I turn and exit the office, leaving the temp in a twofold predicament. Of course she’s wondering what just happened but it’s probably also mixed with the sinister feeling of being out of control because she hasn’t an inkling of what is going to happen. I put the question of will he, or won’t he, in her pretty little head and I’m the only one who can answer it for her. I bask in the feeling of control, of knowing I’ll be in her head for the rest of the day. The enjoyment I receive isn’t about her; it never is about the woman. It is, and always will be, about the mind-fuck. I thoroughly enjoy getting inside a woman’s psyche and playing. It’s fun—nothing more, nothing less. The cherry on top is knowing she will hate herself for hoping I’ll call her just to use her. Of course, she will lie to herself and create convincing arguments in her head that maybe, just maybe, she is the one woman who will change me from my bad boy ways. I’ll go ahead and answer that question for you. No, she is not!
Melanie
I sit on the couch, watching Tommy play and trying to wrap my brain around the enigma that is Charles. Baffled would be the only word to describe how I feel right now. The only men…well, man, I have any type of experience with is Tommy’s dad. The look on Charles’ face when I told him that was a cross between jealousy and contempt. I liked it.
I’m no different than any other single mother. If you love my child, you have already won me over. Tommy is my world as he has been the only thing good in it. He is the reason we’re here, or at least part of it. The rest I can’t figure out.
I was so flustered when I went back up to get him from Josephine’s that I waited behind the curtain, half hidden, until I saw Charles leave. Though I was hidden from view, he looked at the window and paused for just a second after he pulled out onto the street. It was as if he knew I was there. Logically, I knew he couldn’t possibly have seen me but I still backed away as if he could. He makes me feel…well, scared. It’s an odd kind of fear that strikes a chord of curiosity in me. It reminds me of like when you’re a kid and there is that one house. You know, it’s the forbidden one in the neighborhood that all the neighbors avoid, the one with all the nightmarish stories about it. The tales are always the same no matter where you grew up: someone was killed in it, an old hermit lives there, there’s man who kills and eats children hiding in the basement… that kind of stuff. Still, that house calls to you, beckoning you to explore all its forbidden secrets if only you’re brave enough.
I get up and make my way back over to the computer to investigate him for the umpteenth time. I have to know who this man is and why he wants me here. I keep an eye on Tommy as I wait for it to boot up. Of course it doesn’t take long because it is top of the line, just like everything else he has provided for me. Everything is impeccable which fits his personality to a tee. Just one more thing to add to the long list of reasons I feel inadequate in his perfect world. I really don’t fit in here.
I scroll through the articles and feel a twinge of jealousy viewing all the perfect women in his perfect world. There are two reasons I stay here: Tommy and fear. I will never forget the look on his face when he suggested I not go back to my old apartment. All he had said was he would be very displeased but wasn’t his words that scared me, it was his energy.
I have spent my life growing up in the streets and having to read people in order to survive. Even after being exposed to all of that, I can honestly say this man is by far the most dangerous individual I have ever been subjected to. I will admit though, crazy as it sounds, there is a small, rebellious part of me that wants to cross him just a little bit… just to see what he will do. The other part of me, obviously the much smarter part with better survival skills, is more reserved… well, scared to be honest.
I’m going to have to use everything I have learned in the streets to deal with this menacing stranger. I don’t want to leave because Tommy is in the best living situation he has ever been in and, whether I want to admit it or not, I am too. I have known women in the past who would look for men like Charles and latch onto them for the sole purpose of using them. I chuckle at the thought and Tommy chuckles with me as if he knows what I’m thinking. The notion that Charles Wentworth the 3rd would fall prey to any woman, no matter how shrewd, is absolutely ludicrous. He is too smart, too worldly, and much too dangerous to ever let a woman use him for his money.
Though I’m not a gold-digger, I cannot contest that being poor is hard. I won’t deny wanting better for my son than what I had. There’s also the fact that, whether I want to admit it or not, I’m attracted to a man I can never truly have. Staying here and keeping things in perspective isn’t going to be an easy feat. I’m dealing with matters of the heart and a rich playboy—not a good combination by any stretch of the imagination. I make up my mind and strengthen my resolve to not get attached. The best and only way I can think of to do that is to resist him. The only question is…how do I resist a man who not only desires my obedience, but demands it?
Chapter Eight
Stormy
I’m sitting in the bathtub with suds up to my neck, drinking a glass of wine, and deep in thought. I look up to see Miller who is leaning against the doorway and holding a beer.
“Stop already, Miller”
“Don’t want to.”
“Why can’t you be normal and not so stalkerish?”
“It goes with my job description. Now, spill the beans. What’s going on in that pretty, little head of yours?”
I fake a southern drawl and answer his question as if I am some dimwitted blonde with no depth.
“Well, you know meeee, I’m thankin’ about shoppin’ and movie stars.”
“I don’t want you working with me then,” he answers, looking at me through hooded eyes.
“Fine. I’m thinking about the fact that while I’m sleeping in a bed tonight, that poor woman across town will be sleeping in a cage.”
“Maybe she likes sleeping in a cage.”
“That’s a typical male reply.”
“You know me, chauvinistic pig that I am.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far, you do offer equal employment opportunities to the opposite gender.”
“That’s only so can use you. I’m a self-serving asshole.”
“That you are. Anyway, I’m worried about her. Why didn’t we rescue her while we were there?”
“Timing is everything in this line of work, Stormy. Plus, I couldn’t deny my homeboys the thrill of a kill,” he sheepishly adds.
“You’re right. You are a chauvinistic asshole.”
“Get out of the tub and throw some jeans on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To check on this poor damsel in distress you’re worried about.”
“I take it back. You’re not a chauvinistic asshole.”
“I was going to check on her anyway, before you said anything.”
“Then I take it back again. You are a chauvinistic asshole once more.”
“I’m whatever I need to be to get the job done, young lady.” With that, he disappears as quickly as he had appeared…
Black Rose
I circle the bed. I have the flavor of the evening tied down and splayed before me.
I have her secured in a doggy style position with her arms straight out and attached to the posts of the bed. Though she is completely nude, I still don the suit I wore today. My demeanor is dangerous with just a hint of boyish mischief. I’m not a conceited man, but I am well aware that my looks, combined with my power and money, draw women like bees to honey. It takes a hell of a lot more than a beautiful woman to make an impression on me though. The old adage, “What do you get someone who has everything?” definitely applies to me. I have grown up in the lap of luxury. Ironically enough, the only thing that I have been denied in life is any sort of love or connection. Oh well, you can’t miss what you’ve never had.
I have what some may view as an eccentric sexual appetite, to say the least. I like control but my sexual conquests always return fo
r more. They are nothing more than just that though—conquests. Lately, however, I have been experiencing something new to me. Though I haven’t slept with Melanie…yet… I find myself comparing the women I bed to her, and they never seem to measure up. In my mind, I am only curbing my appetite for now. I never make any promises. In fact, the more I assure a woman she is very likely never to see me again, the more they seem to want me. It is as if each and every woman believes she will be the exception, but there are no exceptions when it comes to me. There is only Melanie and me training her to my liking.
I make my way to the side of the bed and bend down beside it in order to ensure Debbie is looking at me straight in the eye when I speak. “Now, are you sure this is what you want to do?”
She looks up at me, as if I am the most gorgeous specimen of man who has ever addressed her, and nods her head.
I reach in, roughly squeezing her chin between my thumb and forefinger which, in turn, causes her to wince in pain.
“When I ask you a question, I want an answer! By the way, I don’t like repeating myself!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she cries out as a tear rolls down her cheek. Now we are getting somewhere. I like tears, I like degradation, I like bondage, and I like knowing I have subjected a woman to all of the above. As I said…now we’re getting somewhere. I can feel myself becoming excited by it all.
“Do you think having sex with your Boss is going to benefit your career? That is a rhetorical question just in case you’re so clueless as to believe I care about your opinion enough to want an answer. I am using you. You are nothing to me but a piece of ass, a mere toy, a toy to use.”
The more I demean her, the more turned on she gets.
I slowly and methodically begin to remove my clothing as I continue to speak.
“I’m sure you think latching onto a man with money and power is going to move you up the social ladder but, let me assure you, that is not the case. Also, if you ever tell one single, solitary soul about this little encounter, I will ensure you never find work in this town again. You won’t even be able to work as the menial temporary secretary you presently are and will probably remain for rest of your unimportant life, in someone else’s company other than mine, of course.”
I kneel beside her face, pulling her head towards my groin, but every time she tries to latch her lips onto my cock, I pull her back again, taunting her.
“Are you a slut?” I relish in watching the poor girl’s face turn beet red. “Say it. Say… I’m a slut for my Boss.”
I’m certain poor, little Debbie can’t understand why the humiliating manner in which I’m addressing her is sexually exciting for her, but it is nonetheless.
“I’m a slut for my Boss,” she whimpers as tears make their way down her cheeks.
“You are nothing but a slut!” I viciously hiss. “I’m talking to you like dirt and you are sexually aroused by it. You may want to come to grips with your sexuality, girl.”
She isn’t Melanie and I am going to make her pay for it. I want Melanie and I’m angry it isn’t her at my mercy right now. Someone is going to pay and, right now, Debbie is available. She is not only available, she is willing so why not use her to curb the beast raging inside me?
I close my eyes and begin to imagine that it is Melanie in my bed and at my mercy. I push my condom sheathed, rock hard cock into her spread open and easily accessed, soaking wet slit.
I slow my pace and enter as deeply as I can go. I begin to grind down into her, slowly moving in circles. I imagine that it’s Melanie’s moans and pleads for release I’m hearing, not those of some temporary secretary that I couldn’t possibly care less about.
She cries out, climaxing as wave after wave of pleasure courses through her body.
The sound of her scream is like a shock of cold water to my system. It’s almost as if I’m broken out of a trance as I suddenly realize that it isn’t my beloved little kitten strapped to my bed. I begin to roughly violate her as I viciously dig my fingers into her hips, spreading her open for full access.
As soon as I unload into her, I am immediately untying her and commanding her, “Get out, get the fuck out of my house!”
Chapter Nine
Miller
Though I play my cards close to the vest with Stormy in the sense that I purposely don’t let her know what I’m thinking, it doesn’t mean I’m not just as concerned as she is about this woman. I don’t want this crazy kook killing the woman he has caged in his basement. There isn’t just the issue of him killing her either. There is also the issue of her not being able to escape if there is a fire or some other freak accident. Therefore, I periodically check on her for my peace of mind.
“There are two basement windows of which you’re already aware. There is the one in the front and the less accessible, yet more hidden, one in the back. The fact that he doesn’t have curtains on either one, but opted for frosted window film instead, is all part of the mind-fuck he is using against her.”
I want to know if Stormy is paying attention so I catch her off guard and ask her why he did that.
“Why do you think that he chose not to use curtains when he is committing a felony by holding a woman against her will?”
“I’m assuming it limits anyone being able to see in but, by her being able to make out blurred images and body forms walking past the window, he’s giving her the illusion of help being so very close, yet she knows it’s out of her reach.”
“Very good, now what else did you notice about the basement?”
“He has a clock on the wall that he has removed the hands from.”
“Well done. There is one more thing about her surroundings and if you can’t tell me what it is when we check in on her, you’re going to be disciplined. Details are of the utmost importance in our line of work; they are a matter of life and death. My life is in your hands, the hands of a novice, mind you. I expect you to be at the top of your game at all times. I refuse to pamper and baby you. If at any time you want to be coddled, then you need to take your ass back home. You can always go back to blogging.”
“You’re a smart ass, Miller!”
“Yes, I am… I am a living, breathing smart ass. I emphasize the living, breathing aspect.”
She just rolls her eyes and turns away like she always does, as if it doesn’t matter. I’m fully aware her mind is already trying to come up with answer though, asking herself what she missed in that basement. She damn sure better hope she figures it out or her ass is going to feel the fire of the cane five times. That is, of course, unless my dick gets hard while I’m hurting her. If that happens, and it most likely will, she may be looking at ten strikes. There is also the issue of having to decipher my riddle through frosted glass. The crazy doc isn’t the only one subjecting his woman to mind-fucks and he certainly isn’t the only one who enjoys doing it…
Lisa
My name is Lisa and I’m not certain how long I have been here. The man holding me captive is a man I once trusted, a man I spilled my innermost secrets to. You see… he is my psychiatrist.
I have to say that I believe the reason I chose to go and talk to him is because I simply do not, nor have I ever, bonded with anyone. When I say anyone, I do mean anyone.
He tells me it’s due to my childhood. Years of being ignored, neglected, and abandoned have left me a shell of a woman. I didn’t seek out counseling because I am troubled about my state of being, a state of being alone for a lifetime. I sought out counseling to understand why I am unable to bond with anyone. Curiosity, more than anything else, is what drove me to seek out his services.
My earliest memories of my mother are of having to step over her drunken body to change the TV station. My earliest memories of any kind of father figure are of trying to avoid the men she subjected me to. She brought a different man home every night and, as I grew older, I instinctively knew that staying anywhere near their vicinity would be unwise. To do so would only ensure that their sexual interests would fall on me rather t
han my mother. My foresight saved me from ever falling victim to their drunken sexual assaults or molestations.
My mother made it very clear from day one that she never wanted me which, ironically enough, doesn't bother me. Memories of her screaming at me in drunken rages as she adamantly proclaimed that I was a bi-product of rape and I ruined her life still, at times, echo in my ears.
I have learned to adapt—until now. I am not confused, nor traumatized by the fact, that I am being held hostage by a man I once trusted. I am, however, confused by the fact that I have become attached to him. The only reason I have been able to come up with for this phenomena is that this is the first time in my life I can ever remember someone wanting me. So, with that thought fresh in my mind, I wait for the monster holding me captive. I actually look forward to his visits. Crazy, huh?
Shh, I hear his footsteps…
I scurry to the front of my cage, kicking the teddy bear and blanket he has provided me with to the side. My hands grip the bars as I expectantly look out, awaiting his arrival. He looks so harmless—he is anything but. He appears to be the cliché office geek. He has brown hair, average build, wears glasses, and dons a suit and tie. You know… he’s the guy who sits next to you in your cubicle at work.
“Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Prey has no clock,” he taunts me. Before I ever see his face, I hear his voice and his hard soled shoes slapping on the concrete floor. He enjoys fucking with my head. I find it very humorous that he brought me here to research me and yet I have brought out a side of him he never even knew existed—the emotional sadist.
“Is it wondering how long it has been here?”
He peers down on me accusingly before he looks back at the far wall of my cage where I have been using my now broken acrylic nail to mark my days in captivity.
I know what he is doing. He is purposely calling me it, trying to dehumanize me.
The Complete Contract Series: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, & Part Four Page 19