The Book of Red: ISAK & Red and bonus prequel Used

by Cari Silverwood

  “I find I want to fuck less. My monster needs less input.”

  “What sort of input?”

  She wriggled and I trapped her with my hand across her throat, pinning her to the quilt. “What a helpless thing you are. Input? Hmmm. Like torturing the fuck out of little butterflies like you. I have only five women. I’ve managed with that for years. Logically I should not take more.”

  She snorted lightly and derision surfaced in her expression. Daring bitch when she was aware.

  “Logic. Sure. How about plain old being a nice person?”

  “You have no concept of how this infection has overwritten my brain.” My voice turned harder. “Without what I have organized, my routines and rituals, my fucking hobbies, I’d be gone from here. Do you know how much I could do, would do, if I let myself?” I squeezed on her neck, tightened the arc. “No fucking concept.”

  I breathed hard for a while, scaling back the anger, before I could make my hand release her.

  If I kept her, I’d be forever tempted to break her mind down enough to figure out the mechanism Wolfe had used.

  Controlling women was a hobby I’d never get bored with, unlike the calligraphy, the art, the shibari. I’d even enrolled in online psychology.

  If I released her, she’d be snapped up by the CIA, interrogated over her reasons for what she’d done, maybe under that espionage act even, if they could make it stick. They’d find out about me in a roundabout way even though she couldn’t tell them directly. Wolfe would make them suspicious. I was linked to him by my past tracks.

  I rubbed my chin, twirled the pen with my other hand. “Open your legs.”

  If I couldn’t fuck her there, I could still enjoy the view. She opened, slowly at first until I drew a line from her belly downward, across her mound, through that thin wedge line of hair. By the time the pen reached her clit I’d run out of ink but there was a bright red mark showing its track.

  If I was the monster, if I truly let it loose, using a knife there would be imperative...eventually.

  I shuffled down the bed, lay beside her, propped on my elbow.

  I lifted the pen from her skin, pulled apart her labia until I could see the darker pink. Touching her, of course, had her gasping and arching. As a mesmer, it would take a great effort for me not to affect her. I couldn’t be bothered to make that great effort.

  Besides, I’d slid the fat end of the pen into her until I’d fucked her about three inches deep. This way had more potential.

  “Don’t come,” I murmured. “Not unless I say.” Then I lay down on my elbow and played there. The disappearing act of the pen, the shudders she gave, the spasms of her cunt as she grew more aroused...my cock was unhappy with me for not letting it do what the pen did.

  “Maybe I should organize something more, soon, while I think. Can’t let you go. Can’t keep you.”

  “More?” Red whimpered and clutched at the quilt, bunching it under her fingers.

  “Yes, more.” I stuck a finger in her alongside the pen, then a second finger searched for her asshole. “Maybe here wouldn’t mess with the status quo.” Her eyes had rolled up and her thighs and spine tensed so much that her ass left the quilt. “Want me to keep you, dear girl? I would let you come.”

  “Please, yes?”

  Her whimpers would make any man cry. My cock was weeping and digging into the bed through my pants.

  “Poor girl.” Loved seeing them do this, saying what they shouldn’t. “Can’t keep you. But...”

  But I had to do something. She was driving me mad with this need to fuck her.

  I shoved the pen and my fingers in further, until the pen vanished completely. I could get it out again though the nib might hurt. Maybe I’d get her to lick it clean.

  The monster needed to be paid its due. As a temporary solution, I bit her thigh a few inches from her clit and listened to her scream.

  Then we went out onto the deck and had breakfast. I dressed her first, of course, in a blue-and-white, floral, open-front gown with golden bows. It flowed all the way to her feet, concealing little, but enough. I tied her hair to the back of her chair and fed her when she begged. One of the things my other girls were past. They never thought enough, or were frightened enough, to make this sort of thing delicious.

  The table was glass and so when I sat opposite her I could see everything.

  “Open your legs more.”

  Pretty cunt. Pretty wet and very red cunt. Needed to be redder. Which could be arranged.

  I sighed and shifted.

  “I need your second argument tomorrow.” She nodded. “Remember that.” Another nod.

  Depending on how she said it, I would arrange the party.

  Gently, I tinged my fork on my glass of apple juice, admiring the sunlight dappling the outer edge of the deck, where it filtered through the glass roof panels. Glass was good. Concealment could entice and seduce but seeing things clearly was often better.

  I should start looking into places I could send her. It was too dangerous to keep her, for both me and her.

  In the meantime...Vitor could get some of the other girls brought here. I could recall only one still installed in the lower room.

  That cunt of Red’s. Her slit beckoned. If I fucked her there, when all was arranged...finalized...it should be okay.

  My fingers tightened on the fork, my other fingers pressed into my scalp. Hurting myself was preferable to hurting others. Not that it always worked.

  I moved my fingers up the fork and squeezed the pad of my forefinger into the sharp end of the tines until blood leaked around the point.

  Red shifted on the chair. I’m sure she didn’t mean to reveal more, to tease me, but I could see my tongue in her, licking out that pussy, crushing her to the floor with my weight, fucking her unconscious. I knew what was good for the world – for me to stay put, revolving in my own mess.

  Her slit though, it put things into perspective. Was I really this self-sacrificing?

  CHAPTER 6

  Walking on the beach below his villa helped me think. There was despair. There was also hope. I might be mentally the equivalent of a drugged-up addict much of the time with him but I did recover.

  When allowed. When he allowed me to think.

  I bit my lip until it hurt and stared at the suck and surge of waves further out and to the side, where the villa’s decks hung over the sea. He wanted an argument from me and I was afraid. The aftermath last time had been not at all logical. I’d won and he’d done bad things.

  “Come here!”

  He stood a few yards higher, among the sea grass, feet sunken in sand, arms out, hands making a come-hither motion. A big man made bigger by his position on the land, by his supremacy over my mind.

  Bravery was doing something even when you’re afraid. I pulled in a ragged breath and trudged up the dune, to stand before him in the red bikini he’d given me.

  He took both my hands, smoothing fingers and thumbs over my palms. I shuddered, watching his heavy, ink-stained fingers move over my skin, hating this forced gesture of intimacy. The ink was still showing on me. He’d showered me, let me swim even, and still I had his writing on me – pretty and elegant letters written by this bastard.

  Felt like I was some element of a magic spell, with incantations lined up and waiting to be spoken.

  “Tell me your next argument.”

  “And you’ll let me go?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Yes. Sort of...you said maybe.” But he was also planning to keep me back then. Now, I wasn’t sure what he meant by not being able to keep me. “Are you going to let me go anyway?”

  His cheek twitched. “I’ve arrangements pending.”

  My hands chilled. “Then why should I bother with saying anything if it’s decided?”

  “Because I want you to and maybe it will make me change those arrangements.” He leaned in to say quietly, “Because if you don’t I will get distracted by other things.”

  Other thing
s was ominous.

  His thumbs inscribed never-ending circles on my skin.

  “Follow.” With his hand at the small of my back, with his will solidly in place, he drew me higher to where a blanket waited.

  Past the paved driveway and the parked and polished cars, the white wall of his compound cut off the sky. Palms planted at the base of the wall waved in a breeze. I could run and climb the wall.

  “No, you can’t,” Isak whispered, kissing my neck then pulling me to the blanket, to sit between his outstretched legs. He wrapped his arms around me.

  Kisses were for lovers, not for enemies. How could he simply kiss me?

  Waves roared and sucked the sand into its embrace. The sun baked my legs. Wearing a bikini, sitting on a beach in a beautiful place, and all I wanted was to be gone from here.

  I slumped my shoulders, swallowed my misgivings and fear.

  “You want words from me? Illegal. Keeping me here, making me do things I don’t want to, it’s illegal.”

  “Is it?” He kissed my back then my nape, and drifted his fingertips from my shoulders and down my arms, making the fine hairs rise in goose bumps. “The law revolves around proof. Let’s say I’m a cop, or someone asking you about what happened here. Can you tell them anything?”

  When I breathed, his hands on my arms rose and fell, trapping me gently.

  How could I do that? I knew from the past that I couldn’t.

  “Red, can anyone prove anything?”

  “You said...you have a girl trapped here, in your lower levels.”

  “She’s here voluntarily and that’s what she will tell anyone who might ask her. There’s no crime if they want it. Bing. Fail. On the other hand...”

  Oh the way his tongue wrapped his threats in that Swedish accent. I knew why the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movie did so well, because everyone wanted to fuck the Man with the Sexy Accent.

  “You tried to shoot me with a rifle. Your prints are on that weapon. You bought it illegally. We can prove you meant me harm. You’d even admit your intent to murder me. What do you think a judge would do to you?”

  Bad things.

  “I hate you,” I whispered. If I said that three times and clicked my heels, what would happen? I stared downward. Bare feet today, coated in sand.

  “I know. And that gives me a thrill that goes straight to my balls.” He drew my wrists behind me and made me wrap my fingers about the head of his cock, squeezed his hands over mine until I felt the pulse of his dick. “You lost, Red. What should I do to you? Shall I fuck you and let someone else into your cute little dirty orifices? The longer I stave him off, the darker and meaner my monster gets.”

  I ducked my head. My shivers peaked in my nipples. “Stop him then. Your monster. It’s just you.”

  “Sometimes I can’t. If I try to hold back the tide, I drown, you drown, everybody drowns.”

  Then he raised my wrists higher at my back until I squeaked at the pain in my shoulders and had to bend at the waist. I felt his teeth sink into my left palm and bite. Harder, harder, until my little keening scream became a babble.

  “Pretty pain,” he murmured, from around his mouthful of me.

  “Stop, stop, stop, please.” A quick breath then... “Please.”

  He stopped biting and instead rose above, pulling me backward then rolling me onto my stomach with his foot. My face was in sand until I turned my head sideways. “I’ll stop when I want to, won’t I?”

  There was a stone-hard precision to his words when he got nasty like this. Maybe this was when his monster came to the top.

  “Yes.” There was sand on my lips and tongue. I grimaced and spat. The spit only made more sand stick to me. Stay calm. If I panicked this would get worse.

  “Can’t breathe? That’s how my monster makes me feel if I stop him. I’m going to let him out, a little, tonight. Just be glad he’s on a leash.”

  We returned to his room and he prayed at his altar to the past. As if he sought penance for sins. Maybe he was doing it in advance. I didn’t believe he was sorry or repentant, no matter how he rocked on his knees or muttered over his relics.

  One of those sacred relics was a picture of me, freshly marked with cum. I watched him from my position curled up on the bed, collared and leashed, though he’d not attached me to anything, yet. I wished he would do something more painful to himself – like whipping his back while he sat on a horse-sized, spiked butt plug...or blowing his brains out with a 45.

  The latter, yeah. Definitely the latter.

  CHAPTER 7

  I’d imagined some dark and gloomy basement where men did despicable things to women. I should’ve known there’d be a gloss to this. Isak did things with flair, as if to thumb his nose at hiding his perversity.

  The room was on the ground floor. Beyond the expanse of a thick glass wall, the surface of the sea seemed ready to swallow the house. Waves curled toward the house.

  “The glass is made to withstand hurricanes. The foundations are solid and down to rock. Even if smashed, the house would stand.” Isak’s hand at my waist was more terrible than any force of nature. He turned me, his eyes softer than I’d seen on the beach. “Swallow your wine.”

  I swallowed, gulping down two inches of the yellow liquid with the bubbles. Tasteless, though it soon made my head spin. The room wobbled as he guided me toward the square of sofas. Bollinger was on the label on the bottles. 1974. Worth a stack of money.

  I tried not to look at the four other women, distorted parts of the room’s scenery that they were. While I stubbornly viewed the ocean, the men had redecorated.

  The rustlings, the rip of zip teeth, the jangle of buckles...the gasps and small cries. I’d known, but I was unviolated, and I wanted to stay that way. I hadn’t dared to turn and see what they were doing for fear I’d attract attention.

  On the floor was evidence of civilization. Clothes. A diamante ivory dress with a bodice of fake gems. Chiffon and lace. Black and ice. In the open middle where the sofas faced, was a three dimensional work – shiny steel pipes led from ceiling to floor, parts clamped to each other. A geodesic decorated rug covered that middle area – dense black with thick interlocking lines of red and orange.

  Two women were locked into the scaffolding as if ready for a construction workers’ ball.

  One had her hands high, tied above her head. Classic, kinky fucking position.

  One was tied in a bent-over position, from chains that hung from a steel-frame cube. A pipe led into her ass, another led from within her mouth. She breathed and wriggled, and didn’t bleed, which was how I knew the pipes didn’t run all the way through. Guess she was a showpiece. Above her back, her arms were locked in a sleeve of black leather, with the wrists of the sleeve chained to the pipes. Her legs were spread in a V and locked to the floor.

  Black thigh-high boots with chrome heels and buckles.

  Obscenity in steel.

  Bent over offering. Strapped and tied. Gagged with steel too.

  “We have theme nights. This one is Construction. Let me introduce you to everyone.” Isak gestured at four men on the sofas and at Vitor, who stood near the bent-over and chained girl, with his hand running along her naked back.

  Vitor extracted the inch-wide pipe from her rear orifice. No soft dildo decorated the end. Steel had been in her and I couldn’t tell where it had been seated. Inside her pussy? His caressing fingers dripped with lubricant and left a shining trail over her vertebrae. He reached her ass and his hand partially disappeared from view. The girl grunted, legs shaking, her spine bowing as he no doubt screwed those fingers into her.

  The man didn’t even look where he was going with that hand. He kept his eyes locked on mine, his smile fixed.

  His hand seated itself deeper, worming in as he fisted her.

  The girl rocked back and forth in her cradle of chains, grunting louder and louder around the pipe in her mouth.

  “You know Vitor.” Isak nodded toward his obedient man-pig then at the nearest seated
man. “And this is the mayor – his wife turned out to be a collectable. This is the local head of police – he likes to fuck the girls in handcuffs. You’re going to forget who they are after tonight.” He rambled on, saying more names.

  Men in suits, blond and bald and dark, their faces already blank.

  Remember, remember. Blond. Dark. I stared. The blur where their faces should be frightened me beyond anything Isak had yet done. I couldn’t even see them. Isak was deleting them from my head.

  The dark curls on Vitor’s head looked perfectly formed and neat. He was suave, and confident as a snake about to swallow something plump, something with a beating heart.

  Isak kept talking – words that meant nothing.

  Vitor extracted his hand and stuck his cock in the girl instead. There was blood at her mouth now as the pipe bumped her lips.

  “Two of these are new. Women arrested for minor offences who I found were susceptible. Vitor makes sure we let them go after these little parties.”

  He’d chosen an odd man to be his conscience.

  More than five women in total then, over the years. He’d lied, hadn’t counted ones like these who were casual captives. How many had he made fuck him and his friends?

  Isak had cultivated the most influential, local men. The best of the worst.

  With my hand in his, he led me further, through a break in the sofas then he sat and had me stand before him. A metal tray lay on the sofa. The contents had slid noisily when he sat and disturbed the upholstery. Scissors gleamed, as did clamps, sharp things, and strange devices.

  My throat burned as if he’d stuck something metal down there.

  “That’s got your attention,” he murmured. “Inch up your dress and hold it so I can see your nice bits.”

  Nice bits? Demeaning term.

  I strived to disobey and my hands obeyed him not me.

  “Let me see that underwear I gave you.”

  It matched my satin and silk, raspberry-red gown.

  Higher, higher, up my thighs, gathering cloth with my fingers, holding my breath, until I had the cloth high enough to expose my panties.