Tricked

by Claire Thompson

  “Don’t make a sound,” he’d warned through the door, as if she could have uttered a peep with the damn tape stuck over her mouth. “I’ll come get you after they leave.”

  Once she was sure he was back upstairs, she’d managed to shift awkwardly over the rough concrete floor until her back was against the wall. It was dark and musty in the little closet but at least she was alone.

  He’d returned for her after an hour or so, grinning as he told her how the three fat old cleaning ladies had freaked when they got to the top of the spiral stairs. “Their eyes were practically bugging out of their heads while they wiped down the cage and dusted the St. Andrew’s cross. Of course, they didn’t dare say a word. They did find their tongues when I gave them each a fifty-dollar tip. Muchas gracias, señor,” he parroted in falsetto.

  The next morning, Callie opened her eyes, pulled suddenly from a nightmare by her own small cry. Damon’s feet were nearly touching her face. She shifted closer to the edge of the mattress to get away, tugging lightly against the cuffs that bound her wrists and ankles.

  Lifting her head, she managed to peek out from the sheet that covered her. Sunlight poured into the room. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d made it through another day in hell.

  Soon he would wake and pull her up between his legs, forcing her to suck his morning erection. At least he was always quick first thing in the morning—never more than a couple of minutes.

  At first, she’d only seen the change in her sleeping arrangements as going from the frying pan into the fire. But she’d come to understand that being upstairs and sleeping on an extremely comfortable mattress was a definite improvement.

  Once he had fallen asleep, she would maneuver to the edge of the mattress and nuzzle her head against the tucked-in sheets until she loosened them, allowing in a bit of fresh air.

  Yes, she had to endure his nightly sexual assaults, but after he’d drifted off, she was able to get a reasonably good night’s rest—essential so she could keep up her strength. She had to keep sight of her overriding goal of escape.

  With each new diabolical torture or sex game Damon devised, she did her best to obey him to the letter. She strived to project the image of a broken, docile slave girl. But inside, she only became more determined with each passing day to find a way out.

  The gun lockbox remained on the night table shelf, silently beckoning her. She was nearly certain that the chain around his neck held the key. So far, he had yet to remove it, even while showering. Somehow, she had to get hold of those keys.

  She stiffened now as Damon stirred and yawned noisily. But, to her surprise, instead of reaching for her and pulling her up to suck his cock per his usual M.O., he threw back the covers and sat up.

  “Good morning, slave,” he said, grinning sleepily at her.

  “Good morning, Sir,” she replied in a timid voice.

  “This morning, we’re going to do something fun.”

  Somehow, she sincerely doubted that, but she kept her thoughts firmly to herself, her eyes downcast.

  “I’m taking you outside to the pool before breakfast. I’ve always thought it would be hot to have a girl give me an underwater blow job. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

  Direct question.

  “I’ll do my best, Sir,” Callie replied softly, though the prospect filled her with dread.

  After allowing her to briefly wash up and brush her teeth, he took her out the bedroom sliding doors that led directly to the pool. The air was damp and still cool, the sun barely over the horizon. She glanced around quickly, trying to take in every detail of her surroundings.

  The pool area and beautifully landscaped yard beyond were completely surrounded by a high wall of white-washed brick, much of it covered in spectacularly flowering magenta bougainvillea. She could see nothing beyond it but the perfect robin’s egg blue of the sky overhead.

  Still, it was wonderful to be outside. The warm sun felt good on her skin. She drew in a deep breath of the fresh, moist air, which carried a hint of the salty tang of the ocean just beyond her beautiful prison.

  She listened for sounds beyond the walls. She heard nothing but the distant break of the waves against the shore. Would anyone hear her if she yelled?

  She didn’t dare, of course. Not with Damon right beside her, his hand clamped hard on the back of her neck. The fact he hadn’t bothered to put anything on, nor allowed her to do so, confirmed her suspicion that no one could see them.

  His hand still on her neck, he guided her down the wide, smooth steps that led into the shallow end of the pool. The sunlight created glints of gold in his thick, glossy hair, which fell rakishly over his forehead and curled at the nape of his neck. His deep blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. His jaw was chiseled, his biceps bulging, his chest smooth and tan. How could such pure evil come in that beautiful package?

  She looked away. Sunlight dappled over the surface as the water rippled in a circle around them. It felt cool and pleasant against her welted, bruised skin. In a way, the peaceful, idyllic scene was like a slap in the face. It was hard to reconcile the heavenly surroundings with the hell of her situation.

  Damon let go of her neck and moved toward the side of the pool. He rested his back against it as he spread his arms out wide on either side. “Hopefully, you’re reasonably adept with breath control. You’ll want to be careful not to take in water while you’re sucking my cock. From what I understand, the most important thing is the seal. You need to create a tight ring with your lips around the shaft, and enough suction so the seal doesn’t break. It may take a few tries to get the hang of it.”

  As he spoke, he reached under the water for his cock, which he fisted in his hand. “If the seal breaks, you’ll get a mouthful of water. If that happens, tap at my thigh and I’ll pull you up. But a warning—if I think you’re screwing up on purpose to get out of this, you’ll pay the price. We clear on that?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She tried to keep her voice calm and respectful, refusing to let the panic his words created take her over. She couldn’t imagine how she’d manage to keep the water from pouring into her nose, mouth and lungs as she tried to suck his huge cock underwater.

  “Get over here in front of me,” he directed. He let go of his shaft, now fully erect and bobbing between them. “You can easily hold your breath for a minute or so. Longer once you get used to it. I’ll let you up when I think you need a breath. Now”—he clapped his hands together—“let’s get this party started.”

  He put his hands firmly on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Take a deep breath.”

  Fear bubbled inside Callie. What if he drowned her, inadvertently or otherwise? “Please,” she blurted. “I’m not sure I can do this. What if I choke?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said expansively, a big smile on his stupid, handsome face. “I’ve seen this done on porn sites and I did a little reading up on it yesterday while you were in the cage. It’s perfectly doable. Just remember the seal.” He rubbed his hands eagerly together. “Now. Take a deep breath, and, one… two…”

  Panicked, Callie took a huge breath and held it.

  “Three.”

  As Damon pushed her under the water, she was plunged into the wet silence. Bubbles tickled her nostrils. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut as the head of his cock tapped against her lips. Heeding his warning about proper suction, she desperately tried to suck his shaft into her mouth without drowning herself in the process.

  It didn’t work. Her mouth and nose flooded with the chlorinated water. Panicked, she tapped frantically on his thigh.

  To her relief, he pulled her immediately up out of the water. Gasping and sputtering, she whipped the wet hair from her face, her heart pounding, her sinuses burning.

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I told you it would take a little practice. You ready to try it again? You do want to please me, don’t you, Callie?”

  As murderous rage threatened to re
ar its head inside her, she forced herself to keep her eye on the bigger goal. Let him think he’s won. Let him think you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid.

  “Yes, Sir,” she managed hoarsely. “I do. I truly do.”

  He smiled. “That’s my girl. Now. Take another deep breath, and…”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “One… two…”

  Callie sucked in another bushel of air. There was no way out of this. The sooner she figured out how to do this, the sooner it would be over.

  “Three.”

  This time, she somehow managed to suck in the shaft without taking too much water. As he eased it down her throat, he placed a heavy hand on top of her head, keeping her down. Still, the buoyancy of the water threatened to lift her up, pulling her away from her tenuous hold.

  Desperate to keep his cock in her mouth, she gripped his thighs, holding tight as he moved in and out of her throat. At least he was doing all the work. All she had to focus on was keeping the suction going.

  The pressure began to build in her chest, her lungs burning. Yet he continued to thrust, his cock wedged deep in her throat.

  Just get through it. Just get through it…

  It was no use. She had to get some air. Her limbs were leaden, but somehow, she found the wherewithal to tap at his thigh.

  To her relief, his hand fell away from her head. She floated up, breaking the water with an audible, grateful gulp of air as she whipped the hair from her face.

  He regarded her with a tilt of his head. “Too bad you couldn’t hang on another couple of seconds. I was that close.” He shrugged. “Ah, well. You know what they say—the third time’s the charm. Take another breath. One, two, three…”

  Down she went again, plunged into the watery silence.

  Determined to get it done this time, she accepted his shaft, keeping her lips pursed tight as he slid once more to the back of her throat. This time, he held her head in both hands as he fucked her face.

  Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. The pressure behind her eyes was nearly unbearable. Her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. It was no use. She couldn’t stay down another second.

  She tapped his thigh.

  But instead of pulling her up, he thrust faster, his cock buried so deep in her throat she wouldn’t have been able to breathe even if she weren’t under the water. As he pummeled her, a strange lightness pervaded her being, as if she were floating away from the world. Maybe this was the only way to be free of him. She could just open her mouth and drink in the promise of oblivion.

  The wet, soothing silence closed around her like a shroud, enveloping her in a dark, perfect peace.

  It would be so easy to just… let… go…

  All at once, she was above the water, again sputtering and coughing as she sucked in mouthfuls of life-giving air. Tears mingled with the water streaming down her face. Chlorine combined with the bitter aftertaste of his jism at the back of her throat. Her entire body shook with shock and exhaustion.

  “Poor baby. You look like a little drowned puppy,” Damon said with what seemed to be a genuinely sympathetic smile. “You should be proud. That was fucking awesome.” He pushed the wet hair from her face, tucking it carefully behind her ears.

  Then he pulled her up into his arms, cradling her gently against his chest.

  It was the unexpected tenderness that undid her. It felt so good just to be held. She was so, so tired… Unable to stop herself, she began to sob in his arms.

  He continued to hold her, rocking her gently as she cried. She hid her face against his chest, actually grateful for his warm, strong embrace.

  “There’s a good girl,” he cooed softly. “You almost make me want to keep you. Too bad this can’t last forever…”

  Chapter 13

  It was another “French Maid” day. Callie had gotten reasonably adept at walking in the too-big high heels as she ran the stupid feather duster over various surfaces. She moved through the living room. At least this time he wasn’t breathing down her neck.

  Instead, he was lounging on the smaller of the two sofas as he watched her, a strange smile on his handsome face. He had pulled one of the throw pillows onto his lap and his hand rested on top of it. “You’re from Wisconsin, right?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  His mention of her home state triggered a fresh wave of anxiety. Her parents and brother, Harry, had to be aware that something was very wrong by now, as their texts and phone calls went unanswered. They must be sick with worry. If only she could get word to them somehow. If only she could get away…

  “Everybody’s got a gun up there, right? God-given Second Amendment rights and all that crap?”

  Where was he going with this? Was this a trick question? Was there a right or wrong answer? “Um, I’m not sure, Sir,” she hedged.

  He laughed. “Your daddy has a gun or two, I bet. A hunting rifle maybe, and a little handgun by the bed to keep his family safe from intruders?”

  “He does like to go hunting,” she said warily.

  “Taught you to shoot, too, did he?” Something in his tone made alarm bells go off in her head.

  Instinctively, Callie lied, “No, Sir. I was never interested in guns. They scare me.”

  He reached under the throw pillow and pulled out a small handgun. He slipped his finger into the trigger, released the safety catch and pointed the muzzle at her.

  Callie froze in place.

  She forgot how to breathe.

  Was this it?

  In a way, it was almost a relief. At least it was a concrete way out of the nightmare her life had become.

  But no—her will to survive was too strong. She would never give up.

  Several possible scenarios crowded into her fevered brain. She could rush at him, catching him by surprise as she wrested the gun from his hand. She could fall to her knees and beg for mercy. She could try to make a run for it.

  She did none of those things. She remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the lethal weapon.

  “Guns are scary,” he said, waving the weapon lazily in her direction. “But sometimes that little element of fear can heighten a scene, don’t you agree?”

  She said nothing, her mouth so dry she couldn’t even swallow.

  “Gun play is just another kind of edge play,” he continued, getting to his feet. “There are whole sites devoted to it. I’ve always wanted to try it, but not for play. For real.”

  He was shirtless, a pair of faded jeans molded perfectly to his long, muscular legs, his feet bare. He tossed his shiny hair with a shake of his head and flashed a dimpled smile. “Every girl has a secret rape fantasy. Don’t bother denying it.” He walked toward her.

  She remained still as a rabbit, unable to move.

  He stopped in front of her, the gun again pointed directly at her. “Here’s the scenario. You’re a good girl—a virgin, saving yourself for your Prince Charming. But you’re a secret slut, too. You flirt shamelessly with the boss at work, flashing a bare thigh, or a view of your tits all pressed up together in your sheer blouse as you put a report on his desk. You’re a prick tease, a dirty little whore who plays with herself alone in her bed while imagining your big, sexy boss finally having his way with you. But when he actually responds in kind, pushing you against the wall in his office to give you the kiss you’ve practically been begging for, you wriggle away and protest you’re not that kind of girl.

  “After repeating this cat and mouse game for months, he’s had enough. One day, he comes to your apartment. He’s pissed, and he’s got a gun. You have no choice. You must submit or else…”

  “Please,” Callie begged, her voice breaking on a sob. “You’re really scaring me.”

  “Good. You should be scared.”

  His words slid like ice cubes along her spine.

  Using the gun as a pointer, he waved toward the ground. “Get on your knees, cunt. Make my dick hard.”

  Her mind had short-circuited. Sinking to her knees, she r
eached for his fly. She managed to undo the metal button and tug down the zipper with trembling fingers. She pulled his semi-erect cock from the denim, her hands shaking so hard she could barely get hold of it.

  “Relax,” he said with a cruel chuckle. “You’d think I had a gun to your head.” The chuckle segued into a laugh. “Oh, wait.” He touched the cold muzzle to her forehead. “I do.”

  All at once, her bladder let go, a rush of urine spurting between her legs.

  His laughter stopped abruptly. “What the fuck? You stupid cunt, you peed on the rug. I thought you learned that lesson back on the cot.”

  To her vast relief, he took a step back, the gun no longer touching her skin. She heard the soft snick as he put the safety back on. A reprieve, at least for the moment.

  “Take off your apron and use it to sop up that mess. Now.”

  Reaching back, Callie fumbled with the bow at her back. Her fingers refused to cooperate. Try as she might, she couldn’t catch hold of the sash.

  With a snort of disgust, Damon reached down and plucked the bow. As the apron fell from her body, he grabbed it and used it to roughly wipe between her legs. Dropping it, he kicked it over the wet spot on the rug and stepped on it. “You can clean up properly later.”

  She clung to his words. In order to clean up later, she had to be alive. He wasn’t going to kill her. He was just doing a mind fuck—the worst possible kind.

  Just get through this, she counseled herself urgently. Keep it together.

  He reached for her arm, hauling her upright. One of her shoes fell off in the process. His free hand on the back of her neck, he propelled her toward the adjacent sofa and threw her down onto her back on the cushions.

  Keeping the gun in one hand, he dragged his unzipped jeans down and kicked them away. Then he straddled her chest. Using his free hand, he gripped his erect shaft and pushed the spongy head against her lips.

  Not daring to resist, she opened her mouth. He pushed his cock inside, not stopping until it was lodged at the back of her throat, his balls touching her chin. He didn’t seem to notice or care that she was choking as he thrust repeatedly into her throat.