by Lulu Astor
I am so screwed, is my first thought. My second one is, Motherfucker, Ian fucking Blackmon was right all along about this little prick Lucien Phillips. If I live through this, I’ll never live it down.
If I live.
He returns with the tea, tilting my head up to allow me to sip it. I take a huge burning gulp, swallowing greedily, siphoning more into my mouth, and lay my head back down. I don’t want his smarmy hand to touch me any longer than strictly necessary. “May I sit up?”
“How do you feel?”
I snort. “I’ve been considerably better, obviously. What’s this all about, Lucien? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Don’t be coy, Ella, acting as if you don’t know.”
“Coy? Lucien, I have no idea whatsoever. All I do know is th—”
“Enough! Fine. I’ll indulge you in your silly little game and explain. First, I should say that I left all your belongings, including your cell phone, in a storage locker in midtown, safe and sound. When we’re done here, I will provide you with the location and the key. I sent Blackmon a message, ostensibly from you, from your phone, telling him you were busy and would be in touch. Obviously, that won’t hold him off for very long but it should put him off long enough for you and I to conclude our business together.”
I begin to ask him something but he holds up his hand, his eyes dead-fish cold, effectively silencing me.
“I’ll ask the questions, my dear. First, which lovely lady put you up to it? Was it Eliza or Maya St. Sauveur? I’m anxious to know.”
“Put me up to what? And who is Eliza?”
“Oh, I see this is going to be like pulling teeth.” He looks at me with evil intent. “Perhaps I should actually pull your teeth. Will that convince you to talk?”
I slam my head back onto the pillow. He doesn’t look insane yet he must be. Obviously he thinks I’ve done something to him but I have no idea what or why. I don’t know how to handle him because I don’t yet know what his problem is. I just wait, hoping my silence will prompt him to spill more information.
My plan works. As the seconds stretch into minutes, he begins to talk again.
“You will be telling me who was behind your little exposé, Ella, your attempt to ruin me. You will also provide me with restitution, i.e. the monetary profits you netted from your ill-gotten gains. After both of my requirements have been satisfied, I will liberate you.”
Lucien is watching me closely, searching for a reaction. I have none because I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s prattling about. I only know that, one, I have to pee like a racehorse, and, two, I hate this son of a bitch with all my heart. When I think of all the times I defended him to Ian… it makes me want to rip out his pretty blond hair, follicle deep.
“So, if it wasn’t Eliza I must then surmise it was Maya. Correct?”
“Maya? Who did what?”
He slaps me. Hard. There’s something about a slap to the face: it not only smarts but it somehow shames as well. I gape at him, tears in my eyes from my stinging cheek. I wish I could smack him back. First chance I get, I will. That’s a definite promise.
“You know, I didn’t want to do that, Ella. Despite myself, I actually like you. If I didn’t know what you’re capable of, we could have been such good friends. I would have happily welcomed you into my personal life.” He begins to stroke my face and I turn my head the other way to escape his touch, eliciting a chuckle from him.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve touched much more than your face. Do you realize you’re nearly naked?”
Clouded memories of hands touching me fill my head. I grimace as I try to pull my hands free but they’re tied down tautly. I whine in frustration.
The sound I make prods him to move. His hand skims my flesh, causing goose bumps to emerge. They are from utter disgust, not excitement. I hate him so, so much.
“You’re very beautiful, Ella. Blackmon is a lucky man.” His hand moves to my breasts now.
“Don’t touch me! Just tell me what you want from me so I can escape this hell you’ve consigned me to—for whatever twisted reason.”
My words must inflame him for his eyes hold heat now. He yanks down the cups of my bra, exposing my breasts and starts fondling them, pinching me until my eyes water, his eyes boring into mine. The strap across my belly precludes me from shrinking away from his touch. Again I yell. “Stop, Lucien! Tell me what you want, for fuck’s sake, and I’ll try to make it happen. Please!”
Ignoring me, he continues to run his hand over my body. Now he’s touching me intimately, through the scrap of silk that is my panties. For the first time in my life, I wish I were wearing huge granny bloomers. The pig.
“I hold all the power, Ella, see? I can touch you; I can finger-fuck you… or a great deal more. Right now, if I choose. There’s not a thing you can do to stop me, either. So be a good girl and play by my rules or you’ll be punished. Severely. I will forewarn you: I’m not a kind master.”
I stop talking, hoping his anger will wane. Obviously yelling at him is not the brightest thing I can do—it’s tantamount to playing with fire. I close my eyes and try to pretend he’s not touching me. It’s impossible but I keep trying because if not, the rage I’m feeling might strangle me to death if I allow it free rein.
“What’s the pin number on your debit card and how much is in your checking account?”
“The pin number is 8989GTH… there’s about nine thousand in there now.”
“Okay. Where’s the rest of the money?”
“The rest of it?”
“Your profits from the book: where did you put the money?”
I clear my throat. So that’s what he’s after? My money? “Um, I invested much of it in mutual funds and a commercial real estate venture. I do have another bank account but my broker controls it, too.”
“Well, by the end of day tomorrow it all has to be in my account in the Cayman Islands so we’ll get right to work on it first thing in the a.m. It’s not that I need the money, you understand. Far, far from it. It’s just the principle of the whole thing.
Now, I’m going to offer you a choice, pretty Ella. Either you tell me who gave you the lowdown on me, or I will show you firsthand what pleasures and pain await you in my special little room here. Which will it be?”
“Please just tell me what you mean by the lowdown, Lucien, and I’ll tell you. I swear.”
Rolling his eyes, he sighs again. “What I mean is who told you about me, my particular appetite, my little hobby, my room of torture as you so charmingly named it in your book. This room.”
A gasp escapes me. “You think my book is about you?”
“No. I don’t think; I know. I read your book, Ella. You describe my room down to the doorknobs. You describe the… tools… of the trade. My demeanor, my words—everything.”
Shaking my head, I swallow whatever saliva I can muster. I’m in a difficult position here: I obviously don’t want to tell him about Ian but I may have to. Will Ian care if it means saving me from possible rape and even death? I doubt he would hold it against me in such a circumstance. I may be overestimating his feelings for me but I think… that is, there’s the possibility, however remote, that he… loves me. I know in this moment wherein my very life may hang in the balance that I love him. If I ever am so graced again as to see the beautiful contours of his face, I’m going to tell him, come what may. Life is too short to play games. I want him to know what he means to me. If my love is unrequited… well, so be it. No one ever said that life is fair.
“Lucien, may I have another sip of water or tea, please?”
He reaches for the tea and holds it to my lips and again I gulp it. I’m so dehydrated. “I’m sorry; I’m so thirsty. May I have more?”
“It’s the drug that’s made you dehydrated. The effect should lessen soon.”
“You drugged me.” It’s not a question but rather a punctuating statement. Of course he drugged me. “With what?”
“Rohypnol. It was necessary to
ensure things would go my way.” He brushes my hair off my face as he again lifts my head to drink. “You’re really a very pretty girl, Ella. In other circumstances… well, it’s a shame. I like you very much.”
“Lucien?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t write my book about you. I don’t know Eliza and I only met Maya when you sent me to Venice. My stupid little novel is purely fiction; I researched it on the Internet and the rest is fabrication. I was really broke and wanted to give my girlfriends a fun Christmas present. That’s really what it was about.”
“And the apt description of my room was just a coincidence? A figment of your girlish imagination then?”
“Well, not exactly.” I see his interest perk up when I say that. He’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“I have a friend… he’s a Dom and he showed me his dungeon. That was the room I described in my book.”
“And does this friend have a name?”
Nodding my head in abject misery, I say a silent prayer to Ian to forgive me. “Yes. Ian Blackmon.”
His eyes widen and a look of alarm passes over his face. Clearly he wasn’t expecting that answer and I find it gratifying on some level. Still, he’s holding all the cards and I remain strapped down and powerless. And scared. Very, very scared.
I watch as the gamut of emotions flicker across his face, ending with wrath. Not good.
“I’ll tell you what, Ella. I’m going to allow you some time to think about everything and we’ll have another chat later on. Very early tomorrow morning, we’ll begin to set things into motion to give me what I want from you and then, if all goes well, you’ll be on your way home to Portland by early evening. For now, use your time constructively to think about the ramifications of lying to me. Look around this room and take note of my pretty little whips and other implements.” He leans in to whisper in my ear. “I even have a wooden pony and a wicked little harness to wear while riding it, love. You’d look smashing on it,” he laughs, “…and we could take some cute photos. I’m going to have to take some pics of you anyway, to ensure your continued cooperation.”
Oh no. No, no, no. I need to escape; I need to get away from Lucien before he damages me to the point of no return. “Lucien, can you untie my bonds a little? Enough for me to sit up and drink my tea?”
“I’m afraid not, dear. But I’ll help you drink more before I go.”
“But I need to, um, use the bathroom, too.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s impossible right now. Unless you want to use a bedpan?”
I shake my head in disgust. I should stop drinking now so I don’t make my situation more critical because dehydrated or not, my bladder is screaming for release… but I’m so thirsty so I take a few more sips of tea when he offers the cup to me. And I curse him to the bowels of hell, the lowest circle, the damned of the damned. If hate were a sharp weapon, he’d be gored down the middle, from nave to chap in Shakespeare’s words, right about now. I watch him leave the room.
Then I give myself over, body and soul, to the misery that threatens to consume me as fire consumes dry kindling; I indulge it, even welcome it with open arms, until it is entirely spent.
Tackling each day with all its assaults, both big and small, often prevents any quiet contemplation. Right now I have nothing to do but think and my thoughts are ugly. What if I don’t survive this experience? What if I never see my friends or family again? But the worst consequence by miles is the one currently dancing inside my feverish brain and refusing to honor my eviction notice: what if I never see Ian again?
Many minutes pass and Lucien doesn’t return so I force myself to relax, to escape into the recesses of my mind—because I have to get out of here, one way or another.
Memory is capricious, entirely subject to perception and accumulated experience. Sometimes I remember that first night with Ian as raw, pulsing, and carnal, a coming together born of base physical need to create the beast with two backs, he eager to make me bleed, and I eager to make him come.
Other times, my memory is of a night of sensory feast: he approaches me delicately, revering my beauty, treasuring my innocence. Instead of naked lust there’s refined ardor, more sensuous than crude. He doesn’t allow me to see him slip the condoms from his dresser drawer—too clinical. He wants to taste me, as one would sip of a fine wine, not consume me, as a wild animal would gnaw at raw meat.
We were in his bedroom, after he convinced me to allow him to make love to me. I didn’t take much convincing for I was more than ready to surrender my virginity and I wanted him to be the man to take it. I stood in the middle of that vast room and watched every move he made. In one version, he stalked me like a predator: head down, shoulders swaying, long legs moving fluidly, one in front of the other. In the other version, he sidles over to me gently, a romantic light in his eyes. When he reaches me, he begins to slowly but purposefully remove my clothing.
I had on a cropped button-down shirt, a short denim skirt, and sandals. I thought he’d begin with the shirt but instead he reached his hands to my thighs, lightly gripping them and then slid them up, right up my skirt and cupped me from behind.
“I’ve dreamt of seeing you here, in my bedroom, where I can slowly remove your clothes, like relishing the unwrapping of a priceless gift.”
I realized then and there that Ian was a born romantic, whether or not he’d ever cop to it. My knees began to give out at the feel of his strong hands kneading my flesh, making my blood stir. Finally, his hands released their grip and traveled seductively up over my hips, my arms, my shoulders, clavicle, stopping just shy of my breasts, and he began to tackle the shirt buttons one by one.
When it flapped open, he leaned in to kiss my throat and chest; ever so slowly his hand snaked around to the back of my bra and unhooked it on the first try. Of course. The shirt dropped off my shoulders, followed immediately by the lacy bra.
“Beautiful. Very, Ariel.” His mouth showed his appreciation of my breasts and that’s when my knees gave out altogether. Fortunately for me, his arm quickly wrapped around my waist and caught me on the downslide. Soft, warm lips traveled from my breasts up my throat and kissed my lips with his sensuous ones.
“You know, it’s said that offering one’s throat to another, an alpha specifically, is the sign of ultimate submission, Ariel. It’s the most vulnerable position in which to be. I can wrap my hand around almost the entire perimeter of your lily-white throat.” His big hand follows his words and his thumb presses down ever so gently on my windpipe but releases it instantly.
Slightly shaking his head as he gazed upon me, he murmured, “A woman who can send an artist running for his brush. Just your slender, elegant neck alone is inspiration enough.” As he admired each part of me verbally, he paid homage to it physically. I knew there was a distinct possibility that I might reach a climax long before we joined together. I was already very, very wet for him. Embarrassingly so.
When I stood before him naked and he’d run his hands over every inch of my body, he peered into my eyes. The lighting in the room was dim but I could see him clearly and his eyes were the color of liquid silver. It was also very apparent by a quick peek at his jeans, that he wanted me a bit.
“Ariel. I’ve never craved a woman the way I crave you right now. But are you sure you want to surrender your virginity to me tonight? Isn’t it possible you’d like to wait until you’re with someone you love deeply?”
There was a thought that quickly flitted uninvited through my mind: I could love you deeply. I shook my head. “No. Tonight. You. This is what I want, Ian. I’ve waited long enough, too long. Please.”
Nodding but saying nothing, he took my hand, kissed it, and then guided me to the bed. He was so sweet and soft with me. When I was lying down and he was beside me, he again began to speak. “You do know it will probably hurt?”
I nodded and licked my lips, unwilling or possibly unable to say anything.
He was still wearing his jeans and tee-shirt so he
rose from the bed and quickly undressed, removing his shirt, shoes, socks, and belt. He left his jeans on, while he used his mouth and hands to ready my body for his.
When the time finally arrived, he finished undressing.
That was when I got my first look at a naked Ian and it was as glorious as the first sunset I’ve ever beheld. My God, it was almost indecent how perfect were his proportions. I think my mouth watered—as well as other parts of me. Yes, I wanted him easily as much as he wanted me. Almost certainly more.
In a few moments he was back with me, warming my body with his own. We kissed for long minutes; he kept at me until I was gasping for breath. “Mmm, your mouth is so delicious, Ariel. I could spend the night just kissing you without doing anything else.”
“I want else,” I whispered and was rewarded by a megawatt grin.
“So do I.” His hand glided down my hip and then up between my thighs until he caressed me intimately. I was embarrassed because I could feel how dripping wet I was but my condition only fanned his ardor. I could hear his sharp intake of breath the moment he touched me. Spurred on, he leaned over me on his knees and spread my legs, his fingers hooking around my knees and pulling them all the way up.
“If I do it gently and slowly, it will prolong your discomfort, Ariel. I’m just going to be quick about it. Okay, love?”
I nodded, both terrified and overwhelmed with excitement. He unfurled a condom over himself as I stared transfixed and leaned in toward me, resting his weight on his forearms. “Kiss me, beautiful girl.” His voice had roughened in the last few moments, sounding husky now, even raspy.
I reached up to his lips and did as he instructed, allowing his tongue inside my mouth in a dance that mimicked the other one we were about to do. I felt him, his body heat off the chart, between my legs and then he pressed his hips up, thrusting inside me, and the pain was unlike anything I’d felt before: intense, burning, tearing pressure. He kept kissing me and I tried to kiss him back but I had to focus on my pain, on getting past it. Would it never end? I moaned because I had to but he swallowed my moan, shared my suffering, but kept pressing into me with determination, and finally, finally the hymen broke and he pushed past where the barrier once blocked. Uncharted territory… without any pain.