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Authors: Claire Thompson

Tags: #m/f bdsm

Accidental Slave

Accidental Slave

_________________

Claire Thompson

Romance Unbound Publishing

Presents

Accidental

Slave

Claire Thompson

Copyright 2009 Claire Thompson

All rights reserved

Chapter One

The girl screamed around her gag as the whip marked her bare ass. He liked the way the flesh moved each time the strands of leather made contact. She wasn’t especially pretty, but it didn’t matter, not for his purposes. He wasn’t looking at her face anyway. He’d bound her to a whipping post in the small, dark BDSM club that catered to the heavy scene players, the ones who understood it wasn’t about pleasure or pain so much as power.

At that moment, power surged through Gary Dobbins like a drug. He released a rain of stinging leather against the girl’s back and ass until she was squirming and jerking against her bonds.


Take it
, Elizabeth,” he demanded, hitting her harder still. “You’re nothing but a worthless whore. I’m going to whip you to shreds and there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it.”

He bit his lip and glanced around, realizing he might be observed. It wouldn’t do to have the prissy club management overhear his words. They were obsessed with those tired old bywords—

safe, sane, consensual.

The girl opened her eyes wide and mumbled something garbled through the pretty red ball-gag he’d wedged securely between her teeth. She tried to shake her head, but her cheek was pressed up hard against the thick post and, bound as she was, she couldn’t move more than an inch or so.

She began to open and close her hands, the signal they’d agreed upon to indicate she wasn’t comfortable with the scene and needed it to stop. Gary closed his eyes. He didn’t want to stop.

He wanted to keep whipping her, to whip away all of his own humiliation and anguish.

“You’re a cunt, Elizabeth.” He struck her. “Nothing but a cunt.” The leather slapped at her flesh and she jerked hard in her bonds.

It should have been mine. That should be me in that corner office. That fucking bitch stole
my life. She stole my career. Those bastards betrayed me. It should have been mine. It should
have been mine.

He knew he was obsessing. He couldn’t help it. The pain, the humiliation, the sheer unfairness of it all was eating away at him. It was like a corrosive acid that spread through every aspect of his life. Sometimes he could put it aside for hours, even days at a time, but it was always there, a secret, lurking pain—the unbearable pain of injustice. He’d been cheated—he’d been duped.

He should have quit on the spot. Yet he’d stayed on, gritting his teeth, biding his time, waiting for her to fail. Then he’d take over; then they’d see what a huge mistake they’d made.

He lifted the whip and struck the hapless girl before him as hard as he could. Her reddened ass jiggled like Jell-O. He struck it again, and again, and again, the rhythm easing the constant, gnawing jealousy and rage that were eating him alive inside.

Her hands were going like mad now, a curious bleating emanating from her drooling mouth.

He wanted to smack her face, to shut her up for good, but he was, after all, in a public place. He struck her once more, hard, across the back and then dropped his whip arm.

A tall, burly man with a shaved bullet-shaped head was approaching. “Everything okay over here?” The man glowered down at Gary, crossing his arms in a threatening way. “You okay, Miss?” He bent down toward the bound woman, who gurgled something unintelligible.

“We’re fine.” Gary pushed himself between the man and the bound woman. “We’re done, anyway. I’m just letting her down.” He unbuckled the girl’s gag and released her cuffs. She sagged to the ground. He steeled himself for her screeching recriminations, but for some reason they didn’t come.

The bouncer seemed to be waiting, too. When she remained silent, he shrugged and walked away. It was bad form to interrupt a scene. Still, Gary knew he’d gone too far. He was lucky they hadn't thrown him out. He needed to get better control of himself.

He held out a hand to the girl, who gripped it and hoisted herself to her feet. She was a large woman, her heavy breasts dangling over a protruding belly. He grabbed the black silk robe she’d been wearing before he’d bound her to the post and tossed it at her.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough.” He forced himself to apologize. “You’re just so fucking hot,”

he lied.

“That’s okay.” The woman colored and smiled coquettishly. Apparently all was forgiven.

“You
were
kind of rough but I got off on it.” She rubbed her ass appreciatively. “I have to ask a question, though. Who the hell is Elizabeth?”

~*~

Gary went home alone. He could have brought the girl back with him—she’d made that abundantly clear—but he wasn’t in the mood to entertain. He had to be at work in the morning and really needed to get to bed.

He poured himself a few fingers of whiskey, added some ice and plopped onto his sofa.

Gulping nearly half the drink, he welcomed the soothing burn that spread through his body like a salve. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the sofa and unzipped the fly of his black leather pants.

Sipping the remaining whiskey, he tried not to think about tomorrow’s sales meeting. He was as ready as he would be—he’d done the analysis and crunched the numbers. Now Ms. Hot Shot Bitch would take over and run the show, taking all the credit.

Six months ago Gary Dobbins had been on top of the world. His promotion to the coveted executive vice-president spot held by his boss, Bill Moore, had been in the bag, or so he’d thought. Bill, taking early retirement, had assured Gary it was a done deal. Gary, who had given everything he had to the company for the past eight years, had naïvely believed him.

Even when he found out about the headhunter they’d hired to do a search for potential candidates for the position, his boss had reassured him. Over golf one weekend, before his hopes and dreams had been ground into dust, Bill had waved his hand dismissively at Gary’s concerns.

“It’s just a formality—to make it look like they’re doing their due diligence. You’re one of the ones being interviewed, don’t forget. And I’m on the interview committee, so relax. You’re the guy for the job. It’s just industry practice at this level to go through the motions. You know that.”

And so Gary had put his worries aside. After all, it made sense he would get the job—he knew the ins and outs of the business. Bill had taken him under his wing since day one, mentoring him and giving him every advantage. He’d been groomed for the job. It was his. He’d earned it.

Then his world had been shattered.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” Bill, the betrayer, had only shrugged when he’d confronted him. “I did my best, but in the end it wasn’t my decision.” They’d brought in someone better, brighter, more qualified—bullshit!

Wallace had called him in, pretending to be sorry, when
he
was the one who had made the final call. He’d actually had the fucking gall to advise Gary to buck up like a good soldier—to see the bigger picture and continue to do his best for the firm, for the team, for everyone but himself.

He should have quit right then. He should have tossed his resignation letter in Wallace’s face and walked out the door. But of course that was easier said than done. He had expenses and obligations. Plus, if word got out in the industry that he’d been passed over and then quit, he’d be at a disadvantage. Better to wait a while—to bide his time and make his plans on his own terms.

So he’d swallowed his pride and forced a gracious smile. He’d been there with the rest of them, welcoming their new executive vice-president, Ms. Elizabeth Anne Martin, though his guts were churning with murderous rage.

How had she won out over him? What did she have that he didn’t? Her academic credentials were more impressive, he couldn’t deny that, but everyone knew that didn’t matter a lick once you were really out there in the trenches.

He’d done good work, no one could fault him there. Maybe her campaigns were flashier, and she’d won more industry awards, but so what? Didn’t eight years of selfless dedication to the firm count for something? Apparently loyalty meant nothing. Dedication meant nothing. His life’s blood and sweat meant nothing.

Somehow that bitch had blinded the top brass with her impressive portfolio and her degrees from Princeton and the Wharton School of Business. More likely, her perfect tits and a willingness to spread for what she wanted had been the real deal maker. At their first senior management meeting, Wallace had practically come on himself singing her praises. She’d probably fucked the horny old goat—that would explain a lot.

He remembered his first one-on-one meeting with his new boss with painful clarity. She knew she’d been brought in over his head. She knew she’d stolen in an instant what he’d worked eight years to achieve. She was
sensitive
to his position and the situation, the insincere bitch assured him, batting those big baby blues at him. She wanted him to be
candid
and
open
, to work together to build a strong team, to
work through
whatever difficulties they might experience as they attained a comfort level.

He’d had to bite his tongue to keep from demanding how she’d butched her way into the position that should have, by all rights, been his. He’d come dangerously close to asking who she’d fucked to get the job.

He’d toyed briefly with the idea of seducing her, and then somehow blackmailing her over it, but quickly dismissed the idea as impractical. Yes, despite his loathing of her on principal, he had to admit he wouldn’t mind fucking her. He’d use plenty of rope and tie her down good. Then he’d teach her who was really in charge.

He drank the rest of his whiskey and set down the glass. Pulling his cock from his underwear, he wrapped his hand around it and pumped it to erection. He began to massage himself, imagining her at his feet, naked and bound, her mouth stretched by a spreader gag, the metal O forcing it open so he could slide in and out, fucking her face, his hands gripping her hair as he thrust hard, making her gag, making her cry….

He ejaculated, the blobs of semen spurting up and hitting his black silk T-shirt. With a heavy sigh he stood, wiping his shirt ineffectually with his fingers. He’d have it dry-cleaned. Too bad people couldn’t be removed as easily as stains.

~*~

Elizabeth, briefcase in hand, unlocked her door, dreading the confrontation she knew was waiting for her on the other side. She never should have given Bryan a key to her apartment. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she regretted it.

She’d promised him a cozy night. He’d rented a movie and bought a pizza, arranging to meet at her apartment at seven. She’d called to say she couldn’t make it, but he’d insisted on waiting until she got home.

They had to talk, he’d insisted ominously.

Before she’d even stepped over the threshold, he was in her face, as if he’d been waiting right by the door for the past three hours. After a tirade on how inconsiderate she was in general, he moved to the particulars. “I can’t believe you stood me up
again
. I don’t even know why I bother. You need to get your priorities straight, Elizabeth. You need to figure out which is more important, our relationship or your damn job.”

Elizabeth sighed. It was after ten, she was exhausted and she had to be at a meeting at eight the next morning. She really didn’t have the energy for another argument with Bryan. A part of her was relieved he was finally forcing the issue, though. He was good in bed and someone to go the movies with, but sometimes it just wasn’t worth the hassle. He was glaring at her, his arms crossed.

She shrugged. “Come on, Bryan. It’s not fair to make me choose…”

“Make you choose?” Bryan laughed bitterly. “Don’t make me laugh. There is no choice. Or if there is, you’ll choose your work over me every time.”

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