by KT Morrison
Mitch came home early that day he’d arranged for those men to meet her. Kate was already there, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. Moving around the kitchen, shuffling, quiet. He’d asked her how her day was, getting off on it. She smiled, wan and thin. Her hair clung to her face, tied back in a rough knot. She ate on the couch that night, wordless. She couldn’t sit up straight, had to lay sideways on the couch, her feet drawn up. They watched TV together; mostly he watched her. Watched her pretty face as she looked at the screen through eyes barely held open. She’d kissed him and went to bed, eight-thirty at night. He’d played the video over and over, locked in his office trying to solve the mystery of this knife.
Mitch was sitting now in his office, just like that night a month ago when he’d arranged for his wife to be horribly violated, the apartment quiet, Kate gone to bed. He let the video play. Kate had dropped the knife to the couch then knelt on the floor, her arms still locked behind her at the wrist. A severed strap hung from the ring behind her. The harness was practically gone from her, flayed straps laying over her legs and shoulders. She got herself on to her back, brought her knees to her chest. With effort she brought her tethered arms over her rump, kicking one leg through at a time, getting her arms to the front of her. She got up and moved the blade to the edge of the seat and put her knee on the handle, put her full weight against it pressing it right down through the cushions. He watched her carefully sawing through one of the leather bracelets, her breasts swinging around as she did it. It took a long time, but once she had the one off she was done; quickly and deftly she unbuckled the other bracer, pulled the straps off her and threw them around the apartment.
She sat herself down on the couch wearing only the saddle brown riding boots and put her hands over her face. He saw her shoulders heave, her body jiggle as she sobbed. He turned the volume to zero. Shut out the sound of her crying before it picked him up and had him crying too. His eyes rimmed with tears as he watched her. He’d gone too far.
He turned the video off and leaned back. Knew what was left to see. Kate would get up eventually, having cried herself out but looking determined. She would pull down the drapes. Cut them with that hunting knife. She moved the blade well. She would shear them into wide strips, tie them around herself, then cinch it all around her waist with a velvet rope from the curtains. She would grab her purse and leave the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
When he had planned this little daytime tryst for her he’d wondered how she would get out of there. That was to be an extra thrill for her. Something dangerous for her to enjoy. Keep her on the edge of her seat he’d thought. How would she get out? Would she call Mitch? He didn’t think so, didn’t know what she would do. The excitement was in the unknown—but what she did turned out to be terrifying.
He swiped the mouse, brought his screen back to life. He opened the video again, could feel his hand trembling as he did. He slid the arrow along the timer to 12:47 and let it play. He felt heartsick as he watched it, easing down the front of his sweats. He got hard in his hand as he looked at Kate’s face. Watched her mournful pleasure as the man he’d arranged for her slid himself inside her. Watched her face as she came almost instantly when he did. He watched her hand cover her mouth as she was so ashamed of herself. He slid it back and started it over, froze it on that instant when she seemed to come face to face with who she was. He stared at the frozen image, her furrowed brow, her damp eyes, her pretty little hand clasped over her mouth. He finished onto his belly as he quivered, his eyes seized on that image, completely consumed with an enormous love for his wife.
Kate heard Mitch come into the bedroom behind her. Her eyes moved to the clock. Two-thirty. She just couldn’t sleep anymore. She’d run out of Ambien but couldn’t be assed to get some more yet.
She felt him get into the bed behind her and she lay there listening to him take off his watch, adjust his pillow and roll over to her. Mitch got close behind her, as close as he could without touching her. Her eyes were open, looking at nothing.
It had been four full weeks since she’d last heard from Omar. The last contact was the day after he and his friend had fucked her in that strange apartment.
He’d Skyped her, she picked her phone up and almost burst into tears seeing his name there. She knew what she had to do, what Omar was going to make her do. She opened the call and he was there. He was fully dressed, looking good in jeans and a white t-shirt, but his demeanor had changed. He wasn’t bold, he wasn’t confident and arrogant. He didn’t have his cock in his hand. He was quiet and honest. He said that they were done after all. He kept it brief. Said he changed his mind, that she was free. He said she wouldn’t hear from him again. It seemed too good to be true. For one whole day she felt that tension ease. Then as days passed it crept back. She didn’t believe him. Didn’t believe that she wouldn’t hear from him again. Every call that came through her phone tightened her, constricted her until she felt she couldn’t breathe. He’d said it was over in the apartment too, hadn’t he? Then after they’d dirtied her he laughed and took it back, left her bound with leather, naked on the floor.
But it was a month now and she hadn’t heard a thing. She liked it better when he was blackmailing her. At least she felt alive then. Engaged, an active agent in saving Mitch from a horrible, humiliating destruction. Now it was like she was sentenced to death and was just waiting for someone to come to the door and tell her that this was the day they were going to put her on the platform, pull that lever and let the noose snap her neck. Would today be the day? No. Maybe tomorrow, though. We’ll let you know.
All the life had been sucked from her. Her arms were heavy, her legs heavy. She didn’t want to do anything anymore.
Today she should go out, do some errands. She looked at her fingernails, chipped, the polish coming away around the edges. She should make an appointment, maybe. Try not to drink a bottle of wine today before Mitch was even home from work.
She made them breakfast, tea, toast, and a soft boiled egg that ended up as hard boiled as she stared at the stainless backsplash and lost track of the time.
Mitch came from the bedroom, buttoning up his suit jacket. He looked good. He wasn’t going to the gym as much, but he’d lost weight and it made his face even more handsome. She let him kiss the top of her head, leaned into him. He put his arm around her and squeezed her but he didn’t say anything.
They sat at the counter and had their breakfast. Keeping quiet even though they weren’t occupied with newspapers or devices, just sitting alone in the quiet kitchen. The sun was only starting to come up.
Mitch put his hand out and held hers. He didn’t say anything, kept eating, he just wanted to touch her. He’d really doted on her this last while. Like he’d sensed something tremendous had happened to her. He never asked her but he was there for her supporting her through this even though he didn’t know what it was. Could he even imagine?
She’d been ruined. That day in the apartment was dangerous sex. Unprotected sex. When the pain wasn’t gone in a few days, she very reluctantly went to her gynaecologist. Her gyno seemed troubled by her but didn’t say anything that seemed judgmental. She had tears and bruising but it wasn’t as serious as it felt. Some hydrocortisone helped and she felt a bit better in a week. Somehow Mitch never managed to prompt her in that time. Which was good because she hadn’t got her test results back yet. Those came back fine and it lifted her spirits a little. Intimacy right now seemed like a dot on the horizon. It was getting bigger though and perhaps soon she’d be her old self again.
“Kate, let’s go away,” he said, sounding loud in the quiet kitchen.
“Yeah.”
“I’m serious, book it today. Anywhere you want to go, love. We’ll do it.”
“Where would we go?” she said.
Mitch took her hand, said, “Doesn’t matter. Just some time together. Out of here.”
Kate looked up, he was staring right at her, so close, and their eyes locked. Mitch knew her complete
ly. She could feel it, tears coming, her eyes welling. She wanted to speak but she needed a moment or it would come out badly, a quavering voice that would only encourage more tears. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand.
She nodded.
“I mean it, Kate. Book it today while I’m at work. Whatever you want. I’ll give up my schedule. Let’s take two weeks.”
She looked at him while she tried to keep herself together. How could she ever get things back to the way they were? How could she erase the danger she’d put the man she loved in? Could she even go away with him, with this enormous weight over her. This wasn’t some depression that he thought she might be in. Not some mood swing, this was honest-to-goodness destruction.
“I’ll think about it,” she managed.
They finished breakfast without saying anything else. He got his things together then and told her he was going. He stopped at the door and looked at her. He took the dozen steps back to the kitchen and held her. She felt him squeeze her close to him and it felt so good. She put her arms around him and kissed him.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said.
Mitch was in the Range Rover stuck on Bayswater, early morning traffic jammed up where the eastbound lane jogged around The Long Water at Kensington Gardens. He stared out at the crews maintaining the lush green grass there.
He didn’t know how he was going to get himself out of this awful thing he’d created between him and the woman he loved. He’d really dug a hole for himself, but now he felt like he’d just thrown Kate in that hole and was burying her. He’d really hurt her. He’d gone too far. He was sure of it. That passion of hers had become depression. He’d torn her flesh away to pluck at an exposed nerve. That wasn’t his intention.
Did he want revenge for what she’d done to him in Cayman? Was that what it was? He didn’t think so. He knew it wasn’t. It was genuine. He wanted to please her, to make her crazy—to be the one that turned her on. He didn’t hate her. Didn’t think she was a whore. He didn’t want retribution. He wasn’t trying to punish. He wanted to dominate her. Give it to her like she wanted it. Be the man. Be the man with the big dick for once. Who knew what women wanted and knew how to give it to them.
And that’s what he’d done though wasn’t it? For a little while at least. For three months he had her on a knife’s edge and he could make her eyes roll back in her head with only a touch. That was why he’d done it. He was sure of it. He never wanted to hurt her. Not one little bit of him wanted that.
He’d taken Omar away from her. He had to. That little game was far too dangerous. Could she have done it? Could she have tried to kill him? He’d never thought of it. He was crazy not to. Anyone could kill with the right motivation. He’d never asked Omar to be too demanding but maybe the weight of the potential fallout was too much for her to bear. Why hadn’t he thought of it? Where would they be if she’d tried to sink a blade in him. Or if she’d done it. Killed him. He supposed without a second thought he’d have Omar’s body in concrete in the Channel somewhere and the poor residents of Fairway Manor would be looking for new accommodations after the place burned to the ground.
How did his mundane normal life become this? How did he go from successful business man helping grow a Fund, to the kind of guy who had to really consider how he’d cover up a murder after he’d put his wife over the edge by pretending to blackmail her. It was ludicrous.
Someone honked behind him and he realized everyone had moved on without him. He gunned it to catch up with them but they were just bunched up a bit further along around the corner.
Sleeping with his wife’s friend while his wife slept with the dick of her dreams in a tropical getaway had been an insane proposition. That endeavour belonged to Kate. But he’d really upped the ante hadn’t he? Right now he longed for the simple strangeness of finding his way around Kiley’s beautiful body while his stomach twisted watching his wife have orgasm after orgasm around her lover’s enormous cock. Those were the good old days. Fuck me, he thought. He’d really done it.
2
Maureen
The five bedroom mansion on Oakwood in Holland Park had cost Derek six million pounds when he’d bought it seven years ago. Andrew and Callum were toddlers back then, and Margaret was an eager little partner, slim and lively and full of positivity.
That was a different time back then. Things seemed simpler then. He was in charge and little brother Mitch was never to be seen, away at school off trying to be a lawyer on his own.
Those days seemed relatively risk-free. Sure the economy, the nature of his business all made for a rocky ride. They had a team over at the House that minimized their risks, edged out their competitors by a hair, gave them a salable fund. It was enough of an edge that they were a hot prospect for a good long while.
He sat up, looked around the empty guest room decorated like it was right out of a Country Homes magazine. Grey light was coming in through the tall window, he could see the putty coloured sky swirling past the glass, a huge living culture in shades of grey and ochre. It was going to rain.
Mitch brought a wholly unexpected risk with him. Derek could never have foreseen how aggressive his little brother could be. He relished the bumps in profit, and the additions to the roster though. Three years in now he was able to see the difference since Mitch came on. The change in the House. The change in him. He’d done some crazy things. He wondered if he could ever get it back to the way it was.
He got himself into the master bedroom, heard Margaret downstairs moving around, kid’s voices asking questions already, only quarter after six in the morning. Derek got himself into the shower and gave himself a quick going over then dressed himself for work.
Mitch almost singlehandedly boosted their fund in two years by eighteen percent. He’d almost doubled his own personal assets. Sometimes he wondered if it was all real. There had to be some trick. He’d tried a few tricks of his own too and he’d got away with them.
The kitchen, a masterpiece his wife had designed in white tile and reclaimed lumber, was somehow alive with activity and yet had no pulse. Margaret’s back was to him, her shoulders slumped inside her floral satin robe. Steam came up around her as she made the children breakfast. The children were talking, Callum telling his brother all about how Chelsea sucked this year or something. Commotion, but it seemed distant and far away, like he was watching from another room rather than standing amongst them.
He poured himself a coffee and turned to Margaret’s back. Part of him wanted to reach out, put his hand on her waist. He pictured her turning to him, her pale thin face kissing him as she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though. That was a long time ago. He wouldn’t put his hand on her because he knew he wouldn’t like the reality.
He sat across from Callum and Andrew and read the paper. He didn’t eat in the mornings anymore. He listened to the two of them argue about football while he kept his eyes down trying to comprehend a main page story about Cameron’s days at Brasenose but it was useless. He ran his finger under the lines as he read but there was too much pulling him away. He folded up the paper and finished his coffee. He looked at this pastiche before him. Margaret’s back turned to him, the cold grey sky painted past her beyond the white framed cottage windows. Callum and Andrew, one standing, one sitting, in their school’s grey wool jumpers. He looked at them all, thinking If they only knew the things he’d done for them. No one had said a thing to him. He was a ghost in his own home, haunting his family.
He put the cup down, and went to the garage and started his car.
Kate had fallen asleep on the couch in her bathrobe and was woken up by her iPhone vibrating on the table. In her sleepy stupor she scrambled to grab it before anyone noticed even though she was alone. Her heart pounded like it did when she was being blackmailed. She picked it up and before she looked at the screen she knew it wouldn’t be Omar.
She turned it, saw it was Mitch. She didn’t answer. Something told her it was about booking a trip. She didn’t want to
talk about it. She’d like to go away but right now thinking of where, and how and when, and all the bits that went with traveling seemed like a mountain to her. She dismissed his call.
When would she hear from Omar again? She knew it wasn’t over. She knew that he would be back sometime. Back to get something from her, torment her. That animal that had ruined her life. She’d opened the door, invited the vampire into their home. She’d been blind to him. Bringing him into their quiet happy life. So she could do what? Touch that big dick. Suck it, feel it inside her, fuck it in front of her husband so Mitch could see her for what she truly was. Why did she want Mitch to know that?
Well, what else did she have now anyway. No family, no friends. Just her happy, loving Mitch. So what if he knew what she was really like—it hadn’t really changed anything. What did she think it would change?
She had thought that every day was the same after their plans for a family together came apart. What was she going to do with her days? She’d wake up, shop, preen, eat. Every day like that forever? It wasn’t torture but after a while it could wear on you—she didn’t know how long could she keep it up. She was twenty-seven. She was approaching thirty, then beyond that? She’d be some weathered housewife doing the same old, same old. If she could show Mitch how she fantasized, her deepest darkest thoughts, her passions…that thought had excited her. She couldn’t help who she was and she trusted Mitch. It was dangerous--what kind of man could face his wife’s true sexual nature? Not a weak man, one who would sit by and let it happen, that wasn’t what she wanted. Mitch was strong. He loved her, he wanted her to have the things she desired. However tortuous they may be for him. She loved him so much.