The Adam & Eve Trilogy

by Paul Preston

  She’s just a character in a book. I actually am his submissive, his collared submissive, in real life. It’s really happening to me. To me…

  Bella Lisa put the book back down on the exact page she had found it. She considered picking out another book and relaxing in one of the leather chairs in the library for a while to read, but she felt restless. She walked out of the library and peeked into another workout room, the third she’d seen in his condo. She walked to the end of the corridor and entered the sparse and immaculate bedroom of Williamson. It was not as nice as her room, very simple really, with a queen size bed in the corner and a simple table with a laptop computer against the balcony window. He did have a large walk in closet, similar to the one in her room. She saw several attractive designer suits wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaner, all with a color coordinated pressed shirt and tie hanging beside them. Several pairs of polished leather shoes were stacked neatly in rows and a small dresser had folded t-shirts, work out pants and shorts, boxers and socks folded up within the drawers.

  So organized.

  Bella Lisa felt a little bad sneaking around in his room. She couldn’t find anything unusual or revealing about his personality in his bedroom.

  He’s probably watching me right now with his hidden cameras.

  She poked her nose into his simple bathroom, nowhere near as fancy as hers. It did have nice mirrored glass cabinetry above the sink. She peeked inside and saw a few bottles of cologne, razors, shaving cream and empty pill bottles. She closed the cabinets and walked over to the Entertainment Room to relax and perhaps watch a movie. It had been cleaned and straightened since their adventure with the sushi last night. She smiled, looking at the couch they had sex on twice and her body immediately became warm and responsive to the memory. She ran her fingers across the hundreds of movie titles he had on one side of the shelf and looked through the music collection on the other side.

  Bella Lisa couldn’t seem to sit still. Then she decided to go back to her room for a towel and suntan lotion, maybe grab a book to read and do a little sunbathing.

  On her way out of the Entertainment Room, the long narrow hallway leading into the forbidden West Wing caught her eye. She looked behind her and toward the South Wing and didn’t see a soul.

  What could it hurt to walk down the hallway?

  She noticed the walls of the corridor were blank, with none of the watercolor paintings that decorated the rest of the condo. The hallway seemed to grow narrower as she approached the black painted door with the red trim and the end of the wing, as if the walls were pressing in on her. Against her better judgment and Williamson’s explicit warning she continued on, step by step.

  What’s inside that door he doesn’t want me to see?

  Feeling slightly dizzy, she looked behind her, then reached out with a trembling hand and slowly turned the knob. Cold air escaped through the crack in the door, making her shiver. She slipped through the door into a room of total darkness and closed the door behind her. She guided her fingers up the wall, searching for a light switch and sliced the tip of her finger on a sharp object. She cried out, startled and put her finger in her mouth, tasting blood. She opened the door behind her to let in a little light, found a round dimmer switch on the wall and turned it on with a click and closed the door again.

  The first thing Bella Lisa saw were a display of hundreds of sharply pointed knives mounted on the wall, the nearest one of which cut her fingertip.

  Why in the world did he need all these vicious-looking knives? Did he collect them?

  She thought about the grid of cuts on the back of his legs. She remembered how he never turned his back to her when he disrobed. She anxiously checked her cut and discovered it was very minor and had already closed, but she sucked on it anyway, to calm her nerves. She looked around the large square shaped room. She saw hideous antique weapons behind protective glass cases, two standing X shaped crosses towering above her and whips of various shapes and sizes mounted on the walls. A cold feeling passed through her body.

  Usually I let the sub choose the whip she wants…

  Lengths of chains and leather restraints hung above her head and wooden tables surrounded her with built in restraints and straps at the front and back. She looked at herself in a wall mirror in the middle of the room with a dazed expression, sucking on her finger. She felt dizzy again, faint and slightly nauseous. She backed up slowly, never taking her eyes off the devices of pain, as if they could spring to life and grab her. Careful not to cut herself again, she felt against the wall for the doorknob, turned it, dimmed the lights and got out of the room.

  Bella Lisa walked back to the kitchen, shaking slightly. She drank a large glass of water to calm her nerves.

  Why did he keep a Museum of Torture at the end of the West Wing? Did he just collect the evil objects? Did he use them? Do I even want to know?

  She walked back to her bedroom, laid down on her bed and curled up. She checked her cell phone for a text from her dad.

  “Call me please,” she texted to her father.

  After a moment she had fallen asleep.

  A few hours later Bella Lisa awoke, breathing in and out rapidly, sweating and feverish from a hideous nightmare. In the first moment before completely waking from sleep, she recalled it vividly. It was the middle of the night and she was compelled in her dream to walk down the long thin corridor of the West Wing, but instead of the modern recessed lighting, torches were mounted on the brick walls which burned brightly. The flames licked toward her as she passed, as if they wanted to taste her. She was careful to stay in the middle of the narrowing hallway. The black door at the end appeared to be freshly painted, with a trim as red as blood. She reached for the knob but it turned on its own and slowly opened. The torture room looked similar, but the brick walls were mounted with four burning torches. In the shadowy flickering light she saw the naked body of Williamson, resting in a chair, his back to her.

  “Mr. Williamson? Is that you?”

  He didn’t appear to hear her. Bella Lisa approached him slowly. His arms rested at his sides, his head bowed low, as if he had fallen asleep, the firelight revealing the ripples of muscle on his back. As she got closer, he still did not turn to her.

  “Mr. Williamson? Are you OK?”

  Even after hearing her voice, he didn’t acknowledge her. Was he angry that she entered his inner sanctum, his most private domain? She approached him tentatively, only a few feet away.

  “I woke up and you weren’t in bed. I was cold. Come back to bed, Mr. Williamson...”

  He still did not turn or respond.

  “Mr. Williamson?”

  Suddenly Williamson sneezed once loudly, then twice.

  “Mr. Williamson? Are you ill? Mr. Williamson?”

  She slowly reached out a trembling hand to lightly touch his shoulder. His skin was extremely warm, as if on fire and was coated with an odd slippery wet substance. He abruptly turned his body to face her and she fell backwards to the floor, gasping, wide- eyed, a scream stuck in her throat. She watched in horror as a sharp hooked barb dug itself out of the bulging bloody veins of his pelvis and moved independently above his skin, dripping with a greenish venom that burned his skin raw. She saw the long thin curling body of the creature, pulsating and alive, crawling under his skin, its segmented body moving in a snake-like motion up his belly, torso and chest. As each section of the creature grew in size it stretched and pulled his bluish skin taut against his ribs. Her head froze in place, terrified to look further. Williamson reached out with his normal human hand and delicately placed two slightly damp fingertips under her chin and lifted it. Out of the top of his chest the final segment slithered out of his skin and through his neck. Williamson’s handsome head was gone, replaced by a large monstrous black and red horned centipede-like creature. It moved its head in an undulating motion, staring down at her through Williamson’s cold dead helpless eyes.

  “Good evening to you, Ms. Mauricio. We’ve been expecting you.”<
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  Bella Lisa pulled her chin away from its fingers, falling backwards on her hands and wretched up the coffee, eggs and bread from breakfast.

  “We are sorry if the sight of us disturbs you, my dear.”

  Bella Lisa backed out of the room on her hands and feet, not taking her eyes off the beast, grabbing frantically for the door knob.

  “Leaving so soon, Ms. Mauricio?”

  She found the knob and tried to turn it, but it was locked.

  The human centipede stood up and began to use Williamson’s legs to move toward her.

  “I must say, that red silk robe looks very attractive on you. I’m glad I told him to pick it out for you. It is the color of blood, my sweet. Your blood…”

  She woke up, panting, banging on her mattress, yelling for help. She went into the bathroom and threw two handfuls of cold water into her face. She stopped trembling and her breathing returned to normal.

  “Just a bad dream. Just a nightmare,” she said out loud, trying to soothe herself.

  She went back to bed and curled up, afraid to close her eyes again. She grabbed her phone and called her Dad and got his voice mail.

  “Dad, it’s Bella Lisa. I just had a terrible nightmare. I need to talk to you. Where are you and why aren’t you returning my calls or texts? Call me as soon as you get this message.”

  She turned on the computer hoping to have gotten a message from Williamson, but she found none. She got up and paced around her bedroom. Her phone buzzed with a text message and she immediately checked it.

  “Hi. It’s me. Sorry about working late. Feel like sushi again for dinner? Just kidding. C U at 7.”

  “OK,” she texted back.

  “R U mad?”

  “No. Just woke up. Cranky.”

  “OK. Bringing dinner. C U soon.”

  Bella Lisa thought about the dream.

  It’s my fault if I had a nightmare. He warned me not to go in there. I was bored and had to go snooping around. It’s not my home. I was invading his privacy.

  When she had composed herself she took a walk to the common area, careful not to even glance in the direction of the West Wing. Even though she wasn’t hungry, she opened the refrigerator and stood in front of it, looking inside.

  “Are you hungry, Ms. Mauricio?” Mrs. Potcia asked.

  Bella Lisa, still feeling jumpy, slammed the refrigerator door shut and grasped at her chest.

  “Oh, I sorry. I scare you. This house is spooky a little, I know.”

  “No, I just didn’t hear you, Maria.”

  “I sorry. I used to scare my husband too. He say I walk too softly.”

  “It’s quite all right. What are you doing here? Mr. Williamson said this is your day off.”

  “Oh yes, but Mr. W. call me to give you company since he work late.”

  “That’s not necessary Maria. I’ll be OK.”

  “But Ms. Mauricio, he pay time and a half today, and I must save for my son’s wedding. Do you mind I stay?”

  “I see. No, of course not. I don’t mind if you stay.”

  “If you no hungry, how about a bath and a massage?”

  “You know, I took a bath earlier, but a massage sounds perfect right now.”

  “OK. Let’s meet in your room in five minutes.”

  The massage was just what Bella Lisa needed to forget about her nightmare.

  Afterwards, she lay down on her bed, trying to reconcile the man she was extremely attracted to, whom she trusted and was developing a deep affection for, with the man who owns his own private torture chamber in his home. The two versions of Williamson battled each other in her head until she drifted off to sleep.

  She was gently awakened by the touch of Williamson.

  “Hey, Sleepyhead.”

  “Oh, Mr. Williamson, you’re OK,” she said, giving him a warm child-like hug, happy to see his handsome face again.

  “Of course, I’m OK. Are you hungry?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “I’ve got take out. It’s from a little hole in the wall, Seaside City Szechuan. I heard the food was a little greasy, but good.”

  “Are you making a little joke, Mr. Williamson?”

  “Yes…It’s from P.F. Chang.”

  “You’re kind of funny, for a Portfolio Manager.”

  “Thank you. Come on, throw on your robe. I’ve got ‘True Blood’ set to go in the Entertainment Room and the food is there.”

  “I think I’m more in the mood for a light comedy.”

  “OK. A chick-flick. I’ll do anything for you baby, even that. By the way, I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat my eggplant with garlic sauce off your body. It might get a little messy.”

  “Paper plates are fine for tonight.”

  Williamson and Bella Lisa sat on their favorite spot in the Entertainment Room, her legs stretched out upon his lap, eating their dinner while “When Harry Met Sally” played in the background.

  “So what did you do today, Ms. Mauricio?”

  “Oh, the usual. I went out and had my nails done, gossiped with friends, and watched my soap operas. I suppose after dinner I’ll have to do my wifely duty.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You really worked me out over the weekend. I lost count of the times we had sex. I’m exhausted. I just want to watch some TV like a boring ordinary guy, cuddle up with you in bed and hit the hay.”

  “After just three days and it’s like we’re already married. Where has all the romance gone?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m showing my age. Would you like me to take you out?”

  “God no. I’m just kidding. I’m very happy to stay at home and cuddle with you too, Sir.”

  “At least the romance is not gone.”

  Williamson pulled out a gift from his jacket pocket.

  “This time I had it wrapped. It’s our Three Day Anniversary.”

  “Oh, you remembered!”

  Bella Lisa unwrapped it, opened the box and pulled out a very expensive diamond watch with a youthful, sporty white band. She put it on and gazed at it.

  “Oh my God! This is beautiful. You have such good taste. Did you pick this out?”

  “Well, at first I was looking at a toaster oven for you, but the sales lady talked me into this.”

  “First the diamond choker, then the pearls, now this nice watch. You’ve got to stop buying me things. You’ll spoil me.”

  “I want to spoil you. It gives me great pleasure. And don’t worry, I can afford it.”

  “Well I love it, Mr. Williamson. I’ll think of you when I wear it.”

  Bella Lisa gave Williamson a passionate kiss. He opened the sash on her robe and fondled her breasts. They held each other and watched the movie. After a moment, Bella Lisa turned off the TV and turned to him.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” Williamson asked.

  “Not quite yet. I was wondering if we could have a chat. After all the nasty things you’ve done to me, in private as well as in public, I was hoping I could get to know you a little better. Tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Williamson.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I’m crazy about you and I’m a sex fiend.”

  “Well, that I know already. The article in the paper mentioned a few bits of information about how you grew up that I found intriguing.”

  “Ms. Mauricio, I would really hate to alter this wonderful sexual chemistry we’ve established by depressing you with sad stories from my childhood. I think what’s past should stay in the past.”

  “Don’t you trust me enough to talk to me about your childhood?”

  “I do.”

  “I just need to understand you better, especially if you want this relationship to last longer than one week. Do you want me to stay with you past Saturday?”

  “Of course. Haven’t I shown you how much I want you to stay?”

  “Then talk to me, Mr. Williamson.”

  “I’ve never really… talked to anyone about what happened… in my childhood.”

 
“I won’t judge you. The article said you were a foster child. Did you know your parents?”

  Williamson pulled Bella Lisa close to him. She rested her head on his chest as he told his story.

  “No. I have no memory of my parents. My mother dropped me off when I was two or three at this Catholic charity agency. They tried to get me placed in an adoptive home when I was little, but like an ugly mutt at the animal shelter, I never got chosen. I got bounced around to a variety of foster homes. I’d get in fights, had an attitude, none of the foster parents could deal with me. When I was thirteen I was sent to the foster home of this rich guy, Joseph Buquet, who sold real estate in Hermosa Beach and had a houseful of foster children. He had us all call him by his first name, I guess to prove what a great guy he was. I was supposed to feel so lucky that he accepted me into his opulent beachfront home. I knew something wasn’t right about the place the minute we sat down to dinner on my first night. All the kids were very quiet, no one spoke, they just stared at their plates. This cute little six year old foster child named Christine slipped me a note on the first night I was there in scrawled misspelled letters she had written and hidden in her hand.”