“You played me, Sensation,” Reed said, interrupting her internal prayer. “Remember that night you left me sitting in my car outside Lizzard’s?”
She shook her head no. He smacked her face. “Stop lying!”
With her system in a state of shock, her body shuddered and jerked.
“Yeah, you had me waiting outside the club for you and then you came out and waltzed right past me…waved at me like I was some kind of insignificant chump and then you jumped in that Bentley with that basketball star. I guess my Lexus wasn’t good enough for you.”
Malik! This maniac saw me get in Stone Allen’s whip with Malik!
He reached toward her mouth. Chanelle edged away, but he popped her on the side of her head as a warning to be still. At first, he peeled gently and then with sudden savagery, he impatiently ripped the tape away.
She yelped from shock and then gave a cry of pain.
“Now, what’s my name?” he demanded.
“Reed,” she blurted through lips that hurt from being sealed together. With hunched shoulders, she shrank away in case he was prepared to deliver another blow.
“Master Reed,” he corrected. “Fuck it…just call me Master.”
With her mind and vocal chords badly out of sync, Chanelle was silent for a few seconds—a few seconds too long. A sharp smack to her cheek prompted her to blurt, “Master! Your name is Master!”
The urge to pee was overwhelming and with her legs spread-eagle, her feet tied to separate bed posts, she was unable to squeeze her thighs together to suppress the urge.
“I have to go to the bathroom, Master.”
“Hmm,” Reed said, stroking his chin. “I hadn’t thought about that. Let’s see now…can’t have you pissing up the place, so I’m gonna untie you, but don’t try any tricks.” He walked over to the bureau, pulled open a drawer, and rummaged around until he retrieved something that made an awful clicking sound.
Standing over Chanelle with his hand snaking up her naked thigh and inching toward her pubis, he flicked a lighter and pointed the flame near her neatly trimmed mound.
An intake of breath was her single expression of fear. She was afraid that making harsh sounds or sudden movements might incite the maniac to set her aflame.
“Not much down there to start a forest fire.” Reed chuckled, referring to her trimmed pubic hair. “If you try something slick while you’re in the bathroom…” He paused and grabbed a handful of the hair on her head. “I’m gonna set this shit on fire.”
He untied her hands and feet, yanked her off the bed, and dragged her down the hall to the bathroom. Reed sat on the side of the tub while Chanelle released a long stream of urine.
After finishing she stood, waiting for him to tell her what to do next. Reed kicked her on her hipbone and growled, “Wash your hands, you nasty bitch.” Shaking, she soaped up and quickly washed her hands and just before she turned to ask for a towel, he sent a thundering blast to her ass.
It wasn’t the sensual smackdown she’d experienced at Marc Tarsia’s hands. This was excruciating pain produced by a doubled-up leather belt.
“On your knees, slut. Did I say you could walk?”
She dropped to all fours. “Crawl!” he snarled and then gave her a swift kick in the behind as a reminder to obey quickly. Being on her hands and knees and feeling the bottom of his dirty shoe on her bare ass was beyond any humiliation she’d ever experienced in her life.
Assuming he wanted her to go back into the bedroom, Chanelle began crawling in that direction. She hesitated for a split second as she approached a winding, elegant flight of stairs, but the sole of Reed’s shoe and the threat of a vicious kick dashed any hope of escape and encouraged her to continue crawling.
Back in the bedroom, Reed pointed a finger at her. “Kneel!” he commanded, and then placed his foot in the center of her back forcing her to lie on her belly. Her face was buried in the thick carpet. “Kneel like a dog!” he roared.
Chanelle quickly assumed a sphinx-like position.
“Now, this is the deal. You’re my slave; I’m your master.” Reed kicked her in the side. She cried out in pain. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
With wounded eyes, she looked up at him. Her injured side throbbed but she dared not rub it.
“Your life can be extended as long as you do as I say. I’m going to get fuming mad if I see a frown on your face or hear a sound of displeasure. Bitches like you don’t want soft guys,” he said with a sneer. “Y’all want somebody who’ll take control and dominate your asses. You’ll probably start liking your new lifestyle after you get the hang of it,” he said with confidence. “And if you get to the point where I can tell that you enjoy serving me and if you start loving the pain that I give you…hell, I just might keep your ass alive.
“But if you disobey me, you’re going to have to suffer severe consequences. So pay close attention. When I say kneel, I want you to break it all the way down. When I say beg, you’d better sit on the back of your legs and give me your best imitation of a dog begging for a bone.” Reed laughed.
“Begging for a bone…now that’s funny. Yeah, I want you begging for this bone,” he said as he crudely grabbed his crotch. “You belong to me now. I’m never letting you go, so if you want to enjoy life with me, don’t disobey me,” he calmly informed her. “This is it, Sensation,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The only way you’re leaving this house is in a body bag. Understand?”
Too rattled to think straight and too terrified of what he was insinuating to allow his words to really sink in, she nodded eagerly. She was at the mercy of a crazy man, but having a strong will to survive, Chanelle managed to stretch her dry, cracked lips into a happy smile. She’d have to play along with his bizarre game until she could figure out a way to escape.
“That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Let me see that pretty smile again.”
Though it hurt to move her chafed lips, Chanelle quickly complied and produced an even bigger smile.
Chapter 39
The furniture inside the airy, high-ceilinged room was minimal. There were two polyester travel chairs with armrests and drink holders, and a bookcase filled to capacity. The excess books were stacked haphazardly in various places on the floor. There was also a mattress, box spring, and an old wooden table.
There seemed to be hundreds of canvases set upon easels and propped against walls. Some of the canvasses displayed finished work while others were colored with just a few brush strokes.
Ammon had a two-room apartment. Two and a half if you counted the miniscule bathroom that Dayna had to visit the moment Ammon opened the door. His apartment was just a hovel when compared to Dayna and Reed’s spacious home. She didn’t mind; she’d be happy with Ammon anywhere—in a cave or in a hut made of thatch.
“Would you like a cup of herb tea?” he asked, taking off his suit jacket and slinging it on one of the travel chairs. He headed toward the small kitchen before Dayna could respond.
“Sure, why not?” she replied, wondering if she should trail behind and lend a hand or something.
“Do you have a preference?” he called.
“What do you have?”
“Whatever you’d like. I have it all,” he boasted.
Curious to see his substantial tea assortment, she paced to the kitchen to take a peek. She expected tons of packaged boxes of Celestial Seasonings, but instead found numerous Ziploc baggies that were well stuffed with what looked like dried fruit, flower petals, and leaves. On the countertop, Ammon had placed two mugs.
“All you have to do to make an authentic cup of herb tea is boil some water and mix together some herbs,” he explained with a smile that Dayna thought was adorable. “Now, if you like your tea sweet, I can throw in some dried fruit and dried flowers.”
It sounded crazy, but Dayna was willing to trust Ammon and go along with the adventure. In appreciation of his gracious hospitality, she vowed to drink every drop. Even if the tea tasted disgusting, she’d g
uzzle it down as if were as delicious as Red Zinger, her all-time favorite.
“Go!” He shooed her with a good-natured wave of a hand. “Have a seat in one of my comfortable chairs,” he said, laughing. “Or look around. As you can see, I’m a minimalist…I don’t have much. But you seem to like my work, so go ahead; take a look at my personal art gallery.”
Dayna reluctantly left the kitchen. She liked Ammon’s company. Perusing the numerous mounted canvasses, she found herself stuck on one of his oil paintings, a snapshot of urban life painted on a canvas. Happy children jumped through water that gushed from an opened fire hydrant. Mothers watched from a distance while sitting on their stoops. The scene seemed so real. Even the cracks in the painted sidewalk were so life-like, Dayna felt that if she touched it, she’d feel the deep grooves.
Ammon emerged from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs. “I got creative and invented something just for you. “Here you go,” he said, handing her the mug. “Take a sip. I named it Dayna’s Delight.”
“Dayna’s Delight!” She echoed with glee. “You named it after me?” Ammon made her feel so special, she just couldn’t stop smiling. Ooo, I can’t wait to tell Cecily about this!
Being that he’d named the tea after her, Dayna was even more determined to pretend the tea was delectably delicious no matter how awful it tasted.
After blowing on the aromatic hot liquid, she took a small and reluctant sip. “Mmm!” she moaned loudly. “Ammon, this is sooo good!” And surprisingly, she wasn’t telling a fib. Dayna’s Delight tasted much better than her former favorite, Red Zinger. “What did you put in this?” she asked, taking a bigger sip.
“I brewed a blend of dried orange peel, dried cherry pieces, and rosehips. Oh, yeah, I added some secret spices.” Ammon gave Dayna a sneaky smile.
She made a mental note to share every aspect of the evening with Cecily. She’d describe with vivid clarity every detail of Ammon’s painting of happy children; it was called “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” she learned. But at some point between sipping tea and the discussion of his paintings, they ended up tangled together in his bed. At that point, Dayna’s mind turned to mush and she realized she’d never be able to remember the order in which their intimate acts of love occurred.
His hand brushed her neck, giving her shivers as he slowly unzipped her dress. He kissed each shoulder and nipped at her neck, whispering, “You’re more beautiful than I imagined.” With the top of her dress dangling around her waist, Dayna pressed Ammon’s hand against the hem, silently urging him to take the dress off.
He ignored her unspoken plea and unsnapped her rose-colored bra. He cupped each full breast and squeezed them ever so gently and then lowered his mouth to her nipple. Ammon sucked it with such tenderness, Dayna cried out as her frenzied fingers became entwined in his locked hair. He made love to the other breast, circling the areola with the tip of his tongue, licking the nipple until it became a hard dark pearl.
Tender stirrings made her cry out his name. “Ammon!” she said as she tried to squirm out of her dress. “Please, Ammon, take it off!”
“Hush!” he said in a firm whisper. “Stop, baby, we don’t have to rush.”
Dayna bit the inside of her bottom lip to contain herself, but quiet whimpers and moans escaped despite her desire to calm down. These acts of intimacy were brand-new to her. Neither Reed nor anyone else had ever touched her like this…and Ammon had only just begun.
He covered her face with kisses: her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, and her chin. She wanted to open her mouth and scream. Didn’t he realize that she was quietly losing her mind? He’d said not to rush, as if he planned to use his sweet lips to torture her all night.
She reached out to touch him; to pull him closer to her, but Ammon pinned her arms to her sides. “Don’t move, Dayna. This is your night, baby. The only thing I want you to do is to open your heart and be willing to let me love you.”
Love! Did he say love? Was he trying to make her have a nervous breakdown? I’m already in love with you; I loved you on sight! she screamed in her mind.
Ammon tugged her dress down and pulled it off and then lovingly smoothed his hands over her round hips and kissed each thigh. His touch felt like fire. Her body craved penetration, but Dayna forced herself to enjoy the gift of his touch.
Ammon stared at her nakedness. For the first time, Dayna felt free of inhibitions. She allowed herself to enjoy the feeling as his eyes explored her body. She felt glorified in her body’s perfection as well as its imperfections. She did not flinch when his eyes lingered on breasts that were no longer perky or when his eyes glossed over forearms with muscles well hidden beneath flesh. She did not wince when he fixed his eyes upon the mound of her paunch. His loving gaze swept over thighs that were soft, thick, and womanly. Ammon’s eyes seemed to adore every inch of her from her head down to her toes.
Turning her over, he massaged her shoulders, communicating his emotions with his strong touch. Long locks swept across her back, causing her to shudder. Then he licked a moist trail down her spine and kissed each buttock. He squeezed and kneaded her butt cheeks, and then ran his finger along the crack.
Next, Ammon created a small opening between her thighs and gently slipped his hand beneath her mons pubis, his middle finger searching for that hidden place. He didn’t probe with his finger, he simply fondled her love button, giving Dayna one of the highest forms of pleasure…not stopping until his finger was wet…not stopping until tears fell from her eyes. Not stopping until Dayna grew limp with satisfaction.
After the divine love ritual, which didn’t include intercourse, Ammon cradled Dayna in his arms, breathing in the scent of her hair, kissing the side of her face.
“Ammon, I feel guilty,” she said, her eyes exploring his face.
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Shh!” He held a finger to his lips. “Why?”
“There’s no reason to feel guilty.”
“But…you weren’t satisfied,” she said and buried her face in his chest.
Ammon clipped Dayna’s chin between his thumb and index finger and brought her hidden face into view. “I am satisfied. We shared something special, the beginning of new love being born. This kind of intimacy is sacred, don’t you realize that? I guess you could call it sacred love.”
Sacred Love! It was true; the experience was truly sacred. And one day soon they would experience their oneness with each other, joined together in healing sexual love.
Before sleep could claim her, she studied Ammon’s beautiful face, trying to memorize every detail. In case it had all been just a vivid dream, she wanted to preserve the image of this man who would forever hold a place in her heart.
Chapter 40
“I’m thirsty,” Chanelle finally found the nerve to say.
Reed bent down and roughly brushed his thumb across her dry, cracked lips. “Yeah, your lips are chapped.” He yanked her hair. “Stand up. I can’t have you scratching up my dick with those fucked-up lips.”
Her legs were unsteady. After crawling around for hours, it was difficult to stand.
“Close your eyes; I have a present for you.” She quickly obeyed. He turned away and got something out of a drawer that made a clanging sound.
“Okay, open your eyes, Sensation.” As if he were gracing her with an expensive gift, he presented her with a pair of shiny handcuffs. “Hold out your wrists,” he said cheerfully. Chanelle did as he said. She grimaced when she felt the tightness and heard the click as he locked the cuffs around her wrists.
Reed popped her upside her head. “Didn’t I say I don’t want to see a frown on your face?”
“I’m sorry.”
“And?”
“I’m real sorry for frowning.”
He drew back his arm and balled his fist. Chanelle jerked back so hard she fell against the chest of drawers. Reed doubled over in laughter.
“All right. Now let’s try it again. Don’t make me punch you,” he warned.
“You’re sorry…whom?” Reed leaned toward her and cupped his ear.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she replied enthusiastically.
“Much better.”
She felt enormous relief at having provided the correct response.
Reed strode off, leaving Chanelle alone and handcuffed.
She looked longingly at the window. If she got a running start, she could hurl herself through the window-pane. Any cuts or other injuries sustained from the two-story fall couldn’t be worse than the torturous acts this maniac had in mind.
However, before she could put her plan in motion, she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. She was so afraid of him, just the sound of his footsteps made her eyes mist, and her lips quiver in fear. Oh God, what am I going to do?
Reed held a bowl of water carefully and placed it at Chanelle’s feet. Then, changing his mind, he picked the bowl up and carried it to the other side of the room. He unlocked the handcuffs. “There’s your water. Go get it,” he said, pointing to the bowl.
Chanelle got down on her knees and crawled over to the bowl.
“Goddamn! You catch on quick,” he said, as he gleefully walked behind her. “Look at that big pretty ass. Umph, umph, umph! I used to love to watch that ass when you crawled around onstage.”
Chanelle’s mind raced back to her stripping days. Back to when she was free. Crawling on stage like a panther had felt empowering; it was seductive and she was in control. But this…this groveling and crawling to get a drink of water was disgusting; it was a disgraceful and humiliating shame.
When she finally reached the bowl, she kneeled back on her haunches and cupped the bowl with her hands. She felt so weary and afraid of Reed’s oppression, her hands shook as she held the bowl. Not wanting to lose one drop of the precious water, she concentrated on steadying her hands.
Reed kicked her in the ass—not too hard, but hard enough to cause her to lurch forward and spill half the water on the floor. “Put that bowl down and lap it up.”
Dangerously In Love Page 25