A few nods back and forth between the men across the table from him later, the man handed him a different check, one he had kept under the folder in front of him. It was written out to him as well, but this one was for $40,000. They told him the money was his, and he could do whatever he wanted to with it.
The dinner was going to run just under two grand for the 22 employees and him, and though he would keep a bit for himself and Lana, the rest would be distributed equally between them. An envelope was already in the safe in his office with each of their names on it. Inside each envelope were 15 crisp hundred dollar bills. Sure, he could have done a lot with the money, but he held the belief that his company’s view of leadership was incomplete. To him, there could be no good leader without a good team. The $5,000 would be plenty for him and Lana to celebrate with. With his salary, and what he had managed to put back, it would be enough to make the down payment on the house he had been keeping an eye on. That was all he had been waiting for really; the engagement ring was tucked away in a safety deposit box at the bank. Now, he could make an offer on the house and offer her the ring.
Life was good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The warm water in the cast iron bathtub held her in its arms, as Lana happily sank deep into its embrace. The aroma of the lilac coming from the water and filling the air around her only added to the delusion of cerebral liberation, and she allowed her mind to wander unadulterated. The small towel, heavy from the scented water, rested on her head, clinging tightly against her face, while blocking out most of the light which crawled into the bath room under the door, leaving her in a darkened dream of reality.
Heavy and dark, the wet towel acted as a portal, transporting her thoughts to their darkest corner, to the mask under her dresser, allowing a glimpse into a freedom she could only try to imagine.
In the reality forming in her mind, there was no shame, no fear, but pure submission based on absolute worship. It didn’t emit weakness, helplessness, but the strength to look her truest nature in the eyes and dare it to fuck her, make her beg it to stop, to be worthy of her praise and loyalty. To truly be a god worthy of the goddess of lust she was becoming, or intending to become.
The more she allowed the image of her own sweet depravity to spread its wings, the more she was coming to an uncomfortable realization; Sergio, for all he was, was not that god. A kind hearted priest perhaps, attempting to show her where the altar was, or at the least keeping the altar she had designed herself clean, but not the god to whom she could fully worship upon that altar.
She hated to admit it, but the prick that kidnapped her and held her as his slave, was closer to that role than anyone else. But he wasn’t god either; he was just a fucked up dick, playing with a hymnal. Still, he had inadvertently pointed her toward the mountain top, the place where she might find the god she desired. He had shown her how to pray for salvation, in darkness, and in rapturous pain.
Lana drifted through the heavens, that astral causeway of thought unfiltered by the tainted stigma of conformity, seeking an answer to questions she wouldn’t allow herself to ask. He was waiting for her to find him somewhere in the darkness, somewhere beyond her limited reach.
Somewhere beyond the blowjob hole, perhaps?
Yea, somewhere beyond the blowjob hole, he was waiting for her to find him, somewhere beyond the blowjob hole. The mask was paramount in her search; she knew that, but she still struggled to cross that line. There would be no turning back once she made that choice, no ‘forgive me father, for I have sinned.’ Her options would be infinitely finite after that, with only one path to travel, the one to truth.
Still, the baths helped ease her pain to some degree, the darkness around her, calling her closer to that day, but she knew it was mere psychological masturbation at best. She longed for much more, to open her mouth to a perfect dick of her own darkness and thankfully swallow all it offered.
Her mouth unseen under the towel, was opened wide, the mouth of a flightless chick, waiting for the nourishment it needed. She inserted the dildo into her cunt; the water in the bath counteracting her body’s lubricating juices, making the entry require more force than it should have needed. But she didn’t mind the initial discomfort; the feel of the stiffness inside her diminished it immediately, leaving it a distant memory, never to be retrieved.
She sucked the towel into her eager mouth, the water it held separating and finding its way to the back of her throat before sliding down. Both hands released their grip on the purple rod now jammed fully inside her, and made their way up her body, fingernails dragging against the wet skin of her stomach, her chest, leaving red lines in their wake as the skin gave way to whiter skin beneath, and then reddened by the pre-blood beneath. She arched her back in an effort to pull the purple dick deeper inside her as her hands found their way to her neck. Her ankles crossed involuntarily, pressing her thighs against the plastic, holding it in place as the muscles in her pussy tightened their grip, intending to shatter her manmade lover if possible. Her fingers found the back of her neck as her thumbs crossed each other just above her voice box. As the air was involuntarily cut off from her lungs, she felt the surges flowing through her body, a rolling, boiling torrent of uncontrollable pleasure. The race between her desire to reach the summit of pleasure and her body’s need to breathe was coming down to the wire, and as the darkness of unconsciousness visibly wrapped itself around her, smiling and gnashing its beautiful teeth, she felt the final bite of an orgasmic eruption throughout her existence. Life and death became one in that moment, as body and spirit intertwined, and the last ounce of restraint was sacrificed on the altar at the very core of her existence. The devil danced at the gates of heaven as angels swam naked in the fires of hell. It was at this perfect moment where thought failed her completely that she was able to think more purely than she had dared to dream. And the one thought which came to her mind, was one of a black mask…with a blowjob hole in it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You need a lift?”
Lana hadn’t heard the car coming up behind her, and when he spoke, it caused her to jump slightly, almost stepping off the curb. It was Tink. He had come up behind her in his car while she was walking. She wasn’t sure if he had known who she was before she had turned around or not, but she got the impression he had. After all, he hadn’t looked surprised when she had turned.
“You scared me,” she managed, one hand on her chest, more to relay the message than any real need to keep her heart inside as the gesture indicated. She saw him chuckle, clearly pleased with himself, as she stepped from the curb and leaned down to look at him through the car’s open window, resting an arm on the door.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said through the widening grin. “I’d offer you a cigarette, but as far as you are from home, my guess would be that you are trying to get some exercise.”
It was more of a question than a statement, but she recognized the concern behind it, and she appreciated it. He was clearly asking her if she was alright, but allowing her the opportunity to avoid the conversation if she wanted to. It wasn’t the first time she had recognized it in their conversations. When things started heading in a direction she wasn’t comfortable with, for one reason or another, there was always an out available. It had taken some time, but she had eventually recognized it involved no coincidence.
She looked up and down the street she had been walking along, only now realizing she really wasn’t quite sure where she was. Lost in thought, she had just been walking, and now she knew she had no idea how long she had been walking. Exercise? Her guess was that she had attained plenty by now. The sun was low in the sky, making it later than she might have planned on being out.
“Want to sit a bit?” she asked, gesturing to the wooden bench under the tree behind her. It wasn’t really a park, per say, but the grass was well groomed and manicured on the stretch of land between the road and the line of trees she was beginning to realize probably ran along the edge of the river.<
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“Yea, let me park.”
“Bring the cigarettes, Tink,” she said, offering a wink as she turned and headed for the bench.
She knew he wasn’t overly fond of the nickname at first, its clear connection to the Disney character and all, but it had become an allowable offense in time. She doubted anyone else would have gotten away with it, but he didn’t even flinch when she called him by the moniker. Hell, he almost seemed to like it on some level.
Lana sat with her back toward the street watching the birds flutter through the branches of the tree above her before flying to the larger ones in the distance. She was now certain they did in fact run along the river’s edge, but she still wasn’t clear exactly what section of the river was in front of her. She had never seen this ‘park’ before.
His car parked, most undoubtedly in the most legal manner possible, she presumed, Tinkerton came up behind her and took a seat beside her, his hand extended with an already-lit Marlboro between two of its fingers. Nodding her appreciation, she took it from him and put it between her lips, inhaling deeply.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
“Um-hum,” he returned while lighting one for himself.
The birds bickering back and forth above them sufficed for any need to break the silence with conversation while they smoked. Lana had a lot on her mind, but she didn’t try to hide it from him, as she usually did, the ‘brave front’ screaming she was just fine. She wasn’t fine and she knew he was perfectly aware of it. That in fact was fine. She had always recognized the concern from him, but it had never crossed the line into pity or sympathy. She didn’t want that, not ever. She never claimed to know much, but she knew the best place to find sympathy was in the dictionary, right between shit and syphilis. She took a final drag from the butt, and while she flicked it through the air to land on the grass in front of them, she finally broke the silence and spoke again.
“You still working this late?”
“If I was, I’d have to arrest you for littering,” he joked, pointing toward the still-smoking evidence on the ground in front of them. She laughed heartedly, but got up just the same and retrieved the butt, first grinding it out under her foot. She turned back toward the bench in time to see him grind his own cigarette out on the arm of the bench and then place the butt in his shirt pocket. He took that shit seriously, she mused. She dropped her own into one of the back pockets of her jeans before sitting on the bench again.
“But, the main question is: would you put me in hand cuffs?”
She was laughing when she said it, and it evoked a laugh from him as well, but she couldn’t help but notice he turned his away as he did. She didn’t think he was embarrassed, but it certainly resembled a blushing shade of red trying to creep up on his face as he turned. Was he…? Holy shit, he was. He was at loss for words, not trying to say the wrong thing, the thing he would mean. Holy shit. She hadn’t even thought if that before. They had known each other for some time now, thrown together in an intense situation, to say the least, but she had never thought of that. He didn’t see a victim when he looked at her, a poor defenseless victim, not anymore; he saw a woman. And he was doing his best to hide it. How, in the name of Satan’s red ass, had she missed that? For a split second, she allowed herself to wonder if she was reading too much into it…
Wishful thinking, perhaps?
…but before she could entertain the thought seriously, he had found the response he had been searching for.
“Only if I get to frisk you too.”
They both laughed loudly, but he wasn’t looking at her at all, doing everything he could to avoid her eyes, it seemed. Instead, he was staring out at the trees along the river and fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes again. She reached up, catching his hand under her own and holding it against his chest. Here it was, the point where the question arose whether there was any truth behind the jokes, cut the ropes to the safety net and just see if the bitch could fly. Normally, it was a line she had been unable to cross, but she had decided earlier that the lines no longer meant anything to her. She had no idea at the time she would end up here on this bench, the sun now disappearing below the horizon with a man other than her boyfriend, a great boyfriend at that, but it made for a perfect test to see if she truly did have the courage to follow through with her newfound convictions.
“I’m good with that,” she said still smiling at him. There was a flimsy safety rope attached to the smile, a faint chance of returning to the joke if she slipped, but it was disappearing quickly. There was no denying the surprise in his eyes, and she watched as he searched for the right step to take next. Yea, it was an odd position she had thrown him into, and she knew it would be very difficult, given the history for him to take that leap, but she was growing bolder with each passing moment, more confident that the only thing stopping him from taking her right then and there was a concern for her. It was sweet, it was cute, but it wasn’t necessary, not anymore. She stood and turned to face the bench, and still seeing his eyes, even in the fading light, she bent forward and placed her hands on the back of the bench, keeping her knees straight, the pronounced shape of her ass suggestively contrasting against the purple shading of the evening sky.
“Like this?” she asked, representing a coyness which had once actually existed inside her. He stood beside her, and while she could still see a faint caution in him, he took hold at the top of one of her arms and led her around to the back side of the bench. His hand let go of her arm and placed it between her shoulders, leading her forward over the bench as she bent at the waist. He moved a foot between hers and gently touched the inside of each of her ankles repeatedly, indicating for her to spread her legs.
“Like this,” he said, once he had her legs where he wanted them. Taking one arm and then the other, and pulling them together at the small of her back, he removed the steel bracelets from their place on his belt and applied them to her wrists lighter than she expected they were generally applied, but tight enough to keep her hands from escaping.
“Happy?”
“Getting there.”
His hands found their way to her shoulders, separating at her neck and then rolling over the top of her arms and underneath each. He slid them down each side of her upper body, stopping at her waist before pushing them forward to meet at the point her jeans’ zipper joined together at the top. Upward his hands went, separating just enough so each actually missed an actual cupping of her breasts, but not enough to make them go untouched, then downward again, separating as he reached her waist again, each firmly sliding down the outside of each of her legs. His right hand left her right ankle and reattached to her on the inside of her left. Now both hands went up the leg, stopping painfully just shy of her crotch. The temptation of bending her knees enough to cause his hand to make contact through her pants with her ever moistening pussy was almost more than she could bear. But her hesitation lasted just long enough to allow him to repeat the process in reverse down her left leg.
Straightening behind her, he stuck his fingers into each of her back pockets, pulling the cigarette butt from one and dropping it to the ground between her feet. She felt his hands return to her hip pockets before again separating, this time reaching around her and digging deep into her front pockets, pushing them inward until his finger tips met at the top of her pussy, the mere inner lining of the jeans between them. He pulled them back slightly and then plunged them in again, this time intentionally pressing against her clit, and holding there. The moan escaped her lips without any restraint, as much intentional as by accident. She wanted to make sure he knew she was done joking around. He apparently understood, as one hand removed itself from her pocket and came up between her legs, gripping, lifting her with its firmness. Again he held it there as she teetered on the back of the bench, her feet barely touching the ground, doing little to balance her. Most of her weight it seemed was concentrated through her pussy and was resting securely in his hand. The feeling was unlike anything she had ever ex
perienced. Then, his hand still holding her ass-up in the air, he spoke.
“What do you want more than anything else?” he asked.
She didn’t have to think about that one; she knew the answer before he asked it, in the bath earlier, on the chair in front of Sergio. There was only one thing she wanted, and while she had only recently been able to come to grips with it, somehow she knew she had wanted it all along. She looked back over her shoulder at him and said the truest thing she could remember ever saying in her life.
“I want you to do any and every thing you want to do, without ever asking that question again.”
He lowered her until her feet were back on the ground below her, removing his hands from her, and walked around the bench to face her suspended upturned face. Her eyes followed him as he walked, leaning back to watch his face as he approached her again. He was looking behind her, but this time it wasn’t to keep her from seeing his face; he was looking up and down the street to make sure no one had come up behind them. Convinced they were alone, he looked down at her, his eyes locking with hers. Surely, he could see the seriousness in her eyes. She did her best to hold his gaze, the one she had often seen as kind, but was now becoming something different, a truer level of kindness, one which reached past her outer weakness and found the strength inside.
“That’s easy enough to say,” he said, his eyes seemingly searching hers, searching for any hint of regret, for anything resembling weakness. Completely understanding the difference between submission and weakness, Lana smiled.
“So is ‘stop,’ but you will never hear me say it.”
He held her gaze a few seconds longer, then seemingly convinced, stepped forward, unzipping his pants. When he pulled his dick from his pants, she had her mouth open waiting for him. He lowered his pants far enough to keep the buckle of his belt and the zipper from his pants from coming into contact with her face, then gently holding the sides of her head, pushed his dick into her mouth. Lana felt it pause momentarily at the back of her mouth before sliding in deeper. Her uplifted head created a straight line from her mouth into her throat, and though there was some resistance, he had no real trouble getting its entire length inside her mouth. She held no delusion that any prolonged pressure of this nature would turn discomfort into actual pain, but it didn’t matter; she was where she wanted to be, completely vulnerable but in complete control. He held her head in place and fucked her mouth, gentler than she might have thought, but firmly, his pace quickening. His anticipation had been extreme and it was not long until she felt the head of his deck swelling against her tonsils.
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