Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2 Read online

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  Chapter 1

  The slave 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 stone hearth.

  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. He cleared his throat. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Slave Hailey,” Mistress Miriam said, “you may wait in my office.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the girl said softly. Her voice was low and throaty, and George wondered how she’d sound in the throes of orgasm.

  Once the girl was gone, Mistress Miriam faced the two men. “As we’ve previously discussed the contract has a six-month tenure, with a renewal clause at the end of the term. The initial bid is two hundred thousand dollars, half to be paid up front to The Compound, the other half to be maintained in an account for the slave until the end of her term of service. As you know, we don’t generally have bidding for our contracts, instead usually matching a particular Master with a particular slave for an agreed upon price. But since you both seem intent on procuring this particular slave, I’ve decided this is the most equitable solution to the issue.”

  And the most profitable for you, George thought, though of course he didn’t say this aloud.

  “Two fifty,” the other bidder promptly said.

  “Two sixty,” George rejoined.

  “Two seventy.”

  “Two eighty.”

  The other bidder was silent for several beats, and George imagined he was calculating how much of a bonus his bank would give him that year, and if Hailey was worth the price. The guy brought his hand to his face, the hand that had been buried in the beauty’s cunt a moment before and closed his eyes, as if inhaling her sensual perfume. Apparently it was enough to push him to the next step.

  “Three hundred,” he said, casting a triumphant look in George’s direction, as if to say, top that, old man.

  You bet your ass I will, George silently responded. The guy had no clue who he was up against. Time to end this thing.

  “Three fifty,” George said softly, his eyes fixed on Mistress Miriam.

  Silence for several beats. George kept his eyes on Mistress Miriam, each passing second a small triumph. Going once, going twice…

  “If that’s the final bid…” Mistress Miriam said, letting the sentence trail away.

  George finally permitted himself to glance at his competition. The guy pressed his lips into a thin line and George could see the struggle on his face. He wanted the girl, but the price was too steep. Finally he gave a small, sharp shake of his head.

  Victory!

  Mistress Miriam stood and extended her hand to George, who stood as well, trying to keep the goofy grin from his face. “Slave Hailey is one of the most highly trained and deeply submissive slaves The Compound has ever produced,” she said as she gripped his hand with her long, cool fingers. “I think you will be very happy.”

  Yeah. I’d be delirious with joy, George thought wryly, if only she were for me.

  ~*~

  Hailey cast a sideways glance at the man sitting beside her as they winged their way across the country in the first private jet Hailey had ever been in. He was a good-looking guy for his age, which she guessed was somewhere in the mid fifties. He had a thick head of silver hair, clear blue eyes, a still firm jaw and craggy features. But if she were honest, she had to admit she’d been rooting for the younger Master.

  No point in wasting time on what might have been, so she put the thought out of her head. She would focus instead on doing the best she could for the man who had chosen her. Age not withstanding, Master George seemed honest, kind, and serious about the lifestyle, all of which were excellent points in his favor.

  After two months of intensive training at The Compound, and a lifetime of searching for, and as yet never finding, a true Master who would make her his own, Hailey had given herself over to the process. Though she recognized the artificiality inherent in placing herself under contract to a virtual stranger, at the same time she trusted Mistress Miriam to place her with someone of integrity and quality.

  She needed a Master who would intuitively understand and respect her deep-seated longing to submit—body and soul—to another person. She needed someone as dedicated and committed to the lifestyle as she was. In hindsight, it was evident in the past she’d made a mistake in seeking a lover who was dominant, rather than a Dominant who might in time become a lover. True that wasn’t likely to happen with this man who was old enough to be her father, but that was okay. She would learn and grow from the experience, and hopefully make him happy and proud to own her for the duration of the contract. After that—who knew?

  Energized by her internal pep talk, Hailey decided to begin their new relationship by telling Master George she was honored to have this opportunity to serve him, and would make every effort to give him the best of her submission.

  “Permission to speak, Sir?” Hailey ventured.

  The man turned to her, as if surprised by the question. “You don’t need permission. Not with me.”

  Had she heard him correctly? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Sir.”

  He smiled. “Listen. Now that everything’s wrapped up and we’re on our way to your new life for the next six months, I need to level with you, Hailey.”

  A sliver of unease sliced its way through Hailey’s gut. Surely the time to level, whatever that meant, had come before they were headed across the country, where she’d promised to serve as his personal sex slave for the next six months? Hailey willed herself to remain calm. Slaves were patient. Slaves didn’t anticipate—they accepted. She waited, her eyes fixed on Master George’s face.

  He blew out a breath, as if steeling himself for what he had to say. “I’m afraid I’ve procured you under false pretenses.”

  “False pretenses?” Hailey echoed, thoroughly confused and unsettled by this admission.

  “Mistress Miriam was aware of the arrangements,” George continued, “but I didn’t mention them to you until now because discretion is of the utmost importance to my client. I did buy your contract, or rather, I negotiated its purchase, but I’m not the one who will own you for the next six months.”

  Hailey realized she was clutching the armrests of her seat with a white-knuckled grip. Willing herself to relax, she moved her hands into her lap and folded them together while her mind struggled to process what the man was saying.

  “The person who bought you doesn’t like to make himself a target for the public. He’s a very private man in his personal life. That’s why he couldn’t come himself, much as he would have liked to. I’m his personal representative in certain transactions. He’s—well, you’ll see when you meet him.”

  Even while Hailey’s mind was trying to let go of the idea that this kind, older man would not be her Master for the next six months, she was deeply intrigued by what he was saying. Who was this mystery man she was being delivered to?

  Someone famous. It had to be. But why not just tell her? And even if the guy was some kind of celebrity or big shot, why go to such lengths? It wasn’t like anyone at The Compound would care who the guy was, surely? They were part of a BDSM community that understood the need for discretion. Folks seriously committed to the lifestyle were well aware of the discrimination, intolerance and basic misunderstanding that existed out there.

  Unless—oh shit—what if the
man she signed her life away to for the next half year was one of those fanatical, pseudo-religious types? Someone who couldn’t risk showing his face in a so-called den of iniquity? One of those smarmy creeps who amassed a fortune by preaching against sinners like homosexuals and other deviants, and then were caught with their pants around their ankles, their cocks down another guy’s throat? Someone who would spend the next six months forcing Hailey to atone for her “sins”?

  What the hell have I done?

  The sliver of unease bloomed into a fist of panic that clutched at Hailey’s gut. She closed her eyes and drew in and then released a deep, cleansing breath. She called on all her grace and submission training, bringing it around her like a warm, comforting cloak. Stay calm. Don’t jump to conclusions. Mistress Miriam would never place you with someone like that. Whatever happens, submit with grace and courage. Accept what is offered, and serve with passion.

  “Hey,” Master George, or was he just George, said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You okay? You’re looking a little pale. Are you motion sick?”

  Hailey opened her eyes and forced a smile. “No, thank you. I’m okay. Just still not really clear on what you’re telling me. I’m trying to adjust to this change in plans. I thought you were the one who bought me.”

  A spasm of pain seemed to move over the man’s face. “Don’t I wish,” he said in an undertone so that she barely caught the words.

  She had to know what was going on, and so she pressed, “Do I know this person you’re taking me to? Can you tell me his name?”

  George seemed to ponder the question. “Okay, you’re right,” he finally said. “You deserve to know, and anyway, you’ll know soon enough. It’s Ronan Wolfe. That’s who bought you.”

  Hailey struggled to place the name. An actor. That was it. He was in the movies. Which explained why they were headed out to California. Yes, he must be an actor, though for the life of her, she couldn’t conjure a face to go with the name.

  At twenty-eight, Hailey knew she was definitely in the minority in her generation. A yoga teacher by profession, she didn’t own a computer or a television. Her cell phone wasn’t smart at all. She rarely went to the movies, and in fact couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to one. She vastly preferred to lose herself in a good book, or in peaceful meditation beside the creek at the back of her cottage in her small Vermont town.