Cold Hearts
Page 4
I headed over to it and opened the lid, breaking into the computer with ease. A couple of years ago, I’d sneaked over and installed something known as a ‘golden ticket’. It allowed me to remotely view anything she did on her computer from my own device at home. I could even turn on her webcam while she was using the thing without the cam light switching on to alert her. Really, I could do whatever I wanted with the ticket. I could delete files, install viruses, cause total havoc if I wanted.
But all I did was watch.
Her internet browsing history, every word she wrote in whatever programs she used, her social media conversations with friends… it was all there at the tip of my fingers, whenever I wanted it.
I ran the necessary updates on the installation, then closed the laptop lid, carefully returning it to the exact location I’d found it at on the table. Then I grabbed my phone again and shined the flashlight at the fireplace mantel on the other side of the room. She didn’t use the fire—firewood was probably too expensive for her to afford these days—but the mantel had a few stacks of books and several framed photos of her and her family. Baby photos. Vacation pictures from happier times. Her weak mother. Her dead father.
I reached for one of the middle photos and dusted off the top of the large black frame, where I’d stuck a miniscule matching black surveillance device a long time ago. It had become dusty lately, which blurred the camera feed, and it was getting harder to make out her activity in the room.
After it was clean, I headed down the narrow hallway and into Celeste’s bedroom. Her bed had four thick blankets on it. Not surprising. Recent frigid temperatures and her inability to afford decent heating meant that blankets were her only option to stay warm at night. There was an old broken column radiator on one side of the room, and I knew I could fix it with a few tools. But I wasn’t going to. Again, that would be stupid.
I thought about lying in her bed for a moment, inhaling her sweet scent from the pillow. Thought about stealing a pair of her panties from the top dresser drawer and coming all over them. Instead, I crossed over to the paned window and dusted off the tiny camera I’d installed there as well. These surveillance devices were the best idea I’d ever had. I could monitor her whenever possible to make sure she was still living her life normally (as normally as she could, anyway) and I could also make sure she wasn’t bringing any stupid young guys home with her. Like that smarmy blond prick I saw her talking to tonight. He was lucky I didn’t storm into that bar and choke the life out of him. He got to keep his neck, though, because I could tell Celeste had no real interest in him.
So far, she’d been a very good girl. Never had a guy over, never spent the night anywhere but here or at a female friend’s place. My sweet little virgin.
I even knew she’d never had an orgasm before. Sometimes when I watched the feed from her bedroom, I’d watch her slip a hand beneath the blankets and rub between her thighs, her eyes squeezed shut and her face strained. But it never lasted. Every time, she’d draw her hand out after less than ten seconds, as if she’d been burned.
I knew why. She didn’t want her first orgasm to happen in a few fumbling motions beneath her sheets. That seemed cheap. Unimportant. A waste.
She was probably also too ashamed to come. I saw the filthy pictures and stories she looked up on her laptop sometimes. I saw her furtively glancing at them before hurriedly clearing her browser history and slamming the lid shut in shame, even though she was always alone in the little house.
She was embarrassed by her own thoughts, her own mind. Her own desires. Trapped in a world that told her it was sick for young women to want these things. Sick, dirty, and twisted. But there was no need for it, no need for the shame. Eventually, I would show her that. I would teach her, make her let go and hand all control over to me. Just like she craved.
But not yet. I was content to watch from a distance for a while longer. I was happy to let her have her life, her ambitions, her studies, her dreams… for now.
One day, she’d start to remember. One day, I’d have to take her away from all this. One day, I’d have to make her mine. All mine. My perfect little submissive. She wouldn’t be entirely willing, but that was too fucking bad.
Right now, she was safe from the monster, but when she began to recall those awful truths—and I knew she would; they always did one way or another—she’d start to unravel. She’d start to talk. I couldn’t have that.
She didn’t seem to remember anything yet, though. So for now, I would keep watching her, waiting, waiting, waiting….
Until the day arrived.
Until I came for her.
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