The Executioner

by Suzanne Steele

  He slams his cock deeper into me to make his point.

  “I get it, I get it, don’t hurt me.”

  “Oh, I’m going to hurt you. That’s inevitable but I will never, ever harm you…”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dr. Winslow

  I make my way to the basement and watch her sleep again. It hasn’t even been a week yet and she is already showing signs of Stockholm Syndrome. It is closing in around her and taking over her very soul.

  I unlock the cage and viciously pull her out by her hair. I’m purposely treating her cruelly and not having sex with her. My reasons for doing this are twofold. One, I want to prove that a person will bond with someone no matter how cruel they are under the right circumstances and two, I don’t have sex with her because it makes it harder to bond and proves point number one. She is bonding with a cruel monster who gives her nothing but what I see fit to give her.

  I viciously yank her out of the cage, half dragging her, and pull her over to a small window.

  I string her up on a hook which I have securely screwed into a rafter type board in the ceiling.

  She can see people’s feet, ankles, and calves as they walk past, completely unaware of her plight.

  I cock my brow and turn my head slightly as I knowingly eye her.

  “Go ahead and scream. That glass is so thick that they will never hear you. Even if someone did hear you, who is going to help a whore like you? You know, I don’t know about you, but I am famished! I’m going to get something to eat,” I state as I walk away and leave her hanging.

  I’m certain she can hear my hear my sadistic laughter and, once again, the sound of my hard soled shoes echoes in her ears as my steps fade away with my exit.

  I’m a psychiatrist and I know the thoughts going through her head. I’m sure they’re thoughts like I hate him! Why does he torment me so? Have I done something wrong? I’m hungry too. She’ll stand there and sulk as tears stream down her face.

  It gives me a sense of power knowing that I am the one who is being a cruel asshole and yet she questions herself as if she has done something wrong. I know these things because I have spent my life studying the human psyche.

  An hour or two later, I return and I am intrigued with the fact that she looks at the clock to see what time it is. She will never know because one of my mind fuck tactics was to take away her sense of time. I made sure of that the day I removed the hands from that clock that she hates. Imagine being subjected to a loudly ticking clock that gives no evidence of time—quite the paradox…

  I look at her blankly so as not to give her ammunition.

  Her stomach growls loudly. Once again, her body has betrayed her.

  “I thought dinner would be nice.” I facetiously bat my eyes. “Are you hungry?” Of course I heard her stomach growl, it’s just another mind fuck. I’m having much more fun than I ever believed I would. Perhaps there is a part of me that is deranged. I’m finding out new things about myself in the midst of my research. I’m much crueler than I realized.

  I can tell she’s hungry, she’s pissed, and she’s tired of hanging on that hook.

  I wave the bag under her nose. “Umm,” I taunt. I unhook her and state, “Yummy grease, salt, fries, meat, and all you have to do is crawl over to me on all fours to get it.”

  I don’t respond to tears, anger, fits, or even reasoning, I think to myself. The only thing I will respond to is her obedience and her submission, so make it good, girl; make it good.

  She seductively sways over to me and purposely casts her eyes downward. She is trying to use the lure of her sexual wiles on me. I’m certain she is wondering why I haven’t raped her yet. She has every intention of making me believe her—making me believe that she is going to be obedient to my every whim. Her compliance isn’t heartfelt, not yet at least.

  She tops the whole charade off with a kiss on top of my Italian leather shoe. Oh, she is good. I’ll give her that but does she honestly think that I’m buying this award winning act of compliance?

  I laugh to myself. I’ve seen this sudden spontaneous obedience and acceptance in my research before. Patients who are married to an abusive husband begin to comply to avoid the beatings. Even though it isn’t heartfelt in the beginning, it becomes such a habit for mere survival’s sake that soon it is ingrained in their personality and becomes true submission. The mind will do wondrous things to protect itself from insanity. Very cunning, very cunning she is. Oh, she has learned a lot from the hand that life has dealt her. The foster care, the group homes, and the abandonment have all played integral parts in shaping the personality of a woman who is only able to bond in adverse situations.

  “Very good,” I smirk as I hold out a french fry. “You have earned this but if you want the whole meal, then you have to eat it off the floor!”

  I dump the bag out and fries go everywhere. I then unwrap the hamburger and open it, dumping it on the floor. As she crawls over to eat, I step on it, smashing it into the concrete. I peer down at her, looking over my glasses and spit out my words with contempt, “You ungrateful bitch, no thank you?”

  She leans in kissing the top of my shoe once again and mutters, “Thank you.”

  I smash it again, twisting with my foot for good measure. “Now lick it up and you better not use your hands.”

  I stand over her, watching her feed like a trapped animal. Yes, she is bonding with a cruel bastard and I’m enjoying every moment of it. I let her finish eating and then make her crawl to the toilet in the corner of the basement. I turn around, giving her privacy as she lifts her dress. It’s all part of the mind fuck. She will begin to wonder why I don’t want her sexually and it will feed her insecurities. Soon, she will begin to do anything to please me—anything to make me want her.

  I let her finish, make my way over to the cage, and hold the door open. She crawls in without me even telling her to. Every day she becomes more and more bonded to a man who treats worse than most people treat their dogs.

  I make my way up the steps and into my office. I find myself wondering for the first time if I should keep her instead of kill her. I won’t worry about it now. I have an event to go to tonight and I need to get some work done before I go.

  My fingers begin to fluently type as I write the book that will make me famous and ensure that I go down in history the way I deserve. People will finally see me for the genius I am and give me the respect that should go with my profession…

  Executioner

  Following the quack doctor has paid off and Kansas and I have been able to discover that he has a shitty house in the run down part of town. Having access to his office has also proved fruitful because it keeps me up to date on his appointments.

  I eye Kansas and begin speaking.

  “Kansas, I don’t know if you realize how deep into things you are with me. Once you met my blood brotherhood, it took things to a whole ‘nother level. Miller is a hit man and his woman is too; they’re hired killers. Diego is a top drug lord, and me… well, I’m just a crazy mother fucker who will never let you go. We are hitting the guy tonight and I have to know you’re okay with that. Do you want to go or stay behind while we take care of business?”

  “Are you going to kill him?”

  “I’m not, but… I don’t know what kind of crazy shit will go down tonight. All I do know is that I can’t have that woman’s blood on my hands and I need that mother fucker to sign off on my physical.” I shake my head, muttering.

  “From what I can tell, you guys may be killers but it isn’t like you randomly go around killing people. The people you guys do kill deserve it. I’m in.”

  “Good girl.” I grab her by the back of her neck and pull her in, kissing her deeply. She is the one good thing that has come out of all this mess. Hell, she is the one good thing that has ever come out of anything as far as I am concerned.

  We’ll make our way home and grab something to eat and take a nap before we hit the house tonight and get this woman back home.


  It gives me time to call the boys and solidify that tonight is the night. I push away the panic that tries to rise up in me as I think about the possibility that she might be dead already. I know she isn’t though because the doctor wouldn’t be spending so much time at this dilapidated dump if she was. He is too accustomed to the finer things in life. I start the car and put it in gear to go and get ready to pull this job off. I will feel a hell of a lot better when I know this woman is safe… and when my fucking papers are signed off on.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dr. Winslow

  I straighten my bow tie on my tuxedo as I run my eyes from the top of my head to the soles of my feet in the mirror. I really am kind of handsome, in an unassuming kind of way. I will be glad when the dinner I’m attending is in my honor and not for a group of psychiatrists. I believe I should stand out from the crowd and not be grouped in like some sort of nobody.

  I make my way down the steps and she grabs the bars, expectantly peering through them to get a look at me. Poor thing, her face just falls as she sees that I am dressed formally to go to an important event.

  I can tell she was hoping I would spend time with her. I’m certain she must get lonely and bored down here all alone. It just shows that I am correct in my research—people will bond with the cruelest of humans under the right circumstances.

  I make my way over to the cage and look down on her. “If you are a good girl, I might bring you a plate back from the event. Would you like that?”

  She nods her head yes and her eyes light up at the thought that I am including her in my evening, even in some miniscule way. Yes, it is amazing how little it takes to make one happy when they are taken captive.

  I really am considering keeping her. She adds so very much to my life. I don’t have many close friends because most of them are pompous asses just like me.

  I pull my cell phone from my pocket and load the app that enables me to watch her every move. I’m careful to wait until it pops up so she can’t see the date and time.

  “I am watching you and I expect you to be obedient and compliant as though I am here with you. If you’re a good girl, I will bring you some treats and we’ll converse over dinner.”

  Her whole face lights up as she reaches out and gently brushes her fingers over my polished to perfection formal shoe, “That would be nice.”

  Something pulls in my chest as I look down on her and I know…I have bonded with the woman I took captive…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Executioner

  I look at my girl and chuckle. She is ready to go and break out a captive and she looks like a mini-me. She dressed in black from top to bottom with her hair pulled back and her pants tucked into her boots. She is standing, looking at me like I hold the world and all of its answers in my hands.

  “Well you are a cute, little criminal,” I say, rubbing the top of her head. “This is serious business, kiddo. A lot can happen and you never know how things like this will play out.”

  “I trust you and I’m ready.”

  My heart swells with pride as I look at the woman who was made for me and I know I love her. Or, I am at least as close as a monster can come to loving someone. I know I damn sure am obsessed with her.

  “Alright, kiddo, let’s go rescue this woman.”

  She trots behind me like she trusts me with her life… and she can. We make our way out to the garage and get in one of the three cars I own—a black SUV with dark tinted windows. All of the guys in the brotherhood have one and we use them whenever we do a job.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Yeah,” she coyly answers.

  “Good, that nervousness will work to your advantage. You go into fight or flight mode and your senses will be keener. Tonight, you fight.”

  She hangs onto my every word as I coach her and before I know it, we’re sitting in front of the shack that is being used as the doc’s hideout.

  In a matter of moments, the team pulls up and we make our way up to the front door. Miller works his magic and has us in the house in no time. The guy can get into anything. He’s so skilled he could break into Fort Knox if he needed to. The military did one hell of a job training us. Uncle Sam would be proud…or maybe not.

  We make our way down into the basement and I hear Kansas gasp as she eyes the woman in the cage.

  “Who are you people?”

  “We’re here to rescue you, sweetie,” I reassure her as Miller begins to work on the lock on the cage.

  None of us are ready for what happens next.

  “No, no, no!” she screams at the top of her lungs.

  We all look at each other, shaking our heads, and Miller says what we’re all thinking, “She’s bonded with her captor.”

  My phone rings and I look down and see that it is none other than the doctor.

  “What?” I answer.

  “Please tell me that you are not in my home abducting my research subject who is there of her own free will.” He continues talking when he senses me hesitating and trying to process the cluster-fuck of emotion this woman is exhibiting. “Ask her, she’ll tell you.”

  I look down on the woman who has been listening to the conversation on speaker phone.

  “He’s right, I don’t want to leave. I am here of my own free will.”

  “You’re a fucking poster child for Stockholm Syndrome is what you are.”

  Miller nudges me and whispers, “No different than our women.” Fuck! He has a point.

  “You listen to me, you crazy fuck! You wanna keep her then you get her out of this hell hole and into that fancy ass house of yours. If you hurt her—ever—and it isn’t consensual, I’ll tear you apart with my bare fucking hands. I mean it. Get her out of here tonight and go shopping for her, mother fucker, and feed her right…and sign my fucking papers. I’ll be by to get them tomorrow.

  I look down and the woman is backed into the corner with a huge smile on her face. Go fucking figure.

  I look at the guys and shake my head, “Looks like our work here is done.”

  “Yep,” they all agree. “Looks like the guy is more like us than you realized,” Miller chimes in.

  He’s right; we’re all fucking crazy…

  Epilogue

  Suited slave…The shower

  My mornings are that of a business woman. I wake up and my mind is on the business at hand.

  You see… it is not only the business at hand, but it is the suit I wear into my job as an office executive—the suit of armor I will don for the day, in the form of my clothing.

  It is very important I am dressed in the right clothing and am in the right frame of mind as I go into work each day.

  I was in the shower, basically doing what I refer to as “Getting my game face on.”

  I jumped, as my Master opened the sliding shower door. I instinctively moved to the back of the shower, deferring to his preeminence. I give him first place under the shower so that the water might pour down on his body first.

  “I want my body washed, slave, from top to bottom.”

  He grabbed a handful hair and glared into my face, studying it as he did so. Everything in me wanted to look away, he intimidated me.

  “Don’t you dare look away from me, slave!”

  “Yes, Master.” I could tell that my breathing was becoming labored already.

  He pulled me in to his mouth and whispered in my ear, “If I know my slave, you’re already getting wet due to my presence.”

  I gulped and he only chuckled.

  “I said, slave, I want my body washed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet!”

  My hands trembled as I reached for the soap and a loofah.

  He pulled me right into his face glaring, “No loofah!”

  “I want my slave’s hands washing her Master’s body!”

  Many times Master will only use a word or two when giving a command. I know exactly what he wants.

  “My hair first!”

  “Yes, Master.”r />
  Once again, I caught my hands trembling as I reached for the shampoo of his liking, squirting it into my hands.

  I began to rub my hands through his hair as he held his head under the water and back to prevent the soap from getting into his eyes.

  Everything about this man touches me in a way that I have never been touched before. The hold that he has over me is like nothing that I have ever experienced. Everything, everything, everything, his voice, his eyes, his commands—I have never in my life experienced the desire to serve any man but him. No man, but my Master!

  He watched and monitored every detail of what I did, how I did it, and the expression that I held on my face while I was doing it.

  I squirted the body wash into my hands and lathered it through the hair on his chest. He raised his arms and my hands ran into the pits of them, avoiding the temptation to tickle him. The straight line of his mouth and the seriousness in his face told me that he was not in the mood for play.

  His eyes bore into me, “On your knees!”

  I could feel the juices seeping down my inner thigh and, as if reading my mind, he spoke, “My little slave does get wet for me, doesn’t she?”

  I eyed him adoringly as I began to wash his lower stomach and groin. I love the hair on his lower abdomen that works its way down into his groin. I became mesmerized, running my hands through it and making little peaks with the soap suds.

  “You are getting distracted. I suggest that you do as I said and wash my body from head to toe!”

  “I’m sorry, Master,” I mumbled.

  I began to run my soapy hands over his groin and up and down his shaft.

  “What did I tell you to do, slave? I asked you a question!”

  He grabbed a handful of my hair by the roots and forced me to look up at him.

  “You asked me to wash your body from head to toe, Sir.”

  He was just glaring down at me and I could feel the juices freely flowing down my leg. I felt as if I were going to come just from the mandates that he gave and the energy of Dominance that he projected towards me.