by Jaden Wilkes
He could hear Dimitri boxing the punching bag. Heard the dull thud of gloves hitting sand, and the steady breathing from the exertion.
“I’ll just go get the keys,” the concierge continued, “you could save us both the trouble.”
He heard a grunt from inside, then the sound of feet padding across the floor. The lock jiggled and the door opened slowly, Dimitri stood on the other side, his muscled body shining with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m not upset about that, my friend,” he told the concierge, “I am tired of feeling like a caged tiger. I am restless, I want to go for a run next to the ocean, I want to fuck whores in Macau, I want to kill something…” he trailed off.
“What prompted this episode?” the concierge asked. He had seen a few similar occurrences in the time they’d been living here. They were getting closer together and possessed more rage than they had initially. Most of the time it was prompted by Sergei’s success in some business deal or criminal take over.
“Fucking Sergei,” Dimitri growled and clenched his fists, “what the fuck else would it be about? I sit here and rot like a prisoner, and he’s living free and clear of any consequence.” He paused, a faraway look on his face, and continued, “I will destroy him, I have to.”
The concierge knew there was nothing to be done to calm him down, when he got worked into this kind of frenzy all you could do was give him space. The last time it took a week before he settled down enough to talk about his anxiety in a rational manner. Perhaps a trip at this time would not be advisable.
Dimitri caught his look and said, “Go, take your time away. I will survive without you hovering around wringing your hands every time I stub my toe.”
The concierge felt cornered, completely on the spot. He would have to go, against his better judgement, because Dimitri would now have it no other way. Dimitri was a difficult man to be friends with, to serve. It wasn’t because he was demanding, but because he was single minded. The trick was to create a situation in such a fashion that Dimitri chose the direction the concierge preferred. In this case he had failed his boss. He hoped it wouldn’t end in disaster, but left to pack his bags.
*****
Dimitri paced the confines of his bedroom. By any standards it was an enormous space, enough for ten of the king sized bed he had placed on a platform against a wall of marble. Like everything else in the room, it was expensive, beautiful and something he barely noticed. His tension resided in his shoulders. He shook his arms out in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure to no avail. He jogged on the spot and punched the air in front of him, but nothing seemed to relieve his rage and frustration.
He wanted to kill Sergei, to have his former mentor on his knees in front of him, begging for his life. He wanted to smash Sergei’s face and stab him until there was nothing left but a pile of quivering human waste.
In short, he wanted to destroy the world surrounding Sergei, all his friends and family, anything Sergei had ever loved.
He stopped in place and furrowed his brow. Iryna, she was the problem. Dimitri still loved the little girl who had once called him Uncle Dimi. This was his weakness, the few remaining emotions he still possessed, they made him weak. He supposed Sergei would have had no problem tearing Dimitri’s family apart if he had one...but that’s why he was the head of the most bloodthirsty criminal organization the world had ever seen and Dimitri was living like a trapped fucking rat far from his home country.
Unable to relax, Dimitri moved to the bed and lay on top of the blanket. He needed a whore to kick around and fuck, but the concierge was gone for a week. Dimitri wouldn’t know the first place to find such a woman, let alone how to pay her or transport her to and from the airport. He was left to his own imagination and frustration.
His mind wandered back to the last whore the concierge had brought in, a striking former runway model from Milan. Her legs had been long and lean, her accent adorable, and her tolerance for pain remarkable. He suspected her coke habit had lead to her downfall, why else would a perfect creature turn to arrangements such as that in order to survive?
His cock hardened as he thought of her tight holes, her mouth, her cunt, her ass. He’d used them all that night, roughly and without mercy, but the model had loved every minute of it. Her screams straddling the fine line between pain and pleasure in a most delicious way.
He loosened his pants and slid them down his hips to gain access to his hard-on. If nothing else was working, he would have to pleasure himself to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his body. He was thankful for the millionth time that the fire had not injured his cock; it was still fully functional and impressive even to the most seasoned whores. His erection was at least nine inches, thick and veiny. He marveled at his luck. His hip and part of his upper thigh had been ruined in the fire, but his cock stood proudly untouched.
He began to stroke himself, thinking of the model. He couldn’t remember her name; it had probably been fake anyhow. Her eyes had been green and her hair thick and dark brown. Her lips were lush, plump and naturally red, her mouth hot and willing. The concierge had taken her into the room, never his bedroom, blindfolded her and bound her arms behind her back against a custom wood hewn Saint Andrews Cross. The blindfold was necessary, as Dimitri didn’t want them to ever know who he was. Finding scarred and burned skin along one side of his body, even without seeing his face, would be certain revelation if they moved in the right circles. He couldn’t risk it. He had taken such precautions already, building his world here. Changing his name, his habits, his life.
Fucking beautiful women was one habit he couldn’t give up though. It might end up being his downfall, but not that time.
His strokes increased in speed as he thought about her beautiful body splayed on the cross, struggling like a little fish. He’d picked up a riding crop from the rack near the door and approached her. She’d stilled, sensing his presence.
“Who’s there?” she’d asked in her soft, accented voice. He hadn’t answered, simply run the tip of the crop along her naked body, enjoying her jump as he touched her between her legs with the crop.
“Who are you?” she’d asked again, even though she knew the deal. A great deal of cash, more than most make in a year of work like hers. She wasn’t supposed to know who he was. She knew this.
Her second question resulted in a sharp smack of crop on her bare thigh. She’d jumped, but gotten the hint and stayed quiet unless spoken to after that. He had reached up and grabbed her throat with his gloved hand. He had gripped it tight, enjoying her wordless protest, her body swaying as she had tried to escape his grasp. He hadn’t wanted to choke her, not then anyhow, he had simply been testing her limits.
As much as he enjoyed his sexually destructive side, his pleasure bloomed from their need for him. Even before the fire ruined him, he had only gained real pleasure from making women want him. In making them beg, then using them, and leaving them, Dimitri found his purest pleasure.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what fucking had been like before his injuries. When he would strip down in front of a woman, let her run her hands all over his muscled body and drink in her purrs of admiration and appreciation.
Now his fucking was furtive. He was...not exactly shy...but not as proud of his body as he had been before. He could have plastic surgery, skin grafts to help smooth over the bumps and puckers of damaged flesh, but he had vowed to wait until Sergei was dead. He wanted to wear this scarred face until Sergei could gaze upon the monster he had created and weep for his life. He wanted to wear his ugliness on the outside until he could unleash it onto Sergei.
He shifted on the bed and tried to concentrate on his throbbing need. He hungered to release this tension before he destroyed something beautiful, a whore or a priceless work of art, either would be a tragedy. He slid his hand up to the tip, cupped the head and played with the sensitive ridge. He gave his cock a squeeze and closed his eyes. He imagined a pussy, any pussy, clenching and teasing him
there.
He went back to the model. She had been the last woman he worked over, so naturally she was still on his mind. He tried to recall her scent, the taste of her skin as he had bitten her neck and breasts, marking her with dark bruises.
The words from a poem he read long ago fluttered through his mind at that moment…”as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar…” His eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed. Dimitri was not a man given to emotional outbursts, even previous to his time with Sergei. He had been trained to control his movements carefully or risk a beating, or worse, from his father. He let loose then though, rage and despair erupted from deep inside of him and he howled his protest against Vancouver’s unflinching skyline.
Never before had he been unable to complete his act. Not until a week or so previous, when some invisible stress had choked his balls off from his cock and prevented him from completion. His impotent anger at Sergei’s attack and subsequent life of confinement had now wreaked its own literal form of impotence upon Dimitri’s body. Put simply, he could not come.
The scar, the line about the scar. The scars that filled his left torso and a portion of his face. Was there pleasure in wearing them on his body?
At this moment there was none. He briefly considered if he had descended into madness, but could not determine whether he had or not.
Unconvinced of either, Dimitri slid to the side of the bed, tucked his hard cock back into his loose pants, pulled them over his hips and stalked back to his office to keep his eye on Sergei once more.
On his way out, he spied a priceless Tiffany lamp, a hideous affair in stained glass pink lotus flowers. Something he’d once taken pride in, perhaps, when he first moved here. He’d seen a lot of the antiques and objets d’art as a stamp of legitimacy. Now he saw this lamp as one more gilded bar in his cage.
He stopped in front of it. He reached out slowly, seeing his great, muscled arm as if from a far place, and watched as he pushed it towards the edge of the mahogany side table. It teetered for a moment, and almost looked as though it would survive. This moment, the pause between perfection and destruction, sent a jolt through his cock. From the base of his balls to the slit at the tip, he had half a second of intense pleasure before it crashed to the floor and deflated his need.
Dimitri sighed, ran his hand over his freshly shaved head and continued out of the room. The glass would keep for the week the concierge was gone. He didn’t want to contact the maid to clean it up and risk her seeing him...or him seeing her. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself while in this state.
He would just have to remember it was there when he stumbled into his room, drunk on Iordanov vodka at three in the morning.
Chapter Four – Columbia
“Let’s get another round, we’ve got to get you drunk enough that you are still a little wasted when you confront the douche in his apartment,” Stuart said as he raised his glass and signaled the waitress.
“I don’t know if I should have that much, I don’t usually drink,” Columbia said, still nursing the first beer he bought her.
“You are the star of the evening, you should celebrate,” he said again and turned to the waitress to order. Columbia took the opportunity to text Kate’s mom and let her know Eden would have to spend another night with them. That would mean her little sister was covered for tomorrow night too, she could be picked up from school while Columbia was executing the plan.
“I hope you aren’t letting this get to your head,” Debbie whispered as Stuart’s back was turned. “I know he usually fawns all over you but I’m keeping an eye on you two.”
“What are you talking about?” Columbia asked, taken by surprise. She hit send and dropped her phone back in her purse, feeling suddenly exposed. Stuart was her little secret crush, but she knew it didn’t go both ways. Not after that one disastrous kiss. Why was Debbie accusing her now?
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Debbie continued, “I don’t buy this “Little Miss Innocent” act for a minute. I’m leaving in a bit, I don’t want you to take advantage of being his little super star and make your move.”
“Whoa, Debbie, I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can assure you, you have nothing to worry about,” Columbia tried to ease Debbie’s concern. She really had no idea where this was coming from; maybe Debbie was drunk. Columbia had always done her best to keep her feelings for Stuart well hidden. She didn’t even really know how she felt about him for God’s sake.
“What are my two favourite ladies talking about over here?” Stuart asked as he turned back to the table.
“Oh nothing, you know, girl stuff,” Debbie said and smiled. “I was just telling Columbia how amazing it is that she’s doing this.”
“Oh it is, so is she! Let’s have another toast to our amazing activist,” Stuart announced and everyone at the table held up their glasses. “To Col, really a spectacular girl and now a real rebel, sticking it to the man!”
“To Col,” the group cheered and Columbia took a sip of her beer to avoid looking at Debbie’s angry face.
An hour later the group had dispersed somewhat. Debbie got up to leave, kissed Stuart passionately and deliberately in front of everyone, turned and told Columbia, “Good luck with this, I hope it all goes as planned.”
“Thank you,” Columbia replied and ignored the sarcastic tone in Debbie’s voice. There was no point in arguing with her; the other woman clearly had her mind made up.
Columbia got up from the table and headed towards the bathrooms near the back of the pub. She wobbled a little as she walked, apparently the beers she’d had hit her harder than she thought. There was a short hallway towards the doors that displayed concert posters and neighbourhood information. She thought she recognized a girl from high school advertising as a babysitter, stopped to take a closer look. She stared at the photo, blinked twice and realized she didn’t know her. As she turned back to the washrooms, she felt somebody grab her arm. It was Stuart.
“Columbia, are you ok?” he asked, concern in his eyes.
“I am fine, I just think I had a little more than usual,” Columbia said and smiled at him. She tried to turn away but he didn’t let go. “What’s up?”
“I think you know,” Stuart whispered and leaned down to kiss her. Columbia accepted his embrace and opened her mouth, more out of surprise than passion. Stuart started backing her towards the women’s washroom as he slid his tongue into her mouth. She allowed it, and even snaked her own around his, but it was an odd slimy sensation. His tongue was wide and his mouth contained too much spit for her liking.
He backed her through the door, paused to lock it, and turned to her. “I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Me too,” she agreed but wondered where the disconnect was. She’d been thinking about Stuart for years, and here it was happening. Debbie had known something after all.
So why did it feel so flat and passionless?
He stepped towards her and pulled her hands around his neck. He kissed her again and she closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the moment. It wasn’t working. She made a small noise of frustration; Stuart mistook it for pleasure, groaned and pressed his hard-on against her upper thigh.
Columbia ran her hands down his back, but he felt hot and sweaty. His breathing increased as he kissed her, running his hands through her hair and grinding against her. She pulled back and pushed him off her. “This isn’t working,” she said. “I don’t want to do this here, we might get caught.”
“Don’t worry about Debbie, she’s gone home for the night. She’s got an early lab at the university,” he tried to assure her, but failed.
“How about we stop and think about what we’re doing,” she stated, staring at him.
“How about not,” he replied and pushed her against the wall. He pulled her hands above her head and worked his knee in between her legs. She was forced to straddle his leg and he kissed again, harder this time. Being pinned
like that felt good, and Columbia started to respond.
“Hey, are you almost done in there?” a woman’s voice called from outside the door.
Columbia wiggled free and pushed him off her for the second time. “I told you, we need to stop,” she said and yelled to the woman, “I’ll be a few minutes.”
“Geeze Col, it’s cool. I’ll leave in a couple of minutes and you come back to the table after me. We’ll make some lame excuse and high tail it out of here, how’s that sound?”
She wanted to say no, but the flash of her with her hands pinned over her head and her legs forced open made her say, “Sure, sounds good.”
He left before her; she was able to use the toilet and head back to the table. After five minutes or so Stuart stretched and said, “Shit, we need to get back to my place Col, I’ve got that thing you need.”
“Oh yeah, that,” she replied as he paid the bill. She avoided eye contact on the way out because she knew it was ridiculously obvious what they were up to. She wondered if anyone would call Debbie.
Stuart held the truck door open for her and skipped over to the other side, whistling a tuneless song. He got in the driver’s side, put the key in the ignition and said, “I’ve been thinking about this since grade ten, do you remember that stupid kiss?”
She smiled and replied, “I do. After Lord of the Rings. I panicked and ran away.”
“Is that what it was?” he said and laughed. “I thought I scared you by not knowing how to kiss, you know. That was my first time.”
“Mine too,” she admitted and he reached across the seat to grab her hand. He rubbed her thumb in between his own thumb and forefinger and tugged at her, indicating for her to sit next to him. She dropped her purse on the floor and scooted over, feeling a little smug, like she was his girlfriend.