Let Me Watch_A Dark Romance

by Sansa Rayne

  I’d be touched if I wasn’t so appalled. “Are you fucking crazy?” I growl.

  “Relax, man. We’re going to pay her, obviously.”

  For a second I dare to hope that I’ve completely got the wrong idea. I look at the girl, Tammy, and ask, “Is this true? Did you agree to this?”

  She shakes her head, groaning through her gag and straining against the ropes.

  Goddamnit.

  I grab Chase by the collar. “This is fucking kidnapping. You get that, right? Tell me you get it!”

  He forces his way out of my grasp. “Let’s talk,” he says, gesturing for the next room. I follow him in, giving Tammy a look that I hope conveys an assurance that she’s going to be okay, as soon as I figure this out.

  “Pierce, listen to me,” he begins. “I know how it’s… gonna sound. Alright?”

  I nod, folding my arms in front of my chest. Back in the other room, I hear Tammy’s muted scream and wonder if I should tell her to stop. I don’t think anyone can hear but us.

  “I need this.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “This!” he says, pointing out at Tammy. “Taking her. Seeing her fear, doing to her whatever I want.. it’s so fucking hot. Like, I can’t describe it. I need it, even though… even though it’s wrong. Maybe because… because it’s wrong. I- I know it’s wrong, okay?”

  Heart racing, my throat dry, I’m trying hard not to lose my temper. “If you know it’s wrong, why’d you do it?”

  “I had to,” he replies, complete in his conviction.

  “What do you mean, you had to? You just suddenly felt like it?”

  “No, not suddenly,” he huffs under his breath. “I’ve hungered for this all my life. Since before we met. It’s what I dream about when we make our videos. It’s nice, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t satisfy the need. I wish it did — it’s fucking overwhelming, and there’s nothing I can do about it!”

  I shake my head in disbelief. Considering my love of bondage, domination and sadism, I know what it’s like to have unusual sexual desires.

  “But you’ve never done anything like this before?”

  Chase turns and looks me right in the eye. “No. No, I haven’t. But I came close. Talked myself out of it.”

  Thank god.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Why not tell me, so I could help?”

  Chase rolls his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head. “Oh yeah, I should just confess my desire to commit felonies. How many people you know do that? This is the kind of secret you take to the grave, if you can. I wish I did.”

  I get where he’s coming from, but how could he be so reckless?

  “We’re going to jail, you know that, right?” I say, swallowing a wave of nausea. My chest constricts, and for a second I’m back in that hotel room with Chase the night we met his father. I hear imaginary sirens within Tammy’s sobs, and wonder if it’s too late for us. What if someone saw Chase abduct this poor girl and they’ve traced her cell phone? Are the window blinds even drawn, or are they open, inviting the neighbors to peep on the perverts across the street?

  Whatever lies Chase told himself to overcome his inhibitions, they’re crumbling now. He steps backward until he hits the wall, and slides down a little. “Maybe… that’s for the best,” he mumbles.

  “No,” I say. “You’d be an old man by the time they let you out. If they ever do.”

  Chase grunts. “You have a better idea?”

  Is he right?

  I can’t just let Chase go back to jail, can I? It would be easy. He’ll confess what he did, strike a plea, maybe get some leniency when Tammy’s medical examination shows she’s alright. He’s been incarcerated before — he’ll fall back into it, and survive. It could be worse.

  And what about me? Will the courts see me as someone who stepped in and did the right thing? Or was I guilty the second I saw Tammy naked, bound and gagged, and opted to talk things over instead of calling the police? Will the fact that I make and sell adult entertainment keep a jury from having any sympathy for a guy like me? I may treat my performers pretty well, but somehow I doubt porn stars make the best character witnesses — and it’s not like I donate any of my earnings to charity. Other than the money I send Mom, I’ve kept it all.

  “Pierce…” Chase groans, his voice a belch of misery. “If I’m going to jail, I’m making it worth my while.”

  He stands up and looks at Tammy, his face wrenched with hate. His hands move to the fly of his trousers.

  “Absolutely fucking not,” I snap, stepping into his path. “I’m not letting you touch her. We’re going to figure this out.”

  Chase looks over my shoulder, and I rise to block his view. “What are you going to do?” he asks, with a menacing chuckle. “If we let her go, and by some miracle I don’t end up in jail, I’m probably going to do this again. This might scare me straight for a bit — for years — but not forever. You going to watch over me the rest of our lives to make sure I don’t stray?”

  “If I have to.” It’s not the worst idea.

  “You’d throw away your life like that?”

  “You did it for me. Ten years. I owe you that much at least.”

  Chase shakes his head. “Don’t offer this, Pierce. I don’t want you to do it, but I can’t say no.”

  I rest a hand on his shoulder and look him in the eye. “We’ll figure it out. Let me keep us both out of jail.”

  “How?”

  We’ve solved a hundred different problems in our line of work. What’s one more?

  “Stay here,” I tell Chase. He nods, and I leave him in his bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

  Tammy’s blue, bloodshot eyes follow me every step until I’m at her side, crouched down next to her. Chase isn’t the most adept at bondage — his rope technique is amateurish at best. The rough cords are digging into her skin, probably painfully — it’s fortunate he didn’t cut off her circulation. If we were shooting this for one of our movies, I could have done a much better job.

  “Tammy, I’m so fucking sorry that this happened,” I begin. “I want you to know that we’re not going to hurt you, okay? My friend made a terrible, terrible mistake. We both wish that it could be taken back.”

  She nods, though the inward slant of her eyebrows tells me she’s not offering her forgiveness.

  “I’m going to cut you loose. Can you promise me you’re not going to scream?”

  Again, she nods.

  I work Chase’s lackluster knots until they come free, starting with her legs and then moving to her arms. I offer a hand to help her up from the table, but she refuses, opting to sit up herself. She pulls out her gag and throws it across the room, then folds her legs up and covers her breasts.

  “Get my clothes,” she rasps.

  “Where?”

  I look to where she points and spot an orange thong, black hot pants and a gold, sparkly top.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say, setting her clothes down beside her.

  “Water.”

  I wait for her to finish dressing, then point to the kitchen. “This way.”

  Her voice is so hoarse, she definitely needs something to drink — but I’m not letting her out of my sight, not until this is over. She understands, and gets moving so that I can follow.

  I take out a carafe of ice water from the fridge, and then a glass from the cupboard. She sits at the kitchen table, which is covered in crumbs and newspaper funny pages. I pour with one eye on Tammy, spilling all over my hands and the counter. As soon as I set the glass down, she takes it and drinks the whole thing.

  “Better?”

  Tammy nods. “More.”

  I fill her glass again, then take a seat across from her. I wheel myself away to give her space. “Whenever you’re ready,” I say, handing her back the glass.

  She sips this time, clearing her throat. “I was alone outside Club Nocte, waiting for a friend to pick me up. He came up to me, offered me twenty bucks for a blowjob.
I told him I’m not a fucking whore. He laughed and said ‘How about fifty?’ So I got out my mace and nearly sprayed him. I should’ve done it. But he backed off and ran.”

  I nod. “Go on.”

  “A couple minutes later this truck pulls up. It’s not my friend, but, whatever, right? He gets out wearing a fucking mask and grabs me, throws me in the truck. He fucking ties me up with duct tape and drives here, the whole time I’m screaming. Then he’s fucking got his hands on my neck, threatening to kill me if I make more noise. He carries me up the stairs and… now I’m here.”

  At the end of her account, I wait to make sure she’s done.

  “Your friend is a fucking psychopath,” she concludes.

  I’m so disgusted, I’m not sure what to say. “He has issues. Please believe I didn’t know how bad they are until tonight. He’s hidden it from me for years, and I’m truly horrified.”

  “You didn’t have any fucking clue?” she seethes. “Really?”

  “I knew he thinks most women are whores. I knew he only cares about fucking and getting paid. But he’s never shown any violence toward women — only men who have wronged him. I didn’t know he was going to do this, I swear.”

  Tammy stares at me in disbelief. “Give me one good reason not to call the fucking cops.”

  I reach into my pocket and feel for my money clip. When she sees it, she makes a choking sound and begins to tear up.

  “Please,” I say, slipping off the clip and passing her the entire wad. “Take it.”

  A part of me doesn’t want this to work. I don’t want Tammy to be yet another problem I can just flash cash at; I want her to be above collecting a payoff. It would prove me right and Chase wrong, even if it destroyed our lives. It’s idiotic, but I still want it, a little bit.

  But there must be five grand on the table, all in C-notes, and she reaches out to take it.

  “You got more in your wallet?” she asks.

  I do. I get it out and drop on the table a small stack of twenties.

  “Anything else?” I ask, keeping any trace of hostility out of my voice. I don’t care about the money. I want her to be satisfied.

  “Yeah. I want his ID.”

  “What?”

  She stuffs the cash into the waistband of her hot pants. “His fucking license, or whatever he’s got. I want it.”

  “Why?”

  Tammy sneers. “So I don’t fucking forget his name, or what he looks like. If I ever see him on the news because he did something like this to someone else, I’ll call the police and tell them what happened to me. And I’ll tell them about you.”

  “Okay,” I say. “You’ll have it.”

  I don’t think Chase will like having a dagger hanging over him like that, but he doesn’t get a say in this — I don’t think either of us really has a choice.

  “Good,” she grunts. “Are we done here?”

  “Yeah. Believe me, I am not going to let Chase do anything like this ever again. You have my word. I’ll go to the police myself before I let that happen.”

  “I hope so.” Tammy gets up and heads out of the kitchen.

  Chase doesn’t argue when I ask for his wallet. I get out his license, as well as his cash — another grand, at least. I give Tammy both, and then the door slams behind her as she leaves.

  I must stand there for five whole minutes, just watching the door. My ears ring and my heart pounds, trying to slow itself down and burn off the adrenaline still coursing through my system.

  It’s over. Probably.

  Tammy might be calling the police despite it all; if so, we’ll know soon. There’s nothing I can do about it.

  The tone in my ear takes a minute to subside; when it does, I realize Chase is standing behind me.

  “She left?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you, man. Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m crazy. Fuck, I know.”

  I don’t reply, other than to nod, so Chase heads back to the living room. I follow him in, and see him gathering up the used rope. “You did a shit job of tying her, by the way.”

  Chase laughs. “Yeah, yeah. You’re really into it; I’m not.”

  “True.”

  “Maybe I should learn to like it,” he says, feeling the rope in his hands. “At least it’s legal.”

  “If you’re not into it, you’re not,” I lament, only half paying attention. Looking at the camera Chase set up to tape our night, an idea is blossoming, “Chase, but the thing you need… you’re not alone.”

  “Yeah, no shit. There are plenty of fucking creeps in the world.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say. “You’re not alone — and we can use that, to get you help.”

  It’s not just an idea anymore, it’s a plan, and every second I’m figuring out more.

  “Like, what? A support group? Rapists Anonymous?”

  “Better,” I say, suddenly so excited, I forget that the police might be seconds away from bursting through Chase’s front door. Tammy’s practically an afterthought. “A new direction for the business. The old you, the one with a need he can’t control, will be gone — the new you will keep his impulses in check, help others like him and make us lots of money at the same time.”

  Chase snorts and looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Yeah, how? Sounds way too good to be true.”

  I turn to him, never more sure of anything in my entire life. “If you, and people like you, can’t have what you really want, then I’m going to give you all the next best thing.”

  Today has been one of the longest of my life. Waiting in Pierce’s truck preparing to launch “Milgram” feels like it happened a year ago, not sixteen hours. Even though I want to stay up and view some of the videos from earlier today, I didn’t sleep much last night, and now I can’t keep my eyes open. So once I get off the phone with Pierce, sleep comes easily — until my phone buzzes, waking me, at a little past three in the morning. The grating vibration against my dresser is so jarring, I shoot up from the bed.

  You up?

  It’s Pierce. What the fuck? I let out an exasperated scoff, though I’m grinning. A booty call? Now? We’d already discussed this.

  Although… a late-night, clandestine tryst might be kinda hot…

  I am. You?

  I get his reply immediately: I’m outside. Come down now.

  Good lord, he’s not playing. I can already feel myself clenching with need, impressed by his boldness. Maybe he thinks spending the night with me, after the day we had, is worth risking a few weeks in jail. Wouldn’t that be sweet, in our uniquely fucked up way? It might not be advisable, but fuck it. I don’t doubt Pierce will make it worthwhile.

  Dressing by the light of my phone, I throw on fresh panties, some dark leggings, an oatmeal crop top and a Yankees cap. I shield my eyes from the light of the hallway, still adjusting, and take the stairs down.

  Out on the street, I spot Pierce by recognizing the costume he wore earlier today. The only change is that now he’s wearing a full-on black ski mask, gloves and a thick jacket. As handsome as he is, this is probably for the best right now.

  He doesn’t see me at first. With his hands on his hips, he scans the street, back and forth, as if he’s forgotten which building is mine.

  “Hey,” I call out, startling him. He spins around, then marches on me so fast I almost shriek in excitement. Without saying a word, he grabs my arm, twists my body so I have to look forward and begins dragging me away.

  “Pierce, what the hell?” I snap, whispering.

  He shushes me, squeezing my forearm harder.

  Oh, God. Seriously?

  I don’t know what kind of perverted fantasy he’s cobbled together, but I almost wouldn’t mind just being with him right now. I’m tired — he must be too. We could go home, get in bed and sleep. Then, tomorrow, we could fuck until we’re incoherent.

  But instead, Pierce slips a hand into my leggings, feeling my ass with his cold, gloved fingers. A shudder runs
through him, and a shiver through me.

  Okay, this is kinda hot. Different, but hot. I can play this game.

  “You fucking perv, you can’t do this.”

  He slips his hand out of my pants and paws at my breasts, pinching my erect nipples.

  “Let me go, asshole,” I growl, trying to break out of his grasp.

  In response, he clutches me harder and swats my ass. Hissing my invective, I rub at the spot, savoring the hot tingle.

  Enjoying this new game, I find ways to fight back a little — I drag my heels, scraping the sidewalk, or I’ll grab a lamp post and refuse to let go. I’m careful not to draw attention to us, and in my neighborhood, there aren’t many other pedestrians out this late.

  It takes us a few blocks, to get where we’re going: a silver Lincoln Town Car. Pierce doesn’t take it out often — most of the time he’s carting around heavy recording equipment, so he drives his truck. I’ve only been in this car a few times — usually as part of some kinky game. One time he tied me up and gagged me in the front seat and just drove around the city. We got more than a few odd looks that night; I have the multi-angle dash cam footage to prove it.

  Considering our past games, I’m not surprised to see the Lincoln. When Pierce pops the trunk, however, I begin to freak out.

  “No no no, that’s crazy.”

  Pierce pulls from his pocket a pair of handcuffs and slaps the first around my wrist. I try to jerk away but he’s too quick, swinging my arm behind my back and torquing it harshly. I wince, not as used to this form of pain, giving him the opening he needs to pin me against the hood and cuff my other wrist.

  “Dammit, Pierce, this is insane!”

  He shushes me again and smacks my rear once more. For good measure, he gets out a white cloth, crumples it up and stuffs it in my mouth. He drags me over to the trunk, retrieves a roll of duct tape and rips off several long pieces. Using all of them, he covers my mouth from ear to ear.

  Then he grabs my head and angles it toward the open trunk, pointing with his other hand.

  I try to complain through my gag, but it’s no use. He’s not listening to me. I could give the three head turns signal, the alternative to my safe word, but I don’t. This new game is bizarre and maybe a little dangerous, but my pussy throbs with need.