And then the unthinkable happens.
On the third night, Agent Sansky comes to my door. She is surprisingly unaccompanied.
“Come,” she says.
“Where?” I’m immediately wary.
“There’s something I want you to see.”
I look around for my usual minders in the cold grey corridor, but they are conspicuously absent. Has she sent everyone away? Or is it merely night and they have gone home to their families? They don’t seem like the type of people to have families . . . but you never know.
I guess there will be no one to see me punch her in the face.
Perhaps she intuited what I was thinking, because she crisply says, “Hold out your wrists.”
“Why?”
She takes out a pair of handcuffs.
*
Thus cuffed and suitably chastised, she leads me down the corridor. We encounter no one. We enter a room with a huge glass window that looks out into another room. It reminds me of a police interrogation room.
Agent Sansky turns on the lights. There’s a chair fronting the window, which I now realize is a two-way mirror.
“Sit.”
I’m not going to like this, I’m certain, but I obey anyway. She cuffs my wrists to the back of the metal chair. Then she turns off the lights and closes the door behind her. I hear the soft hiss of a computerized lock.
Great. I won’t be able to get out of here unless I have a valid fingerprint.
The room beyond is an examination room. They sure have plenty of those in this place, which makes me suspect that they dissect people on a regular basis. The table is a metal slab, and there are monitors and medical paraphernalia everywhere.
A sudden apprehension descends onto me.
They are not going to wheel in Don’s moribund and dissected body before my very eyes, are they?
I begin to hyperventilate. Surely they wouldn’t hurt Don? He’s their most precious asset from the whole goddamned Oz or whatever they want to call it experiment. But they have taken biopsies off his flesh. What if they needed to go deeper to study firsthand how his organs work? What if they wanted to find out the secret of his speed?
Is that why he hasn’t been to see me?
Keep calm, I scold myself. You’re not helping Don by panicking. I’m not sure how I can help Don in any way, given my current state, but it certainly would not help my case if I break down or freak out now.
I must have spent twenty minutes forcing myself to breathe deeply in the dark, so much that I see green zigzags on my retinas. Then the other room is suddenly flooded with bright light. The operating lamps have been turned on overhead.
“Go in,” I hear Pamela Sansky say.
Don enters, looking simultaneously puzzled and scared. Relief washes over me in a tide. To see him alive, intact and as gloriously handsome as before shreds away all my fears away . . . until it hits me that I have yet to find out what she brought him in here for.
“I want to see her,” Don demands.
My heart leaps.
“Maybe if you’re on your best behavior, you’ll get to see her. Unharmed.” Agent Sansky lets the barely veiled threat linger. “Now I want you naked. Take off your clothes.”
Oh God. She wouldn’t. No.
My nightmares are becoming real.
“Don!” I scream at the mirror. I rock myself against the chair, but my handcuffs bind me securely to it.
His eyes pass over me and flicks away. They return to Agent Sansky. I realize he can’t see or hear me.
“Why?”
“Because I want to see you naked.”
“You have seen me naked.” His jaw is set in a determined line.
Agent Sansky sighs. “I don’t want to repeat what I can do to your girlfriend if you don’t do what I say.”
“I told you. I want to see her before I do whatever it is that you want me to do.”
“Don’t make this difficult, A21.”
“My name is Don.”
“Take off your clothes. This is the last time I’m going to say it.”
Don’t do it, Don, I will him.
He stares at her for a prolonged, resolute moment, and then his shoulders droop. Sighing, he peels off his T-shirt. Despair engulfs me. Utilizing all my strength, I attempt to hop with my chair to the mirror. My movements are stilted and feeble.
“Don!” I call out in vain. Tears squeeze out of my eyes.
His magnificent torso gleams in the overhead lights. The planes of his abs are a sight to behold. He reaches for the zipper of his jeans. Agent Sansky watches him with the same abstract fascination as when she viewed me in the gynecological chair a couple of days earlier. He is not wearing any underwear, and so his marvelous cock – which is thankfully not erect – uncurls itself from its resting state.
Don drops his pants, and then bends over to ease his feet out of his shoes. Finally naked, he is the most splendid creature I have ever seen.
Pamela Sansky seems to think so too from the admiring and lusty look on her face. She’s a beautiful woman. I cannot deny that. I wonder if Don thinks so too.
Something in my chest wrenches.
“Put your hands behind your head. Then turn around. I want to look at you.”
She’s intent on humiliating him the way she humiliated me.
His movements are burdened and reluctant every step of the way. He seems to be fighting some sort of internal warfare within himself. Then he complies, placing both hands at the back of his skull, like a prisoner of war. Pamela Sansky scrutinizes his body with both the curiosity of a scientist and the desire of a bitch in heat.
I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from screaming when she moves in to touch him. Her fingers pinch his nipples, making them swell and stand up. They run down the planes of his ripped abdomen – which resembles a perfectly sculptured piece of plate armor. They grope his fine shaft of a penis, and this is where she starts to slide her palm up and down his flaccid rod. There is no question that she wants to arouse him.
Don swallows, the Adam’s apple on his throat visibly moving like a mouse running up and down. It’s clear on his face that he is uncomfortable about this. My fists wring themselves behind the chair in their handcuffed state. I led him to this. I provoked her into displaying her power over us, and Don is now her unwilling victim.
Smiling, Pamela Sansky (I can never think of her as a mere Pamela) continues to pump him into a state of erection. I suppose men can’t help themselves. They are creatures of sensation. As she does so, her other hand wanders to his balls and squeezes them.
Don’s chest rises and falls.
He is finally erect. His gorgeous cock stands at attention, so huge that when Pamela Sansky slaps it unkindly to his abdomen, it reaches his belly button.
“Very nice,” she pronounces. “So this is what you’ve been sticking into her.”
“What do you want of me?” He is glum.
“I want a little piece of that action. You have the ability of a fucking machine,” she replies, admiration in her voice.
“You’ve spied on us,” he accuses.
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m not going to fuck you.”
The agony within me is excruciating. I know how hard Don is resisting, but I also know that her threats about me will ultimately win him over. So she wants me to watch. She wants to torture me this way.
“Unless you want to visit pain unto her, you have no choice.” She takes off her jacket, and then her skirt.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me. I don’t even have to go through the traditional methods. All it takes a needle, a syringe, some really potent drugs, and she will be putty in my hands.”
“You’re going to have to drug me to get me to fuck you.”
“Oh no, I don’t, and you know it. Stop talking. It doesn’t improve you.”
She’s wearing black lacy panties, and she slides this off, revealing a reddish thatch of fur. Her blouse is still on. She pl
aces her buttocks on the edge of the examination slab and opens her legs.
“Now fuck me,” she commands.
“Don!” I cry again. But I know it’s futile.
His muscles are all tense and his face is a mask of pain. Moving as though he is in a vat of molasses, he goes towards her. She inches her buttocks in a little farther and spreads her thighs wider. He’s very close to her now at the edge of the table. He grabs his cock and places its proud head at the opening of her gaping vagina.
Something in me dies. I taste my own salt tears on my lips but make no move to lick them away.
“I hate you,” he declares.
“Don’t be a child. Shove it in.”
Something on his beautiful face shifts. “And maybe you made a mistake.”
With a movement quicker than lightning, he grabs her neck. Before she can cry out, he does something that I can’t really see to a certain point in her neck, and she collapses like putty onto the table.
My heart is pounding in my ears. He hasn’t killed her, has he? Though I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I would kill her myself. But there’s a slow rise and fall to her chest as she lies comatose on the table with her legs dangling over the edge.
Don goes to her jacket and searches its pockets.
“Don!” I cry. He won’t know where I am unless I do something.
He retrieves her gun and several other objects that I can’t really discern. Then he quickly dresses, pulling on his jeans, T-shirt and shoes which have all been dropped onto the floor in crumpled heaps.
I have an idea.
Using every ounce of my strength, I hop towards the door. It’s an excruciating process, and my wrists jerk with pain against the cold steel of the handcuffs every step of the way. By the time I manage to inch myself there, Don is fully clad in the clothes he came in.
“Don!”
He still can’t hear me.
With the soles of my feet, I try to batter the door down. But it’s solid metal and possibly made to resist people like me.
“Don!” I scream. “Don, Don, Don!”
I kick and kick at the door, succeeding in making a godawful cacophony that would probably bring every agent in the vicinity down upon us.
Don disappears from view as he heads for his door.
I escalate my banging and screaming.
“Don! Let me out!”
Scrapes of something metallic ensue outside.
“Jean?” I hear Don’s frantic voice.
“Don!” I almost weep with relief. “Please let me out.”
“I . . . I don’t have the security clearance.” He sounds desperate. “Wait. I know what to do.”
The seconds tick by dreadfully slow. I can see him as he runs back to the room and bodily hauls Pamela Sansky off the table. Her head rolls back like a rag doll’s as he carries her out of the room. I really hope she isn’t dead. I know it’s foolish of me to want to believe Don has never killed anyone in his life – especially if he had been some sort of captain in his crimson world – but I just don’t want to witness it firsthand.
I wait a few more bloodcurdling moments until the door slides open. I reckon he used Pamela Sansky’s fingerprint on the scanner.
“Jean,” he cries, anguished.
I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life as his shining face. He quickly unlocks my handcuffs with the metal stick key that he found in Pamela Sansky’s clothes.
“We don’t have much time,” I say. “I think I made too much noise.”
“Let’s go.”
We bolt out of the passageway, leaving Pamela Sansky’s half-naked body on the floor beside the door of the viewing chamber. I’m worried about slowing Don down.
“Where are we going?” I ask breathlessly as my legs pump as fast as they can to keep up with Don.
“I’ve studied this building or at least the places they let me access. And I think I know a way.”
We round a corner, and come face to face with several agents with cocked guns at the other end of the passageway.
“Oh shit,” I say.
Don pulls me away. He squats down quickly.
“Jean, get on my back.”
“Wh – ?”
“Do it.”
I put my arms around his neck from behind and wrap my legs around his waist.
“OK?” he says.
“OK.”
As the agents dash around the corner, Don takes off. I thought I would be prepared for the ride that follows, but I was wrong. The corridor walls rush at me at blinding speed. I have to cling to Don with every scrap of strength I have, and he seems to sense this too because he clutches my legs to his waist. A projectile zings past us. I turn, and see another agent heading us off.
Don pivots and hurtles down yet another featureless corridor. My head is whirling and my vision threatens to go blank. I’m in a sheer state of disequilibrium, as though I’m in a rollercoaster that I have not prepared my stomach for.
Wall after grey wall whisk by. We careen past ‘Restricted’ doors, ominous labs and mysterious storage areas. More agents pop out of the steelwork and fire their projectiles at us. One such projectile strikes a wall above my head, missing me by mere inches. Instead of coring out a hole in the wall, it slides off and falls to the floor instead. I turn back to gaze upon it.
It’s not a bullet, but a dart.
I’m guessing it’s drugged. Meant to bring us down, not kill us.
I don’t know what will happen to us if we are caught. From the way he’s picking up velocity, Don seems to realize this too. He zooms straight for a blank wall. I almost cry out, thinking he’s gone mad, but he leaps for a grill at the top, using the wall as leverage in some sort of superhuman feat, and tears it off.
We dive into the square opening that is revealed. And we are inside the air vent.
“Keep your body pressed to mine and your head down,” Don warns me.
As if I wouldn’t. The passageway is very low and I am in danger of bumping my scalp against the ceiling. As we get farther and farther away from the corridor, the light dims until it becomes an almost absolute darkness.
Don crawls with alarming alacrity on his hands and knees. He’s like a spider. I don’t know if anyone can possibly follow us in this manner. I know I certainly can’t see anything beyond my nose, and even that is suspect. In a way, this helps to settle my heaving guts. I close my eyes, entrusting my entire being to Don. I have no choice. At least no tranquilizer darts seem to be hurtling after us now.
We travel this way for what seems like an eternity. Sometimes my sense of position is upwards, and other times it seems to be sideways. I have lost all sense of where we are. I’m only conscious of my own weakening arms and legs around Don’s super-athletic body.
Finally, the passageway lightens. We reach the end of a tunnel that connects to the interior of a tall silo-like structure. Down below in its deep, deep bowels, I hear the churning sound of turbines. The wind here is very strong.
“Hold on tightly,” Don instructs me.
My strength is leaving me in droves, but I cannot let Don know that. I must not let him down.
“What’s wrong?” he says, sensing my weakening grip.
“Nothing.”
“Jean, don’t lie to me. You’re shivering.”
In concern, he puts me down on the floor of the tunnel.
“I’m not cold.”
“You’re shivering from fatigue,” he insists. “You need to rest.”
“We can’t rest. Leave me here, Don. You’re the one they want. Not me.” I’m so tired that I can only manage a whimper. I’m not sure he can even hear me above the shriek of the turbines.
“I’ll never leave you. I got you into this. I’ll get you out.”
He starts to take off his shirt.
“What are you doing?” A blurry part of my mind thinks he has gone mad. This is no time for lovemaking.
“Making do with what we have.”
He strips off his jean
s as well. His cock and balls bob against his muscled thighs.
“Now climb onto me again, Jean.”
I am too weak to do anything but obey. As soon as I get on, he throws his jeans around my body and his in a harness, and ties the legs in front of his waist. I’m layered against his back as tightly as he can get me. As for my wrists, he ties them together in front of his neck.
“Now you won’t accidentally drop off.”
A good thing he did this, because he doesn’t prepare me for what happens next. He leaps into the silo.
I scream – an ear-splitting sound that must certainly jar his eardrums – before I realize that we are not falling. His hands and feet are gripping the metal rungs embedded in the wall. I was so dazed that I hadn’t even seen them. He is vaulting us up, up and up the wall of the silo – away from the awful rotors down below and into the night sky above.
We finally reach the blessed top. The moon is full and bathes us in her glorious radiance. The stars shine brightly down onto our heads. I look down, and my heart almost falls out of my mouth. The entire ‘silo’ is embedded in a rocky cliff.
We teeter on the edge of a precipice that falls away into the roaring waters below.
Just where the hell are we? I’m not aware we are anywhere near the coast. Unless this is one of the Great Lakes.
Don stands at the edge. Every muscle of his is tense. “Now, Jean, I want you to be very brave. Don’t worry, all right? I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Take a deep, deep breath. And close your eyes.”
Oh shit.
Shit shit shit shit. He’s going to do it. He’s really going to do it.
I gulp in as much air as my lungs possibly can take.
“Ready?”
No, I’m not, I want to yell, but I’m too busy holding in my breath.
Don leaps off the cliff into the crashing waves far, far below. I close my eyes. The wind whistles in my ears as my hair is whipped. The air is choked with the smell of fresh water. I can’t feel my heart thudding anymore but for the furious bubbling of my blood.
The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense) Page 9
