by Isan, Amy
He straddles me again, with a little less enthusiasm. I can't have him petering out on me.
"Master, punish me more."
"I thought you wanted a taste?" he asks, but it isn't a question for me to answer. He grabs my waist and turns me onto my stomach. My arms are twisted across each other and my ankles are crossed. There is enough slack in the chains to keep me comfortable, but I'm sure it looks insane.
"I'm going to fuck you. Fuck you so hard that you'll beg for mercy. And you won't get it. No matter what." A thrill rises through me. Is he acting? Or is he being serious? It's horrifying and at the same time... my pussy throbs to be filled.
He glides his cock against my skin and my thighs. There's just enough room for him to squeeze into me from behind with my legs crossed, but I can't imagine it is comfortable for him. I suppose that isn't the point.
The tip of his cock brushes between my labia and parts my lips. I let out a ragged sigh into a pillow and try to restrain myself. Before I can say anything, he thrusts into me. With only the barest of lube on his cock, it pinches at first until he's all the way inside me. My body does the rest of the work. That wasn't part of the plan at all.
"You like being punished. I know you do. You're a fucking whore and always have been."
I don't know if he was in character or not. His hands stroke my skin and slide against my sweat. His dick fills me up completely. My pussy swallows him whole and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to say fuck it and give up on my plan. To just let him keep fucking me. To let me fuck this stranger I know the name of. All the same. I want to stop it though. He has to feel that fucking disgust. He has to feel that betrayal. That helplessness. My heart freezes over this time. That lack of complete control in your life. Like how he made me feel. He grunts a little, and I strike.
"Medusa," I say calmly.
He stops and withdraws. "You're fucking kidding me? I'm about to cum over here."
"I don't want it inside me tonight. Can't we use a condom or something?"
He gets up and pulls a condom from his bag and tears it open and puts it on so fast I barely catch it. "Is this better?"
"Yes, Master," I say. He spits on his hand and coats his rubber head before pushing into me again. It's another penetration and I yelp with mixed emotions. I'm being pulled in two directions and I don't know if I can stand it for very much longer.
Do I let myself fall into his oblivion, or do I turn and crush him like I had planned? I can't help myself from being intimidated by him. His masked face gives off a vibe of power. That enigmatic thought that maybe it isn't James. Maybe it's someone else. It could be anyone.
That's what I loved about it. And that's what pisses me off so much about finding out the truth.
He presses one of his hands against my ass to pin me down and it makes my entire body ache with fever. He really wasn't gentle earlier, but I never told him not to. I quake and throw my hair back as I turn to look over my shoulder at him. My face is pressed against the pillows, which are fucked up now, so hard that they feel like boulders. He pounds away at me, and I moan. "Ah..." slips from my lips. I can't help myself.
He grunts as his balls slap my body. "You like getting fucked like this?"
"Yes, Master," I reply without hesitation. He pulls his cock out and peels the condom off without even a single warning. I stare over my shoulder at him with an anger I can't believe.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"You said you liked getting fucked like this, so I'm gonna fuck you. Bare and Raw." The words bare and raw only barely escape his clenched teeth. He teases my pussy again, his cock covered in condom lube and my own juices, and pushes it into me. He pulls my shoulders back and forces me into an arch as he enters me, and I squeal in pain.
He leans in, every inch digging deeper into me before I can feel his breath on my neck. His voice is low and hollow. "Call me Master. And mean it." His grip on my shoulder tightens.
"Master," I choke out. "Master." I'm losing control, not just of my power, but of myself. If I don't focus... I'll... ahh... His cock is so tight inside my body, with my back arched, it feels like he's going to split me in two. My arms and legs being crossed only makes me feel that much more. If I deny him and he gets angry, what can I really do to stop him?
But I have to. I have to see him go that far. To make him feel as much anger or betrayal as I felt.
He groans deeply in my ear, and whispers: "I'm going to cum inside you." His voice echoes inside his mask.
I jolt myself back to ignoring it. Ignoring his groans, his hands exploring my body, my skin dewing with sweat.
"Medusa."
He doesn't stop. He moves his hand from my shoulder to the side of my neck and I realize... he isn't going to stop. My eyes grow wide. "Medu—,"
His hand slips over my mouth and muffles the last syllable. I scream it anyway. I'm furious. He keeps going, and his other hand holds my hips up against his body as he cums, the rhythmic moaning and slow speed obvious. He fucking ignored me. It isn't the first time we've fucked, but it is the first time he's ignored me. I don't feel violated, but I feel pissed off.
He lets go of my mouth and peels off of me, jumping from the bed to the floor, his cock still dribbling. I keep my eyes locked on him. He won't look at me though, he's distracted. His breathing is heavy. Between breaths, he pulls at one of my cuffs to undo it, freeing my hand.
He says, "You liked that didn't you? I know you wanted it."
"I wanted it? After you ignored the safe word?" He only lets a dark smile cross his face, but that is pale snow next to my fury. My hand slips free from the leather bracelet and the chain links clink against the wooden headboard and that's when I snap. I grab the clock radio I stared at earlier that night, and chuck it at his head. He's so close, I practically punch him with it.
He jumps back after it smacks him and his mask falls off his face. He shields himself to keep his identity hidden. I laugh a little at his fucking attempt.
"Fucking James! You think I don't know? That I wouldn't fucking figure it out!" I shout.
I've already moved my hand up to his scalp. His hair is short, but not too short that I can't get a good grip on it. I pull hard, bringing him tumbling onto the bed face first and nearly knocking his head against the bedpost. I almost want to. I could just bash his skull in right here.
"James!" I repeat again. "You fucking cunt!" He stares at me, his guarded eyes wavering between shock and confusion. His hair is still threaded between my fingers. I dig my nails into his scalp. He lets out a small whimper, but it's for show. He isn't that weak. I lift him with what strength I have and push him away. I undo my other hand cuff and both my feet. They're easy once you have one hand free.
"You fucking did this to me," I begin, turning around on the bed on my knees and narrowing my eyes at him. My body is sticky and dripping. My mind is a swirling tornado.
My prey is reeling. "You've been screwing with me, forcing me to do shit at work. Fucking with my life and career so I'd come and see you as this façade." I gesture at him as if I'm revealing a masterpiece of shit at a museum. "You betrayed me. You lied to me when you said we would agreed to stay separate and you wouldn't pursue my identity. Worst of all. You fucking ignored the safe word."
"It wasn't a safe word. It isn't a safe word when you abuse it to fuck with me." He straightens his posture and stares down at me, his weakness or surprise having faded quicker than I thought. "It makes sense now. You never used it before. I don't know why you'd abuse it all of a sudden. I'm the one who should feel betrayed." His vanity is revolting.
"You fucking came inside me! You think you should feel betrayed? Oh really? Then how about we switch roles here for a minute. I'll lock you down to the bed, ignore your only pleas for mercy, real or not, and shove that lamp up your ass." I point at the one near the entrance of the room. It's a kitschy and armless Venus statue. "Maybe I'll even leave the lightbulb in."
"You're insane."
"I'm insane?" I laugh. "Sure. Go ahead,
Mr. James Pierce."
He pulls his clothes from the floor and disappears into the bathroom with a loud slam of the door.
His mask is still resting on the ground. I stare at it. It's cracked down the center. Not cheap plastic after all... but actually ceramic. One eye is broken along the seam.
The bathroom door shudders open, pulling hot air from the room, and James is dressed. His eyes avoid me as he crosses to his bag. He throws his extra toys inside, including the cuffs. He zips it shut and opens the hotel door and stares back at me. "I hope it was worth it."
"It was," I say with absolute certainty.
He's gone and the hotel door slams shut with an unnatural force. I know they all do that unaided, but it didn't feel like it was just the door. I recline on the bed, onto the mushy pillows, and bask in my victory. I found a liar and dismantled him in front of his eyes. When he was the most vulnerable. When he thought he was safest.
But something is wrong.
The glory I expect to be feeling has already vanished. There is no sunlight shining down from the ceiling. There is no crowds cheering at my win.
Just the starless night sky.
It feels like a cold lump. I close my eyes and try to think about his look of horror when I threw the clock at him. That devastation when his mask broke off his face. That ugly grimace when I cut into him with everything I had. All the resentment, anger, and frustration from these last two weeks all boiled down into my words.
The mask is still on the floor. It's face down. I climb off the bed and kneel down to pick it up, which is just enough force to fully separate the two pieces of ceramic. I hold the broken half up, the one with a cracked eye socket, and press it against my face. The clay is cool to the skin. The mask is too long for my face, but I walk into the bathroom and look anyway.
A quarter of white clay and three quarters of me.
I should feel better about this.
That was the whole point.
***
Back at home I rinse off in the shower. The bathroom at the hotel was too oppressive. The atmosphere was choked with grief and anger, and no amount of airing it out would solve that. Even opening the windows to let the cold snowflakes drift in and out did nothing to alleviate the lump that hasn't gotten any smaller in my ribs.
My ass is sore. The hot water only makes it throb. I gently pat the skin to test how tender it really is. Quite.
Medusa. A creature that turns men to stone with a single glance. The only one of the three sisters that was mortal. Her own gaze destroyed her.
But he fucked with me first. He said he wouldn't pursue my identity and that I would be safe from intrusions. Wearing a vibrator all day long. Thinking about it now, it makes sense why the intensity of it grew when I was with James that afternoon.
He had the controls on him the whole time. That prick.
I smack my fist against the tile in my shower and make it ache. The ache turns to a throb, and I smack my fist into the stone again. It scrapes my knuckles and the hot water finds a way to make the cuts burn even more. I relish it. I'm glad of the pain. I deserve it for being...
Petty.
I'm not petty. I lost my job because of him. No, I blackmailed my boss. And James offered to take care of Stacie if she was becoming an issue. But it doesn't matter, because he still was the one who instigated the whole thing. I never saw the Stranger more than once a week before I met James Pierce. It all lines up now.
I have done worse to other people. I did worse to my boss. To my coworkers. To my ex lovers. I've never felt much remorse or even regret because in my mind, they had already been exposed for what they were: petty and empty.
But I never felt that way about the Stranger or James. I hated one and loved the other for what they were: a sex animal with no strings or identity attached, and a confident juggernaut that could shut me down. I turn the tap and let the faucet drip dry before moving again.
James thrust himself into my dreams, my thoughts, my desires. The Stranger satisfied those things, but only because it was James in the first place?
Was it all a game the entire time? One huge game of submission that I was supposed to pick up on? Did he not realize how I am in real life — why we started meeting in the first place? Essentially he tried to out dominate me outside the bedroom, and that isn't how I work. That isn't how I play.
That isn't how I play at all.
I pull my towel from the rack and dry myself off methodically. Each foot, ankle, leg and arm at a time. The towel goes back on the rack and I slip into my bedroom. With no lights on, the moon is bright against the untouched snow in my backyard. It's looks less like the ground is frozen and more like time itself is.
I climb under the covers. Nestle my head against my pillow.
And realize I don't feel victory, remorse, or regret.
I feel guilt.
Chapter 12
The next morning comes abruptly. The light blinds me, the first time I've seen the actual orb of the sun in what feels like months. It's always been overcast. I shield my eyes and climb from my bed, still rolling the thoughts and events from last night in my mind.
I have to find him and do something. Something I've never done before. I've never had a reason to, because I've always been justified. I've always been right — no matter what the reality is.
I have to apologize to him.
It won't fix anything, but it might make this lump in my ribcage shrink, just a little to keep it from feeling like I'm going to burst. I dress in comfortable, but non-business attire. A scarf is the last thing I grab before heading out the door to my car. In my car, the folder I have on James Pierce, including where he works.
It'll be easy to find him.
***
I pull into the parking garage of the address listed in his file. It's a skyscraper with a parking garage attached. I find the first open stall and park in it. I climb out and adjust my sunglasses. They give me some kind of anonymity, which almost feels ironic.
The directory is listed near the elevator in the foyer. I find his company's name, but it can't be right. It's one floor. What company only has... one floor?
And it isn't labeled as a numbered floor. It's a penthouse. I hold my breath. What am I really going to find in there? I press the button, but it doesn't light up. I need a pin to access that floor. The keypad below the floor numbers looks like it's the answer.
I flip over a couple of pages from his file, and finally find some numbers that I saw from before. They make sense now. I punch in the five digits and wait. The "PH" button lights up and the elevator closes to begin its ascent.
If the folder and files are so exhaustive, how wouldn't they have known that his business is listed as a residential address?
I ignore the thought. I already feel like I know the answer. He planted the folder himself. It was his handiwork from the beginning.
How far back does it all go?
The elevator opens on the top floor of the building, right into an apartment. It's lavish, and not only that, but easily twice the size of my condo. Spiral stairs ascend to a lofted area, and as I trace the metal spiral upwards, I see him. James Pierce. He's shirtless but wearing some comfortable pants. Bare foot. His hand is clutching the bannister and he's staring at me like I'm a ghost. His hair is disheveled and a bit damp. Like he just got out of the shower.
"Marcy," he says as he continues his descent. His tone is business-like, as if we are conducting a divorce or something. "What are you doing here?"
I hold up the folder and can't help but laugh a little in humility. I shake my head. "You curated this folder, didn't you? Why else would your company's address be your apartment? You have a house and an apartment?"
He crosses the room over to me, but in a way I still feel how distant he is. He isn't looking at me like he did through the mask. Or through his business personality. Or the night as his house.
It's just him staring at a wall. I can't even reach out and touch him.
"What are
you doing here?"
"How long have you been doing this?" I probably sound more angry than I mean to, but... how can't I? I've only had shock after blow after shock to my system for the last year or so now. "Do you even work for a company?"
"Yes. But we aren't buying you out. We never were."
I shuffle in place, but keep my eyes off his sectional sofa. I keep my eyes off his barstools at his kitchen counter. Same style as the ones in his house.
"You have an apartment? We were at your house... are you hiding from a wife?" I dread the answer.
"No," he answers. He turns away from me and walks into the kitchen.
"No work?"
He pulls a glass down from a shelf and fills it with water. After the faucet stops dripping, he looks up at me. "Marcy, it's Saturday."
Oh.
"And you still haven't answered me," he continues. He takes a long drink of the water and sets it down on the counter.
"You didn't answer me either."
He sighs a little, but not in annoyance. "I found out who you really were by accident. My company did receive an embarrassingly low offer from yours, but we knew immediately it was an accounting error. It was something like $11,000 for vested interest in our company. We work with billions of dollars of assets a year."
"I'm aware."
"Yes, well. I took a personal interest in the report because of how boring it can be over there. I popped into your building and there you were. Your black hair. Your attitude, even just through the glass wall of your office. You oozed that confidence I saw flicker inside the woman I met every week. I kept my head down, you probably didn't even see me. You were too busy chewing someone out in your office. I didn't want to believe it could really be the same woman. But my heart knew."
I flush.
He laughs and he fills the water glass, and offers it to me.
"So I called. I made an appointment. I was curious. How much of it was an act and how much of it was real?"
"You found out."
"Yes. But that only..." He trails off. His hands are planted on the counter and splayed out. He's staring past me, out the window. I turn and watch snow start falling. The sun has disappeared behind some clouds, and left the entire room in a shadow of its former self. "Made the pain worse." He swallows.