Prologue

 

 

Malachi Montgomery lived on the outskirts of the city in one of the first areas considered suburban. As a result, the area still had sidewalks and through-streets, but more room between the houses than the single-driveway width of city homes. Sixty-year-old trees lined the streets, making a tunnel of green. As an only child, he'd inherited everything when his parents died on an oversea business trip. They'd left him the house he'd grown up in and it only made sense to move in and take it as his own.

Not that it looked much like it did when his parents were alive. The Cape-Cod design still held sway and the landscaping hadn't changed much, but the same couldn't be said of the interior. No more faux Colonial furniture that had been so popular around the time of the country's bicentennial. No more shag rugs or avocado appliances. Over the past few years, everything had been modernized and updated, including the arrangement of bedrooms upstairs.

Cape Cod homes had no attic, the second floor using dormers to raise the ceiling high enough so a person could stand upright in rooms with sloped ceilings. Originally a three-bedroom home, it now held only two. Well, one and a storage closet barely large enough for a twin bed and a nightstand, if he had chosen to use it as a bedroom.

The finished basement was another area his parents wouldn't recognize. He'd kept the bar they'd put in, a beautiful oak piece complete with a brass foot rail, that hid the sectioned off area where the washer and dryer lived. They'd have no trouble with the addition of a comfortable seating area and a large-screen flat TV to the bar area. But he knew his parents would have had no idea what to do with the large wooden X in the corner, eyebolts screwed in along the sides of it marking every foot. And they wouldn't have a clue why he'd need so many hooks in the ceiling or a table in the corner that he kept covered with a large black velvet cloth.

And they certainly wouldn't approve of the addition he'd had made. Shortly after taking ownership, Malachi had taken advantage of some drainage work that needed doing to add on an entirely new section below ground. A section hidden from the casual eye by a large case filled with DVDs and small erotic statues, a case that opened to reveal a very special room. The room where he kept his slaves.

 

Chapter One

 

 

Malachi practically whistled as he opened the car door for his newest acquisition. Emma was perfect. With her shoulder length brown hair, brown eyes and pixie-like figure that was a little over-balanced by ample breasts, she could easily pass for a fairy of the earth. At twenty-six, she still had a shapely body just ripe for use. In fact, he'd put it to use last week, testing her resolve to become his slave and she'd passed with flying colors. Now she let him hand her out of the car, ready to begin a new life.

He took her hands in his, giving her his "kind-stern" look. "Emma. This is your last chance to say no. Once we cross into the house, there will be no turning back. You will be my slave and you will have no rights, no choice, nothing but what I choose to give you. You will be owned by me. Entirely. You will do what I tell you to. I want you to do the dishes, you will do them. I want you to clean the bathroom with a toothbrush, you will do it. I want to share you with others...."

"You will share me with others. I know, Sir. I'm ready."

He grinned at her impudence and impatience. The latter he'd train out of her. The former? That she'd keep. The woman would never be a doormat and he'd get a higher price for her as a result.

For sell her he would. His day-to-day business needed a new machine press and her sale was going to get it for him.

"Then leave your name out here, enter and begin your new life."

He retrieved her tote from the backseat of his Focus, a tote that held all her worldly possessions, and led the way along the brick path to the front door. This would also be the last time the slave would enter this way. From here on in, they'd used the side door that went to the garage. This first entrance, however, had a symbolism best marked by using the front door. To her credit, she stepped in without hesitation when he held it open for her.

Inside was a very small foyer inside that was really a hall to the rear of the house, and the slave stopped a few feet in, waiting for instructions as to what to do next. Steps to the upstairs ran up the right-hand wall with a large opening to the living room off the left. Malachi set her tote on the stairs, took her hand, and led her into the living room. Time to start her training in earnest.

The living room held the obligatory comfortable couch and recliner set, both of fine leather. The only piece of Colonial furniture to survive his make-over was the low coffee table in front of the couch. Made of dark pine, the sturdy legs and open areas underneath made it a great place to tie a slave's body for all sorts of fun activities. His mother would be shocked, his father intrigued at the way their son put it to use.

It was to this table he led her now. "Take off your sneakers and socks, then stand on top of the table."

She bent to her task but not before she glanced out the large picture window behind the couch. The drapes were not pulled and no sheers would shield her from anyone who happened to pass by. Malachi knew his neighbors well. The young married couple with the kid next door wouldn't be home from work yet. Mrs. Wilson on the other side took daily walks but was half blind. Old Man Thomas across the street would already have his binoculars out.

None of this, however, did he share with his slave. He held out his hand and helped her mount the monstrous piece of furniture as soon as she was barefoot. Using a remote he picked up from the side table, he cued up the music player. "If" by Bread. An old but familiar song.

"Strip for me, slave. Nice and slow. Your last piece comes off as the music ends." Having deliberately chosen a familiar song so she'd be able to time her moves, he stretched out on the couch, his hands behind his head and watched. Old Man Thomas wouldn't have the benefit of sexy music underscoring the slave's striptease, but Malachi doubted he'd mind.

For a tease it was. The slave's cheeks burned a bright pink and her fingers trembled on the hem of the t-shirt, but she got into the spirit quickly. First one side of the shirt lifted to give him a peek at her ribs, then down it went and the other came up. She turned, crossing her arms to either side, and lifted the shirt to show her perfect back. Tossing her head, she let her hair hide her bra straps as she lifted it higher.

Inch by inch she removed the shirt, finally pulling it off her head, her back still to him. Only when it was free did she face him again, giving a little smile as she tossed it to him. He caught it with one hand and shoved it behind him as she rolled her shoulders in a slow move that drew his attention to her most marvelous breasts.

The nipples already tented the fabric of her bra and she now wet her finger and circled them, making dark marks that drew the eye right to them. She slid both straps down and off her arms but didn't unfasten it. Instead, she left it on as a tease and unzipped her jeans.

The song was nearly halfway done, so she didn't pause too long before hooking her thumbs in the waistline and pulling them slowly off her ass, an ass she showed him as she bent down to take the jeans all the way to the table's surface. Shapely legs, now freed from the confining garment, danced their way from one end of the table to the other, her hips moving in concert with her bare shoulders to make a hell of a sexy dance.

Malachi didn't bother trying to hide his hard-on. He wondered if Old Man Thomas had one as well. How could he not? His slave was magnificent.

Only the bra and panties remained. One flap of the bra had fallen, revealing most of her breast and all of her nipple in the wardrobe malfunction. Once more she licked her finger, then rubbed the now-freed nipple into hardness.

The other side fell down and she pulled the bra off, dropping it onto his lap. The jeans she kicked off the table before drawing his attention to the only piece of clothing left on her body.

But now it was if she realized that, once that scrap of fabric was gone, once she'd given it to him, she had nothing. She would be totally dependent on him, even for clothes to wear. A damp spot had formed on the crotch from her arousal.

The song headed into its final repeat of the refrain and she pulled down the waistband, showing him her shaved mound. Freshly shaved, he noted, approving. The elastic snapped over her ass and again she bent in half, taking the panties all the way to her heels before standing and pulling her feet out as the last notes of the song faded.

Malachi's cock ached for release. "Come service me, slave."

Her eyes twinkled. Giving him head was something she'd done often enough she'd learned to enjoy it. So he upped the ante as she stepped down off the table and knelt before him.

"No hands. Use only your teeth to free my cock and then make me come.

Her mouth scrunched to the side as she considered how best to accomplish this task. Putting her hands on the couch beside his knees, she leaned forward and took his belt in her teeth. She managed the first part well enough, but couldn't quite figure out the physics of getting the metal tongue to release. Deciding to add it to the list of things he needed to teach her, he undid it himself and slipped the two ends of the belt to the side.

She managed the button and the zipper without trouble, her warm breath making this slow reveal to be a torture of its own. Nosing the pants out of the way, she tongued her way into his boxers, lifting his cock and guiding it out through the slit in the fabric.

Damn, she was good. Freed, his cock grew to its full eight inches and Malachi remained still as she encircled the tip with her lips. Circumcised since birth, she had full access to the sensitive ridge that she now rubbed with her lips, making him squirm in his seat from the effort not to come too soon.

As if understanding he wanted her to make him last, she left the tip to get cold in the air as she nosed her way underneath his cock. Starting at his balls, she gave him a long, slow lick from the bottom all the way to the top. Then she did it again and he closed his eyes, having died and gone to Heaven.

Her mouth was magic, her tongue scooping the precum from his slit, then sucking him hard. Soft touches mingled with stronger ones, her hands always beside his knees, her face bobbing down as she opened for him and took him deep.

He was ready. Grabbing her head, he took control. "Suck hard, slave."

She did and he controlled her face, pulling her head forward and back at the rhythm dictated by his needs. And when he came, he came down her throat, forcing her to swallow his seed.

He grew soft and still she cleaned him, her tongue caressing now, her actions giving voice to the surrender she gave. Shifting so that her hands rested on her lap, she didn't let go of his cock, keeping him inside her mouth and suckling him as she lay her head on his thigh.

Such a simple thing, really. Blowjobs were among his favorite humiliation technique. This slave, however, had taken right to them, her tongue proving to be talented and her mouth willing. She'd even done well with deep throating, as she'd proved last weekend when he'd shared her with five Masters of his choosing.