The Inner Room

by Claire Thompson

  Finally he let her go, but only long enough to grab her shoulders and force her to turn around. Moving behind her, he propelled her into the bedroom. He kicked the bedroom door shut and threw her onto the bed.

  Terrified but determined, Marissa scrabbled for her phone. Clutching it in a shaking hand, she pushed the button to activate the voice command. “Call nine-one—“ she began, but before she could complete the words, Phil leaned over the bed and whacked her wrist with a karate chop that made her whole arm go numb. The phone fell from her grasp. Phil grabbed it and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a thud and landed on the carpet.

  “What are you doing,” she gasped, tears of pain and fear nearly blinding her as she grasped her throbbing wrist.

  “Exactly what you want, you twisted little cunt.” He laughed cruelly as he loomed over her. “And to think, I actually bought that outraged prim and proper bullshit you spouted at that happy hour. Oh Phil,” he said, his voice rising suddenly in a falsetto that was supposed to approximate a woman’s voice, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Marissa glanced toward the phone, now out of reach on the ground, desperately trying to think how to convince this nut job to get the fuck out of her apartment. He was obviously drunk, maybe high as well, on god knew what. Was he going to rape her? To kill her?

  Don’t let him see your fear.

  Scrunched as far from him as she could get, still holding her wrist, Marissa strived to make her voice calm but firm. “Phil. Listen to me. I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but it’s obvious you’ve made a mistake. You seem to be confusing me with someone else. I didn’t invite you here. You need to turn around now and go.”

  Phil shook his head and snorted. He pulled the messenger bag from his shoulder and tossed it onto the bed. “I didn’t make a mistake. You did, babe. Your first mistake was leading me on at the bar, batting your eyelashes and shoving your tits in my face like a regular little cock tease.”

  “I didn’t—” Marissa began, but Phil sat abruptly on the mattress and leaned toward her, grabbing both her wrists, his face close to hers.

  “Don’t talk back,” he snarled. “Slave girls don’t talk back to their Masters.”

  Marissa realized her mouth had fallen open in her shock. Phil lifted an eyebrow and smiled an ugly smile. “That’s right, I know all about your dirty little games, you filthy slut. I know all about the sick shit you and that pervy male nurse get up to, so you can cut the outraged innocence bullshit.”

  Marissa tried to swallow, but her tongue and throat muscles seemed to be paralyzed. Phil was gripping her wrists so tightly she was afraid he might actually break the bones. “Please,” she finally managed to croak. “Let go of me. You’re hurting me.”

  To her relief, he let her go, though he made no move to rise from the bed. Reaching for the messenger bag, he dumped out its contents. With a horrified glance, Marissa saw a ball gag, a set of metal handcuffs, several braided hanks of thin white rope, and a riding crop. What was this deluded monster planning?

  Still hoping to somehow get away, Marissa slid toward the edge of the bed and tossed her legs quickly over the side. She would grab the phone and dash into the bathroom. She would lock the door and—

  Drunk or not, Phil was faster than she was. His arm shot out and he easily pulled her back down onto the bed. As they struggled, Marissa frantically tried to knee him in the groin. “My boyfriend will be here any minute!” she shouted. “You better get the hell out right this second or—“

  “Shut up, twat,” he grunted, slamming her against the bed. “I have access to your hospital’s entire data management system. You think I don’t know your boyfriend’s work schedule? I’ve got a couple of hours before he shows up. That is, if he shows up at all. Are you sure he isn’t headed for that S&M game room you two like to hang out at?”

  He reached almost lazily for the handcuffs with one hand, grabbing both her wrists in the other. How was this even happening? How did this maniac know the things he seemed to know? Marissa felt suddenly sick. Bitter bile rushed into her mouth and she had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting.

  As she watched in horror, Phil placed one of the metal cuffs around her wrist and clicked it closed. She tried to jerk her other arm away, but she was no match for the strong man. He clicked the second cuff into place and grinned at her. “Panties wet yet, slut?”

  Marissa was shaking like a leaf. “Why are you doing this? Please let me go.” The enormity of what was happening finally hit her like a punch to the gut. Her voice rose to a squeak. “Please don’t kill me!”

  “Kill you?” Phil barked a laugh. “Why would I kill you? Don’t you get it? I’m doing this for you. I’m playing to your kink, bitch. Don’t pretend you don’t love what’s happening. This is what you fucking live for. Save the bleating little protests for someone who buys your lily-white holier than thou bullshit. We both know the real deal, Doc. We know what a cunt you truly are.”

  “Let me go! Let me go!” she shouted.

  “Shut up!” Phil snapped. He reached for the ball gag and dangled it in front of her. “See this? If you make any more fucking noise, I’m going to shove this in your mouth, got it?” He smiled and shrugged, adding in a frighteningly reasonable tone of voice, “After all, we don’t want to disturb the neighbors.”

  Marissa stared at the ball gag and pressed her lips closed. She had to reach this guy somehow, even if he was high as a kite. She knew who he was—how did he possibly think he was going to get away with this?

  Unless… No! He’d said he wasn’t going to kill her. She had to cling to that hope. Soon Cam would be here, and this nightmare would end…

  Phil stood and reached for her arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. Holding her tightly, he glanced around the room, his eyes settling on the hook on the back of her closet door. He moved in that direction, dragging Marissa stumbling along with him. He reached for the nightgown hanging on the hook and tossed it to the ground. Grabbing Marissa’s arms, he yanked her shackled wrists over her head as he pushed her back against the door. He forcibly guided her wrists back until the chain between the cuffs looped over the hook, effectively tethering her to the door.

  “Don’t move,” he said sternly. “If you try to take down your wrists, I’ll make you very, very sorry, you understand me?” As he spoke, he curled one hand around her throat. His grip was nothing like Cam’s sensual touch, and instead of responding with a melting sigh of submission, Marissa gave a yelp of fear and squeezed her eyes closed, her mind a white, hot blank of terror.

  I’m going to die. I’m going to die…

  All at once the pressure eased and Marissa opened her eyes, weak with relief. Phil was staring down at her legs, disgust twisting his handsome features. “You filthy little pig,” he sneered. “You pissed yourself!” His lips lifted into an ugly smile. “Oh my god,” he said in a voice dripping with disdain, “don’t tell me you’re into golden showers too. Do your perversions have no end?”

  Marissa glanced down at the wet satin of her new tap pants. She could feel the urine rolling down her legs, and tears of mortification and rage pricked against her eyelids. “You fucking bastard,” she hissed, anger for a moment obscuring her terror. “Can’t you see you’re scaring me to death? Let me down, now!”

  Phil shook his head. “Who’s going to make me, hmm?” His hand shot out and, flinching, Marissa instinctively jerked her head to the side. As a result, his open palm cuffed her hard on the ear, which rang from the force of the blow. She sagged against the hook that held her aloft. She kept her eyes closed, silently willing Cam to come and save her, though Phil was right—Cam wasn’t due for at least two hours.

  Phil crouched in front of her and yanked down her tap pants. Marissa didn’t even try to stop him, not that she could have. He used the soiled pants to roughly wipe the urine from her legs and then tossed them aside.

  “Nice,” he said, drawing out the word. “I like a bald cunt. No nasty pubes to get in the way
. Spread your legs so I can see what you got.”

  Marissa didn’t move. He slapped her thigh hard. “I said spread your fucking legs, bitch.” Miserably, Marissa obeyed. The position caused the handcuffs to tighten and she winced with pain as they pinched her skin.

  “Holy shit, what is that?” Roughly he fingered the tiny, precious golden ring Cam had placed there. Marissa tried to slam her legs closed but he held them apart, digging his fingers into her thighs. “You really are one twisted bitch, you know that?” He tugged again at the ring.

  “Stop it! You’re hurting me! Don’t touch me!” Marissa cried, tears of fury and embarrassment stinging her eyes.

  Ignoring her, Phil slipped a hard finger between her labia and frowned. “What the hell?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you wet? You live for this shit. I thought you’d be soaked by now.”

  How in god’s name could this bastard think she’d get off on what he was doing?

  And then it hit her.

  Slave girls don’t talk back to their Masters. I know all about you and your dirty little games, you filthy slut. I know all about the sick shit you and that pervy male nurse get up to…

  “My laptop,” she whispered, staring at him with dawning horror. “That day in my office. You did something…”

  Phil looked up at her, his laugh derisive. “You’re just figuring that out?” He shook his head. “Jesus, and here I thought MDs were supposed to be smart!” He stood, his face hovering close to hers. She squeezed her eyes to blot out the unwelcome sight as he breathed his whiskey breath in her face. “I know everything about you, slave girl. I know the disgusting porn sites you like to visit. I know the nasty stuff you get up to with Nurse Pervo.”

  He took a step back and reached with both hands for the neck of her camisole. He ripped the silky fabric down the length of her torso as if it were no more than tissue paper in his hands. His tongue flicked over his lips with reptilian rapidity as he ogled her bare breasts. He reached for them with both hands, grasping and twisting her nipples until she winced with pain. “Because I know what I know,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice, “you’re going to let me do just exactly what I want, whenever I want, and never say a fucking word, not now, not ever. You hear me?” He twisted harder. “Answer, slut!”

  It was too much—her predicament, the pain, the threats, the terror. The last semblance of control burst like a bubble inside Marissa and erupted in a howl. “Ooooow!” Marissa wailed. “Stop it! Stop it! Let me down!”

  “Damn it!” Phil shouted, fury mottling his face. “I told you to keep it the fuck down!” He sprinted back to the bed and returned a moment later holding the ball gag. He shoved it roughly against Marissa’s mouth and then fumbled behind her head, catching her hair painfully in the buckle. He pulled it tight, forcing her mouth open with the foul-tasting rubber ball, which pressed her tongue back toward her throat.

  Tears were running down Marissa’s cheeks as she implored him with an unintelligible gurgle to let her go. Ignoring her garbled protests, Phil went back to the bed and returned with the riding crop. Shoving the handle in his back pocket, he reached for Marissa’s arms, lifting them from the hook. He spun her around so she was facing the door and yanked her wrists up, again draping the taut chain over the hook. “You,” he said, punctuating the word with a sharp smack of the crop against her ass, “are”—smack—“a very”—smack—“bad”—smack—“girl!”

  The crop flew over her ass and thighs in a steady, hard rain of stinging leather—no erotic buildup, nothing even remotely sensual. At first Marissa tried to stay still, not wanting to let the bastard have the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her. But after a while her feet began to dance of their own accord as she bleated ineffectually against the invasive gag. He hit her again, and again, and again without variation or finesse. It was a beating—pure and simple—and it went on and on, until Marissa felt as if she were being flayed alive.

  Finally it stopped.

  Marissa couldn’t feel her hands or arms, and supposed she should be glad of that. She only wished her stinging ass were numb as well. Her chin and chest were wet with drool, her face streaked with tears. Her jaw ached from its forced and prolonged open position.

  When Phil lifted her arms from the hook, they flopped heavily down, her lifeless cuffed hands hitting her in the stomach as she stumbled backward. He was just behind her, and he half-lifted, half-dragged her toward the bed. He threw her roughly down onto her stomach. Her arms and hands began to tingle painfully to life beneath her.

  She felt the give of the mattress as he sat heavily beside her. When he flipped her over onto her back, she closed her eyes and turned her head away. She heard the click and then felt the relief of the metal cuffs being opened and lifted away. This was followed almost instantly by a sharp, throbbing bracelet of pain around each wrist. She stared down at the reddened, abraded skin, relieved at least to note there was no bleeding.

  Phil tossed the cuffs carelessly aside and reached for a hank of rope. Marissa came suddenly alive, the possibility of escape once again leaping into her mind. If she could get off the bed and sprint to the bathroom, she had a pair of barber scissors in the drawer. She wouldn’t hesitate to gouge the son of bitch’s eyes out if she had to.

  Girding herself, she rolled toward the edge of the bed, but hard fingers curling around her throat stopped her cold. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Phil snarled. “The party’s just getting started.” His fingers dug into the skin just below her jaw, effectively cutting off her ability to breathe and, like a cornered animal, Marissa froze in terror.

  Keeping one hand tight around her throat, Phil unraveled a hank of rope single-handedly. He let go of her throat and Marissa gasped for air as he grabbed her throbbing wrists once more. He wound and knotted the rope around the damaged skin and then pulled her roughly upward on the bed. Jerking her arms over her head, he looped her wrists over one of the posts of her bedframe.

  He reached for another hank of rope. Forcing her to spread her legs wide, he busied himself tying her ankles to the bottom posts. When he was done, he stepped back, his eyes raking insolently over her body. “You are hot, Doc. I’ll give you that.”

  He reached for the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it over his head, shaking out his white-blond hair like a model on shoot as he flashed a movie-star perfect smile to the middle distance. He flexed his bulging biceps and pecs as if Marissa should admire his body. If she hadn’t been gagged, she would have spit on him. Instead she just closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  “Look at me, cunt!” Phil demanded. “I’ve got a better body than that faggot you hang out with. I can bench press two hundred and forty pounds. Not to mention, I’m built like a racehorse.” She heard the sound his zipper sliding down. “I said, look at me.”

  Not daring to refuse, Marissa turned her head again toward the monster holding her captive. She opened her eyes. Phil’s jeans were down around his muscular thighs, a long, thick cock fisted in his big hand. He smiled a slow, arrogant smile. “And to think,” he said with a grin, “this could have been yours, bitch.” He stroked himself, his tongue again flickering over his plump lips, spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.

  “I’d fuck you,” he continued, “but knowing what a dirty whore you are, I’m afraid my dick might fall off. Instead, you get to watch me come all over you. Keep your eyes open—you won’t want to miss a single second, I’m sure.”

  Marissa stared at his face, shooting daggers with her eyes, her rage so palpable it made her entire body shake. Phil just smiled.

  He moved closer, his hand now flying over his shaft. “Filthy cunt,” he panted. “Dirty whore. Fucking sicko bitch.” The words took on the tone of a chant interspersed with piggish grunts as Phil jerked off in front of her. When his eyes rolled back, Marissa shut her own eyes and tried to retreat to that quiet, safe place inside her where nothing and no one could hurt her, but the gag was too foul in her mouth, the drool soaking her chin, ne
ck and chest, her wrists throbbing, her ass stinging, her outrage like a live thing skittering and slamming inside her.

  Phil gave a loud groan and she felt the hot splash of his jism on her stomach, her breast, her cheek. “Aaaah!” he groaned. “That was good. So fucking good.”

  She opened her eyes to see him pulling up his pants. He reached for her face and Marissa tried to twist away, flinching in anticipation of whatever he was going to do next. He chuckled. “Relax, babe. I’m nearly done with you—for now.”

  He reached behind her and unbuckled the gag, pulling it from her mouth. Marissa opened and closed her aching jaw and tried, unsuccessfully, to wipe some of the drool from her chin onto the bed. Phil pulled his T-shirt back over his head and again shook his hair back with a practiced toss of his head.

  He sat on the bed and untied her ankles. Marissa brought her legs together, watching mutely as he tossed the rope into the messenger bag. He picked up the handcuffs and the riding crop, placing them into the bag. Finally he released her wrists. Marissa grabbed at the sheet with shaking arms. She used an edge to wipe the man’s disgusting ejaculate from her face and body. Then she curled in on herself on the far corner of the mattress, though she kept her eyes on her tormentor.

  Phil put his hand into his jeans pocket. “That was fun, babe. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  Marissa stared at the handsome monster standing in front of her. No matter what he knew, or thought he knew, about her, nothing would stop her from going to the police about this. Didn’t he know that?

  Apparently he did, because he said, his fingers moving in his pocket, “In here is my guarantee that you’ll keep your pretty little mouth shut about what happened tonight. You’ve given me enough ammunition to assure not only your silence, but your ongoing cooperation.” His mouth curved into an evil grin. “For a doctor, you’re pretty fucking stupid, I have to say. Leaving all that stuff on your laptop.” He shook his head with a look of amused disdain. “Don’t you know what someone like me can do to someone like you?”