The House Book One: Pet Lucy Read online

  The House: Book One

  Pet Lucy

  By Madison Barry

  Copyright 2016 Madison Barry

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  For my husband,

  Occasionally my Master

  Always my partner

  Saturday, August 29, 2015, 10:47 p.m.

  10 weeks ago

  “Why are you so frigid?” Gabe shouted.

  I sobbed into my hands, half-naked on my bed. “I’m not frigid. I’m not. I’m just… I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to do this or not?” Not shouting now, but impatient.

  “I want to. I think so.” I hugged my bra to my chest.

  “You think so. Don’t make a guy feel too special, now. Five dates, Lucy! If you don’t like me, just say so.” He tugged his shirt back on and sat to tie his shoes.

  “No! It’s not that. I like you.” Well, I’d liked him until about 15 minutes ago, anyway. “Maybe I just need another drink,” I mumbled.

  He shook his head. “If you need to get drunk first, it’s not worth it. I’ll call you.” And then he was gone.

  That hadn’t been worse than usual, but it sure as heck hadn’t been better. It always happened that way. A few dates, let’s go back to my place, and as soon as his hands were anywhere new, as soon as clothes started to come off… Well, he certainly wasn’t the first guy to accuse me of being frigid.

  But I wasn’t unwilling. Just insecure. Shy.

  Scared.

  I knew he wouldn’t call. They never did. I fixed my bra, put my shirt back on. I still had that card in my purse. She’d said call her anytime. Anytime. She’d stressed that. Did that include 11 o’clock on a Saturday night?

  Tara Baker, LCSW

  I dialed the number on the card. She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hi, um, this is Lucy Williams. I was at your seminar last week? You said to call anytime, and…” Crying again.

  “I can help.” No hesitation. No questions. “Come to my office tomorrow morning, 10:30.”

  * * *

  Saturday, November 7, 2015, 8:42 p.m.

  Day 1

  It had been a warehouse at some point. That much was obvious. A large, square building, no more than three stories tall, it occupied the northwest corner of an industrial park that also contained a vitamin store, a furniture warehouse, and an auto mechanic. The area was clean and well-lit and completely deserted after hours. I wasn’t sure if I should be nervous or not. It seemed safe enough.

  I sat in my car, parked in front of the only door I could find, and fiddled with the belt of my overcoat.

  Arrive promptly at 8:45.

  If I was going to do this, I had to get out of my car.

  You’ll have one more opportunity to change your mind.

  I had the instructions in my pocket. Folded and unfolded, crumpled and then smoothed out, tossed in the garbage and retrieved, for weeks I’d debated with myself, reading and rereading the typed list. I knew it by heart, in order and out of order.

  Wear the following, the instructions read, black bra, black thong, and an overcoat. Nothing else.

  Not even shoes? Pantyhose? A big, shapeless t-shirt?

  “If you want to do this, you have to do exactly what it says,” Tara had told me, handing me the note folded in a sealed envelope. “Exactly. Show up one minute late, they won’t let you in. Wear the wrong thing, they’ll turn you away.”

  Bring a blindfold. Park in front of the door. Bring nothing else with you to the door. Empty your pockets. Leave your keys, your purse, and your phone in the car. (If you require a daily or emergency medication, you may bring that.)

  Ring the bell and put on the blindfold. Then wait silently.

  Leave my stuff in the car? My wallet? Credit cards, phone, even keys? Anyone could steal them!

  “They’ll ask for your complete trust,” Tara had continued. “I can promise you now, you will be safe.”

  “You are completely nuts, Lucy,” I said to myself. “You’re walking into your own kidnapping. No one will ever see you again. Leave your phone?” I put my phone and keys in my purse, took the instructions out of my pocket, and left everything in the glove compartment. Driving barefoot had been strange enough, but the path from the car to the door was gravel. Complete trust. Do exactly what it says.

  I stepped out of the car, wiggled my toes on the stones beneath my feet. They were smooth and round, not at all painful to walk on. Trust.

  I walked gingerly to the door, rang the bell, and slipped the blindfold over my eyes.

  Wait silently.

  Wait for what?

  I heard the door open, felt a hand on my elbow, sensed someone in front of me. “Take three steps forward,” a male voice instructed. The first step was timid, feeling with my toes for something I might trip over, but the way was smooth. I stepped into the building onto cold tile. “Very good.” I heard the door close and latch behind me. Whoever had me by the elbow urged me forward, guiding me expertly, another fifteen or so steps straight ahead, then a sharp right, ten steps in that direction, then halted. The floor beneath my feet was carpeted here.

  “Stand there. Don’t speak,” the same voice said. I sensed him moving away from me.

  A different voice spoke, also male, but deeper. “Listen carefully to what I tell you. When I’m finished, you will have one final opportunity to accept or decline. If you decline, you will be escorted out. If you accept, you must stay the course.”

  My fingers twitched, itching to remove the blindfold, look around, see who was speaking. I locked my knees to keep myself upright.

  He continued. “If you accept, you will not leave this building for the next thirty days. During those thirty days, you will do exactly as you are told and only as you are told. At the end of thirty days, you will be given the option to continue or to leave. If you are willing to agree to these terms, say, ‘I agree, Sir.’ If you wish to leave, now is your opportunity to say so. You have sixty seconds to decide.”

  One minute. Well, I’d already made the decision, hadn’t I, just by showing up? What he said was not a surprise. Tara had told me that much. But now that I stood before them, blindfolded and vulnerable, almost naked under my coat, the stakes seemed much higher. It was no longer simply theoretical.

  I had already told my friends, all two of them, that I’d be out of touch for the next month or so. I’d already taken a leave of absence from my job and told my family I was going to spend some time alone and not to try to contact me. My mom was annoyed that I’d miss Thanksgiving, but we hadn’t managed a pleasant family dinner in years and I didn’t expect this year’s to be different. I told her I’d see her at Christmas. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but it mollified her for now.

  “I agree, Sir,” I said, my voice raspy and nearly inaudible. I swallowed hard.

  “We are pleased to have you. Someone will take your car to our secure garage. You don’t have to worry about your belongings. They will be safe until they are needed. Do you have any daily or emergency medications or devices? Answer ‘yes, Sir,’ or ‘no, Sir.’”

  I cleared my throat. “No, Sir.”

  “Good. Take off your coat and drop it on the floor.”

  It was easier wi
th the blindfold on. I could pretend I was alone. Sort of. I wondered how many people were here in the room with me. I’d only heard two voices, and I didn’t know if the first man was still there. I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t do as they said, either. No one had told me that part. Would they send me away?

  Maybe I wanted to be sent away.

  “Hesitation will not be tolerated,” the same man warned.

  I untied my belt, unbuttoned my coat. Cool air on my skin reminded me of how little I was wearing, though it wasn’t unpleasantly cold. I let my coat slide off my arms and pool at my feet.

  “Stand with your arms at your sides. When you are asked a direct question, you will respond ‘yes, Sir,’ or ‘no, Sir.’ Otherwise, you will not speak. When you are given an order, you will comply immediately or you will face punishment. Do you understand?”

  Punishment? No one had mentioned anything about that! “Yes, Sir,” I said.

  “For the next seven days, you will be vetted by potential masters. During the vetting period, you will follow all orders from all men in this building equally. Once a master has selected you, his orders come before any others. You may, at times, encounter other females. You will not speak or communicate with any other females, nor are they to communicate with you. You will be referred to as ‘Slave’ or ‘Pet’ and will answer equally to either. You will not speak unless asked a direct question or are otherwise given permission to do so. You will refer to all men as ‘Master’ or ‘Sir,’ according to your preference. Either is acceptable. Do you understand, Pet?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Holy fuck, what had I gotten myself into? This was no game!

  “Remove your blindfold, Pet. You may see us now. Just drop it on the floor.” That was a third voice, also male. Were there any women here? From what he’d said so far, any women in this building would be in the same boat as me.

  Slaves.

  I took off the blindfold. The room was dim, but it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust after the complete darkness of the blindfold. No one spoke until I stopped blinking. The room could have been a living room in any middle-class home, which was a bit surreal given that I was quite certain we were still in that warehouse. Six men sat arrayed on two couches and a chair, and I was the main attraction, standing in the center of the room, the focus of everyone’s attention. I’d managed to forget how little I was wearing until I happened to glance down and see my bare stomach.

  The six men’s expressions were almost identical, neutral but confident. Their outfits were identical: black slacks, white button-down shirt, and black suit jacket.

  The man in the chair spoke, and I recognized his voice as the one who’d been doing most of the talking. He was classically handsome, with dark hair, green eyes, and a strong chin with a bit of scruff, but not unkempt. He sat with his legs crossed at the knee and an elbow on the armrest of the chair, supporting his head in his hand. Quite casual. “Remove your bra, Pet,” he said.

  That, I had not expected. Standing here in my underwear in front of six strange men was difficult enough for me, but to take my bra off, too? That feeling of dread crept up my spine, the same one that had prompted me to call Tara in the first place, frozen in place, terrified. I stared at the men, trembling. I was failing already!

  I couldn’t move.

  After a minute, when it became clear I was not going to comply, the three men sitting on the couch in front of me rose in unison. One shoved an ottoman into the center of the room, the second went behind the couch to retrieve something from a cupboard against the wall, and the third walked directly toward me. I flinched back. “Be still, Pet,” he murmured. He was only a few inches taller than me, maybe 5’8”, but he carried himself with a self-assurance I could never have begun to match. He was lean, with a boyish face, light brown hair, and blue eyes that bored into me and conveyed age and experience that belied his youthful appearance. I found myself immediately drawn to him. He bent to pick up my coat and the blindfold and tossed them to the side, then stood in front of me again.

  I wished for names, some way to identify the men as individuals, but I suspected that the anonymity was quite intentional. I was anonymous to suppress me, and they were anonymous to set themselves apart from me.

  The man in the chair spoke again, and I realized that the other two men were now flanking me. They weren’t close enough to be threatening, but it was clear they intended for me to feel surrounded. I couldn't look away from the blue-eyed man in front of me, though. “Pet, you have failed to follow a direct order and have thus earned your first punishment.”

  I hadn’t meant to disobey! I just… couldn't move. I still couldn't. Blue Eyes stepped closer, into my personal space, reached around behind me, and unhooked my bra. Holding my gaze, he slid it off my arms and dropped it to the floor. I didn’t resist, didn’t even want to resist, and now that it was done, all I felt was relief. Relief that I wasn’t going to have to do it myself.

  Blue Eyes spoke now. “Bend over the ottoman,” he ordered.

  I wanted them to see that I was trying to do as they said. I took a few hesitant steps toward the ottoman, fell to my knees, and bent so that my torso rested on the cushion and my arms and legs dangled to the front and back. One of the men—I couldn't see which one—knelt beside me and leaned across my shoulders.

  “Ten lashes,” the deep voice announced. “You will count each one as they are delivered. If you miss a number, that lash will be repeated.”

  Lashes?

  And then I understood why I was being held down. I yelped and jerked as one of them struck my butt with some kind of whip. Count them. “One!” I shrieked. A second strike, leaving a stinging patch of skin I was sure must be peeling away. “Two!” Fuck, this hurts! Again, and… “Three!”

  I had no idea this was going to be part of the deal! Whipping me? When he’d said “punishment,” I didn’t really have any idea what to expect, but this was not it.

  “Four!” I choked, and this one brought tears to my eyes.

  I writhed, trying to lessen the blows as they fell, but I knew that wouldn't help me in the long run. “Be still, Pet,” Blue Eyes murmured again, and I realized he was the one with his weight on my shoulders.

  “Oh, God!” I coughed as the fifth fell, and almost forgot to shout, “Five!”

  There was a longer pause now, and Blue Eyes stroked my back with his fingertips. “Good, Pet,” he murmured.

  Whoever held the whip resumed. Knowing what to expect didn’t make it any more bearable, and I was weeping openly, coughing, and shaking by the time I cried out a strangled, “Ten!”

  Deep Voice, as I’d started to think of the man who seemed to be running the show, spoke again. “You will stand up and thank your master for your punishment,” he said.

  Thank him? Blue Eyes rose, and I rested a moment, hopefully not long enough for them to think I was hesitating. I backed off the ottoman to my knees, surprised there was no blood on the floor, and then heaved myself to my feet. I turned around to see who held the whip.

  It wasn’t really a whip, I saw, once my eyes settled on it. Dozens of leather tails were attached to a handle, which hung from the hand of a tall, well-built, African-American man. I looked up at his face, which was not at all angry or even stern. Indeed, he was smiling at me, with gentle eyes. “Thank you for the punishment, Master,” I said, willing to do almost anything to avoid being whipped like that again.

  Which was, of course, the point.

  “You did well, Pet,” the Punisher said. He handed the whip to Blue Eyes, took my face between his palms, and kissed my forehead.

  The three men returned to their positions on the couch, as if nothing had happened. Except Blue Eyes still held the instrument of torture.

  I had a feeling I knew what was coming next, and I tried to prepare myself to follow his order this time.

  “Dry your tears,” Deep Voice said, and held a handkerchief out to me. I took the proffered cloth and dabbed at my face, then gave it back to him. “Rem
ove your underwear, Pet,” he said, when he saw I had calmed.

  Right. The thought of another whipping—or whatever that had been—was enough to set me in motion this time. I didn’t stop to think, just hooked my thumbs over the waistband of my thong and pulled it off.

  * * *

  Sunday, August 30, 2015, 10:52 a.m.

  10 weeks ago

  “It’s not like I’ve never had sex,” I said. “But over the years, I’ve gotten worse and worse, and now I can’t even take off my clothes before I panic and freeze up.”

  Tara sipped at her coffee, sitting back in her chair with her legs crossed at the knee. She had listened intently as I explained why I’d called. “Were any of your sexual encounters unpleasant or frightening?” she asked.

  “Unpleasant, maybe, but not frightening.” I tried to remember if I’d ever enjoyed sex. I must have at some point, right?

  “Were you ever molested or abused? That could cause a reaction like the one you describe.”

  “No. No, I’m sure I wasn’t. Nothing like that.” I was certain. She wasn’t the first person to ask me that, and I’d even wondered about it myself, but there was nothing in my memory that so much as suggested I’d endured that kind of trauma.

  She nodded. “When did you last successfully have intercourse?”

  A knot of anxiety settled in my stomach. “Six years ago.”

  “Six years! But you have attempted since then?”

  “A few times. If we get that far.” I studied my hands in my lap. “Like I said, it’s gotten worse over the years. It wasn’t always this bad. But now it’s just… I don’t know. It’s impossible.” I sighed.

  “Do you masturbate?”

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “It just doesn’t feel that great.”

  “Do you ever watch or read pornography or erotica?”

  “No. I used to, but now it makes me nervous.”