by Naomi West
Later in the week, he began to take a more “active” roll in the show. One night, he bent me over, handcuffing me to the bar. Once I was restrained, he pulled down my panties and slapped my ass hard. The feeling of his firm palm connecting with my ass was ... indescribable. I felt as though I might melt like butter under a heat lamp. He squeezed and kneaded the flesh of my rear, breathing in hard through his nose. I wondered with panic if this was the night he was going to finally have sex with me. Thrill and panic gripped me as I wondered I was going to hear a zipper being pulled own followed by ... well, I didn’t quite know what to expect. I’d never had a man inside of me before.
But as I stood there bent over, my hands restrained, my teeth sinking into my lower lip in thrilled anticipation, I heard the vibrator click on, coming to life with a dull whirr. First, Tank rubbed my sex with it, touching me with such expert skill that I felt I might cum instantly. But just as he knew how to make me feel good, he also knew just how to delay the pleasure. He teased me, moving the vibrator over my clitoris, the feeling making me crazy. Then, after teasing my lips with the tip of the toy, he slipped it into me. The feeling of fullness, coupled with the sensation of the vibrator roaring inside of me, brought me instantly close to orgasm.
And just when I thought the pleasure couldn’t be any more intense, Tank moved in close to me and placed his hand on my inner thigh. The skin of his palm was rough just in the way I’d imagined it to be, and I couldn’t get enough. Slowly, the vibrator doing its amazing work in me, he moved his hand up along my thigh, coming to a rest as the side of his index finger was pressed against my clitoris. He began to move his hand back and forth, rubbing me slowly and sensually, the sensation of finally being touched by him making me feel ways I’d never imagined.
Soon I came harder than any of the previous days, and as I stood there with wobbling legs, all I could think about was how much I wanted more and more of him inside of me.
I found myself staying up at night, lying in bed and imagining what it would be like to have Tank’s firm hands on my hips, holding me in place as he drove his cock into me over and over again. I imagined lying under him, my legs wrapped around his hard, muscular body, his blue eyes brilliant and sparkling as he stared down at me, his prick plunging into me at a deep, steady pace.
Like I said, I’d never been much for masturbating, but the thought of Tank fucking me was enough to “inspire” me to get really good at it really quickly. One night, I even snuck down into the lounge. I swiped the vibrator out of the box and lay down on the couch. The scent of his body still lingering in the air and in the fabric, I draped one leg over the back of the couch, flicked the vibrator on, and brought myself to orgasm again and again. And as I came, I kept one eye open, hoping that Tank would hear me, come down, and finish the job in the way I knew only he could.
But, alas, he never came. Though I did. Repeatedly.
Aside from the maid service that came once, I was the only one there when Tank was gone for the day. He gave me the run of the place and as I became more comfortable there, I began spending my days relaxing in the sun, swimming in the massive pool in the backyard, and making food in the kitchen.
Tank never seemed to eat, which was strange—I would think that a man with the muscular physique he had would be gobbling down steak by the pound. But if he did, I never saw it. After I started to feel lazy doing nothing, I began to make little thises and thats in the kitchen, using my phone as a recipe book. I couldn’t connect to any social media using the phone, but I could look up things like cooking websites. A first, I began to make stuff for me for lunch. Nothing crazy—just sandwiches and soups. After a day or two of this, however, I started thinking about Tank. Was he just one of those guys who was so busy that he never ate?
Maybe I could do something about that.
One day during the afternoon, I pulled a massive slab of frozen steak out of the freezer. Once it was thawed, I set to work making a nice little dinner. I prepared the steak garlic and butter style, and to go along with it I made some potatoes au gratin and roasted vegetables. Once it was done, I covered it up, set a note next to it letting him know it was for him, and began to prepare for our evening routine.
Once we were done and I was lying on the couch in a blissed-out mess, I heard him walk down the hallway as he usually did. But this time, he stopped in front of the kitchen. I heard him walk into it, and a few moments later leave. When he had gone up the stairs, I scampered to the kitchen, not even bothering to put on my underwear. Sure enough, the food was gone. All that remained was the bottle cap from a beer that he’d taken from the fridge.
As I stood there, a little pleased smile on my face, a disturbing thought entered my mind: I hadn’t been thinking about escape. Not once in the last few days had I done a single thing about my plan to get the hell out of this prison I was in. My thoughts had been consumed by Tank, whether thinking of ways to please him or getting myself off to the idea of him fucking me.
Standing at the entrance of the kitchen, I made a vow to not give up my freedom so easily.
But try as I might to summon it, the will just wasn’t there.
Chapter Ten
Tank
I couldn’t believe it, but as the day went on, all I could think about was the steak that Star’d made for me.
It was fucking perfect: cooked medium rare, seasoned just right, the potatoes and vegetables going along with it perfectly. When I’d finished up with her, I’d been ready to just head up to my room, maybe do a few sets in my private gym, shower, and get to bed. But when I walked into the kitchen and saw that there was a home-cooked meal waiting for me, a hunger that I didn’t even know I had took over. I grabbed the plate, along with a beer, and headed upstairs. I started picking at it as I walked, the au gratin potatoes cheesy and savory like nothing else. Once I sat out on my balcony and had the food in front of me, I devoured it like an animal who’d just woken up from hibernation. Once I was done, nothing in front of me but a plate smeared with grease and blood, I took a long swig from my beer.
It tasted like heaven.
I went to sleep that night with a full belly and awoke more refreshed and restored than I’d felt in a long while. I liked to eat—don’t get me wrong. But I was usually so busy going here and there that I tended to grab whatever I could find, maybe shoving down a gas station hot dog here and there. Protein shakes were the main source of my nutrients and protein, but they didn’t really hit the spot.
So, as I had drinks at one of the nearby bars with Cruiser and some of the other boys, going over distribution plans for the arms we were planning on buying from Dakin, I found my thoughts taken over by the idea of having another home-cooked meal.
“Gimme a sec, boys,” I said, getting up from the dingy round-top bar table. “Gotta take a leak.”
Once I arrived in the bathroom, I pulled out my phone and typed in a quick text.
Steak was good. Make something else tonight for when I get back.
T
The response came a few minutes later, some winking face emoji.
Goddammit, I thought. She’s starting to get comfortable.
I mean, I wanted her to get used to living at my place, especially enough so that any thoughts of trying to make an escape didn’t amount to anything. I had no worries about getting her back—that was easy enough—but spending an afternoon tracking down a panicked girl didn’t exactly fit well into my schedule. So having her not be inclined to make a break for it was good.
But I didn’t want her strutting around thinking she owned the place either.
I reminded myself that there were plenty of ways to remind girls like her of their place, and I could easily cross that bridge if I were to come to it.
Another text followed.
Italian?
I shook my head and sighed. Italian did sound pretty fucking good.
Sure, was my response.
I didn’t like this. When I’d bought Star, the intention was for her to be more of �
�� a toy than the live-in help. Sure, I didn’t mind a home-cooked dinner every now and then—I did have that massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, after all—but I was starting to get the impression that she was getting too comfortable, like she was starting to think she wasn’t just a piece of ass that I’d spent a shitload of money on.
Still, I thought, if I’m gonna drop a half-mil on a fuck-toy it can’t hurt to have her make a steak every now and then. Or Italian.
“Yo, Tank!” called out a voice, snapping me from my internal debate.
It was Cruiser. He and the rest of my higher-ups were gathered around the small table where we’d been talking.
“Keep your goddamn pants on,” I said, shoving my phone back into my pocket and heading back over to the table.
I pulled my chair out and plopped back onto it. The boys were still in the middle of sketching out the distribution for the weapons, and it all looked fine from where I was sitting. But then Cruiser said something that gave me pause.
“… then I got some boys in New York who’ll buy these Glocks ...”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said, holding up my hand. “New York?”
Cruiser looked up at me with a face that was both cunning and eager, like he was getting ready for a compliment.
“Yeah,” he said. “I got some contacts up near the city who’ll pay top dollar for some of this shit. Bigger payday, you know?”
“Not a chance,” I said, my voice firm.
“What?” asked Cruiser. “Why the hell not?”
“Distribution is with our normal outlets in Florida.”
“But … but why?”
The rest of the boys were silent, looking back and forth at Cruiser and me, eager to see where this all went.
“You ever run guns that far before?”
“No, but how hard can it be?”
“That’s a fuckin’ long drive to New York, for one. More hours on the road means more of a chance that you’ll get busted by some bored state trooper. Not to mention that once you cross state lines, this shit becomes a federal issue. Meaning the fuckin’ feds would be all of it. We can slip 10k to a Florida trooper here and there, but ain’t no buying off the goddamn G-Men. We’d be sunk.”
“I can do it, Tank,” said Cruiser. “I’ll drive the truck myself. Come on.”
“No way,” I said. “We keep things local for now. Money’s just fine with our usual buyers. More than enough paper to go around.”
“But—”
I held up my hand, making it clear as day that the conversation was over. Cruiser got the hint, sitting back in his chair and sulking.
“Now I gotta tell my boys that we’re not buying.”
“Sounds like something you should’ve considered negotiating behind my back.”
Cruiser sulked for a little longer before abruptly getting up out of his seat, grabbing his drink, and heading out back.
I shook my head as I watched him leave. Cruiser was a good vice president, but he could get too big for his own goddamn britches sometimes. Too eager to please, too eager to make it clear he was pulling his weight. Usually, it was manageable, but I was starting to wonder if it was going to get us into trouble somewhere down the line.
The rest of the boy and I finished the distribution plans, and when we were done I finished my beer and thought about what needed to be done for the rest of the day. But all I could think about was that home-cooked meal that Star was gonna make for me. I wondered what kind of Italian she was gonna be cooking up. I could always go for some lasagna, but chicken parm sounded really nice too. I found myself rushing through the rest of my work, eager to get back.
Once all the plans for distribution were taken care of, I had one last drink with the boys and headed out. And as I rode my bike, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like to be a regular-ass married man, the kind who had a woman waiting for him at home. I’d never been a normie, so glimpses like this were all I got.
I parked my bike in the usual spot and headed inside, the smell of basil and tomato sauce hitting my nose right away. Goddamn, it smelled good. As I was walking towards the kitchen, the smell grew more intense. I couldn’t help but whiff the air like I was one of those cartoon characters getting pulled by their nose in the direction of the food. Soon, I arrived at the kitchen, where Star was in the process of pulling something out of the oven. She was wearing a little pair of booty shorts and a skimpy shirt, and I didn’t know if I was more interested in the food in the oven or the body on display.
“There you are!” she said. “Food’s not quite ready yet.”
“What you got there?” I asked, trying to peer behind her to see what she was preparing.
The countertop was covered in flour and empty tomato cans, and pots and pans filled with red residue were in the sink. Definitely the aftermath of an Italian dinner preparation.
She swatted the air. “Just wait until it’s ready; shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Star then grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped it open, and handed it to me.
“Just relax until the food’s done. Maybe twenty minutes. Now, shoo.”
She hurried me out of the kitchen and I was a little surprised with myself for letting her. Beer in hand, I headed to the backyard. The evening air was pleasant, and I sat back in my favorite deck chair, sipping my beer and letting my mind unspool.
This is nice, I thought. Almost too nice. I mean, a man like me doesn’t need to be kept like this. Nice to have a meal every now and then, but this shit is gonna make me soft.
But these thoughts were replaced by a different feeling—a strange feeling of … I dunno, calm? I didn’t know how to feel about it. But before I could consider it for too long, Star stepped out onto the patio, a dish in her hands. She set it on the table nearby, and I was able to finally get a good look at it.
Chicken parm—just what I wanted.
“I was surprised that you actually had bread crumbs,” she said. “So I just had to use them. And no picking—wait until I bring the rest out.”
Before I could respond, she disappeared back into the house. Star returned over and over again, bringing plates, silverware, glasses, and finally a big basket of garlic bread with a bottle of wine. Once everything was out, she spent a few minutes arranging everything.
“Okay, now we can eat,” she said.
“That … looks really fuckin’ good,” I said, killing my beer.
“Well, I hope it tastes as good as it looks, in that case,” she said, spooning a heaping helping of parm onto my plate.
I took my seat across from her and poured myself a glass of wine.
“Um, well, dig in!” she said.
I didn’t need her to tell me twice. I set into that food like a beast, clearing the plate within minutes and washing it all down with a glass of wine, all before Star had a chance to take in a few bites. Once I’d sopped up the last few bits of tomato sauce with my bread I looked up at Star, who’d been watching the display with wide eyes.
“Wow,” she said. “I guess you liked it.”
“Pretty fuckin’ good,” I said. “But I’m just getting started.”
I poured myself another glass of wine followed by another heaping helping of parm and bread. Now that the edge was taken off my appetite, I was ready to actually taste the food. I did, and goddamn, it was good.
“So, um,” she said. “Did you have a nice day?”
I grunted a response, my attention down to my food. I didn’t really have a strong desire to discuss business with her, and I hoped I was making that abundantly clear.
Still, she wanted to talk about something, and I figured it was the least I could do with her having made dinner.
“Uh, what’d you do today?” I asked.
And just like that, she was off to the races. She told me about sorting through the clothes in her closet, organizing the kitchen, looking up ingredients, experimenting with different sauces—just on and on. But it was nice, in a way. Listening to her talk meant I di
dn’t need to worry about what was really bothering me, which was that shit with Cruiser today.
But I put that out of my head and turned my attention back to Star and the food. I worked my way through the wine, getting a nice little buzz on that made the meal taste even better. When I was done, I sat back in my seat, my eyes on the shimmering waters of the pool.
Star cleared away the plates, and I let my eyes hang on her legs and ass as she walked away. Damn, she looked good. Not a bad cook, either.
