Deadly Obsession

by Nigel May

  * * *

  When Adam Rich was angry there was only one person he would call. When he was horny he would call the same person. When his angriness and his horniness collided then that one person knew that she would have to be primed to embark on a sexually interesting if somewhat body bruising adventure. But thankfully it would also be a financially lucrative one. That person was, of course, Dolly Townsend.

  Dolly could tell from the tone of his voice when he’d summoned her that he was majorly narked about something. ‘I need you now, get over here,’ he’d barked. ‘And bring your toys.’

  She’d seen him angry on countless occasions over the years she’d been ‘employed’ by him, but there was something about his current state that definitely suggested a red mist unlike ones she’d encountered before. And when he demanded the toys then Dolly knew that Adam needed to offload some rage. And she would definitely be on the receiving end. But as long as she was on the receiving end of a tidy wad of notes as well then a little pain was worth a lot of gain.

  Dolly was thinking of the money as she bit down on the silicone ball wedged in between her teeth. It was one of the many 'toys' she possessed. Nearly two decades of satisfying every kind of sexual kink had taught her to always be prepared. And if that meant spending some of her hard-earned cash on some tricks for her trade then so be it. The ball was attached by a thick leather strap on either side which wrapped itself right around her head. Dolly winced at the slight discomfort as the hard strap and metal buckles fixed to the ball rubbed against the soft skin on her cheeks. Unable to speak, she tried to swallow slightly to stop her mouth from drying out. It was not a sensation she overly enjoyed but when Adam wanted to play master to her slave then it was a role she would readily undertake if it meant being able to pay a few extra bills and purchase a new outfit or two.

  There was no way she could attempt to remove the gag as her wrists and ankles were also housed in restraints, the Velcro cuffs held tightly, their connecting straps stretched and tied securely to the corners of the four poster bed she was recumbent across. It was the usual bed, the usual hotel room, the usual knowing glances from the Reception staff as she had arrived to meet Adam. When Adam wanted to ‘role play’ then he would always choose to play away from home. He would never run the risk of one of his more vigorous and vocal sexual sessions being interrupted by a nosy daughter or, heaven forbid, the diva Caitlyn herself. No, Adam would always book the same place, a hotel where nobody would dare to interrupt or question him.

  Dolly was unable to move her head more than a few inches due to the gag but she could just see Adam’s bald dome located between her spread-eagled legs. She flinched as she felt the rough stubble of his chin grate against her pussy lips. It was one of his favourite tricks. He would rub against it, watching her thrash around in discomfort before burying his face in her mound, allowing his tongue to explore deeply inside her, grazing her fleshy walls to soreness before lifting his head triumphantly to grin at her, his face streaked with her wetness. Dolly actually enjoyed the sensation more than she revealed to Adam. After years of sexual experimentation, there wasn’t much she hadn’t succumbed to or enjoyed within the walls of a client’s bedroom. She'd often joked to herself that she could write a book on pleasing men.

  Adam reached up and placed his hands on her breasts, kneading them as he buried his head once more between her thighs. His position – leaning forward, arms outstretched, legs bent beneath his body as he feasted between her thighs – gave the impression he was worshipping some unknown deity. A goddess of sexual gratification. In Dolly’s mind, that goddess was her. Despite her physical restrictions she still felt in control. She would always agree a 'stop-signal' with Adam before their sessions, even if it amounted to no more than the flick of a finger or the somewhat stifled cry. She knew he respected her, but hell, hadn't she earned it?

  She had never seen Adam so transfixed. He had been ‘in the zone’ from the moment she had arrived. His orders to her were clipped and brusque. Telling her where to lie, what to wear, to say nothing. He had gagged her straight away and tied her limbs. It was then that Dolly had realised that this was to be one of those sessions that only occurred once in a while. Adam was angry, preoccupied and tense. He needed pleasing and Dolly was the sexual slave to do so. When Adam was in this kind of mood, the last thing he would want was chit-chat or pleasantries.

  Having satisfied his oral banquet of her pussy Adam reached across the bed and rooted through the toys Dolly had bought with her. A row of Venus Balls, a dildo the thickness of a coke can and the length of two and an anal probe. His erect penis bounced in front of him as he did so. He pulled them all out and lay them all on the bed beside him. Dolly knew that he was laying out his choices like a customer browsing a restaurant menu. And given Adam's mood she guessed that there could well be a starter, a main course and a dessert to deal with. And that meant a hefty pay out at the end of it. The idea made her smile inwardly, a vision of a trip to House Of Fraser already flashing through her thoughts.

  More money to build a new life with, maybe? Dolly's mind continued to drift, contemplating the things she'd like to buy as Adam picked up the first of the toys and brought it towards her skin. Enough for a decent holiday or a car ...?

  All thoughts of shift dresses, sandy beaches and leather interiors were suddenly erased as Adam stopped with the toy he was holding, a quizzical look spreading over his face.

  It was clear to Dolly that he wanted something else. Adam moved off the bed and walked to the other side of the hotel room. Dolly’s gaze followed him as much as the gag and the restraints would allow. What was he up to? Usually her toys were sufficient.

  He opened a small leather case he had with him and delved into it, pulling out a small black tube of meshed material no longer than his finger. The end of it appeared to glisten in the half light of the hotel bedroom. At first Dolly was unsure what is was, doubtless some new toy Adam wanted to try, but it was unlike anything she’d ever seen before and Dolly thought that she had seen everything fetish there was. It was only when he presented it in front of her that she was able to see exactly how it was formed.

  ‘This is my new toy, Dolly. You’re going to love it. It’s my finger pin wheel.’ Dolly watched uncomfortably as Adam slipped the mesh tube over his finger. The reason for the glistening became apparent. At one end of the sleeve was a small movable wheel of sharp metallic spikes. Tiny pin-prick needles which Adam rotated with his finger. Adam’s cock twitched as he did so, the sensation obviously a turn on to himself as he felt the spikes against his skin.

  He moved the wheel down and rolled it, gently at first, across her stomach. The sensation, a sweet cocktail of sharp pain and euphoric pleasure, caused Dolly to arch her back. The melange of sensations was better than Dolly had expected. She felt a ripple of desire wash through her pussy as Adam ran the wheel across her skin.

  He moved the finger across her breasts, circling her nipples with the wheel. Adam was lost, deep in the sensuality of the situation, marvelling at the tiny red dots that formed across Dolly’s skin. Not enough to break the flesh, he had no desire to do that, but he was pleased that his new toy appeared to have struck that beautiful fine line between inflicting harm and heightening pleasure. Dolly had experienced nothing like it before. The stabs against her skin were minute and rapid, one ending and the next beginning before her brain allowed her to rationalise just how it felt. All she knew was that it felt intoxicating. She longed for more.

  Adam ran the wheel down her body, taking in every curve he could as he did so. The expectation of what was to come was ripe inside Dolly’s mind. She knew where the wheel was heading. How would it feel? If her excitement so far was any indication, then she couldn’t wait to find out.

  Adam looped the wheel around Dolly’s navel and started its descent towards the neat bush between Dolly’s legs. The pricking felt exquisite against her skin.

  If it hadn’t been for the gag in her mouth, Dolly was sure that the cocktail of sc
reaming pleasure and pain she attempted to release as Adam parted her pussy lips and rolled the wheel across the tender pink flesh he revealed there, would have been heard not just in the adjacent hotel room but also in the adjacent county.

  * * *

  Amy couldn’t make a sound as she stared at the words on the page of the letter. Why would Riley write to her again? Surely it wouldn’t achieve anything but to force her mind to spiral off into yet another tempest of confusion.

  Amy read the words laid out in front of her. There weren’t many and they were brief and to the point, the handwriting frenzied and somewhat scratchy on the page.

  ‘Dear Amy. You’re doing so well. Sorry for everything you’ve found out so far. Keep at it, as that’s the only way we stand any hope of being together. You know that’s what I want deep down. I hope you do too. So sorry again. Sorry a million times. I long to be with you. When you were there at Dirty Cash I wanted to reach out. I had to stop myself from running to you when that car nearly hit you near Eruption. It was more than I could bear. Stay strong. Stay safe. Stay mine. Riley x’

  Amy could feel herself starting to shake again as she read the words for a second time and then a third. Riley knew where she’d been, he’d seen what had happened to her. He must be following her. He must be close. He’d been there when Lily had rescued her, he’d seen Amy head to the casino to see Tommy. He could be outside now for all she knew, watching her every move. He may have seen Grant arrive at her flat. What would he think? And why, if he was so close to her, did he not make contact? Use a mobile, email or a private app? There were so many choices but none were forthcoming.

  Amy wasn’t sure what any of it meant or how she felt about it. Confusion clouded her brain. How could somebody who had once been so close now feel so far away? She turned to face Grant who was sitting silently alongside her. It was only then that she realised that she was holding his hand again.

  26

  Now, 2015

  * * *

  On the surface Genevieve Peters was the embodiment of everything that was smart, hip, happening and bang on trend. Eruption was more successful than ever, her name was hotter than a mouthful of jalapenos, and her rise-to-the-top story was being given more column inches than ever before. So why the hell did she feel so goddamn miserable?

  Shutting the door behind her as she left Eruption at the end of yet another money-making few hours, Genevieve reflected on her day. It had been business as usual. Record companies wanting styling for video shoots and press appearances – she’d already kitted out Rita Ora and Demi Lovato in the last week alone – offers of nights out and Eruption’s PR begging Genevieve to permit more one-to-one interviews. It was the same old same old. As far as life within the four walls of the shop was concerned everything was decidedly rosy.

  But once the lights were off and the door was locked up for the night, Genevieve’s life felt as bitter and as icy as the Manchester winter’s night she stepped out into as she took the key from the lock and slipped it into her pocket. Something was horribly missing from her life and she knew what it was ... love.

  She’d loved before. Just the once. Not that she hadn’t had her fair share of offers, or lustful infatuations for that matter. There was the six-month affair with the sculpted dancer with the most Herculean of ebony bodies from the TV dance troupe, the Olympic athlete who could win gold medals for his performances both on the track and in the sack, and the red-hot sheet-scorching sessions with the famous TV actor, but none of them had led to anything more than a string of break-ups, make-ups and then break-ups again.

  No, only one man had really managed to get under her skin and make her realise what she wanted when it came to affairs of the heart and that was Riley. She had tasted the forbidden fruit and fallen for a married man. A man that had satisfied her for so long, but like all good things it had come to an end. The fruit had turned sour. And there hadn’t been a day since when she hadn’t thought about or been reminded of it. As she walked away from the shop in search of a taxi, Genevieve cast her mind back to her first meeting with Riley ...

  * * *

  It had been at a press launch for a new brand of tequila. The brand was being endorsed by one of the models Genevieve used regularly to promote the clothes at Eruption. Normally she would give any kind of launch a wide berth as being seen at the wrong place could be translated as social suicide but she’d decided to go as, firstly, it was at her model friend’s request and secondly, it was being held in the coolest of Manchester warehouse venues. With a nose for success, Genevieve had sensed that it would be a night to remember and definitely one worth being seen at. As ever, her razor-sharp instincts had been spot on.

  She had noticed Riley as soon as she had walked in. He had his head tipped back and was having tequila poured into his mouth by a woman dressed as the sexiest of Carmen Mirandas, a riot of burlesque fabric and plastic fruit. His suit was fitted and seemed to cling to the obviously rather perfectly-honed body housed within it. His hair, thick and black, fell casually yet somehow perfectly into place around his face. She had the impression straight away that he was a man who could never look anything less than incredible. Or at least she’d thought so until he’d run his fingers through his hair and she’d spotted a wedding ring on the third finger of his left hand. Another one bites the dust. Not that it had stopped him smiling rather suggestively at Genevieve when he’d squeezed by her to reach the free bar a few minutes later.

  ‘Hello, are you one of the few women around here without a bowl of fruit or a pineapple on your head?’ As opening gambits went it was certainly novel and caused a smile to flow across Genevieve’s face. He was even more attractive close up than he had been from across the space of the warehouse.

  ‘I tend to find that pineapples don’t make a good accessory unless they’re in a deeply alcoholic cocktail, don’t you?’ she smirked.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever worn one. I don’t like to wear anything with a darker skin than me. It makes me look pasty. Unlike you, I don’t really suit the pale and interesting look,’ he answered.

  His skin was flawless and definitely a deep shade of brown. It contrasted with the fresh whiteness of his movie-perfect teeth. ‘Somebody’s been on their holidays I see. That tan didn’t come from walking along the banks of a Manchester canal, did it?’ There was a challenging air to Genevieve’s voice. If the married man in front of her was flirting then she wouldn’t make things too easy for him. Not yet anyway. ‘Maybe you and your wife have been somewhere exotic lately.’ She stared down at the ring on his hand.

  ‘I love a few weeks in the sun, I’ll give you that, but it’s been a while so just between you and me, it’s mostly fake. The tan, not the marriage that is. She’s not here tonight. I’m here alone ... and you?’ There was definitely more than a peppering of suggestion mixed in with the flirtation in his voice.

  The game was on. He was flirting and she was sure of it. Within a matter of minutes they were downing tequila shots together. For the next hour they had talked about everything from Genevieve’s store to Riley’s line of work – he had made no attempt to hide the fact that he was involved in dodgy dealings. If anything he seemed proud of the fact. If a man said to a woman that he was involved in ‘this and that’ and ‘made a good living’ then it didn’t take the sharpest of tools to work out that he was a little underhand in his profession. The only thing that wasn’t mentioned again was his wife.

  As Genevieve left the party an hour or so later, the taste of tequila still heating her lips, Riley Hart’s telephone number was nestling invitingly on her mobile contacts list, as was hers on his.

  As she climbed into her cab to head back to her apartment Genevieve couldn’t stop thinking about Riley; handsome, mysterious, somewhat dangerous. So what if he had a wife and a career that might not be strictly kosher? She didn’t care. He’d won her over at ‘pineapple’.

  She knew she’d see him again as the cab pulled away. She was right. Within a week he was sharing her bed
.

  * * *

  But nothing was made to last any more. Riley hadn’t been the man she had hoped. Nothing had turned out to plan. That was then and this was now. Riley was gone. As she watched Eruption disappear out of sight through the taxi window Genevieve knew that there was something she needed to do. Something she didn’t do often enough. Driving off into the late November night air she barked an address at the cab driver.

  It was forty minutes before she arrived at her destination, an ivy-covered Edwardian block of flats on the outskirts of the city. She paid the driver and jogged to the front door of the flats as fast as her Ballin ankle boots would allow. It had started to rain and she didn’t want to risk getting wet. She pressed the intercom for flat four and waited somewhat impatiently as she began to feel the rain becoming heavier on her hair. ‘Come on, answer the door ....’

  A few moments later the intercom crackled into life. ‘Hello, who is it?’ The voice was that of an elderly female.

  ‘It’s me. I thought I’d better come round. Can I come in?’ said Genevieve.

  ‘It’s been a while hasn’t it, but yes, of course, come on up now you’re here.’ The tone was clipped. ‘I’ll buzz you up.’

  Genevieve drew a deep breath. She hadn’t expected anything less than a lukewarm reception. It was the same every time she could conjure up the courage to visit.

  Having scaled the flights of stairs to the flat, she knocked on the door. A woman, aged in her sixties with pure silver hair tied back into a tight bun, appeared at the door. She would have looked like the typical classic cosy little grandmother had it not been for the derisory sneer painted across her face. ‘So you thought you could be bothered, eh? To what do I owe this pleasure, Genevieve?’