by Lucy Wild
It was amusing to watch her try and kick off her shoes with her jeans in the way. She almost fell, having to balance on the wall to manage it.
When her shoes were finally off, she tugged the jeans off her legs and then stood up again. “Wow,” I muttered, cursing myself for saying the word out loud. It had just slipped out. I hadn’t intended to tell her how good her legs looked, that wasn’t part of the process.
I covered myself by scowling at her when she looked at me. “Get the rest of it off,” I said, “my patience wears thin.”
With her face resigned, she pushed her jacket from her shoulders, the blouse going with it, leaving her in just her bra and panties.
I managed to resist saying anything this time, though she looked stunning to behold. “Can I keep my underwear on?” she asked, her voice timid.
“Call me Sir.”
“What?”
“Call me Sir,” I repeated.
“Can I keep my underwear on, please, Sir.”
“Good girl. No, you can’t. I want to see what you look like naked.”
“Don’t make me do it,” she said, shaking her head. “Please, let me go.”
“Not for a week,” I said, taking a menacing step towards her. “Last chance. Strip.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.
I turned and opened the door, picking up the pot from the landing outside, sliding it across the floor to her.
“What’s that for?” she asked as I scooped up her clothes.
“You’ll soon find out. This door will not be opened again until you’re naked.”
Then I walked out of the room and locked the door behind me, ignoring the screaming coming from inside. The sound was good, the sound made me feel alive. I could smell her on the clothes draped over my arm. It was a good smell.
“Let me out,” she cried over and over again, her fists thudding into the wood on the other side. “You can’t keep me here.”
Yes I can, I thought as I patted the contract in my pocket.
The others had undressed all too readily, desperate to gain my approval. Not her. She was shy.
The thought made me smile. It turned out that what I had needed wasn’t someone from the agency, it was someone innocent. I was an idiot for not realising it sooner but it made perfect sense.
She would be harder to mould, to twist into the shape I wanted. It would break her all the more when I tossed her aside afterwards. I could go to my grave with a smile on my face. I’d have won. Emilia would have lost.
I walked away from the room and along the hall, turning the corner before unlocking another door. Stepping inside, I pulled back the chair by the desk. I slumped down into it. In the drawer next to me was everything on Emilia.
Making the motion I’d done so often before, I reached down to the drawer then away, my thoughts a curse, don’t torture yourself, don’t do this to yourself.
Then back to the drawer, unlocking it, reaching inside, pulling out the metal tin. Onto the desk, resting it in the usual space. Open the tin. Inside was waiting for me, like an injection of pure pain into my veins.
The photo. The only photo I kept of her. The smile on her face, about to break into laughter as I made faces behind the camera. I only had to close my eyes to remember taking that photo, the smell of the ocean, the crashing waves, her friends in a huddle a few yards away. Cornwall, ten years ago. A county I had refused to visit since. No matter where my business took me over the intervening years, I never went back.
A week’s holiday. Christ, I could write an entire novel about that week. Emilia and me. Me and Emilia. The girl I’d loved for so many years I couldn’t count them was by my side, her hand slipped into mine as the world faded away.
I made so many plans that week. Then the end of the holiday. The plans crushed. My love crushed. Finding out she had only done it for “a joke.”
It might not sound like much but imagine being in love with the woman you considered your soulmate, then finding out everything you thought you knew was a lie.
It took ten years to make myself a billionaire. It took a cold heart to make it happen. It took a week for her to break me. That took a cold heart too.
I put the photo of her back in the tin and took out the letter. Her apology. She hadn’t meant me to get too attached. So many platitudes but I knew the truth. I was a game to her and her friends.
I didn’t have the letter I sent back to her. The one that told her exactly what I thought of her game, how I was going to make it as a businessman and when I did, the first thing I would do was put her father out of business.
I did that two years later. I expected it would give me some satisfaction, revenge well earned. But all it did was increase the darkness inside me. A darkness which kept growing until I became the man who put the tin back in the drawer and returned to the room where Zoey was locked away.
She had given up screaming. “Ready to strip?” I asked through the door.
“Go to hell,” she replied.
“Already there,” I muttered as I walked away for a second time.
NINE
ZOEY
I was more scared when he left me than I’d ever been in my life. He’d locked me in. I was wearing nothing but my bra and panties.
I hammered on the door, screaming for him to let me out but he ignored me. The safe word was on my lips but it died away. Would he even listen to it? Already I was getting the feeling that he wasn’t someone who played by the rules, even the ones he’d made.
I shouted until I was hoarse before giving up, my hands throbbing from where I’d beaten the wood. I slumped to the floor, my head in my hands, tears running down my cheeks.
I couldn’t take my underwear off for him. I’d already seen the disapproving look in his eyes when he saw my legs, it would only have deepened into disgust when he saw me naked. I didn’t think I could stand it, having him repulsed by me, by my body.
I shivered, a draught hitting me from underneath the door, getting me up again. I listened hard, wondering if he was still out there. I heard nothing.
I began pacing the room to try and keep warm, my feet rubbing on the bare floorboards, my toes becoming numb even as I marched faster, my hands pressed to my sides.
Jumping on the spot made no difference, nor did again screaming to be let out. In the end, I slumped against the wall, wrapping my arms around me, shivering uncontrollably.
The only thing in there other than me was the pot. It was made of tin, large enough to sit on. That was when it hit me. He expected me to use that? How long was he going to keep me in here? Dread rose up in me, almost suffocating. What was to keep him to his word?
He’d told me a week but no one knew I was here. My phone was in my jacket pocket and he had my jacket. He could keep me here indefinitely. No one knew where I was.
The sentence kept echoing in my head.
No one knew I was here.
The walls seemed to close in on me, the bare lightbulb above my head dimming. Each time I blinked, it seemed to brighten but as I looked, it dimmed again. Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was the room smaller than it had been?
My breathing became more ragged as I felt myself on the verge of hyperventilating. “Relax,” I said out loud. “Just relax.”
It didn’t work. I was trapped. I was alone. He was out there somewhere and there was nothing I could do until he came back.
Where had he gone?
I had no idea. Was he outside the door? I got up and ran over to it, in time to hear footsteps in the distance. They grew louder and then his voice reached me, smug, full of self satisfaction. “Ready to strip.”
The voice infuriated me. He was revelling in my anguish. “Go to hell,” I snapped, gripping the waistband of my panties as if I thought he might tear them from me.
He walked away again and I shook my head. What was wrong with me? The thought of him tearing my underwear off should have terrified me beyond measure but instead I felt a flash of lust within me
at the idea.
I felt sick. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him to do this. I wanted to go home.
So say the safe word, I thought. Why not say it?
I wasn’t sure of the answer. Maybe I thought the rules would change, he would tell me there was no safe word anymore. Or it might have been because holding onto the safe word meant holding onto hope.
What it definitely wasn’t, was that I wanted him to stay here with him, have him rip my clothes from me, throw me to the floor and fuck me like no one ever had. It definitely wasn’t that.
I sank to the floor, groaning as my body fought against my mind. Into the mix came the realisation that I needed the bathroom. I looked at the pot and shook my head. There was no way I was going on that thing, I wasn’t a child using a potty. I was an adult and I could hold it.
Without a window, it was impossible to tell when it got dark. I could only establish the passing of time by how full my bladder became and how my eyes started to sag. The thing about adrenaline coursing through you several times in one day is that it leaves you drained afterwards.
Somehow, despite my increasing need to pee, I managed to fall asleep, laid on my side, shivering almost uncontrollably. I don’t remember it happening. I just remember jolting upright when I heard the key in the lock. I groaned in agony as my bladder screamed at me for release.
My mind was still groggy. I had dreamt of being trapped inside a castle turret, held prisoner by an evil Lord, awaiting a ransom from my parents. “That’s not right,” I said to the Lord as he entered my chamber. “You give them the ransom, not the other way round.”
“I paid to get you,” he replied, undoing his tunic and walking slowly towards me. “Now I’m not letting you go.”
He jumped on me, ripping off my gown in a single motion, his hands already on my skin before I knew what was happening.
His fingers were rough, groping at me, his nails scratching as his teeth grazed my lips before his tongue plunged into my mouth.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he muttered, his fingers delving inside me, making me gasp at how good it felt. “And you’re going to love it.”
When the noise of the door opening brought me out of my sleep, I was still getting flashes of the evil Lord. Who had he reminded me of? Of course, how apt. He looked exactly like…
“Good morning,” Ethan said, a wicked grin on his face as he stepped into the room. He’d changed clothes. It wasn’t a huge change. No suit jacket this time, blue shirt instead of white. Still the same monster inside. “Sleep well?”
TEN
ETHAN
It wasn’t easy getting to sleep that night. I hadn’t slept well in years but this was the worst it had been in a very long time.
With the others, I’d been able to leave them safe in the knowledge they were happy to please me. I didn’t need to worry about them overnight. That was the good side. The bad side was that was the first step to things not working out.
She wasn’t reacting in the same way. She had refused to strip, she had screamed to be let out. And then when I’d gone back and given her a final chance to change her mind, she had told me to go to hell. It was almost enough to make me grin.
I worried about her as I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take me. I worried that it might fail for a different reason. It might take too long. What if we came to the end of the week and I hadn’t broken her yet?
I knew I could try again with some other woman but I didn’t want to. I wanted this one to work. Already, I was certain that she was my best shot at achieving my goal, of ending the week with her broken and me done with the world.
Longer than a week and Emilia won. She’d dragged me into her world in a week, taking me away from her friends, hiding away with me in the cottage, introducing me to a world of dominance and submission that I never knew existed.
She’d dominated me. She still did, residing in a part of my brain long after the car crash that killed her, nestled in there with a long needle that she used to jab at me, remind me what she’d done, make sure I never, ever forgot.
Would things have been different if she was still alive? Would I have been able to find out the truth? Find out why she had dominated me so perfectly and then pretended it was just a joke? I knew it wasn’t a joke, not really. Her eyes had told me as much, even as she’d laughed with her friends, boasting to them about what she’d made me do.
She’d had a choice. To admit the truth about who she was, about what she was, or deny it, pretend she was just like them. She made a choice. So did I. I made a choice never to give my heart to anyone ever again, to focus on work, nothing else.
I closed my eyes, hoping that would help me sleep. As I did so, an image of Zoey’s face came into my mind. I felt a tug of something inside me, a creeping doubt. I didn’t know what it meant. I only knew it felt heavy and strong and I didn’t want anything to do with it.
This was about ending things, not starting them. This was about getting closure, about being in charge of my own destiny. I had to ignore that doubt. If I listened to it, there was a chance it would gnaw at me and I might not be able to finish this task, complete the job, go out the right way. Fate wasn’t the boss of me. I was the boss of it. I was in charge.
I realised I was clenching my fists, the nails digging into the flesh of my palms. I had to concentrate on loosening them, trying my best to think about nothing.
By the next morning, I felt groggy as hell. I had woken up too many times, even for me.
My mood improved as I dressed. However uncomfortable I’d felt during the darkness, she would have felt far worse, alone and half naked in that cold room. It would make her eager to please me, fearing the consequences if she didn’t. That would be a great start to our second day together. Then I could work on shifting her mind towards obeying me because she had to, not because she wanted to, because her soul demanded it of her. I refused to think about afterwards. There was no afterwards. There was only me and her and this week together.
I unlocked the door, the noise bringing her out of her sleep. I caught a glimpse of her laid on her side in the foetal position before she was up, rubbing her stomach as she got to her feet. She looked cold.
“Good morning,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Sleep well?”
“I need the bathroom,” she said, trying to walk past me.
“It’s right there,” I said, nodding at the pot.
“You can’t expect me to use that.”
I grabbed her, shoving her backwards until she was pressed against the wall. I moved my hand to her stomach, jabbing into it with my fingers, watching her discomfort turn to agony. “You are pissing me off, Zoey. You agreed to obey me. Already you’ve refused to strip. Look where that got you, a night in here. Do you want another one to think about it some more?”
“Please,” she said, wincing and squirming on the spot. “You’re hurting me.”
“You’re hurting yourself,” I replied. “Now do as you’re told. Strip.”
“No, please-”
“Strip!” I roared in her face, pushing my hand behind her back, unhooking her bra between two fingers, letting the sides fall away.
I stepped back, tugging at the bra, yanking it from her shoulders until it finally came off. The sight of her tits took my breath away. They were magnificent, begging to be played with, the nipples light pink and rock hard. I yearned to squeeze them between my fingers.
She looked at me, her hands already on her panties as she slid them down. I had to shift on the spot, not wanting her to see the bulge that had appeared in my trousers as her pussy came into view. “We’ll deal with that next,” I said, pointing at it. “First, get on that pot.”
ELEVEN
ZOEY
I peed because he told me to. Even as I was still sat on the pot afterwards, the shame was already coursing through me.
He’d dragged me over to the pot and shoved me down, growling at me to get on with it. I was disgusted with myself for letting him, shuff
ling around the rim so I was facing away at least, wanting what little privacy I could give myself.
“You are not getting up until you’re done,” he said, walking round to stand directly in front of me. “So you better get on with it.”
I could leave at any moment. Say the safe word, I screamed at myself. Say it now before this goes too far.
But it had already gone too far. I was naked, sitting on a pot while he stared at me, his expression a mixture of rage and what else? What was that? Was that lust? It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.
My eye moved to his constantly tapping foot. He had folded his arms and was watching me and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was certain that if I went to stand, he’d just shove me back down.
Why had I agreed to this?
The money, a voice whispered. That calmed me more than it should. I’d take a million for the humiliation of peeing in front of a stranger. Sure, it was unpleasant, embarrassing even. But nobody would know about it apart from him and me. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut afterwards and I could forget it ever happened.
But I couldn’t go. I sat there and everything tensed up, despite the agonising pain inside me, I couldn’t do it.
After thirty excruciating seconds, I looked up at him. “Could you at least face the other way for a minute?”
“You keep thinking you get a say in things,” he replied, kneeling down in front of me and pressing his hand into my bladder. “I can tell I’m going to have to do everything for you,” he said, kneading the flesh under his hand until my body lost control and I finally went.
I sighed with relief as the pain inside me began to subside but before I was even finished, I felt an acute sense of shame. What had I just done? I’d never done that in front of anyone. I was a private person about such things, even with my boyfriend. Ex boyfriend, I reminded myself.
Think of the money. Forget about that. It didn’t happen.
