Cruel surrender, p.1
Cruel Surrender, page 1
CRUEL SURRENDER
PIPER STONE
BETHANY HALLE PRODUCTIONS, LLC
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About Piper Stone
Other Dark Romance Series by Piper
Copyright ã 2023 CRUEL SURRENDER by Piper Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any for or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic of mechanical methods, without prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and various noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature, dark themes, strong language, and intense sexual situations some may consider to be dubious consent. It is intended for mature readers. All characters are 18+ years of age.
The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, distribution, or use of this copyrighted work, including its use in the training of artificial intelligence by any means, manner, or method, is illegal and in violation of US copyright law. In addition, no portion of the written material of this book was produced using AI technology.
Cover Designer: Deranged Doctor
Created with Vellum
CHAPTER 1
Evil lurks within the dark bowels of our very minds, hungering to breech the surface. For many, the only salvation is Hell…
“Yes?” Trixie answered the phone with little inflection.
“Is this Trixie?” His words were almost inaudible.
“It is.” She kept the tone of her voice guttural, sensual in a way every man appreciated. She loathed the stage name, reminiscent of a call girl or floozy, but the pseudonym had stuck from the first time she’d entered a well-known kink club.
“Excellent. You come highly recommended. Your skills are legendary.”
“Yes, they are. Are you looking for anything in particular?” Sighing, she filled her glass of wine, taking a sip before walking toward the window. She knew the hesitation well. Most of her clients, at least the new ones, debated what they were getting into. She set her glass down on the coffee table and waited. Patience wasn’t her virtue.
He laughed. “Anything and everything.”
As she eased her finger under the blind, lifting until she could clearly see the dimly lit street, she debated whether she was in the mood to work. She’d grown weary of various clients and their sadistic desires. However, she had a reputation to uphold, one securing her time spent with very special clientele, men whose needs few could tolerate. For this alone she was paid extremely well. Money she needed. “I am the best at what I do, and I’m paid handsomely. I hope you understand. I refuse to tolerate any bullshit.”
His laugh was husky. “They also mentioned you were formidable. I appreciate the attitude, although when in my realm, you’ll be expected to follow orders.”
Trixie’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. For a few seconds she remained quiet as she scanned her surroundings. The neighborhood was pristine in nature, rule infractions simply not acceptable. She’d selected carefully, preferring to come and go without notice. She hadn’t made friends, never attended a neighborhood gathering or ridiculous barbeque, but the serene setting allowed her anonymity. No one knew about her nightly activity. No one ever would. “Who is your contact?”
“Mistress Jade.”
The man certainly had connections. He’d passed various requirements, so he had money, clout, and was known in very exclusive circles. “Very well. My fee is ten thousand dollars for three hours. I trust you’ll have cash.”
“Of course.”
“Thirty minutes. Do you have special instructions?” She could hear his rapid breathing and managed to keep from cursing. Men who had little control she had zero respect for.
“Wear a red bra and matching thong, stilettos and a black raincoat.”
“Done. What is your name?” Trixie could care less. They never gave their real name or any correct information. Anonymity was also important for her clients. Of course, she knew who many of them were, their positions in society. She never divulged information, which is one of the reasons she was so highly recommended. She raised the blinds until she had a direct view of the street.
“Master Wally.”
“Give me your address, Master Wally.” There was no need to write anything down. Her memory was perfect, allowing her to recollect every Dom as well as his or her particular proclivities. She spoiled them, and in turn, they paid her well for her complete submission.
“Come prepared, sweet slut.”
“I always do, Sir.” When she hung up the phone, she palmed the glass, exhaling slowly. The nights were becoming endless. So much so, she was starting to hate her life.
She grabbed her coat, heading out the door. Maybe a fresh start was what she needed.
Thirty minutes later she eased her Mercedes into the driveway where Wally lived. Massive brick columns flanked the aggregate stone, ancient trees lining the long pathway. She hesitated before continuing, her gut churning. Normally, she’d have spent a solid two hours on the Internet, affirming what she could of the identity of the person she would hand over a heightened level of trust. This time she wasn’t afforded the luxury. Mistress Jade was the single reason she was here.
Rounding a corner, she wasn’t surprised at the house or the surroundings. Her clients were all wealthy. Their worth, clout, and special hungers prevented them from securing normal relationships. Then again, none wanted formal attachments, preferring to hire a professional in order to feed their desires.
As she climbed out of her car, she studied the perimeter. Even in the darkness she could tell the lawn and surrounding landscape was meticulously groomed. No one knew what went on behind closed doors. The thought gave her a smile. She adjusted the collar of her coat and slipped her car key fob into her pocket before walking to the front door. The moment she stepped onto the landing the door opened.
“You’re right on time, Trixie. You’re a very good girl.”
His face was obscured by the shadows, but she could tell he was a formidable man, standing at well over six and a half feet tall. “I’m a professional. Of that you’re well aware, Sir.” She would no longer refer to him by his fake name. For the next three hours she was required to show him utter respect. She was his submissive, his slave for the evening.
“Yes. Something I admire. Come in.” He remained behind the door as he invited her inside.
Hearing the click as the door was locked was to be expected. She shoved her hands into her pockets and waited, entering her role. Tonight, she belonged to him.
“Walk into the den. Remove your coat and face the fire.” His command was sharp.
She obeyed instantly, moving toward the warm glow at the far end of the hallway. When she walked into the room, she instantly admired his choice of art adorning the walls. He was a consummate collector. Impressed, she slowly unfastened the belt and removed her coat, placing the slick material over the arm of the couch.
“Magnificent. You are everything Mistress Jade said you’d be.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She lowered her head. The sign of reverence was just the beginning of her duties.
“Turn around. I need to see all of you.”
She did as she was told and when she turned in his direction, she was surprised at the face peering back at her. Her Dom had chiseled features, high cheekbones. His aristocratic look was personified by the black silk shirt and charcoal pants he wore. She rarely cared about the person who would tie and flog, beat and fuck her during the course of their limited time together. For some reason she was drawn to him. Instantly she looked down at the floor.
He moved toward her, lifting her chin with a single finger. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Thank you, Sir.” His eyes were mesmerizing, almost haunting. There was no kindness, no sense of love. He was merely admiring his prize.
He took a step back before nodding, then shifted to his left.
Trixie’s instincts were honed after dozens of experiences. She could sense what every Dom yearned for even before they gave instructions or issued commands. Hearing a clinking sound, she exhaled. Three hours. She was ready for the sting of a whip, the anguish of tightened clamps.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” In his hand he held a glass, the prisms glistening in an assortment of colors given the flickering flames of the fire. He took a sip, then held out the goblet, as if paying homage. “I can see why you’re considered the best.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Her eyes darted to the whip attached to his belt. Nothing surprised her in the world of BDSM. Both men and women had fallen into their personified darkness, an inner cry to release tension . Many were unable to have sexual relations without including various aspects of pain. She tingled in anticipation. Her needs were secondary, but she certainly appreciated the rush received during various sessions. Tonight, she would leave bruised and bloody. Weary of wearing the mask or not, she was a pain monger.
“Remove your bra and panties. Remain in your shoes. I very much appreciate a woman in high heels.”
She lowered her gaze as she removed her underwear. He demanded consistent reverence. Every move was perfunctory. He didn’t care about passion or sensuality. His only desire was the use of a pain slut, and she was one of the best in the business. Standing naked, she held her arms at her side, waiting for his direction.
“You’ll do perfectly.” Gulping the remainder of his drink, he growled as he placed the glass on top of the coffee table. He unsnapped a fastener holding the whip in place. “Turn around. Spread your legs wide.”
Air rushed into her lungs, excitement building.
“There are few women who understand the joys of anguish inflicted on perfect porcelain skin, the way welts crisscrossing their bodies heighten their beauty. I believe you understand.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“At attention, slut.”
The whip was slammed against the floor, the thudding sound powerful. She didn’t react. She merely placed her hands behind her head, her full attention given.
“Very nice. You’re unafraid,” he hissed. “And you’re in need. I can soothe your inner beast.”
The sound of the whip as he coiled the leather around his hand was distinguishable. “I fear little, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He snapped his wrist, the whip sailing across the space.
Blinding pain rushed into her system. She bit back a moan as the force of the strike pushed her forward. She caught herself before falling and regained her position. He had control of the whip. His technique was practiced, his needs brutal.
“Nice. You understand.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know you’re the one.”
This time his words caught her attention. She heard a change in his voice, the tone growing ominous in nature. Many Doms enjoyed playing games, but there was something about his demeanor that gnawed at her gut. He was a true sadist. “The one, Sir?”
“Yes. Perfect in all ways. You’re the kind of woman most men prefer, docile and prepared for anything on the outside. A fighting tiger on the inside, yet you know your place. However, there will be no additional questions asked. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What a good slut.”
A single sensation of real fear trickled down her spine. She shifted, tipping her head until she was able to see his face.
Wham!
This time the whip curled around her neck, digging into her flesh. She tore at the leather as she gasped, her air supply cut off. This was unexpected. This was… Oh God. Oh God!
A smile curling across his face, he twirled his hand around the end of the whip, yanking her toward him.
She stumbled backward as she wheezed. Stars floated in front of her eyes. This wasn’t about sadism.
“Perfect indeed and you’re going to stay this way, exactly as I declare.” He laughed as he closed the distance.
Terror raced through every cell in her body, her mind wrapping around the fact she was in grave danger. She was beginning to lose focus, her heart rate slowing. Struggling, her eyes opened wide in horror, a petrifying realization settling in. She wasn’t going to make it out of the house alive.
He reached out, his thumb brushing across her lips, her lipstick staining his fingers. Smearing the crimson color over her cheek, he grinned. “You may not understand, but I’ve been looking for a submissive I can spend the rest of my life with. I think you might just be that woman.”
He was crazy, demonic in his quiet actions. Her body reacted, shaking involuntarily as he curled his hand around her neck. His hot breath cascaded down over her face. The sickeningly sweet stench of alcohol mixed with something retched. Blood. He reeked of blood. She opened her mouth in a silent scream as a haze formed around her eyes. She fought him, slapping her hand against his thigh. She managed to twist her body enough she could see what he was doing.
“Forever beautiful.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a knife, flicking open the blade. “And forever mine.”
As the tip of the weapon slashed into her neck, she managed a single moan. Pain tore through every pore in her body as he slid the blade down, cutting through tissue, digging into her muscle.
He moved in front of her, cupping her chin. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips across hers. “All mine.” His eyes dilated as he wrenched the knife. He threw his head back and howled.
A warm gush of blood poured from the gaping wound and the lights dimmed. She studied his soulless eyes as her body began to slump. In the last seconds, she heard the lilting strings of a song, one she’d loved since childhood. Oh, promise me that someday you and I…
“Forever mine.”
CHAPTER 2
Only in your dreams can you see yourself, the woman you truly are. Only with my design will you become a queen.
Queen. The word reverberated in the back of her mind.
Tick. Tock.
Destiny Blade could see his face in the back of her mind, his carved features and a nearly perfect mouth. Given her southern heritage, most women from her hometown would say kissable lips. For her, the mere expression of blatant ugly desire garnered a myriad of raw emotions sweeping a raw sense of foreboding deep into her mind. Visions of blood and gore danced in front of her like puppets, the strings crimson and covered in slime.
She shifted in her seat, cognizant of her swelling nipples, panties damp to the point she was uncomfortable. He was watching, always studying her when she wasn’t fantasizing about a man whose face remained hidden. She wanted nothing more than to succumb. Without a doubt she was losing her mind. She’d never been prone to experiencing fantasies of any kind, especially sexual in nature. ‘Practical’ was the word most often used when describing her. Boring.
When I touch your skin, you’ll know… You’re perfect.
Perfect? The words lingered, a mere hint of things to come. He isn’t real. He isn’t real. Swallowing hard, she tapped her fingers on top of her desk. The air was humid, almost stifling. Her throat closed off, an intense sensation of being held under water forcing her gag reflexes to the surface. Faces peered through a mist manifested from sleepless nights, haunting visions of arms reaching out for her. The violence was a sickening draw and yet she remained exhilarated.
What do you see? His voice was like smooth velvet, wrapping around her in a sensuous manner.
Monsters. Her whisper was harsh.
Laughing, his voice rumbled in the dense space. You see yourself.
Exhaling, she struggled to push the rambling thoughts out of her mind, but she was lost in the moment, her skin prickling as if on fire. Giving a cautious look toward the darkened corner of the room, she whimpered. She was not alone.
He sat in the corner, the man who had haunted every night with his blatant commands, yet he waited patiently, as if claiming her was a prize. She’d refused succumbing to his intense needs, desires so dark she awoke breathless. He was all consuming. Anticipation fueled the vivid images and even in her daylight hours, she was finding it difficult to concentrate. Was he really here? He can’t be. He can’t…
Touch yourself. Show me how much you’ve learned.
“No.” Had she said the word out loud? Of course, she’d learned so much about the electrifying surges burning within over the course of the last few months. The nights alone, staring at her computer, had left her exhausted. You want his firm hand. There was no denying her dark cravings. She inched forward, placing her hands on her desk. Her vision remained clouded; her thoughts filled with longing. Masculine fingers reached out, their tips brushing across her heated skin. His hot breath was a magnet, drawing her to the only man she’d ever craved. Shuddering, she rubbed the back of her hand back and forth over her lips. Her heart raced, the wetness between her legs tingling her inner thighs.
