Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Unfortunately, so does he.

  Washing my body, I am reminded of the night in the bathroom where he took what he wanted without asking. I close my eyes as my hands drift to caress the delicate folds of my body. I miss his presence in my shelter, intertwining ourselves into one, but he cannot have me again. To do so risks my emotional stability that I have fought so hard to reattain after he forced me away.

  I finish up quickly, washing and rinsing. Wrapping a towel around my hair, I grab another for my body and go looking for Dale. I need water and food and a smoke. Maybe even a glass of wine. And after all that, I may need some clothes, too.

  I creep through the small house only to find my redheaded hero, standing over the small two burner stove and crafting up a meal. The aroma of meat hits my noise and sweeps in to take over my belly. My tummy rumbles in anticipation. I notice the bottle of wine open and breathing.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  He grunts, “Heh.”

  “It smells wonderful,” I coo, trying to get his attention despite how I really don’t want it. He doesn’t bother to turn around, continuing to sear the steak on a comal. My feet propel my body forward despite how my heart and mind resist. Stepping into the small hole of a kitchen, I reach for a wine glass in the cabinet near him.

  I feel his gaze flash over me, sending a million tiny sparks blazing onto my skin. Still, he remains silent, focusing on the task at hand. Pouring a generous glass of wine, I quickly take to emptying my glass.

  I sigh and cough and scuttle about, hoping to do something to garner his attention, but nothing works. I finish off the wine, set my glass near the sink, and decide to go search for clothing when he finally opens his mouth.

  “Stop,” he barks with a gritty declaration.

  The knot in my stomach churns into a queasiness as I recognize that tone. My mind quickly runs the time it took me to bring out his domineering asshole as I smirk proudly. Not long. Not bad for an ol’ gal like myself.

  Biting my lip, I change my stance to a more passive one without even thinking. I want to tell my body to stop playing those notes I practiced until my limbs were numb, but they are as natural as breathing. I cannot override the programming or undo the training.

  Clicking the burners off, Dale plates the steak and sets it in the cool oven to rest. His eyes catch mine with a mix of respect, authority, and attack as I blink down.

  From his front pocket, he pulls a one-inch thick collar. He snaps it loud against his thigh and wraps it around my neck. I don’t dare question—I already know. He pulls the towels off my head and body without a care as to how I may feel. “Welcome to your new home. I am not giving you the normal twenty-four hours to ask questions. You have one hour during dinner. No more.”

  I open my mouth to speak—to fight his will, but I only mumble. “Yes, Sir.”

  * * * *

  The days on the set with Cy went by faster than I would have liked. Over the course of the next week, our scheduled routine captivated us both. We worked all day, grabbed dinner, and headed out in his truck to some far removed location. We chatted as we ate and when he deemed it time, we fucked like horny rabbits. By the end of the third day, he had me in the truck, on the hood, against the door, and even on the top of the cab—what a view of the stars.

  Fucking Cy wasn’t just an activity. It was a downright sporting event. He had stamina and agility galore. He left my eighteen-year-old self feeling old and out-of-shape.

  Soon I discovered, he wielded a remarkable power over the control of my orgasms. He used this to his benefit during the most unlikely of times. When I was supposed to be the one getting his monster up and out of bed, he decided fingering me against the wall before he went on cam was a much better idea. No longer was I needed to touch him, he groped at my flesh all day, giving his beast the kick it needed. To say the director was pleased would have been the understatement of the year.

  I accepted the role of his toy. Lele Love knew it, too. She made a point of giving me the evil eye at every opportunity. I had only done my job, but that didn’t matter. I was the focus of the – Cyclone Blonde – and that in itself made me arch-enemy number one.

  The thing about it was, I never wanted anything from Cy but his attention. I didn’t need the money or want the fame. I existed to entertain him, and I performed at my job better than most. When he was on set, I spent hours in his dressing room, reading trashy romance novels and writing in a spiral notebook.

  Five o’clock Friday rolled around, and we clocked out for the weekend. We stopped at a market, loading up on supplies. Spending the next few hours driving, we finally stopped at a small cabin on a lake.

  “Is it yours?” I asked, gazing out at the moon’s reflection on the water.

  “Yeah—all three hundred acres. I bought it a couple years back,” he said, lighting up a smoke. “I rent the place out to the Renaissance faire.”

  Glancing around, I questioned,“Are they here now?”

  “They’ll be here in three weeks. Set up starts next week. I wanted to bring you out here, so you could see how beautiful it is before the crazy takes hold. Campers and trailers will be everywhere soon.

  “How long have you let them come here?”

  “Since I bought the place. The guy that found me in the bar and got me started—he’s a big renfest guy. Delarte asked me if he could rent the land, and I agreed.”

  “Delarte?” I asked.

  “Cristos.”

  I didn’t know the man – Delarte Cristos – but I sensed from Cy that he was important. Little did I know at the time how very pivotal the man would be in my life. Cy took my hand, grabbed our gear, and showed me inside with a kind smile.

  The log cabin by the lake boasted an extraordinary picturesque view. Two rooms offered plenty of space in the luxurious glamping atmosphere. A gourmet kitchen, pedestal tub, and four-poster bed inhabited the vast space.

  Within minutes of our arrival, Cy clicked on the fireplace, roaring the flames to life. Two love seats sat perpendicular to the huge stonework facade, flanking and facing one another. I eased onto the smooth suede, feeling like I dropped into someone else’s dream.

  Cy brought in the cooler and unloaded our groceries into the fridge. We had bought all kinds of meat and vegetables. While it didn’t seem abnormal, what did feel strange was the normalcy within Cy. He was no longer the famous porn star, but an everyday guy. I embraced the glimpse of his inner workings, this guy who cared for me daily.

  He was a curious, quiet sort off camera, keeping to himself and working nonstop. If the camera wasn’t on, he lived on the phone and his laptop, making deals and money. I eavesdropped, but thought nothing of it. I understood my position—to be seen and not heard—and he found a place of sanctuary in me, away from his crazy public persona. The last thing I ever would have wanted to do was to undermine the trust he put in me.

  I wished I knew why he had chosen me, but I hadn’t the faintest clue. Perhaps it was the cutoff jean shorts he adored my ass in. Or maybe my own silent presence portrayed my loyalty, earning his respect. Regardless of his reasons, his intent was clear as he prepared us a something to eat. His insatiable desire to take care of me surpassed anything and everything else. In that first week, I quickly attained the priority position.

  Slipping my shoes off, I eased back comfortably onto the sofa, tossing a blanket over my legs. He smiled as he strode across to me carrying decadent looking sandwiches – peanut butter and bacon on toasted bread – cut into triangles and two Cokes.

  “Thank you for spending the weekend with me out here,” he said, opening the bottle and handing it to me. “I don’t know many girls would be as trusting as you.”

  “I have no reason not to trust you.”

  He popped a triangle of the sandwich into his mouth, downed some of the carbonation, and sighed deep. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  As I sat there, pulling tiny nibbles off my sandwich, I feared where he was headed. Maybe he had br
ought me out here to break it off, but that seemed counterintuitive. Rubbing my lips together, I waited nervously for whatever bomb he was about to drop upon us.

  “From the first night we were together Amber, when you asked me to hold you down, I knew you were different. You gave me your trust so easily,” he confessed. “I don’t want to waste any time. We have seven weeks of this shoot left, and then I have PR engagements all over the world. But for those next seven weeks, I would like you to wear this.”

  I watched as he pulled a thin leather collar from his pocket. Despite my youth, I knew what he was asking. He wanted me to be his, to wear his collar, and take on the role of his sex slave. “Will anything between us change?”

  “Yeah,” he stated. “I want to make you cry.”

  Drinking the soda, I sat without a word, nursing the bottle down for a good three minutes. I didn’t bother to cast a glance at his awareness of me or even acknowledge his sentiments. I imagined it took a good amount of balls to ask me – an almost perfect stranger he simply enjoyed fucking – to trust him in such a manner. My life up until this point had been one bad hand of cards after another. Cy offered a way out, an escape, a safe place for me to just be. How could I deny him when he allowed me such freedom?

  Opening my mouth, I muttered, “Yes.”

  I tilted my head as he wrapped the cord around my neck. Although light in weight, the psychological magnitude of his collar locked around my neck with an immovable mass, solidifying in my heart with a decided thud. I gasped, knowing I would never be the same. We would never be the same.

  And the only thing said from my lips was, “Thank you, Sir.”

  DALE

  MY SISTER’S CABIN is isolated in the woods. Everything is quiet. I insure this with a glance at the cams Sal installed a few years back. Boy wired this place to be a freaking militia bunker. He always goes into overkill mode. He says he’s prepared, and I ask what for, but the only response he ever gives is, “Rain.”

  I have no worries if someone gets passed the gate, they will be met with his maniacal arsenal of extreme tortures. It’s not pretty. Kid’s got game, I’ll give him that. Even if he is a sick, twisted fuck.

  Standing between the kitchen and living space, Amber lowers her head, waiting. I can’t believe she didn’t resist me at all. I am surprised and flattered by her willingness to bend, and I am completely aware that if she didn’t want to, she wouldn’t have. Let it never be said that Amber Rosen cannot be difficult at times. She can. She is just choosing not to be right now.

  Grabbing a rope from the storage closet, I weave her wrists together in an elaborate shibari loop. Her breathing is heavy, but she doesn’t dare look up at me. She knows better. I desperately want to know how wet she is, but I restrain my selfish needs a little longer, better to make her hold out.

  I escort her naked body over to the table where she sits down. From her bag, I grab a clip and twist her hair, securing it firmly in place. She is a gorgeous woman, and damn near perfect submissive. Her posture is elongated and elegant with her shoulders high and back, exposing her breasts and nipples just right. My dick twitches, but I ignore it as I go grab dinner and the wine.

  Careful and slow, I feed her small bites of the steak. I wash it down with copious amounts of the merlot. Her expression is unchanged and hard to read. I won’t know until I tell her to speak how she truly feels. She is rare that way. Never letting anyone have an upper hand with her emotions. It’s a huge turn on, and a skill I know she’s honed with Raniero. I can spot his work a mile away. It’s easy to see where I left off fifteen years ago versus the more recently acquired skill set. She embodies a polish and finesse now. It’s a nice touch.

  Kicking back in my chair, I light a smoke, assessing her will. I don’t need to break her, which is sweet. I can just take her for a ride anytime I want. A properly trained girl is a special cut, one I will savor. The shit you get at The Holding Room isn’t this. She is opening a fine bottle of wine or going bareback on a mare that trusts you as much as herself. It’s refreshing and endearing, making me want her all that much more.

  “So ask me,” I growl.

  Her eyes cast a glance up to me. “I am not sure I have any questions. You flipped on me. If I had known…”

  Leaning forward, I place my elbows on my knees as my eyes flicker with intrigue. I won’t take no for an answer. Maybe she already knows this. Arguing with me will get her no where fast. “If you had known…”

  “If I had known I was coming to be your house pet, I might have never agreed to get on the back of your bike.”

  “You think you had a choice?” Chuckling a little too loud, I boast, “That’s funny.”

  “I understand you don’t give a shit about my consent. You are going to do to me what you are going to do,” she says as her blue eyes lure me in to her waters. “You are one sick motherfucker that way. Always have been.”

  Ouch.

  Standing up, I move closer and lower my face to her shoulder. “You know how hard I get when you curse at me.”

  Her jaw flinches, and there is the signal I have been waiting on—I’ve got her, regardless of what her pretty mind believes. What I don’t expect is the fight to come flying from her lips. “I am not a fool. Don’t you think I knew exactly what we were doing? For heaven’s sake, you buried your dick in me in that bathroom! Let me tell you something Dale Archer… I got your message—loud and clear—and fucking hard. And I fully understand, I am your hostage.”

  Turning back to her, I say, “Hostage?”

  “You won’t let me go,” she sasses off.

  “Well, no. I won’t,” I agree, pacing. “But hostage seems a bit severe.”

  “I am just calling it like I see it. You trapped me like an animal.”

  “Now, now…”

  “No, I have one hour. I am taking the rest of my minutes,” she advises. “You brought me here to try and make a play for my heart again.”

  “Wrong. I brought you here to keep you safe.”

  “Oh, and it’s just convenient to use my fetish to keep me?”

  “I don’t see you actually objecting, darlin.”

  She presses her lips together with an angry resolve. Her temper is flaring because I played her right. I knew she would never agree to this with me. So I did the only thing I could—take what I want—by any means necessary.

  “You are a monster.”

  “Again, not an objection,” I say, clearing away the dishes. “Keep talking dirty to me, I love that shit.”

  I hear her sigh loudly. “I fucking hate you.”

  Getting in her face, I smile wide, showing her my shiny, white teeth. “Your hate is matched by the wetness between your thighs. Duly noted.”

  She pushes forward, trying to attack me physically. Grabbing her tiny frame, I pick her up and lay her across the table as she squirms, kicking and serpentining. I yank her to the end of the table, securing one ankle to the leg and then the other. Lifting her tethered wrists, I secure her arms with an additional piece of rope looped into the web. With her strapped to the table, she is unable to move.

  “What the fuck…” she moans.

  “Not yet, but soon,” I assure with a slight smirk.

  Pulling up against the ropes, she screams straining wail of moans. “You are fucking sick!” She spits as her spray shot of saliva ends up dousing my face.

  Tilting my head, I cock a brow at her curiously. “Amber, tell me which one of us is sick—me for doing this or – you – for allowing it?”

  “I am not allowing it!” She argues, flailing against her bindings. “I didn’t agree to this. I needed your help in getting away from psychopathic gunmen, I never realized I would end up in the hands of a crazy fucking bastard.”

  Walking away, I accuse, “You aren’t fighting pretty girl.”

  I open the door and head outside for a smoke as I hear her voice cry, “Fuck you!”

  * * * *

  I brought her out to the cabin in Georgia to show her who I r
eally was. I am not sure why I felt compelled to tell or even show her my inner demons, but I did. After spending the better part of my adulthood in secrecy at a kink club, I figured it was important, weighing heavily in my psyche.

  The truth was I cared about this girl. That short shorts wearing, bubble-gum chewing, quietly reflective girl. Maybe I was attracted to her for that very reason—she wasn’t a Lele Love. Amber wasn’t what she appeared either. Her cover reflected a bouncing, party girl, but she was far more nerdy than that. I noticed she spent most of her time lost with the pages of books. When she wasn’t reading, she would write long passages – in gorgeous, swirling cursive – in a spiral notebook.

  Watching her laying on her belly with her long blonde hair pulled up in a pony tail sent a shiver through my core. She was everything and nothing. I couldn’t help but shift my stance. My hand drifted to adjust my cock. My insatiable desire for her shook my entire existence.

  She peeked up at me, and I snarled proud at the collar wrapped around her delicate neck. Her writing distracted her from my gaze, but as I move closer, she bit the end of her pencil and sought my approval with a simple smile. She whispered, “Hi…”

  “Hello there, beautiful…” I said, sitting on the bed. With dedicated eyes, she watched as the bed sank, indenting with my weight. Hefty and muscled, my body made no apologies from years of training—first with the military and then with a private trainer.

  Her soft doe eyes blinked to me, asking for an answer, a hope, a reprieve, a savior from her predetermined ticket to a destination she didn’t want to visit. We both understood the enormity of what lay between us. Her entire future rocked in my hands, dangling on the precipice to a nightmare or a liftoff in a hot air balloon to a far away place where no one would ever touch her again.