The Director

by Lily White

  He had a physique that was just one of the many weapons he carried in his sly, seductive arsenal.

  But what he didn't have was the ability to care about a woman because she'd given him full use of her body.

  This wasn't love we were making, it was the physical act of devouring each other with our rage, our violence and our hatred.

  Still, my body responded to that attack, my muscles rippling against the full stretch of his cock, gripping at him greedily as he drove himself deeper and harder inside me. And as the tidal wave I remembered came rumbling back, I realized far too late that it was ten times the size it had been before. I was overtaken with such force that I felt battered and torn to shreds by an orgasm that wouldn't stop coming on wave after crushing wave.

  My lips parted and I screamed his name, but as he joined me in his own violent release, his mouth crashed over my lips to stifle my scream, his body flinching against mine with each wave of pleasure that brought us both to our knees.

  We didn't talk for what felt like hours, our hearts and lungs struggling to regain a rhythm that was less than volatile overdrive. His forehead was against mine again, his eyes glaring with such fury that I shuddered beneath the force of it, but still found myself smirking.

  Words clipped and voice dangerously deep, he warned, "I should wipe that smirk right off your face."

  Wanting to laugh, I bit the inside of my cheek. There was never a moment with this man where I could drop my guard and believe he was joking.

  Seriousness replaced the hunger I'd seen in his gaze, his body still tight against mine when his hands squeezed harder, bruising my skin.

  Shredded apart by the next words he said, I learned that despite knowing I should never trust Ethan, I'd opened myself to his punishment anyway.

  "That shouldn't have happened, Emma. You have no idea how much trouble this can cause."

  Where there had been satisfied relief flooding me, panic now returned. "I don't care about trouble," I argued weakly.

  There was no mercy in his harsh, bitter voice when he answered, "You will, Emma. You have no idea how much, but you will."

  EMMA

  Nothing hurts more than waking up in your tormentor's bed.

  Ropes tied to each wrist and each ankle, I was spread apart, peering up to see that the other end of the ropes were tied to two horses. Peering down, I saw two more horses and screamed inside myself to understand that each of those horses was walking off in a different direction.

  Each stamped hoof was a reminder of my betrayal. Each huff of air over the bits between their teeth was a whispered accusation. Each painful tug was a part of myself being pulled in a direction intended to rip me apart slower. And the four horseman planted firmly on their strong steeds were happy to dance within the apocalypse inside me, all too pleased to inflict pain on my body and mind, my heart and my soul, as I was torn asunder by the stark, bitter truth of what I'd done.

  I'd willfully had sex with Ethan Cole. The Director. The man who didn't so much as blink an eye at the pain and degradation, the torture and humiliation, of countless women led through his doors, all for the pursuit of his art.

  Not only had I slept with him, I'd demanded it, even when he'd warned me in no uncertain terms that I would regret the decision, that by allowing him inside me, I would only invite more trouble into an existence that was no longer mine.

  But beyond those two bitter pills I was now struggling to swallow, was the most bitter of all, a pill so large it would choke me on the way down, never dissolving once it finally hit my stomach:

  I'd enjoyed having sex with Ethan Cole. Not just enjoyed it, I'd found such a significant release in the feel of his body moving with mine that I'd stopped giving a damn about the lives of the people he hurt just so my mind could find a few minutes of freedom in one of the most passionate experiences of my life.

  What the fuck had I done?

  It was like waking up the morning after you'd drank far too much alcohol to find a man beside you whose name you didn't know. Your hand reaches over to feel the warm body of a stranger, unsure what he looks like, how you met him, or if you'd used protection while stripping down to the most intimate parts and allowing him to shove his cock inside you.

  Except, for me, there was no warm body beside me. The bed was empty except for the soft, warm blankets brushing against my skin. The sound of soft, rhythmic breathing from a stranger was absent, replaced by the murmur of an argument between two men.

  Ethan's voice I recognized, the other, not so much.

  "This isn't what I asked for. What stupid son of a bitch decided to cut the best part?

  “We thought it was too graphic.”

  “Too graphic? For who? The men who cash their measly paychecks each week and spend it on all this tired material we keep giving them?”

  “The studio heads...” The other man started to argue, his voice cut off by a loud crash of metal and glass.

  Silence. Beat by anticipatory beat.

  I will deal with the studio heads, Brent. But until then, you will remind every person who touches this film that it is me they answer to first.

  I recognized the danger in that deceptively calm, soft voice.

  An intelligent woman would have remained in the warm bed. She would have curled to her side and pulled the blanket tight, would have tugged a pillow over her head to block out the voices drifting in like whispers from the adjacent room. I was not that intelligent woman. As usual, my curiosity had come crawling up to poke me with its skeletal finger, incessantly tapping until I wanted to scream with frustration. Unable to ignore it, I pushed to sit on the side of the bed, pressed my bare feet against the rug beneath me, and stood up on legs that were still sore from the shower.

  It was just another shot of jagged, cutting betrayal to enjoy that soreness between my legs.

  Finally standing, I took furtive steps toward the bedroom door. My fingers slid down the cool wood to land on the handle, my ear pressing against the surface to see if the men had gone silent or if they were simply speaking in hushed tones quiet enough for their voices to no longer travel.

  Hearing nothing, I turned the handle until the door popped open. Pulling it slowly, I angled my body and peeked out from behind. Ethan and a man I didn't recognize stood watching a monitor, their expressions pulled taut with concentration. It didn't matter whether Ethan was in front of a stage or a screen, he took the same stance: arms crossed, feet planted shoulder width apart...watching with unwavering focus.

  The hinge of the door creaked as I pulled it open just a fraction more. Ethan's stark gaze snapped up, his grey eyes like storm clouds with lightning streaking silently inside them. There was no warmth within that gaze. It was cold, callous and hollow.

  "If you're going to spy," Ethan said, his voice a seductive rumble of thunder to match the lightning in his eyes, "you might as well walk in and watch what's been done with your newest film."

  The man beside him - Brent, I assumed - physically startled to see me standing in the doorway. Brown eyes rounding where they were set above chubby, ruddy cheeks, he struggled not to look between Ethan and me, for what reason I wasn't sure. Winning his internal battle, he did the sensible thing of returning his attention to the screen.

  "I don't want to see it," I whispered, a tremor of anger coursing through me to collide with my disgust.

  Raising a single eyebrow, Ethan answered, "I don't recall giving you much of a choice."

  "I'm naked," I weakly argued, the sudden modesty an odd and unshakable constraint inside me despite everything I'd already gone through in this place.

  Unconcerned, his eyes returned to the monitor, his voice matter of fact, "Get out here now, Emma. Before I drag you out."

  What had I expected? Why did I feel the sting of his insistence that I walk into that room to be fully exposed to another man? It wasn't like I'd not endured this humiliation before. But yet, after what happened between us...

  "Now, Emma."

  What ridiculous
transformation had I expected? That Ethan would have grown a soul just because I'd given him my body?

  I was so stupid.

  This was the reason for my mask of indifference, for the actress he'd always accused me of being - this callousness inside him, this blatant and grueling lack of heart. Stepping out, I donned that mask again, understanding fully that what had occurred between us after I'd finished filming had been a momentary, fleeting glimpse of the man he could never be.

  Ethan's eyes tracked me as I crossed the room to stand by his desk. Brent's eyes were studiously kept to the monitor that was turned to them and away from my line of sight. I didn't begrudge my inability to see what horrible images were glowing from that screen.

  Cruelty flickered through his gaze, as dangerous as the lightning that had flashed earlier. "Come around and watch the film."

  "No," I answered, my heart racing over that one syllable. It didn't matter what horrible acts Ethan forced me to do on that stage. I was numb at those moments, fighting for my life. It didn't mean I had to stand there and watch it while he got hard all over again.

  His head canted to the side, gaze narrowing, the line of disapproval drawn deeper between his eyes. "Are you disobeying me?"

  The question struck against my bones, hitting deep, jarring me until I felt its malicious sting within every cell, felt it pulse with every heartbeat. Even poor Brent had felt the echo of it, his body tensing beneath wrinkled clothes that were a pathetic contrast to the tailored, and perfectly pressed clothes covering Ethan's sleek body.

  I didn't answer, but Ethan did. "On your knees."

  Eyes rounding, the line between our eyes matched, but where confusion had drawn mine, callous reprimand deepened his.

  "Now," he reminded me softly.

  Shivering against the absence of heat, the threat of punishment, the promise that Ethan would take a bad situation and make it unbelievably worse, I understood well the trouble he'd warned me I'd invited.

  It wasn't clear what he intended for me to do on my knees, but whatever it was couldn't be worse than watching a film that would force me to fear myself as much as I feared him in that moment.

  Lowering myself down, I refused to break our stare as my knees pressed against the painfully solid stone floor.

  Ethan's lips curled with cruel satisfaction, his voice mocking. "Brent, you put up with a lot working for me, wouldn't you agree? It can't be easy listening to the constant criticism, enduring the fits of anger when a film is disappointing."

  Brent tensed more, his gaze pinned on nothing in order to avoid looking at either Ethan or me. Clearing his throat, he answered, "I'm sure I deserve -"

  "We're not discussing the merit of my criticism. Simply the emotional and physical effect it has on you."

  "It's rough," Brent finally admitted. It was clear by the tremor in his voice, he feared Ethan as much as me.

  "I don't show enough appreciation, I think. Not when you work so tirelessly to meet my demands." Ethan's lips stretched wider, a threatening smile edged with malice. Breaking our stare, he glanced at the man standing beside him before angling his head toward me. "Why don't you let her help alleviate some of the pressure? She's very generous and compliant, I can promise you that."

  The ruddy complexion of Brent's skin whitened, his eyes darting to the monitor as his throat worked to swallow. Voice shaky, he asked, "Her? Will she-?"

  Despite my fury and disgust at what I knew Ethan was doing, my lips twitched with sardonic humor. I hoped whatever frame was frozen in place on that monitor was a candid, close-up shot of what I'd done to my last attacker's head.

  "You have my assurance she'll behave. I suggest you enjoy her before she's returned to the cages," Ethan said far too gently, ending the conversation as he refocused his attention on the screen.

  Ignoring the trepidation he felt, Brent's eyes slid down my body, a familiar want lighting his gaze. I swallowed against the bile crawling up my throat to see his hunger, his need, his lack of concern that the woman staring back at him didn't have the ability to say no. Absently, his hand slid to his crotch, adjusting a cock that was suddenly uncomfortable against his pants.

  My stomach heaved as betrayal slid down my spine doused in icy drops of Ethan's abusive contempt.

  Decision made, Brent approached me, the caution in his steps matching his eyes. When I sneered, he paused, unsure of whether to continue his slow walk.

  "She'll comply," Ethan reminded him again. Body leaned over with a hand braced on the desk, Ethan wrote something on a piece of paper before lifting his eyes. "She has every reason to cooperate. Don't you, Emma?"

  His subtle reminder of our terms were heard loud and clear.

  Brent reached me and licked his lips. His hesitance wasn't the shame he should feel for using a girl against her will, it was more his fear that his cock would be noticeably absent after sticking in the mouth of a killer. I bared my teeth to drive home that particular visual and he winced.

  "One scrape, Emma, and our arrangement ends, effective immediately."

  My mind struggled to understand what Ethan was doing, why now he chose to treat me so indifferently when he'd never done so before. No longer the man I knew in the moments we'd spent alone, he'd returned to the cold, unfeeling asshole staring back at me in the cages while another woman was being raped around the corner.

  The sound of a zipper sliding down was a whisper on the air, the scent of anticipation wafting against my nose as a revolting perfume of body sweat and delicate fear.

  Averting my gaze from the cock being stroked in front of me, I locked it on Ethan instead. His focus settled on some new paper on his desk, his fingers lifting the corner to read the page beneath. I knew that although he appeared otherwise unaffected, he was still paying attention, still scrutinizing every detail of my displeasure.

  It was in his nature to watch.

  The head of Brent's cock pressed against my lips, a sound of popping suction filling the air when I opened my mouth and allowed him to slip it in.

  Eyes still pinned to Ethan, I didn't miss his slight smile. "Be sure to swallow, Emma. Men like that."

  He didn't bother to meet my stare while giving his casually spoken suggestion. My eyes narrowed, but I still sucked Brent's cock like a good little girl, the terms of our agreement echoing in my head with the warning that there were other people my defiance would hurt.

  I had to keep swallowing to prevent vomiting on Brent's dick. I'm not sure he minded the effort, if his disgusting moans above my head had anything to say about. Several times I considered snapping my teeth together and smiling with unfettered glee as blood trailed across my lip and Brent pulled away as a eunuch. But doing so wouldn't punish the man responsible for this degrading moment, it would only give him cause to punish me in return. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

  Brent's fingers gripped in my hair as his hips began thrusting. I had to open my mouth, widen my throat so he didn't choke me in the process. Fortunately, the fat fuck didn't last long and the release that exploded down the back of my throat was flavored by Ethan's contempt.

  My eyes shot to Ethan as I moaned at the bitter taste. As I knew he would, he stood watching, anger coloring his gaze and casting lines of discontent at the corners of his eyes. That flare of emotion may not have meant much to any other person, but it meant something to me.

  Had I found Ethan's advantage? I tested the waters to see.

  Opening my mouth, I blinked up at poor Brent and fought not to laugh at the love I saw behind his eyes. One blowjob and this man would have licked my feet just for the chance at another. I could work with that.

  A quick bat of my lashes was followed by a coy grin. "Would you like to take me in the bedroom next so I can show you just how generous and compliant I am?"

  "That won't be necessary."

  Bullseye...

  Ethan's words may have seemed innocent enough, but the rough edge of rage in his voice wasn't. That wasn't the sound of a man dismissing some extraneous de
cision, it was the sound of a man only willing to share his toys on his terms, the possessive tone of a king laying claim to his kingdom.

  "Brent, you can leave. Have the footage added back to the film exactly as I wanted and then bring it for me to see."

  "Yes, sir." Voice mousy and quiet and shoulders hunched, Brent practically scrambled from the room.

  I heard the click of plastic before Ethan's deep voice ordered, "Send a guard to my suite."

  I remained on my knees inwardly smiling at this newfound understanding. Unsure how I could use it, I took a page from Ethan's playbook and filed it away for future introspection. As it was, I didn't have much time to mull it over before a door opened at my back and the booted steps of a guard stepped through.

  Ethan didn't look at me again. "Take this woman to the cages."

  ETHAN

  The guard walked Emma out of the room following closely at her back, his gun clenched tight to his chest. Everybody had become on edge around her after word quickly spread of what she had done to that man on stage.

  But it wasn't fear I felt when I looked at her, it was something far more dangerous, far more tragic than that.

  As far as I was concerned, Emma was nothing more than another prisoner to the studio. And she would remain that way until...

  My eyes closed heavily before opening again on the paused image of her with weapon in hand ready to crush in the skull of a man twice the size of her.

  It was better this way. Better that she didn't know.

  EMMA

  A week passed, maybe two or three, I wasn't positive. Time had a way of blending together in this place, the diet and constant temperature changes exhausting my body to the point of lethargy and remote apathy. It was a never-ending repetition, a constant Groundhog's Day spent repeating the same horrors, same tragedies, same bitter defeats. Not even the theater affected me anymore.

  True to his word, Ethan didn't use Melanie in another film. I couldn't say the same for the rest of the women, but there weren't enough of me to bargain away for their safety and peace of mind as well. I had to take solace in the fact that I could help at least one, and I also had to distract from the odd questions and difficult answers when Melanie brought it up.