Chapter 8
Two days later, Spence unlocked the upstairs office, his mind on the early morning hours in the underground dungeon, both Roman and Zander using him at the same time, alternating who was in his mouth and who was in his ass while half-conscious slaves moaned and cried all around them, mounted on wooden ponies as they dripped blood from their countless whip marks, and they leaned forward and back, desperately trying to find relief Spence knew from experience wouldn’t come until they were let down from the torture devices.
Meanwhile, Spence was given orgasm after orgasm, all the pleasure the slaves hadn’t been allowed.
The slaves belonged to Roman, and he was a harsh owner — and that was just what Spence witnessed, which was likely only a portion of the pain they had to accept when they were alone with their Master.
Spence had been a slave for years; he was well aware of what the darkest Masters did to their property without witnesses. Things even other sadists would think monstrous and unspeakable.
He focused on the present, and settled the spiced hot chocolate onto the table in the sitting area before he sat behind the desk to bring up the program he’d need later.
Emmy stepped in as he worked at it, and he told her, “I’ll come around and join you in just a sec. Have a seat and pour us both some hot chocolate.”
He’d brought a huge thermal carafe and two mugs.
Mid-summer in Anchorage isn’t cold, but it was a rainy day with more of a chill than usual, and he figured you can never go wrong with hot chocolate with Emmy.
She might be a woman now, but he could still see that adorable four-year-old peeking out sometimes, and he enjoyed taking care of her.
But today he was talking to the woman, not the little girl.
“Thank you for waiting,” he told her when he had it set up and could come around the desk to sit with her.
“Not a hardship when you give me treats. The hot chocolate is exceptional. Even when I follow your recipe, it’s never as good as when you make it.”
Spence couldn’t help his smile. “You’re welcome.
” He sat, took a sip, and told her, “We have a visiting vampire. He’s the Master of Noctimordvik, and he insists on the old name when referencing his title.
Even though he’s technically only Master of eleven vampires, he handles more, finance-wise, than Masters of five times that many.
He isn’t a huge powerhouse, but he’s important, and he’s interested in you.
“The rules for the extreme masochists at Mordnik are that vampires can’t hurt them beyond what can be healed in three changes to their animal, back and forth.”
“So six actual changes,” Emmy clarified.
Spence nodded, and Emmy shook her head. “I’ll never agree to that.”
Spence blew out a breath. “I’m acting as impartial mediator here. I have two offers for you, and if you don’t agree to either, I’ll put Roman’s assistant on a video call, and he’ll have more detailed offers, if you wish to negotiate specifics.”
Emmy gave a slow nod, and Spence said, “Thirty thousand dollars for three hours. No limits other than not to harm you more than you can heal in the aforementioned three changes.”
She waited a few seconds before responding, but she shook her head. “No. Not even for ten thousand dollars an hour.”
Smart girl, but there were rules he had to follow in this exchange, so he gave the next offer. “Ten thousand dollars for one hour, and he will not draw blood other than to drink from you. No broken bones. No knives, no claws or talons. Everything will heal with one change to dragon and back.”
She sat back and considered him a good two minutes.
“Thirty thousand for a half-hour. No fire, electricity, or other heat source. No extreme cold either. Nothing at all to my hands, feet, or face. No breath play, no restriction of oxygen in any form. No drugs. No sensory dep beyond a blindfold. No broken bones or dislocated joints. No torn holes, but over-stretched is fine. No one in the room but the two of us and a trusted monitor, if either you or Zander feel one is necessary.”
“And that means it’s time for me to put you on the video call with Hector. While Lucien may agree to those limits, he isn’t going to pay out the ass for them. I wouldn’t expect more than a few thousand for a half-hour.”
Emmy shrugged. “Then he won’t get to play with me outside of my contract with Zander.”
“You’ll want to move to the white chair. I’ll put the video call on the wall screen.”
Spence moved back behind the desk, initiated the call, switched it to the wall, and stepped behind Emmy.
“Hector,” he said when the other man’s face came onto the screen.
“This is Emmy. Her current offer is for a half hour with a number of hard limits. Emmy, this is Hector, who belongs to Roman and works as his personal assistant. Lucien has engaged him to negotiate on his behalf. My guess is that if Hector can’t reach a suitable agreement, he’ll be tortured instead of you. ”
Hector tilted his head ever-so-slightly to the side, and Spence moved off camera so he could watch both Emmy and Hector.
Emmy rattled off her hard limits with a fifty-thousand-dollar amount for an hour.
Hector looked down, then back up. “Six thousand for an hour with those hard limits.”
“You’re joking, right? Give me an actual offer or I’m out of here.”
“What would you counter?”
“Let’s say thirty thousand for a half hour. If he’s short of funds, then maybe he just buys me for a shorter time.”
Spence doubted it would work, but he appreciated that she’d gone to another offer before returning to where she’d been before the call.
Hector shook his head, and Spence felt sorry for him, but not enough to intervene. There was nothing he or Zander could do about Roman’s slaves. Sometimes life bites. Zander had signed off that he’d leave Roman alone in order to take over the territory, and he wouldn’t go back on his word.
Emmy went back and forth another four times before standing to leave, at which point Hector said, “Ten thousand dollars for forty minutes, and I promise that’s as far as I can go.”
Emmy turned and walked back. She sat and stared at him a good thirty seconds before giving a slow nod. “Do you need me to go through the hard limits again, to be sure you have them all written down?”
“I have them. Someone will messenger the contract to you within the hour.” A pause, and then, “Spence?”
“She’s inked in today, but I can rearrange her assignment tomorrow.”
Emmy read through the contract from beginning to end twice when it arrived. The only change she could see was a stipulation that the time would begin after she was restrained and in place.
She wrote out to the side that restraint should take no longer than three minutes, and then signed the contract.
Spence witnessed it, took a picture of both pages, and said, “Since Lucien is under Zander but not part of this coterie, he’ll pay me the funds before your time with him, and I’ll turn them over to you once all contractual obligations have been met.
The Atrium will be empty tomorrow, so I can drive you there afterward.
He wishes to do this in the underground dungeon here. ”
Emmy nodded. It was a twenty or thirty minute drive, depending on traffic. That would be fine.
Emmy dove into her studies that evening and the next day, rather than talk to her friends about what she’d agreed to.
That evening, she fed a vampire who most often invited her into his bed. One who focuses on the fucking more than the feeding, though both happen. He always made her feel like a whore rather than food, and she wasn’t sure how or why.
But he did.
Emmy had always enjoyed sex, so what was the problem with being paid for it? It wasn’t like fucking him was a hardship.
She showered a long time after, trying to wash the scent of the vampire off her body, but it didn’t work because he’d come inside her. So she dove back into her work to try to get her mind off him.
The next day, she removed her bellybutton jewelry and then made her way to the pantry off the kitchen to access the steps to the underground. Spence was on the other side of the wall when it opened, and he smiled. “Ah, right on time. I like that about you.”
She’d known someone would have to escort her — flock isn’t allowed past the feeding room hallway — but security most often escorted her when a vampire wanted her in their room.
Spence walked her through the multiple locked doors, all the way to the dungeon, two levels lower than the playroom.
The latter is designed for BDSM fun, the former for actual torture. People used both for play, she understood, but it wasn’t lost on her that this scene wasn’t going to be about pleasure at all.
Not hers, anyway.
She’d kept her mind off the subject during the twenty-five hours since she’d signed the damned paper, because there was no backing out of it from that point, so why bother considering what she’d done?
She’d whored her body out for ten thousand dollars. Not just for sex, but for pain. For humiliation. For consumption.
The stone-lined room looked ancient, like it’d been here before the house.
Some of the equipment looked ancient as well — the whipping post, the steel cuffs mounted to the walls, the wooden pony off to the side.
The bondage table didn’t look hundreds of years old, but decades.
The winch on the ceiling was definitely modern-day, but the eyelets in the floor beneath, hooks embedded between the tiles, had been in place for a while.
She could see tiny chips from where chains had scraped across them hundreds of times.
This wasn’t a space made for performance. It was made for breaking things.
Her stomach turned, and she hated herself for it.
Spence walked her forward without touching her again. “I have instructions for how he wants you. Put your clothes and shoes in the cabinet beside the door, please.”
She undressed, folded her clothing, and placed everything in the small storage area.