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Chapter Four - The Homecoming
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The years passed by slowly. Mira, after the birth of the children, had decided
that her life of training slaves was done for a while. She focused instead on
raising her children lovingly and running the families more 'legitimate'
businesses.
Jordaine, however, decided that 'her' life of training slaves was 'not' finished
and continued for many more years doing just that. Now that the family heirs
had been born, she felt no need to worry over such matters, and contented
herself on being a true aunt, spoiling the children endlessly, much to the
chagrin of Mira.
The children often confused Aunt and Mother until they grew older and could
easily tell them apart. The same could be said for Aunt and Mother, who for the
first several years would confuse the children. Mira seemed to have a better
handle on it, however, unless she was angry for some reason, such as a broken
vase, or spilled food, but that was an uncommon occurrence.
The children were well-behaved little things, seeming to have picked up a strong
sense of discipline from Mother and Aunt as the years went by. It was a few
days before their 5th birthday that found Mira seated on the balcony of the vast
mansion.
The night's cacophony of creatures was the only sounds aside from her light
breathing and occasional hiccup. She heard the padding of small feet behind
her, but did not turn. "What is it Jaron?" she queried softly.
The small child didn't answer at first, preferring to come further out into her
private sanctuary of the night. He came slowly around the deck chair and
crawled into her lap without a word. "Why are you sad mommy?" he asked softly
as he curled against her chest.
She chuckled slightly, hugging the already well-built child against her for a
moment before speaking with a long sigh. "Mommy is sad because she misses
someone." she said honestly.
She had decided when the children were born that she'd be as honest as she could
be with them until they were old enough to understand what really happened in
The Mansion.
"Who?" he asked lifting eyes so like his fathers in her direction.
She let out a choked sob, cutting it off as fresh tears pooled in her eyes,
speaking after she'd gained some control. "Someone very special to mommy,
honey." she said on a soft whisper.
"What happened?" the child asked with a child's natural curiosity.
"He went away." was all she could manage to get out before the tears choked off
her throat and her speech. She sighed again, deeply, and curled his stout
little body against her. "Now, don't you worry my love. Mommy will be fine."
she admonished him with a gentle hug, and a tender kiss to his small brow.
She picked him up then, easily, and set him back on his feet saying, "Why don't
you go find your sisters lovey." before turning away again to stare off into the
night.
Again, she heard him pad away slowly, torn between playing with his sisters, and
consoling his obviously sad mother. As he paused in the doorway between the
balcony and her room, she spoke on a soft whisper. "Go on love. Mommy will be
fine..."
A moment later she heard him scamper off, leaving her alone once more. She
sighed softly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a vicious swipe of her
hand, angry that she'd given in to them in the first place.
She'd done well though to hold them at bay this long after the day she'd had.
It had started out innocently enough this morning until she'd looked at the
schedule for the day. It was the last call they would make for Jarron. The
final checkup with his new owner...and him.
For the last five years Jordaine had been making those particular check calls,
but today, feeling a sense of foreboding she'd taken the task and done it
herself. She felt she had to know if she was over him, if she was ready to step
back into the boots as a Mistress. She knew the moment she'd heard his voice
that she wasn't ready and she never would be again. His soft timber, full of
respect, had spoken to her, answering her questions promptly and efficiently
without hesitation.
She'd done well though, keeping her tone professional and calm, giving him no
indication that anything was amiss in her life at all. It was nothing more than
part of the contract with his new Mistress.
He'd seemed happy enough, his voice calm and even, giving her no indication that
anything was amiss with him either. But just the sound of it, after so long,
was enough to make her want him again.
After their one night together, she hadn't taken another slave in the slightest.
Not even to train. She couldn't do it. And she never would again. Jarron was
happy, healthy and safe with his Mistress and that was all that mattered.
She had carried on the family tradition, birthing heirs to the fortune and the
secret that came with it. Jordaine was the Mistress now...happy to train slaves
at her leisure, and would soon take the twin girls that had come with a brother
under her wing as the next generation.
They'd discussed it at length some years before as to how to handle the triplets
and when to start 'discussing' things with them as well. They had decided
mutually, that they were not going to keep them in the dark, but at the age of
16 they would introduce the girls to the family tradition.
Jaron, aptly named for his father, who was looking more like him with each day
that passed, and acting more like him would take a different role in the family.
He would be raised to run the legitimate business interests, becoming the next
heir to that particular side of their vast fortune.
____________________________________________________
Dillon sat in the shadows of the Dungeon, gazing at her with adoration clearly
written on his face and in his expressive blue green eyes. He gulped around the
heavy gag in his mouth and dropped his eyes waiting for her next command.
His life had taken a definate change for the better in the last five years. He
was head of the Dungeon now, as testified by the golden collar he wore around
his muscular neck. He'd bulked up a bit, developing muscles over the years in
places he didn't know he had muscles to begin with from her training.
He waited, flinching slightly, as the Mistress laid the whip to a newbie they'd
just acquired for training. There were five slaves in residence now, this one
being number six, and they were on the lookout for four more to add to the
current stable for sale. His four underlings were about 7 months along and
learning well, but the new one they'd just brought in looked like he would prove
to be difficult.
He thought back over his first year in this dungeon and remembered his former
life with a slight shiver. He'd been nothing before coming into her life. A
man without purpose. She'd shown him that his purpose was pleasing her, and her
alone.
He shifted slightly, rattling the chains at his feet softly as he did so. She
turned at that, pausing in her strikes with the whip to look into the shadows
quizzically before returning to the task at hand.
Shortly after his arrival, he'd accepted his fate at her hands, willingly
pledging himself to her within a few weeks of his capture. Shortly after that
he'd made the call to his business manager of his own free will, telling him he
was taking an extended vacation and to handle things. He'd check in with him in
a few months to let him know he was ok.
From that point on, he'd dedicated himself to being the best slave he could for
Jordaine, eventually winning her eye and her heart within the year. Since then,
he'd been in the Dungeon, signing over his business interest to be incorporated
into their 'empire', though everything within it stayed the same. Marcus still
ran the company and probably would for at least another 5 years or so.
Jordaine continued to train him, each day bringing new experiences as he became
more and more in tune with her. And he was happy with that arrangement. For
the most part anyway, he mused thoughtfully as the last lash fell across the
skin of the newbie. He smiled around the ball in his mouth, rising on his stout
legs, ready to come forward when she commanded.
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Jarron's situation had 'not' improved however. Instead it had gotten much, much
worse, despite what he'd said on the phone that same day. The Mistress to which
he'd been sold was cruel. Far crueler than he would have expected her to be,
and he'd quite 'literally' endured five years of hell.
He sighed deeply now, stretching his cramped muscles as far as the bonds he was
kept in would allow. His back was still on fire from the beating she'd given
him the night before and he groaned as his shifting in the chair reawakened it.
After the phone call, when he'd told the Mistress that he was safe and happy,
keeping his tone calm and even as his new Mistress had stood over him, she'd
dragged him to the basement and hung him by his wrists beating him until he'd
passed out.
When he'd awakened, he was in his customary position when she wasn't around.
Seated upright in an old wooden chair in the cold basement. The chair had been
designed specifically for his height recently and he sighed heavily as he tried
to stretch again and gain some relief from the cramps assailing him.
She hadn't put him in his customary straight jacket as she did when she left for
work. Instead she'd tied his hands behind the chair this time, the tops of his
wrists facing one another so he couldn't get at the ropes that held him
immobile. Over just about every conceivable inch of his body were ropes, course
things that scraped at his skin when he moved, ensuring he'd stay still and not
struggle while she was out of the house.
In his mouth was a heavy metal bit, pulling at the corners tightly and wrapped
around a long piece of board that had been bolted to the top of the chair. A
wide strap of leather went across his forehead and around the same board,
pulling his head backwards hard and flat against the wood.
A high posture collar had been put around his neck, ensuring that even 'if' he
could move his upper body he couldn't turn his head one way or another. His
knees were held together by the same course rope that crisscrossed his body
tightly as well as his ankles.
Another piece of rope pulled his bound ankles toward the back of the chair and
was connected to his wrists, pulling at both so he couldn't move his hands or
his feet in the slightest.
He was thirsty, tired, hungry and cold because she hadn't fed him before leaving
for work, preferring to let him suffer through the rest of the day alone and
immobile.
He'd truly brought this one himself, however, over the years, awakening her
darker side with a one time, stupid confession. She'd never forgiven him, and
he knew his only chance at sanity was escape.
Normally she left him bound to the chair with a straightjacket on, but today
she'd given him a chance to get away. A single chance that he knew if he didn't
take it, he'd be lost forever.
The only chance he had was to free his wrists and thus his hands. He was
fortunate that while she excellent at actually tying the knots, she wasn't very
strong, and thus the ropes around his wrists were not so tight that some
movement wasn't possible.
He began to twist his wrists, gasping out in pain as they burned his skin, but
uncaring in that moment, this being the first glimmer of hope he'd had in years.
He shifted his eyes as he worked, toward the high, small window of the basement
to see the sun streaming in. As close as he could figure it was about 10am.
She came home at about 6 pm, which left him roughly 8 hours to free himself and
get away.
His struggles to turn his wrists increased with a sense of urgency and about an
hour later he started to make some headway. Finally sometime around 1pm or so,
his right wrist twisted just perfectly and popped around until it faced the back
of his other hand.
He felt around with questing fingers until he finally managed to grasp the knot
that held his hands together. It took him another couple of hours to untie the
knot itself though and around 4pm his hands sprang forward, his shoulders
pinching heavily in pain.
He groaned loudly, unable for the first few minutes to do more than let his free
arms hang at his sides. Finally, he shook them slightly to rid himself of the
pain and began to undo the rest of his bonds to the chair itself.
Just after 5pm he rose from the chair and walked freely around the room for the
first time in too many years to count. He rubbed his arms and shivered for a
moment in the cold before springing himself into action. In that one moment he
showed more initiative than he had in five years.
That initiative was freedom.
And Her. Getting to Her. Seeing Her again. Knowing that she was well jarred
him into action.
Pounding his way up the stairs from the basement he didn't pause in his upward
flight as he burst through the weak wooden door with a bent shoulder, crashing
into the kitchen as he did so and skidding to a halt to think for a moment.
He hadn't planned this far ahead and he knew he needed to take a moment and work
things out to fully escape. Swiveling his head this way and that he gazed
through the upper part of the house, reveling in his freedom at long last.
Blood ran from his wrists, back and the long jagged cuts down the backs of his
thighs where she'd whipped him the night before.
He needed clothes, money, and a ride...and fast if the clock was any indication
he noted. The time was just a bit before six. He'd miscalculated he realized
with a pounding heart as he headed for the bedroom of the small house in which
he'd been kept for the last five years.
The place was immaculate though, thanks to his hard work and he knew exactly
where everything was. Moving to the dresser he pulled out a pair of sweats, and
pulled them over his painful injuries, grimacing darkly as he did.
Grabbing a wad of bills from her private stash beneath a floor board in the
bedroom, he stuffed the money in his pocket without looking, grabbed a pair of
tennis shoes and headed out the back door just at the moment the front door was
opening.
As he ran down the street, the cold wind buffeting him in the dead of winter, he
thought he could just hear her scream of outrage at finding him gone. But it
could have been the wind too. He just wasn't sure, nor did he care in that
moment.
He only had one thought. Her. When he'd heard her voice on the phone he'd
known something was wrong. Something dreadful, and he had to know. He was
going against all the training she'd instilled in him. Training that his new
Mistress had beaten out of him in the years since he'd been sold.
A shiver wracked his large frame as the wind lifted beneath the thin material of
the sweatshirt, but he kept running, unmindful of the screaming pain in his
legs, back and lungs as he gulped at the cold winter air around him.
He knew if he was caught he was dead. Maybe not right away, she was just dark
enough to prolong the torture until he did die. She'd boasted that she'd done
it before and had no compunctions about doing it again if he misbehaved badly
enough.
This was badly enough in her book, he knew as he tripped on a raised sidewalk,
almost falling. He managed to regain his balance, his legs still weak from his
prolonged bondage and the new injuries he'd recently suffered.
Some part of his mind realized he should have waited until this last beating
healed up a bit, but he also knew he wouldn't have had another chance at freedom
beyond today.
So he ran...and ran...then ran some more through the darkening city streets. He
had to get to transportation and soon or she surely would find him. That meant
the bus station, but he wasn't sure quite where it was.
He hadn't been outside in almost five years now, and the town he'd been brought
too had changed greatly. He finally rounded a corner, many blocks from the one
bedroom home in which he'd lived and saw the cabs bustling to and fro.
Raising a hand with a painful grimace, one finally stopped and he slumped into
the backseat just as her car rounded the corner behind him. Flopping into the
backseat he peeked up just as she went by, her foot to the floor and a look of
murderous rage on her face.
She weaved dangerously in and out of traffic as he sat up in the cab and told
the driver where to take him. Calmly the man pulled out, cursing under his
breath at her flashing tail lights ahead and calling her a reckless driver.
The driver was an older man and when his eyes rose to the mirror to look at his
passenger, his face marred with a look of concern. "You ok son?" he asked after
a moment.
Jarron could only nod, crossing his arms to keep his shivering as unseen as
possible. His back felt like someone had poured molten lava into the open
wounds, and his legs shook violently with the pain from the beating he'd
suffered.
He knew he must look a fright with his hair wind blown from his run through the
streets, the corners of his mouth cracked and bleeding from the bit she'd used
on him and the scrapes from the hard leather of the posture collar around his
neck.
"I.....'m.....fin...e...." he managed to get out through the uncontrollable
chatter of his teeth. "Bu....s.......st...at...ion...." he muttered, closing
his eyes against the pain that racked his large body. "Plllll....eease....."
The driver nodded, accelerating a bit in his hurry to discharge his passenger
now. The traffic came to a sudden halt ahead and it took them another fifteen
minutes to find out why. Slowly they crept forward and Jarron opened his dazed
and pain filled eyes as the driver spoke. "Wow...looks like a nasty accident up
ahead..." he whispered with a low whistle.
Jarrod turned his head slowly, his neck aching miserably with the motion and his
eyes grew wide as he recognized the mangled remains of the car that had been
crushed by the front end of an 18-wheeler.
It was easy enough to discern what had happened as they slowly wended their way
past the mangled remains. She'd obviously run the light in her effort to
retrieve him just as the 18-wheeler was coming from the other direction.
All that was left of her bright blue camaro was the back end, which sat almost
in the exact center of the intersection. Its front end was crushed beyond
recognition beneath the mammoth tires of the rig about 100 yards further down
the street.
He hoped that she survived the accident, but somehow he didn't think she did.
He slumped over, tears of relief pooling in his eyes for a moment before he
lifted a shaking hand to wipe them away. There was a justice in the world, he
thought with an almost violent shudder racking over his frame.
It was several days later that Jarron staggered off the bus just outside
Billings, Montana and started walking. His brain was consumed by fever, his
large body shivered now almost continuously from it, and his limbs felt heavy
and lethargic. But one thought managed to control his brain.
One image took presidence in his mind's eye. Her.
Her gentle hands, her loving eyes, her soft voice. The same voice he remembered
from their time together. He had to get to her.
The money he'd taken had just been enough to get the ticket to Billings, leaving
him only pennies to eat on, which had run out days ago. The bus ride had taken
him almost three days and he knew he looked a fright. He was just thankful that
the sweats he'd taken were a dark blue.
They covered up the blood.
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Jordaine was just passing the front door when the doorbell ringing startled her,
causing her to jump and scream in an uncharacteristic ladylike squeal. She'd
been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noted where she was in the mansion,
which was silent at that time of night.
Catching her breath, she reached out and opened the door just as a large body
fell inwards almost toppling her over.
She barely caught him, having to use all of her strength to hold them both
upright until she herself caught her balance again. The person she was holding
stank to high heaven and she was just on the verge of dropping him to the floor
and calling for one of the servants to come and remove him when he whispered out
a soft word.
"Mi....sttt.....resss......" on a soft breath of pungent air.
Fighting back her gag reflex in that moment, she shifted him to get a look at
his face and her eyes widened in absolute horror a moment later.
"MMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAA..........."
Her sister's bellow woke her from a dead sleep and she shot upright in bed a
startled scream stuck in her lungs. She'd been having a nightmare. She was
running...hard and fast...and she was scared but she didn't know why. She
couldn't place it, but something or someone was after her in the dream.
Something dark and terrifying.
"MMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA..." her sisters bellow came again,
growing closer by the second just a moment before she burst through the door,
breathing heavily. "It's Jarron..." she panted out heaving at the air in great
gulps from her long trek through the mansion.
Mira needed no further encouragement but was out of bed like a shot, pulling on
a robe as she followed her mirror image down the long stairs to the front door.
She skidded to a halt, falling to her knees at the horror laying half in and
half out of the doorway to their home. It was Jarron, but not the man she
remembered. His hair was long and scruffy and the beginnings of a dark beard
shadowed his jaw. His breathing was ragged and racked with pain, and even from
her kneeling position she could smell the stench that wafted off of him.
Blood...
She knew the smell well, the sickly, coppery odor of blood. And filth. The man
was absolutely filthy. His clothes were ragged, torn in several places as if
he'd been assaulted. He was missing his shoes and his feet were cracked and
bleeding as if he'd walked a long distance.
The twins exchanged glances and in the same moment bellowed again.
"JJJJJJJOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH..." calling for one of their house
servants as Mira flew into action.
By the time a very sleepy and widely yawning Josh appeared in the foyer, Mira
had Jarron beneath the arms and was attempting to drag him bodily up the stairs.
He appraised the scene quickly and moved to help, physically lifting the man
over his shoulder and heading up the stairs without a word.
Whomever this was, he knew a look of terror when he saw one, and he'd definately
seen one on the young Mira's face. She turned halfway up the stairs and barked
at Rain. "Call Dr. Phillips..." she said, hurrying after Josh and his heavy
bundle, but Rain was already on the phone waving absently in her direction.
By the time she was done and headed upstairs after waking Dr. Phillips and
gaining his promise to come as quickly as possible, Mira had Jarron laid out on
his stomach and was cutting away his sweatshirt and sweatpants with a pair of
scissors.
Both twins gasped in horror at the sight of Jarron's mangled back and legs when
they were exposed, and Mira began to weep silent tears. Josh reappeared
carrying the medical kit they kept on hand along with a load of towels and a
pitcher of water.
Jordaine gulped, speaking softly in the silence as Josh pushed past her with
full arms. "Dr...Dr Phillips is on the way..." she whispered around a gulp.
"My god Mira...what do you think happened?" she asked.
Mira turned terror filled eyes toward her for a moment, filled with her tears,
then bent back to her work without answering for a long time. With Josh's help
the two of them had the majority of Jarron's wounds cleaned by the time Dr.
Phillips was walking through the door, bag in hand.
A quick examination told the older, white haired doctor what he needed to know
and what he needed to do. Without preamble, or a word to either twin, he set
about properly cleaning, disinfecting, and sewing up the worst of the gashes
that marred the man's back and legs.
It was several hours later that the three of them stood outside the guest
bedroom into which he'd been placed that Dr. Phillips spoke for the first time.
"Did either of you have anything to do with this?" he asked softly, his tone
calm and even. He knew very well what the twins were about, what went on below
stairs, but he also knew that neither of them was as violent as what he'd just
seen across that poor man's back and legs.
As he suspected, both twins shook their heads solemnly in response. "I didn't
think so, but ethically I had to ask." he said before going on, the subject
dropped. "There shouldn't be in permanent damage, but he's racked with fever
now. That's our big concern." he stated softly. "This was done days ago, and
he's lucky to have survived this long." he added, wiping his bloody hands on a
towel. "I've given him antibiotics for it, and injected some directly into the
cuts, but..." he shrugged softly. "Another day untreated and he might not be
here now."
Mira choked off a sob, pushing past both of them and into the room, shutting the
door with a soft click. Dr. Phillips reached into his pocket and produced a
couple of bottles. "Give him two of these..." he said handing Rain one, "And
three of these a day for the first five days. The first is a painkiller, the
second the antibiotic. If he survives the night he'll be lucky, but that fever
needs to come down and soon. Bath him with cool water and change the bandages
in the morning."
He turned to leave with a gentle smile and a nod at the closed door. "That's
the children's father...isn't it?" he asked softly.
Jordaine could only nod slowly. "Yes Dr. Phillips...yes it is." she stated to
his retreating back. Dr. Phillips had been the family physician for too many
years to count. Not only had he delivered Rain and Mira, but Mira's children as
well. He knew the family well, very well. And knew all their secrets. They
often called on him to do physicals for the slaves in residence just before an
auction to certify they were fit and healthy. He also tended to the children
now, giving them their checkups and taking care of them when they caught cold.
He wouldn't say anything about Jarron's sudden appearance, or his condition
thankfully, but not because the twins paid him too. But more out of loyalty to
the family. He paused now at the top of the stairs. "Make sure she tells him
she loves him if he survives..." he stated with an age-old wisdom.
"I will Dad...I will..." she added to his retreating back a moment later as he
disappeared down the stairs.
Mira sat beside him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "She" had caused
this to happen to him. She had put him in the care of his new owner. "She" had
put him in the situation where he'd been beaten ruthlessly.
And he had been. The scars that crisscrossed the length of him from neck to
ankle told her all she needed to know in that moment. She choked off a sob
then, reaching out to stroke his shaggy hair gently. "Oh gods...I'm so
sorry..." she whispered softly. "I...I didn't...know..." she managed to choke
out as his form was blurred by her tears.
She pulled herself together in that moment, brushing angrily at the tears that
coursed down her cheeks. Someone would pay...and pay dearly for this, she vowed
in that moment. But first he had to survive.
She bent then, retrieving a clean towel that Josh had brought and dipped it in
the cold water of the pitcher. Ringing it out she began to speak softly, her
tone stern and strong as she did so. "Don't you dare die on me Jarron. I've
not given you permission for that." she told him in her best Mistress tone.
At her stern voice, he stirred, blinking open his slate gray, fever filled eyes
to stare at her. A half smile graced his cracked and bleeding lips then, and he
weakly slid a hand toward her across the bedcovers. "I...I..won..'t..." he
managed to choke out. "Misss.....tttreesssss......" he dragged out before his
eyes drooped closed once more.
Mira clasped his weak hand tightly, intertwining their fingers as she wiped at
his fevered brow with the cool cloth. Her tears had begun again, coursing
silently down her cheeks, but there was no evidence of them in her voice when
she spoke a moment later. "Damn right you won't."
The days that followed were harrowing at best. Jarron alternated between
moments of seeming clarity and dark, fever ridden moments of violence. He'd
suddenly sit up in bed, lashing out at anything that happened to be nearby with
almost animalistic growls of rage and fury.
The first day, he was so violent that he opened the stitches on his back with a
sickening rip of flesh, and it was decided that he would need to be restrained
until the fever passed. It was one of the hardest moments of Mira's life,
making the decision to forcibly restrain him when he'd obviously endured so very
much in the last years.
But she did it, never the less, for his own safety and hers. She still sported
a dark bruise on one cheek and a slowly healing black eye from one of his
violent outbursts on the first day. She stayed by his bedside in those first
days, never leaving him for even a moment.
Everything was put aside, and it was soon known not to disturb her in the
slightest as she kept a watchful vigil over him. Only Dr. Phillips was allowed
in the room in those first days to clean and re-bandage his wounds.
A very long four days later, his fever finally broke and he slept peacefully for
another two before finally opening clear, slate gray eyes. Mira, ever present
by the bed, sat forward as he did so and reached out a trembling hand to lay it
on his forearm, one of the few places that did not sport a bandage of some sort,
or a restraint.
"Shhhhhh...now...don't try and talk." she said as she reached behind his head
and quickly removing the gag they'd had to use to keep him from swallowing or
biting his tongue in his thrashings. She knelt by the bed, tossing the gag away
from her. Running her hands through his dirty, sweat soaked hair, she smiled
softly, touching his face. "Jarron..." was all she managed to get out before
the tears in her eyes spilled over.
She wiped at them with her free hand and smiled softly again as she stared into
his eyes looking for signs of the fever. There was none now and her shaky hand
softly caressed his strong, if a bit hollow cheek as she spoke. "Don't move."
she commanded softly. "You've been hurt...very badly...but you're healing
now..."
He pulled weakly at the restraint on his wrist, clenching his fingers in the
effort and she undid the restraint without question. His hand slid slowly
across the sweat soaked bedcovers and touched her face with shaking fingers.
"I...I...was...bad..." he croaked out softly.
A choked sob escaped her and the tears came anew, uncontrollably coursing over
her cheeks. "No love...you weren't bad...she was..." she whispered out, her
blue eyes locking with his.
He closed his eyes then and shook his head slowly against the bed.
"nnnoo...I...I...was...bad..." he choked out again.
"beee...cause...I....lov...ed..." he pushed out through his dry lips.
"you...and...to..ld...her..."
He gulped then, dryly, and she lifted the end of a bottle of water to his lips
raising his head gently off the bed to help him drink. He swallowed heavily,
then laid his head back on the bed. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly
stronger. "I...was...bad...because...I never...stopped lov...ing...you..." he
whispered out softly. "And....and....I told her..."
"Years...ago..." he added as his eyes began to droop shut again.
"Rest now Jarron." she said softly, tears still flowing freely down her cheeks
unchecked. "We'll talk about it later." she commanded him gently, using her
best Mistress voice.
He nodded jerkily, falling away into the pitch blackness of sleep a moment
later. Mira knelt there for a moment more before leaning forward to softly kiss
his parted lips. When she stood upright, her eyes blazed with anger and she
left the room without a word.
It was several days later that Jarron came fully to himself. She was sitting by
the bed, calmly reading a book when he woke. He stretched automatically,
immediately groaning in reaction to the pain that was still with him. The
restraints he remembered were gone now and the bed had been changed. Someone
had washed his hair too, if the clean smell of lilacs coming from it was any
indication.
His clear eyes shifted to her then and he spoke softly. "Mistress?"
She looked up from the book then set it on the table beside the bed. She smiled
gently as she leaned forward coming to kneel beside the bed. "Not technically."
she said with another soft smile. "Feeling better?" she asked a moment later.
He nodded slowly then, confused at her words, but too tired to think much on it.
"Hungry." he croaked out weakly. "Thirsty." he added after he'd thought about
it for a moment.
"Both of those I can solve." she said gently, reaching out for the phone by the
bed. She picked it up and spoke into the receiver after a brief pause. "Josh,
could you bring up some soup and another bottle of water." then hung it back in
its cradle with a soft click.
He heard a door open after a moment and a male appeared beside the bed, tray in
hand. She took it and set it aside. "Do you feel like rolling over to eat?"
she asked. "Your backs much better, but it's still going to be painful mind
you." she informed him.
His stomach growled loudly in response to the wafting aroma coming from the bowl
and he couldn't help but nod. Between the two of them, with some weak help from
Jarron they managed to roll him onto his back after only two tries.
She'd been right in her assessment that it was going to be painful for him to do
so. His back burned with fire for a moment at the unexpected pressure from his
body and he groaned, closing his eyes to catch the tears of pain that
accompanied the sound. His breathing was short for a moment, then calmed as the
pain settled in like a familiar friend.
Josh helped her prop him up a bit so he could eat, and she sat on the bed
spooning mouthfuls of the stew into his mouth. As soon as the beefy broth began
to fill his system he almost instantly began to feel better.
She hadn't spoken to him beyond the initial moments of his waking and he frowned
deeply as she set the bowl aside and helped him drink from the bottle of water.
When he'd had his fill, she set that aside too and smiled at him.
He weakly raised his hand then, reaching out for her, needing to know that she
was real and not a figment of some ghoulish taunting nightmare. His brain was
still a bit fuzzy on the events that had brought him here, but there was no
doubt that he remembered the pain he'd endured. He needed to make sure it
wasn't a dream. That he was really safe now.
She clasped his hand, squeezing his fingers gently, then spoke.
"Jarron...there's something that you need to know." she said, having seen the
look in his eyes as he reached for her. There were going to be no
misconceptions this time around. No omissions...no lies. "My name is Jordaine.
Jordaine Ryder." she began softly. "I am half of your Mistress." she explained.
"I'm the twin to Mira. Mira Ryder." she said.
"Twins?" he croaked out weakly, not fully understanding what she was saying.
Jordaine sighed softly, holding his hand while she spent the next hour
explaining everything to him. Every last detail of their lives...and their
lies. When it finally hit him, square between the eyes, he gulped loudly in
dawning realization. "It was you..." he stated, his voice shaking. "You that
night...you that sent me away..."
Jordaine took a moment, and a frown marred her face as she thought, then she
smiled and nodded in understanding. "Yes Jarron, that was me. Not Mira." she
said calmly, stroking his forehead gently. "It 'was' Mira that came to you
later that night though."
He nodded, gulping loudly again and closing his eyes as he tried to process
everything she'd told him for a long while. She sat calmly and quietly, holding
his hand, while he worked it all out for himself. When he had, he opened his
eyes and turned them too her. "Where is she?" he asked softly.
A pained look crossed her face for a moment, then she wiped it away before
speaking. "She had something to do." she stated softly, but would say no more
than that, changing the subject back around to him after only the slightest of
pauses. "Sleep now. We'll talk again when you're rested."
She rose from the bed, taking the tray with her and left him alone to sleep with
a soft click of the door behind her. But sleep was hard in coming as everything
she'd told him worked it's way through his tired brain.
Twins was his foremost thought. And both of them were Mistresses. Training
Mistresses. He thought back to the year he'd spent with them. The year that
had changed his life. It was then, only when looking back and knowing the truth
of it, that the subtle differences became apparent. Jordaine kept her nails
shorter than Mira, whose nails were very long. He shivered slightly in
rememberance of those nails caressing his skin on the one night they'd been
together.
Jordaine's tone of voice was just slightly different from Mira's, but only
someone that listened for it could tell. Mira's eyes were quick to flash with
anger, where Jordaine's were not so prone to do, even though Mira had never
dealt with him or any other slave in her anger. Both of them were masters at
shuttering their emotions however, but Mira's eyes were just a bit more
expressive at times.
Jordaine tended to moan when she was being pleased by a slave, where Mira would
pant and moan, before either of them would release an orgasm with a scream if
done properly. Mira's strokes of praise tended toward the head and cheeks,
where Jordaine preferred the shoulders and back.
All of these things came rushing back at him as he lay there just on the verge
of sleep. He mentally kicked himself for not having noticed before, but these
things were such small things that, conceivably, it all could have been one
woman.
He raised a tired arm and flopped it over his eyes with a soft groan. There
were two of them, and it was obvious from the conversation he'd just had with
one of them that she didn't feel the same way about him that he did them.
But what did the other one feel? He was vaguely aware of her having been there
in the room before now and something was nagging at his brain to be remembered,
but he couldn't quite place it and he was too tired now to try and harp on it.
Sleep finally claimed him again and he welcomed it with open arms. When he woke
again he realized quickly that he wasn't alone anymore. He turned his head
slowly and stared at the male that sat in the chair. He was a younger man,
somewhere in his mid 30's or so, and looked vaguely familiar.
He wore a pair of sweats but his chest was naked above the waistband and he wore
a golden collar around his neck. His hair was a long flowing blond, shining
brightly in the lamplight coming from bedside the bed. For just a brief moment
he thought it might be Selik, but the blue green eyes that regarded him weren't
from the man he remembered being in the Dungeon with him.
It suddenly dawned on him and his eyes widened in shock at the man for a moment.
"Dillon?" he croaked out weakly.
The man smiled, showing brilliant white teeth in his tanned face. "I'm
surprised you remember." he stated softly. "You were sold shortly after I came
here." he added bluntly, though there was no condemnation in his voice, merely
fact.
A shudder raced across Jarron's body at his words and he closed his eyes against
the memory it brought along, blocking it away to be dealt with later.
"How are you feeling?" Dillon asked softly.
"Better. Thirsty again." he said on a whisper.
"Can you drink this yourself, or do you want some help?" Dillon's voice came to
him behind his closed eyes.
Jarron opened his eyes then, reaching out shakily for the bottle of water Dillon
was holding in his direction. He took a long swig from the plastic, keeping a
hold of it and propping it on his stomach. He turned slowly, eyeing the
blue-eyed blond beside the bed for a moment. "Why are you here?" he asked, his
voice sounding stronger, more confident after the water.
"Jordaine asked me to stay with you for awhile." he said with a casual shrug of
his wide shoulders. "Just in case you woke up and needed something."
"Where's Mira?" he questioned softly, after taking another sip of the cool
water.
Dillon remained strangely silent for a moment then spoke. "I can't say in all
honesty. But more because I've been ordered not too." he added when Jarron
turned his eyes to him.
"Why?"
"Mistress commands, I obey." he stated simply, but with a wide smile.
"Then you know?" Jarron found himself asking after another sip of the bottle.
Dillon nodded. "Sure. Have for a couple of years now." he added in a calm
tone. "I've had too. I'm the head slave now." he said softly, lifting a finger
to caress the golden collar at his neck. He shrugged again, his hand dropping
away after a moment. "They kinda had to tell me when Jordaine and I
married...Officially married that is."
Jarron's eyes shot over to lock with Dillon's for a moment. "Married?" he
managed to croak out around the lump in his throat and the pounding of his
heart. "No wonder she told me everything when I woke up..." he whispered out,
not expecting a response and gaining none. "How long?" he asked after a
moment's pause.
"About four years now." Dillon supplied with another soft shrug of his wide
shoulders and a wide smile. "After you were sold, and my training was nearing
completion, I begged to stay too because I'd fallen in love with Jordaine." he
said with a look of adoration on his face as he spoke. Not only for his
Mistress, but for his wife as well. "She's wonderful...loving, kind,
caring..and absolutely 'wicked' with a flogger..." he added a sparkle in his
eyes as he said it. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his bent knees as
he spoke frankly, filling in the gaps for Jarron as he did so. "When I begged
her to stay she said yes and shortly after we were married." he said touching
the golden collar again with reverent fingers.
"It was then that I found out about Mira. She brought me above stairs for the
first time and Mira came in to join us for dinner." he chuckled as he said it.
"Imagine the look on my face when I saw them together for the first time..." he
added with another soft chuckle. "I think my mouth was hanging open for days
afterward as everything was explained to me and what role I would play now that
we were going to get married."
A thought occurred to him then and he dreaded the answer even as he asked the
question. "Have you...ever..." he gulped, his eyes indiscernable in the soft
lighting of the room. "Have you..."
"Ever serviced Mira?" Dillon filled in for him. He shook his head slowly.
"No. After you were sold she remained above stairs and hasn't set foot in the
Dungeon in well over five years now." he stated with soft conviction.
Jarron's heart stopped for just a moment in time, then pounded almost painfully
against his ribs when it started again. There was hope...Dillon's words
confirmed it. Painfully, but it was there. "Does...does she love me?" he
couldn't help but ask in that moment, fearing the answer to 'this' question even
more than he'd feared the first.
Dillon shrugged softly. "I honestly don't know the answer to that question my
friend. I honestly don't know. I don't see much of Mira as I'm only allowed
above stairs when there are no slaves in residence." he stated softly.
"Jordaine seems to think she does, but I don't know if that's wishful thinking
on her part or not for her twins happiness."
Jarron let out a shuddering sigh of air, his heart deflating almost as instantly
as it had been filled with hope. "So...what happens to me now?" he found
himself asking.
"That you'd better ask the Mistress." Dillon supplied softly as he rose from
the chair leaving him alone once more.
It was several weeks later that found the three of them seated on the back patio
of the vast mansion staring out over the grass watching the three children play
in the opened field that stretched out behind the house.
Jarron had made a remarkable recovery in the weeks previous and was now able to
move about the mansion itself unaided by even so much as a cane. His legs were
beginning to bulk up again, he'd gained back much of the weight he'd lost and
was eating a regular diet again. He'd even begun to work out again as he had
when he'd first been in their care, making use of the gym the main mansion
contained instead of the one below stairs.
Dillon sat on one side of him and Jordaine just beyond him as the children
executed a vicious game of tag in the grass. The sun shone brightly high above
them and Jarron leaned his head back against the chaise lounge and closed his
eyes, basking in the feel of it on his face.
"You two have three beautiful children." he stated breaking the companionable
silence they'd adopted in the moments before.
He missed the look that they shared with his eyes closed, but not the silence.
Dillon rose off his lounge chair, heading into the yard to gather up the three
rambunctious youths and herd them inside leaving the two of them alone.
Jarron hadn't seen much of the children before today in all reality, but when he
had happened to gaze upon them, it didn't occur to him to think it would be
otherwise. They looked like Jordaine, even the boy with his dark hair that was
already reaching his collar. But by the wide cut of his shoulders, even for a
boy his age, one could tell that he was going to be a big boy.
"They're not 'our' children Jarron." Jordaine's voice floated to him after a
moment, breaking across the thoughtful silence that had fallen. "There Mira's."
she added.
Lifting his head up sharply he stared at her for a long moment before another
dawning and shocking realization hit him square between the eyes.
Like the fact that there were two Mistresses, the fact that the three children
looked more like him, especially the boy, than Dillon should have been a clue.
But he hadn't spent much time with them since Dr. Phillips had cleared him from
the bedrest he'd imposed, concentrating more on his recovery.
"And yours..." she confirmed calmly a moment later.
His mouth dropped open at her softly spoken confirmation, and he knew he must
have looked like a fish out of water, laying there with his mouth working but no
sound coming out. Finally, he managed to croak out a very weak, "Mine?" with
his eyebrows raised high in the air.
Jordaine only nodded, waiting for a long moment to speak and explain. "When we
were children, I was stricken with a form of lukiemia." she began softly. "Mira
was lucky and didn't have it, but I was bedridden for years with the chemo and
the drugs and so on. Mira was the normal child, but as I grew and eventually
conquered the disease it also came with a price. I was forever barren, having a
hystarechtomy by the time I was 13."
She sighed, her eyes going distant in that moment. "For a long time I was
bitter about it, very bitter about the fact that I would never have children.
But Mira wasn't. She assured me that she would do it. She'd give our family
the heir it needed to continue what we do...continue our bloodline. But time
passed and she never did. She kept putting it off and putting it off...saying
she never had the time with everything that we do. As you know we do much more
beyond the training of slaves..." she shrugged casually, almost non-chalantly
then continued a moment later.
"She was a virgin until the night she made love with you Jarron." she stated
after a moments pause and another shrug of her shoulders adding in a soft voice,
"And she's never made love with a man since."
"It was about four months after you'd been sold before we even knew she was
pregnant." she confirmed softly, her eyes coming back to him and locking with
his.
"But..but..I saw her...with Dillon...the night we brought him here. Having sex
with him...riding him...with him in her." Jarron managed to sputter.
Rain threw back her head and laughed loudly. "No, Jarron, that was me." she
said softly. "I had no such compunctions about the physical side of sex with
slaves and we'd often change places when a new one was brought in." she laughed
softly. "Remember when "I" left while you prepared Dillon?"
When he nodded, she went on. "Mira had gone to the club that night. She had
drugged him, but it was me that came back after that and me you brought his bio
too." she said softly. "And me that rode him that first time." she said with a
twinkle in her eyes as she said. "In all truth I think that was the moment I
fell in love with him..." she laughed, a shiver running the length of her at the
thought.
It was just all too much to comprehend, frazzled mind begged. Where did it all
stop? he wondered, dropping his head back on the lounge with a dejected sigh.
"Why...why didn't she...she tell me.....come for me?" he begged out softly.
He heard more than saw Rain's shrug. "I don't know." she answered honestly.
"She would never discuss you with me." she added after a moment's silence. "I
tried to get her to talk about you, but...but she just wouldn't do it."
"I'd give her your reports about your new owner...and I...I guess she felt you
had moved on and were safe and happy there." she added softly.
She sat up then, gaining his attention with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why
didn't you say something when I called?" she asked calmly. "Why didn't you give
us an indication that things were so bad for you?"
Jarron looked into her eyes for a long time, the same eyes that he'd loved for
so long, before he spoke haltingly. "At first things weren't so bad." he said
softly, staring up at her as he continued. "The calls would come and I'd hear
your..." he paused, frowning, "what I thought was her voice and I was ok. She
wasn't so bad at first. Sure...she flogged me...spanked me.....and I got some
pleasure out of it, but it wasn't like it was with you...I....I mean Mira."
He paused, drawing in a deep lungful of air before he could continue. "And then
you'd call...and...and....I was ok again. Happy that I...I was serving my new
Mistress well...pleasing her......then it would get bad again, until all I could
think about was her. All I could see was her. I saw her everywhere....it...it
was her face that was staring down at me when I serviced my other Mistress...her
touch....her voice that I was hearing on...on....."
He took another shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes as he went on. "Then
one night..." he gulped, but pressed on past the lump in his throat. "One night
I....I called her by 'your' name....her name. Mira." he said softly. "And
'that's' when it all changed..."
"It gets kinda fuzzy after that...hazy...like a dream. There was pain...lots of
pain...and when there wasn't pain...there was work...the never ending work.
She...she always had me doing something hard. Building something, fixing
something..." he whispered with distant eyes. "When I wasn't working she was
beating me...beating me badly..."
His voice choked off then, and the tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked by
his hand. "When there wasn't pain, and no work to be done.....I was bound so
constrictively that I could hardly move..." he whispered softly. "I could
hardly breath sometimes and I thought several times she was just going to let me
die..."
A massive shudder racked his body then, coursing the length of his large frame.
"Then a call would come.....and I...I knew that I could suffer through
it......that I could endure whatever it was she did to me....I....'had' to stay
alive....I had to endure...to see you....again.....her.....Mira...."
Rain's hand tightened softly on his shoulder then in reaction to his tale of
misery and he lifted his tear filled eyes to hers, pleading with her in that
moment to answer his next question. "Why won't she come to me Rain? Why has
she left me again?" he begged out on a choking whisper.
But it wasn't Rain who answered him, it wasn't Rain's voice that rang out in the
air at his soft entreaty. It was Mira's, and it was coming from directly behind
him.
"I didn't leave you..." she cried out, coming slowly around to face him as he
sat in the chair unmoving. "I've been back for weeks..." she said softly,
standing before him with her head dropped as she spoke. "I....I just couldn't
face you Jarron...knowing what I'd done to you...what you'd endured....."
"Because of me..." she added, finally raising her eyes to his.
Neither of them heard Rain rise softly and depart as they stared at one another.
It was then that Jarron noticed her own tears as they coursed down her cheeks.
Gone was the Mistress...gone was the cold, hard woman that had trained him all
those years ago. Jarron's breath physically caught in his throat at the sight
of her standing before him, showing him her own emotions. He'd never seen her
cry before, never seen anything other than the Mistress within. Never the
woman.
He rose then, steadily off the lounge chair and came to stand before her for a
moment. Slowly, he knelt on the hard concrete of the patio, bowing his head
before her in his own shame.
"Oh gods Jarron..." she whispered out chokingly. "If I'd known.....how....bad
it was for you.....I would have come....." she stated softly, reaching out a
hand and placing it on his head.
Slowly, she lifted his face with a finger beneath his chin, and stared down into
his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the tears out of hers. "Can you forgive
me?" she begged him softly, reaching out to caress his cheek with her long
fingers. "Can you ever love me again?" she asked after a moment.
He moved then, rising off his knees and wrapping his arms around her waist to
bury his face against her. "I never stopped..." he whispered out, holding onto
her as if he were dying in that moment and she was his lifeline.
She slid down then, onto her knees in front of him, parting his arms as she did
so until they were eye level with one another. She wiped at his tears, then her
own, saying with a sobbing chuckle, "And I never began..." a moment before
pressing her lips to his in a kiss that stole both their breaths away.
When they parted, Mira knelt there staring up at him for a long time, smiling
softly, touching his face with reverent fingers. "I'm so sorry..." she
whispered softly, tears pooling in her eyes again.
Jarron raised his own hands and laid both of them to her cheeks. At her hiss of
pain, he turned her head slowly, lifting her hair to see what had brought forth
the sound. His eyes widened in horror, which was closely followed by anger at
the sight that greeted him. A long jagged, but healing gash ran the length of
her neck, it's ends neatly sewn together with straight even stitches. Again his
mouth opened and closed wordlessly at the sight and she moved his hands slightly
away from it as he finally managed to croak out. "Who? How? What?"
Mira grinned crookedly up at him as their lips met once more. "Just call it a
battle scar..." she whispered softly against his lips before kissing him once
more.
Jarron let the matter drop.
