Chapter One

 

Bay Dennan wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, a dungeon most likely. Then the four women shuffled in and he no longer cared where the hell he was. Muted lights in the large living room highlighted their exquisite nude bodies. Just like that, his cock tightened.

Pulling out a neutral expression he sure as hell didn't feel, Bay tightened his hold on his brandy sniffer and turned toward his host, a slim, middle-aged man who'd introduced himself as Thomas Smith.

"Interesting." Bay spoke quietly so the three men gathered around the mahogany bar at the back of the room couldn't hear.

"That's all?" Thomas questioned from where he sat across from Bay in a deep red leather recliner identical to the one Bay had been offered. "I encourage my guests to speak their minds. That's what Carnal Incorporated is about, at least it is for the members. The slaves-" Thomas shrugged his bony shoulders. "As I'm sure you've concluded, their opinions and wants don't factor in."

"Do they have opinions and desires?"

Thomas sipped delicately, then extended his sniffer toward the silent and unmoving women. Their arms were at their sides, toes digging into the plush white carpet, heads and eyes downcast.

"I'm sure they did, before the organization took possession of them. Take your time, Bay. Study them. Then let me know your conclusions."

Study them. Hell, as if he could take his eyes off the lovely creatures. Just because their breasts and pussies were exposed didn't mean some parts of their bodies weren't covered. All four-three brunettes and a blonde-had metal collars around their necks. Leather straps with rings imbedded in them circled their wrists and ankles. Two foot lengths of chain were connected to the ankle jewelry.

Faint perfume, something flowery, emanated from them. Their uniformly shoulder-length hair shinned. Their eyes were heavily made up. In contrast, their lips were bare. All four were slender with full breasts and deliciously rounded hips. There wasn't so much as a shadow of pubic hair. As a just retired professional football player accustomed to having women throw themselves at him, he'd seen his share of shaved pussies, but there was something obscene about this display. Bottom line, the broads had had no say in the denuding. This had been done to them.

Same with the slim rings through their nipples and sex lips.

"Well?" The older man caressed Bay's knee. "I believe I've given you ample time to draw your conclusions."

Congratulatory hugs, slaps, and punches on the football field were one thing. Being pawed by a scrawny man old enough to be his father was another. Still, Bay didn't pull away. He'd come here for one thing, his own slave. Whatever it took, he'd play Thomas' game. Besides, Thomas needed him-or rather his money-as much as the other way around.

"They're in prime physical condition." He made himself sound as if he was talking about a car he was considering buying. "Damn good muscle development. No fat. And their boobs look real."

The blonde lifted her head enough for Bay to realize she hated being described this way. No one had herded them in here. However, they sure as hell hadn't willingly entered the room. They'd simply accepted they had no choice.

No choice. He liked that-as long as it wasn't happening to him.

He'd had enough of that for a lifetime.

Time for the tables to turn and for him to call the shots.

"Are you sure about the breasts?" Thomas asked as he removed his hand from Bay's knee. "There are some really good plastic jobs out there."

"I've handled enough knockers to know fake from real."

He was a little lit, just enough that his eyes took too long to refocus when he turned his head, not enough that he didn't know exactly what was going on. The three men who'd been fixing themselves drinks were heading toward the broads. Sudden anger laced through him. The bitches had been brought here for him! They were the come-on, a sample of the merchandise he intended to buy.

Stomping down on his irritation-something that had never come easy-he leaned back and watched as the heaviest of the men stepped behind one of the brunettes and wrapped an arm around her waist. Holding out his liquor glass, he pulled her against him. With her arms trapped against her sides, she'd have a hard time fighting the man who weighed more than twice what she did. The way she stared at the far wall told him she didn't want this. To her credit-or the credit of whoever had trained her-she rubbed her ass against what Bay had no doubt was an engorged dick.

"This one's new." The big man bit the slave's shoulder, making her gasp. "At least I've never seen her."

"I brought her in last week," Thomas explained. "Not sure whether I'll keep her. Depends on how well she scratches my itches."

Another man laughed. "Hey Cliff, let's see her ass. Has Thomas marked it yet?"

Grumbling, Cliff pushed the slave away, turning her as he did. Maybe sixty watts of light settled over sweet buttocks striped with at least a dozen thin slashes. A scab on two of them said Thomas had drawn blood.

"Yeah," the man who'd laughed said. "No doubt about it, you've been playing with her."

Playing. That's what the world called what he'd done for a living until his contract hadn't been renewed last year. He'd known the day would come, that a constantly pummeled-on body could only take so much. What he hadn't been prepared for was no longer having an outlet for his ferocious energy.

Now, maybe, he'd found it.

"I'll tell you what, boys," Thomas said. "We'll let our newest guest take his pick of the merchandise. The rest of us can fight over what's left."

"I should have brought my slave," Cliff grumbled. "You know I don't like sharing."

Thomas shrugged. "Your slave bores you. Time to trade her in on a new model."

Cliff's harsh laugh made the slaves start. "I can't get shit for that piece of meat and you know it. She's worn out."

"Because you don't know how to pace yourself. Stop being so cheap and fork over for unspoiled merchandise. You can afford our prices."

Cliff muttered something, but Bay didn't give a damn. He'd cooled his heels for nearly two months while whoever handled security at Carnal Incorporated investigated him. He'd met all their requirements, passed all their tests. Now he could put in his order for his own merchandise.

Finishing his drink in a gulp, he stared at the naked quartet. His introduction to Carnal Incorporated had begun when someone sent him a video following a night at a strip club. He'd figured the video had come from the club owner, probably a thank-you because he'd brought a half dozen heavy tippers with him. Instead of more of what he'd seen at the club, he'd been treated to a half hour of a naked and bound woman giving a faceless man a blow job while another man systematically lashed her lush ass.

She'd perched high on her knees with her wrists tethered prayer-like to the band around her slender throat. Her ankles had been crossed one over the other and held in place by another band. Most of the time the man she was sucking on kept her face smashed against his crotch via his grip on her hair. No matter how frantically she worked him, his companion kept up the steady cadence of blows. Finally the recipient of her skills shoved her away, slapping her cheek as he did. She started to fall only to be jerked back in place via the hair hold. White, sticky cream shot from the jerking cock and coated her face.

The sounds-a man grunting like a stuck pig, a switch striking vulnerable flesh, a woman trying not to cry-had been Bay's undoing. Freeing his painfully swollen cock, he'd jerked off.

That video and the ones that came after it had changed him.

"You make up your mind?" Thomas asked.

"Yeah." Bay had to work at not licking his lips. His earlier assumption that the brunettes were pretty much interchangeable had changed. Two were probably within a few months of the same age, early twenties while the third didn't look old enough to drink legally. She had the largest and most erect knockers with a waist he could get his hands around. No way did she weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds. He jerked his head at her. "How old is she?"

The slave shivered but kept staring at the carpet.

"Nineteen."

"Not younger?"

"What do you care?"

Standing, he walked over to her and gripped her breasts in his massive hands. Perfect. "Go on, bitch. Tell me how old you are."

Another shiver wracked her body. "Nineteen, Master. Nineteen."

Master. Was there a more perfect word?