Fluff

by Kailee Reese Samuels

I wanted to know if she was playing me, in order to be saved. But the truth was, I didn’t truly care. Nothing good could come from knowing her truth. Better to do as I saw fit then know I was just another chump to help her climb the ladder out of hell.

  She wasn’t alone nor special. Thousands of girls existed like her, trapped in the limbo of a purgatory. Heaven nor hell mattered not, either way I knew she wouldn’t stay where she was at.

  The day she turned eighteen insured a decision to be made. She could get the mundane job she hated, waiting until a guy came along who would appear perfect. Of course, he wouldn’t be. And she wouldn’t know that until four kids and a face full of broken bones later. Or, she would rise up, finding her place of peace with the torrid past.

  Being Cyclone Blonde allowed me a certain privilege—socially and economically—to do as I saw fit with my funds. My assistance came silently without any knowledge by her. Sure, I could’ve placed the offer on the table in a bunch of legal lingo, but she never would have understood.

  The fact the she wore my collar said enough. She would agree to my whims, and the favors would be returned by me in terms of saving her poor wretched ass. The commodity of sex played into it, but not as much as one might assume. The real value traded was her surrender. Her submission to me was the only payback I needed, and that alone would change her life.

  I changed her life.

  AMBER

  THE WOOD UNDERNEATH my back is rough and solid. On the ceiling, the spiderwebs rustle in a light breeze and the chipped paint waves with a greeting, almost acknowledging my presence as if on parade.

  Behind the large wooden island, I can hear my captor cleaning up the kitchen. I hear the clanking of dishes and the water splashing into the sink. He is methodic and disciplined. Eight weeks with him taught me that. He may be crazy, but he isn’t insane. He can’t hurt me—after all, he loves me—I tell myself repeatedly, trying to convince myself.

  The mere fact that I am tied to the kitchen table of the man who saved me from the hired hit begs to question his psyche. I am no fool. I know who these guys are—Dale, Jack, Sal, and a handful of others. They have been in my life and in my bed enough to show their true colors. Typically, I appreciate the strong alpha types, but this borderlines on frightening.

  He’s almost angry, though he won’t show that. To reveal his emotions would be to show me his cards, and Dale Archer doesn’t give tips to anyone—least of all me. He wants me, but on his terms. And clearly, his terms are my body, belonging to an old kitchen table for however long he deems necessary.

  With no point in screaming or crying, I do my best to get comfortable and settle in for the long haul. I know this man like the back of my hand, and he is ruthless in his convictions. Nothing will make him change his mind. No amount of tears or sniveled dribble will cause him to cut the cords.

  The light clicks off, and the shadows engulf me. I anticipate his arrival by my side soon. I hear the squeak of the mattress from the other room. I know he won’t be coming back.

  I sigh deeply. He is so infuriating. Determined to get me in this position, yet won’t react despite his clear advantage. If the roles were reversed, I would be all up on that. I close my eyes, understanding why I am not as his goal clarifies in my mind. He wants to break me—again.

  The thought causes panic as a scream erupts from my lips. “Dale Archer… You motherfucker, get back here!”

  Silence.

  Again, I yell with the intent to provoke him. “You god damned son-of-a-bitch all you are going to do is leave me again!”

  Nothing.

  “You never fucking loved me!”

  The slap to my cheek comes hard and fast and I never see it coming. His hand is heavy and packs quite the wallop. In shock, I feel the tears well in my eyes. I remember this. My body remembers as I quiver and cry, giving him exactly what he wants.

  And while I realize this may be to my advantage, my reaction is sincere and organic. I can’t fake the weeks of practice he put me through, or the years Raniero spent keeping me in shape—all for this moment. But truthfully, I had given up on any hope of him ever showing.

  The reminder of his presence stings my cheek as he paces around me. I know he already has his next ten moves planned out neatly in a row. Like a flowchart, if she does this then this option will prime her up right. I hate this about him. Actually, I hate this about all of them. Playing head games like a chess match I will never win. I go through the motions, sit at the table offering up the perfect game face, and I play right into them—every single fucking time.

  My body twitches with excitement as I know he is assessing me, determining which button to push where. His fingers twist my nipple with a gentle tug as I feel the dampness soak between my folds. As if I don’t have enough uncontrolled issues, my body betrays me.

  Bitch.

  With my meanest gaze, I sneer, “I hate you.”

  “No,” he cackles, smirking. “You don’t.”

  “No, I do. I. Hate. You.”

  “If you disliked me to the point of hatred, you never would have slid on my bike like you did…much less the way you rode my dick in the bathroom.”

  “I fucked you in the bathroom cause I was horny and you offered a hard dick, I sass, adding, “You could have been any john.”“You are the most beautiful woman in the world, but my god you can be a cunt with your words,” he says as his finger runs up the length of my leg, teasing my curls and lingering way to long for my liking. “MY… beautiful fucking cunt,” he whispers, dipping his finger in my hot, wet hole. “I always loved you. And you will forever be mine.”

  I cannot deny how good his strong, calloused hand feels pressed against my core. I want to move and rock against him. I need him to take me again like he did the night in the bathroom. I understand he won’t, but that doesn’t change the desire.

  “You think I want to play this game with you, D. You think there is a decision to be made. Like there is a choice—a yes or a no or a consent or a hell to the fuck no—but there isn’t any of that. The choices were absolved the moment I walked into your dressing room.”

  Leaning down, he brushes my hair with one hand as his other continues to manipulate my ripening bud in unimaginable ways. Smelling of whiskey and cigarettes, he whispers, “You are saying you gave up then…”

  Blinking up at his sexy expression, I whimper, “I am saying… At the end of the day, the only solution is—you—Mr. Archer.”

  “And the answer to every single fucking question I ever had all comes back to you, Amber,” he growls from deep within.

  His square jaw and seductive blue eyes intimidate me as my toes curl. I sniffle as tears cascade down my cheeks, they are warm and strangely – pleasant – reminding me of the girl I once was. I am a slave to his twisted love, sick and drunk on my own submission to men who hold the upper hand. Although there have been others, Dale holds the keys to my kingdom.

  He knows this.

  And that is the worst part.

  He continues stroking my hair until I find a peaceful, restful slumber. In my dreams, I find the girl, taking her hand and leading her into the present where the two can merge or battle it out. Either way the day of reckoning is upon us. And I will either stop fighting this man or will abandon any hope of ever being whole.

  * * * *

  The leather whip licked at my backside repeatedly, aching strokes to set forth a domino effect of reactions in me. Gently tied and loosely tethered to the bed, I let his will take my body and mind to his sacred space. He wanted to hurt me. He needed to make me cry. So far, all he managed to do was turn me on.

  His shirtless body pronounced with excited breathing as his jeans withstood the test of his bulge. I had learned what made him hard and aroused his mind. And though I yearned to ask of his experience, I had a good idea. He never acted fresh with anything, including lacing my flesh to the frame or showing such restrained discipline as to not merely fuck me.

  Any other guy wo
uld have been balls deep by now.

  But Cyclone Blonde was a special sort, savoring and planning the perfect memorable love making session. He valued quality over quantity which seemed strange for a porn star. And laying on the bed with his collar wrapped around my neck, I understood I won the fucking lottery despite his deviant kink.

  He admitted, “I need more than brushing you with a whip.”

  I confronted, “You may do whatever you would like to me.”

  “Do you really mean that?” He quizzed, sitting on he edge of the bed. “How can you know when you have never been exposed to the kind of things I like…”

  “You have to trust me.”

  And there it was—he asked me to do the hardest thing I had ever had to do. Between my father being nothing more than sperm donor and my mother’s addiction to anything toxic, my ability to trust was flawed from the start. My sister, Evie, oversaw most of my care growing up. She made a point of telling everyone, “Amber came home from the hospital, and I became a mother at two-and-a-half.”

  As much as I hated hearing it, the story was true. She changed my diapers and made bottles. Sometimes the diapers fell off and the formula came in a dirty bottle, but she tried. She walked with me to school every single day until the start of my junior year. If our grandparents had given her money or clothes, she gave them to me. She dressed in the poor girl’s clothes and worn out shoes, saving the nicest stuff for me.

  Of course, the bullies still called us trailer trash even when I wore the nicest clothes we had. So in my view, adults and kids were both equally mean, leaving me with no one but Evie to rely on.

  My mother married her fourth husband at the start of my freshman year. He was a known drug dealer and pimp. Between us, Evie took to calling him Scuz. He smelled of cheap booze and even cheaper dip, always having little bits of tobacco remnants stuck to his teeth. Mom believed he would be the one to save us all, but Evie and I longed for the day to move out.

  He never tried anything with us the first couple of years. When Evie graduated, she moved in with her boyfriend, Jimbo. The thing about Jimbo was he worked for Scuz. On the down low, he sold drugs to the high schoolers as they passed by the shop where he worked as a mechanic.

  Evie started partying at night with Jimbo and his friends, and before I knew it, my sister was addicted to anything and everything that could get her fucked up. Meanwhile, I was left at home to deal with Mom and Scuz. I couldn’t go to my sister’s house, and I had no friends—because well, trust issues.

  Eventually, Scuz ended up disappearing for long periods of time. No one knew where he was. I was busy trying to pass out of algebra and stealing bits of food thrown out by the burger joint. One afternoon, I stopped by my sister’s apartment and discovered the worst possible scenario. She was fucking our step dad for the drugs. Mom had long stopped putting out cause she was too fucked up, and Scuz found a new toy in my sister. I wanted to kill him.

  But instead, I walked away, hoping to save myself.

  I question my decision still to this day.

  Not long after, Jimbo found out and threatened to kill Scuz. High on the random toxin of the day, Evie went nuts and stabbed Jimbo sixteen times. He died at the hospital the next day. Evie went to jail. I stayed with mom and Scuz until he decided to try and rape me. With his piece of ass in jail, he had to get off somewhere, and I was the next best thing. I talked him out of taking my virginity and provided hand jobs and blowjobs while I figured out what the fuck to do.

  I called my friend. We were more like acquaintances, as we had multiple classes together in high school. She told me about the porn industry, giving me a contact number, and the rest was history.

  Dale Archer was the only person I ever trusted. The only man I knew would be good to me. I was never a fool. I knew why he sent me away.

  And I didn’t have any excuse.

  DALE

  LEAVING HER STRAPPED to the kitchen table, I walk to the bedroom and shut the door. I jerk my chain hard and fast, coming all over my hands. I am a sick, twisted fuck, leaving the woman I love more than anyone else in the world tied down. I tell myself it’s for her own good.

  I take a quick shower and try to rest. She is safe here with me and safer from herself hooked to my table. I try and rest, but two hours into it, I give up. I get up and pull on some gray sweatpants.

  As I walk past Amber, I hear her breathing soundly. This isn’t her first time tied up for an extended time. I smirk proudly at my girl, knowing she will take this challenge like a champ. Heading outside for a smoke, I stealthily pass through the living area to the door. I crack it open and step outside.

  Looking out into the distance, I know someone is out there hunting my Amber. I am not sure why. I realize to most it would appear that I have temporarily gone insane. I have their prey locked down tight, playing kinky sex games with her. What they don’t know is the kind of arsenal I bring to the table.

  Most people don’t know this about me, but I graduated high school a year early at sixteen. My scores and grades were ranked in top percent of my home state, Missouri. The day I turned seventeen, my mom and step-dad went with me to the Naval Recruitment office. They gave parental consent, and I joined up.

  It didn’t take long before the upper ranked officers noticed me. Smart and well-behaved, I insured my placement amongst them, garnering their attention and prompting the enlistment of my ass into the SEAL program. I spent the next five years doing tours and training, becoming the weapon on land and in sea.

  The decision to leave didn’t come easy. Mom had one heart attack, and though she weathered that shit storm like a trooper, I couldn’t leave her in the hands of Oliver. I knew he loved her, but loving and caring for are two totally different things. You can love someone to the ends of the earth, but it doesn’t mean you can wipe their ass. Well, I could and did when she had her second heart attack six months later.

  I left the forces and the frogmen behind. I hated myself for doing it, but my sister, Dana, and my mom never really got along. Oliver was almost useless. Serene wanted nothing more to do with it than to write a check—which she did, countless times. We brought in therapists and nurses for several months, and Mom eventually recovered.

  One of my weekends away, I went to visit Serene in Austin and ended up touring Juliet. I decided that night to move us all to Texas. Oliver objected at first, but with mom’s health conditions, he eventually agreed. He expanded his security firm to include the whole southwest region.

  Meanwhile, I went to college and got my business degree in three years. My very last semester, I walked into a shady little dive called The Holding Room, and my whole life changed. I met Delarte Cristos who not only got me involved in the industry, but provided the financial backing for my internet porn business.

  After stubbing the second butt out, I head back inside. Amber is still sleeping soundly, but I grab a throw pillow off the sofa and ease it carefully under her pretty noggin. She is exhausted and doesn’t bat an eye. Her full, rosy lips taunt me as I lower myself to her less than an inch away. I can taste her sweetness and feel her softness. She is so angelic and beautiful when she sleeps. I feel the jerk of my dick, and my thoughts turn lascivious, darkening with every second.

  Turning away, I feel her fingers twitch against my arm. Her innocent eyes flash open, coaxing my mind into her world. Touching her hand, I whisper, “How are you?”

  “Thirsty,” she mutters.

  I don’t respond, heading to the kitchen. I grab a glass, fill it with ice, and pour a bottle of water over it. I finish it off with a bendable straw and grab a container of assorted berries out of the fridge. Returning to her side, I offer the straw to her lips, and she downs half the glass. I feed her the berries one-by-one, letting her savor the sweet succulence. Her expression enlivens with the taste.

  “I remember this…” she says.

  “What?”

  “Being taken care of,” she confesses, taking the berries from my fingers and keepin
g her lips pressed to my skin a little too long. “I never thought I would recover. I was addicted to this, the feeling, and to you. I can’t let myself go back there.”

  “It doesn’t look like you have much choice,” I say with a half-smirk.

  “Not physically, but I don’t have to let you into my mind,” she argues, adding, “Or my heart.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice. I know damn well you are difficult. I know there is no chance in hell of normal dating with you. You met with me for dinner because you were curious, but that was the extent of it. You would spend the rest of your life ignoring me if you could, and I am determined not to let you make that mistake. You deserve better. You deserve me.”

  She smirks as a callous laugh escapes her pretty little lips. “Deserve you, really… D, what kind of fool do you take me for?”

  I furrow my brow at her anger. She is baiting me, and I know it. Briefly, I wonder why. If she knows she doesn’t have a choice physically, and she has cut herself off emotionally - why bother to bait me? Why not just ignore me?

  “You can do whatever you want to me,” she offers. “It isn’t changing the fact that you are a motherfucking asshole.”

  Amber wants a reaction, but she isn’t going to like the one she gets. I smile proud, knowing she must still harbor feelings. Though they may be ones of contempt and hate, they are still feelings, and we can build a bridge to love from those.

  Teasing her lips with a strawberry, I move it down over her chin and neck to her breasts. I circle each nipple with the chilled berry, making them rise up. She strains against the restraints, but remains quiet. I take one in my mouth, sucking slow and kneading with my tongue as it pulls to a peak in my mouth. I move to the other, repeating the motions as my fingers brush against the previous one, wet and hard. I strum against it with my thumb as my lips devour the other delicate morsel.

  She bucks hard into the air. My hand moves the berry, navigating a pinkish trail to her navel, and dipping it between her folds. I rub it against her clit, rotating gently and dipping the red, ripe fruit between her folds. I leave it inside of her, the suggestion prodding her to desire more. She gasps loud as my fingers and tongue work their magic. I am going to make her come.