blossoms from the start, each of them eager to explore the intense world of erotic dominance and sensual surrender.
Their lives are turned upside down by invasive paparazzi determined to “out” the couple, no matter the cost. When their secret life is splashed across the internet, the strain on them both threatens to destroy not only their contractual arrangement as Dom and sub, but the very fabric of a new and tenuous love.
The slave girl stood perfectly still, arms raised high over
her head, crossed at the wrists. Her eyes seemed turned inward, as if she were
lost inside a dream. The only hint she was suffering, indeed, that she was even
aware of what was happening to her, was the slight wince that moved like a
whisper of wings over her features when the whip found its mark.
The Mistress stood to the side of the slave, who faced
George in all her naked splendor. Her breasts were marked with a pleasing pattern
of thin red lines left behind by the perfectly aimed strokes of the whip. When
the tip caught her nipple, a small sigh escaped the woman’s parted lips and a
tremor moved through her lithe form.
“Focus,” Mistress Miriam commanded in a low, clear voice. She
struck the other nipple with the knotted tip of the whip, and the slave girl’s
composure slipped a little more. She bit her lower lip and George could see the
sheen of perspiration on her face and throat. “Remember why you exist,” the
Mistress intoned. “You were born for this, Hailey. Let the pain take you where
you need to go.”
The slave girl nodded slightly, serenity once again
suffusing her delicate features. She had a narrow face, large dark blue eyes
and shoulder-length blond hair, the kind that wasn’t any one color, but more
like a blend of pale ash, buttery yellow and shimmering gold.
“Turn,” the Mistress commanded, and the woman pivoted
slowly, arms still raised and crossed over her head. Christ, her ass was
perfection itself—two round, lush globes absolutely made for spanking. George
shifted on the sofa, using the contract he held in his hands to hide his sudden
erection—not that anyone was looking at him.
The other bidder was focused squarely on the two stunning
women in front of the huge stone fireplace. He didn’t look much over forty, no
gray yet in his slicked-back blond hair. He looked like one of those Wall
Street investment banker types dressed down for the weekend, consciously casual
in rumpled linen pants and Gucci loafers with no socks.
George shifted his gaze back where it belonged. The slave
girl was now panting, making sexy little sounds not unlike a woman nearing
orgasm, as if the whip were a cock, instead of leather, and stroking her cunt,
instead of brutally marking her ass and thighs. She wasn’t merely enduring this
whipping with grace—she loved it. She craved it. She was perfect. He had to get
her, no matter the cost.
Finally Mistress Miriam lowered the whip. “You may thank
me,” she said imperiously, and the girl, her entire body trembling, lowered
herself as gracefully as a ballerina to the floor and pressed her pretty mouth
to the toe of Mistress Miriam’s shoe.
Mistress Miriam stepped back. “Kneel, at ease, facing the
gentlemen,” she commanded. The girl lifted herself so her back was straight.
Still on her knees, she pivoted so she faced the room. She rested her hands,
palms up, on her thighs, her eyes appropriately downcast, though George could
see the strength in her bearing and pride in the lift of her chin.
That was all to the good. George had never favored timid,
simpering women. He liked them strong and sassy—all the more fun to whip
them—metaphorically and literally—into shape. At the same time, she had to be
willing and eager to accept whatever devious torture her Master’s active
imagination and even more active libido could devise. What’s more, she needed
to know how to keep her mouth shut, not only during her tenure, but afterward.
George glanced down at the contract he held in his hands.
Six months—the timeframe was a little long, and the starting price a little
steep, but it was still within budget. The girl, of course, was disease free
and also on birth control, a definite plus. Naturally he’d had to provide a
clean bill of health as well. Everything else looked to be in order. No
question, The Compound ran a first class operation.
George, an attorney by profession, though he no longer
actively practiced, was aware this contract would never withstand the scrutiny
of a court of law. It was illegal to sell one person to another, even if that
person was complicit in the sale and would be handsomely paid at the end of the
term. You weren’t allowed to buy a sex slave and keep her under lock and key,
there solely to do your sexual bidding and accept whatever erotic tortures you
chose to mete out.
No matter—no courts would be involved in the process. George
knew the slaves trained at The Compound received the finest education in the
art of erotic submission, which included absolute obedience. In a word,
Compound slaves knew to keep their mouths shut.
Another naked beauty, one of The Compound’s staff slaves,
glided silently into the room, carrying a bottle of the very fine Cognac she’d
served them earlier in the evening. The second bidder held up his brandy
snifter and the girl poured. George shook his head at the offer to replenish
his glass—he was working and needed his mind clear.
Mistress Miriam sat in a chair across from George and the
other bidder and crossed one long, perfect leg over the other. “As you can
see,” she said, “slave Hailey can take a very solid whipping with grace and
courage. She is also highly sexually responsive, and extremely capable of
serving a man’s every sensual need and desire. Hailey craves intensity of
experience. She needs a Master who will challenge her and take her to the edge
of her limits and perhaps a bit beyond.”
The girl remained still as a statue, a small, secret smile
playing over her pretty lips. She was so young and beautiful—why would she sell
herself like this to some old man she’d never met?
Money, of course. It made the world go round.
Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t quite impressed with what he’d
seen. The tour of the facility supported the stellar reputation The Compound
had garnered over the past years in the international BDSM community. Though
they’d been around less than a decade, The Compound was known for producing
highly trained sex slaves and placing them with carefully screened Masters
around the world, and unlike some groups he’d been involved with, the slaves
actually received a significant portion of the proceeds.
Maybe Mistress Miriam really did give a shit what happened
to the girls she placed, but even if her motives were primarily altruistic, she
was running a business. She could spout all the lofty sentiments she wanted
about the art of erotic submission, and the grace and courage of their highly
trained slave girls, but in the end the girl would go to the highest bidder.
“Would either of you care to examine slave Hailey before we
begin the bidding?”
The other bidder rose to his feet, his eyes fixed hungrily
on the naked, kneeling girl. “Yes.”
Mistress Miriam turned to Hailey and lifted one eyebrow,
which was apparently enough of a command to cause the girl to rise to her feet
in a fluid, sensual motion that made George’s bones ache with desire.
The guy strode to the front of the room. He moved with the
kind of confident determination of someone used to being in charge. He stood in
front of the slave girl, but George was enough off to the side that he could
see what the other bidder was doing. He lifted his hand, and for a second,
George thought he was going to slap the girl, but instead he gently cupped her
cheek and murmured something George couldn’t quite catch.
His hand slid down her cheek to her throat, his fingers gripping
her just below the jawline. Hailey’s pupils dilated and her lips parted. It was
clear the guy was pushing some submissive buttons with his sensual chokehold.
He let her go and stepped back a little. Gripping one of her
lovely nipples between forefinger and thumb, he gave it a sudden, savage twist.
The girl rounded her lips into a pretty O, but otherwise made no protest. The
guy slapped at her thigh and she widened her stance, bare feet flat on the
Again he murmured something George couldn’t quite catch. The
girl tilted her pelvis forward, her face outwardly serene, though George
couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in that pretty head of hers.
The man gripped her vulva like he was grabbing a piece of
fruit. He must have been doing something with his fingers, judging by the
pretty pink blush that moved over Hailey’s throat and cheeks and the way her
head fell slightly back. “Oh,” she breathed, the word like fingers stroking
George’s cock. This one would be a prize, no question about it.
The second bidder withdrew his hand and nudged the girl’s
shoulder. She pirouetted so her back was to them, and George fondled that
perfect ass with his eyes, even as the man used his hands to do the same thing.
Finally the man returned to his seat.
Mistress Miriam turned to George. “And you, Sir?”
George shook his head. He’d seen all he needed to know. The
girl was perfect.