Debt

by Nina G. Jones

  Another tear drips down my cheek. He probably thinks I am scared or angry at him, but it’s me. I am betraying myself. Because he’s right. I still have a choice. I can still walk out of here. I may not have my career, or even my reputation, but I would still have my dignity.

  But I’m not going anywhere.

  “And I how can I trust you won’t show the video anyway?”

  “I keep all of my promises. If I say I will deliver, I do. Keeping my word is very important to me.”

  I want to laugh at his oh so mighty morals, but I have to believe there is an end in sight to do this. I think he truly believes in his very selective definition of honor. These honor codes aren’t unheard of, it’s the reason thieves and murderers look down on snitches. There is even honor amongst thieves.

  “Okay,” I say, my voice raspy with emotion.

  His eyes hood even further, and as he rubs his hand over his bulge, his mouth curves into a smug smile.

  I take a shaky breath and lean back on the table directly in front of him.

  “Pull up your skirt,” he commands. His direction actually provides a bit of relief. I am no position to self-direct.

  I place the Artemis on the table just beside me, and bend over to grab the hem of my skirt, and then I pull it up.

  I keep my knees together, barely exposing the white thong covering my mound.

  He leans in slowly, putting his strong hands on my trembling thighs. There is a momentary hope for comfort as his touch is soft, but then his fingers dig into the pillowy flesh and pry my shaky legs open.

  He softly pulls my thong over to the side, grazing my pussy lips as he does it. I feel a warm surge of wetness in response to his touch.

  “Already wet, dirty girl,” he says, biting his plump lower lip.

  He leans back in his seat, nodding approvingly.

  “Take out your tits.”

  My tremoring hands reach up and unbutton my blouse, one button at a time. I let the silky fabric slide off of my shoulders, then I unclip my lace bra and slide it off as well.

  He licks his full lips at the sight of my breasts.

  “Now show me.”

  I grab the Artemis, turning her on. The low buzzing is a pleasant distraction from the sound of my own nervous breathing. Holding onto the shivering device forces my own hand to still.

  “Don’t come. I want you to show me the product line, not just one.”

  I nod softly and put the edge of the Artemis against my nipple. The tight vibrations make it tingle, and I can’t help but lose myself in the sensation.

  His mouth remains closed, but a low grumble escapes his throat. He stands up and walks over to the shelf, pulling out a few more toys from their boxes.

  “Show me how you would use this,” he says, pulling out our best-selling Athena vibrator and turning it on. It’s long and thick, like a nicely-sized penis, and it has an extension for clitoral stimulation. “Wait, I think I might know how this one works,” he says sarcastically. Tax presses it against my lips so that I suck on it.

  I purse my lips in defiance.

  “Suck.” He smashes it against my mouth. “Don’t piss me off, Mia,” he says, aggressively palming my dampness. “I know what you like. There are no secrets with me.”

  His words are terrifying, yet oddly assuring. He already knows my dirtiest secret. He is my dirtiest secret.

  “Now suck, you little slut.”

  I begrudgingly open my lips, letting him slide the vibrator into my mouth. And then he thrusts it back and forth, forcing me to engage with it or choke.

  Then Tax glides a few fingers inside of me to prime me for its insertion. I curse myself for getting so wet, making it so easy for him to enter me. He curves his fingers and a wave of relaxing pleasure consumes my insides. I can’t help but lean my hips into his hand as he rubs my g-spot. I moan, and with every next level of pleasure, I get angrier. Another tear trickles down, then another.

  But he is immune to my tears. In fact, he might even like them.

  He takes the vibrator and slides it into me, slowly massaging it inside of me as the extension buzzes against my clit. I raise my feet up on the table so that I am spread eagle and I throw my head back in pleasure as tears stream down my cheeks in self-loathing.

  But even our best toys don’t match his god-given talent: that cock; that thick, hard cock, that curves just to the right spot. I want it in me so bad. I want my world to explode again.

  And I know what he wants, I know what that son of a bitch wants. He wants me to beg. And with every new toy he puts to my body, he is wearing out my will.

  He watches me with a predatory gaze, ire mixed with hunger. And I am taken back to the night he came into my house. How every spiteful word caused me to fill with desire, every painful grip triggered heat at my core. And now the pent-up wrath I feel towards this man has nowhere to go but out, and the only way out is through ecstasy.

  I reach out to pull him close to me, to give me some sort of illusion that this is voluntary, but he swats my hand away and digs his fingers into my hair, pulling me forward so that my forehead meets his, as he continues to massage the vibrator inside of me. His warm breath caresses my lips, but I know better than to try and kiss him. I moan louder and louder, but I want him, not a fucking toy. If I am going to exchange my dignity for sex, then I better get some fucking sex.

  “Do you want me to slide my cock inside of your cunt?” he asks.

  I do. How fucking demented am I?

  I look away, trying to avoid his dark glare. His fingers grip my hair tighter, forcing me to look at him again. He pulls the vibrator out, gliding it up and down my slit. Teasing, taunting.

  “Do you want me to fuck you with my cock?”

  I bite my lip so hard, I almost break the skin. Salty tears sting my lips.

  “Your pussy is so wet. You’re soaking your panties. You want me to fuck you. You’re a good girl, and you want me to make you my whore.”

  He presses the bulge in his pants against my throbbing center, and I moan. Ironically, the only man who can release all of the frustration is the one who has caused it.

  “Now say it.”

  “No.”

  He snakes his cock against my swollen clit, drawing an involuntary groan from my throat. Inside, I tighten, my pussy pleading with me to let him fill me.

  “Say it, whore.”

  Through tears, I abandon my morals. “Fuck me,” I mutter.

  His lips curve up one one side. I hate myself for how easily he has defeated me.

  “You need to ask me better than that.”

  He’s not happy until I am completely humiliated, until I have not a single shred of dignity left. “Please,” I choke out. “Please fuck me.”

  “More. Tell me how you want it.”

  “I want you inside of me. Please...don’t make me beg again. I can’t do it. You’ve won.”

  He unbuckles his belt and his hand reaches into his pants for his beautiful cock, and this time he’s not gloved. His hands are large, strong, masculine, and yet well-maintained.

  He presses his chest against mine. His lips graze my earlobe. “Beg, bitch,” he whispers. “Say my fucking name.”

  Tears pour out of my eyes as I lament over my desire for this despicable human being. “Tax, please fuck me.”

  “More.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Each time he makes me beg, my arousal becomes more acute. “I want you to slide inside of me, come in me.”

  I am so fucked up in the head.

  And finally, he slams his hips into me and presses me back on the table. I cry out with abandon. My hands find their way into my hair as I know he’ll anger if I try to touch him. He bites my breasts, tugging my nipples between his teeth as he fucks me, snarling at me the entire time. It’s almost like he feels the way I do, like he has to fuck me in spite of himself.

  He grips the flesh of my ass so hard I growl with rage as his cock
fills me in the way that only it can.

  I moan his name as tears trickle down my face. My core tightens around his cock. At this angle, the base of his shaft rubs on my clit, while his head rubs against my g-spot, and the walls of my pussy begin to throb, begging for release.

  He pulls my ass apart, hard. It feels like he’ll rip me in half, but that sting of pain only adds to the range of sensations.

  I come closer to release, my moans making it obvious. “Beg or I’ll stop. Beg for my cum,” he says cruelly. “Beg for me by name.”

  I am so close, so close to the explosion, I have no choice. “Tax, please come in me. Come,” I plead, between quivering breaths.

  And like a well-orchestrated symphony, every part inside of me that was threatening to burst, does all at once and I scream in impure ecstasy. Losing control, I try to reach for him, to clench him in my arms, to transfer the heat exploding out of me, but he grabs my wrists to stop me. His grip on my wrists triggers my instinct to fight, but my attempts to pummel him are pointless as his hold renders me powerless. I gasp for air as my entire pussy throbs around his surging cock. Tears trickle as I fight him. And again, I reach a height of emotional and physical intensity that I know is not possible without the conflicting feelings that only he can bring.

  If I had any doubts of how this man made me feel that first night, the meeting that has just ruined my life has affirmed it.

  Eventually, I dissolve against the immoveable strength of his grip.

  He pulls out of me, grabs a box of tissues, wiping himself off, and oh so generously leaves the box beside me to take care of myself.

  Though tears blur my vision, I watch him. The way the neck tattoo almost disappears underneath his crisp shirt. The way his luscious hair now looks freshly fucked. I want to hate him, but every time I look at him, my body swells with attraction and the hate reflects back on myself.

  His warmth streams out of me and onto my thigh. Again he is inside of me, and under my skin.

  Drifting in the current, so far away from who I was weeks ago.

  He throws on his jacket and shrugs a few times to straighten himself out, cracking his neck once on each side.

  “You will report to me the same time every week. I trust you will do an excellent job with Alea, but don’t hesitate to contact me regarding anything I can help with.”

  I sneer at him, at how he can be so nonchalant about this whole thing. It’s his way of rubbing it in and it’s so much more infuriating than direct mocking.

  “You should clean your face, your mascara is running.” He heads to the door. “Oh and the products are excellent. You should be proud.” He motions to leave and steps back again. “Oh, and you should move out of that motel. Go back home.”

  Garbage – Not Your Kind Of People

  I slam the door to my penthouse, pissed at myself for giving in to her again. She was supposed to beg me, grovel, and then when she had not an ounce of pride left, I was going to leave her craving and unfulfilled.

  But I fucking caved. I watched her with her legs open, her juicy pussy aching for me, her taupe nipples, round and plump, begging for me to suck, and I had to be inside of her. I had to feel her pussy clenching my cock as she came.

  She still was humiliated, she still cried as I fucked her. Not because she didn't want it, but because she did.

  The rapid clicking of heels approach me from behind. I can tell by their cadence that they are bringing hell. Not now, not fucking now.

  "You fucking bought Alea?" Jude says, waving some paperwork in the air.

  "How many times have I told you to stay out of my shit, Jude?"

  "I was looking for a pen and this was carelessly splayed on your desk."

  Suuuure.

  "That was part of the plan all along. I don't know why you're so pissed about it." Only after I pour myself some scotch do I realize it’s seven in the morning. Ah, fuck it.

  "It was also part of the plan to kill that cunt. And she’s still here."

  "Oh, Christ Jude, I’ve gotten us this far, haven't I? Can you give me a little creative license? Can I just savor this one?"

  "I just hope you haven't dipped into that pussy and had a change of heart. Is that why you won’t show me the recording?”

  I had a couple of cameras set up with the intention of making a snuff film for Jude. Knowing Mia was dead wouldn’t have been good enough, Jude wanted to experience it. Of course, the video spontaneously turned into a porn, and there was no way I was showing that shit to my sister.

  I snap. “Jude, for god’s sake, just shut your fucking mouth. I can’t believe you would even dare talk shit, after everything I have done for you, for us! This one is the most personal for me, she is the reason for everything!"

  "It’s personal for me too!" She shouts, her eyes watering. "We both have scars, okay?"

  My sister can be such a bitch sometimes, but she's been through a lot. And unlike me, all of her scars are on the inside. She knows how to find the one spot of my heart, albeit tiny, that hasn't completely turned to jagged, black rock. "I just feel left out is all. We planned everything together, and when you came home that night you were supposed to break into her house and end her, you didn’t say a word to me. You won’t talk to me about what happened. All I know is she is still alive, and now you’ve moved onto part two of the plan without completing part one."

  I take a sip from my glass, letting it burn my throat and cool my heated blood. “I made an executive decision. Both parts are running simultaneously." I put my arm around my sister’s slim shoulders, knowing despite the aura of anger that shrouds her, she just wants to be loved. "I decided killing her wasn't good enough. I want to destroy her slowly, the way she’s done to us. We’ve lived with the aftermath of her cruelty for so many years, and her life has been far too kind to her thus far. She has to suffer before her world goes black. Trust me.”

  Jude sighs. "I do, lord knows I do. But we're getting too close. If something happens to her, now that you've bought Alea, now that you have a known connection to her..."

  "Has that ever ruined our plans before? This is what I do. This is how I got us all of this. I make things right. I make people pay up."

  "Fine," she says, resting her head on the space between my chest and arm. “I love you Tax, my wombmate.” Our attention is diverted by the sound of the front door opening. "It's Rex," she says.

  Rex has been a fixture in our lives for years. We met him when he was just 13 after we left home. He was a homeless runaway and looked up to us, followed us around like a little puppy dog, and he's never left our sides since. Like any puppy, he loves one family member more than the other, and I’d say he's pretty much obsessed with Jude. She popped his cherry and he’s only had eyes for her ever since. Of course, he's loyal as a golden retriever and he’s been the one keeping tabs on Mia for years while I took care of other business.

  But I took him off Mia’s detail a couple of weeks ago when I decided that now it was my turn to step in. If I was going to do this right, I had to involve myself in all aspects of the mission. I had to be the one with eyes on her.

  “Close the door,” I tell Jude as she leaves to greet Rex. “Give me some time alone, okay?” The closer we get to finishing, the more Jude breathes down my neck. She practically lives at my place even though she has one of her own. She doesn’t like to be alone. She never says that, but her actions make it clear. We have always lived together, we’ve never really spent any substantial time apart since we were born. Actually, since we shared a womb.

  The door closes and I let out an exasperated sigh, threading my fingers through my hair and massaging my temples.

  I fucked up, but I am going to fix this.

  I have been watching Mia for years now from a distance. Jude and I have waited patiently for the right time to end her. But we had other people to take care of first, and there was a good amount of people. Mia is the most important one though, she put everything into play, she is the reason it all happened. Her betraya
l stung the most. So we wanted to save her for last, to end it all with the person who started this.

  I waited for the perfect time. Sure, I could have rigged her car, or poisoned her, but I wanted this to be personal. I wanted her end to be custom-made, tailored specifically to Mia. Besides working at a dildo factory, she seemed to live a perfectly tame, normal existence. We monitored her communications and her computer always had the usual crap: work, kitten videos, Facebook, twitter. Though she did watch some interesting porn...turned me on to a few good videos. Thanks Mia!

  So, I guess I shouldn’t have been entirely surprised myself when Rex came into my office, snickering about something I had to see. Some form she filled out at a website called Happy Kitty. The name and the service did not add up. I was intrigued though, very fucking intrigued.

  Rex did what he’s so good at, what we have trained him to do: dig. He is a regular at the bar Tiff owns, his way of seamlessly threading himself into Mia’s life from a distance. He actually knows Tiff pretty well, fucked her a couple of times in the storage room of her bar. But Tiff has no idea who Rex really is or that he even knows Mia exists.

  Anyway, he knows one of the high-priced whores that hangs there, and got out of her more intel on what Happy Kitty is. I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised to discover Mia had this side to her. On one hand, it made her far more interesting; on the other, it reminded me that she’s not innocent. She’s a deviant like the rest of us.

  So I had an in. I was going to show up at her house, and she was going to think I was the guy she hired. She wouldn’t think she was in any real danger, but I had something for her. Something I knew from the form she filled that she really feared: a 9” serrated hunting knife, sharpened to perfection. I was going to throw her around, make her think she was in a twisted gigolo’s hands, and then I was going to pull out the knife, hold it to her throat, and remind her about everything. Remind her who I was, what she did to me...what happened to my sister. I would relish the moment as her eyes shifted from lust to horror, savor her confusion, drink up her helplessness.