CRACK

Justin flinched automatically at the sound, jerking awake with a sudden start, then groaned as every part of him seemed to flare in pain. It wasn’t a sharp pain, not like the kind of pain from being cut or hit, more like the morning after a hellish workout mixed up with the hangover from hell. He took a deep breath, and the pain subsided to a manageable grumble. He ached, and when he tried to shift to ease the discomfort, he found himself brought up short.

CRACK

He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to jump again, and slowly, very slowly, peeled one eye open, trying to get a stock of his situation. And felt his stomach seethe with a tangled mix of fury, fear and shock.

He was tied to a damn kitchen chair.

It was a heavy thing, solidly built wood, complete with a high wooden back, through which his arms had been posted and secured, his wrists wrapped with thick rope, more cinching his elbows together, making him hiss at the pain in his shoulders and chest. His legs had been secured too, posted underneath the chair, his ankles crossed, then roped to the rung underneath. He shifted his weight slightly, seeing if there was any movement, but the chair didn’t give an inch.

CRACK

He jumped again at the loud cracking nose, and slowly raised his head. The world spun, and he dry-gagged, certain he was going to hurl, but managed to hold it back, the acrid taste of bile in his mouth, and once the world had steadied, sucked in a deep breath. His eyes flickered around the room, the soft golden-brown eyes trying to take everything in, widening in shock.

It was a massive room, an oriental feel to the place. Long swathes of diaphanous material in rich reds, shimmering gold, opalescent white and delicate traces of pale blue hung around the room, starting from the centre of the ceiling and out to the walls, hanging down to brush the terracotta tiles underfoot, the glaze gleaming under the shimmering lights. Candles were scattered across the room, some stood in a pool of wax on the floor, others sat on furniture, others in niches, wax dribbling in long white fronds over the smooth plaster of the walls, a soft red-brown ochre. More hung in glass orbs from the ceiling, the coloured glass giving the impression of stars hanging from the ceiling, some red and yellow, others swirled with white or black like marbles.

High above them was a chandelier, and this was the only think that made Justin feel like he hadn’t stepped back in time, the bulbs were clearly electric, shedding the most light over the room, and over the immense bed below. A whole rugby team could have slept in it and had room to turn over without elbowing anyone. It had a rich russet bedspread, and a cream throw over the bottom, thick wooden bedposts curving in around the bed, reminiscent of mammoth’s tusks, as they almost met above the centre of the bed. More material hung from them, white, translucent curtains that would give the illusion of privacy, when drawn.

It would have been ostentatious to the point of monstrous anywhere else, but here, along with the other antique furniture, heavy wooden stuff with glass fronts that would have been too overpowering for a normal room, seemed to fit well into the cavernous space... although what was in them, plainly on display...

CRACK

He’d almost forgotten about the sound and started, looking up, then wondered how he could ever have missed it.

Stood, directly in front of him was a short slender woman, her lithe form wrapped in a long silk kimono, a rich royal blue, making her a complete contrast to everything else in the room, patterns of white and silver tracing flowers and butterflies across the material. She could not have been over 5 foot, her hair, black as midnight, twirled up into an ornate hairstyle, a bun nesting in a delicate pattern of plaits... she seemed so fragile. Until you saw the bullwhip in her left hand.

In front of her was a young man in a ghastly parody of a push up. Iron manacles around his wrists were connected to a short length of chain buried deep into the tiles, pinning him in place, similar manacles were clapped around his ankles. He was completely naked, his body shining with a faint sheen of sweat, his muscles coiled as he desperately tried to maintain the position. And no wonder why. Set along the length of his back, nestled along his spine, was a line of 6 candles.

4 of them were extinguished, smoke curling from the wicks, but two, in the dip of his spine, were still brightly burning. The woman casually adopted a stance, then snapped her wrist. The whip slashed out, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into the ridges of the tiles, but kept himself perfectly still.

CRACK

The candle was out.

Justin had to stop himself gaping. The whip hadn’t so much as touched the boy, the puff of air from the tip just being enough to blow the candle out. The woman moved slightly and took up her stance again.

“Stop it!” Justin was ashamed at how pathetic his voice sounded, but swallowed and tried again more strongly. “Just stop it, alright?”

The woman totally ignored him, taking her stance carefully, twisting the whip...

“I said stop it!” Justin yelled.

CRACK

Justin choked, the whip curled around his neck. He hadn’t even seen her move. The woman had turned to face him, and he caught sight of her face. It was so... perfect. A delicate heart-shaped face with wide silver eyes, rimmed in long black lashes. Her skin was milk-white, scattered with golden freckles across her cheeks, her lips a sensuous loveheart, tinted blood red.

What spoiled it was the expression. How could a face so child-like and innocent contain so much distain? Those silver eyes narrowed and the whip twitched around his neck, tightening slightly.

“You appear to be under a misapprehension,” She observed precisely. “You don’t give the orders around here boy. Speak out of turn again and there will be repercussions.”

She flicked the whip and it released, retracting back towards her. She turned on her heel and gave an almost careless flick of the whip. The 6th candle went out. The boy gave a soft, relieved groan and started to lower himself, then flinched as the whip cracked near his ear.

“Who said that we were done slave?” She demanded coldly.

“But... you said...” He whispered.

“Do I hear a protest?” The woman demanded sharply.

The man shook his head.

“No mistress.”

“Good boy.”

She curled the whip and slung it over her shoulder, circling around the boy. She caressed her kimono and it opened to reveal a black silky cami top, a pair of almost spray-on black jeans and knee-high leather boots with dagger heels, clicking on the tiles. She reached into the top of her boot and withdrew a lighter. The boy gave a soft groan.

“You have your new friend to thank for this,” the woman cooed.

Justin opened his mouth to argue, then almost recoiled at the look the boy shot him. He wasn’t exactly handsome, Justin thought, his blonde hair close cropped to his face, hard brow and narrow lips, but his eyes were sapphire blue, deep enough to fall into... and containing a mix of anger and exhaustion. The woman started to painstakingly light each of the candles again, a little hot wax dropping on the boy’s back, making him hiss in pain, and breaking eye-contact with Justin.

All 6 candles lit, the woman tucked her lighter away and gazed coldly at Justin.

“Speak again and I assure you, it will be poor Charles here paying the price.”

The boy’s eyes snapped back onto Justin’s and Justin swallowed awkwardly, the look of pleading enough to make his heart jolt.

“Understand?” The woman demanded.

Justin nodded slowly, and she smiled coolly.

“Good.”

She returned her attention to Charles.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” She continued casually. “It’s good for you to see some punishment before we start.”

Justin opened his mouth to ask, then shut it firmly. She gave him a sly smile and the whip descended, one candle extinguished.

“I’m sure you’re burning to ask ‘start what?’,” She said calmly. “But I have a more interesting question. Do you know what a Harem is?”

CRACK.

Justin frowned. A harem conjured images of lithe bellydancing women in Arabia, sex slaves to the sultans, but he nodded again, haltingly.

CRACK

“It derives from the word ‘secret’,” the woman continued. “And it was actually the place sultans used to keep their brothers. Strange huh, those paranoid Sultans locking away their brothers in a gilded cage to prevent any uprising against them.”

CRACK

Charles winced as he shifted position slightly, a drop of hot wax sliding down the candle and burning his skin.

“I’m sure you’re fascinated to know what Charles could possibly have done to deserve this,” the woman added absentmindedly. “But Charles knows perfectly. Perhaps you’d like to tell him?”

Charles swallowed.

“I broke a rule Mistress,” He whispered.

“Which one?”

“I went to a girl’s house,” He hung his head.

Justin still didn’t have a clue what was going on, but he was certain that he was in the centre of Crazy Town. At his disbelieving look, the woman laughed.

“He went to a girl’s house to help her with a school ‘project’,” she stated. “And that’s not all he helped her with.”

“Mistress...”

The whip cracked down on Charles’ back and he gave a cry, managing, and God knows how, to keep himself upright. The candles wobbled, then settled back into place. She gave a delicate cough.

“I have no rule against school projects, or going around to a girl’s house, but what do I have a rule against Charles?”

“Lying,” Charles breathed, voice racked with pain.

“Correct,” The mistress seemed pleased by this.

CRACK

“You see, Justin,” She looked up at Justin. “Charles, like you, is special. You are my special boys, and I adore you all. But Mistress does not like being lied to. Mistress can understand and sometimes forgive a lapse, but Mistress cannot let a lie go unpunished.”

Justin took a breath to protest, then firmly set his jaw, internally seething. He was no-one’s ‘special boy’ and he had no intention of belonging to ‘Mistress’, but at the same time, he didn’t see why Charles should get in any more trouble than he was in already. Mistress smiled.

“Awh, who’s a good boy?”

CRACK.

The Mistress bent down and picked up the last candle from where it had been nestling between Charles’ shoulderblades and walked towards Justin.

“For that, you can blow out the last candle,” She told him sweetly. “Be sure to make a wish.” At a groan from behind her, her voice rang out like a slap. “No-one said that you could move!”

Charles obediently froze, face contorted with pain. Mistress carried the candle over to Justin, who blew it out, scowling at her.

“Don’t ruin such a pretty face,” she cooed, setting the candle down next to him.

Justin’s scowl deepened and he had to bite his lip to prevent him cussing her. She leant over him, gazing intently at him, running a fingertip down over his tie and the row of buttons on his school shirt, leaving it to rest on the button of his smart black trousers. A blush burned across Justin’s cheeks, and he resisted the urge to squirm, unable to meet her eyes.

She gave a low, seductive laugh, then reached up and deftly unknotted his school tie, running the coarse black fabric between her hands, then, wrapping it playfully around his neck, ran a fingertip over the red welt left by her whip. She pulled the tie away gently and he felt it rasp against his sore skin, and then her knee slide between his legs, her shin resting on the wood of the chair, knee perilously close to his manhood.

She gave him a soft, yet wicked, smile, her left hand playing with the buttons of his shirt, caressing them open. The cool air played over Justin’s chest and he had to fight just to concentrate, a throbbing growing between his thighs, growing in intensity at every touch.

“Poor little Justin, burning with questions he doesn’t dare to ask,” she murmured. “Allow me to solve your little dilemma.”

She trailed her fingertips over his bare chest, then her right hand, the hand holding his tie, dipped into her pocket... and her nails stabbed straight into his chest. He gave a sharp cry, and, fast as a striking snake, the woman forced a balled up handkerchief into his mouth, then wrapped his tie tightly around his head, knotting it in a bow in front of his face. He tried desperately to jerk away, but the damage was done, and he glared at her over the material.

She patted his cheek with a laugh, a laugh that grew louder as she rocked her leg gently, and he groaned over the gag as her knee pressed harder...

Then was removed. She skipped away with a light twirl, leaving him fuming in his seat. She shucked the kimono, throwing it away, so it fluttered in the air like a butterfly, landing gracefully on the bed.

“Did you think that I’d forgotten you, sweet little Charles?” She asked him softly, kneeling down and gently tracing his face.

He looked up at her, eyes pleading, only to see her face, that almost doll-like face, harden.

“It would be fitting I suppose,” She remarked. “The way you forgot me with Aimee last night.”

“Mistress...”

She slapped him and he gave a cry as more wax splattered on his back.

“I don’t want your apologies Charles. If you weren’t so special to me, I’d sell you to some men of my acquaintance, men that wouldn’t think that you were special, oh no. Men that would see you as a pair of holes.”

He shuddered, looking down, then her finger tilted his head up to meet her eyes.

“Don’t be so sad little Charles,” She murmured to him. “I can forgive you, just this time.” She ran the back of her hand over his face, then adeptly slid herself underneath him, her knee coming up to support her chest as she ran both paper-pale hands over him. “You’re still my special boy.”

“Thank you mistress,” He sighed in relief, voice overflowing with gratitiude, taking some of the strain off his arms as he leant against her. “Thank you.”

“There will be sanctions from now on though,” She warned him.

“I will take whatever punishment my Mistress deems suitable for me,” He breathed.

Kiss ass, Justin thought mutinously. The Mistress smiled, then reached up, her hand twining through Charles’ slightly curly blonde hair and pulled him down to kiss her, a long sensuous kiss... then pushed him gently away.

“Support yourself for me,” She purred.

With a low moan, he forced his arms to take his weight and Mistress slid back out. She carefully straightened, brushing herself unhurriedly down, then with deliberate slowness, lifted the candles from his back and set them on the ground beside him. Charles brought his knees in underneath him, virtually wrapping himself into a foetal ball, and the Mistress just gave a cold smile. She unchained his ankles from the floor, but chained them to each other, giving him about 10 inches slack, barely enough to walk, then pulled his shoulders up gently. He knelt up for her and her fingers played deftly over the muscles of his back, playing over the sore muscles and easing them.

“Who loves you?” She asked him softly.

“You do,” He almost purred in reply, sagging against her.

“And who protects you?”

“You do.”

“And who do you love Charles?”

He turned to gaze, starry eyed, into her face.

“You,” He whispered. “You and only you.”

She smiled tenderly, then reached down to unchain his hands. The manacles clicked free and he sat there, gazing at her. Why didn’t he throttle her? Justin raged internally. He had to be twice her size and strength, why didn’t he attack?

She got up, and went to one of the antique display cases, opening it up and withdrawing a strange leather contraption, leather supple with wear, metal buckles gleaming in the light. Charles shifted on the floor with a soft groan.

“You said that you would accept my punishment,” She reminded him.

“I did Mistress,” He conceded, then gave the slightest smile. “I didn’t say that I’d like it.”

And the Mistress gave a delighted peal of laughter, striding towards him. He gave the leather thing a long look, then put his arms behind him. She slid it up his arms, and Justin realised, it was like a pair of long leather gloves, attached to each other to the elbow, but going up to the shoulders, a thin leather strap across the front of his chest to hold it in place. Charles winced as she slowly buckled each strap as tightly as she could, securing his arms helplessly behind him. He squirmed as she ran her hands over his chest, trying to free his captive arms...

Then she raised the other thing she’d taken from the display case.

“Open wide,” She told him.

Hanging from her hand was blue rubber ball on a brown leather strap. He gave it a contemptuous look, then closed his eyes and obediently opened his mouth.

“Wider.”

He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, and obediently opened his jaw wider. The rubber slid between his teeth, and Justin could see the man fight the urge to gag, as she buckled it tight behind his head. She straightened up, then took him gently by the arm and helped him up to his feet.

“I do love that gag on you,” She purred. “It really brings out your eyes.”

Both Charles and Justin jumped at the sound of a door opening and slamming. The Mistress looked totally unconcerned, glancing up.

“Oh, Nick,” She smiled at the newcomer. “Good day?”

Justin tried to turn, wanting to see who had entered behind him, then was totally startled. A slim Indian boy had entered, his skin the golden brown of milky coffee, his eyes almost black they were so dark brown. He was dressed, much as Justin was, in what appeared to be a school uniform. A crisp white shirt, smart shoes, black trousers, and a red tie hanging down his shirt front. He gave both Charles and Justin dispassionate looks, then shrugged.

“It was a day,” He remarked.

The Mistress smiled, then pushed Charles towards him.

“Take Charles back to his room. Ensure he’s locked in.”

Charles gave her a wide-eyed look, but Nick already had him by the upper arm.

“My pleasure.”

She blew him a kiss.

“I’ll see you later.”

And his impassive face spread into a broad grin, suddenly making him seem so damn handsome.

“Counting on it.”

She laughed lightly, then gave Justin a long look, circling behind him and casually draping her arms around his neck. He struggled against her, then froze as she laid a kiss gently on the corner where his neck met his shoulder.

“Welcome to the Harem young Justin,” She purred. “My Harem. I am The Mistress, your mistress...”

Like fuck you are, Justin snarled internally.

“And you are now one of my little slave boys, one of my dirty little secrets,” She informed him, matter-of-factly. “Just like Charles, just like Nick, and the others I have tucked down here. And here you will remain, until you’re told otherwise.”

He turned to look at her, and gave her a furious glare. She laughed at him.

“I do love your eyes,” She tilted her head. “It’s always the eyes with me. The moment I saw your eyes was the moment I wanted you. Has any-one told you they’re the exact colour of whiskey?”

She straightened up nonchalantly, then started to walk away from him, hips swaying hypnotisingly.

“Please me and I will give you pleasure you could not imagine. Go against me, and I will torture you in the most exquisite ways,” She stated matter-of-factly. “I will do whatever I have to break you. And I’ll enjoy every moment. I do have all the time I want, after all.”

She turned back.

“I’m sure you’re thinking right now that your parents will come find you? That the police must already be searching for you?” She gave a derisive snort. “Spare me.”

She had reached the far end of the room, hand closing over the folds of a curtain.

“Your parents think that you’re on a school trip,” She stated. “Not that a high-powered businessman and a lawyer really care about anything other than their own careers. I sent them the letter a while back. I also sent a sick note into your school. You’ve got a nasty, nasty illness Justin. Just like Aki here.”

She pulled back the curtain to reveal another boy, barely conscious, hanging in seemingly mid-air, then Justin saw the chain stretching from the boy’s shackled wrists to a pully in the ceiling, his feet, dangling a foot from the floor, likewise to the ground. The boy, a slim teenager dressed in the remains of a school uniform, almost seemed to glow against the ruby-red velvet curtains. His lower face was seemingly mummified in black electrical tape, drawing attention to his black eyes, tilted at the corners and fringed with black lashes, barely open, as he hung hopelessly.

The Mistress ran a hand gently over his side and laughed as he wriggled... then bent down and picked something up from the tiles. A pair of glasses. With surprising tenderness, she set them on his nose and pushed them back into place. Aki growled a curse through the tape, then recoiled, or at least, tried to, as she leant forwards and kissed him softly over the tape.

She shrugged and clicked away, drawing the curtain back over Aki and stalking towards Justin.

“I love kidnapping the young sons of rich families. They’re the ones that think that they can never be caught, and always the ones that are never really missed,” She observed.

She swung herself onto the chair, straddling Justin. He felt his heart speed up as she leant close to him, running a hand through his copper hair, trailing her fingertips down over his neck and then kissing the hollow of his neck. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying desperately to evade her... and the burning sensation that felt so damn wrong. He’d been kidnapped, he could not be enjoying this, surely to God!

She leant back, giving him a sultry look through her long eyelashes.

“Maybe you think that you’re going to resist me,” She mused. “Many have tried Justin. Maybe you think that you’re different, that I won’t break you as easily as a twig, that I won’t make you a malleable pawn to my will. Maybe you think that some-one is going to save you and cart me off to jail?”

She deftly flicked his school trousers open and raised an eyebrow at him, a triumphant grin on her face. She leant forwards, lips barely an inch from his ear as she spoke oh-so-softly, fingertips toying with his nipples, her warm breath on his skin sending shudders down his spine.

“Don’t count on it.”