by Theresa Papa
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8 (Later that night)
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
THE POPE FAMILY TRILOGY CONTINUES…
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
About the Author
‘Art Imitates Life’
Acknowledgements
Preview Reckless Obsession
Immoral
OBSESSION
Book 2
Of
The Pope Family Trilogy
THERESA PAPA
IMMORAL OBSESSION
Copyright © 2019 by T. PAPA All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, businesses or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. This book contains sexual content, dark themes, and violence of a sexual and physical nature that could trigger emotional distress in readers.
It is intended for adult readers ages 18 years or older.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7333091-3-4 (Ebook)
ISBN-13: 978-1-7333091-2-7 (Paperback)
Library of Congress Control Number:2019910820
Editor: Chelsea Kuhel - https://www.madisonseidler.com/
Proofreader: Jenny Sims - http://www.editing4indies.com/
Cover Design: Shannon - https://www.shanoffdesigns.com/
Interior Book Design: Bob Houston eBook Formatting
Dedication
Dedicated to my sister Carrie, the best cheerleader I’m so lucky to have.
Chapter 1
Liz Pope
Composure is my friend as I kneel at the feet of the son of the devil. Ignoring the stiffness in my neck, I keep my head down, my dark brown hair forming a veil around my face. My blurry eyes try to focus on the torn-up gray linoleum beneath my bruised knees. Purple, brown, and yellow marks are beginning to heal on my fair complexion. The stench of cigarette smoke floats all around me like a suffocating cloak. I keep my hands on my thighs and summon all my will to remain motionless. The fatigue and lethargy are still evident in my limbs from the drugs this son of a bitch shot into me.
The new manager of Club Beta, Marcus Dent, brutally captured me. One nasty prick from a hypodermic needle rendered me unconscious for a while, maybe even for a few days. The truth is, I would have had a small chance to fight him with all the self-defense training I’ve undergone, but my preoccupation with revenge on his father made me slow. This should teach me that revenge is never a good idea. He had the element of surprise on his side. My head was not in the game, and I fucked up.
In my peripheral vision, I see his size humungous combat boots. They remind me of other little details. Namely, that my five foot, five inch, one-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds is no match for his six feet two, probably two-hundred-and-twenty-pound stature. Now here I am, after waking up on the filthy bathroom floor this morning to my new reality. Still fresh in my memory is the extremely sharp blade he held to my throat while he clued me in on the reason I’m his captive.
“Aren’t you my little slut of gold at the end of my perverted rainbow? You’ll make a good little sex slave while we wait for word from my fucking father.” Then he threw me to the floor before he continued his vengeful monologue in a low and scratchy voice.
“You know why my father and I have different last names? Asshole never acknowledged me as his son. Richard Harrington fucked my mother, Eliza Dent, when she was only fourteen and made me. She had no family, no one, and when the asshole had no further use for her, he tossed her out on the street. A foster family took us in, but then she disappeared. She fucking left me! That bitch left me before I could hold my own goddamn head up. Anyway, Eliza left a letter explaining exactly who my scumbag father is, and in it, she urged me to seek my fucking rightful inheritance. You, my little whore, are the key in my plan to do that.”
I tried to reason with him. After I strained to clear my parched throat, I pleaded, “Please let me go, and we can team up to make your asshole father pay for his sins. Look at it this way. I was his victim just as your mother was, only his abuse began when I was even younger than her.”
“There’s no fucking mercy or pity in this soul, especially where my mother’s concerned. She left me like a piece of garbage!” He pounded his thumb into his chest.
Then he grabbed me by the hair and made me kneel before him.
“Now, all that fucking matters to me is the money! It will grant me freedom from this fucked-up life. The money you bring in here will keep me happy until my daddy pays me a million dollars for your sweet ass.”
His daddy is the devil himself who took everything from me at the ripe young age of five with the help of his advocate. He and his advocate were best friends with sick, perverted minds who fed off each other in disturbing, deviant ways. My own flesh and blood, my own father, was the devil’s advocate. Used as a pawn in their game of sexual pedophilia, I was betrayed by the one man a little girl looks up to for love and protection. When I was twenty-one, my father went into the fires of hell. That was three years ago, but the devil is still alive, and I am his main obsession. His name is Richard Harrington III.
Chapter 2
Liz Pope
As I continue to kneel here, the bile in my stomach eats me from the inside out. I ignore the pain and renew my resolve to make myself appear helpless, agreeable, and submissive. I learned to become a chameleon early on in life as a coping mechanism. It is vital to adapt to every situation for survival. My act of compliance is so believable that the devil’s son, my captor, has put me in the pool of girls who work for Club
Beta.
He’s the manager of the club and recently turned it into more of a brothel than it ever was. I blow out a sharp breath and refuse to let that worry me right now. I won’t think about it until I have to. I’m a chameleon. The simple fact that he will finally allow me out of this apartment after he kept me locked in the bathroom for three days is a miracle. It’s also a chance for me to escape.
The fact is I’ve already been working at Club Beta for a while in an undercover capacity. The work was kinky sometimes, but I drew the line at having sex with the clients. The club fronts as a nightclub for dancing with scantily-clad people grinding on each other in glass cages or wrestling in various mediums. Then there’s a whole underground, as well, with rooms available to VIP customers who pay to have their sexual fantasies made into reality. In my carefully planned quest for revenge, my only goal was to get information on the owner of the club. After I waded through a bunch of dummy corporations set up as a smokescreen, I found out my hunch was correct. The owner of Club Beta is Marcus Dent’s biological father, the devil incarnate himself.
Just as I tracked the club to Richard as the owner, so did Marcus a few months after me. Marcus took over as the new manager and came to live in this apartment above the garage behind the club, where I am captive now.
In the short time I was allowed to walk upright, it was evident this place had seen better days. The walls are peeling a grayish paint and lead to arched ceilings with exposed wooden beams. There’s a small, L-shaped kitchen in the corner with one of the only two windows above the sink. The only interior walls section off the bathroom for privacy. It doesn’t have a window, but it has an open transom above the door for ventilation. A card table and chairs serve as a place for him to dine, which is where he now sits leaning over me. A lit cigarette hangs from his lips, which he seems to have a propensity to talk around.
“I have the profiles of the men who have requested your photo from the group. Five have already booked an appointment and paid for you this week. A nice fucking little chunk of change.” The smoke wafts upward in his face, having no effect on him. I, on the other hand, want to gag.
It disgusts me to see his hairy hand with yellow fingernails and a skull tattoo approach my face, but I purposely resist the urge to back away. His index finger extends under my chin, and he brings my face up to look at him. Dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard with creepy silver eyes make me think of poking them both out with a hot stick. I remain expressionless. Yellow, uneven teeth fill his grin around the cig as he continues.
“They must see what my fucking father sees in you. He’s gonna pay me a million dollars when I deliver you. My luck finally kicked in when I scoped out your picture on the asshole’s game app, and there you were in the flesh.” He presses his password into his phone and holds it up. “I should have played the lottery that day because all of those other players in the game can fuck off. I found you first. Who would have thought that the object of Daddy’s lifelong bullshit obsession was right under his nose in his own club? I can’t wait to see his face when his illegitimate son delivers the slut for the money. I’ll finally get to enjoy the cash that should have been rightfully mine from birth.”
I remain impassive. Resentful much! I guess he has good reason to be. Considering the way he came into existence, and then the people who were supposed to love and care for him abandoned him instead. At least they didn’t use him for their sick obsessions like my parents did. Although if his father, Richard, had him as a little boy who knows what sick acts he would have made him participate in. Maybe this guy was the lucky one.
He gets up from the chair and pushes it under the table.
“Get up.”
I rise to my feet, my legs numb. A bunch of pictures are spread out over the table. I’m shocked to see a face I’ve fantasized about since I was in high school. Tony Dragonetti. The only man who has never been far from my thoughts for years now smirks back at me with the word Wednesday scrawled in black marker under his face. Tony knows I’m in trouble. He’s the client who has picked me for tomorrow night. Tony’s coming to get me out!
Marcus’s next words quickly bring me out of my happy dance reverie inside my head.
“I’m going to get my dinner, so you have to get back in the bathroom.”
I walk into the bathroom, turn on the light, and sit down willingly. I’m happy he’s not going to drug me again; the weakness in my body is wearing off slowly.
“Maybe you will let me eat something, too?” I ask, keeping my head down.
He grunts in response and locks the door from the outside. At lunch, I was given peanut butter crackers and water, but it in no way sustained me. At first, I imagined being able to try to fight my way out of here. Originally, that was my only hope. But now Tony will come for me, so I won’t have to try to take on six feet two, over two hundred pounds of Marcus Dent all by myself.
I hear him leave the apartment by the sound of his boots on the metal staircase outside.
Chapter 3
Jake Balcom
The club vibrates with the pounding bass. I’m on my third scotch, still waiting for someone named Olga to escort me to the VIP experience. Sexy, beautiful women fill the dance floor, a multitude of tits and ass cheeks bouncing in time with the beat. A cheer rises up from across the room where some girl celebrates her win, her arms in the air, slime dripping from her bikini-clad body. The provocative sight is blocked by a woman standing in front of me now.
“Mr. B, I am Olga, your concierge here at Club Beta. I will be taking you to the lower level for your VIP experience. Follow me, please.”
We reach a flared, wide stone staircase at the far end and begin to descend into dimmer lighting. Torch-like sconces line the walls, and red candles are placed on built-in shelves. As we descend the stairs, the music becomes more distant and makes it easier for us to hold a conversation.
“Now Olga, what exactly will happen if I decide that I want to upgrade my experience during the scene?”
“No worries, we aim to please. Just tell your partner what you desire, and we have your credit card to charge you accordingly.”
“What if my desire is, uh, over and above the escort’s so-called pay grade?”
“I assure you, sir, we can accommodate your every desire. Would you like to have me upgrade you to our VVVIP experience right now? Then it is guaranteed that nothing is off-limits.”
“Yes.”
Finally, Olga slows her stride and takes a key ring out of her pocket. She stops in front of one of the doors and turns toward me.
“This conversation will be recorded. As you might imagine, what goes on in the VVVIP experience is highly top-secret. We have already completed the vetting process with you, and the signed papers are all on file in preparation for this upgrade. Many of our customers decide exactly as you have on the way down to the lower level. It is my duty to reiterate the top-secret nature of this scene and to remind you that should you compromise it in any way when you leave here, there will be consequences upon your return. Please remember Club Beta is not responsible or liable for your actions. Do you understand as you indicated while signing in?”
“Yes, I understand.”
She holds her smartphone toward me and says to sign the screen with my finger. After I sign, she uses the key and allows me to enter. Provocative music plays at a low volume. Black, distressed wood planks cover the floors. Tapestries of deep reds, blacks, and grays cover the stone walls. Two interior walls are pewter in color with every bit of wall space devoted to different erotic tools and devices. I contemplate each implement carefully as my eyes roam the span of the various restraints, canes, whips, paddles, ball gags, and even hairbrushes.
Olga brings my attention back to her with her outstretched hand, offering me a vial of powder.
“Amyl nitrite, an inhaled drug used to intensify sexual experiences,” I read out loud from the bottle. My friend from college would use this drug on his girlfriend, and she
became an untamable sex maniac with no morals or humanity. She just wanted to fuck until it wore off. I’ve never had to use such means to get a girl to have sex with me before.
“Take it. For an unlimited sexual experience, have her inhale some of it. She will take it willingly. She loves it. It will make her insatiable and ready for anything.”
Olga leaves and locks the door behind her. The music rises in volume, and I turn in response to it. In the back of the room stands a beautiful blonde dressed in red thigh-high stockings held up by clips connected to a rigid see-through lace corset. Her tits sit way up high, almost overflowing out of it. The sight of her makes me hard instantly.
When my eyes finally reach hers, she gestures with a nod toward a padded high-back chair for me to sit in. Her hips begin to sway to the music, and she pulls up her long, wavy hair from the back of her neck. Standing now in front of me, she slowly moves her hands from her hair, to her collarbone, to her breasts, and then down her body. She touches herself exactly the way I’m dying to. Her tits drag down my chest with the beat of the music.
“Give me the powder,” she whispers in my ear.
I open my palm and offer it to her. She takes my palm in her hand, pours some of the powder into it, then snorts it. She closes the vial with a wide-eyed stare and places it into my shirt pocket.
She moves to sit on my lap and provocatively rocks her hips against me. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I spread my legs to make more room in my pants. I can tell by her slight smile when she feels my need for her. It spurs her to lean back and rotate her hips as though she’s fucking me. My hands travel up her body to touch her breasts as I lift them up and out of their lace prison. Her head falls back, and she winds her fingers into my hair when I suck her nipples until they are bright pink and standing at attention. With my index finger wrapped into the front of her thong, I pull up on it to wedge it into her crevice. She moans at the stimulation and then stands. First, she places her right stiletto on the chair next to me to indicate I should remove her stocking and then she proceeds with the left. My fingers travel up her smooth legs to her slit, feathering over her exposed labia. Back on both feet, she widens her stance, and I pluck her thong from her body and slide it down slowly. I can smell her arousal as my fingers coax it from her, and she rides my palm. Her whole body shudders as she screams for more.