Wicked Beloved by Susanne Saville Read Free Book Online Page A

moved on. Ballaj called the next new member’s
name and the paddling started afresh.
    Swiveling on her master’s lap, she clutched
hold of his shirt while her body, flooded with adrenaline, quivered
uncontrollably.
    “ You’re safe,” he
murmured, wrapping his arms about her and holding her close. His
chin rested on the top of her head. “That was wrong of me. But I
wanted to know how far you’d carry out your obedience.”
    Anger at the test flashed within her and
quickly died. After all, he hadn’t ordered her to do anything until
tonight. How would he know if she’d obey him or not? She really
wasn’t fulfilling her part of the bargain, being the perfect slave.
He hadn’t made her do any of the things slaves normally did, like
have sex with him. She should probably clean his apartment or
something.
    The punishment parade continued. He was the
only owner who didn’t order his slave to go. She nudged her nose
against his neck. He smelled nice, like a mixture of spices and
musk. She closed her eyes and just breathed him in, ignoring
anything going on beyond their chair. So successful was she at
shutting out the rest of the room that she missed when the paddling
stopped and Ballaj started addressing the company again.
    She started paying attention when a circular
platform with two evenly spaced tall posts was carried into the
room. Heavy manacles hung from the tops of the posts and more cuffs
were attached to the bases. She had the unhappy thought that the
space between the posts was just right to position a human,
standing spread-eagled between them, ankles chained to the bases
and wrists hanging from the tops.
    “ Tonight’s theme is
knife-play.” Ballaj flourished a knife that had apparently been
brought in with the platform. “Your slave’s body is a canvas just
waiting to be drawn upon, just begging to flourish in varying hues
of crimson. Will you shave off the skin, one snip, one tiny layer
at a time? Or will you push against tensed muscles and force in the
penetrating blade?”
    He called over one of the men who had
carried the platform and the slave immediately came to his side.
“Will you draw out the agony?” He dragged the knife down the man’s
arm, the blade moving slower than the rivulets of blood it created,
and the slave whined between gasps of breath. “Or will you go
straight for the screams?” He stabbed into the man’s thick shoulder
muscle and she covered her ears at the slave’s shriek of pain.
    Ballaj waved the slave off and began to
stalk the circle of chairs. “What style shall we see tonight?” He
slowed as he approached their chair. Silently she pleaded for him
to keep going, her heart plummeting through her stomach as her
veins filled with dread. This was so much worse than a
spanking.
    The universe ignored her pleas. Ballaj
stopped in front of their chair and held out the dripping knife to
her master. “As you did not participate earlier, Vonn, I give you
the honor.”
    To her everlasting gratitude, he shook his
head. “I have honor enough.”
    Ballaj stared at him, eyes
narrowing quizzically. “I don’t understand. I can tell you want
to. Everyone can
tell you want to.”
    She’d been trying to ignore it, but she
could tell he wanted to, as well. His excitement lay hard and
unyielding against her hip. Any time she shifted on his lap the
movement caused a hitch in his breathing.
    Glancing at his face, she could see what
they saw—the twitch of the muscle in his tightly clenched jaw, the
slight sheen of perspiration on his skin, and the way his
desire-dark eyes flicked between her and the knife.
    Nonetheless he gamely answered, “I don’t
know what you mean.”
    Whispers swirled around the circle. The
other masters were looking at him funny. Her stomach felt cold and
her heart started to gear up to fight or flee.
    Ballaj snickered. “You should have told us
if you have a bodily infirmity preventing your participation, Vonn.
Or are you one of those citizens