by JR King
I couldn’t stop the yes whimper from chocking out of me. Wanting to kick myself in the guts for the residual attraction that was burned in my brain, I swallowed. “P-please, I’m cold.”
With that, he turned and reached for a fresh towel. He made it abundantly clear that I would only worsen my living conditions if I tried to do something silly, like hurt myself. A dangerous look in his eyes told me he was the sort of man who was capable of just about anything. Capable of being sweet even, he dried my hair and put fuzzy white socks on my feet. I hadn’t been taken care of like this in years. I felt cherished. Pathetic, I know.
“There’s tea in the room and all your devices are connected to the wifi. In case you want to…go online.”
Each guess he’d made was correct. I slept with white socks and raided at night, with several cups of tea.
“If you try anything…you know you’d only hurt your family and friends if you did. I’d have to call Robert and I know you don’t want that.”
“No silly emails, no senseless phone calls, got it.”
“That’s my girl. Do you remember the boardroom?”
Heart pounding erratically, I colored and looked away. It’d be pointless to argue that the spanking had been abuse.
“She remembers getting spanked,” he chuckled lowly as he lit candles in glass votives. “There you go. Good night, sweetheart.” He arched his head in a curt bow.
“Good night, Alexander.”
I heard a faint beep as he ambled out of the room.
A pervasive feeling of disappointment hit me. Dismayed by his departure, I examined my situation. Even though I felt homesick, enjoying the 1000-count sheets wasn’t a crime. To that unshakable end, I called my grandparents. I noticed there was a static two-second gap in data reception. Funny that, this time-delay relay and my seclusion didn’t bother me, I felt taken care of. After a pleasant chat, to which Alexander certainly had listened no less, I texted JR, told him I was ready to tank the raids of the newly released Cataclysm. 40-man mode.
I logged on, and tank I did. Felt like shooting fish in a barrel. We used Vent and TeamSpeak to raid, and I asked JR to join me on a private channel in TS. I told him I’d considered surprising him with a visit, but it hadn’t worked out. The wifi never ceased functioning. That’s when the Crazy 88 came to mind. Fight or accept my fate?
Do I look dumb to you?
Wholly ignoring the locked door, I tried to solo Mobius for the From Hell’s Heart I Stab At Thee achievement. Kiting him, and even with a hunter and a tanking pet, was a real pain in the ass, so I called in the cavalry—JR and Co—and aced the achievement.
You sound so hot, one of the boys commented. Single?
I’m not, I told him.
Truthfully, the take-charge kidnapping had manifested the intended effect of chipping away my need to fight Alexander. I’d been so alone after Christmas, sad and depressed over not seeing him, that now it was an actual relief to find out he was a little obsessed with me.
Fuck WoW, you already know what game I was going to play, don’t you?
Alexander Turner
The Good Sadist
Mindlessly, the pad of my thumb ran laps around the smooth rim of the lace double Waterford Crystal tumbler. I swallowed another hefty shot of whiskey, my favorite coping skill. See, I wasn’t thinking about the glass in question, or the tan liquid swirling in it, I was thinking about pouring a favored Oriental Essence almond oil over Elena’s back. My hands were centered on her behind, rubbing oil into the taut cheeks until they gleamed, and coating my cock with oil to ease the slide of my shaft into the small, puckered hole I preferred to fuck. Pressing so forcefully she’d cry out and beg for mercy. That’s me—all fucked up.
I stood by her door for a long time. I wanted to unlock it and comfort her, promising she’d be treated well. This was something that had to be done to ease my conscience.
I headed to my bedroom in the hopes of passing out, stopping every six steps to talk myself out of returning to Elena. It took what seemed like hours to make it to the bed. My emotions were a rollercoaster of anger, regret, lust, and relief; an inner turmoil that even a skilled psychologist and alcohol wouldn’t treat. I’d burned bridges all right, but I was also building that one bridge.
Not single, Elena told some douchebag who was gaming with her. Goes without saying that I felt guilty each time I conjured up the memory of hitting her, but my cock hardened all the same. Her vulnerability and defenselessness spoke to the sadist within me. He—not I—wanted to sleep next to her, touch her, feel her warm skin, and use her body. He was very dangerous.
When Elena was done chatting with JR on the private channel a second time around, I turned the volume up on the iPad and made sure it was charging before turning in. It was a restless sleep, filled with images of Elena’s naked, wet body. She looked so pink and clean, her whole face flushed. Her breasts were less tanned than the rest of her, her nipples crinkled and screwed into tight little balls of dark flesh. They looked like plump berries I wanted to sink my teeth into.
My hands were reaching for flesh and found cold sheets where her warm skin should have been. A listless rasp pulled at me, and bestial sounds tore from my gut as I smeared my face into the pillow and imagined my brutal hands plundering her sacredness, bruising her, loving her. Engrossed in the sadist’s addiction, at first I thought the whimpers were part of the aural hallucination. Wailing cries registered in my mind as they echoed throughout the room. My hands reached for the iPad and unlocked the screen when the whimpers turned into tortured sobs. Familiar sobs. Elena was crying for real. I crawled out of bed and shuffled down the hallway, restraint carrying me. I lifted one foot and placed it in front of the other, told myself to put the beast to sleep, repeat, repeat, repeat.
I punched in the security code and yanked the door open. By some good luck, Elena was twisted in the covers, crying loudly, limbs flailing. I approached with dark satisfaction. My fingers sought out the covers and the sheets, clawing them, seeking, wanting to lay claim. Take her, I thought as a malevolence-filled flame climbed up the ridges of my spine. On the cusp of wreaking havoc, I managed to question myself. Should I cast aside my conscience? Should I clutch at it to save my soul? I lapsed into silence, and decided.
I craved eyebrow-scorching fear at the moment. I wanted to smell that particular scent on Elena. I wanted nothing else than to push apart her slender thighs and have her in the one way that a man unquestionably dominates a woman. I saw her face as I reached for her, creased like a distorted mask of agony and torment. I can’t, I whispered in the darkness, my fingers crawling up the back of my neck and raking across my scalp. I was literally tearing at my hair.
Do it!
Inadvertently landing myself in a sticky situation, I lost control of my actions, muscle memory and thoughts becoming slaves. My actions were involuntary, and yet, instead of rolling on top of her and forcing my cock into her, I carefully unwound the covers, dodging inconsequential shoves and scratches. The hushed slide of the sheets felt sensual as I scooped her body into my arms and cuddled her on my lap, rocking her back and forth. “Just a dream, baby girl. Just a dream.”
Elena’s sobs continued and developed into incoherent, slurred words, increasing the fear and distress in her voice. “He w-won’t let me…I-I must…help…her.”
“Shh. It’s okay,” I whispered, almost inaudibly. I rubbed her back with gentle, comforting strokes and repeated just a dream, just a dream over and over again. Of course I was plagued by warring emotions. I needed to protect her just as much as I needed to use her; nothing made sense anymore. Thrown between my need to consume her and my love for her, I realized my concern for her was simply an affliction. The famous Achilles’ heel. I wished to experience Elena falling apart a fraction because of nothing but me, an insufferable dominant with a slick collection of conked out fantasies. I wanted to reveal my dark nature, yet I didn’t have the heart to do it.
“It’s,” tears came out of the corners of
her eyes, her body racked with a violent sob, and she swallowed a subsequent one back, “you.”
I could feel my eyes narrow as my eyebrows slanted down. I lifted her chin, raising her tear-stained face. “Why’d you refuse me, Elena?” Flicking the bedside lamp on, I cradled her with one arm, stroking her hair. “Why defy me?”
Her eyes were glazed, fat tears falling down her cheeks. “Use…you’ll use and break…,”
My voice was buttery soft and almost as low as a whisper, “I’ll use you and give it back. I’ll put you back together, baby. Always. It’s called replenishment.” I leaned down to kiss her. Her lips tasted salty from the crying, so I worked on her tears, absorbing them the same way a desert plant hungrily takes in water.
The lowest possible moan crept into her voice, but she didn’t speak.
Delighting in her hair’s silky texture, I inhaled deeply to draw in her scent. Salty and flowery and deliciously feminine, a combination of soaps and creams and her unique body chemistry. My lips touched her damp hair, breathing in the sweet shampoo aroma mixed with the slightly sour smell of perspiration. I kissed her sweaty forehead, and waited. My mouth watered. Tears always tilted in favor of the sadist in me, appealing to my cunning side. If I had my druthers, I would explore every curve and hollow of her body, regardless of consent.
Elena kept murmuring but didn’t stir. Her long lashes that lay like dark crescents on her cheeks trembled less and less, her cries abated and she nuzzled into my chest, falling back into what looked like a calm sleep. I just held her, luxuriating in the sound of her soft exhalations and the feel of her warm skin pressed against mine. From time to time, she sniffled noisily, crinkling her snot filled nose. It was a shrill, gross noise, but also comical, causing me to smile. As I held her, a sense of peace gradually stole over me. Something about her presence seemed to calm my demons. In view of the fact that I felt tame anew, I decided to sleep with her. Not with her, beside her—ugh, you get the idea.
Elena Anderson
The Next Morning
A steady restfulness greeted me when I opened my eyes the next morning. I woke to ticklish, hot breaths against my neck that created pleasant goosebumps over my entire body. I tossed aside the sateen coverlet. Feeling groggy, attempted movements were delayed and weighed heavy, and my tongue felt rubbery. I eased into full consciousness sprawled on my stomach, limbs carelessly outstretched, toes wiggling in the air. My neck was a little stiff, but the throb at the back of my head was gone.
Alexander’s foot circled then rested against my calf. I admired his hulking body, listened to the slick pulse of his heart. Glimpses of his naked chest sent shivers rippling through me. I tested my movements and waited to see if he was awake. He seemed peaceful in his sleep, taking deep breaths and smiling.
I sat up and when I scanned the room, I realized the door was left open.
Dead man walking?
Unbidden, clarity rose like a white bubble from the bottom of a dark lake. Strategize, lay low, execute; I kept repeating to myself. Crying, or worse, feeling sorry for myself, weren’t viable options. Besides, an attempt at escape would be laughable at best. Alexander wasn’t an average Joe who spent his time doing amateurish things. With a CIA-level security system, I wouldn’t be able to open a window, let alone a door.
No, he wasn’t an average man…and he wanted me.
Okay.
I slid out of bed and grabbed my Carine Gilson kimono. Clothes were overrated, though, I felt beautiful. Last night’s hair brushing—even if disheveled—and the white socks made me feel pretty.
I tiptoed through the doorway and only then did I race down the sunlit hallway. What time did the staff come in? I wanted to visit the house before he’d lock me in the room again. The hallway seemed endless and, when I flew down the stairs like a poor man’s Scarlet O’Hara, dizziness caused my body to sway, forcing me to brace my body against the banister.
Reaching a hallway that led to a ginormous sunroom, I moved deeper into the house, entering what appeared to be an open sitting area with grandiose wall-size paintings, a large rug, heavy-looking Moroccan vases, huge windows, and more brass-studded leather furniture that spewed luxury. I made it across the room and went through a set of open French doors.
There it was, an enormous Italian kitchen. Looked like something right out of Architectural Digest. Opening and closing cupboards, I was drinking some well-deserved OJ a minute later. I gazed out the frost-edged kitchen window at the colorless expanse of snow-topped landscapes. A sunray peeked out the cloud-shrouded horizon, momentarily gilding the room before getting smothered behind turbulent gray clouds. The counters, I noted, were beige marble with a matching kitchen island and had stainless steel appliances, and the floor looked like it’d been hewed from a single sheet of marble. All white with gold veins running from wall to wall. It was sleek perfection, everything meshed together in a gross display of wealth and modern technology. A soft thud of a door closing established my poverty in the midst of this luxury.
“Elena!”
Christ, I was having such a good, quiet time. No way, I reasoned, he’s not going to lock me into a room. There was a large knife block on the island, right next to an even bigger cutting board. Knowing that this was my bargaining ticket, I grabbed the largest Scream prop you could imagine. I searched for an exit, lost my footing in the process.
I could see Alexander’s shadow growing on the floor, gaining on me. I’d run out of options, threat it was for him. He was taking his time, walking at a slow pace as if he had nowhere else to be and not a care in the world and, he was naked. That jinxed it. I was no longer rife with confidence, and now I was scared I’d cut myself with this horror movie knife.
Don’t look at his penis. Don’t look at his penis.
His nakedness was a curse, really. I couldn’t stop myself from sweeping my eyes over his lightly tanned skin, the lean musculature, the sprinkle of hair adorning his chest and his abdomen. He had the type of body you’d expect to spot not in an office but on the beach, clad in boardshorts and clutching a surfboard. I imagined his Adam’s apple bobbing in his stubble-shadowed neck as he glugged a bottle of Evian before upending it, emptying its remaining contents over his head. Shaking his head like a wet dog, he showered admiring bystanders with water droplets. Water coursed down the ridges of his abdomen, pinging off his body as if a halo of glittering diamonds were shattering around him.
Just when I thought he’d drop to do plank exercises, lateral lunges, oblique crunches, and single-leg squats, I heard, “Olly Olly oxen free.” He smiled the smile of a dangerous predator, the slight bob of his cock tempting. Mouth-watering.
My eyes flicked from his erection to his eyes, catching on the smile that tugged at his lips. A smile so Machiavellian that it made me shudder helplessly.
Alexander Turner
The Second Stabbing
Here’s what happened on Sunday, the day after I’d kidnapped Elena. Go figure, call it luck, I’m all out of ideas. But she and I started a relationship, if you can call it that…judge for yourself.
My eyes snapped open and I dragged a forceful breath into my lungs. I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up feeling this restful. I’d slept like a newborn baby, maybe even suckled a thumb. I lay there in the muted daylight, thinking. I felt rejuvenated, like a bear waking from hibernation. When my mother passed away, repose started eluding me. Then I went through the junkie period, which only made things worse, too many racing ideas. But now? It’s hard to explain or rationalize, but something about Elena seemed to soothe the beast within me. I wanted to feel the warmth of her body again and reached for her, only to find cold, rumpled bedclothes and fluffy pillows.
The litany of curses I exploded in would leave anyone wincing. I knew she was most likely wandering the house to find a means of escape. Not that she’d find any. This house was a fortress, and the security guards outside formed a veritable army, each one trained by Robert himself. To top it off, the house had bulletproof glass window
s, armored doors, and secret passageways led to a geothermal powered bunker that had a NBC shelter within its core. We could survive chemical threats, war, and natural disasters for months.
I stretched, glanced at the clock, and was grateful I had nowhere to be this morning. Initially, I’d planned to show Elena the property and go over the rules, not chase her down. Easing out of bed, I wished the night hadn’t ended. Since it was Sunday, my staff would only come in if I called them. I felt mischievous. I stayed naked and headed out to look for pretty girl. Not wanting to walk through the entire house, I kept calling out her name.
There it was, a clanking sound.
I found her standing in the kitchen, a perfect image that fit the polished aura of the glossy space. Elena’s body looked hot; raven locks messed up in that sexy model way, kimono wrapped loosely around it. Her stance looked ridiculous, classic like in a B-type of movie, it was awkward, robe splitting open as she slumped her shoulders, and she barely knew how to hold the weapon in her hand. Her slender legs danced, unsure of their footing. I wondered if my raging erection had something to do with it. I chuckled.
Probably it did.
“Olly Olly oxen free.” To reach my mouth, a smile fought me tooth and nail, winning. “Put the knife down, baby, I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. It’s just a red-flag, and now that I’ve seen it, put it down.”
Her hands shook uncontrollably and she tried to glare, but glassiness came to the surface. “I won’t stay locked in that room.” She managed to stop dancing, gripped the knife tighter, and lifted her chin in defiance.
“I never yield, Elena.”
“N-neither do I.” Her voice wavered in that moment, and I knew I had her. “Say the words.”
I wanted to laugh at her attempt, but stopped myself, not wanting to tease her further. I mean she was really trying to be so brave, I had to give her some credit for that. “Do you think you can physically hurt me, Elena? This isn’t a case of making up the rules as you go. Do you think you can cut my skin? Cause me to bleed? Slash a hole in my chest?”
