𝙐𝙉𝘽𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙆𝘼𝘽𝙇𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙎 ❱ reverie. & valken

[reverie.]

U N B R E A K A B L E  C H A I N S
H O P E  I S  T H E  O N L Y  T H I N G  S T R O N G E R  T H A N  F E A R

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R I S E            •          K A T Y  P E R R Y
0 : 51  ——  ♡  —————   3 : 17
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Alina Wellington was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them. Two hours had passed, and her father had still not made an appearance. He hadn't even texted her to say he wouldn't make it. What could possibly be so important that he couldn't spare five seconds of his time to send a quick text to his only daughter? She was so sick of him never showing up to her exhibits, especially since she'd worked her ass off to get them. The first one she'd let slip because she knew he was out of town on a business trip. The second she'd also understood—but barely—because he had to attend a corporate dinner. But the third? A fucking slave auction. And now? It wouldn't surprise her if he were at home fucking the brains out of his new slave. He'd spent a lot of time with her these past few weeks. Alina had argued with him over it countless times already. The slave—Scarlet—spent more time with Alina's father than she did. Her father had always been a busy man, even more so after her mother died, but he'd never been this preoccupied before. He'd never put her on the sideline like that. Not until he bought that slave. Her mother would have never approved. She was the reason why they'd never gotten one in the first place, and then Alina had taken over that role after she died. But something—or someone—had clearly convinced her father that now was a good time to get one. It was never a good time to get a slave. Alina had always been against it. The whole slave system was ridiculous and the people who bought them were even worse. And now her father was one of them. But she might have felt differently if he'd actually treated the woman like a slave.

There were times when Alina had come home to the two of them having dinner and she was left to make something else or eat leftovers. She knew her father wasn't in love, he wasn't that stupid. He hadn't been on a single date since her mother died—none that she knew of at least. But he seemed quite smitten with her, and it didn't help that she was only a few years older than Alina. Her father had no reason to buy her nor let her stay in their home. What did she even do? It wasn't like she was doing a lot of housecleaning. To Alina, it seemed as though she was living a life of luxury while letting Alina's father fuck her. But what else her father did to her, Alina didn't know. She could have sworn she'd seen a bruise on the woman's arm the other day and could only imagine what her father had done to her. Or maybe she'd bumped into something. . . But Scarlet seemed a bit too happy to be a slave. Or maybe she was just putting up an act in front of Alina. Whatever the case, Alina wanted her GONE. She wanted her father to prioritize her—not a fucking slave.

So, Alina came up with a clever idea to get her father's attention. To make him listen to her once and for all.

She'd heard him talk about it and she'd seen it in his calendar. The next slave auction he would be attending. Alina honestly didn't see the point of attending another one now that he had a slave. But she would make sure he'd get his money's worth. She would make sure he got rid of Scarlet and focused all of his attention on Alina and her accomplishments. If he'd taken the time to attend just one of her exhibits he'd know that her photographs were quite popular and that they sold for hundreds—sometimes thousands—of dollars. Her bank account was filling up fast and if she wanted, she could start a life of her own. But Alina wanted to spend more time with her father first. Before her mother died, they'd been close. They would have family nights every weekend and talk about their day during dinner. The past couple of years had been tough, but her father had no excuse to replace her—or her mother—with a slave. Alina would make him see that. She would force him to open his fucking eyes.

It only took a fraction of her savings to bribe someone at the auction house to put her name on the list. She had no intention of being sold. No intention of becoming a slave. Alina only intended to get her father's attention. Whether he came to pick her up before the auction started or paid a great deal of money for her didn't really matter. She would still be a free woman when the night was over and Scarlet would be gone for good. Alina's plan was foolproof—or so she had thought.

When the auction was about to start her father was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't panicked then, because he could still be in the audience. But when they made her stand in the center of the stage in nothing but a couture lingerie set and a pair of high heels, she was starting to feel nauseous. She might as well have been naked. The auditorium was too dark for her to see any potential buyers, but they could see every inch of her. The spotlight was almost blinding her as she tried to pay attention to the bids. Her father's voice was not among the men bidding on her. Dread started to fill her body as she realized what was about to happen. People were actually bidding on her. And those people probably knew very well who she was and that she didn't belong up there. Did they know this was nothing but a ploy? They couldn't possibly believe that she was actually up for auction. . . But the bidding war continued, and by the time it finished, Alina was blown away by the amount of money that person had spent on her. She could only hope they would get their money back when they realized they wouldn't be getting a slave after all.

Her panic continued to grow as two men escorted her to a small room and instructed her to kneel in front of an armchair. She tried to explain to them that there had been a mistake, but they refused to listen. They didn't even move until she knelt on the floor. "Just call my dad," she went on. "Nate Wellington. He'll tell you this is all just a big misunderstanding." It was like talking to deaf ears. "Eyes on the ground," one of them instructed. "Do not move until he tells you to. Got it?" Alina let out a frustrated growl but lowered her eyes to the floor in front of her. This was getting out of hand. "Yes, yes, I got it. But will you please just call my dad? I'm not supposed to be here. This is a mistake." They didn't answer. Instead, she could hear their footsteps as they left. "Don't move. He'll be with you as soon as the auction is over." "You need to—" But the door closed behind her before she could finish her sentence. She heard the door lock, but that didn't keep her from getting to her feet and trying the handle—it was locked. This was not how she had expected the evening to go. She could only hope that whoever bought her was more inclined to help her than those two morons had been.

Alina wasn't going to wait on the floor when there was an empty, comfortable chair right in front of her. She sat down sideways, leaning against one armrest and throwing her legs over the other. It was a really comfortable chair, she'd admit that. Her eyes were focused on the ceiling—had been for God knew how many minutes—when the door finally opened. She didn't even let the man enter before she opened her mouth. "Finally," she called out, letting her legs fall to the floor so she could sit upright in the chair. She pressed her legs together and crossed her arms over her stomach in an attempt to cover as much of herself as possible—as he hadn't already seen all there was to see when she'd been on stage earlier. "Will you have them call my dad so we can get this sorted out?"
a37682

 

[Valken]

Reese felt his phone buzz in the left breast pocket of his suit jacket. Taking his eyes off the passing city through the tinted glass of his limousine he pulled out his cell phone and opened the email he had received. It was from Black Silk Ties, one of the three slave houses Reese had substantial ownership shares of. They had sent him a list of that night's auction list. Names and basic stats of each product. The manager of the house would have chosen ten slaves who would by themselves fetch a high price while in the cages. At auction the product would go for double, sometimes triple that price. The manager had been successful in the past, so Reese had no intentions of meddling. He was sent the list as a courtesy - as part owner he was on the distribution list for such emails. He also received monthly budget statements and class three incidents that rarely occurred.

He was not currently in the market for a slave. He had a pair at home in this city, another across the country a short plane ride away who were well trained at satisfying his needs. Still, he scrolled through the list of names - simple details and a single picture beside each one. For the most part young woman - and one very lean, muscular man, all in their mid teens to early twenties. He was only mildly interested as each name and picture scrolled past he top of his phone until he got to the last girl. Wellington.

A mix of anger, and confusion swarmed through him as he looked at the picture of the girl. Twenty-one, blonde hair, blue eyes. Starting bid at a quarter-mil. Reese quickly opened the browser on his phone, went to google images, 'Nate Wellington and Daughter' The first three images showed the bastard Nate, shit-eating grin and all, arm around a blonde girl, same grin. He switched back to his email, same girl. Another quick google search revealed that the Wellington daughter, born Alina Wellington was indeed, twenty-one years old. Reese took a minute to think, possible scenarios going through his mind. Then he went back to his email, scrolled all the way to the bottom to George Velencoso's signature - the manager of Black Silk Ties. Reese clicked on the phone number in the man's email signature.

The phone rang two and a half times before the Spanish man answered. Quick pleasantries were exchanged, "Number ten on the auction list. What is the story there?" Reese listened as George told him the girl had come to the shop herself and attempted to bribe the front desk staff into putting her in a cage. She had caused enough commotion that George himself had spoken with her. She didn't give a reason as to why - but she had happily signed the official documents to register her as a slave. George laughed as he talked about convincing another three thousand dollars out of her to be put in tonight's auction. "Replace her with another. I will take her for myself." Reese's voice was almost too anxious, too excited as he spoke the words. George replied back that it wasn't possible - two VIPs had already expressed interest, and her father was on the list of attendees. "Has Nate arrived on site?" A long pause then George replied back, no. Reese paused for a moment before speaking. "Add me onto the list, my usual spot."

Hanging up the phone Reese then did a quick search through his emails, opened his Notes app, and another two google searches. "Robert, redirect to Black Silk Ties." He spoke through the intercom to the driver's compartment of his stretch limo. He then went to his contacts and searched for the right name. It took three rings to be answered. "Matthew, I'm calling in that favour from the Greenboro Plant incident last month. Yes. Yes. The Wellington pill factory over in Chicago, I need you to shut it down tonight. No. Yes. Make it loud, news crews and everything. I don't care, make up a reason. No, don't mention me. You don't even know me. Yes, that will work. Yes. If Mr. Wellington shows up? Then we will be even. Yes. Yes. You have my word. Get it done." Reese dropped the phone on the red leather seat beside him, absentmindedly looking out the tinted window, his mind deep in thought.

He had arrived at the slave house an hour and a half before the auction was due to start. After ten minutes in the lounge he rented himself a slave - blonde and blue eyed. Both to pass the time and clear his head. While what he was about this night would lead to his own pleasure and satisfaction, his main goal was revenge. He needed to approach the auction with a business mind-set and not let what was between his legs drive his decisions. Not long after sending the slave back to her cage he received confirmation that Nate Wellington's private jet had landed in Chicago. Then, with George's help he was able to have one of the VIP's drop their interest in the Wellington girl.

The first half of the auction was uneventful. Each girl being sold off with little hassle. Only three outright bidding wars happened. The lone male caused a surprising fuss. By the time he was sold Reese thought he might be the night's highest seller. Number eight on the docket really caught Reese's attention. Something about the way her bright green, downcast eyes looked from behind her thick mane of dark hair. Her hips rolled just right as she moved under the spotlight on the stage. Reese kept himself on track though; he didn't need the distraction. Still, as he watched her walk of the stage he knew she would enter his thoughts for years to come; much as Scarlet did. Invasive thoughts that he could not control. With Scarlet, it was more about how he lost her, and the immediate events that followed. Wrongs and humiliations that Reese now had the opportunity to rectify.

By the time Alina Wellington was featured on stage much of the crowd had either thinned out or lost interest. It was a blessing for Reese's plot, a curse for his companies profits. Still, the second VIP and a third, unknown male caused the price of the girl to rise higher than Reese normally would have liked to pay. His dark eyes watched the sweetheart up on stage. She had walked out with a modicum of confidence. That dissipated the longer she stood under the spotlight, the higher her price went. An anxious confusion seemed to overtake her body, highlighted by a shy fear. Reese hadn't put much thought towards actually owning the girl; his attention focused on just winning her. As he looked her over on the stage and it became clearer and clearer that he was going to win her, a sense of excitement slowly grew inside of him. He thought less of what owning her meant, and more about owning her.

The final bid was called, Reese named the winner. Some entertainment was brought on stage for the bidders who did not wish to immediately leave. Reese didn't stay, instead heading to the VIP area to confirm his purchase, transfer the funds and arranged for her documents to be overnight'ed to his home. It was a quick process, as he was already in the system. He was then given a room number and his thumbprint registered to the door's lock.

Reese checked that his suit jacket was properly buttoned before opening the door. Out of habit, more than fear that he was less than perfect. His fine white shirt showed the perfect amount at his wrists, black pants smooth with nye a wrinkle in sight down to the shining shoes he wore. His hair was styled perfectly, a little wild, but perfect.

He was barely through the door when he heard her spoiled, girly voice crying out, 'Finally', As if they were running on her time. As Reese stepped through the door he saw her adjusting her petite body on the brown leather chair, legs pulled tightly together, hunched over as if to hide as much of her bare skin as possible. As the door clicked closed behind him she asked them to call her dad, to get this sorted out.

"Your dad? He no longer has say over you." Reese' voice was calm and controlled, deeper than one might think it would be to look at his six - one height. His words were chosen carefully, innocently, as if he did not know exactly who she was. "I own you now." He spoke with a finality, his tone making it clear she was not to argue. He motioned to the floor directly in front of him, "Kneel."​

 

[reverie.]

Alina met her buyer's gaze for a brief moment before she took in the rest of him. She didn't know exactly what she had expected, but it wasn't this. The man who had entered looked pretty good in that well-tailored suit he was wearing and his face had a lot of attractive features. She couldn't spot any grey hairs on his head, so he couldn't be that old, but he was definitely older than her. He was taller than her too—but that was to be expected when she was only five foot five. If she'd gotten to her feet though, the three inches on her heels would probably make their height difference less noticeable. But Alina made no effort to move from her spot in the armchair. No, she had no intentions of getting up until someone had called her father so he could come down there and explain to these people that this was just a mishap. She wasn't about to tell anyone that she'd brought this on herself. Putting herself up for auction had not been a mistake. The only mistake she'd made so far was to expect that her father would be there to clean up her mess. If he hadn't shown because he was fucking that slave again. . . Alina was going to be really pissed if that was the case. But if someone would just call him, it wouldn't matter. She knew he'd drop everything to come get her. He might have been preoccupied these past few weeks—months really—but he would never allow his daughter to become a slave. Now that she thought about it, her father would probably be FURIOUS to learn that she had bribed someone to put her name on the list in the first place, but she could live with that. As long as it got his attention.

But then her mysterious buyer opened his mouth and the panic she'd managed to keep in check surfaced again. His voice was calm and collected, but it radiated POWER. If she'd been an actual slave, she wouldn't dare to test him. Alina wondered if he could see the panic in her eyes or her fear. Maybe her expression gave it away? No, it couldn't be that obvious. She swallowed hard when he claimed to own her and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He didn't need to tell her how this worked—she knew. This man had won the auction and paid a hefty amount of money for her. Theoretically, he did own her. Theoretically, he had every right to give her orders. He had bought her, after all. There was just one tiny little detail that he wasn't aware of yet and that was that she wasn't supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to be bought—not by him, at least. She was supposed to be bought by her father or not at all. She was not a slave nor did she have any plans of becoming one. She always paid her tax on time and she was a law-abiding citizen. There was no way she was going to be ordered around by another human being, let alone kneel in front of one like an obedient dog.

When he motioned to the floor in front of her, she let her eyes drop. The command itself made her shiver, but it was his tone that made her pulse skyrocket. She did her best to ignore it. The command wasn't meant for her, but a slave. It wasn't hard to understand that he was not a man she wanted to argue with—but she had to. Alina wasn't going to kneel on the floor like a slave just because he wanted her to. In fact, she wasn't going to do anything before they'd spoken to her father. She almost felt bad for the guy for buying her, if only because he would go home empty-handed. He should have bid on one of the other slaves instead. It was a bit too late for that though. But if she were to guess, he could just buy one at the next auction. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was one of those people who could hold a grudge forever. Not that it mattered. It wasn't like she was planning on sticking around for long.

"Look—" She leaned forward in the chair, still covering the parts of her she managed to cover as she looked up at him. He could probably see how uncomfortable she was, despite how well she tried to hide it. She might look calm, but she couldn't hide the fear in her eyes. "I'm not a slave." The way she said it made it sound like she was stating the obvious, and her tone sounded as though she was explaining something simple to a child. She might as well have said I'm not a dog. "This—" She made a small gesture with her hand to signify the room they were in, but she actually meant this whole slave situation, ". . .is a mistake. So please, just call my dad. Nate Wellington. You know who he is, right?" Alina didn't give him more than a second to answer before she answered for him. "Of course you do. Everyone does. Just call him. He'll explain everything." She leaned back slightly again, resting her back against the chair as if she were waiting for him to sort things out for her—expecting it. The quicker she could get out of there the better. "I'm really sorry for the inconvenience, I really am. I hope you get your money back." A sweet but apologetic smile spread across her painted lips as if that would somehow make everything better.

 

[Valken]

Reese had gotten a good look at the scantily-clad blonde when she had been displayed up on stage, not to mention the pictures sent to his phone of her. She was by all counts an attractive woman, thick, flowing blonde hair, full lips - highlighted by the red lipstick she was wearing, shining, expressive blue eyes. The shape of her jaw, was an old-school beauty that could not be faked. Seeing her up close in the precise lighting of the transfer room only highlighted that beauty. That natural prettiness that would barely fade with age, she had it.

And she was his.

Even as she sat defiantly in the chair, Reese' dark eyes sliding over her slim body, admiring the long legs she showed, the cleavage of her firm breasts, nipples barely hidden behind the black lace. Slim shoulders, a long delicate neck - just begging for a hand to wrap around it. She was responsive too, emotions written in her expressive eyes. He saw the annoyance quickly turn to panic and fear as he dismissed her father. The blush rising over her pale cheeks when he stated clearly, he owned her. The way she swallowed and looked to the ground when Reese motioned to it. He wanted to put his hands on her. Needed to feel her body. But he was not a man to rush things. As the lust and excitement shot through him in waves he kept himself composed and stoic; showing her none of the emotions he was feeling. The polar opposite of his new pet.

The sweet little girl explained everything to him - from her perspective. This was just a mistake, her hands motioning to the room, to the outside, to the auction. Her voice was girly, her tone soft even as she told him she was not a slave. The words she spoke were confident, sure of her place in the world. But the fear in her eyes, the lace clothing she wore; even the chair she looked so out of place sitting in - it all told the truth. It was with a sweet, apologetic smile that she finished her spiel. Her blue eyes revealing that even she knew her words were useless.

Reese did not reply. His dark eyes met hers and held her gaze. Calmly, slowly but surely he walked the short distance across the room. He moved up beside her, standing beside the arm of the large chair that was not meant for her. Still holding her sweet, fearful gaze his right hand came up. Not quickly - she would be able to sense it, but not stop it. His hand wrapped around her throat. Fingers and thumb reaching all the way around; barely two inches stopping them from touching. Still holding her gaze, not saying a thing he pressed her back against the chair she defiantly sat in, his fingers and palms squeezing. It was slow, methodical. He cut off her supply to air, squeezing her windpipe so she could not breath. No matter how she struggled, kicked, whatever words she might say. Reese silently choked her, holding her head and neck against the back of the chair. He held her gaze, his cold dark eyes telling her everything.

Nate Wellignton? He did not matter. There was only him. The nameless, unknown man who quite literally held her life in his hands. And she was being disobedient. Reese knew his simple actions and piercing eyes would convey his message. While she was stupid enough to put herself into slavery - and Reese was slowly putting the pieces together as to why she had done that; she was surely smart enough to understand why Reese was currently strangling her to death. And he held her throat tightly, windpipe closed for a long time. He waited until the light in her eyes started to dim, until he knew the edges of her vision would start blurring and darking, until he was at the centerfold. Only him.

Just as calmly as he had wrapped his hand around her throat, he pulled her out of the chair. Almost carelessly he pulled her forward and released her, letting her fall to the carpeted floor. His intent had been to bring her to the edge of consciousness, and he was very good at following through with his intentions. As she gasped for breath Reese settled himself in the old chair she had been keeping warm for him. He sat straight, much as she had been at the end, though his head reached over top of the chair. His arms rested on the armchair's arms. Knees and legs spread wide, feet flat on the ground. As the chair intended, Reese dominated the room.

He waited several minutes, patiently listening to his slaves breathing. Until it returned to normal, and he was sure she was capable of listening. "Place your lips on my boots. Beg your Master for forgiveness." Reese did not elaborate on what she needed forgiveness for. He was more interested in having her on her knees before him, just as their relationship should have begun. "Tell me what a good little slave you will be from now on." His voice remained confident and cold, commanding with a finality to his words. Clear and concisely, he commanded her obedience.​

 

[reverie.]

She should have gotten up from that chair the second he took a step towards her. She should have tried to leave when she had the chance. Or at least not make herself such an easy target. Now, she was a SITTING DUCK. But she just couldn't get her body to move. As soon as he started approaching her, she froze. He might as well have put a spell on her because she couldn't find the strength or the courage to get up. He decreased the distance between them with slow but steady steps, and she just sat there. She didn't want him any closer, but the dangerous look in his eyes made it difficult for her to think straight. He had a predator's gaze, and she was his prey. She knew she was; she was the only one there.

When he stopped right beside her, she could almost hear her own heartbeats. She could definitely feel them. Her heart was beating faster than it had ever done before, and it was all thanks to him—a stranger who had bought her at a slave auction. And the fact that he didn't answer her made her anxious. She had been scared long before his fingers wrapped around her throat, but now that they were, she was TERRIFIED. Her eyes widened as he pushed her head against the chair, forcing her to look up at him as he slowly squeezed harder. Alina quickly moved her arms away from her body and wrapped her small hands around his wrist and forearm, desperately trying to pull his hand away or at least make him loosen his grip. A new wave of panic surged through her when he didn't.

If she'd thought she knew what panic was before, it was nothing compared to what she felt now. She couldn't breathe. Her vision was getting blurry and her arms were getting heavier—but that might just be her imagination. "Stop," she croaked. She could feel herself fading away. "Please." Her pleas sounded more like gurgling noises than actual words. It was the best she could do given the circumstances. She could only hope that he didn't plan on killing her. Why would he? Who would buy a slave just to kill them off shortly after? Surely not this guy. He didn't seem like the type who would waste a single penny, so he had to let go at some point. . . Right?

Alina's vision was becoming a dark, blurry mess. She could barely make out his cold, dark eyes, or the rest of his face, but she knew he was still watching her closely. Watching her life fade away beneath his fingertips. Her hands were still clawing at him, still trying to make him release her. To let her breathe. Her body needed oxygen—now. She was fighting to stay conscious. She'd never really been afraid of the dark, but she was now. The darkness threatened to swallow her whole, but she fought it. She fought it with everything she had left, which wasn't that much. But just when she thought she was about to pass out, she found herself collapsing on the floor, gasping for air. Perhaps it would have been better if she'd just surrendered to the darkness.

Who would have thought that breathing could be so difficult? So painful. Alina was lying on her side in front of the chair with one hand clutching her throat and the other half-supporting her weight. It was embarrassing, lying there, gasping for air like a fish trapped on land. But she couldn't help it—couldn't stop it. Her body needed air. She didn't even look up when she saw his legs move in her peripheral. It didn't surprise her that he would take her seat as soon as it was empty. The chair had been for him, after all. Alina had just borrowed it while she'd waited for him. The chair was rightfully his, and he sat on it like it was his throne. Maybe it was, in a sense. The only problem was that she had no intentions of submitting to him. He was no King—no Master. Not of her, at least.

She didn't know how long she lay there, first gasping for air, then trying to calm it. It felt like forever, but she knew it couldn't have been that long. By now she was already half kneeling on the floor, supporting herself with one hand, the other were still at her throat. At this point, she was too tired to try to cover herself up. She looked up at him when he eventually broke the silence. Her face was pale and her expression grim. It looked like she didn’t understand him, as though he had spoken in a foreign language, but that wasn't the case. Alina had understood every word, she just chose to ignore them. Just like he so obviously ignored hers.

Her eyes fell to his boots for a moment, before they found his gaze again. Her fear was still visible, but now it was mixed with frustration. "I don't think—" Her voice was so hoarse it was hard to hear what she was trying to say. She cleared her throat and started over, but it didn't really help that much. It sounded like she was recovering from a bad cold. "I don't think you understand." How could he, when all he'd done was give her orders and punish her for not following them? Her voice was soft, almost pleading as she adjusted her posture until she was kneeling in front of him, not far from his feet. Being choked once was enough. "I am not a slave." He could probably hear the desperation in her tone, as thought she was screaming you have to understand at him. Why did he dismiss everything she said? "Please. You have to call my dad. He'll explain everything, I promise. You'll get your money back too, I'm sure." She was not sure, but he didn’t need to know that.

He was still giving her orders like she truly was a slave. Why on earth would she—or anyone—place her lips on his boots? That wasn't exactly. . . hygienic. There was no way she was doing that. "I'm sorry, but I can't." It was more a matter of will. "I'm not a slave. I'm never going to be a slave. So, if you want a good little slave, you have to get someone else. I'm sorry," she said, hoping he could at least make out what she said despite her raspy voice. "The next auction is in a few weeks, isn't it?" Alina had no intention of going to another, neither as a buyer or as a. . . slave. "I'm sure you can get one then." She spoke as though it was a simple task to buy a slave—and it was—but maybe he wanted to get an exclsuive one. Alina was starting to understand why the starting bids were so high. And why he had paid good money for her. Surely, he must have known deep down that the daughter of Nate Wellington would never become someone's slave.

 

[Valken]

The Wellington girl sat defiantly frozen in her chair as Reese closed the distance between them. He could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertain frown of her lips, the anxious, uncertain crease of her forward between her well-manicured eyebrows. She was the metaphorical deer in the headlights. And she knew it. Despite her insistence that was a mistake, that a simple call to her father would free her of his ownership, the little blonde girl knew she was no longer a free woman. And so she sat, still as Reese placed himself beside her, then placed his hand around her throat.

Panic drew the girl out of her paralyzed state, her dainty hands and fingers wrapping around his wrist and forearm. It was nothing for Reese to retain his grip, to squeeze harder despite her attempts to remove his hand from her throat. As a socialite, Reese doubted she had ever done any amount of real work, let alone strength training. She fought for her life, and it made no difference. The fear in her eyes quickly change to terror, her mouth wide open, pulling hard for any chance of air that died in her closed off airway. Her hands on his arm quickly turned to clawing. He could feel her nails digging into his skin through the cloth of his suit jacket. It hurt, but Reese doubted it would even bruise. Just like her uppity position on the chair, her words, her pulling and struggling; her clawing had no effect. The slave had no control over her life. Unlike the deer vs headlight metaphor though; Reese wouldn't be teaching her that lesson in one quick life-ending thump.

Once Reese had settled into the chair his dark eyes focused on the slave, gasping for air; lying on the ground propped up on one arm. Dressed in scanty, sexy lingerie he was again caught up in her beauty. Long legs, a slim waist; stomach heaving and chest thrusting as she sucked in deep gulps of air. Lying on her side as she was, head towards the door, legs closer to Reese, he was able to get a better look at her backside than he had from her appearance on the stage. Round, tight, youthful and firm. Reese's preferences had always been towards a pretty face, followed up with a nice backside. His new slave offered both in spades; a face that told him every thought she was having, and a backside that demanded a good squeezing. The lingerie she was wearing now showed off her cheeks wonderfully, but as he allowed her to catch her breath and compose herself he imagined a few different pairs that would please him even more.

When Reese spoke, she looked up at him blankly. Or, what she likely believed was an indifferent glance. As if Reese had just choked her out, threw her to the ground and demanded she kissed his boots without being aware that she was not a slave. Her voice started out hoarse, but still girlish and soft as she began to repeat what was starting to become a mantra. He didn't understand. She wasn't a slave. Fear was still written over her delicate features, but Reese could hear a hint of frustration in her voice as she pleaded with him to just call her father. While she spoke she adjusted herself, rising off her side to face him, sitting upon her knees just in front of where he sat. She knelt before him; but not to be subservient, but to plead and convince. She thought of herself as a free woman still, and not the owned piece of meat she was.

She ended on a compromise; he would get his money back that he had paid for her, and get to use it to purchase a new slave, a real slave at the next auction. Someone else should be knelt before him, barely dressed and diligently offering her capability's as a good little slave. Not Alina Wellington.

And yet there she was, kneeling barely dressed in front of him. Reese knew the rest was to come shorty. Slowly he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs just above his knees, hand hanging loosely between his legs. His cold dark eyes locked onto her bright and expressive ones. "The misunderstanding is yours alone." Her voice had been full of pleading worry, attempting to convince. His voice was clam and confident, full of truth. "You signed the papers, you stood under the spotlight on the stage, and I have paid the price in full." All actions that she took, and he solidified. Reese let the silence hang in the air of the small room for a long moment. Along with their positions; him sat in the dominating chair, leaning forward holding her gaze. Her kneeling before him, scantily clad and no recourse if she happened to leave the room without his blessing.

"I am not a Master who repeats himself." His hand right, hanging loosely between his legs pointed towards the ground. Index finger stretched out straight, thumb sticking out at a ninety-degree angle. Reese made no other movement, his hand being center-stage and taking all the attention as his gaze remained on hers. His finger, pointing at the ground was quite clearly repeating his prior instructions, kiss his boots, beg for forgiveness, promise to be a good slave. "Or do you need more convincing?" Reese did not elaborate. He would let her own mind fill in the blanks towards what he would do to her, if she continued her uppity behaviour.​