by Matt Shaw
It’s quiet. Thank God. Just the usual night-time worker who’s normally too tired to even acknowledge me. She’s the replacement after young Susie went missing a few weeks ago. She’s not missing. She’s in my garage.
A mental-note to myself, don’t forget the air freshener. Young Susie isn’t quite as fresh as she used to be – even with the extra cooling units in the garage.
Date Two
She knows who I am. She sits there at the dining room table, complaining about the handcuffs, that restrain her to the chair, and bitching about not knowing who I am, but she knows me all right.
“Please, just tell me who you are.... What you want....”
She sounds like a broken record. The first dates are easy to get. You just need a couple of tabs of rohypnol or other sedative, depending on what you can get your hands on. If you can’t get any, I’ve also found a heavy, blunt object achieves the same desired effect. With the paper plates, the chairs bolted to the wooden floor, the plastic cutlery – I wish I had a heavy, blunt object to hand now, with this woman’s constant nagging it’d be perfect. If she shut up long enough, I’d explain everything that she’s demanding to know but I’m not going to talk over her.
Motor mouth here proves to me, again, that the second dates are always harder. The element of surprise is gone and the excitement faded. Instead it’s all down to conversation. In this case, a pretty one sided conversation. Please shut up.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. When she takes a breath, I’ll jump in and explain. “Look, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone,” she continued. She’ll take a breath soon. “Whatever you want from me, I’ll get it. Money? Did you want money?”
Oh my God.
“Please just tell me who you are.”
And we’re back to that. I can see it in her face that she knows who I am. She’s just trying to throw me, make me think I have the wrong person and let her go. Why would I let her go? She’s the prettiest so far and, all the time, she was right under my nose at the bank. I have travelled so far trying to find the perfect partner and she was always there. There is no way I want to let her go.
“Who are you? I don’t know you...”
Huh, maybe she doesn’t know me. Of course she does. She’s dealt with me so much at the bank, how could she not know me? She’s just looking at me now. Ooh, she’s just looking at me now. She’s not talking. Perhaps I can...
“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”
.... I was going to say, ‘Perhaps I can get a word in now?’ I’ll have to be quicker if I am to explain things to her.
“Please stop looking at me, just tell me what you want.” She’s calming down now. “I just want to ask you a question.” I said at last, breaking my previous, unnerving silence.
“A question? You want to ask a fucking question? Why couldn’t you ask me at the bank?” she screamed.
Ah ha! I knew she knew me.
Sneaky bitch, “I want to ask you a question but I can only ask when you’ve calmed down.”
She’s crying now. The wide range of emotions that I take these people through - why can’t love be one of them? I think it’s possible.
“What question?” she asked through some pathetic snivels.
“If there was no one else, just you and me for the rest of our lives... do you think you could ever love me?”
“What?”
All the ladies that I have seen, they all seem to be hard of hearing for I always find myself repeating the question. Sometimes I think about writing it down for them but then I think that may be patronising, “If there was no one else, just you and me for the rest of our lives... do you think you could ever love me?”
Silence now. I hate silence as much as I hate too much chitter-chatter. Both have an air of unease about them that set me on edge. Just give me the answer. Don’t make me wait.
“Can’t you just let me go?” she eventually asked.
“Answer the question and I’ll let you go.”
She is definitely prettier than the other ladies. I normally go for blondes but, this time, I chose a brunette and I think it was the smartest choice I’ve made for a fairly long time.
I’ve just noticed she’s not eating her food again.
“Yes.”
Yes? Yes what? Did she just say ‘yes’?
“Yes, I could,” she continued, “Will you let me go now?”
Did she say ‘yes’ just to please me? Did she think it was the answer that I wanted to hear?
Regardless, she said ‘yes’. The wheels are set in motion now.
“That’s great,” I told her, for it truly was great. I raised my glass in the air to toast her answer and with a little bit of encouragement, she also raised her glass as high as he handcuffed wrist would allow. “A toast to us.”
I love the taste of red wine. I haven’t bought too much though – it’s bad for the liver.
I’ve finished my glass and she’s halfway through hers.
I wonder what way her head will flop this time.
When she wakes this time, in the comfortable pyjamas I’ll change her into, she’ll be waking into her new world. It will be a beautiful world with just the two of us. There will be no outside interferences. There will be no one to ruin things between us, as there was the last time I had this special bond with someone, when a stranger came along and fucked my consenting cunt of a partner. This time will be different, just the two of us. Pure love. I can’t wait but, first, I need to make sure everything is as it should be with the house – our own private little world, for the rest of our lives. It’s going to be wonderful.
Her head’s flopped backwards again, with another loud crack coming from the bones in her neck. I wonder if, even though she was falling unconscious, she felt it. It sounded painful.
A mental-note to myself, give her a neck massage in the morning.
Another mental-note to myself, find out what her name is...
Bedtime. I want to be with her when she wakes up in the morning, perhaps bring her breakfast in bed. The eggs are fresh. I could bring her fresh eggs, toast, bake beans and a glass of freshly, squeezed orange juice. They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Tomorrow it will be. That is, until we get to lunchtime and then that will be the most important meal. And then, when we get to dinner - that will be the most important meal. Basically, any meal, with her, will be important to me.
Before I think about what to cook her for breakfast, I suppose I had better get her upstairs into bed. I doubt the romantic breakfast gesture would have the same impact if she woke and found that she was still in the same clothes and with the same meal in front of her as she had the previous night. Actually, this meal still looks pretty edible considering it’s stone cold now. Perhaps I could reheat it tomorrow. It’s not important now forget about it, you’ve got to get her upstairs now before she wakes.
I can’t wait until time is no longer an issue. After undoing the restraints that hold her down to the chair,
I put my arms under hers and carefully lift her from the seat, dragging her towards the doorway.
I look up. The camera, on the ceiling at the corner of the room, is filming me. The bastard thing with its red light flashing, filming me as I struggle with this nine stone dead weight. Why didn’t I set the spare room up on the ground floor? In the hallway now: a short corridor, from the dining room, leading to the kitchen, downstairs bathroom and twenty-three stairs leading to the landing above. Can I just dump her here? So much preparation to do, I haven’t slept for days. I’m tired. I’m tired and she’s heavier than she looks. A mental-note to myself – don’t let her know you think she’s heavy!
At the bottom of the stairs now and I’m knackered. Those twenty-three stairs seem a lot more than what they actually are. Rest her here. Pick her legs up and swivel her around. I’ve always found it easier to drag them up the stairs by their legs. I find it easier to manoeuvre them in this position. It’s still not easy work though. Rest a bit.
I’m positive I’ve made the right choice with her. She made the uncomfortable, spare bed I have look good and now, as she lies on the carpet, she even makes the floral-patterned design look great. The carpet: another throwback to the seventies.
Okay. Here we go.
I take her left foot with my left hand and her right foot with my right hand. I walk backwards up the stairs, a quick look over my shoulder to remind me of just how many stairs that I have to climb. That carpet is truly hideous.
Even if I didn’t find it easier to drag the girls up the stairs, by their feet, I’d still do it just to watch their head bump down on each step. Their mouths open and close with each jolt of the step and, for some reason, it always makes me smile. It makes me think though; are the headaches they have when they wake up to do with the stairs or the drugs? It doesn’t matter now. It won’t be long before she doesn’t need drugs anymore and I won’t have to drag her up the stairs.
Halfway there now and I can hardly breath. Am I really that unfit? Huffing and puffing like the big, bad wolf. I’m only thirty- two. This is ridiculous. I wonder how old she is. By the smoothness of her skin, I’d guess at late twenties. The bags under her eyes do add a couple of years but, again, that could be down to the drugs I’ve been giving her.
I’ve just noticed the dress I put her in today is riding up further with each step we venture up together. I’m hoping that, by the time we get to the top, I’ll be able to see her underwear. I know I could sneak a look at any moment after I’ve drugged her but I think that’s cheap. It’s not fair on her. It’s disrespectful and taking advantage. Imagine if she woke from her sleep to find me standing above her, knocking one out. I don’t think it would be the greatest start to our relationship. On the other hand, if her underwear is revealed in an innocent situation, such as dragging her up the stairs, that’s fair game. I get to look as much as I want to.
I chose a kinky little black thong for her tonight. It’s made from a light silk material that’s smooth to the touch. I tried not to pay too much attention when I put it on her, as I want her to model it for me later when the mood is right. If I get a good mental image of it now, it will ruin the surprise later. I want to keep the ‘wow’ factor.
I’m at the top of the stairs now. Just one sharp tug and her head will also be on the landing with her long hair still trailing down the steps we’ve just conquered together.
Her dress hasn’t raised enough for my cheap thrill to be satisfied. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed having built my hopes up for the last couple of steps. At least I’ll be changing her soon so I’ll get to see her panties then. It’s not the same as being teased by the accidental glimpse of the forbidden but it’s better than nothing.
Perhaps I could touch her when I change her. Touch her and touch myself at the same time. No. She wouldn’t want that. You might but she wouldn’t. Stop being a fucking pervert and get her off this narrow landing and into the spare room – there’s still work to be done.
I start dragging her by her feet again, banging her pretty head on the banister as we move around the landing towards our destination.
She’ll feel that when she wakes up.
The spare room; I can see her bed now. Nearly there, just as well. My heart is pounding the inside of my thin chest. It hasn’t pounded like this since that night: the night where I took possession of my new girlfriend.
My heart pounded every time I made a move on a potentially new girlfriend. Perhaps it was to do with the risk of getting caught, something going wrong? Or perhaps it was because of the excitement involved with lying in wait for them to be alone so that I could make my move? Whatever the reason – my heart was pounding for a completely different reason now.
I’m fucking knackered.
By the time I got to the bed I was tempted to leave her on the floor and have a quick rest myself but I don’t dare to. Knowing my luck I’d fall asleep and she’d wake up before me. She doesn’t love me yet. She certainly wouldn’t hang around for me to wake up. Not yet. We haven’t formed the bond yet. Soon though, I’m sure.
Just get here in the bed.
Still using her ankles to navigate her around the room, I swivel her round so that her head is at the ‘pillow-end’ of the bed. It’s not easy getting her on the bed by her ankles so I put them down and walk around to the top end of her body and take her under the arms again. A quick breather but I lift her off the floor and slump her onto the bed, face down. Her feet are still hanging off the bed so I take her by the ankles again and move them over so that they too are resting on the bed. In this position it’s easy to unzip the zipper on the back of her dress. All I have to do now is roll her over.
When I first got a girlfriend in this position I thought that I had done all the hard work by this stage but I was proven wrong when I tried to turn them onto their back. I tried, unsuccessfully, to roll her by reaching over her body and grabbing her far arm and pulling it towards me. At the time I wasn’t sure about the timings of the drug that I had used and was in a hurry so put quite a lot of effort into rolling the sleeping stranger. The end result saw them drop off the bed, onto the floor. That particular girl didn’t wake up in the morning for I noticed that she had landed awkwardly and her arm was at a funny angle. I couldn’t exactly take her to the hospital so I did the only thing that I could. I put her out of her misery.
She was the first lady to take up residence in my garage.
It was different now. Now I knew to roll the girl carefully and that’s exactly what I did with this new lady. I rolled her carefully onto her back so she didn’t suffocate in her sleep. In this position she looks completely natural, a sleeping beauty.
The home straight now, she just needs a change of clothes.
I move to the foot of the bed and reach towards her, taking hold of the bottom of her dress. A careful tug and it easily slides off her body, revealing her matching underwear. Now is not the time to get an erection and yet that’s what happens. Every time. I’ll worry about that later, if I have the time. If I have the energy!
The panties, although enticing, smell of urine. I presume she must have wet herself earlier and I simply hadn’t noticed. I can’t leave it like that. It’s not fair on her. She’ll feel extra self-conscious when she wakes up. Tomorrow is the first time that we’ll meet properly and she’ll feel uneasy about that anyway. Even more so if she knows that she smells of piss.
In the cupboard is a small bag that I have prepared for, complete with make-up remover, wet wipes, and other make-up goods that women would appreciate having close to hand. I pull out the wet-wipes and ease her underwear off.
She could do with a trim.
Her vagina looks perfect. It doesn’t smell perfect but it definitely looks perfect. I can almost sense how snug it will be when I finally penetrate it. My erection is starting to hurt. Control yourself. Now isn’t the time. I shake the lewd thoughts from my diseased mind and pull a wet wipe from the packet.
Holding the wet wipe across my fingers I carefully wipe down her vagina, my middle finger sliding down her slit. It feels so fucking good. The temptation is unbearable but I mustn’t betray her trust. Another wipe downward, starting at the top of her vagina and sliding towards her anus. That’s enough. It will do. She can have a proper wash tomorrow. Get her pyjamas on, the pink set with the cartoon mouse will do.
Sliding the trouser bottoms on is easier than the top as I always struggle getting her head through the hole but I eventually manage it. I can’t wait for her to be able to dress herself. It’s so time consuming but, once I’ve got the handcuffs on and the restraints around her ankles, she’s ready for bed.
So am I.
A quick look around the room tells me that everything is okay in here. A peak behind the curtain shows that the bricks in the window place have set well. I’ve done a good job. Close the curtains again. The bricks, although needed, look ugly and may cause alarm if she seems them in the morning. There’s no need to cause addition alarm.
Everything else, in this room, is as it should be and I leave the room, closing the door behind me. The spare room is one of very few rooms that are lockable in the house. I keep the kitchen locked so she doesn’t get near the food. We’re on strict rations. The computer room is locked so she can’t access the Internet where I pay the bills with the savings in my online bank account. She also can’t access the pornography that’s hidden deep within my system files as a precaution for the times ahead where we don’t get to have sex. I’ve thought of everything. Even if she does get into the room – the computer is password protected with a fifteen-digit number, completely random. The rest of the rooms are completely open to her. Once she has my trust.
I walk away from the door of the spare room knowing that I have a couple of hours left before she wakes up and starts, I guess, screaming. She can scream as much as she wants. No one will hear her. I feel a different kind of excitement now; after the hard night ahead of me, tomorrow is our first day as a couple. Tomorrow I get to meet her properly. No more drugs.
