Abuse

by Nikki Sex

  We both laugh, but I don’t really think it’s funny.

  Frankly, the idea of finding her, only to lose her by going to prison for a crime I didn't commit, scares the crap out of me. I don’t want to lose her through languishing my life away in a maximum security prison.

  “Let's not and say we did, OK? As effective as it sounds, I'm not thrilled with that idea. Maybe you can just watch some police dramas. Try to master that particular fear in a less painful way, please?"

  She grins. “No problem.”

  When I grip her fingers, I glance down, suddenly noticing her shiny pink nail polish. I smile. “I like your nails.”

  “I never paint my nails.”

  I frown. “Why did you paint them today?”

  “I thought you might like them like this.”

  “Really?” I say, flattered Renata wanted to do something special, just to please me. In this case, she made a change for me.

  “Really,” she assures me, her lips curve into an alluring, mischievous smile.

  Our eyes lock and the air sizzles between us. There it is again, that tingle of awareness that courses through me, body, heart and soul. It’s a sense of closeness and connection; half lust, half love and all need.

  “Your nails are beautiful,” I murmur. “Just like you are.”

  “Charmer.”

  “So, you’re definitely not mad at me anymore?” I have to ask. I need to be sure that she’s OK. That we’re OK.

  Smiling a mysterious half-smile, she shakes her head.

  Hallelujah! A weight is lifted, leaving more enjoyable sensations in its wake. It’s ridiculous how often I imagine having her naked in my bed, taking her hard and fast, or slow and sensually. I could fuck her right here on this table, or on the floor, or against the wall. Anywhere. Everywhere. With Renata in my life, I’m stuck walking around with a constant hard on.

  “So, do you think we should tell people we’re together?” I ask.

  “Yes, why not?”

  I shrug. “What if the police want to question you?”

  “I don’t care,” she says. “Your lawyer can be there to advise me if it comes to that. What could they possibly ask me? I don’t know much. Besides, I’m not actually afraid of policemen, per se. I panicked that day because seeing them there all at once triggered terrible memories, like what happened to my little brother, and the day Jamie died.”

  “And my sister?”

  She frowns, then shrugs. “I’m going to have to face the dragon someday. I’ll figure it out. Besides, I didn’t like hearing you deny our relationship, in fact, I hated it. I don’t like lying and I don’t want to pretend you’re not important to me. Why should we hide how we feel about each other?”

  “Why indeed?” I say with a wry smile. “You know, I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”

  “Really? Well, isn’t that funny. I’ve never had a boyfriend, either.”

  “You haven’t?” This warms me, head to toe. “What about Jamie? I thought you loved him.”

  “I did love him and he loved me, but he preferred men, if you recall.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. I stare at her hungrily, amazed by this turn of events. “You’ll be my first. You’ve been my first already, in so many ways.”

  I consider wiggling my eyebrows at her, making a teasing, sexual joke out of the ‘first’ comment, but I can’t. My heart is too full. I feel too much.

  Renata’s beautiful, understanding and through some incredible twist of fate, she genuinely cares about me. I shift restlessly in my seat, making room for my aching erection. I feel like a teenager, in love with the prom queen.

  “You’re my first, too,” she says quietly.

  Her blue eyes darken, dilating with lust. Sitting there in her sexy blue dress, with her long blonde hair down, she’s pretty as a picture. And I’m damned sure she’s thinking about sex.

  God, I want to kiss her again. This surprises me. At least for now, the idea is exciting and intoxicating. The princess has healed this prince wannabe with a single kiss.

  Renata’s so good for me.

  “I just have one more question,” I say, my voice low and husky, raw with lust. I fight to rein in my need to take her now.

  “Oh?”

  “How soon before Briley goes to sleep?”

  Chapter 5.

  “The thing about a hero is, even when it doesn't look like there's a light at the end of the tunnel, he's going to keep digging, he's going to keep trying to do right and make up for what's gone before, just because that's who he is.”

  — Joss Whedon

  ~~~

  Edgar Gates

  Edgar Gates loved his job at the Dallas Police Department. He enjoyed the interesting work he did there and he was respected for his abilities. The steady paycheck was also nice, allowing him to live comfortably.

  What was I thinking by risking it all? he wondered.

  Edgar was aware that trouble would find him if he wasn’t careful, so he took every precaution as he drove to different parts of the city to mail his untraceable letters. The circuitous routes he took would be difficult for even a seasoned detective such as Roman Bronowski to follow.

  So far, he’d delivered only one photo by hand, and that was four days ago, when he left the first letter in Danny Berdeaux’s mailbox.

  After attaining a full academic scholarship at UT, he completed his degree in computer forensics and digital investigations.

  He was exceptionally good at what he did.

  A stocky computer geek, he had hundreds of ‘World of Warcraft’ friends online. He was a combination of limited social experience, joined with an extremely high IQ. The fact was, at the age of twenty-seven, Edgar Gates was still a virgin.

  He wasn’t unattractive and like any young man, he suffered from his share of lust. In truth, he’d had ample opportunities to lose his virginity, yet never took advantage of any of these possibilities.

  He felt casual sex was disrespectful toward women.

  Raised by his single mother, with enthusiastic support from a devoted grandmother, he valued women almost to the point of worshiping them.

  When Edgar was ten years old, his mother finally fell in love, married and found her happily ever after. That was what Edgar hoped for himself.

  His stepfather adopted him, which is why his last name was Gates. His stepfather was honorable and more importantly, he made his mom happy. Edgar’s three half-siblings, ages six, eight and eleven, loved their big brother.

  Edgar adored his mother, Celia. Even as a child, he was aware there was a story, and perhaps a tragedy behind his birth. For years, his mother suffered bouts of inexplicable depression, guilt, and shame—yet she was always extremely proud of her son.

  Edgar had no idea who his father was, but then, neither did his mother. In his teens, his mom finally explained that as an innocent sixteen-year-old, he had been the result of her frightening rape at knifepoint.

  Despite immense pressure from her father and complaints about the cost, she refused to give her child up for adoption. Terminating her pregnancy never entered her mind.

  Young as she was, Celia had a stubborn streak. She loved her baby from the instant she discovered his existence. Celia saw Edgar as a blessing, a lovely silver lining that made the hideous trauma she suffered a gift, rather than the curse it originally seemed to be.

  It was perhaps not surprising that Edgar’s earlier years were his most formative. His grandfather openly disapproved of him, as though it was his fault he was conceived and born out of wedlock. Grandpa Lovett was a miserable and hateful man.

  Eventually, his grandfather’s nastiness stopped bothering Edgar. The unconditional love he had from his mother and grandmother more than made up for his grandfather’s disdain.

  “There’s no smoke without fire,” Grandpa Lovett used to say in a tone of scornful condemnation and pious religious zeal. “Women shouldn’t tempt men ‘to stumble’ through immodest behavior.”

  Celia’s father b
lamed his teenage daughter for the violent rape that destroyed her innocence and left her ashamed and pregnant. Edgar’s mom had been attacked while wearing a fast-food uniform, while on her way home from an afternoon shift at her part-time weekend job.

  Her outfit had hardly been an attempt to draw male attention.

  These facts never interfered with Grandpa Lovett’s ‘blame the victim’ mentality. Celia’s father disparaged the friends she kept, the clothes she wore, and her ‘loose morality.’

  Yet, her son never once doubted his mother’s devotion. The fact that his father was a monster, a rapist who never paid for his crime, rarely disturbed him anymore.

  Edgar knew he took after his mom and he shared her belief that he was meant to be. One day he hoped to find a woman of his own to love. Someone like his mother who was brave, caring and determined.

  He grew up longing to right his mother’s wrongs. He hated that a criminal who had hurt his mother, was free to possibly injure others. He wanted his violent rapist father to be held accountable, to face the consequences of his actions.

  Edgar was convinced his career in forensics would, in time, fulfill that need. His mother reported her rape to the police, but nothing ever came of it. It was an old, cold case. Unfortunately, DNA from her attacker had not been taken at the time.

  Consequently, Edgar regularly checked his own DNA against the national criminal database. So far he hadn’t found any familial connections, but there were years ahead of him to try.

  He long ago decided to never be anything like his father. Edgar was respectful and protective toward women. Violence was not in his nature. Violence toward the abusers of women however, would be a totally different story.

  That was why when he saw pictures of children being molested on Wilkinson’s computer, he felt the need to take action. He personally knew some of the children who suffered from that abuse. His mom may never find her rapist, but at least these children—now adults, would know. They would have photographic evidence of their molesters.

  From the pictures he sent them, he hoped they’d have sufficient proof to convict these men, bring them to justice and obtaining closure for themselves. Their actions may even prevent other children from being abused.

  Edgar ate his dinner at a local diner and returned home after dusk. As usual, he parked his car in the single spot behind his property then walked through the backyard to his house.

  Bang! Bang!

  Both shots came from a .300 Win Mag Sniper Rifle with night scope and silencer, at a distance just over 700 yards. The muffled noises were quieter than a car backfiring, but louder than a hand clap.

  No one noticed.

  In classic sniper technique, the first bullet hit his heart, the second his head.

  Quick and painless, Edgar Gates never knew he was going to die before he hit the ground dead. Since his body was in the backyard, it was two days before he was found.

  By then, a domino effect of life changing events had already been set in motion.

  Chapter 6.

  “Ah, many of us long to please. Oui, oui, serving another transcends, inspires, and elevates toward the divine. This desire, this need is what it is to be submissive.”

  — André Chevalier

  ~~~

  Renata Koreman

  Grant’s coming home late tonight because he’s attending an AA meeting after work. Meanwhile, I’ve had a fun, interesting and productive day despite his absence.

  Maria came over for a couple of hours this morning, we chatted and worked together. I love Grant’s housekeeper—she’s a sweetheart who constantly tells me endearing stories about Grant.

  The woman knows I’m madly in love with him. This has cemented our own easy friendship. Maria treats him like her own son.

  After Maria left, Briley and I spent a few hours setting up a complex obstacle course for Mitten to play on. It involved going over and under things, ringing a bell and such. The idea was for him to get through the course, get his ball at the end and then bring it back to me for a game of fetch.

  Mitten did the entire course perfectly. I captured it all in a digital recording and then upload it onto YouTube.

  I figure it’s good for a few extra bucks a month.

  Mitten has become an Internet sensation. Thanks to him, I make over $1000 a month from YouTube views of his tricks. I’ve decided to self-publish “Cat Coaching,” a book André encouraged me to write.

  Another event happened today. Alex and his wife, Sky, came to visit their son for the first time since they went to rehab. I didn’t get much notice from the court appointed supervisor, or I would’ve made sure Grant was here too.

  Alex visibly relaxed when he found his brother wasn’t home. I’d assumed they were close since Grant seems so fond of him.

  Was Alex’s tension caused by a guilty conscience? He was also abused by his father. I have to wonder, are the police pursuing the wrong brother? Did Alex kill Chester Wilkinson?

  I liked Grant’s brother very much. I’m sure he was putting on a brave act, but he was so funny, congenial and lighthearted. He put me at ease, made me laugh, and Briley giggle.

  Sky was introverted, shy and wary. Of course, I could relate, so we got on like a house on fire. Neither of us are comfortable around strangers. Mutual discomfort is an odd but valid trait for two people to bond over.

  I act as nanny and therapist to them both. I share stories about their son, while validating their parenting skills. Adoring parents, they hung upon my every word.

  Briley’s beginning to crawl, which was both exciting and disappointing for them. It seemed to highlight the sobering fact that because of their recklessness, they've been robbed of time with their son. Every day is precious at his age. It’s sad they’re missing these important milestones.

  I felt so sorry for them, especially for Sky who couldn’t stop crying when their time with Briley was over.

  Later, after they left, when the baby was napping in his crib. I called Diana, my ex-landlord and good friend. I used to rent Diana’s apartment above her veterinary office. My stuff is in storage for now, while I’m a nanny.

  Like me, Diana works as a consultant for André sometimes, but not as a sexual surrogate. When she works for him it’s as ‘Mistress Diana,’ an experienced Domme. She’s a petite woman with bright bottle-red hair, and a feisty, no-nonsense personality. She combines excellent control of her animal patients (and their owners!) with caring good sense in her job as a veterinarian.

  “Hello, Diana?”

  “Renata! It’s great to hear from you! How are you? How’s Mitten?”

  “Mitten’s perfect. I just posted a new YouTube video of him going through an obstacle course. Want me to send you the link?”

  “No,” she says, “I’ll find it. How are you doing down there in Texas with that hottie you told me about?”

  “Oh my God, Grant is amazing. He’s such a gentleman, and he’s so appreciative of my help. I’m madly in love with him.”

  “Really? So, he’s good for you?”

  “The best,” I assure her. “I think he’s the guy for me, Diana. No joke. I want to marry him and have his babies,” I add, in a teasing, yet serious tone.

  She laughs. “Sure sounds like love to me.”

  I adore Diana. I also respect and look up to her. Meanwhile, she mothers and supports me. At first, I was suspicious and found her protective manner disturbing. What did she want with me? Why was she being so nice?

  As time went on, as with André, I grew to trust her. I missed out on being mothered, protected and nurtured during my formative years. Now, I adore Diana’s attention and value her opinions.

  “So what’s the problem?” she asks.

  “Why would you think there’s a problem?”

  “Because I hear it in your voice.”

  “Well,” I say, “there are some issues. Sadly, most of them I can’t discuss on the phone—if I can talk about them at all. But there’s one thing I want to ask you. I think Grant mi
ght be a sexual dominant. How do I know if he is? And if he is, do you think in the long-term I’ll have to act differently?”

  “Are you asking as a surrogate, or as Renata?”

  “Hmm. Good point. I haven’t even considered that.”

  I hesitate, pondering her question. When I don’t respond, Diana asks, “How’s your sex life with this paragon?”

  “Epic,” I breathe reverently. “The best sex ever.”

  “Wow, that’s really saying something considering André’s taken you to his bed,” she says, amused. “I was a little concerned the sexy Frenchman would ruin you for anyone else. Most lovers would pale in comparison to that masterful man. André is God's gift to the aroused, the frustrated, or in fact any woman with a pulse.”

  “That’s only funny because it’s true,” I reply with a laugh. “But don’t forget how many men, couples and polyamorous couples he’s helped. He's incredibly gifted and intuitive to a degree that defies description—plus, he's André!”

  “Ooh là là, baby,” Diana replies. “I get it. André is his name, sexual fulfillment is his game.”

  “Amen to that,” I agree. “I think it’s his life’s mission.”

  “As Shakespeare says, some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them,” Diana says. “But the truly great men do the thrusting.”

  We both snicker.

  “Yet,” I tell her. “André, for all his perfection, is too independent and self-contained for me. I love him dearly, but he doesn't touch my heart and soul the way Grant can. Grant needs me. I’ve come to realize being important to someone has been missing all of my life. It’s as though both of us, in our own way, have been hollow. Yet, when we’re together, we’re complete. We fill each other’s emptiness.”

  “Wow—that's really something. So…," she pauses. "You’re saying he fills your holes?”

  I burst out laughing again. “Trust you to bring our conversation down into the gutter.”

  “And what’s wrong with the gutter?” she asks with a sardonic snicker. “Staying on the sidewalk gets boring. If you don’t go off-road, you miss out on the fun.”