by Alta Hensley
“It is important that you eat something,” Kenneth said. “As subpar as this meal is, it’s either this or Mama’s Diner. At least here, we have the mini bar.” He poured two tiny bottles of booze over a glass of ice, and then repeated the same again for the glass in front of me. I sat cross-legged on the bed with the tray in front of me as Kenneth sat in the only chair in the room by a chipped and scratched desk made of cheap plywood.
I rolled my eyes, huffed, and pushed the bowl away in defiance, pausing to see if that warranted another punishment or not. My anus puckered slightly in memory of the last time I’d pushed him too far. After what just happened, the last thing I wanted was a repeat.
A repeat of discipline that had left me unsatisfied and hungry for more. I had hated every minute of it, yet when it finally came to an end, I’d felt an overwhelming sense of loss. I didn’t want another session, but at the same time, I didn’t not want it to happen again. I was sick. Maybe sicker than all these rich bastards combined.
But controlling my emotions was something I clearly had no control over. I knew I had to behave. I was giving the man the upper hand because he was in control, and I was definitely not. Things would be so much easier if I just went back without a fight and begged for forgiveness at Marco’s feet. Do my time, keep the shit load of money, and all would be fine. But the demon inside of me screamed with rage. I wanted to hurt Kenneth, and yet after his display of dominance earlier, I couldn’t help but want to fuck him too.
Not make love.
No.
Not gentle. No caressing. I just wanted to fuck him hard.
And have him fuck me even harder.
I wanted him to pull my hair, slap my ass again, wrap his hands around my neck and thrust his cock deep within me, all with the lingering threat that he may choose to fuck my ass at any moment, stretching me to impossible limits with the size of his dick.
I had no doubt that Kenneth Saxon had a huge dick. Men like him had to have a huge dick. But fuck me if I didn’t want it in my ass after having just a tiny taste of the electricity that sizzled through me with just his fingers inside my tiny hole.
“Eat.”
The look on his face was enough for me to pick up the fork, take a bite, and start chewing. “Why are you doing this?” I mumbled with a mouthful of food.
“I have Spiked Roses to think of. Not to mention your safety.”
“My safety?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Did you really just say that? My fucking safety? You are about to hand me off to a madman, and you have the nerve to act like you are actually acting on my behalf? You really are a fucking bastard, you know? A delusional one too.”
His look of warning was enough for me to swallow back the slew of curse words still threatening to vomit from my mouth. I took a drink of cheap gin to help aid me in calming the raging beast threatening to escape from inside of me. I stared at him over the glass as he ate. His jawline flexed with each chew, and I found it fascinating. I think it was watching a man with such power engage in such a normal and simple act as eating. He seemed more human and less Godly, while up until this point, he’d been more God than human. He was a fucked up version of Zeus, and everything around him, all that he touched, was his. His to do with however he chose.
“Let me ask you something, Anita,” he said after he took a slow sip from his liquor, lightly inhaling air through barely parted lips as he did so. “Why did you go to The Tasting Room that night?”
“Because all the girls go to The Tasting Room. It’s expected at Spiked Roses, is it not?”
He shook his head, his brow furrowing due to my answer as his eyes seemed to darken. “No, it’s not. Attendance in The Tasting Room has never been a requirement of working at the club. You were told this when you were hired.”
“It is if you ever plan on making any real money,” I countered. “Every girl who works there knows this.”
“Spiked Roses doesn’t pay you enough?”
“It’s the difference between being a waitress and wearing diamonds. Which would you prefer?”
He gave me a devilish wink and an asshole smirk that made me have to fight the urge to punch him square in the Adam’s apple. “Well, waitresses don’t get pissed on. So I guess the real question is, what would you prefer?”
“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” I struggled to hold back my tears of rage and frustration. “It’s not a joke to me. It’s my life. I know you see me as nothing but a whore,” I said barely above a whisper. I straightened my spine and somehow found the little bit of strength that was still hiding inside of me, and said with more force, “And it’s so easy for you to say. You have money. A lot of fucking money. So, you can sit there and judge all you want, but some of us aren’t lucky enough to be rich. We have to do what we have to do to survive. I grew up in a goddamn trailer that rotted behind an abandoned gas station in the middle of a desert. I ate from cans of food that were so far past their expiration date that I didn’t even look anymore in fear that the knowledge of how old it was would spoil the one meal I was going to get that day. So, forgive me if I don’t ever want to return to that level of poverty. I will do whatever it takes to not get there again.”
“And whoever it takes as well, it seems,” Kenneth said as he cheered his glass in the air to me and then took a swig of the remaining booze in his glass. “I’m not judging you. The choice is yours on who you fuck and how much you get paid to do it. I’m just here to make sure you follow through with your decisions. But stop playing the victim. No one forced you, and I could give a fuck less about your sob story of a childhood. We all have sob stories in our past. Some simply choose to use their past to give them strength rather than weakness.”
“Why are you such a bastard?”
“Call me what you want. Here’s the thing about me, baby doll. I didn’t get handed my wealth. I wasn’t born into it. I was raised by a coupon cutting, single mother who gave me my name because she thought it sounded regal and hoped I would someday be a rich man. And I did exactly that. I built my empire on my own with no help from anyone, and without selling my body to the highest bidder. So if you really think I am going to sit here and attend your pity party so I’ll let you go, you are the one who is delusional. We all make choices in life. Some happen to make wiser ones. So don’t look at me and my wealth like I’m the lucky one. There was not one ounce of luck in what I got. I earned every cent of it. I busted my ass. I took risks. I didn’t make excuses. I did not let weakness win. I am where I am in life because I made it happen. Me. Am I rich? Yes. Was I poor growing up? Yes. But I will tell you this, nothing pisses me off more than when people assume rich people have it easy. Most of us rich fucks had to scratch our way to the top leaving a bloody trail behind us.”
I was losing this battle. Damn. Why did the man have to be as smart as he was handsome?
“I don’t want to go back there!” I snapped. “Please! Can’t you understand that? Can’t you understand that, yes, I got in above my head. I didn’t realize what signing that contract with my blood would mean. I was stupid. Fucking stupid!”
“Then give the money back. It really isn’t that hard.”
I sat there, biting my lower lip so it wouldn’t quiver and give away my despair. “I can’t. I won’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s none of your business.”
He shrugged. “Fine, I don’t care. But like I said, you have two choices. Money or making good on your signature. Black and white. No gray area in this world. Maybe there was in your trailer behind the gas station, but in my world, we don’t operate in grays.”
Kenneth reached for my wrists again and grabbed the rope that he had removed so I could eat. I didn’t offer any resistance. What was the point right now? The man was stronger than me, and I just looked like a wild banshee whipping around and trying to fight him off. I needed to regain some amount of dignity. I had lost every shred of it when my ass was stripped, spanked, and probed.
“Regardless of what you
want, you are going back to New Orleans. Marco is waiting, and the longer he waits, the worse it will be for you.”
Once my wrists were bound, he secured the remaining rope to the headboard. “I need to take a shower and try to wash off some of this desert grime from my body.” He paused for a moment, and in a gentler voice said, “Unless you would like to use the bathroom first.”
“No,” I mumbled.
I watched as the man walked away and closed the door behind him. My anger at my own weakness growing, I pushed the tray away in a huff. I couldn’t go back. I just couldn’t. But handing over that money wasn’t an option either. Virgie needed it—or would need it the minute I got her out of that nursing home. I didn’t want her to die in a long-term facility. Her house meant too much to her. Now that I didn’t even have the sommelier job at Spiked Roses to fall back on, I would be penniless, barely surviving again. And even if I became Virgie’s full time nurse—since I was unemployed—she wasn’t able to pay me that much. I would be stuck in a shitty mile marker town with no real future. At least the money gave me a cushion.
The sound of the shower being turned on renewed my thirst for freedom. I tugged at the ropes that held me captive. I needed to escape, time was of the essence.
Pulling hard at the knots in the restraints, I finally began to see them loosen. The fact that Kenneth truly didn’t want to hurt me or cause me discomfort from the ropes, had him not tying them as tight as he should have.
Fool.
He must have thought his little display of dominance had permanently subdued me.
Hardly.
Maybe temporarily… I would give him that much. But never would I remain submissive for any extended period of time. And I wasn’t going to let all these assholes win. I had survived from being bitten by a rattlesnake all these years even though I’d tempted the fucking Gods, so I sure as hell could survive these venomous snakes who thought they could own me.
Frantically, I pulled at the rope around the headboard, needing it to loosen just enough that I could squeeze my wrists through. Ignoring the burn of the rope—my flesh raw with my struggles—I pushed the restraints off me as they fell to the bleached white sheets of the mattress. I shot off the bed instantly, prepared to run for my life onto the freeway and hitch a ride to anywhere. Anywhere at all. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could go to the police for help. What were they going to do? And the reality of the situation was I had committed a crime just as much as Marco had. I had stolen money. I sold my body. Illegal. Wrong. Immoral. Fuck.
The water stopped in the shower. Shit. It was too soon!
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” Kenneth asked, his tone harsh, his wet body wrapped in a terry cloth towel covering his lower half as he opened the bathroom door. He stood in the doorway staring at me with a smirk as if he found my shitty attempt at escape amusing. He must have assumed I would try and, therefore, wasn’t surprised by my actions. “Where the fuck were you going to go? Willing to fuck a trucker for a ride?”
He walked over to me. His towel was barely tucked in around his muscled abdomen, tempting me with the urge to see what a simple tug of the material would reveal. Droplets of water ran down his chiseled chest. The sparkle off his wet skin contrasted against his tan flesh. Kenneth didn’t need a weapon. His entire being was a weapon that practically paralyzed me with the alluring sensual appeal he exuded. Yes, he was definitely a God. No doubt about it. Power. Sex. Dominance. Ruthless. All mighty. I stood before a fucking God.
As he took hold of my upper arm forcibly, I irrationally struggled against the strength of the man holding me, kicking his shins hard, hoping to injure him enough that he would have no choice but to let me go and wouldn’t be able to chase after me.
But I also wanted the chase. The thought of it thrilled me. So, I kicked harder, I flailed more, I hit with all my might, and yes… I removed that damn towel.
I shouldn’t have, however.
Naked.
It was all it took for me to lose the battle. The size of his hardened cock in all its wonderful glory, and with it, every bit of fight left my body.
I froze.
I glanced up into his eyes for a brief moment and then back down.
I stared.
I continued to stare.
I continued to stare some more.
And I wanted.
I never had wanted something so bad in my life.
“Either you are a goddamn idiot or a fucking masochist. Do you want me to hurt you?” He took a handful of my hair into his fist and growled against my ear. “Do I have to beat you? Chain you? Make you bleed? Will you not learn unless I have you screaming for mercy? You are making it near impossible to treat you with any ounce of kindness.” His voice boomed against my eardrum, matching with the thumping in my heart… and my pussy.
Regardless of his terrifying, and completely immobilizing voice, I continued fighting him simply to push him further. The sting to my scalp intensified as he tightened his grip—and I liked it. I wanted to dance with the devil, and I would kick and shove my way to his limits. I wanted to push him over the cliff so he wouldn’t hold back. I wanted to tempt the beast inside his soul that I could see he struggled to hold back.
I supposed he was right. I was a masochist. Yes, that was a fair assessment. Something about Kenneth. Something about me. Bring it. I wanted it. I wanted him to hurt me. I wanted the pain. And finally—finally—I would feel the bite from the elusive rattlesnake that I had craved all these years. I’d finally found my rattlesnake lurking in the bushes… and I was ready for his bite.
Chapter Twelve
Kenneth
Spinning her around, my arms encircled her tiny frame, holding her back against me tightly, her rear nestled into my groin, needing to stop her struggle. But once again, her fist reached up and curved just enough to pop me in the jaw. And with the angle of her tightly-clenched fist… shit, it hurt.
Fighting past the stars blanketing my eyes, I roared, “Enough! What did I tell you would happen if you hit me? I warned you! I fucking warned you! Did you listen to me? Did my warnings have no effect on your stupid ass?”
I needed to break her wild spirit. I would not tolerate. I would not allow. I would not let her win this battle of wills. I would come out the victor, and she would not like how I did it.
Without waiting for an answer, I threw her body over the edge of the bed, pinning her flailing hands behind her lower back, and securing her kicking legs with mine. In one swift motion, I lowered her pants as I had done before, revealing her still pink backside from the earlier spanking. But no spanking would happen this time. That was child’s play. No, not this time. She needed more. That much was clear. Now was the time for a reckoning she wouldn’t soon forget.
Reaching up, I grabbed her hair again, giving it a tug so that Anita cried out in pain. Yet, I also heard something else. Desire? Hunger? Unleashed passion? Yes, I could hear it laced alongside her delicate mewl. I could feel it.
She wanted me to release her. She wanted me to hurt her. She wanted two things, and her core so full of madness, was battling it out. I pulled on her hair again, listening closely as she released the same noise as before.
I almost paused for a moment at the sound of her discomfort… almost, but I was an asshole.
I liked it. I craved it. I wanted to hear more of it. I loved the sound of her cries. My cock hardened with each whimper and gasp. It throbbed with every hitch of her breath. Lucky for her, I couldn’t see her face. If I saw tears… if I saw tears, I would be undone.
I needed to teach this woman that she couldn’t behave like this and not expect ramifications. Not just with me, but if she continued in this fashion toward any other man—especially in the world of Spiked Roses—what I did, and planned to do, would be minor in comparison to what others would do to her. You can’t rattle the cage of the beast and not expect to unleash the fury. This was for her own good. She needed to learn how to, at the very least, fake submission, a
nd if I had to fuck her raw to get that harsh concept through her willful head, I would.
“Please,” she pleaded as I removed her pants completely with my feet, spreading her legs widely and settling myself between them. “Please!”
Was she begging for me to stop? Or was she begging for me to continue?
It was a fine daggered line between consensual and non-consent, but I was willing to be cut by the blade.
Her body bucked as I tugged on her hair some more. I released her hands and took delight as she seized hold of the bedspread over her head and clutched the fabric between her fisted palms. She had given up the physical fight. The first sign of submission fueled my lust for her even more.
My cock ran along the seam of her ass, and it took every ounce of control I had to not just jam it inside her dry—tearing her as I did so. I was a bastard, but I wasn’t a monster, so I took hold of my dick and guided it to the folds of her sex. She was wet. So fucking wet, as I knew she’d be. Yes, this dirty girl liked it rough. Her secret divulged. I had cracked her sexual code. That knowledge gave me the power. She was mine. All mine to fuck and abuse as I wanted. And the harder I was on her, the more power I would have over her. She was a delicate flower who desired the thorn… I truly saw that now. How true those words were.
“Your cunt is wet. You want me,” I said as I bathed my cock in her arousal.