woyubook.cc 
For someone whose heart isn't in it, Saunders certainly delivers a hard enough beating, and Nick is swiftly reduced to tears and a series of strangled sobs. Perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps they're both enjoying themselves. Perhaps Matt is a valued member of the community for creating little diversions and thinking up excuses for mass punishments. Perhaps I'm missing the point in all this—they're probably all grateful to the bastard. Oh, fuck, I don't know. I don't understand the rules, and I feel helpless at the mercy of these people. I just want to go home. I want to be alone with Skinner, in my apartment or his, and I want to feel his hands on my body making love to me again. I want to explore this new relationship in a less threatening environment.
The beating seems to go on forever and I want to turn my face away, but something keeps me watching in horrified fascination. Nick's buttocks are now covered in dark welts and I don't even realize that I'm trembling until Skinner suddenly gets to his feet in the middle of the beating and clears his throat.
"If you'll excuse us," he murmurs. He clamps a hand on my shoulder, which stills my shaking, and gestures me to follow him, which I do eagerly.
Saunders stops mid-stroke and looks at us. "You have an hour, Mr. Skinner," he says. "Your presence in the Arena at 11 p.m. is not optional."
"No. I'd sort of figured that out." Skinner nods. "I'll be there, but in the meantime, if you have no objection, I'd like to rest."
"Of course," Saunders murmurs, but his eyes have a glint of some knowing amusement. I realize that he thinks we've both been turned on by the evening's activities and are returning to our room to enact our own version. Nothing could be further from the truth. Even my newly insatiable desires have been dampened by the events I've witnessed.
"Thank you," I whisper to Skinner when we reach the safety of our room.
"It's all right. I didn't like it much, either." He is silent and subdued, and sits down on the bed with a sigh. I go and sit beside him, and we stare at the floor glumly. Then he turns my face to his and kisses me with an infinitely tender softness. "I'm not like them," he murmurs in a strangulated tone.
"Hey, it's all right." I can sense a very real misery in him. "I'm not like them, either, in case you hadn't noticed. Not like Nick or Brad or any of the other 'slaves'."
"Yeah, thank God," he grins. "I don't think I could stand all that fawning all the time. And I've always hated ‘yes’ men. I like people to have minds of their own to keep me interested, and let's face it, you sure as hell have a mind of your own."
"Oh, yeah. Nobody could argue with that." I wish we could stay in this room forever and not face all that craziness again, but I know we can't. "Are you worried—about what will happen in the Arena?" I ask him.
"No. Apprehensive, maybe, but I don't think it takes an Einstein to figure out what will be expected of me tonight."
"No. Now please tell me that you regularly attend those FBI self-defense refresher courses."
"Yeah," he grins. "Although, frankly, I think that an offensive strategy will be more useful than a defensive one this evening."
"You think they fight dirty?"
"I'd lay bets on it. Not that it matters." He shrugs. "I can fight dirty, too."
"I never doubted it for a second. Scully told me that you once took on an informant of mine—X, and you won. That impressed me. I took a swing at him once and wished I hadn't. He was one mean son of a bitch."
"The information I required on that occasion was...an incentive." He smiles softly and touches my face. "But not as much of an incentive as there will be tonight. Don't worry, Fox. I won't let any of them so much as lay a finger on you."
I shake my head. "I can fight my own battles."
"Not against this mob," he says wearily. "Remind me how we got into this again?"
I look up, opening my mouth to splutter another apology, or a protest, only to find that he's grinning at me. He grabs me and pulls me down onto the bed. I rest my head on his chest and he strokes my back, and we neither of us says a word as we lie there for the next half an hour, relishing the peace, the company and the comfort. Finally I feel him glancing at his watch over my shoulder and he gets up, disengaging me.
"Once more into the lion's den," he murmurs, stretching like a cat.
"My hero." I grin slyly and kiss him hard on the lips. "Just so you remember what you're fighting for," I tell him when we come up for air.
"I won't forget. Trust me. After all, it could be worse." His mouth twitches in wry amusement.
"How's that?" I try to think of any way in which our situation could be worse than this.
"Well, if we hadn't reached our, uh, new understanding earlier this afternoon, then I could be about to do all this fighting without even the hope of getting to enjoy the spoils." He looks me in the eye, completely stone-faced.
"Spoils?" I pout.
He puts a finger over my lip and grins. "You're starting to look like Lenny!" he says, and then runs for the door, getting there just in time to evade the pillow his outraged piece of property has thrown at his retreating back.
* * *
The Arena has been lit by flaming torches of real fire, which give it a demonic, gladiatorial glow. All the subs are here, and there's quite a crowd of them. I count at least thirty, which is double the number of tops. They're standing in a circle, eerily lit by the flickering torches. There's an ominous wooden post sunk deep into the sand at the far end of the circle. Saunders saunters over to us and smiles at me in that patronizing, creepy way he has.
"Fox—go and join Nick," he orders. I hesitate and glance at Skinner—a gesture that isn't lost on Saunders, whose face reflects a slight flicker of annoyance. Skinner nods. I see Nick standing at the far end of the room and go to stand beside him.
"You okay?" I murmur.
"What?" He glances at me, confused, and I gesture with my head in the general direction of his butt. "Oh, that. Yeah, I've had loads worse in my time," he grins. "I bet you have, too. Your master doesn't look like the sort to take much crap."
"He doesn't beat me," I say softly.
"What, never?" Nick looks surprised.
"No." Fuck the pretense. I want to inject some normality into this place.
"You ought to ask him to one day, then," Nick grins. "The pain of a whipping can be intensely pleasurable. Mind-blowing."
"I'll take your word for it. You didn't look like you were having such a good time earlier, though," I remark.
"I wasn't." Nick sighs. "How can I describe the difference to you if you really don't know, Fox?" He stares at me, looking genuinely perplexed. "Aaron can do what he likes to me, whenever he wants. He's earned that right. I'll submit to the worst beating in the world if he wants to deliver it. That's just symbolic of my service to him—I won't necessarily enjoy it, but that doesn't matter. Once, early on, he whipped me so hard for so long that I thought I'd die, but it was just his way of making me understand who I belonged to. I wasn't so obedient then—I was trying to play games with him, make him jealous. I never tried that again, believe me. But," he pauses and his eyes go dreamy, "there are times in private when he'll make it a pleasure. He knows the way my mind works, and how to get me in the mood. Then it's like nothing on this zhaiyuedu.com, Fox."
"What about Matt?" I ask, seeking a distraction from this fascinating, but to me, inexplicable conversation. I search the Arena for my nemesis, my eyes sweeping around the room. "He set you up this evening. How do you feel about him?"
Nick hesitates, clearly not sure how to reply. "Matt likes to enjoy himself with us," he answers at last, in an even tone.
"He's a fucking bastard," I respond, seeing no reason to collude in his neutrality.
"He can be harsh," Nick agrees. "But one or two of the subs here have a thing for him. Some people like their pleasures raw and at the outer limits of painful."
"What about Aaron?" I ask. "What does he think of Matt?"
Nick hesitates again, biting his lip thoughtfully.
"Matt has challenged Aaron a couple of times," he tells me. "Not because he wants me, but because he finds Aaron's strength a threat."
"And who won?" I ask, finding this whole subject as compelling as it is weird.
"Aaron, of course." Nick gives a small shrug of pride. "Nobody's ever defeated him in any of the challenges. And Matt isn't as good a fighter, anyway. He's too much of a bully, not enough of a strategist. It angers him that Aaron's the only man here he hasn't defeated."
We're distracted in this bizarre conversation by Saunders stepping into the center of the Arena. He holds up his hands and a silence falls onto the room.
"We have a new player." Saunders beckons Skinner forward. "You know Mr. Skinner and his slave, Fox." Nick nudges me to take a step forward and I find myself being stared at by the assembled company. "For the sake of Mr. Skinner, I'll go through the rules." He turns and looks at my boss with a sly grin. "There are no rules!" he laughs, and a ripple of mirth travels around the room, but there is a grim, anticipatory hunger to the sound.
