by Stacia Stone
The pressure of her mouth increases. I groan.
I hold the camera up and zoom it in on her face. Wetness coats her lashes and her beautiful mouth stretches wide as she struggles to wrap her lips around my cock. It’s an image I want to keep frozen in my mind forever.
She’s moving faster now, using her hands around the shaft along with her mouth. The suction of her mouth increases. Even though she’s on her knees in front of me and my dick is shoved halfway down her throat, it feels like a play for power. We’re fighting for control of the moment. She’s trying to get it back on her terms.
“You ready for me, baby?” I ask, voice husky. “You ready to take it all.”
I try to remind myself that she’s not important. She’s just a means to end to get the information that I need. And right now, she’s nothing more than a hot mouth and soft hands.
Our eyes meet. I see challenge in her gaze and something else that I don’t have a name for. But I know she sees the same thing in me.
And then it feels real again even though I know I’m just making up fantasies in my head. But it still feels like it isn’t just play-acting and we’re both exactly where we want to be.
I come harder than I have in a long time. Shivers of pleasure course down my spine and weaken my knees.
The hand I have twined in her hair keeps her from pulling away. But she doesn’t try. Muscles in her throat rhythmically cord and relax as she swallows. The camera tips from my hands. It doesn’t hit the floor only because of the safety strap wrapped around my wrist. I almost don’t care about the camera even though this is the video that's going to save Kidd. In this moment, all that matters is me and her.
She’s perfect. And that fucking terrifies me.
Chapter 8
I’ve never sucked a dick before.
But I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about it too much. When one of the few attractive guys at school sits next to me in class — always at least arms-length away for the sake of decency — I wonder what it would be like to put my hands on him, or my mouth. I fantasize what it would like to have his hands on me.
Terrible things happen in my dreams. I’m always running and I’m always being chased. And when I’m caught by the faceless man, he shoves me to the ground and forces me to do things that I don’t even have the words to describe.
I know it’s sinful to wake up drenched in sweat with your fingers moving feverishly between your legs until they’re sticky and coated. And most of the time I do feel ashamed even if part of me desperately yearns for the dreams to become a reality.
It’s not something that I’d ever admit to anyone, not my “friends” at school or even Magda, who’s the closest thing that I have to a mother.
But then I think of my actual mother, who did something so shameful that my father practically had her scrubbed from history. Something so shameful that I’ve never even heard the whole story, though I’ve gathered enough from the hints and innuendo dropped by relatives over the years.
She was just like me — desperate to turn fantasy into reality — and it got her killed.
All of that happened a long time ago before I was old enough to create memories that you can remember when you’re an adult. That was before Dad’s political career and his rabid desire to create the perfect family, not just for the public but for himself too, became the most important thing to him.
That’s why I put up with letting him run my life, limiting my independence and sticking me in a place like Trinity where my actions could be monitored all the time. I let it happen because I truly fear what will happen when someone else is no longer in control of me.
What will I become?
I should hate Jason, or whatever his real name is. I should feel like a victim who’s been irreparably brutalized.
But instead, I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to bring him off like that. I was at his mercy but he was at my mercy, too. I’d felt used, but also strangely powerful.
And if he had forced me up against a wall and tried to take me right there, I probably would have let him.
It’s sick.
Jason doesn’t say anything as he leads me back down the hallway towards the room where they’ve kept me chained up. I can still hear his voice in my head whispering filthy words as he forced himself down my throat. Filthy words that he said in his real voice.
That voice will haunt my dreams.
As twisted as it may sound, I’m not thinking about how filthy and disgusting it is that they’ve made me do this. I’m not thinking about what it’s going to do my father to see me like that when they send him the video.
All I can think, is that I want to see Jason’s face. The way he looked at me through the mask, it was as if some energy passed between us. Something I can’t even begin to describe. I want to complete the half-formed image in my mind.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Freddy leans against the wall in the hallway. The minute I see him and his eyes cruelly intent on me as I approach, I realize that I should have tried to run. If I’d waited until Jason was post-orgasmic and strung out, maybe I would have had a chance to get away.
Instead, I’m wandering around the spider’s web like the idiot fly who ignores the danger until it’s too late.
“That didn’t take long.” I can hear the smirk in his voice even with the synthesizer. “I hope you got something good.”
Jason tosses him the camera and Freddy catches it one-handed. I hope he’s just going to take it and go, but instead Freddy just stands in the hallway and watches us.
“Get that sent ASAP,” Jason says. “Make sure the senator knows that if we don’t get a response, the video goes wide.”
“Maybe we could put it up on one of those amateur porn sites and make some money.” Freddy’s voice is mocking. “Was she any good? Could be a second career for her when this tanks daddy’s political career.”
I resist the urge to shrink into myself. I refuse to let him know how disgusting it makes me feel to think that anyone might see that video. It isn’t enough that I had to do this, he has to make me feel like a whore on top of it.
“That’s enough,” Jason says, surprising me. “Just take care of it.”
The command in his voice is unmistakable. I know the other man hears it too. I wouldn’t exactly call it coming to my rescue, but I’ll take it for now.
“Are you planning to share if there’s a round two?” Freddy’s leering gaze sends a shiver of disgust rolling down my spine. I instinctively move closer to Jason. Even though he just finished basically assaulting me, he’s strangely the one that I feel safest with. If safe is even something I’m capable of feeling.
There’s a strange sort of understanding between us. I know that he doesn’t want to hurt me if he doesn’t have to.
Of course there’s a good chance he’s going to have to.
“Get to work.” Jason never turned the voice changer back on, but he still manages to sound terrifying. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Freddy levers himself slowly off the wall and makes a show of squeezing past us down the hallway. He reaches out and cruelly pinches the soft skin on the inside of my upper arm. The movement is too fast for Jason to stop it. But I like to think that he would have tried to stop it given the chance.
Jason makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, but lets the other man pass. He propels me down the hallway and back towards the room that I’d been in before.
The two sets of handcuffs are still lying on the floor next to a metal girder. I don’t want to lay down again on the cold, stone floor. My back will never be the same after so many hours contorted in a strange position and lying on concrete.
And I’m already kicking myself for not trying to escape before. I’m not making that same mistake again.
“Could you just handcuff my legs so I can sit up,” I ask, trying to make my voice sound as pitiful and sad as I can. “Please. It hurts so much lying on the floor.”
The look he gives me is assessing. His gaze lingers on my lips. I deliberately lick them — not exactly suggestive, but close enough. If he’s thinking about how good it feels to get his dick sucked, maybe he won’t think too much about my request.
“Go on,” he says. He picks up both sets of handcuffs. But he slides one of them in the back pocket of his jeans and holds up the other.
A burst of triumph shoots through me. I sit cross-legged on the floor and let him wrap the handcuffs around the metal beam and attach them to my ankles.
As he leans over me, our knees bump against each other. His are covered in denim and mine are scraped and sore from the hard, dirty floor but the shock of the contact still rolls over me. I have an intense flashback to kneeling between those knees and taking him into my mouth. My stomach tightens and for a minute it’s harder to breathe.
I don’t understand why I’m reacting to him this way. I should be terrified and disgusted. I should hate him with every fiber of my being.
But I can tell from the way his eyes go a little wider and the tiny flare of his nostrils that he feels something too.
Footsteps move across the stone floor. Jason slides back quickly, putting more space between us. Michael comes in carrying a sandwich on a paper plate and a dixie cup of what I assume is water. It’s the same thing they fed me this morning and I’m not holding out hope for something better down the line. He takes deliberately shuffling steps that echo off the stone floor and plaster walls.
I realize it’s the first time that I’ve heard him approach.
Michael hands the sandwich to Jason, but doesn’t immediately let go so they’re both holding the plate for a long moment. Some silent communication passes between them that I don’t have the ability to understand.
Another moment passes and then Michael turns away and strides out of the room. This time, his feet are silent on the floor.
He hands me the plate and I accept with a forced smile, reminding myself that I’m still trying to play nice. If I do manage to get out of this alive, I will probably never eat another sandwich for the rest of my life. It’s amazing how quickly you can get turned off of cheap bread and convenience store lunch meat.
From what I can tell, they all live in this abandoned building. I wonder how long they’ve been living on the fringes like this, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you want from my dad?”
He sets the plate and cup down on the concrete beside me. I think he’s going to ignore the question and leave, but he just kneels on the floor and stares at me.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, surprised by the childish impulse. “Or not?”
I take a bite of the bland sandwich, like it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. Instead, my nerves jangle like Christmas bells and I have to fight to keep my hands from shaking.
“You don’t suck dick like a good Christian girl.”
The sandwich nearly falls out of my hands and I set it back down on the plate before it hits the floor. “That’s a shitty thing to say.”
“You don’t talk much like one either.”
At first I’d been grateful for the masks. If they’re hiding their faces, there’s still some chance that they plan to let me go. It’s protection for all of us. But right now, I just want to see his face. Is he smiling or frowning? Is he just trying to screw with my head or is he actually a little curious about me?
“Maybe you don’t know that much about good Christian girls.”
“Tell me, then.” He crosses his legs on the floor and leans forward in a parody of interest. “Do you and your girlfriends watch naughty videos after the lights go out? Or does that hand-holding policy that you were talking about not apply to the rest of the body?”
I get the feeling that he’s trying to push me and force some sort of reaction. But I don’t understand why or what he wants.
“I guess that means you thought it was good,” I say, forcing my voice to sound casual. “I mean, if you think I’ve had lots of practice.”
There’s a smile in his voice. “It was good. There’s a real future in it for you. I mean, if that finishing school doesn’t work out.”
Indignation momentarily overcomes my fear. “I’m not in finishing school. For your information, I’m going to be a software engineer.”
“Look at you, all liberated.” He doesn’t say it like it’s an insult, but more of an observation. “And what does Daddy think about you trying to run away from the farm?”
“We own the largest non-corporate cattle ranch in Tennessee. It’s not a farm.”
“If you say so.”
“And I’m not running away. I’m going to college like a normal person so I can have a career.”
“Is that why Daddy sent you to a school that produces more marriage licenses than degrees?”
I do have a lot of friends that have gotten married and dropped out of school. But Southern girls marry young. Everyone knows that. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Software engineering, is that what you said?” His voice is musing. “Does Trinity even offer a degree in Software Engineering?”
I wince. Dad and I had a lot of fights over this exact issue when I was in high school, but I still feel a need to defend him. “Information Technology is still pretty close.”
“Is it?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Just wondering why a girl who’s so into computers that she builds them herself would go to a school like Trinity. Unless it really wasn’t her choice in the first place.”
My eyes snap up. “How do you know about that?”
“I thought you were a hacker. You know information is out there for people who know where to look.”
How long has he been keeping tabs on me, I wonder? I can’t decide if I’m more surprised or repulsed by the idea. “What’s your point?”
“What does dear old dad think about the hacking?”
He doesn’t know and would flip his gasket if he ever finds out. “He thinks it’s great.”
Jason is laughing at me now. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I don’t like that he’s trying to act like my dad doesn’t want what’s best for me. “My father loves me.”
“I’m sure, especially when you’re standing behind him in a pretty little dress on the campaign trail. Has he picked out an appropriate android for you to marry yet, or is he going to let you graduate first?”
There’s no way he could know about the dinner parties my father sets up. The ones where I just happen to be introduced to eligible Christian boys with squeaky clean backgrounds and traditional values. My father is from a time when a girl got married by twenty or died alone. Dad is old-fashioned, not manipulative.
“You’re just twisting things up,” I say, not quite sure who I’m trying to convince. “My dad wants me to be happy and successful. That’s normal.”
Jason leans back and brings his knees up so his elbows rest loosely on them. The movement spreads his legs and my gaze is inexorably drawn to the little valley between. I’m automatically reminded of how recently my mouth was wrapped around him in the most intimate contact that I’ve ever had with a man.
I look away as a hard shiver moves down my spine.
If he notices the movement, he doesn’t let on. And once again, I wish that I could see his face.
“Would you like to know how your father responded to that first video we sent him?”
Darkness swirls in his voice. His gaze is trained on me with all of the intent of a scientist observing slides under a microscope. It’s a cold and analytical regard that makes me feel like a lab specimen that he’s hoping will do something interesting.
Fear rises again and I try to tamp it down. “I want you to stop talking to me.”
“It’s way too late for that, baby.” There’s something that I could almost mistake for compassion in his voice, but it doesn’t match the cold look in his ey
es. “Your father — the honest and hard-working senator — didn’t respond at all. There’s been no frantic calls to the police and no missing person’s report. Strange, don’t you think?”
I’m already shaking my head. “You’re lying to me.”
“Why would I?” He spreads his arms wide, the gesture encompassing the empty room and the handcuffs around my ankles. “There’s no need. You’re the one helping me get what I want. I’m just returning the favor.”
I push away the plate of food and try to turn my back on him. The handcuffs stop me short so I can’t do much more than turn my head away. “Please, just leave me alone.”
“You know, I almost forgot the one thing your father did do after we sent our message.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I ask him anyway. “What’s that?”
“He announced that he’s running for president. He stood up on some stage with your step-mother, looking all pompous and grinning. That was a couple of hours after we sent him that video of you crying and begging us not to kill you.”
The shock of it runs through me like a physical pain. He just watches me impassively as the knowledge slowly seeps into my consciousness. He has to be lying to me even if I can’t think of a good reason.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You want proof?”
Before I can answer, he pulls a cell phone out of his back pocket and holds it up. After a few swipes of his thumb, I hear my father’s voice boom out over the tinny speaker.
“…Very proud to announce my candidacy for president. Our country is in serious trouble and I can promise the American people that strong family values are the only way forward.”
Jason holds up the phone so I can see my father on the screen. He’s standing at a podium decorated with the American flag while Magda stands behind him dressed like an update of Jackie O. All they need is fireworks in the shape of a bald eagle going off in the background to complete the scene.
There has to be a reason for this. My father cares about me, I know he does. Yeah, he cares a little more than he probably should about keeping me innocent and marrying me off to somebody with similar values to him. And yes, his political career is incredibly important to him. But…