by D W Marshall
When we step off the elevator we are in his apartment. “Wow, Logan. I love it.” We used to always talk about moving into a loft apartment in New York that had an elevator for a front door, and he found one in Los Angeles. His place is open and spacious with wood floors, a steel staircase, and stainless steel appliances.
“Just like we always planned.” He hugs me. “I know it is way out of my price range, but my dad got me a great deal. He is friends with the owner. It only has one bedroom, but it’s close to work and I couldn’t pass it up.”
“I love it.”
Logan and I sit at the eat-in island and dig into our burgers.
“So how do you feel about school?” he asks. “Are you sure you’re ready to go back?”
“I think so. I mean, unless you wanted to just leave here altogether. We could pack up and move to New York. I’ll bet this place would be easy to sublet.” I know he will never go for it. I’m not sure why I even said it. I’m not even sure I’m brave enough to just leave, even though a change of scenery may be just the thing I need. Besides, my college has a New York campus, so technically I can finish my degree there.
“What would we do for money? It’s too late to apply for campus housing, and that’s even if NYU would reconsider accepting me,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“I don’t think you or I have to worry about money anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“A year ago, I had a bank balance of eight hundred dollars. Now it’s more like four-million-eight-hundred. Well, more like two-point-six million, because of the money I already gave away.” I pull the envelope from my purse. “And this is for you.”
“How?” Logan asks me, even though I can see that deep down he already knows. His expression is questioning; his eyes reveal worry and judgement.
“I think you already know the answer to that question.”
“Why would he pay you?”
“He paid all of us—four million dollars each. It’s hush money, I guess. I don’t care. I have it, and I can’t give it back.”
His posture stiffens and he stares at me without so much as a word in answer and I immediately wish I could take it all back. I shouldn’t be surprised at his reaction; of course he would think it was wrong for me to accept this money. I imagine a lot of people would.
“You can’t keep it, Brinley. It’s bad money.”
I cross my arms over my chest in defense. Exactly what I wanted to avoid—any discussion about The Chamber. He has no idea what I went through while I was there.
“And what do you want me to do with it, Logan?”
“Anything. Donate it to charity.”
“I did do something.” I lurch forward. “I paid off my mother’s house. I took out enough money to pay all of your debt and Tabitha’s, and I invested in Taron’s business.” I reach for the envelope, pull out the check, and hand it to him.
He pushes it away.
“Are you crazy?” I ask. “I may not have asked for it, but I certainly earned it, whether I wanted to or not! I lost a year of my life. I was used for the enjoyment of others, passed around like a plaything. The least I can do is make sure life is easier for me and the people I care about.”
I walk away from Logan. I need some space. Deep down, I hoped he would be excited about the news. Well, maybe that’s too much to ask, but I hoped he would be open to the idea of using the money to start over. I flop down on his couch. “Listen, I didn’t come here to fight. Can we just agree to disagree for now? Kiss and make up?”
Logan sits down next to me and begins kissing me. “Consider it forgotten.”
And just like that, the elephant walks out of the room. His big ass is still in the house, but at least he is giving me some privacy for now.
“You don’t know how much I missed you. I thought I was never going to see you again,” Logan says between kisses.
All I can think about is what it will feel like to have him buried inside me. For a year, I was with nearly three dozen men. I hate that it happened to me, but how can I be expected to go back to the life of a celibate woman now? I have had countless orgasms at the hands of men I didn’t love, and now here I am in the apartment of the only man I have ever loved. I don’t care what he thinks about the money. I want him to pull down his pants. I want his erection to reach maximum length, and I want to slam my sex down onto his entire length and let it engulf me. I want to ride him into ecstasy. I want the man I love to erase all of those other men who violated me with each thrust. I want the first orgasm I have with Logan to be the most amazing I’ve ever had. It’s a tall order, but I have hope.
I return his kisses; my lips want every part of him. I lean back against the sofa and allow him a few moments of control as his tongue dances with mine. In keeping with our PG arrangement, Logan’s hands stay in the safe zone—caressing my hair, shoulders, and back.
Chicken.
“Logan,” I moan into his mouth. Our kisses deepen and become harder, faster, and more aggressive than ever. He grasps my hair and gives a gentle pull. He wants me.
In what I’m sure is a surprising display of aggression on my part, I decide to make my move. I have no idea how Logan will respond, but I do know that he is a man. And judging by his increased breaths and desperate kisses, he wants me, too.
I move forward—never taking my lips from Logan’s—until I am straddling him. The moan that escapes Logan’s lips comes from the back of his throat and gives me the confidence to move forward. He wants this. His growing erection heats my body to the core. My hands are everywhere—his hair, his throat, his chest. I bite his bottom lip. Another moan escapes me. I want him inside me now. For the last year, sex has been dirty, meaningless, painful, and scary. Actually, I can’t lie. There were times when it wasn’t any of those things. There were times when it was just fucking, plain and simple.
The Monster is an evil genius. As the strangers became more familiar, my body and my mind did what anyone else’s would: adapted. I spent my days with my sisters, and my nights being exposed to all manner of sexual experiences. Logan has the power to change everything. He can make sex about love in my mind and heart and normalize it for me. The idea of Logan buried deep inside me, loving all the memories away, is everything.
First, I need to get rid of our clothes. My hands slide under his shirt. I shudder at the feel of the sinews and grooves of his chiseled abs. All mine. Logan’s breathy moans tell me not to stop. His manhood growing beneath me pushes me forward. I’m going to explode with sensations. This is it. My hands slide out of his shirt and down below his waist. My hands find his erection. Oh my. I can’t wait. It feels full and meaty and overfills my hand. He lets me explore over the fabric of his pants.
“Oh my god, Logan,” I pant into his mouth. I grind my sex onto his erection and almost explode without skin-to-skin contact. “I want you so bad it’s hard for me to breathe. Make love to me, please. You have the power to heal me. I love you.” I beg him without breaking our kisses as I grind him with unfortunate expertise.
Logan’s tongue is aggressive in my mouth. I answer back. He rises up and flips me onto my back. He has taken position between my legs. I can see how much he wants me under his drunken, heavy lids. He is intoxicated with desire and I am going to combust. My hands grab his tight ass and pull his erection against my sex. My legs squeeze his body to mine. Any minute now, I will know him in every way. Logan leans down and kisses me. On the forehead.
What?
Just like that, it’s over.
“Maybe I should take you home, Brin,” he says.
The look on his face is one of disapproval and…anger? He sits up on the couch.
I feel like I’ve been doused with an ice bath. I scoot up on his couch with my back against the arm furthest from him. My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
Without another word, Logan stands and heads for the door. He grabs his keys on the way. “I can’t deal with all this…the dirty money.” He looks back at the couch,
and back to me. “And whatever that was back there.”
I take in a quick sharp breath. “But, Logan, you said—”
He throws a hand up, cutting me off. “Just, forget what I said.” He stares at me through cruel eyes. What exactly did I do to him to warrant this response?
I guess it’s time to go.
It takes everything I have to keep the tears inside me. There is nothing worse than rejection. Except this…silent rejection.
Don’t cry, Brin. Don’t cry. I don’t know what else to do in this situation. I feel like a jilted lover. My lip gets the worst of my fighting back tears. I worry it between my teeth. Be strong.
He doesn’t make eye contact with me during our tense ride down the elevator. We don’t speak, either. I was an idiot to think that I could fall back so effortlessly into my old life. Because my old life never changed. School is the same. I’m sure that when and if I speak to my friends, not much will have changed in their lives, either. My mom is still the hippie she was before I left. And Logan. He is still the same ambitious purist he was before I left. He would never have been with someone like me the way I am now. I’m no longer pure. I get it. He doesn’t want me anymore.
He opens the car door for me and I slide inside. Half of me wants to take a cab, rather than sit in quiet horror on the ride home. I don’t pay attention to the world outside anymore, even though my head is oriented in that direction. I simply don’t care. I will never feel free, anyway, so why bother? I’ve never wanted to escape my life more. When we pull up in front of my house, I barely give the car a chance to stop before I hop out and sprint to my front door. I don’t look back.
“Brinley!” he calls out to me.
I turn and he is holding the check out for me to take. With my head down, I speed walk to his car and take the check from his hand. He doesn’t even look at me when he peels away from the curb. The black BMW pulls into the spot Logan just vacated.
“Are you okay?” David asks, stepping out of the car.
I shrug. I can’t speak through the impending tears. I wave, turn, and rush to the door.
Mom isn’t home, and for that I’m thankful. I slam my room door shut and throw myself onto my bed. I hate everyone—The Monster, Logan, myself. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I don’t. Instead, I let the tears loose, along with deep, heavy sobs.
I know that I am forever changed. I can never go back. I cry for everything I’ve lost until I have no tears left. I allow myself to remember the night I decided to stop fighting The Chamber and embrace my new life there—to adapt.
10
The Chamber
We’ve been here about two weeks. My routine has been simple during the day. By day, we were college co-eds and life was glamorous—spa treatments with my sisters, swimming, working out with the personal trainers. By that point, we had all met the thirty-five lottery winners. They were all sexual deviants in one way or another, especially the guy Flame called “Mr. Creepy.” He was a complete freak and his nickname was well-deserved.
After our first night with our line-ups, all of us came up with names for them. Flame called them “her playlist.” Ivy called them “evil bastards.” Raven called them “the walking dead,” because from the very beginning she seemed to be plotting her revenge. Sapphire called them “lucky bastards.” Sky and Sunshine both called them their “worst nightmares.”
When Genesis came to get me that night, I wanted to die. I followed her up the winding staircase to my chamber, wondering how I was going to get through a night with seven men. The fact that only recently I had been relieved of my innocence meant nothing. As far as I was concerned, I still felt very much like myself. I was still an inexperienced virgin. I was not versed in the art of seduction, and I was marching to a chamber stocked with toys and apparatuses I had never seen in my life, not to mention the obscene clothes. I thought I would never be able to pull it off, and somehow it felt like my very life might depend on my ability to do so.
We got to my chamber, and I didn’t let my eyes land on anything. I continued to follow Genesis.
“I took the liberty of running you a hot bath,” she said.
“Thanks.”
The bathroom smelled like a floral bouquet. The scent of lavender, freesia, and roses filled the air. The scent was heavenly. I immediately dropped my violet-colored robe to my feet and climbed in.
“Wait,” Genesis said.
I stood in the tub, unsure of what she wanted from me. “Do you want me to get out?”
“No, love, I need to put salve on your little muff. You’ll need it for tonight,” she said, crossing the large spa-inspired bathroom. I cringed when I saw the already too-familiar jar of cream. It was comforting knowing that she wasn’t into me, but I would need much more time to get used to her touching me in such an intimate way. I widened my stance in the tub to grant her full access. I steadied myself by holding onto her arm so I didn’t slip. She scooped a healthy portion of the salve into her hands.
“You ready?”
“As ready as I will ever be. Maybe I should put it on myself.”
“What, and take away all my fun?” she teased as she spread the ointment around my outer lips.
She dipped two fingers inside my sex to spread the salve onto my walls. I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel wonderful. Genesis worked her nimble fingers in and out of my sex with expertise.
“Mmmm.”
She took another finger and went to work on my already excited clitoris. “Oh,” I said, squeezing her arm. “Mmmm.” My hips rolled in rhythm with her fingers of their own volition. She pushed harder and faster. My heart sped up, and I combusted around her fingers. “Ahhh!” I yelled out.
“I think you are ready for your bath.”
I didn’t say anything. I was out of breath and embarrassed. I sunk into the tub. So this is my life now? I thought.
“I am going to set up your chamber for the first visitor.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said as she walked out. I immediately submerged my entire body, head and all, under the water. I stayed there until I had no air left in my lungs. They started to burn, and I wondered if I was strong enough to stay just a little longer…just long enough.
I stayed under.
My head started spinning. I was drowning. My life, my terms.
Self-preservation won out and I dizzily shot up in the water. I gasped for air, coughing and sputtering.
“Are you okay, love?” Genesis rushed in.
“I think so. I guess it’s harder to drown yourself than I thought.”
“Violet,” she said, pulling a wooden stool beside the tub. “You will survive this. Yes, it is probably and hopefully the worst thing that will ever happen to you, but you will exit stronger on the other side. I promise.”
I coughed a few more times as my lungs greedily sucked in all the air they could. “Listen, I appreciate that you are trying to help me. You have been nothing but kind to me. But this is fucking insane, not to mention highly illegal. I’m not about to go run a marathon or take the bar exam. Those are hard things. This is me being raped five nights a week by strangers. This is me being kidnapped off the street. So excuse me if I need some time, or if I am scared to death, or angry, or even a little desperate, not to mention suicidal. Because I want out of here, Genesis. I don’t want to go out there and be treated like an animal.”
She rubbed my back. Then, in a move that was very comforting, she soaped up a sea sponge, and started bathing me. “I get it. I have never been in your shoes. I apologize for my enthusiasm. I forget that in the beginning this is a scary thing for you. It won’t always feel that way, and I promise, you will be set free in a short year. I also promise that you will not be treated like an animal. Your guard, Gabe, is right downstairs, prepared to monitor your entire evening. He is in place to protect you in the event that one of the men gets carried away. Mason runs a zero-tolerance chamber. Any form of violence is unacceptable. His hope is that this becomes enjoyable for all par
ties. So please stop trying to kill yourself.”
Two hours later, I was scrubbed clean. My hair and makeup were done. My first visitor in my line-up wanted me completely naked. With the addition of some well-placed extensions, my hair fell down my back in big, blonde curls. I wore thick, blood-red lipstick and my eyelashes were movie starlet-long and dark with mascara. I didn’t recognize myself when I glanced in the mirror, which was good, because I didn’t want to be the one going out there. I remembered what Sapphire said the night of the introduction party. “Be someone else. Embody the color, the ideal.” For the next year I would be an actress hired for a cable network show in which I would play the role of a porn star.
In my chamber, a spotlight was shining down on the pleasure pony and a chair had been placed in front of it. Damn. The man’s face was slightly hidden in the shadows.
“My, my, my, Violet. You are a goddess,” he said.
I didn’t respond, because I didn’t have the first clue of what to say to him. ‘Thank you’ seemed awkward in this moment. Since I had nothing nice to say, I decided to say nothing.
I walked up to the pleasure pony. Immediately, I regretted not practicing on it like Sapphire suggested. She was made for this life. She loves her chamber. At least that’s what she told us. I envied her confidence.
The pleasure pony was already prepared for me and switched to the ‘on’ position. The enormous penis attachment was fastened and glistening with warm lube. I used the foothold to climb on.
