Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance

by Savannah Rose

  The clinical term for my condition was Satyriasis – the male version of nymphomania. But that was such a sterile, laboratory word. It took all the fun out of it.

  And as much as my loins demanded satisfaction, I was fully aware that we were on a strict schedule.

  I concentrated on my breathing, telling myself over and over that I would have all the time in world to do to her all the things I had in mind.

  And there were so many things.

  I wiped the beads of perspiration from my forehead. My palms were clammy. My hands were shaking.

  I blew air from my lungs long and slow, long and slow, and tucked my shaving kit, two weeks’ worth of clothes, and several…. special toys into my bag. As well as the Rohypnol. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

  “You got this,” I told myself, and zipped the bag shut.

  “Hey, sleepy head,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed with a silk shirt in my hand. It was a sin to cover up a body like this one, yet, we all have to do things we don't want to. Just ask my dick. It was literally aching right now. “Guess what? We're going on a vacation, doesn't that sound like fun?”

  She was baked. Stoned to the tits.

  Her head rolled to the side when I sat her upright. I took her arm, and tried to get it into the sleeve. I say 'tried' because it was like trying to get a dead snake into a sock. A lot more difficult than it sounds, believe me.

  As I put the blouse on the lovely Sofia, it occurred to me that this was the first time I had ever dressed anybody. I was always the one to do the undressing. Some of them liked their clothes taken slowly and deliberately. Others wanted them ripped away. I liked these girls. The ones with such fantasies. They were almost as fucked up as I was.

  “First time for everything, huh?”

  I leaned her against my chest as I worked on the other arm. This was more difficult than I thought it would be. It really was like trying to get a dead snake into a limp sock. I managed, though, and began to button her up.

  “I'll see you girls later,” I said to her breasts, and gave them both a good hard squeeze. She moaned, and her head lolled against my shoulder. “Oh, yeah, Sofia?” I squeezed again, and put my mouth against her neck. Bit her, lightly.

  She began to snore. Any erection I might or might not have had died in that moment.

  Chapter Nine

  MADDOX

  The beautiful thing about money is that it speaks volumes, without saying a word. There is nothing it cannot buy. There is nothing it cannot achieve.

  Some will say – mostly the paycheck-to-paycheck crowd – that you can't take it with you to the grave. And ultimately, it cannot buy happiness.

  I say fuck those people.

  They're jealous, is what they are. Who would not want a private elevator, zipping from penthouse to lobby, its doors opening at garage level to an awaiting limousine? With a large, Italian chauffeur named Rafael who's been sworn to secrecy since the day he was hired? Don't ask, don't tell, and the boss is always right. That's all Rafael needed to know. That, and our destination.

  He tucked my luggage into the truck as I tucked my companion into the backseat. He never raised an eyebrow, just took a quick appreciative glance at her cleavage. I couldn't get mad at him for this, after all, boys will be boys. Rafael had seen me on more than a hundred occasions tucking a variety of women into the back of this bucket, so to him it was old hat. I can't remember all the times I'd played out the kidnapper/hostage role playing game. I could safely assume he figured this was just another one of those.

  Rafael shut the door as I sidled up next to my passenger, and put my hand on her knee. I traced the inside of her thigh with my fingertips, and pulled her leg closer to mine. Drew my hand a little higher, and felt her pubic hair against my knuckles. It was soft, inviting.

  I'd determined there was no need for Miss Sofia to be wearing panties on this trip. There was, fortunately enough, a sheer ebony skirt in the wardrobe upstairs, which pretty much matched the blouse I'd chosen for her. It was an outfit the most discerning of females would wear. And being barefoot was in nowadays, so again, no questions asked.

  Rafael adjusted the rearview mirror, making sure it would not reflect what was going on below the belts, as it were, and pulled out of the garage.

  We drove down the coastal route to the executive docks of Atlantic Charter, with her head bobbing back and forth.

  “Be patient, senorita,” I cooed. “Good things come to those who wait. Or, if I'm honest, good things just come to me.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, as if she were batting her eyelashes at me. I knew that wasn't the case, she was so stoned she could barely walk from the bed to the elevator.

  “Do you want to tell me who you are now?” I asked, twirling my finger within her hair. “Whoever you are, I want to compliment you on your ladyscaping. It's natural, without being too natural, you know what I mean? Do you keep it neat and tidy like this for your boyfriend? Hmm… do you have a boyfriend, Sofia?”

  Even through her chemically induced stupor, she glared at me. Something behind those deep, brown eyes was alert. Hateful. And leave us not forget, something behind those eyes wanted me dead.

  “Or do you have a girlfriend, maybe?” I continued, my thumb brushing oh-so-slowly just above her belly-button. “Maybe both? Do you do that? Swing both ways?”

  She tried to raise her arm again, but the Rohypnol was doing its job. A little too well, really.

  Sofia's frame was quite petite, and even though I'd given her the recommended dosage, it may have been too much for her metabolism, especially considering the fact that she’d had barely anything to eat. No matter. I had at least a few hours before the effects would wear off, and her fight would return. By that time, we'd be on the Insatiable, far out at sea.

  Once she woke up, things would get really interesting.

  “We're going to have so much fun, you and me. I've got this place in Nassau. That's in the Bahamas, if you don't know. And even though you've been very mean to me, Sofia,” I pulled my hand away, and pointed to the cut on my cheek, as though that was anything compared to the bullet she was trying to put through my brain. “I'm going to be very, very nice to you.”

  Her head fell back on the seat, her eyes staring up at the sunroof. I looked at her for a moment and then back in front of me.

  “You know what I'm thinking...? I'm thinking you like girls. Which is cool, I like them, too. What I want, though, is for you to show me how much you like them. You'll do that for me, right Sofia?” I leaned close to her ear, and whispered, “You won't have a choice, you know. That's what makes it so… titillating,” I chuckled. “That's one of my favorite words, Sofee. I'm sure that doesn't surprise you.” I put my arm around her shoulders, and stroked her long, dark hair. “We'll tie you up again, so they can play with you.”

  She wasn't trying to shake her head, was she?

  “Oh, don't worry. They'll be classy about it. They’re quite the professionals, really. I'm not just going to pluck a couple whores off the street, no no. These girls are clean. Beautiful. Expensive, too, so you better appreciate it. I think you will.”

  I put my finger against her mouth, and touched her lips. They were so soft. Full, and plump. If she’d shown up to my office only as a maid – no gun in her reach – we might have had a very good time twirling around in my sheets, with her consent, of course. As things were, Sofia was the enemy. She tried to end my life and even though she failed and even though she was in the losing position right now, she was still adamant on fucking with my head.

  Her gaze turned from the sunroof, to me. She stared at it and stared at it, not really seeing anything, I was sure.

  “I'm going to watch those girls touch you, Sofia. I'm going to watch them do all kinds of things to you...” my lips were inches from hers. “Then, it'll be my turn. My turn with you. And you know what the best part is…I’m going to make you beg for it…beg for me.”

  I kissed her, just barely,
taking her bottom lip between my teeth. I could bite down, suffer her as I suffered when she clobbered me over the head with my own Waterford glass. It was tempting, but I didn't want to damage the goods.

  “So. Much. Fun,” I hissed, drew back, and placed her hand upon my lap.

  Chapter Ten

  SOFIA

  When Rebecca and I were in college, we did what every red blooded American student was supposed to do – we partied our asses off.

  College days were allegedly the happiest time of our lives, and drinking, smoking, and sniffing your way into oblivion were unofficial requisites.

  Rebecca excelled at this extracurricular activity, and while she was the more studious of us, definitely the more scholastically inclined, somehow she always had time for a forty eight hour kegger.

  Not only could she drink me under the table, she could put away more than her fair share of fraternity boys. I tried to keep up with her, only to find myself waking up the next morning (or afternoon, sometimes early evening) feeling as if I'd been run over by a freight train, a steamroller, and a stampede of wayward skateboarders. My hangovers could win awards. I was painfully familiar with the aftereffects of indulgence.

  The feeling I woke up with now?

  Unknown.

  A complete mystery.

  Also unknown – was where the hell I was. Forget how did I get here.

  For someone to regain consciousness behind a dumpster, or in a strange hotel room, or in the backseat of a driverless car in a Walmart parking lot (not that I'm speaking from personal experience or anything) was disconcerting enough.

  To come back to a semi-lucid state of awareness outside, under the stars, with the earth swaying back and forth beneath you…

  It wasn't an earthquake. It was too gentle. As if I were being rocked in the world's biggest cradle. And, water. The sound of water. Splashing against the side of… something. Like, a boat.

  A boat?

  There was no way.

  My eyelids felt heavy, like they weighed a couple of pounds. It was hard to open them, and I put off what seemed to be a herculean task for a moment until I got my wits about me. If I still had wits, that is.

  I felt so weird. Part hangover without the headache, part influenza without being sick. My mouth was drier than a cotton ball, too, and my tongue made an audible click when I moved it around my lips.

  I wanted something to drink, so badly that I would sell everything including my soul to wet my tongue. When was the last time I had something to drink?

  It was...this morning, and it was a smoothie. A papaya smoothie.

  Laced with Rohypnol.

  Son of a fucking bitch. I knew it. The bastard slipped me a mickey, without slipping it to me at all. He'd forced it down me, that's what he did.

  I reached into my memory, pulling up what happened the last time I remembered being conscious. I was sitting on the toilet, he was sitting on me, crushing me. I couldn't breathe, and the only way I could breathe was if I drank his goddamn papaya smoothie because Mexicans like papayas. Fucking racist bastard.

  It was starting to come back, but not all of it. Some of my friends in college who'd been fed the magic date-rape pill couldn't remember anything of their assaults. The only clue something had happened to them at all was a sick, sticky feeling between their legs, and the smell that comes with it.

  Everything from the papaya on was blacked out from my mind. Amnesia is a common side effect, this much I knew, but since I'd never been roofied, I didn't know how I was going to react. How much I'd actually remember. Or not.

  The important thing was, I had to assess my current situation. My body was going to be tired, so no tricky clever moves on my part right now. I also needed to determine if I had any assets at my disposal. Aside from my brain, I didn't think I had any.

  I heard a distant call of a seagull. The saltiness of the air was oddly invigorating, and the water splashing on the side of the boat had a hisss to it, which I took to mean that we were moving forward.

  I wondered if Maddox was piloting – playing sea captain with a fucking sailor hat on his stupid bald dome, a pipe in his teeth and a parrot on his shoulder.

  Whatever fucked up role playing game he was entertaining himself with now, it was taking place at sea. Where no one could hear me scream.

  Concentrate, girl, I told myself. The number one rule was not to panic. Evaluate the situation, and take it step by step from there.

  If I could somehow knock him overboard…

  That's not concentrating. It's good to have a goal, but let's see how we can get there from here.

  And I had to do all of this with my eyes closed. If Maddox was around here, and I was sure he was, he couldn't know I'd come to. He'd still be under the impression that I was in the throes of a spiked papaya smoothie. Good.

  He also liked bondage. I moved my right hand, then my left, very slowly, and found that my wrists were not cuffed, or tied. Also good.

  I wiggled my toes – there was nothing securing my left ankle. My right, however, was a different story. Something thick, leathery. A belt? No, too wide. Maybe four, five inches of padding, like sheepskin, just above my foot.

  God dammit.

  This was a big, big chance I was about to take, but I had to know. I opened my eyes, barely. Just to slits, but I was laying on my left side so I may be able to see how I my right foot was shackled. And where, exactly, I was.

  A deck lounger, on the stern of what was most likely an insanely expensive boat. Or, yacht, as I think all the rich boys like to call them. A million stars dotted the black, cloudless sky. Around my ankle was a restraint that looked a lot like a dog collar. For a very, very big dog. Chain was laced through its iron loops, and the other end was padlocked to the leg of the deck lounge. I estimated about a yard of walkabout freedom. Certainly not enough to do any worthwhile damage to Captain Petersen.

  No way to wrap the chain around his throat and strangle the life out of the fuck. The lounger was too far inboard for me to give him a swift kick in the ass and let the sharks take care of the rest.

  There was nothing I could use as a weapon, either. Maddox was a moron, yes, but not even the likes of his substandard intelligence would leave anything around for my semi-secured self to hurt him with. He'd probably learned his lesson with the Waterford.

  I almost smiled. I'd gotten him good. I just didn’t get him good enough. It wouldn’t happen a second time, though.

  Anyways, so I was onboard a yacht with a man that was supposed to be dead by now, chained to a deck lounger, and upon further assessment, realized I was wearing a skirt that didn't belong to me, and a silk blouse that was about three sizes too big. Unbuttoned, of course, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  A sudden, abrupt silence, fell upon me as the engine cut off. I didn't even know this crate had an engine until I heard it stop running.

  I shut my eyes, quickly, and heard the high-pitched whirrr! of a cable being released, and something heavy falling into the water.

  I prayed to every God I could think of that Maddox threw himself overboard. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Captain Petersen was simply dropping the anchor.

  I'll drop you, you heartless ass, I told myself. Just as soon as I figure out how.

  Footsteps padded down the stairs. Was that him? Does a shit head like Maddox even know how to drive anything except a five iron? And while I thought about it, didn't these overpriced tubs come with a crew? Was he going to share me with a first mate, assorted deck hands? Pass me around like a cheap bottle of booze? A veritable gang bang at sea?

  Panic is not an option, I insisted, as the footsteps stopped by the deck lounger. A hand laid against my face, and pulled my eyelid open. I didn't think it was possible to fake pupil dilation, but by God, I was going to give it a try.

  It was Maddox. No captain hat. No pipe. No parrot.

  No service, I mused, and wished I'd stop thinking about shit that had nothing to do with my current state of affairs. It was beca
use I was hungry, that was why.

  I got really really stupid when my blood sugar was less than zero. Other than a stale granola bar last night, and a jacked up smoothie this morning, I was operating on absolutely nothing.

  Maddox took his hand away, and I heard him sigh. Then, what sounded like a little laugh.

  The footsteps faded, and a moment later, sounds came from the galley. The clatter of silverware on china. China? What kind of pretentious class of one-percenters take fucking china on a boat? Excuse me. Yacht.

  Then, what may or not be my undoing. The aroma of grilled salmon, coming from below deck. It filled the air with a delicious, light scent of lemon and chive. There was bread, too. Nothing like the smell of fresh, out-of-the-oven bread.

  My stomach rolled over with an angry growl that I’m sure he could hear from wherever on this oversized beast he was. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it was twice as loud. I couldn't play opossum if my stomach was going to incessantly voice its demands. It can gurgle and bubble all it wants at any stage of consciousness, but one has to be awake in order for the hunger pangs to really be heard.

  I was going to give myself away.

  The silverware and china were getting louder, too. Coming up the stairs. Dinner for two, on its way.

  Another rumble. Another growl.

  I couldn't get away with it. Fool him once, shame on him. Fool him twice? Not going to happen.

  With a great deal of honest effort, I pushed myself upright. Well, nearly upright. I was leaning heavily to one side, but what side I couldn't exactly say. I was also groggy as hell. Woozy. Dizzy, as if I had just spun a thousand circles.

  “Hey, you're up. Awesome,” Maddox said, and put my plate on the table next to his, purposefully out of my reach. A beer was tucked beneath his arm, along with a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me. “Little sips, now,” he said.

  My lips felt as though they were five times their normal size, and the back of my throat was like sandpaper. The water had condensed on the bottle, little drops of sweet, cold relief. I wished I didn't need it. I wished I didn't want it.