Introduction

 

Amy tried to take her mind off the agony. It was impossible, every joint, muscle, and nerve in her body was screaming. He had hogtied her then suspended her in the back of his van with moving straps. His purpose wasn't restraint, it was for her to suffer; he was prepping her.

She had been in bondage like this before. Men just assumed a stripper liked it rough. Maybe they were right. She did enjoy dancing for them, getting naked, moving her sexy body in ways that teased and taunted. Strong men, men who took control, turned her on.

Sure she needed the money, but the real reason she took this job was to scratch that itch. Her need for more powerful men and rougher sex was addictive. It was also incremental: she wanted to see how far she could push herself, how intense an orgasm she could achieve.

I think I'm going to find out, she thought through the pain.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

The desert air felt like a blast furnace as Blair stepped out of the limousine. It was only 10 a.m. and already the heat was intolerable. Who could live out here, she wondered? Who would want to?

The stone house was nearly hidden by mesquite and other cacti. It was an interesting Southwestern design, she thought; it fit well in this wasteland, but it was nothing like she had expected. She had expected Maxwell to be living in a mansion, a desert palace. Why would a billionaire exile himself out here? Why would he have such a modest lifestyle? This place looked like something a hermit on a pension would own.

The silent driver carried her bags to the pergola-covered porch and banged hard with the door knocker. He seemed nervous, anxious to get away. She fished hurriedly in her pocket for a tip. An old man with a weathered face and faded jeans answered the door. He seemed to fit with the house and the desert.

"Miss Blair?" he asked gently, smiling.

He was so perfect as an "old-timer" it was almost a caricature.

"That's right, Blair Peters-Martin. I have an appointment with Mr. Maxwell," she said hoping her disappointment wasn't too obvious.

He beckoned her inside. The driver touched his cap and turned away ignoring the $20 tip she held out. She watched as the heavy car pulled away throwing up small stones on the dirt road. They were at least 20 miles from the highway, she had estimated, and at least 50 from the nearest gas station...a long drive in an emergency and an impossible walk.

The old man tugged at her sleeve then picked up her bags and led the way down a long corridor. Blair followed hesitantly feeling incredibly stupid. The heat was suffocating, no wonder this guy looked so leathery.

This was a mistake, a huge mistake, she thought miserably.

The flagstone corridor was carpeted with a cheap Native-American rug. The walls contained one faux-art painting after another, the kind you would find in a highway souvenir shop. Her disappointment grew with each step. This was definitely not what she had expected.

They made a number of turns past clean but ordinary rooms then stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. The old man opened it and placed her bags inside. It was an elevator.

"Mr. Maxwell is expecting you, Miss Blair. Just press the D-button. It will take you down."

"He's in the basement," she asked astonished, no longer able to hide her dismay.

"It's cooler down there," he said smiling.

She stood frozen in a moment of indecision then stepped inside. Do this the right way, she thought. Meet with him and give him some bullshit reason for backing out. I might need him someday, no sense making an enemy.

The door closed and she felt a sudden rush of compressed air like in an airplane.

"What the fuck...?" she whispered then pushed the D-button again, annoyed and a little anxious. Was this thing moving? She didn't like elevators...too confining. After a moment she decided something was happening. The movement was just slow. How long was it going to take at this rate to go one floor? The door slid open with another surprising whoosh of air. A man stood in the opening, smiling.

"Welcome to the Shenandoah Pit," he said. "My name is Loomis. I'll be looking after you."

Blair extended her hand in a manly way.

"Blair Peters-Martin...I have an appointment with..."

She was trying to keep her voice professional. It wasn't really appropriate in these circumstances, but it was the way she'd been taught to act...professionally.

"Of course," he said. "Mr. Maxwell is tied up at the moment. He asked me to make you comfortable in the meantime."

Blair blinked then recovered nicely and nodded, reaching back for her bags. She wasn't looking forward to quitting before she even started.

"Leave the bags," he said. "I'll have someone fetch them."

She hesitated then looked around the basement elevator lobby. It was magnificent with light, oak-covered walls, a dark parquet floor covered by an oriental area rug, and a handsome white chair rail with a matching cornice and baseboard. She guessed the rug was handmade and worth thousands. A pleasing light was being bounced invisibly off the ceiling. This was more like a billionaire's house, she thought, but why put it in the basement?

Loomis smiled again then gestured her to follow.

She looked around again. Was this really the basement to the stone hut up above? This place seemed so different.

"How far down are we?" she asked, curious.

"We are at the bottom of what was once called the Shenandoah Pit," he said. "It was an open-pit gold mine that closed in the 1920s. We are 550 feet below the desert floor."

She wondered if she had misheard. How could they be 550 feet under the desert floor? That was more than 50 stories. The elevator had barely moved and the light...this was sunlight, she was sure of it not some florescent imitation.

She held her questions; he was walking too fast for conversation.

It would have been nice for Maxwell to greet me himself, she thought annoyed, as she moved down what seemed like an endless and increasingly more opulent corridor. The art on these walls was real. She even recognized some of the artists. What was going on?

Loomis stopped suddenly then opened a door. Inside was a windowless cell--a dungeon cell made entirely of stone. She stared then turned to him annoyed, clearly upset with the joke. Loomis gestured for her to step inside.

"What is this? I'm not going in there. I'd like to see Mr. Maxwell...now please!"

It was the kind of commanding voice her mother used on people. Usually, they obeyed without question. Loomis just smiled.

"You did say you were Blair Peters-Martin, right?" he asked, removing a folded document from his back pocket. "It says here you have agreed to confinement, among other things, in return for a, ah, letter-of-recommendation. Is that right?"

She stared at him for another long moment then nodded.

"Yes," she replied stiffly, "But, ah, I'm having second thoughts. I want to understand what this means in more detail before I confirm my commitment."

"Confirm your commitment...? That's kind of an oxymoron. Isn't that something you did when you made the commitment?"

He seemed to be laughing at her; making a joke at her expense. Blair stared at him angrily, but remained silent. He was right; she should have confirmed the details back in Boston before making the commitment.

"No need to bother Mr. Maxwell if you are backing out," he said amicably. "Shall I take you back to the elevator, Miss Peters-Martin? I'll get the limousine back and you can wait in the house."

She hesitated unsure of what to do. She wanted...needed the recommendation. What kind of an idiot would agree to something, travel across the country then back out? But the most compelling thought reason in that instant was the heat up top. She didn't want to face it again.

Impulsively, she stepped inside the cell running her fingers along the stone walls. This isn't stone, she realized. It looked stone, but the surface was much too smooth and clean. It was some kind of synthetic material.

"Stone would require too much maintenance," Loomis said, guessing her thoughts. Mr. Maxwell insists on absolute cleanliness in the pit. Anything less would damage the machinery that keeps us alive down here."

He closed the door the cell door. It sounded like a vault closing. Soundproof, she wondered?

"Please put your hands behind your back, palms together, fingers interlocked."

She wanted to object again, to demand a meeting with Maxwell first, but was loath to go through the same argument. Loomis was right, she had agreed to this. She closed her lips tightly in disapproval then turned around.

This was it, she thought. It starts now, a summer of pain, humiliation, and sex.

What have I done, she wondered nervously? Was getting the Rhodes scholarship worth all this? She knew it was a certain ticket to success, but was it worth the price they were asking?

Stop questioning yourself, her mind screamed. She had been over this a thousand times: a few months of annoying bondage in exchange for a lifetime of prestige. It was totally worth it.

And all on her own...without her mother's fucking help. This was the key. The Rhodes' credential couldn't be bought by anyone even her family. That was why it was so important to her. Everyone would know she had gotten the scholarship on her own. This small victory would give her the standing she needed to break into a corner office at a young age. She knew she needed to perform in corporate America, but getting the chance to perform was the issue. She wasn't going to miss that opportunity.

Youth had been a problem her entire life. Despite what she had accomplished, despite her demonstrated abilities, no one wanted to trust her with the responsibility. This would all change once she was a Rhodes Scholar. She wanted to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company while she was still in her 20s...ten years from now, that's my goal. It's going to take sacrifice, all kinds of sacrifice, sacrifice I can't even imagine.

She was right.