It was at that very moment it occurred to me that Adam was more than just crazy. He was the kind of mentally deranged that only an insane asylum and-or prison could help. I wasn’t a professional yet, but if I had to diagnose him, I’d say he was either a high functioning anti-social or borderline personality. High functioning, yes, but crazy none the less. He’d created a whole narrative in his head to justify his kidnapping of me. I was in more danger than I originally thought.
I was freaking out mentally, but I also wanted to tell him to kiss my natural black ass.
“You’re mental. If all that were true, you wouldn’t have had to kidnap me.”
“Kidnapping you is irrelevant. What’s happening now is. You shouldn’t be this calm or calculating. Why aren’t you afraid of me, Eve?”
I thought about his words for a minute before responding. I’d always lived with an absence of fear. My feelings had always been binary. Anger and pride were the only emotions I was familiar with, and I could be manipulative when I needed to be. I was a product of a screwed-up childhood filled with abandonment issues. I didn’t think I was capable of much else.
“Honestly, Adam, I’m not afraid of you, per se. I’m afraid of being tortured and killed. But…I don’t think you want to hurt me, do you?”
“I would never hurt you,” he responded with so much conviction I believed him.
Almost.
What would happen if whatever this was didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to? What would happen if I pissed him off to the point of no return? Would he snap?
However, I was not one to dwell on questions I couldn’t answer so I continued. “I also don’t have it in me to cry, scream and run around the room like one of those chicks in the movies to appease you. If a scared girl is what you wanted, you picked the wrong girl. I already know in the end, you’ll do what you want. And even if you decide to kill me, everybody’s got to die one day, don’t they? Just don’t do anything weird to me or torture me for days on end. Make it quick and painless, please.”
Adam gazed down at me wide eyed and exasperated. I almost laughed at the shock on his face; he was suddenly looking at me like I had been looking at him earlier.
“You’re just as crazy as I am,” he said. “Yeah, you might need some meds for that.”
He was just as sarcastic as he was serious.
I was offended. “No, I’m good, but why don’t you take yours?”
I flipped over on the bed, my back to him.
“Yeah, I might just do that,” I heard him say before I closed my eyes.
E I g H T
“Eve…”
That was the third time I’d whispered her name in her ear in an attempt to wake her up. She’d been asleep for nine hours and I was bored. After I woke up, I spent the morning arranging things so we’d be comfortable.
“Eve,” I called louder and smacked her right ass cheek. Not hard, just enough to sting.
She jumped up in bed, disoriented. “What the hell?”
Her right arm swung towards my head. I caught it just in time. Any slower and she would have connected her closed fist with the side of my face.
“Fuck,” I yelled out when her left hand connected with my cheek.
She slapped me, hard. That was not the reaction I expected.
I scowled at her. “Why did you do that?”
She glared right back. “Are you seriously going to ask me why I hit you after you hit me?” she snapped.
“Love tap, baby,” I said getting up from the bed, heading to the bathroom to check my face. “You on the other hand tried to take my head off.”
“You deserve it,” she mumbled under her breath.
I didn’t think she’d meant for me to hear it, but I did. In front of the mirror, I examined my face. My cheek was bright red and stung. I marched out of the bathroom and charged toward her. The sleepy expression on her face disappeared. She attempted to get up from the bed, but she was too slow. I grabbed her by her ankle and yanked her back onto the bed. She fell backwards, her hands went up defensively, covering her face and head.
I caged her between my arms, using my weight to hold her in place. “You shouldn’t hit people. Some just might hit you back,” I warned
She looked somewhere between enraged and almost amused. “Take your own advice next time you think about slapping my ass like that. Now get off me,” she spat between clenched teeth then attempted to push me off her.
“No. Apologize,” I demanded, only half serious.
My anger had dissipated as soon as my body came in contact with hers. I was glad I hadn’t bothered to put on anything but boxers. I felt the heat of her pussy against my cock through the thin fabric. I pressed into her, eliciting a groan. I wondered if she realized it would be so easy to pull her underwear to the side and slide right in...
N I N E
My composure was slipping. I could feel his hardness pressed against me. I fought the urge to push up against him. What was wrong with me? Why was he affecting me as such? Maybe he was right. Maybe I was just as screwed up as him.
“Get off me, Adam,” I protested, but even to my ears it sounded weak.
He shook his head. “No. I said apologize.”
“Not a chance. Get off me!”
He grinned. It was devious and filled with the promise of things to come.
“Fuck me? How about I fuck you?” He pressed a kiss right between my cleavage, trailed his tongue from the point up my neck. “It would be my pleasure to fuck you,” he said with his lips pressed against my ear, his voice in a low growl.
I arched into him just as his weight lifted from my body. I thought he was going to get up. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that, but he didn’t get up. Adam lifted just enough so he could ghost his fingers across my skin, from my knee, up my thigh. He stopped when he touched the fabric of my panties.
“Is that what you want, Eve? For me to fuck you?”
He kissed me softly against the corner of my mouth then slid his tongue across my chin, down my neck, stopping at my collar bone. He sucked then nibbled lightly before twirling his tongue on the same spot. His tongue… I remembered the things that tongue did to my pussy. I fisted his shirt. My clit thumped, and my leg trembled. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from moaning in pleasure.
“Yes, you want me to fuck you,” he whispered. “But… I won’t,” he said before he pushed off me.
He walked away, leaving me with my heart thundering and my pussy throbbing. I wanted—no—I needed for him to come back and give me some relief, but I’d be damned if I begged for it.
You need to get yourself together, I thought. Stop thinking about sex with him. Are you nuts?
Suddenly, Adam started humming. It drew my attention because of how eerily familiar it was. I tried to place the song but couldn’t. I turned and watched him as he set food on the table. He seemed unaffected by what just happened seconds earlier, while I wrestled mentally with many emotions. My body was on edge.
“You hungry?” The question was thrown over his shoulder.
Yes, I was hungry, but not for food. I ignored him
He turned away from the food, his gaze fixed on me. “You look hungry,” he teased in double-entendre and licked his lips.
Involuntarily my eyes followed the trail his tongue made. He was purposely messing with me, and I was falling for it. I wanted to get up and knock the smug expression off his face. I also wanted to sit on his face and find out what else his tongue could do.
I sighed in frustration and tried to sound as unaffected as he looked when I said, “No I’m not hungry.” I lied; my stomach was empty. “I’m going to take a shower.” I pushed up from the bed. I Ignored the tingle between my thighs. “Did you happen to think about what I would wear while I was your slave?” I asked nastily.
“Yep, I sure did,” he responded, still smiling. “Everything you need is in the chest of drawers.”
I stomped over to the dresser and pulled out
the top drawer. I searched for something to put on that covered a little more than what I was currently wearing. In the first drawer, I found tank tops, camis and underwear—bikini— thongs, some my own, most new. None of my granny panties though. The next three were filled with the same. Not a bra in sight.
He watched me the entire time. I felt it. When I spoke, I didn’t bother turning around as I knew I already had his attention.
“Where are the clothes?” I asked.
“You’re looking at them,” he responded.
“No, I mean clothes, like sweats, shirts, pants? This stuff goes under clothes.” I picked up a hand full of the thin pieces of fabric and let them drop back into the drawer.
“That’s what I want you to wear. That’s all you need to wear. No one’s here but us.”
I could tell from his tone there was no use in debating the subject with him.
I didn’t leave well enough alone, however. “And what if I said I want you to go get me some real clothes?”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence lasted so long I was forced to turn and look at him. His face was scrunched up in thought, then a slow calculated smile spread across his lips. His eyes lit up wickedly.
“If you keep questioning me, I could take what is in the drawers and have them thrown away. Then, you could walk around naked. Yeah I like the idea of that.” He walked to the door, opened the panel.
I knew what he was about to do next, so I shouted for him to stop. “Okay. All right. I’ll wear what you have for me,” I conceded.
“Shucks!” He snapped his fingers, sounding like a Leave It to Beaver character.
He closed the panel then smiled deviously at me. I snatched a random pair of underwear and a tank top from the drawer, not caring if they matched, and headed to the bathroom. I was pissed off. I hated that he’d taken away all my control. I couldn’t even wear what I wanted.
Just before I walked into the bathroom he said, “Besides, there’s no need to play shy with me, Eve. I’ve seen you naked already.”
I paused and whipped around to face him. “You saw me naked? When and how?”
No sooner had I asked the questions, I remembered the clothes I’d woken up in after he’d taken me. The clothes I had on weren’t my own. He had to have undressed and redressed me.
He watched me, observing my face for a few seconds, then he turned and started rearranging the plates on the table again. He ignored me like I hadn’t asked him a question.
“Are you—”
I forgot everything I was about to ask when he started humming again. That song, I knew that song. I just couldn’t remember from where or why it was important. I just knew it was. I stood there, listening until it hits me like a ton of bricks.
It was the song I danced to. The only song I danced to, and that was when I realized he knew. How could he? I wondered.
Instead of asking him, I left him setting the table and went into the bathroom. In the shower, I ran through my memories, searching them for his face and came up with nothing. I’d never seen him in any of the places I’d danced. I would have noticed. Maybe someone told him they saw me. It wasn’t like I hid the fact that I was dancing. As an adult I didn’t feel the need to hide or explain my actions to anyone.
Would he ask me why I danced? Was he judging me? Was that what had put me on his radar? Then I thought of the reason I started dancing and wondered if he knew why. Panic set in. The thought of him knowing why was affecting me more than him knowing at all.
I didn’t want anyone to know how much Davis had hurt me, so I hadn’t told anyone about him cheating, then breaking up with me in freshman year or about how it had twisted my view of myself. When I thought about it, I felt stupid about that whole relationship. I had actually thought Davis loved me.
Being with him had felt right. He was perfect and him wanting me made me feel perfect. Then he’d cheated. The girl he left me for was my complete opposite. She was walking sexuality; exotic, beautiful and slim. I spent nights awake wondering if he ever really loved me or my body like he said he had. I’d even beat myself up for never having sex with him, blaming us never being intimate for the reason he cheated on me. But after a week or so I was grateful that I hadn’t fucked him. If all it took was physical features to sway him away from me, he wasn’t worth it. I got tired of long sleepless nights and start going out.
At first, I spent many nights in different clubs around Tampa, dancing by myself or with a partner, feeling free. Dancing was therapy for me. Stripping came later. I got the idea from a book I’d read. The chick masturbated on camera for men to pay for college tuition and it helped with her self-esteem. I couldn’t imagine touching myself for some anonymous stranger behind a computer screen, although I’d never had any problem with nudity.
It had taken me years to learn to love my body, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I liked what I saw. A slightly rounded stomach, wide hips, thick smooth thighs, my ass round and firm, legs long and flawless skin. I thought why not combine the two. Why not dance naked? The thought had left my mind a quickly as it came though. and I went on about my normal life.
It wasn’t long after my sophomore year that I started to dance for people. I happened to be looking at ads on Craigslist for jobs. My money was tight. My stipend from student loans running low, and after paying my cellphone bill for a few months and buying food, I would be broke. I needed a job immediately. I came across an ad for dancers at a strip club. They wanted voluptuous, natural, and attractive. That described me.
I called the number before I could talk myself out of it. I was given an address and the name of the person to speak to. I wore what I considered my sexiest outfit; a black crop top that fell just below my breast, no bra and a skater skirt that stopped below my ass cheeks, no panties and a pair of black ankle booties with a thin, sharp four-inch heel.
The club was in a bad neighborhood in Clearwater, thirty-minutes from my house in Tampa. The building that housed the club was painted slime green with a neon sign that flashed Vegas Nights in a strip mall with empty shops on both sides of it. It was uninviting, but it didn’t sway me. Not much anyway.
A HELP WANTED sign that said they were looking for girls of all shapes, sizes and colors hung on the black painted door. No bodyguard stood at the entrance like I had seen in movies, and it was nearly empty when I walked in even though it was after ten on a Friday night.
I thought about turning around to leave after seeing only white faces inside. Florida was a tricky place when it came to race. One part could be diverse and open minded then I could cross the street into hillbilly hell. The black girl behind the bar who asked me who I was looking for calmed my nerves and stopped my retreat toward the door.
Joe the manager, who weighed a hundred pounds too much for his frame, was the same height as I was and ugly. It made my skin crawl when he had looked me over with his beady green eyes. When he was done, he grinned, showing all thirty-two of his brown stained teeth.
You’re one sexy bitch,” he complimented in the only way I think he was capable of.
I was hired without even dancing.
Heather, a blond girl with a face that left a lot to be desired, was assigned to show me the ropes. Joe had called her a pro that had been dancing ten years, which contradicted what she told me. She said she was twenty-five. To me she looked forty-five. The thick makeup she was wearing did very little to hide the discoloration and age lines around her eyes and mouth. She was pale and ivory skinned with large fake tits. Her one redeeming asset were nicely shaped legs that went on forever. She had no ass to speak of, but said she made good money, which worried me. I was the exact opposite of her and hoped I wasn’t wasting my time. She took me to the back where the girls usually changed. I hadn’t thought about clothes to dance in, but Heather assured me what I had on was ok.
Adam & Eve- a Tale of Obsession Page 6
