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Carnal Slave

By: Vonna Harper
Published By: Unrestrained Publishing
Twenty-five Chapters / 59,000 Words
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Willow Widen opens her front door expecting to see her ex-boyfriend Mitch. He must have heard she’s been fired and has come to offer the support she desperately needs. Instead, a commanding stranger overpowers her. She’s gagged, tied up, and robbed of sight. 

Everything changes. 

Unknown to Willow, she has been targeted to be taught, trained, and then sold. The job has gone to Damek, an experienced Carnal Incorporated operative. Based on what he knows of the latest subject, the lovely but insecure young woman will be easy to mold. She’s a natural submissive. 

Willow’s will becomes everything. She vows to survive the training. 

Or will she? 

Master Damek has his own agenda—and tested methods for molding his captive. 

Carnal Slave taps into readers’ fantasies about surrendering control. Needless to say this is fiction

No surprise, the majority of humans have sexual fantasies. They often serve to mentally and safely bypass real world sexual restraints. Illusion allows us to imagine the limits of sexual activity both legal and otherwise. There’s no need for constraint because it isn’t real.

Carnal Slave is that, creativity set free. It is a raw and rough, non-consensual, an imaginary world of sexual slave training.


By Vonna Harper

Chapter One

Fired. Canned. Let go. 

One moment Willow Widen wanted to slam her fist against the steering wheel and scream obscenities. The next she had all she could do not to pull over to the side of the road and cry.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t! She’d more than simply worked for M&M Road Construction the past three years. Until a few months ago, they couldn’t have asked for a more dependable and loyal employee. Everything had changed when she started suspecting the company was secretly using inferior materials and—

Don’t go there! Not now.

A car horn to her left blared, and she jerked on the wheel so she no longer straddled the line. A middle-aged woman glared at her, then sped around her. She was too upset to be driving but how else was she going to get to the apartment she could no longer afford?

Her stomach tightened even more. She needed to talk to someone, but only Mitch LaFord came to mind, and he was no longer part of her life.

Her throat felt as if it was going to close down, and her eyes burned so she could hardly see. She was only a couple of miles from home. Surely she could make it that far. And then what?

Unnerved by the thought of spending the night alone, she looked around. Good. She hadn’t passed the liquor store. She’d buy a bottle of vodka and mix it with the orange juice she had every morning—a big bottle.

By forcing herself to live in the moment, she managed to exit the boulevard and get into the parking lot without causing an accident. When she got out of the car that would probably be repossessed, she nearly lost her balance. Damn the stupid high heels!

Shoulders back and hands fisted, she started toward the large liquor store. A battered pickup with a couple of men in it pulled alongside.

“Hey,” the passenger called out. “You looking for a party?”

In a way she was grateful for the distraction. Anything was better than reliving the awful moments in Raymont Manchin’s office.

“Don’t play hard to get,” the passenger said. “Just looking at you, we can tell how bad you want to get laid. Your call which motel we go to.”

Uneasy, she looked around to make sure someone would hear if she yelled for help. A newer white SUV driven by a man in a dress shirt and tie was nearby. “I’m not interested.” A week ago she could have added that she was in a serious relationship but that, like her job, was history.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, bitch!” the truck driver yelled. “One round with me and you’d spend the rest of your life begging me to fuck you again.”

Much as she wanted to call him a liar, she knew better than to say anything. Another time she probably would have turned tail and scurried back to her car, but she needed a drink, or two.

“What’s the problem?” the passenger asked as she started toward the front door again. “You think you’re too good for us?”

If only she’d chosen a parking spot closer to the building. If only her head was on straight today.

“She’s probably dead from the waist down,” the driver said. “That true, bitch? You couldn’t come if we filled all your holes?”

The question kicked up her awareness of her pussy. Thank goodness the hecklers didn’t know how little it took to turn her on.

The pickup had been keeping pace. A few more feet and she’d be inside, away from them. However, before she could reach her destination, the pickup sped up and turned abruptly so it was between her and the store. She tried to walk around the dirty vehicle. The pickup backed up, nearly hitting her.

“That’s enough,” a take-charge male voice said. “Leave the lady alone.”

Looking in the direction the voice had come from, she spotted the well-dressed man from the white SUV. He’d gotten out of his vehicle. After giving her a nod, he directed his attention at the rednecks.

“I’m armed.” He touched the small of his back. “None of us wants me to have to use this, but I will if you don’t leave, now.”

“You’re welcome to her,” the driver muttered after a pause. “But you ain’t getting much.”

The pickup roared off, leaving Willow wondering if the past few moments had really happened. She’d been approached by men. At twenty-five and decently put together, she figured it came with the territory. Fortunately, most weren’t as crude as those two.

“I appreciate what you did,” she told the businessman. “It’s been a lousy day. I didn’t know how to handle—“

“I kind of figured that. It’s a good thing I was on my way in here.” He indicated the liquor store. “I don’t often get to play white knight.”

Tension seeped out of her. Her white knight certainly fit the description. He had white collar businessman written all over him, but beneath the conservative clothes he appeared to be physically fit. He certainly knew how to take charge of a situation.

She held out her hand. “I’m Willow Widen. Again, thank you.”

He covered her fingers with his larger ones. His grip was stronger than she’d expected. “Damek. I’m sorry you’re having a lousy day. I, however, am having a fine one.”

A little nonplussed because he hadn’t let go of her hand, she pulled free. At least he hadn’t asked why her day was in the toilet. He was maybe ten years older than her and over six feet tall. His slacks covered a flat belly and solid legs while beneath his dark blue dress shirt his shoulders had impressive width. His forearms were well-muscled. She couldn’t say he was handsome. His eyes were a little on the small side and rather close together and his lips were puffy, almost feminine.

“Do you really have a gun?” she asked when it dawned on her that it was her turn to say something.

He nodded, drawing her attention to a receding hairline and almost black hair. “It’s a tool of my trade, a job requirement.”

Despite her curiosity about what he did, she wasn’t in a mood to get into a conversation with anyone. Now that her adrenalin had run its course, she felt weighed down by life. She wouldn’t mind having sex with Damek, or anyone with a penis. It was the whole pretending to give a damn about another person right now she couldn’t handle.

“Well look.” She nodded at the glass door. “I don’t want to keep you from doing what you came here for. Again, thank you.”

He studied her just long enough for her to wonder what he was thinking. “Right place, right time. It’s been interesting talking to you, Willow.”

Interesting? What a strange thing to say she pondered as he opened the door and she walked in ahead of him.


Leaning back in the driver’s seat of the rental SUV, Damek studied the subject’s ass as she returned to her car. She clutched the paper wrapped vodka bottle as if it was a lifeline while he lightly cradled his cell phone. “Connection has been made,” he told the other Carnal operative.

“You have her already?”

“Not yet. I was following her and the opportunity for contact arose. How are you doing?”

Reno, his sometimes partner, snorted. “You think I’m going to tell you?”

“That bad, huh. Remember the rules. This time we take our subjects the old fashioned way, no high tech—“

“I know,” Reno interrupted. “Besides, I don’t need a stun gun to overpower a subject.”

“Hopefully you’re able to shut her up before she wakes the neighbors. Where are you anyway?”

“Dallas. You?”

“Some burg in Iowa.”

“So you’ll be heading to the ranch as soon as you have yours. No driving over half of the damn country like I’m going to have to.”

“That’s the breaks. I just wanted to say hi and that I’ll be kicking your butt.”

“The hell you will. Bring on the auction. My slave will be ready.”

“You hope. Oh, I guess I should tell you that my subject doesn’t have any backbone. Training her is going to be pig simple.”

“Just like you, pig simple.”

Damek told Reno to go to hell and hung up. He’d see Reno in a few weeks when they met up at the ranch for a human flesh auction. Carnal Incorporated existed to satisfy the specialized sexual desires of a select number of extremely wealthy and amoral men. Operatives like Reno and himself were well-paid to turn women who fit Carnal’s profile into sex slaves. Some of the time he did his own trolling for subjects. Other times, like now, likely subjects were referred to Carnal.

He was ready for the challenge. First step called for taking Willow out of her world and into his.

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