by Olivia Ryann
I close the drawer and look around. The bookshelf calls to me, and I pad over to it. Most of the books have spines in a different alphabet. I squint, recognizing a few letters. I think they’re Greek.
That makes sense. Monster’s heavy foreign accent, his olive complexion, his black hair… it all squares with the notion that he might be Greek.
There are a few titles that are in English, though… Atlas Shrugged, The Count of Monte Cristo, A Clockwork Orange, Catcher In The Rye, Heart of Darkness, The Road, and The Prince. I haven’t read most of those books, but I sense a pattern emerging. All of those books are about hopelessness, or insanity. A lot of death.
I get a chill, just reading the titles. I spot a huge compendium of Shakespeare on Monster’s bookshelf, the volume very well-thumbed. That one throws me for a loop.
So even monsters read Shakespeare? Interesting.
I hear a faint sound from somewhere outside the bedroom, like a footfall in the long hallway. In an instant, I whisk myself away to the open panel of Monster’s bedroom. Careful to close the door very quietly, I sneak down the little hallway in perfect darkness.
Though I want to spend some time exploring the hallway and whatever reading materials might be on the floor there, there’s no time. I scurry down the passage and out from behind the bookcase, closing it with a definitive clink.
Somewhere, gears grind again, but I’m not worried about that. I stand stock still and wait, heart racing. Monster storms by the open door, not even glancing my way. He looks more than a little angry, shouting in his native tongue to another man that looks like he could be Monster’s clone.
Oh, shit. There are two of them out there in the world? My blood runs cold.
For some reason, the fact that Monster has a brother or a cousin does nothing to humanize him. It just chills me to the bone, the idea that there are more people like him.
My breath freezes in my chest. All I can do is flatten myself against the wall and pray that I don’t give myself away. As soon as they leave the hallway, I silently creep down out of the library and down the hall, heading for the relative safety of my bedroom.
11
Arsen
“It doesn’t matter!” I hiss at my brother, as we enter my room. “The Carollas may be dead, but their street-level dealers are still clinging to the idea that they will be back someday. And this big deal with the Columbians was supposed to go through today… now it’s fucking ruined, because of those fucking bastards.”
I rip my black button up off over my head, seething. I’m frustrated beyond belief, unwilling to even believe that the city of New Orleans would bother to mourn the Carollas. From everything I have heard, they treated everyone around them like shit.
So why should their dealers feel any loyalty to them? Especially when I came in after the Carollas disappeared and waved fat stacks of cash around?
Money is all that matters to anyone. The sooner the city of New Orleans learns that lesson, the better. In the meantime, I’m having to take meetings with cartels and watch other mafia bosses start to eye the city I just cleared out.
That city is mine. And I’ll do whatever I have to do to make it my bitch, even if that means starving it of dope and fresh girls.
I crack my knuckles, pissed the fuck off. Damen looks at me, his expression bored.
“Are you done with your hissy fit yet?” he asks.
I roll my eyes at him. “This little display of defiance is costing us a million dollars a day. Not just me, us. You would do better to care more.”
I walk over to the closet, choosing a fresh shirt. Damen says nothing, which is normal. The three of us have long since learned to shut our mouths when someone else is angry. You would be surprised what a man will tell you about himself in a fit of pique.
I turn, suddenly noticing that the picture on my bedside table has been moved. The silver frame catches the sunlight from this direction, where it normally wouldn’t. I walk over to my bedside table, fury building in me like a powder keg, ready to go off.
One of the finest arts I’ve learned over the past decade has been not expecting the fireworks to go off… it is more a matter of choosing when they will go off, and who will witness my explosive font of anger.
I straighten the frame with two fingers. I want to rant and rave maniacally at the maids, punish whichever particular one they point the finger at when I demand to know who cleaned my room. But I won’t do that.
No, not when I have another victim so close at hand. One that is small and blonde and just waiting breathlessly for my punishments to begin.
Fiore, my little flower. She haunts me, disturbs my sleep. Or perhaps that is Anna’s domain; it is hard to tell them apart, hard to distinguish what I might project onto Fiore and what is really just her personality.
I look to Damen, knowing that he wouldn’t approve of how I came to acquire Fiore. Not that he has a conscience. He just wouldn’t like that I had to pull so many strings to get Fiore. He wouldn’t approve of how public I made my quest to get her, how I laid bare my desire to possess her.
“You should go. I have things to do,” I say, leaving it at that.
His brow hunches as he stares at me for a few seconds. “What are you up to?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Lots of things. Don’t worry, I can keep myself occupied. I’ll let you know what I decide I’m going to do about the Columbian deal.”
He gives a small shake of his head, then turns and marches out of my room. I turn toward the doorway, pressing a small button on the wall there. A few seconds later, a tinny voice answers.
“Yes, Senior Aetós?” a woman asks.
I press the button again. “Make sure that my brother makes it out of the house. And I’m going to be busy upstairs. I’m not to be disturbed. Make sure there is no one lurking on the floor.”
I release the button. I hear the answering, “Yes, Senior Aetós.” I’m not listening to that, though.
No, instead my mind has wandered over to Fiore. I’m wondering what she’s doing right now, and whether or not she’s ready for the agony the I’m about to visit on her.
I dig into the bottom of my closet, rooting around through various boxes of props until I find a riding crop. I test it against my hand, bending it a little, faintly smiling when the crop bounces back.
Then I pause, dragging the whole box out of the closet. It stand over the box, contemplating. I have whips and harnesses, dildos and different kinds of gags. I sort through the harnesses, choosing the one made to fit over the hips. Then I grab the magic wand vibrator that can be fitted to the wearer’s crotch, grinning to myself.
She has no idea of what I’m capable of, nor does she know what her own body will do when I force her to endure the vibrator, again and again.
I stride out of my room, down the hall toward Fiore’s quarters. The way my black boots sound as they echo on the dark wood floors is exciting, their sound hard and merciless; almost everything is exciting to me just now, though.
I haven’t seen her in a few days, but I’ve definitely thought about her. I thought of how small she is, how blonde and petite. I could easily strangle her with my bare hands, any time I want to.
She has to deal with knowing that I could, any time I’m in the room with her.
I thought about how amazing she looked just before I came all over her chest. About how that tiny hint of distaste took over her features for the most fleeting moment.
And most importantly, I fantasized about how it was time to start defiling her. Find out what her desires are. Corrupt those tender feelings, make her lust after the only kind of affection she’ll ever get from me.
I’m so far gone into blackness, utterly ruined by a lifetime of violence and fear and filth. When presented with this innocent, sweet princess I’ll do to her the only thing I know how.
I’ll shred her innocence, ruin it. Ruin her, forever.
Just like I did with Anna, though I didn’t know that I was doing it at the time. At
least with Anna it was more evident that she longed for death… I saw the track marks on her arms, saw in her eyes that she had a death wish.
Not so with Fiore, or at least not yet. But she will dance with death. She will know his name and beckon to him like a lover. And then when she finally begs me for the final release, I’ll kill her. Turn my protective embrace into a slow strangulation.
Yes. It’s fucked up, but that’s the thought that makes my cock hard.
I reach her doorway and find her on her bed, watching me with glittering blue eyes. She expected me to come looking for her, somehow. That fact is satisfying to me, although it will be better when she waits with a smile.
Right now, her expression is one of dread. I see her gaze shift to the items in my hands. Her eyebrow lifts delicately as she tries to figure out what I have in store for her.
I stride over to her, looming over her small frame. I can see from her eyes that she wants to run, but she doesn’t. She knows better than that by now.
She straightens her spine as well as she can, her expression pinched. Little does she know, her expression is filling my chest with renewed vigor. I lean over, dropping the magic wand and harness on the bed before her.
“Have you missed me, my Fiore?” I ask, my voice a low rumble. I put a hand on her shoulder, trying not to grin when she flinches. She’s so small and delicate, her skin as white as porcelain against my darker hand. I caress her shoulder, dropping my touch down to her breast.
“No,” she says. “I haven’t missed you at all.”
I cover her breast with my hand, shaping the handful of flesh. She takes a trembling breath, dropping my gaze. I pinch her nipple through the cloth of her dress, tweaking it until she cries out.
“I think it’s time that I taught you to be civil,” I murmur. “This time, when I leave you for a few days, you’ll have something to remember me by.”
Planting one of my hands on her warm thighs, I pull her down to the end of the bed, to make her easier to reach. Taking my time, I run my hands up her thighs and shape her hips. An audible gasp leaves her lips when I rip open her dress, rending the garment from her collarbone right down past her thighs.
Her features all seem to squeeze as I explore her naked body with my fingertips, caressing her breasts. As I make my way down her body, over her taut belly, she clenches her thighs closed. One corner of my mouth lifts.
If she thinks that clenching will stop me from getting what I want, she has another thing coming. Her eyes widen when I reach for the harness that I brought.
“What is that for?” she asks, fear blossoming to life in her eyes.
“Nothing sinister,” I say casually. “But if you don’t let me put it on you, there will be a severe punishment.”
She swallows and lies still for me as I slide the harness up her legs and fasten it around her hips and thighs. Picking up the magic wand vibrator, I point it at her.
“Have you used one of these on yourself before?” I ask, my tone almost gentle.
A confused look crosses Fiore’s features. “Used it for what?”
I almost groan with excitement, because it seems she hasn’t ever even seen one. Flipping the ON button at the base, I let it purr on the lowest setting. Her eyes get even wider when I touch her inner thigh with the wand, pressing it against her flash hard enough to make a white mark.
“I… I really don’t know what all this is for,” she says, squirming a little.
“This?” I ask, spreading her legs. She gasps at the invasion of me opening her legs. The vibrator in my hand travels to the nest of curls, teasing her skin everywhere but on her pussy. “This is so that when I’m gone, you think about me. There will be a little ache between your legs that won’t go away anytime soon. I want you to long for someone to touch that pretty little pussy of yours. I want you to picture my face, picture my hands or my cock, giving you what you need.”
She attempts to close her legs again, so I bring my hand up to her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. It feels as though my hand was meant to fit there, nestled against the fine lines of her delicate neck. That feeling of being made to fit makes me hard, makes me grind my cock against her hip.
“Don’t resist me,” I warn her, an undercurrent of violence in my words. I squeeze her neck for emphasis. “Just let this happen. It will go much more smoothly for you if you are a good girl.”
She looks fucking scared, which only makes me harder. Releasing her neck, I slowly push her knees up, which gives me a clear view of her sweet little pussy. Using two fingers to spread her pussy lips wide, I bring the wand down to kiss her clit.
The first touch of the wand makes her try to curl inward, like a clam closing its shell. She makes an almost inaudible gasp.
“Don’t,” I warn her, reaching over to weigh one of her breasts in my palm. Tweaking her nipple a little, I’m rewarded with her opening to me once more. The vibrator hums in my hand, the sound steady as I start working it in tight little circles.
I push my cock against the back of her thigh, the fabric between me and her starting to irritate me. When I step back and the vibrator leaves her clit, she makes an odd sound. Not quite a moan, but something close to a whimper.
“Are you starting to like what I’m doing to you, Fiore?” I ask, using the harness to hold the vibrator in place against her flesh.
She bites her lip, resisting whatever emotion she doesn’t want to show. She closes her eyes for a moment, but she can’t hide the blush that has started on her cheeks, or the way her chest rises and falls a little faster.
This time when I step away, the vibrator continues its work without me. Unzipping my pants, I get my cock out, fisting it. It’s hard and long, covered in veins. Eyeing Fiore, I slap her on the ass with my free hand.
She lets her eyes flutter open. Her expression upon seeing me standing over her with my hand on my hard cock… if I could write poems about it, I would. She’s surprised and yet aroused, I can tell from one look at her.
I reach out and press the vibrator into her clit a little harder, stroking my cock with my free hand. To see her like this, tied up and vulnerable… especially after the last few days of hellish business I’ve been conducting in New Orleans…
I’m more than a little excited to see my girl, all primed and ready for me. She looks so hot like that, all trussed and prepared to receive whatever I’ve got to give her. Basically I can finish anywhere I want, a just have to decide where that is.
Getting onto the bed, I flip her over so that she’s on her elbows and knees, ass up in the air. I can’t see her face this way, but I can hear the breathy sounds she’s making. Looking at her like this, her perfect ass so exposed, her pussy tormented by the vibrator…
I let a groan loose as I stroke my cock and think about how much I want her pussy touching my cock, milking me. Or her mouth, her pink lips sucking at my cock until it’s dry.
She trembles before me, right on the verge of orgasm. I get closer to her, the tip of my dick prodding her ass. She moans, her whole body clenching.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” I mutter to her, hammering my fist on my cock. “You are a very, very bad girl. God, you’re going to make me come too.”
She stills for a second, as if she has a choice. Then she starts to call out. “Oh… oh… oh god… oh…”
As quick as that, I lose control of myself, gushing my seed all over her ass. I thrust against her ass a few times, making sure every drop is wrung from my cock.
Immediately disgusted with myself and my poor self-control, I straighten myself up and clamber off the bed. I tuck my cock back into my pants, admiring the traces I left of cum on her ass. If it were possible to tattoo that on her ass permanently, I would.
I flick the button of the magic wand off, then turn and leave. She can figure out what to do with the wand and the harness. I have more important things that I should be doing.
12
Arsen
There is something bothering me, a niggling
sensation in the back of my mind that just won’t go away. I know it has to do with Fiore. It must.
If I’m honest with myself, which I normally am, I spend entirely too much time and energy focused on her when I’m here. It’s kind of sickening, how much easier it is to obsess over her budding sexuality than it is to worry about whatever problems I have back in New Orleans.
There is a whole empire waiting for me there, with all the challenges and stress of any growing republic. Here, though?
Here, there is only her. It’s much simpler to wonder if I can make her actually enjoy the blend of pleasure mixed with pain that I savor. Or maybe, being as inexperienced as she seems to be, she will just assume that everything I do is normal. That what I like is normal.
Shit, maybe I can permanently hardwire her to need pain in order to come. That would give me the ultimate rush, knowing that I had done something so everlasting. I could create the perfect little sex toy, ready for and excited to be dominated by me.
Now that is an interesting thought.
It’s not as if she ever really goes away, either. I’ve got her trapped here indefinitely, just waiting on me. Even now, I feel her presence in the hallway across from my bedroom. As I stand there, unlocking the door to my personal office, I know without a doubt that I have an audience.
“Fiore!” I call, twisting the doorknob. “I know you’re there. You might as well come out.”
Her blonde head peeks out from the shining blue-papered wall, where the hallway turns. I see her curious blue eyes, see the swirl of emotions set there.
Cautious, guarded, nosy. Starved for input from the outside world.
Opening the door with a sweeping gesture, I invite her to see what she so clearly wants to see. My office, where I conduct most of my business when I’m here.
A huge cedar desk in front of a huge wall of books. A pair of plain straight backed chairs face the desk. In the corner, a comfortable leather chair looks out over the mansion’s courtyard.
