I’m thrown by the overwhelming urge to shock her, to see the first look of fear in her eyes. I realize that I’ve not seen any from her. Is that why I’m still obsessed? It’s part of it, I’m sure. The closest she’s been to afraid was over the fucking crayons and pancakes at the restaurant, and even that was more panic than real fear. I want to see true fear from her—fear of me—but I can wait. I’m patient. I’ve had to wait for her all this time; I can wait a little longer to get a good look at her when she’s stripped of everything except fear.
I stand up, putting my hand out to her. “Coming with me now, Grace, you’ll be leaving behind whatever life you have here. You won’t be returning…at least, I can promise you won’t return as the same woman you are now.” She lowers her head, but not before I see her look blank once more. I give her all the time she needs to think.
This is what I wanted, to have her come to me willingly. It’s a different kind of challenge, one I’ve had before but not quite like this, not quite like her. I’ve never been honest with a girl before, not before I have her in chains anyway. And my products have always been for sale—for others, trained to others’ tastes. I’ve not truly given myself such a present before. I’ve used and abused, taken and trained, then tossed aside quickly every girl I’ve been with since Raquel. This would be different.
Train Grace to keep her? Train her to my sole desires? I smile at the challenge. I don’t think the girl exists that can meet my specifications. But Grace…maybe. She’s already so broken, obviously. That’s a part of the challenge though, isn’t it?
When she looks up at me again, her eyes are wide and almost child-like, her mouth is a little open, lips wet. She’s truly exquisite. She slowly reaches with her hand to place it in mine, and I gently pull her up to me. In a faraway voice that matches her look, “Let’s go.”
I pull her to me a little more. I lift her chin with one finger, pushing her head back to a severe angle, like in the black and white movies my grandfather loved when the hero would smash his lips against the girl and her head would be painfully shoved into submission. “I want to be clear with you, Grace. I’m not playing a game. I’m not pretending or fantasizing. I’ve never been this honest with a woman before.” She still looks faraway, like a soft lens has been used to soften every part of her, not unemotional but almost.
“When I say I won’t be nice…it’s closer to the truth to say that I will be cruel. I’m not offering you safety or love; I’m not offering you romance with tender kisses. What I offer most consider sadistic and brutal; the best of what I offer is my respect if you can be what I want, what I demand.”
She slowly reaches with her other hand up to my neck, and I allow her to pull my head down towards hers. The completed picture of the movie kiss, our lips press firmly together. Before she lets go of my neck, she whispers, “Aren’t all men cruel and brutal in their own way?”
I grin close to her lips, rubbing my nose against hers. “Not all are as good at it as I am, sweetheart.”
I pull back to look into her eyes one more time. I was prepared to take her last year. I was ready to steal her away from her life, albeit a small life. I was ready to torture her, force her into submission. Somehow, to take her to be mine, I want her compliance; I want her willing submission right from the start. If she’s to be mine, she needs to understand that this has always been her fate.
“What I don’t offer you is a choice. I don’t offer you a right to choose what happens to you. You’ve not had that choice for a while, even if you didn’t know it. I only want to know that you understand that we leave here now, together…and you have chosen this by your every action, by your very being, Grace, since I first noticed you. Do you understand that?”
She nods, still with the faraway, dreamy smile on her face. “I’ve never had choices. I wouldn’t know what they look like.” She pats my cheek gently, her voice becoming even more airy, eerie, “And I know you don’t have any choice either, Simon. You are who you are, and we will be what we will be. Maybe we will have what we need finally…in the end.”
I let go of her hand and grab her arm hard like before, in the same spot so I know it will hurt her—a taste of what’s to come. Her dreamlike face doesn’t change though, not even when I yank her out of this apartment and out of this life.
Seattle: Miles Vanderson
I knew Gillian wasn’t a normal teenager when I met her that first winter. She wasn’t the usual girl with friends and interests when I saw her on my frequent visits after that either. She was always hiding behind her straight-faced, smooth exterior around people, always being exactly the perfect child that was expected of her.
Gillian became more with me. In time, I was able to crack through the ice she showed to others. Or rather, I was able to get inside those cracks. I smile in the dark with this thought. Yes, that’s more accurate. Gillian had many cracks in her mind, and I got through them all eventually. I cracked her wide open and made her mine.
Gillian was always affectionate with me, like she was that first time. It was always in secret though. She’d find ways to touch me, entice me. She’d rub her hand down my back as she’d come down the stairs to stand in attendance at the door at the beginning of a party. She’d put her finger in my mouth as she’d lean over to say good night. She’d lift her skirt to reveal just the hint of her underwear when we were alone. She would dance in front of the fire so I could see her body through her thin clothing. All in secret, it became our game.
I found more reasons to be at home, just to be near her so I could play our wicked games. I no longer waited for her to do something. I would tell her what to do, and she did it. I became bolder, more demanding, as the months wore on, and she did exactly as I told her to do. It was my first taste of the power that I would come to crave.
I didn’t touch her, not exactly, only indulging over her clothes. I would make her stay perfectly still while I touched her in the gentlest ways. I’d graze her stomach, her new breasts, her back, her legs, and once, between her legs, under her skirt but over her underwear. I made her put that pair of pink panties under my pillow, all in secret.
I stayed away for months after that. I kept the underwear hidden inside a pair of socks in the back of my drawer, but I kept away from her. I tried to stay away as well, but I was weak with longing for her.
I know it isn’t the usual fairytale story of romance, but Gillian did need my love. She needed me there. She needed a protector.
I saw what her mother did to her. Gillian never broke her silence, not even when I saw it with my own eyes. She never admitted the bruises and welts were Anya’s doing. Gillian was very good at keeping secrets by then. That first year of getting to know each other, I would only gently touch a bruise or other angry mark, and she would just smile, letting me.
It wasn’t until the next Christmas, when I couldn’t stay away any longer, that things changed.
Father and Anya had been away on business trips for weeks before. It took all of my restraint to stay away while I knew Gillian was home alone. I knew our games were heading down a path that I couldn’t stop though. All I could do was stay away.
I’d surprised the household staff by arriving earlier than expected for that second Christmas break. I was excited to see Gillian again. I wanted to show her the present I’d brought for her. I was determined to make up for our lost time. I was going to start fresh with her.
I’d reasoned with myself that when she was older, we could have a real relationship; I just needed to wait for her. I loved her. I would’ve waited a million blue moons for her if it meant we could truly be together, that our love wouldn’t need to be a secret forever. I was a fool in love.
I asked the cook where Mrs. Vanderson was, and I was told she thought Anya had gone out for a drive since the sun had melted the ice off the roads for the first time in days. I knew Father was still at the office and wasn’t expected for hours. It was my chance to see Gillian alone before the holiday parties and family gatherings.
I raced up to her room, not bothering to knock when I heard her muffled voice inside. She was the only one who knew I was arriving that day, and I had told her I wanted to see her right away. She knew I had news to share with her.
The scene I walked in on is one that has haunted me even to this day. It changed the course of our lives. Even now I shudder with the memory of it. It was the first time I saw Gillian fully nude.
And Anya had clearly just beaten her, my beautiful naked Gillian. There was a belt in Anya’s hand still, raised and ready to be lowered again. Gillian was on her knees before her mother. Anya was sitting on the bed with her legs spread.
The looks on their faces are perpetually frozen in my mind. Perhaps, because they were both still for so long, each not moving from their spots in the room. The belt sagged, but Anya’s arm remained raised. I, too, stood frozen in the doorway.
My memory tricks me. It’s a dreadful game I play with myself because I know we each moved, and quickly at that, but I remember the details as though we were locked in place, made statuesque by the moment we were caught in.
Gillian’s face rises like a ghost before my eyes now. She had two tear-stained streaks running down her white cheeks, but her eyes were free of any tears. Her gaze held its usual unreadable darkness as she turned her head towards me. The icy stare she hid behind didn’t change. Her long dark hair was trained into a thick braid so all of her body was laid bare. I could see the belt marks that crossed almost every inch of her back, butt and stomach. She was already black and blue in places, but Anya had taken care not to hit her anywhere that would be seen once she was clothed again. She always did.
Anya’s face was the opposite. Her eyes were electric with rage and insanity. Her cheeks flushed with it. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her underwear was abandoned on the floor next to Gillian; her dress was pulled up high to her waist. I could see her excitement. Her voice broke the spell.
I open my eyes, seeing only my darkened bedroom again. The flashbulb images of years ago are still making my heart race though. I’ve given up trying to understand what happened next. I’ve given up trying to seek forgiveness. It happened as it was going to happen. Fate or karma, I was doomed the moment I opened that door, the moment Anya spoke my name and told me to close the door behind me.
I was doomed, after all, the moment I stepped into the library the year before that and saw a young girl crying from the abuse her mother did in secret.
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
I always love this drive. It’s fast and winding, through fields and hills, past towns built by one thing—grapes. The vines are heavy. Shiny strips of ribbon flutter on the air above darkening fruit. The scent of roses replaces the stench of the city. Warm sunshine replaces dense fog. Earth and sky replace concrete and people. It’s not a long drive, but it’s worlds away. And I always feel cleaner being here.
Grace has been quiet, just staring out the window as the miles pass. She hasn’t moved; I was able to forget she was in the car with me. I’m glad that I chose not to toss her in the trunk. I thought about it. It’s how I usually bring a girl here. It’s how I usually take a girl from here.
But then, the girls aren’t meant for me, so it’s best if they don’t know where they’re going, where they’ve been. Grace is unique. I don’t mind her seeing her destination.
I smile more as I pull into the long drive leading up to the house. It’s an impressive property. Surrounded by fields of grapes, orchards of olive trees, and a network of underground caves for storing everything, the house is a solid stone structure—massive in size and stature, set up on the highest point.
In Great-Grandfather’s day, this was an active vineyard. Now I only use it as my private home. Private being the key word. I have staff, but no one stays on this property. My staff are all loyal; the same family has served mine for generations. They never question my orders, my peculiar demands, and no one steps foot in the caves unless invited. Or brought.
“What do you think of your new home, Red?” Grace is still walking around the grand hall. Calling it a living room would do nothing to describe its size and lofty ceilings, or the massive furnishings and expensive antiques that have manned the same positions on the floor plan for generations. All have been passed down from Lamb to Lamb. The rug alone is worth more than most homes, and it’s certainly bigger than the apartment I took her from.
She turns to me, standing in the center of the room, arms crossed. “Stop calling me that.” Her voice is raised slightly, like there should be a stamping of her foot to go along with it. It’s the first she’s spoken since we left the city.
Smiling, I cross the room to her and slam her down to the rug with a wide swing from the palm of my right hand to her cheek. I’m impressed that there is only the slightest shriek from her as her hip and hands hit the floor. Standing over her, I’m still smiling. “Rule number 1: don’t raise your voice to me, Red. Got it?”
Grace doesn’t look up. She turns away from me and braces herself to stand. I let her. To my surprise, even with my obvious handprint covering half her face, she doesn’t say or do anything. I know it has to hurt, but she doesn’t touch her face or show any sign of tears. Instead, her face is soft and open, but she doesn’t look at me.
I step towards her, expecting her to move away, but she stays perfectly still. “Look at me.” She looks up obediently. I’m stiff looking into her dark eyes. There’s no sign of pain. Or fear. I’m oddly even more aroused by this. Usually I only get this hard after seeing a girl brought to tears by a justly deserved shot to the mouth. But Grace is definitely not most girls.
She speaks up, almost sweet with her faraway voice, a fog circling her words, “I like to be called Grace. It’s the name…the name I’d like you to use.”
I put my hand gently over the red side of her face. She still doesn’t flinch or move, just keeps her eyes locked to mine. “All right. When you’re a good girl, I’ll call you Grace.”
And her look melts to her usual one of seduction—her eyes closing slightly, darkening alluringly more. She puts her hand over mine, only pressing slightly with her cool touch. “I believe we have an understanding then, Simon.” It’s about the sexiest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
It brings me back to the first time I hit Raquel. I’d always known that my sexual desires drifted to the more sadistic, darker side. I was the kid who got in trouble for spanking the teacher’s ass or holding down a girl and pinching her non-existent tits on the playground. I learned by the time I was seven that I had to indulge my tendencies in private only.
Grandfather paid off and sent away more than one maid after I’d coerced them into spreading their knees and submitting to my painful touches. His solution was to send me to all-boys schools and only have male help around the house. It only fueled my urges and fantasies, and one particularly helpful driver introduced me to darker erotica at an early age. He showed me a world in books where my desires were met.
Meeting Raquel was the start of all things good for me. She wasn’t willing, not at first. She laughed off the invitation I gave her to come over for a swim. I’d met her at one of Grandfather’s boring society dinners. She blushed and flirted with me all night but tried to act like I was a child.
The shrink Grandfather hired after her suicide tried to make it seem like I was a child too—that she took advantage of me. I had his eyes popping with the details of my repeated sexual depravity with her. I left no doubt who was in control each and every time.
He then tried to say that it was my way of acting out from early childhood abandonment issues. As if never knowing my mother and losing my father just as I was old enough to remember him were reasons for my carnal lusts. As if I fucking gave any thought to either of my parents while I whipped and tortured the girl.
No, my desires, my needs were always the same for as long as I can recall. I’ve not really stopped to analyze them. The trips to the shrink were to appease Grandfather, no more. I knew what I want
ed with Raquel and with every girl since her—sex. Rough. Sadistic. Sex. The need to cause pain during pleasure, the need to hear screams as much as moans, the need to see my sadistic touch on smooth flesh—it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Raquel was just the first to give in to my needs.
I wasn’t surprised when Raquel showed up at the exact time I told her to. Even then, I understood the nuance of picking the right girl. I understood that there are willing victims in this world, girls that will give themselves over to the cruelest of desires, their own needs matched by them. Sometimes, I have to help them to see their needs for what they truly are. Sometimes, I have to introduce them to these needs. But there is always a moment when I know that I have the girl right where I want her, a moment when she’ll submit to anything I demand.
With hardly a command, Raquel had stripped out of her clothes to reveal a tiny bikini, laughing and smiling at me as she plunged into our indoor pool. I watched her splash around a little before calling her over to me at the steps. I will never forget her look that first time I smacked her, that first moment when I knew I had her. The first look on the first girl I knew for the first time was all mine to do with as I pleased….it’s a memory I cherish.
Raquel was perfect—hair wet and stuck to her shoulders, arms flailing at the water, face red from the slight slap, eyes wide with shock and pain. She had the most beautiful look to her eyes. There was fear, sure, but understanding too.
When I told her to take off my shorts and suck me, I can admit, now anyway, that I wasn’t sure she would obey. There was the smallest hesitation before her fingers sought the top of my swimsuit, but I knew after that. I knew the look in her eyes. I saw it many times after that, from her and others.
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 8