by Faye, Amy
There are a lot of things I could complain about, if I wanted to. I try not to. It makes life easier.
I could complain about being put in this position in the first place, for example. I could complain about being in this position with a guy who I barely know. I could complain about him fucking me. Not that I would complain about it, but I could. It’s the principle of the matter, you see.
But of all of those things, the one that I most want to complain about, each and every day, is that I have to plug my phone in on the opposite side of the room before I go to bed, if I want to charge it overnight.
I push myself up from the mattress. Inconvenient. Just downright inconvenient. I push the button to turn the screen on. Power’s at 100%. I pull the cord out gently, as if it’s going to make a difference to the lifespan of the cord. They seem to go bad within a year no matter what I do, but it feels good to try.
There’s a text. From Luke. I didn’t know what to put him into my phone as, so he’s just Luke. If I had been feeling very clever, maybe I’d have thought to do something else, like ‘Sir’ if I was frisky or ‘That Asshole’ if I was feeling rude.
But neither stood out, and now I don’t want to change it. It doesn’t seem important and nothing seems to fit.
Dinner tonight, it says. As if I don’t eat dinner every night. I can only assume that means that there’s something noteworthy about this particular dinner. Like we’re going out, for example.
I don’t know why we’d be going out. It’s not like we’re dating. It’s not like he’s expressed any interest in dating, even if I were willing to do it. Then again, maybe I would be willing. I don’t really know at this point.
I take a deep breath. Flick the screen to unlock it and type a message back. ‘What’s the plan?’
He doesn’t respond right away. I don’t know what he does for work, but I am under the impression that sometimes, it’s time sensitive. Some times more than others, at least, and this is probably one of the ‘more sensitive’ times. So I don’t complain.
Deep breath. What am I going to do now?
I lay back down, my phone in my lap. There’s a lot I could do. I could continue my search for the holy grail, porn of me, myself, tied up and giving oral pleasure to a man who I only technically know the name of.
That’s an option. But it’s not one that’s very appealing, at least not right now. I could do some morning reading. There’s still a near-infinite number of books I haven’t read out there, and some of them are likely to have something interesting and informative to show me.
The phone buzzes in my hands. A little window drops down from the top. Text from Luke. Dinner is at six, get dressed. My fingers start to move, albeit slowly. I’ve never been a fast texter. Never had anyone who I wanted to text.
Just as I’m typing ‘Get dressed’ with the intention of finishing ‘in what?’ the phone buzzes again. This time, the little flag doesn’t come down because the message screen just pops up on the screen I was already looking at.
‘Dress on my bed,’ it says. I delete the question without sending it, push myself up from the chair, and look around. There’s something to consider, at least.
I walk around. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to think about. He’s given me an instruction, and now I decide whether or not I’m going to listen to him. Not listening is tempting, but then again, I’ve never had the chance to embarrass him publicly. I don’t know how that would play.
I look at the dress. I’m surprised, and can’t help the smile on my face. Maybe he’s got some taste, after all.
I pull my clothes off and carry the dress into my bathroom. Well, it’s a shared bathroom, in theory. In practice, with a master bath and a shared bathroom, with only two people living in the house, it’s my bathroom.
The water’s hot, feels good on my skin. Feels like I’m waking up for a second time, more powerfully this time. As if the first time wasn’t quite enough.
I get out, put the dress on, and drop my dirty clothes down the laundry chute. For a moment I consider whether or not to put on underwear; I settle on a bra, but nothing down below. It’s going to be an interesting night, but I’d like to leave the opportunity for it to be more interesting.
Deep breath. Ready for dinner. Check the clock. I’ve got an hour. I don’t know whether it’s a 6pm pick up, or a 6pm arrival. But at 5:15, I don’t think that there’s a whole lot of room for delays if it’s 6pm arrival.
There’s another long moment where I don’t know what’s going to happen. A knock comes at the door. That’s unusual. Extremely unusual, if I’m honest.
I put my eye to the door. See who’s on the other side. Open it.
Dad’s eyes shift from one side to the other like he’s nervous about who could see. I understand why, given who he’s left me with.
“Dad?”
He’s got a grin on his face, but it’s a nervous grin. Not the expression I expect when he comes to pick me up because he paid his debts.
“Hey, chickadee.”
“Why are you here?”
“Now, what kind of a way is that to talk to your father?”
I frown. I don’t care if he sees, because if Dad was going to change, then he’d have done it already; if he was going to get offended, well, that’s fine by me. He’ll get offended with anyone, for even the slightest perceived offense.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“To see my only daughter?”
Only that he knows of, at least, I add silently.
“Did you pay Luke? Or is he going to be pissed when he shows up here?”
“Is he coming home soon?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then I’ll have to be quick. Sorry, no pleasantries. Straight up: I need to borrow a little money.”
My teeth grit. My blood pressure jumps about a thousand points. If someone cut off my head, the blood would just shoot out like a fire hose. Anger surges in my ears.
“You want what?”
“Just a few bucks. Just until pay day. I’m good for it.”
“If you were good for it, Dad, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
I must have gotten tunnel vision, because I didn’t hear anyone pull up. I didn’t hear much of anything at all, until Luke’s low voice rumbled “What do we have here?”
Seven
Luke
Maybe if I were a smarter man, I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this situation. Maybe, if I were more forceful, I would have gotten my money in the beginning. Maybe, if I were more principled, I wouldn’t have taken the ‘payment’ that Bill Ashley offered me.
Maybe, if I were a good person, I wouldn’t have taken whatever I wanted from her, regardless of what she thought. Regardless of the fact that she seemed to enjoy it herself.
But that’s not the situation that we’re in. And I’ve got to deal with the world as it is, not as I wish it were, no matter what I wish the world was like.
“What are you doing here, Bill?”
He blinks at me in surprise. I can see from the way that Kate stiffens that she’s surprised, too, but she at least tries to hide it. Maybe she’d make a better poker player than her father, if she managed to cultivate a mean streak to go along with it.
“I was just leaving,” he says. He tries to give me a reassuring smile. I’m not going to have any of that. I clap a hand down on his shoulder.
“Kate? What did your father want?”
I heard enough of the conversation to recognize the lie that comes next, but to my surprise, it doesn’t show on her face. “He was just asking me for advice on how to get a loan. To pay the debts he already owes. Isn’t that right?”
He raises his eyebrows and then nods vigorously. “Yeah. That’s what I’m doing. Just asking for advice.”
“Here’s some free advice, Kate. Don’t cosign a loan with this guy. He’s going to leave you high and dry.”
“No, of course not,” she says. Like she hadn’t even considered it. Then again, she probab
ly hadn’t. She just made up the lie right here in front of me. But I’m not going to call her on it. That would be mean-spirited, and I’m many things, but I’m not out and out mean. At least, I don’t think that I am.
“Bill, here’s another piece of advice, for you this time.”
“Okay,” he says. I can see in his eyes that he’s hoping he can get away from this situation. I hope he can too, because he shouldn’t be here.
“Don’t come here again unless you’ve got my money. You got that? You want to talk to your girl, you’ve got her phone number. If she doesn’t answer, it’s because she doesn’t want to talk to me. You got that?”
I squeeze my hand on his shoulder. I should be nice and kind and polite. But I squeeze hard enough to hurt, and I know it.
“You got it,” he says softly. “Won’t do it again.”
“No, you won’t,” I agree. “Now go on, get out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
I watch him leave. He climbs into a car, one that I assume is his. Watching Kate’s eyes as he climbs in, though, I have to change my assessment. Maybe it’s not his. Maybe it’s hers. I have to pinch my lips together to keep them twisting into a snarl.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” Kate answers. She turns away from the door and leans on the stair banister.
“If you need a minute,” I start. She doesn’t wait for me to finish.
“Just a minute, and then I can go.”
Her shoulders rack as she does… whatever she’s doing. Thinks her private thoughts.
“You look good,” I offer.
There’s a long moment where Kate doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem to have much of anything to say.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “You look good, too.”
I look down at my clothes. They’re nothing different than what I wear most days. But I’ll take the compliment if I can get it, I guess. I didn’t spend all that time in the gym so I could ignore compliments.
“Thanks. Are you okay to go?”
“Do I have to?”
“I’m asking you to,” I say. If she pushes back, then the answer is ‘no.’ I don’t know if she realizes it, but it’s not my job to spell everything out for her. If she doesn’t want something, she’s going to have to stand up to me about it at some point. That’s how life works.
“Then I’m okay to go.” She straightens and rubs at her face again. Like she’s preparing for battle or something.
“Good. We’re a little late,” I say. Then I start moving without her. Another chance for her to walk away, if that’s what she wants to do. But she doesn’t.
“Where are we going?”
“I told you. Dinner.”
“Just the two of us?”
“Just the two of us,” I say. “I’m tired of being cooped up in this house.”
I hope that I’m echoing her own thoughts. I know that it’s a big house, but no matter how big it is, never going out can drive someone crazy.
She follows behind me silently. I get into the car and slip the seat belt across my body. She slides in beside me and rubs at her eyes again. There’s no sign of tears, but then, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen tears on her face.
“You’re going to be fine,” I say.
Part of me wants to be sympathetic towards her. Part of me wants to wrap her up in my arms and tell her that I’ll take care of everything. But those aren’t the terms of our arrangement here, and I don’t know if I’m prepared to think about changing them.
“I know.”
“If you want to talk about it, though…” I leave the thought unfinished as I slowly pull out of the garage and into the road. It’s still early, but even now the gray sky is darkening more and more. There will be rain before the end of the night.
“What, are you going soft on me?”
“Why? Do you want to find out how soft I’m going?” I try to put a threat into my voice, one that my words only halfway imply.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve been an awfully bad girl.”
It’s the first overt hint that she’s given that she’s teasing me on purpose. That she’s every bit as interested in being punished as I am at punishing.
Part of me, the part just below the waist, reacts immediately. It tells me that I ought to pull over right here and now and give her a swatting that she won’t soon forget.
Another part isn’t happy with that instinct. What is it about her that’s got me so tied up? I don’t want to ask myself. It’s a bad idea to even be thinking about it.
“You’re a real tease, aren’t you?”
She looks at me until I take my eyes off the road to shoot her a questioning look. She’s got a smirk on her mousy face.
“Who says I’m teasing?”
Her hands move in her lap and lift the hem of her skirt up, and up, and up, revealing inch after inch of peach-colored skin. Skin that keeps going up, and up, and up, until it ends in a neatly-trimmed strip of hair over her entrance and she stops pulling the skirt up.
I tear my eyes away. “You shouldn’t distract the driver,” I say. I ease the car off the road. “You’re going to have to be taught a lesson.”
“Oh yeah? What about us being late?”
“We’re just going to be a little more late, I guess,” I say, my voice hard. “Which is your fault, by the way, so I guess you’re going to have to be punished for that, too, aren’t you?”
She smiles at me, daring, her eyes full of lust. “Oh yeah? You’re going to have to punish me quite a lot, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure that you’re ever going to sit right again,” I growl.
I can see her squirming in her seat as I pull around behind a building. I’m imagining what sort of trouble we could get up to back here, out of sight of the road. Out of sight of almost anything, unless someone were standing at the attic window of the house just visible over the fence.
Even then, it wouldn’t be long enough for the cops to come, I suspect. They’d take their sweet time, and I’d be finished long before they got here twenty or thirty minutes later.
I put the car in park and step out into the evening chill. She’s already getting out before I can tell her to.
“Tits out,” I growl. She pulls the neckline of the dress I gave her down. It doesn’t take much to be able to have her breasts spilling out the top. “Now bend over.”
She does as she’s told, and I lift the hem of her skirt until I can rest it, bunched up, at the top of her ass.
“You like this, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she says. I bring my hand down on her ass and she squirms away from it. Her breasts press against the cold car window and she jerks back just as my hand comes down a second time.
“God,” I growl. “You are a slut, aren’t you?”
A third slap comes down. She lets out a yelp of mixed pain and pleasure.
“Yes, sir.”
Eight
Kate
I wake up again, and for the hundredth time, I feel like I’m going a little bit crazy. I need to get out of here.
There’s no reason that I need to leave. I’m not being violently attacked or anything. I enjoy what little “attacking” is going on.
And it’s not as if I need some excuse to stay. I have perfectly good reasons, on top of everything else. But I can’t help thinking that it’s a mistake, regardless. A mistake that I could easily avoid if I just had a little bit of sense in my head about everything that I’m dealing with.
I can’t rely on Luke for everything. I don’t want to rely on him for everything. Not because he’s him. Because he’s anyone. I’m smarter than that.
There are hard points in my life. There have been for a long time. Things that I wish I didn’t have to think about, wish I didn’t have to deal with. But that’s just not reality for me. Some things I have to accept.
My father is always going to be who he is. There’s no getting past that, no matter how much I want to. But I can try t
o make that problem as minimal as possible. I can try to make sure that he can’t cause any trouble for me.
But that doesn’t mean that I can make all my problems disappear, no matter how much I might wish that I could. Luke makes a lot of problems disappear. All he asks for it is to add a few others. Problems that I don’t have any desire to complain about. They’re easier than the problems I had before.
Except for one, the biggest problem of all: the softness. I can feel myself getting weaker, getting dumber, getting slower, every day. And every day, I can feel myself getting more complacent. Every day I feel myself getting more tired, sleeping longer. Thinking less and less about what I’m going to do when I leave, and thinking more and more about what I’m going to be able to do when I stay.
But I can’t stay, no matter how much I might want to. And I need to keep that in mind, no matter how much I might want to pretend that I can ignore it forever, until I’m old and gray.
Eventually, things are going to go sideways again. I’m going to be stuck back at Dad’s place, making sure that he doesn’t drink himself to death. Making sure that he doesn’t get himself murdered by a guy like Luke when I’m not there to make sure that he doesn’t.
I don’t know that Luke would have killed him. He can be perfectly decent, when he wants to. But when he doesn’t want to be decent, he isn’t. I need to get the hell out of here, before he decides that he doesn’t need to be decent to me any more.
I need to get out of here before he decides that he’s going to be anything more than decent to me. I need to get out of here before I start to get an opinion on which is scarier.
I get out of bed and check my phone on the other side of my room. The mere fact that it bothers me so much is as clear a sign as I could possibly get that I’m getting soft. No amount of spankings is going to change that.
No matter how decent Luke is, nothing smells like roses forever. At some point, you’re always going to struggle. If I rely on him, I’m not going to be able to fight through that trouble. It’s a crutch that’s going to kill me before I know it, and the way I’ve felt the past two weeks, the way that dinner went last night, or rather, the way that it didn’t go, after we spent thirty minutes in that back alley, I’m enjoying letting it.