Underworld Ch. 02

Kamil and I were dressed in simple black robes and taken to a sedan where Song drove us silently to the edge of town. The car stopped and she took two blindfolds out of her purse, reaching back to fix them on our heads. Blind, I felt my heart begin to pound. She was driving again, faster, and twisting and turning. I thought I might be sick. Kamil breathed heavily next to me. We're kidnap victims, I thought, except we did this to ourselves. I had no way of truly knowing the time, but i guessed the drive to be about an hour and a half. Song had clicked on the CD player and played Depeche Mode halfway through. After the hour and a half, the car slowed to a stop and she rolled her window down. I heard,

"I'm bringing two from the downtown office. Mr. Serayen sent them."

"ID and papers?"

"Right here, for the girl, and here, this one is the boy."

"They need to take off the blindfolds." a thunderous male voice said.

"Of course." She reached into the back seat and lifted our blindfolds up to our foreheads. It was like breathing again. Light hit me and a huge Viking of a man peered into the car and looked us over, our photo ID cards in his hand for comparison.

"Do they have anything with them?"

"Nothing. Everything is in order."

"Alright, put these on their wrists. You two, hear me? These bracelets track you. If I get a beep that you are off the grounds, I beat both your asses, we clear?"

"Yes, Sir." We both said, scared shitless.

The viking handed Song two thin metal bracelets with a glowing center like a watch-face. Song drove further down the long driveway- a massive cobblestone paved path to a mansion that was part Victorian ornate and part fortress. There were lush gardens. There were high walled stone fences that were surrounded by another layer of carefully protected gates. Rising high above it was something that should not be called a house. It was a living, breathing thing. I had gone to France on a high school French Club trip when I was seventeen and I had seen houses that grand but never in America. It seemed the driveway was a half a mile long. A dry fountain stood in the center of the circular drive in front of the house. It was Venus rising from the half shell- the only bit of kitsch in an otherwise elegant atmosphere.

"Out of the car now, and stand still right here." Song instructed us. "You will not be dealing with me any more unless there is a problem. I trust I will not see either of you again?" It was a question.

We both nodded. She looked annoyed and fished her cell phone out of her purse. She called someone and simply said, "The new arrivals are here." And then she hung up. She turned us both around and fixed those digital bracelets to our wrists.

"If you are caught off of the grounds without permission, you will be beaten. He meant that. The man you saw is Reichen and he is a cruel son of a bitch so don't get on his nerves. You signed the forms so you are stuck here unless you decide to bail out in which case you need to tell your handler you want out. If that happens, you will sign another form to be released. If you are released, you will never again work in any training house in the guild. I suggest you don't be stupid and get yourself blacklisted. Now, I'm going to hand you over to your handlers and you'll both behave yourselves. I'll come around later with your collars."

The huge front doors opened and a young man of about thirty-three stepped out. I was immediately shocked by how gorgeous he was. This was a man you could stand next to any Hollywood movie star and shame them. He was six feet tall and looked like a cross between Brad Pitt and a young Robert Redford. As he came closer I could see the definition of his face. Large, bright cornflower blue eyes, chiseled jaw, full lips in a Cupid's bow, the bottom lip thicker than the top, a light scattering of freckles just beneath his eyes that made him seem younger. He had smile lines at the corners of his mouth. He was smiling, bright and cheerful. I expected a trainer to have a stern face, and be wearing leather pants with a whip chained to his belt. None of that here. He wore olive green carpenter's pants and a v-neck white tee shirt that I could see the definition of his muscles through. His smile was radiant. His hair was wheat blond and a lock of it fell loosely into one eye before he swiped it back with his hand. Exquisite collarbone. Swagger of a walk. I could have worshiped him right then and there.

"Good, good. You got here right on time. I hope you're not too tired because we have a lot of work to do. Have you both eaten today?"

Not sure how to respond, we both nodded yes and added, "Yes, Sir."

"You don't have to call me Sir. I'm not your trainer. I'm your handler. That's a bit different. Mr. Serayen is going to train you himself. But I will be looking after you when he isn't. It's my job to bathe you, feed you, make sure you get a work out, and see to your needs. My name is Micheal Jones, but everybody here calls me Jonesy. You can call me that if you like, or Micheal. Here's how it works. I don't want either of you to be confused, ok? In some ways, I am your master. You have to do what I tell you because it is the best course for your training. But I am also your councilor, your friend and your shrink if you need one. You can speak to me whenever you please, but first you have to ask, 'May I speak?' That's the standard here. With Mr. Serayen though, you don't speak at all unless spoken to. Let's get you both in the house and get your day started. You can ask me any questions you have while I get you scrubbed up. Follow me."

He lead us into that grand house and down a long hallway passed open archways to a ballroom, a library and a solarium. At the end of the hallway was a narrow staircase that went upstairs to a narrow hallway linking together a series of brightly lit rooms. A large room was a bath house in the Turkish style, a hamam with a large heated stone in the center. A very pretty Indian woman appeared and set a stack of heated towels down on a tiled bench.

"This is Priet. She is in her last months of training and in December she is going to the private house of a guy in Japan. She is trained as a bath slave and will be an eighteenth birthday present to the man's son. A hell of a birthday present! The father has quite a collection already. I'm going to miss her when she goes." he smiled that radiant sun touched smile again and to my surprise she melted against him, pressed in a wet kiss and then seemed to shake it off and go back to her duties with a playfully scolding look of 'you naughty boy.' I wanted to do the same to him, but if I did, what would happen? I was too afraid of being kicked out of this place. I had no more time to think about it, as my robe was slipped off by eager hands. My new bracelet was taken and put in a glass box. I glanced at Kamil, who was watching us with a dark look in his eyes. When I was naked again, Micheal took my hands and lead me to the marble slabs at the side of the room. Fixed to the wall were various hoses and fixtures for bathing. He switched on a shower head that spouted forth jets of hot water over my back as he laid me down on my stomach. He took from the wall a long hose, like a metal coiled snake with a little gun for a head and he sprayed me carefully with it until I was soaked. From a simple wooden bucket he took a rough sea sponge and dipped it in the foamy water in the bucket. The water was scented with various oils and florals. The abrasion rubbed me raw and the hot water jets stung my skin, but the feeling of his strong and capable hands on my body was a delicious pleasure mixed with the pain. I could see Kamil laid just the way I was on the marble, with the bath slave working his dark skin with soaps and salts. When I was pink and raw on my back, I was turned over and my front was scrubbed.

He was detailed, a perfectionist. Micheal's hands did not miss an inch of me. I was entranced with his beauty. The carpenter's jeans were gone and replaced by white linen pants, the same as Priet's, and a simple white tank top graced his shoulders. His feet were bare. The water splashed over him and wet his clothes, and the sight of him that way was so erotic that I felt that familiar flush of wetness between my legs again. He pulled me up to sit on the marble and he gave me a sun drenched smile.

"Now, on your knees right down here between my legs. I need to wash that gorgeous hair of yours."

Taking a deep breath I lowered to my knees and positioned myself between his legs where he sat on the marble. My face was just inches from his cock and I could see it clearly through the thin, soaked linen, a pink, thick and meaty cock flanked by muscular and perfect thighs. I could see the thatch of wheat colored blond pubic curls and the balls that looked heavy and tight. I braced my hands on a metal bar beneath the marble slab and rocked with the motion of his hands in my hair. The smell of bright citrus filled the air and he worked a lather of sweet smelling soap into my long locks.

"Do you know you have the most beautiful hair I have seen on a slave? I've tended to a lot of slaves and I've never seen flame red hair all the way down the back like that. And it's real, too. Gorgeous. Priet, look at this. Flame auburn hair on a tight little pussy like this." he twisted my hair into a soapy knot and reached down to pat his hand on my hip. "Open up your legs and show Priet your red hair. Go ahead, forehead on the floor."

I obeyed him and felt a moan creep up from my throat. I bent my head to the cold marble floor and I spread my legs while on my knees, giving Kamil and Priet a view of my asshole and the pink folds of my vagina, lushly covered in auburn red hair.

"Very pretty." Priet said, "You should groom a little heart into her pubic hair." The bath slave grinned.

"And the boss would have me hung up by my ankles and whipped. No thank you. But she is a fine piece of work. Alright, Starla, stand up now and let me rinse you off."

When I was rinsed, he laid me down again, this time taking my legs and strapping them into two thin cables that pulled out of the wall.

"Be very still, I am going to trim you."

He took scissors and neatly trimmed my pubic hair, then carefully shaved the sides with a razor. I was washed again, rinsed again and then to my surprise, his fingertips opened up my pussy lips and his fingers pushed inside me. He had put some kind of warm oil on his fingers and it was wonderfully soothing. He coated my inner passage with it, then rubbed it expertly into the soft pink folds, rubbing into every crevice until my pussy was warm and tingling. My hips were undulating, pressing against his hand.

"Be careful, cherry, I'm not supposed to let you come." he said. I blushed that he called me cherry. "I think I'll call you that, a little luscious red cherry."

Then I could not help myself, I bucked my hips hard against his hand, and I heard him laugh. He obliged me a moment, fucking me with his fingers before he clicked his tongue against his teeth and gave me a scolding look that was playful and boyish.

"My Cherry is a naughty little fuck slut, isn't she?" he purred. He took his hand away and rinsed it in the shower spray. "Cherry, look... your friend Kamil is hard as a rock." I turned my head to the side and saw that Priet was smiling and working a soapy lather over Kamil's thighs, her hands moving up to grip the dark black cock and stroke it a few times before moving her hands back to his thighs. He looked tormented. His face tightened, balls ready to burst. Micheal gave a little pinch to my swollen nipples and then began to release my ankles from the cables.

"I tell you what, Cherry, I'll let you come, but here's how you do it. Stand up, pretty. Now, go over there and climb up onto Kamil. You straddle him and ride him hard. I want you to come hard, but don't let him come. If he comes, I'm going to have to punish you and then I'll feel terrible. Can you do that?"

Wide eyed, I nodded.

He smacked me lightly on the ass and I went to the marble slab where Kamil lay on his back. I climbed over him, lowered my pussy onto his rigid cock and I began to rock on top of him. I heard him groan and felt his large hands grip my hips. He was bucking up into me, fucking me hard and fierce. Then I saw his mouth open and he let out a loud groan. Jets of hot come began to spray inside me and I started to bounce on him, letting him come in me. But Micheal would have none of this. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me off of Kamil, the thick black cock bouncing back to rigid attention while still spraying thick jets of cream.

I was a flopping rag doll in Micheal's arms. He stood me on top of a marble slab, standing higher than him, and he roughly sprayed me with the hose again, opening my legs and spraying the jets up into me, flushing me out. I was shaking then, shivering violently with need. I did not care about Kamil, or about the beautiful bath slave. All I felt was the stinging little jets of water against my clitoris and the taut slick linen muscles of Micheal's arms embracing me. I collapsed. If he had not been holding me, I would have slid onto the cold marble floor with a fast thud. But he held me and I felt the water jets abruptly stop. Dripping wet, I slowly slid down him, my cheek pressed to the soaked linen on his chest, his thigh, all the way down to his perfect bare feet. Even his feet had a glowing golden tan.

I pressed my palms to the cool marble and took the position he had ordered me into before, with my elbows down onto the floor, my ass openly exposed, my back arched. Shaking with desire, and a crushing kind of adoration for him, I pressed my lips against the top of his foot and the kiss there.

"Look how sweet you are, little Cherry," he stroked my wet hair. "but I told you I would have to punish you. Stand up, and we will get you groomed to see the rest of the house. I would punish you myself but the boss will surely want to have that privilege himself." he then leaned down and took a handful of my dripping hair in his hand, lips against my ear, "but believe me, I'll get a chance to put some stripes on that sweet ass of yours myself very soon. Keep that in mind."

Quickly, I was pulled up to my feet by Priet and the girl's soft hands coaxed me toward an antechamber of the room where a row of dressing vanities stood with lit mirrors. I was crying, though even now I cannot explain why. Something about this intense eroticism overwhelmed me. I was dried with soft towels, my hair combed and fixed in curls. She rubbed aromatic oil into my skin, cleaned under my fingernails with a sharp little pin. I ached for Micheal to touch me, but he did nothing to come near me. It was part of the game Micheal played, making me want him even more. I saw him through the veil of my own hair that was tossed forward to be fixed with curls. He had stripped off the wet linen and put his jeans back on. He did not bother with a shirt. Leaning back against the windowsill, he folded his arms across his chest and watched me with that warm sunshine smile. He would leave me like this, aching between my legs and wanting to be fucked.

I saw him pat Kamil on the back when the big black man sat down to have similar treatment done. Micheal cleaned under his fingernails, rubbed almond oil onto his glistening skin and then took the now flacid cock in his hand and rubbed oil onto it. I hoped he would make him hard again, or suck him, but none of that happened. His touch was warm but clinical and he was now just a slave's handler doing his task of preparing a slave for the day. That very first day, I knew Micheal Jones would be trouble for me.