by Kitty Thomas
“What about it?”
“How much do you owe?”
“Close to two hundred thousand,” she mumbled.
He let out a low whistle. “Damn, woman. In some parts of the country, that’s a house.”
“I know.”
“Well, you’re free of that for now. I mean, I’m not about to call them up and say I have you.”
Veronica looked up slowly from her plate as the realization that the crushing debt that had weighed on her couldn’t be collected if they couldn’t find her. Freedom. Or freedom after a fashion, yet somehow this seemed like a robbing-Peter-to-pay-Paul scenario.
“You don’t have bills here. I’m not going to fire you. If you disobey me or I’m dissatisfied with your work, I’ll just punish you, but you’ll have a place to sleep and you won’t ever go hungry.”
She hated the nonchalant way he spoke of punishing her, the way he continually reiterated the dynamics and power structure of their relationship. But it wasn’t enough for him to stop there.
“I rescued you. And very soon you’re going to show me how grateful you are for it.”
She crossed her legs, trying to push away the arousal his words created, spoken in that rumbling, gravelly tone. She’d meant to fight him more, but it had been so much easier to distract herself with the list of things he’d given her to do. But she’d pushed that out of her mind almost as soon as she’d seen it, as if she were forcing her brain to reboot. It was less scary to just cook the meals and do the laundry so when he came back to the house he didn’t take his belt off.
That thinking made her sound like a battered wife, but so far he hadn’t lashed out for no reason. Maybe he wasn’t that crazy. She startled when his hand moved under her skirt, stroking her thigh. The words he’d spoken still hung in her mind. She’d wanted to be the girl who fought and clawed and screamed, the girl she’d thought she was that day in the diner when she’d acted as if he were some country bumpkin beneath her notice.
If things had been different, if she were still that Big Deal ad executive with a penthouse without a drop of debt, she would have fought harder, but he was right. There was nothing to fight to get back to. The only real fear was that he might kill her or harm her, but God help her, she believed his story about the previous woman. Veronica didn’t even care that he’d taken her to fulfill the deluded fantasy of bringing the woman he’d loved back to life. All she cared about was that she didn’t have creditors hounding her and the fear of homelessness hanging over her head.
She knew that one way or another, her body would be forfeit to someone, better Luke than random nasty men driving past those street corners.
“Okay. I’ll do what you want.”
He laughed. “That was never in question, princess. The only question was would it be the easy way or the hard way? I’ve broken horses. I have never ending patience with women.”
After dinner, he took her into the living room. “Sit.”
She picked a spot on the sofa and sat, unsure of what was coming next. She’d assumed they’d be going to bed soon. She wasn’t sure if she’d be joining him or not. The idea tied her stomach in knots.
“I want to show you something.” He pulled out a box with some old VHS tapes. Veronica hadn’t seen anything but DVDs in years. It was an anachronism as if she’d fallen through a hole and had been transported back to the eighties.
From the couch, she could see that they had the labels on them that meant they weren’t commercial videos bought from the store, but either things recorded off the TV or home movies. He thumbed through them and pulled one out and popped it into the VCR.
He went to sit on the stairs where he had a good view of Veronica, but none of the TV.
“Aren’t you going to watch?” she asked, still not sure what she was about to see.
“No. I can’t watch it. I need to watch you watching it.”
He stood for a moment to flip the overhead lights on. Before, the room had been lit only by a dim floor lamp. He tossed her the remote.
“Push play and don’t take your eyes from that screen, no matter what you see.”
Okay, now he was starting to scare her. It hadn’t occurred to her that giving in and saying she’d do what he wanted might speed up whatever his plan was. While he might not kill her, whatever he would do might have taken longer to work up to if she could have managed the will to fight him more, but a part of her had been afraid he’d get tired of her attitude and toss her out. It would be like biting the hand that was feeding her. The very idea that she didn’t want her kidnapper to throw her out where she’d be subject to the whims of the elements was enough to make her stomach turn over.
She pressed the play button. There was a woman on the screen. She was naked, on her knees—a brunette like Veronica. Ivory skin like Veronica. When her face rose to the camera, Veronica could see the resemblance—it was eerie. Trish. There was someone else on the film. A man in black pants and riding boots. A riding crop dangled casually from his hand. Veronica couldn’t see his face, but then he spoke.
“I want you to crawl for me,” Luke said.
She began to crawl in slow, long circles across the floor, running the length of a large oriental rug, revealing a brand on her hip that looked like the image on Luke’s business card. He followed, hitting her across the ass with the riding crop, leaving red welts as she continued to move across the floor. Finally, he stopped her.
“I want to look at what’s mine. Show me.”
The woman stopped crawling and sat back on her heels, her legs spread wide. There were a few tears sliding down her cheeks from the crop, but the look in her eyes when she looked up at him was pure adoration. She loved him.
“Show me, slut. Show the camera. I’m going to show this to the guys later. Would you like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Of course you would, you little whore. Now show me.”
Her face went red as she spread her legs wider, parting the folds of her labia with her fingers.
Veronica looked away, too uncomfortable watching this with Luke watching her, wondering if he could tell how aroused she was becoming, wondering if it would seal her fate, terrified she’d end up branded like the woman on the screen.
“I said don’t take your eyes off the screen,” Luke said. It was the same tone he was using on the film.
She forced herself to look back at the video, afraid of what he might do if she defied him.
The Luke on the screen continued. “How badly do you want to finger yourself?”
A whimper.
“Beg me. You know how I like my sluts to beg.”
“Please, Sir. I need to come.”
“I know you do, sweetheart.”
Another whimper. “Please...” Her finger edged closer to her clit and he smacked her hand hard with the crop, drawing a scream from her.
“Very naughty, dear. We don’t touch ourselves without permission, do we?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Crawl to me, show me how sorry you are.”
This must have been something they’d done in the past, because she seemed to know exactly what he wanted. She slunk over to him on her hands and knees like a beaten dog. Her tongue darted out to slowly lick the length of his boot.
“Good girl,” he said when she’d finished ingratiating herself to him again. “You can touch yourself now, but if you don’t come hard enough, there will be punishment.”
“Turn off the video,” the live, in-person Luke said from the shadows of the stairs.
Veronica pushed the button on the remote. She looked at the floor, scared of whatever was coming next, embarrassed he’d watched her watch him and her doppelganger engaged in something kinky. It was the kind of thing she’d suspected after he’d spanked her in his bedroom the previous night—and seeing the upstairs playroom while cleaning had sealed the truth. It was the kind of thing she would have fantasized—with him as the star—if she hadn’t been so tired and scared.
&nb
sp; The room was across the hall from the rooms she and Luke slept in. She’d discovered it while cleaning but had largely tried to block it out of her mind. It had a large black box on one end with a padlock on it, video equipment, a leather sofa, a pole that looked like a stripper pole, a few pieces of dungeon equipment, and of course the rug the girl had been crawling on.
A long silence stretched between them as Veronica waited, tense—she wasn’t sure for what. An order? His hands on her? A question? Would he demand she tell him in minute detail how that video had made her feel? She didn’t know if she could even put it into words for herself. If he made her do something like that, it would make the fantasies okay.
She’d fought against it, so strongly. What she’d seen happening on that screen—it would never happen that way for her. Of all the sex she’d had, it had never been pleasant, never like her fantasies. It hadn’t even been good vanilla sex. It was just bad, start to finish, while she’d prayed it would end soon. She’d been dry, and it had hurt, but she’d kept going out with men, kept trying, like some nymphomaniac that pathologically had to fuck even though the act brought her no satisfaction. She couldn’t stand to be disappointed again.
Had that been the start of her masochism? That tiny thread of pain that had accompanied her every sexual encounter? Without an orgasm, it had been the one thing she could count on. Comfort in the discomfort because of its familiarity.
“Go to bed, Veronica. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Her head jerked up, and she chanced a look into his eyes. What had he seen on her face that was making him send her away? Had he changed his mind about what he was going to do with her? She should be happy about that. And she was, but her face was flushed, and the space between her legs was throbbing so hard she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk straight. Crawling to her room sounded like a more feasible option, but she forced herself to stand.
“G-goodnight, Luke,” she said. He hadn’t moved from his spot on the stairs.
He held her gaze and shook his head in disapproval. “Goodnight, Sir.”
Something strange fluttered in her stomach at him still wanting the formal address. She didn’t want to dissect it. “G-goodnight, Sir.”
He simply nodded his approval.
As she walked past him, he slid a hand under her dress to feel the wetness sliding down her thighs, then he let her continue on her way. She wanted to melt into the floor. If he’d had any doubt of her reaction to his perverted home movie, it was gone now.
Chapter Four
The only light filtering into Veronica’s room was from the full moon. She’d held her breath when she’d heard him come up the stairs, both afraid he’d come into her room and afraid he wouldn’t. If he came inside, she was scared of what he’d do to her, or make her do. If he didn’t come to her, was he rejecting her? Something in that scenario was more upsetting than it should have been.
His footsteps stopped just outside her room, and an eternity passed before she heard him change direction and go into his own room.
She let out a sigh of relief, but then unexpected tears slipped down her cheeks and onto her pillow. She was mortified. She tried to console herself with the fact that it wasn’t her fault. He’d made her watch the video. But it didn’t help. She still felt dirty. Once they’d crossed that threshold and he’d known without any doubt the things that made her hot, turning away from her was too humiliating. He’d somehow found her lacking.
The throbbing started between her legs again, and somehow the embarrassing thing she’d just experienced, mixed with the video into a new fantasy in her mind, with Luke’s nasty voice in her ear whispering awful things while she rubbed her clit.
She jumped when a doorknob turned; her hand stilled under the covers. A shadow fell over her, and Luke entered the room through the balcony. She was afraid he’d notice if she jerked her hand away, so instead she pressed it flat against her mound, hoping the blankets would camouflage what she’d been doing.
He flipped on the light and stood over her. Before she could protest or find a way to covertly move her hand from between her legs, he ripped the blankets away to reveal her fingers underneath her panties and a nearly transparent T-shirt she’d found in the drawer. Her nipples must be erect and clearly visible through the shirt as worked up as she’d become.
“Did I give you permission to touch yourself?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Were you thinking about what you just saw down there?”
She hesitated and then slowly nodded.
“Speak,” he said, as if he were training a small dog.
She wanted to argue and protest, to yell and curse at him. She wanted to throw a bedside lamp and watch as shards of glass cut the side of his face. Instead she said, “Yes, Sir.” Her breath came out labored when she spoke.
She started to move her hand away.
Luke’s eyes were hard. “No. Now that you’ve been caught, I want you to leave your fingers buried in your pussy. I want you to be very aware of what I caught you doing so you can’t deny it later.”
He retreated to the rocking chair in the far corner and sat, keeping his eyes on her. “Is this the first time you’ve had fantasies like this?”
“No, Sir.”
“Take off your panties, spread your legs, and finish.”
Veronica bolted off the bed and ran for the door. She turned the knob, but Luke’s hand pushed the door closed, his weight pressed against her.
“You can’t run from me, princess. Where would you go?”
“Please, I can’t do this.”
“Tell me why.”
She choked the words out. “I can’t give in. I don’t want to be that girl.”
“You are that girl. The only way you’ll ever be satisfied is to embrace it.”
“No.”
“Yes.” His hand stroked over her bottom, then before she could protest again, he slid her panties down. “I don’t care if you’re not Trish. You’re close enough. You want the things she wanted. You’re not going to run from me. You will do everything I ask of you. You will be her.”
His words seemed to fall over her, hypnotizing her, taking her will.
“Do you understand?”
She wanted to scream No! She wanted to dig his eyes out of his head so he couldn’t look at her the way he did, making dark things come alive inside her. She didn’t want to be so twisted that she didn’t care that he saw another woman when he looked at her, that some part of her wanted him to touch her anyway.
“Do you understand? You will be her.”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
He pressed her against the door with one hand while the other hand fumbled with his pants. For one terrifying moment she thought he was going to rape her, but then she heard the belt ripping through the loops. Suddenly that was more terrifying—especially in the frenzied state he was in.
“Please, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” he mocked. “If you were sorry, you would have said, ‘Please, I’m sorry, Sir’. I’m going to beat that fucking title into you.”
“P-please, Sir, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.” He’s fucking crazy. “Why didn’t you just leave me to die in a ditch?” She was sobbing so hard she wasn’t sure if any of her words sounded like words any more. Out loud, they sounded like a string of hysterical shrieks.
She flinched when the belt hit the floor, buckle first. Luke scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, sitting against the headboard with her still wrapped in his arms. He held her cradled against him, his large, rough hand stroking through her hair.
“Shhhh, it’s all right, Trish. It’s okay, baby. I won’t hurt you. Would never hurt you. I love you.”
Veronica knew he wasn’t playing a role. Something in her terror had penetrated the haze he’d been in. Now he seemed stuck in a flashback, convinced she was Trish. She couldn’t stop crying, and he didn’t stop reassuring her that everything was okay.
After a few min
utes he slid out from under her, covered her with the blankets, and turned the light off. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he moved back to the rocking chair.
“Go to sleep, Ronnie.”
She wondered if he realized he’d called her Trish. The look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he’d said. Though he may have had the best intentions with regards to her welfare, Veronica couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t kill her to exorcise the specter of the woman he’d lost.
***
The roosters jolted Veronica out of a dead sleep. Her eyes went straight for the rocking chair, half afraid she’d find Luke sitting there with a big knife and a crazy gleam in his eyes.
Against all odds, she’d fallen asleep before he’d left the room. She’d been afraid that if she closed her eyes, she’d never open them again. Even considering the kidnapping and everything that had led up to that moment, it was the most unhinged she’d seen him. Before he’d called her Trish—even while he was ranting that he wanted Veronica to be her—she’d been able to lie to herself. Rationalize.
There was a bathroom between their bedrooms with a toilet and a standing shower. She took a quick shower, thankful Luke had already gone out to work, and slipped some jeans and a T-shirt on.
When she got to the kitchen, there was a list of instructions for the day and a menu. Breakfast was going to be butterfly pork chops and homemade blueberry muffins. She hated pork, but the last thing she wanted to do was upset Luke further by debating the menu. With her luck, Trish had loved pork.
There was a knock on the kitchen door; it swung open before she could answer. It was Will.
He held up a thermos. “It’s startin’ to get a little chilly out in the mornin’. Luke said he made some coffee.”
On the opposite counter, an industrial Bunn coffeemaker kept three fresh pots of coffee hot. He filled the thermos and started out the door.
“Will, wait.”
He paused. “You need somethin’?”
“If I tell you something, will you swear not to repeat it to Luke?”