Sure, it would have been nice in theory to fall in love, to have someone love her, but was there even such a thing as romantic love? She thought about her married friends, all of them disillusioned in some way by their relationship. What they'd sworn was true love all too often seemed to settle into barely tolerating one another, miserable and lonelier together than when they'd been on their own. People just hooked up so they wouldn't be alone. Love was an illusion, a fairytale. People used each other to get what they needed and when it didn't work out, they moved on. It was cleaner that way, and more honest. That's how she'd always done it, and so far it had worked just fine, thank you.

After he'd fed her, Sam had allowed her to wash her face and brush her teeth, but had refused her request for a shower. "In the morning," he'd said. "You'll be properly groomed in the morning." She hadn't liked the sound of that, but she had been too exhausted and frightened by the long, arduous day to question him, even if she'd dared.

He'd locked her collar to a long chain that was bolted into the headboard and had the gall to tell her to "sleep tight". He'd showed her the urinal under the bed to use if she needed to during the night and then he'd left her there, all alone, chained to the bed like a prisoner.

Thirty days...

Somehow she'd slept and was reasonably sure it was now morning. So she'd made it through the first day. Twenty-nine left. Could she really endure being this man's prisoner for that long? Rae shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Why had she agreed to this bizarre arrangement? Would he keep his word at the end?

She thought of the agreement they'd drafted that would indemnify her of all wrongdoing, going over the wording in her mind. It still left her on the hook to pay back what she'd taken. She'd underestimated him, she realized that now. She'd gotten careless, overconfident as her scheme continued to work, month after month. She'd almost gotten away with it too-that was the infuriating thing. She'd only needed a little more time, a little more money.

She was just borrowing the money, after all. She'd always planned to pay the company back, some day. She'd been in a tight spot and she was nothing if not resourceful. She'd done what she needed to in order to stay afloat. And after all, didn't she deserve the funds? She was the one who'd saved him from himself. He'd been so wrapped up in his software code and the miracle of his own genius, he'd lost focus on marketing and finance. She'd saved his damn company, and what gratitude had he shown? Instead of bringing her onboard as a full-fledged partner as he'd promised, he'd let her continue to work as his assistant, a hired hand with no direct stake in the business.

And now what was she? She'd voluntarily consented to be his slave, his property, for the next month! She was naked and chained in his basement and not a soul other than Sam knew where she was...

What if he never let her go?

Rae stiffened, her ears perked toward the sound of the basement door opening at the top of the stairs. The overhead light flicked on and Rae squinted against the sudden brightness. She heard Sam's soft but heavy tread on the carpeted stairs. She watched him come into view but she didn't move. As he approached the bed, she shut her eyes. She opened them just a slit, just enough to see his form through the latticework of her lashes.

He was shirtless, dressed in loose-fitting pajama bottoms, his feet bare. He sat on the bed beside her, his weight making the mattress shift. She held her body stiff to keep from rolling toward him.

"Good morning, Rae," he said softly. He stroked her cheek, his touch light on her skin. Despite her rage toward him, and her fear, Rae couldn't deny the sudden pulse at her sex his touch caused. What was wrong with her? She hated this man.

"Wake up."

His voice remained soft, but there was command beneath it. She let her lids flutter open and looked at him, saying nothing. He reached for her sheet and she clutched it instinctively to stop him, but he simply pried her fingers from the fabric and pulled the sheet away.

"Turn over. I want to inspect the welts."

Welts! Rae rolled over on the bed, feeling the heat of a blush on her cheeks as he ran his fingers over her back and ass. Her skin tingled to his touch and then, when his hand moved over her right thigh, she winced with pain.

"Nice," he pronounced. "You have some lovely marks this morning. You should be proud."

Proud? Proud he'd whipped her to the point of marking her? Rae was glad her face was averted so he wouldn't see the scowl of furious indignation his words provoked.

He pulled at her shoulder, rolling her onto her back. "Time for a shower." As he spoke, he pulled a key ring from his pajama pants pocket and inserted a small key into the padlock that held the chain in place at Rae's collar.

He led Rae to the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower stall. She stood, waiting for him to leave. Instead he closed the toilet lid and sat down on it. "I-" Rae began, before catching herself. "May I speak?" she forced herself to say instead.

Sam smiled. "Yes."

"I, uh, I need to use the bathroom." So get the fuck out of here.

"You can pee in the shower," he said, not moving.

Rae crossed her arms over her chest. "I need to use the toilet," she said, her intestines suddenly cramping.

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "I see," he said. He stood, lifting the toilet lid and gesturing with a hand for her to sit. "Go ahead then."

Rae waited for him to leave, but he just leaned against the sink, watching her with an amused expression. "I need privacy," she finally blurted.

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "Slaves don't get privacy, silly girl. In fact, this is a perfect lesson for you. I should have thought it myself. Sit your sweet little ass down on the toilet and do your business. You have nothing to hide in front of me. Nothing. So hurry up, or I might change my mind."

For the second time that morning Rae felt her face heating with embarrassment, while anger boiled in her gut. Her intestines cramped again and his threat lingered in the air between them. Reluctantly she sat on the toilet and willed her body to relax enough for her to move her bowels in front of Sam. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was no big deal. After all, after yesterday what was left to hide? If he got his rocks off by watching a woman take a dump, well, it just confirmed what a sick bastard he was.

She managed to go at last, wiping herself quickly and reaching back to flush the toilet. She stood, closing the toilet lid, averting her eyes from Sam's penetrating gaze and his superior, obnoxious smile.

"Lift your hair and turn around so I can take off your collar," Sam ordered. "Remember, you are never, ever to take it off yourself. If I ever find it off, I'll lock it in place." Rae didn't reply, since no question had been asked. She merely turned as instructed, gathered her hair into a makeshift bun and let him unbuckle the collar, which he set down on the counter beside the sink.

Sam held open the shower door and then took his place again on the toilet seat, his eyes fixed on the clear glass of the stall. Trying to block his presence from her mind, Rae lifted her face into the hot, delicious spray. He'd allowed her to bring her own soap and shampoo when she'd packed her things, and she supposed she should be grateful for that small comfort.

She shampooed her hair twice, letting the hot, soapy water sluice over her body as she rinsed. She squeezed a dollop of conditioner into her palm and pulled it through her hair before taking the bar of soap and lathering it over her skin.

Her next step in a normal shower routine would be to shave her underarms and legs, but there was no razor in the shower and she realized she hadn't packed hers. Suddenly she recalled his statement the night before about her being "properly groomed" in the morning.

She glanced sidelong at him. He was watching her, one hand resting lightly over his crotch, the other stroking his chin. She turned her back to him, lifting her face again into the shower spray, not yet ready to think about what proper grooming might mean.

"Turn off the water and step out."

Reluctantly, Rae did as she was told. She stepped, dripping, onto the bathmat. There was a pile of towels on the counter beside the sink. Sam stood and handed her one. "Wrap your hair. Then stand at attention, hands behind your head. I'll dry your body."

Rae started to retort that she'd dry herself, thank you, but her words died on her lips as her gaze met his. She bent forward, catching her wet hair in the towel and winding it around her head. She straightened, goose bumps rising on her wet skin. Sam moved toward her, his gaze shifting into a glower. "Position," he snapped.

Rae put her hands behind her head, hating him anew. Sam rubbed the towel over her skin, drying her body and limbs with the soft terrycloth. He drew the towel between her legs and beneath her breasts while she stood, stiff and awkward with her fingers laced behind her neck.

When he was done, he picked up the collar. "Arms at your sides," he ordered, again buckling the collar into place around her neck. He took another towel from the counter and spread it over the bathmat. "Lie down on that towel while I get things ready."

Without waiting to see if she obeyed, Sam turned toward the sink and opened the cabinet beneath it. He pulled out a large plastic bowl and a black leather shaving kit, from which he took out a razor, a small plastic bottle of baby oil and a tube of shaving cream. Turning on the tap, he ran it until steam rose and then filled the bowl, squeezing some of the oil in before setting it on the floor beside Rae. He reached for a washcloth and dropped that into the water as well.

Rae was lying on the towel, jittery with nervous anticipation. What was his plan? How did he expect her to shave lying down? Why the fuck had he waited until she was out of the shower to give her a razor?

"Please, Sam, uh, Sir," she began. "May I speak?" Jesus, it felt stupid and humiliating to have to request permission just to speak. Of course, that was his plan, to make her feel like shit. God, she hated him.

"Yes," he said after a beat. "What is it?"

"It's just, I can shave better standing up. It would have made more sense if I'd shaved in the shower. I-"

"I'll be shaving you. Your job is to lie there and keep quiet. We'll do your underarms first."

Rae sat up, the blood in her veins suddenly running cold. "No. Oh no. You can't shave me. I'll do it."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed into a V over his eyes, which grew dark. "Excuse me," he said quietly. "Are you saying no to me? A slave does not say no, Rae. A slave does what she's told. You've just earned your first punishment of the day, little girl. Knowing you, it won't be your last."

Rae shook her head, aware she was treading on dangerous ground but unable to stop herself. "You might cut me! Please," she pleaded. "Let me do it. Please." She heard the quaver in her voice. No way was she going to let this man near her with a razor! She hugged herself, her lips pressed into a hard, determined line, barely managing to hold her panic at bay.

"Rae, listen to me." Sam's voice was firm. "This isn't up for negotiation. Every morning I'm going to groom you, do you understand? I'm going to shave your underarms, your legs and your cunt. Every morning. You can either lie down and offer yourself to me, or I'll tie you down and do it by force. Do you understand?"

Mutely, Rae shook her head. A tear rolled down her cheek. Sam reached out, tracing its track with his thumb. "You're afraid of being cut?"

She started to nod, then shook her head, afraid to admit it, afraid to let him know of her vulnerability. The sight of her own blood terrified her.

"It's okay." Sam crouched in front of her and cupped her shoulders in his big hands, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I'm not going to cut you, Rae. Trust me, this isn't the first time I've shaved a woman. I know what I'm doing and I won't hurt you. But this is going to happen. This morning and every morning that you're with me. We can do it the easy way, or we can make it just as hard as you like."

Rae bit her lip, his words whirling through her brain. Something in his tone made her know there was no negotiating this one. She wasn't going to get out of this, no matter how scared she was. At least she still had some control, in that she wasn't tied down.

He pressed against her shoulder and Rae let herself be pushed back against the towel, though her heart thumped like a bird beating its wings against a closed window. Even though she was lying down, she felt dizzy and a little sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes against the dizziness. Was it possible to faint lying down?

"Relax," she heard Sam say. "Take a deep breath. Go on, breathe. Hold it for three seconds and let it out. Deep breaths."

Rae forced herself to draw in more air, to slow her ragged breathing. She counted to three and exhaled. "That's better," she heard him say. "Again." In and out she breathed, counting and exhaling, willing herself to relax. She kept her eyes closed, soothed in spite of herself by the sound of his voice, deep and gentle. "Breathe. Yes, that's good. Again."

After a while, she did feel calmer. Her heart had slowed to a beat closer to normal and she didn't feel so dizzy. "Much better," Sam said. "I'm going to do your underarms first. You just stay still and you'll be fine."

She didn't resist when she felt him lifting her arms over her head, stretching them out on the bathroom tile. She startled when the warm washcloth moved over her left armpit. "It's okay," Sam said. "You're doing fine." He rubbed some of the shaving cream into her skin. "Now, stay still. I'm going to use the razor. I promise not to hurt you."

She felt the cool blades drawing over her skin in smooth, even lines, and then the washcloth again, warm and soft. He did the other underarm and then patted them both dry. "Not so bad, eh?"

Rae opened her eyes. Sam was smiling at her and she almost smiled back. Instead she closed her eyes again, turning her face away. "Legs next," she heard him say. "Put your feet flat on the floor, knees wide."

The razor moved in slow, careful strokes up and down her calves, followed by his fingers. Again he patted her dry. "Lift your hips," he ordered. "I'm going to put a folded towel under you so I have better access to your pretty little cunt."

Rae thought about refusing. Shaving hadn't been part of their bargain, at least not in her mind. But as she thought over the terms of their peculiar agreement, they had been absurdly vague. His words played in her head. You'll be my sex slave. My toy to do with as I will. You'll serve your time naked and chained.

Still reeling from the shock of his catching her out, she hadn't exactly had the leverage or been in the frame of mind to insist on a specific contract for her "punishment" as he'd termed it. And wasn't it better to be lying here, clean and relatively safe, rather than locked in some prison for god knew how long? At least this stint was brief, in the scheme of things. She would get through these few weeks and then she'd move out of New York and put Sam Ryker out of her mind forever.

Sam placed a folded towel under her butt and pushed at her knees, forcing her legs farther apart. He took a pair of small barbers' scissors from the shaving kit and carefully trimmed her pubic hair. Rae bit her lip and clenched her fists, trying to keep perfectly still as the sharp scissors snipped close to her skin.

When he was done, Sam draped the warm, wet washcloth over her pussy. He pressed his palm over her vulva and moved it in a slow, sensual circle that, in spite of her fear at what was to come, felt good. After a moment, he removed the washcloth.

He squirted baby oil onto his fingers and more directly onto her pubic mound. He ran his lubricated fingers gently over her outer labia, coating them with the soft oil. He picked up the razor and Rae's eyes widened, her chest tightening with apprehension.

"This is a real trigger for you, isn't it?" Sam spoke in a musing tone, and she got the feeling he didn't really expect an answer. "We'll have to explore that more," he added, still as if to himself. He looked at her directly, adding, "I'm going to shave your cunt now, slave. Stay still and relax."

Rae had no choice but to comply. She closed her eyes again, trying to let her mind drift away, but her every nerve and muscle was strained as he ran the sharp silver blades again and again over her mons and labia until she was smooth as a baby.

Again he draped the soft, wet washcloth over her skin, pressing his palm against her clit. He removed the cloth and ran his fingers over her denuded sex. "Perfect," he said softly. "Now you're properly groomed, slave girl." He stood and reached an arm down, holding out his hand to her.

"Come on. Up you go. It's time for your training session. But first, your punishment."

Chapter Six.

"Put this on." Sam held out the black leather corset, unhooked and unlaced. Rae stared at it as if she'd never seen one before. He'd had her remove the towel and her hair hung wet and loose to her shoulders. She took the corset uncertainly and held it in her hands, her expression one of confusion and distaste.

"Raise your arms. I'll put it on you." He dared her with his eyes to refuse. As she handed back the corset, she met his gaze but then looked away. Slowly she lifted her arms. He secured the corset around her narrow torso, forcing her full breasts up over the top. He hooked it along her side, cinching in her already slender waist. He pulled the leather laces in the back, tightening it still further.

"I can barely breathe," Rae gasped.

"Did I ask you a question?" Sam replied tersely.

"No...Sir," she muttered, barely bothering to disguise her frustration.

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm beginning to think you like to be punished, Rae. How else do we explain your constant breaking of the most basic rules? Perhaps a full day with a ball gag in your mouth will remind you of the very simple rule of keeping your mouth shut, hmm?" She didn't answer, but he recognized the question could be interpreted as rhetorical and let it pass.

He moved in front of her and pointed toward the five-inch heels he'd set down by her feet. "Step into these," he ordered. He watched as she eyed the stilettos dubiously before inserting her pretty feet into them. They were a perfect fit, forcing her into a Barbie Doll arch and accentuating the line of her long, lovely legs. She tottered slightly but managed to find her balance.

He let his eyes travel slowly up her body, lingering hungrily on the bare cunt, gliding over the soft, black leather that hugged her lithe curves, resting on the creamy white breasts jutting over the top of the bustier, the dark pink nipples perking invitingly toward him.

"You look like a perfect whore," he commented, pleased and amused as the color stained her cheeks and throat. He'd never seen her blush during their daily interactions, but since she'd come to his dungeon, she seemed to blush as easily as a schoolgirl.

"So, whore," he continued, savoring his power. "Your punishment this morning is to stand between these two walls." He led her to a corner of the dungeon. Just beside her was a stool, upon which sat an egg timer. "You will keep your nose pressed in the corner, like so." He directed her head until her nose touched the seam of the adjoining walls, "and your hands up like this." He lifted her arms, pressing her palms flat against the walls on either side of her head.

"Spread your legs wide." He kicked lightly at her left ankle with his bare foot, and then at her right until he was satisfied with her stance. "Now, stick out your ass and, no matter what I do to you, you better maintain your position, nose and palms against the wall, ass out."

He reached for the timer and turned the dial to five minutes. It began to tick off the seconds. It was, he knew, in her line of vision. "Your punishment lasts only until the timer rings. But if you fuck up," he warned her, "we start over, got it?"

"Oh, Sam! I-"

Sam reached for the back of her neck and gripped hard. "I said, got it? That's a yes or no question, Rae." He squeezed tighter.

"Yes...Sir," she said in a tiny voice. He let her go and stepped back, stroking his cock through the thin fabric of his pajamas as he admired the full round globes of her small but perfect ass beneath the tight leather binding of the corset.

Soon he would have her at his feet, his cock stuffed down that pretty throat. But not yet...she hadn't earned it yet. Instead he went to the toy cabinet and returned with a riding crop, its long rectangle of red leather pretty against her pale skin. He smacked her right ass cheek lightly, watching the supple flesh jiggle in response. She kept her position. He smacked the other cheek, quite a bit harder. She gasped but still stayed in place. Good girl.

He licked his right index finger and reached between her legs, pressing the digit into her softness. She grunted and shuddered but, to her credit, still kept her palms pressed flat, her nose to the wall. He moved his finger inside her, savoring the hot clamp of muscle and the moistening flesh. She could protest all she liked-her cunt didn't lie.

He smiled cruelly and pulled his finger from her, reaching to cup her mons from behind. He pushed his palm against her, moving in a slow, grinding circle over her spread pussy. He stepped closer, reaching around her to find and roll a nipple between his fingers, enjoying its swell as it hardened beneath his touch. He bent and kissed her shoulder, biting lightly, just a nudge of his teeth to let her know his power. She shuddered again, arching against his palm, but otherwise remained still and quiet.

Stepping back, he lifted the crop again, letting its working end land with several sharp cracks against her bottom. He cropped her steadily, methodically covering her ass and thighs. He saw she was clenching her hands, the palms no longer flat against the wall.

"Palms flat," he reminded her. "We start again." He waited until she uncurled her fingers and pressed her hands again against the wall. She shifted a little on her heels. Her feet were probably tired by now. When she was still and once again in proper position, he reset the timer.

Sam wasn't one of those men with a particular fetish for stiletto heels and corsets, though he had to admit they did create a lovely picture. But for him, it was more about the punishment-the confining of his slave in apparel that restricted and limited her, reminding her of her place and position. The fact that Rae looked gorgeous in the outfit was just an added perk.

Sam slapped at her thighs and calves with the crop. She yelped and pressed herself into the corner, as if she could get away from the stinging leather. He struck her ass, alternating between cheeks, watching the skin redden.

Stepping back, he aimed carefully and smacked her between the legs, catching her delicate labia with a satisfying thwack. Rae screamed and jerked her legs closed, reaching down with one hand to cup her cunt.

Sam smiled behind her, having expected this. "Oh dear," he said with mock sympathy. "You seem to have fallen out of position. I guess we'll just have to start over." Again he set the timer for five minutes, waiting patiently while Rae resumed the proper stance. She had begun to whimper and her legs were shaking, but she placed her palms flat against the wall and again buried her nose in the corner.