by Sex, Nikki
Kurt's jaw tightened. The sweetness of her surrender had made his blood boil.
I found the perfect woman, he thought. And then I immediately lost her. Generous, sexually compatible, smart and funny. What we had together was more than sex. It was like magic. Surely she felt it too?
Frustrated, Kurt sighed. There was absolutely nothing else he could do – except hope that Carmen called him. He couldn't look her up or get a private detective to find her because he didn’t even know her real name. He would still have the name Lucille Guzman traced, but in his heart Kurt knew it was fake. Was Carmen an illegal immigrant of some sort?
It didn't make sense. She had a California accent, Kurt was sure of that. The woman had grown up there.
As he moved to walk out the door he saw the empty can of Sprite on the side table.
The can with her fingerprints on it.
Then he began to smile.
2. André Chevalier
Kurt sat back down on the couch and immediately hit speed dial on his cell for André Chevalier.
"Bonjour, oui?" came an irrepressibly cheerful voice.
"Hello, André? It's Kurt Nielsen. I can't believe I caught you - you're always so busy."
"Kurt! Bonjour! I am never too busy for my friends. And so, mon ami, you have come out from hiding? The shame you needlessly feel for this silly court case is behind you?"
Kurt burst out laughing, struck by the direct hit of those words. He wasn't at all surprised by André's guess. The acute Frenchman had trained him as a Dom, which included mandatory sub training as well. André knew him better than anyone else in the world.
Kurt's mother had sent Kurt to psychologists when he was a child. He figured that his mother had so much money she didn’t know what to do with it, and perhaps sending one's offspring to a shrink was the socially acceptable thing to do at the time. His younger sister, Stella, had seen the same counselor, and they had both laughed and joked about it together.
The truth was that he and his sister were pretty well adjusted, mainly because of their grandparents on his father's side. Kurt had liked the psychologist, a sensible woman, and had unburdened himself to some degree, mostly discovering management methods on how to effectively deal with his self-centered, narcissistic, and amazingly annoying mother.
Yet a year with a counselor had been nothing compared to two weeks with André Chevalier.
André had taken him completely apart and made him look at himself. Kurt had grown so much as a person. Kurt had paid him of course, a phenomenal amount. But André had been worth every penny, and more. Now Kurt considered André one of his best friends.
How could he not like a man who knew everything about him, his every failing and weakness, but liked him anyway? André was someone who observed, acknowledged and admired one's strengths, too. Not to mention all the Frenchman had taught him. André had discovered every one of Kurt's sexual fantasies, and had shown him how to best fulfill them as a Dom.
"André, you are of course correct," Kurt said. "I was ashamed and I just went into hiding. It took a little while to get over myself. Sorry I didn't call you back before now."
"It is nothing, mon ami," André assured him. "I understand perfectly. And you are calling now me now perhaps for a reason? Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yeah, about that. I do have a favor…."
Kurt detailed what had happened with Carmen concerning the mistaken identity, how they had completely hit it off, and how she had utterly snapped him out of his moody funk. Kurt explained that she had run off, and how he felt certain that she had a false name.
André laughed all the way through his story, making Kurt laugh, too. That was one thing he liked about André. They had a similar sense of the ridiculous.
"Send me these fingerprints of your so elusive Carmen, mon ami." André said. "I will have my source trace them. You understand that it is unlikely that her fingerprints are on record?"
"I just want to try everything, André."
"If her fingerprints match to a name," André said, "would you like a full account from my source? If so it will cost you much, and yet it will be a report most comprehensive."
"Absolutely. I want to know everything there is to know about her, her family, her early life – anything your source can discover. I'll pay for it."
André laughed. "She is that important to you this woman? Carmen and you have bonded during sex, oui?"
"That is an oui, alright," Kurt said. "I have had good sex with lots of women, André, but this one just did it for me on so many levels. She's smart and sexy and funny. I want to explore what I feel for her, and when I find her I want to bring her to you. We should have a ménage together just for fun. Carmen would be up for it, I bet. I'd really like to know what you think of her."
"That is a pleasure I look forward to, merci," André said. "And yet I already know what I will think of her, Kurt. I will adore your Carmen, naturellement."
"Is that right?'
"Mais oui!" André assured him. "I love all women, comprenez vous? They are wonderful creatures! So generous, so graceful, so giving – ah, such sweet perfection! Women are the ultimate gift from the bon Dieu. And for me, they all respond very well, n’est pas? Bring your Carmen, and together we shall all three enjoy sensual delight. But you will not be interested in my opinion, mon ami. I am not the critic and I do not presume to judge compatibility. Is Carmen the woman for you? Qui sait? This is your decision to make."
"I get it, André, and you're right of course."
"Bon," André said. "I have found that it is best to keep one's own council when it concerns matters of the heart."
"Your judgment will always be important to me, André, but you know what? Carmen's mine. I wanted her when I thought she was a call girl – I swear to God that her profession didn’t even give me pause. Now that I know she isn't a working girl, I want her even more – if that's even possible. I am telling you, André, the woman is perfect."
When Kurt hung up, the last thing he heard was André's good-natured laugh and a stream of words spoken in French. The only one he recognized was 'amour,' the French word for love.
3. Nightmare
Carmen struggled to wake, to no avail. She knew she was dreaming, but it didn’t help. This was a familiar nightmare, and she had to simply endure it until it finished.
Luckily the dream always ended, and Carmen always survived it.
Somehow.
~~~
Carmen had been picked up by Robert Ellis' men right off the street, kidnapped and driven to her ex-boyfriend's two story mansion in Marina Del Rey. She had fought them like a mad woman, kicking, and biting – she had even successfully kneed one of the big men in the balls, and gotten a vicious slap to the face that made her ears ring.
Robert stood in the front hall, waiting for her. He looked furious.
Just under six feet tall, brown hair and hazel eyes, Robert was slim and fit due to consistent efforts with his personal trainer. Carmen had always thought his stern, thin-faced, firm-lipped Dom look was sexy – but had recently discovered that sometimes, like now, it was just him being mean.
"I can't believe you tried to put a restraining order on me you stupid slut," Robert yelled at her when she was pushed inside with her arms held behind her back. "Do you know how embarrassing that was? To be served in front of my colleagues, you bitch?"
Robert's fist struck her eye on the end of that sentence, and for a moment everything went black. The men holding her let her go. Carmen's legs gave way and she fell to the cold white marble floor.
Carmen had heard the saying, "I saw stars," when receiving a blow, but the thing that amazed her was that it was honestly true. If you get a fist slammed into your cheek and eye, you really do see stars.
White stars predominately, she reflected, and then flashes of red and some green. It's so odd and unexpected, almost like watching an Itchy & Scratchy cartoon. That poor cat was always seeing stars.
"A restraining order, C
armen?" Robert asked in a snide mocking voice. "Could you be any more brainless? Half the people in this state are on my payroll. I had the whole thing thrown out of court already, and was even given an apology."
Robert picked her up roughly by the hair. He pressed something, an electronic switch that he had inside his pants pocket, and to Carmen's astonishment an entire wall moved, exposing a hidden doorway. Robert walked through it, dragging her down the stairs to a part of his mansion that she had no idea existed.
Carmen tried to stop him, to pull away. Using all her force she struck at him but it was like hitting a wall. Robert wasn't that big, but pretty well everyone was bigger than she was. Carmen's knees, shins and elbows banged against the edges of the steps as she was pulled down the stairs.
"You are a lying, cheating cunt and you're due for some discipline," he said with angry menace.
Carmen began to feel real anxiety then. Robert had erotically spanked her many times, and that had always been sexy and fun. And he sometimes used nipple clamps, which hurt like bejesus, but ended up giving her violent, overwhelming orgasms.
What did he plan this time? Somehow whatever it was, Carmen was pretty damn sure that she wasn't going to like it.
The hidden basement room was light and stark white, with cement flooring. There was a Persian carpet and a desk in one well worn area, as if Robert spent some time in this odd little hidden space. The other side of the room had a couch and a wall of mirrors.
With forceful urgency, he fastened her to a St. Andrew's Cross, strapping wrists, and ankles. The bindings were tight and painful, and Carmen, still dazed from a fist to her face, began to really become frightened. She had seen such a cross before on the internet, but had never been strapped to one. Once the idea had intrigued her.
Now it was terrifying.
After she was secure, Robert got scissors and roughly cut every stitch of clothing off, occasionally stabbing her with the point without concern or remorse.
"You won't be going back to University, Carmen," he said in a strangely calm and conversationally voice. "You have already sent in your letter of apology and a note canceling your scholarship. Did you know that you won an all expenses paid trip to the Bahamas? You couldn’t resist that so you will be gone for some time."
Carmen remained silent. What could she say? The man she once thought she was in love with was a mean, jealous, over-controlling, possessive nut job.
Why did I move in with him? she wondered. Everything was fine until then.
But Carmen knew why.
Even though she had the occasional indicator that Robert was irrational - that little tip of the iceberg awareness that perhaps she was making a mistake - Carmen had wanted the dream. She had wanted love and happily ever after. She wanted the bliss and joy of someone who adored her completely without restraint.
What she hadn't realized was that she had mistaken his constant over-protective, jealous obsession for love.
Head throbbing, vision blurry, Carmen found that already her eye was so swollen she couldn’t see out of it. But she could see something strange in the room, right behind that desk.
It was a cage. With a mattress in it. The cage door was secured by a padlock. Oh shit.
Robert got out a one-tailed thin leather whip. It was a nasty thing that could deliver cuts that would scar. Carmen's eyes stung and she felt warm tears coursing down her face. She began to beg and plead with Robert, but he simply laughed. Carmen's heart was pounding hard in her chest and she began to feel rather dizzy.
"Please, Robert," she said. "Please let me go."
"That's right, slave, beg," he jeered.
Slave? she thought. Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.
"Begging won't help," he said. "You're my property and it's time to teach you a lesson. I am your master. You belong to me. You need to learn that once and for all."
Master? Really? Well. This was new. I used to call him Sir during sex. I should have called him Dr. Jekyll.
Robert rolled up his sleeves, drew back his arm and wrist, and slammed the first strike down upon her back hard.
Crack!
The pain was instantaneous; there was not even time for a gasp of air.
Carmen screamed loud and long, astonished by the shock of it.
Without restraints, Carmen would have been thrown from the cross. Robert didn't pause to let her to learn how to absorb this shocking physical insult. Instead he struck her with full force four more times.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
The sound itself was frightening. The smell of leather and blood filled her nostrils.
Carmen's eyes were wide with astonishment. Nerve spasms screamed throughout her body, as if every living cell in her back was in agony, each crying out at once.
When she came back to herself somewhat, Robert stood face to face with her. While suffering incredible pain, Carmen was sensible enough to be aware of what Robert was doing. From time to time, his eyes studied her face, watching her every response.
"You deserved that," he said, examining her with heartless, curious interest.
Stunned, Carmen stared at him. Robert enjoyed her pain, her vulnerability and defenselessness. He didn’t love her. He was using her, and felt he owned her. To him she was like a disobedient puppy or something. But no one would discipline a puppy like this.
I've been so stupid! she thought, and that sudden comprehension made her furious.
"Thank your master for punishing you," he said.
Rashly, Carmen spat directly into his face. "Fuck you, asshole!" she screamed, utterly enraged. The truth was, mad as she was at him, she was even more furious with herself. Why had she thought she could trust him? Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Robert recoiled backwards, his eyes widening with shock and fury. "You are my slave! You will do as I say!" He began once more to whip her, no warm up, no pause, just crack, crack, crack, against her vulnerable naked flesh.
Carmen lost count and may have even blacked out. When she came back to her senses her tormentor was once more in front of her.
Robert's face was bright, his breathing long and deep. He was seriously sexually aroused, his cock a thick bulge in his jeans. Robert looked as if he had just witnessed something inspiring or momentous, like the birth of a child, or more likely the painful death of an enemy.
Carmen watched with abhorrence and found her own breath coming in ragged gasps. The tendons in her neck were taut, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her body. How astonishing was this all-consuming pain?
She had never felt anything like it.
Nauseous, Carmen thought she might actually be sick. If she did throw up she planned to make every effort to do so on Robert.
"Beg for my forgiveness," Robert demanded, his face wild and dangerous.
Carmen's eyes felt so heavy, that despite her fear she could hardly keep them open. How could she survive this? But she didn’t think she had it in her to resist him anymore. Not now – maybe later. Right now she wanted to appease him because he looked insane with anger. Would he kill her? Whip her to death? It seemed entirely possible.
Carmen wanted to live, and in any case she didn't want to die like this.
"Please, Sir," she panted. "Please forgive me."
"You call me, Master!"
"Yes, Master."
"I'm not stopping yet, sweet slave," he said. "I am going to give you ten more strikes."
Carmen moaned, unable to conceive of enduring that.
"You will thank me for each one, and thank me for correcting you."
Carmen didn’t have a choice. "Yes, alright, Sir," she whispered.
"Master!"
"Yes, Master," she said.
The procedure went on for some time. Each stripe was a unique journey into excruciating oblivion, and the words she said became a familiar litany, "Thank you master, for whipping me, thank you for correcting me."
It was savage and intense, and much of the time she lost real awareness. The smell of hot blood and war
m leather filled the air and her whole body trembled and convulsed. Sweat was pouring from her, she was panting, striving for more air. It took an incredible physical effort to bear such torment, but somehow she did.
Rivulets of blood were running down her, and dripping off her body. Carmen saw the white concrete floor turning red. The pain began to lessen and virtually disappear. Carmen drifted onto a strange sort of disembodied space, becoming a bystander. While watching this torment she no longer felt agonizing sensation.
Carmen jerked and made odd inarticulate sounds with each strike. She felt the thud and bite of the whip, but the real pain had mercifully gone.
"You belong to me," Robert said.
"Yes, Master."
"Thank your master for punishing you."
"Thank you, Master, for punishing me."
Robert took her down from the cross then, and lay her face down on the concrete floor. The floor was hard and cool and soothing on her burning naked flesh. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Carmen had an odd sensation of feeling both hot and cold.
Robert spread her legs, lifted her hips and then began to fuck her hard, grunting and pounding into her with enthusiasm.
He spoke soft and lovingly to her then, in happy, cheerful tones. Telling her how much she had pleased him, how much he loved her, and how now they would be happy together from now on. Explaining that she was simply willful and needed to be taught, but she was smart and would learn quickly. All would be perfect now.
Now that she knew who was boss.
"No, no, no!"
"Carmen! Carmen!"
Carmen woke up from the nightmare with her whole body wet with sweat. Voula, a Greek girl, was shaking her awake. Voula had advertised for a roommate and Carmen had taken her up on the offer. Already Carmen had been sharing a room with her in Queens for weeks now.
"Wake up! Wake up! Are you alright?" Voula asked.
Carmen took in a deep breath. "Yes," she said. With extensive experience in living a life of deception, Carmen forced her face into a composed, peaceful smile. "Thank you, Voula, I'm sorry to wake you. It was only a bad dream," the automatic lie flew from her lips. "I'm just fine."