The Watcher (A Dark Romance)

by Tara Crescent

  But I also felt a very real clenching in my body as I imagined what would be lined up for me. “Friday works,” I told her. The industry mixer wasn’t that important; there would be other networking events.

  The top starts spinning.

  Chapter 7

  “How’s she doing?”

  The nursing home that Miles paid for was about as state-of-the-art as it got. The onsite clinic put many hospitals to shame with the amount of equipment it contained.

  I sat across a beige table and looked at Dr. Patel. My mom’s aide had let me know that she wanted to see me and I was a bundle of nerves. In the last few years, I’d come to realize that when the doctor asked to see you, good news was rarely at hand.

  “Her cough is troubling.” Dr. Patel had grey hair and big brown eyes and her expression was filled with sympathy. My mom had a persistent cough and an infection that seemed to defy modern antibiotics. Right now, she was on some kind of crazy cocktail of medications, but the infection seemed resistant. “And her body is weak.”

  “I noticed,” I replied. I’d only seen my mother two weeks ago and I’d still been shocked by how much weight she’d lost in the intervening period. She was visibly thinner and she complained about being cold all the time. “Turn the heat up Jenny, be a dear?” she’d said and I’d blinked back the tears that came unbidden. She didn’t even remember my name.

  Not for the first time I wished I was back at Club Phoenix where I would be restrained and all sense of responsibility and control would be stripped from me. I needed that. My burdens felt like a physical weight and the idea of setting them down was a very seductive fantasy. Surrendering at Club Phoenix was thrilling and scary. Yet it was troubling how frequently it had been on my mind all week.

  Dr. Patel and I conferred for a while. She mentioned her recommended treatment plan. As the person who made the medical decisions for my mother, I made sure I understood everything she’d said before I approved of her approach.

  When we were done I made my way back to the St. Clair residence where I usually stayed when in Akron. Miles’ mom Sarah greeted me at the door with a hug. “How was it?”

  “Soul-crushing,” I responded. There was no point pretending my visits were anything other than heartbreaking. Sarah visited my mom every other day; she knew exactly what I was going through. She was going through it herself.

  She nodded in sympathy and pushed a mug of steaming hot tea into my hands, settling me down at the kitchen table. Miles had tried many times to get his mother to move to a nicer house, but she’d have none of it. I was secretly glad. I’d sold our childhood house when my mom moved into the nursing home and it had ripped a hole in my heart. If Miles’ mother moved too, a part of me would have been lost forever.

  Miles had inherited his green eyes from his mother. I looked at Sarah and I flashed back to that underground room where a set of emerald eyes had stayed locked into me. Waiting. Watching. Protecting.

  Stop it, I chided myself. You can’t keep thinking about this. You have too much going on. But, as if I were indeed in Emerald City, my dreams were tinted with green. Yet when the curtain fell back to reveal the Wizard, he surveyed me with the implacable expression that I’d become so familiar with.

  Thursday afternoon I received a phone call from Miles. “I hear you are scheduled at Phoenix for tomorrow night,” he said. “Didn’t you have something else to go to?”

  I’d mentioned the mixer in passing when we’d had lunch at Le Cirque. He’d said something about the MOMA and I told him that I was heading there in a couple of weeks for the fashion industry event. Miles’s memory was formidable. But I guess that went with the billionaire territory, along with his razor-sharp intellect. We’d grown up next to each other and most often I still saw him as that teenager who had no use for me. But sometimes it would be brought to my attention that he was a grown man. A very desirable man.

  “I changed my mind about going,” I responded and I felt the disapproval coming off him in waves through the phone line. But he let it go and instead asked me if I wanted a ride.

  “Yes please.” I scratched ‘find rental car’ off my impossibly-long list of to-dos. Our sewing machine was still out of commission and the work was beginning to pile up alarmingly. Every time I looked at my list I felt a mild sense of panic. Club Phoenix was exactly what I needed. The oblivion I felt during a scene — I craved that sensation. That was the reason I’d dragged myself over to the doctor’s office and got myself tested for STDs. I could only hope that they wouldn’t test for Alzheimer’s at the same time. I didn’t want to know.

  “Okay, can you get yourself to my office?” he asked. “We’ll fly. I have no desire to tangle with the Friday afternoon traffic.”

  Ah, it must be nice to be a billionaire. Although if I were being perfectly honest, it was pretty damn nice to be billionaire-adjacent, like I was. “Thank you, Miles.”

  “No worries, Kells.” I heard voices in the background. “Okay, I better go,” he sighed. “See you tomorrow. Be here by seven.”

  Kells. I might have been increasingly aware of him but that sentiment was clearly one-sided. Nothing said that he still thought of me as just that annoying kid from next door as his repeated use of that childish nickname.

  Chapter 8

  The cane in his hand frightened me.

  The man himself didn’t look threatening. If I had to guess, I would have put him in his forties. He was carrying a few extra pounds on his frame. He was dressed all in black — pants, t-shirt and running shoes. A pair of glasses. He just looked like a guy on the street. I wouldn’t have looked twice at him.

  A cane dangled loosely from his fingers and I was certainly looking at him now.

  The Watcher had greeted the man in black with a nod of his head but no words were exchanged. I kept my gaze on the Watcher. His shoulders were relaxed and his demeanor was untroubled. Those bottle green eyes were clear.

  I wasn’t untroubled. The bamboo cane ensured that I was appropriately nervous.

  The usual safety checks were done. The Watcher outlined the rules and reminded me of the red-yellow-green traffic light system of safe words. Then he spoke the ritual phrase. “Do you submit?”

  The top starts spinning.

  The cane could do a lot of damage. I had an important work meeting on Monday. I’d finally sent my portfolio off to Zac Posen and someone was scheduled to meet me on Wednesday. I really did need to buy a ticket to fly home to Akron and visit my mother, even though she wouldn’t recognize me and my heart would get broken — again. Her persistent infection was worrying and Dr. Patel wasn’t making much headway against it.

  I shouldn’t do this. I had a busy week ahead of me. I didn’t have the time to recover from the strokes of the cane. There had been no information about today’s session. I had no idea if this man would hit hard; if he would break skin. I knew nothing.

  The top keeps spinning.

  “I submit.”

  “Let’s get started then shall we?” This was the man in black speaking for the first time. I shivered but I nodded my compliance.

  Although I hadn’t been told what was in store for me, Anna had sent me a brilliant blue corset with instructions to wear it and nothing else. My hair was to be tied back in a ponytail. My make-up was to be subdued except for the bright red lipstick that had been enclosed.

  The corset was cupless and it ended at my waist. My breasts and pussy were entirely accessible to the man in black. As he took my hands and wrapped cuffs around them, there was a brief second when I stopped to ask myself — what am I doing? I didn’t know this guy at all. What was I doing allowing him to tie me up and cane me?

  The Watcher’s eyes were on me. I took a deep breath and met his gaze squarely. If there was reproach in his gaze I didn’t want to know about it. I didn’t want to care what he thought.

  A black metal rod hung horizontally from the ceiling and the man in black took my wrists and cuffed them to each end of this rod. I stood still as he work
ed, carefully clearing my mind ahead of the session. When it started there would be no time for doubt. I had only my one experience to compare it against, but that time it had felt like I was drinking from a fire hose, submerged entirely in the experience.

  He trailed the tip of the cane up my thighs. I glanced up at his face. His expression was oddly rapt as his fingers guided the cane. First, a languid stroke up one leg. Then, a slow glide up the second, then the bamboo stick rubbed at my pussy.

  My breathing came in short bursts. My heart was beating fast as the cane slid back and forth between my legs. Once, twice, then it moved upward towards my breasts, trailing a relentless path over my body.

  The cane traced a circle around my nipple before nudging it again. The man in black smiled at my moan. “I’m going to press the tip in,” he said.

  I nodded, my eyes fixed on the cane as it circled before it sank into my nipple, pushing the nub deep into my breast. I stifled a groan of pain as the bamboo itched at my sensitive flesh and tried to writhe away. But the man in black wasn’t going to allow that. His hand, the one that wasn’t holding the cane, reached out and grabbed my back, pressing me into the tip. “Stay.”

  I watched as the tip of the cane indented my flesh. Bolts of agony radiated outward from my nipple and my entire breast ached in sympathy. I gasped and exhaled through my mouth as I struggled to process the agony. My torturer kept his eyes on me and a small smile played about his lips.

  He was enjoying this. My moans were an aphrodisiac to him. The sharp look of lust in his eyes; the tenting of his pants, the torturous bite of the cane on my flesh — all of these bore witness to his arousal.

  My gaze flickered, just for a second to the Watcher. As always, his eyes revealed nothing.

  My groans increased in volume but the push of the cane into my breast was unrelenting. Finally, after several excruciating seconds, he slowly pulled it away. My nipple stayed indented for long instants before returning to its engorged state. I looked at it and I was convinced it was bruised. What was I doing in this room? But my pussy was wet.

  His arm encircled me, drawing me closer to the cane, which moved unrelentingly towards my other breast. I exhaled sharply at the slice of pain but my arms were tied up and my body was firmly in the grasp of the man in black. There was nowhere to run.

  This time when the cane sank into my flesh, he added a twisting motion, twirling the cane between his fingers. I watched my areola spiral around the bamboo and I gritted my teeth as the ache intensified. My breast deformed and twisted in the hands of the man in black and I groaned and yelped. But he was unrelenting.

  Once again, several seconds elapsed before the cane was removed. Once again, my nipple stayed hidden for several beats after, afraid to expose itself to even crueler fates.

  The cane was presented to my mouth and my lips opened to grasp it. The man in black walked over to the carefully stocked side table and returned with a riding crop.

  His hand stroked my head before tugging at my ponytail, forcing me to raise my head and look straight. The leather tip teased my bruised, throbbing nipples. Please don’t hit them, please don’t hit them, I thought frantically, but of course that’s exactly what he had in mind. The crop moved and I watched it as if in slow motion as it descended towards my breast, landing with a sharp thwack on my skin. A spot of red bloomed where it had made contact and I flinched and whimpered. One solitary tear rolled down my cheek and the man in black wiped it away with his finger.

  “It’s far too early to cry, my dear.” He smiled at me but the sharp lust hadn’t receded from his eyes. I knew that more pain was in store for me.

  I wasn’t wrong. The tip made repeated contact with my breasts and they reddened in response. I couldn’t form words to beg; the cane was in my mouth. I whimpered and made noises of shouted pain but each time I yelped, the man in black calmly hit me again. When he was finally done, my breasts were an angry shade of deep red and I knew this session would leave marks.

  Still the Watcher watched, his expression impassive.

  The crop was thrown casually aside and then he gripped my aching orbs from behind me, squeezing them between his fingers. “She’s quite well-behaved,” he observed to the Watcher.

  The Watcher raised an eyebrow at that. “She has her moments,” he responded finally. I was a little surprised. The Watcher had never yet broken his silence.

  The man in black continued to crush my breasts in his palms. He left marks in his wake; my skin looked bruised and battered. And we were only beginning.

  My body prickled all over with lust but I didn’t want to face that particular truth. Better to close my eyes and forget.

  I was given a few moments to compose myself before he resumed. I got my breathing under control; I pushed the throbbing ache in my breasts to the back of my mind. I didn’t look at the Watcher. His bottle-green eyes were a lake that I could drown in and I was already struggling to stay afloat.

  When the man in black returned, he reached for the cane in my mouth before trailing it suggestively over my breasts. I inhaled sharply and flailed away from him. I couldn’t take any more pain on my breasts.

  The cane propped my chin up and his grip tightened around my waist. “You will do as I want,” he said, his voice hard. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes Sir.” I could barely hear my own voice; it was so very soft.

  He came towards me with the dreaded riding crop in his hands again. “You will be punished for moving away. Count the strokes. And stick that ass out for me. I want you to welcome this.”

  Welcome each burning line of fire? Yet I thrust my ass out towards him and kept my face looking straight ahead.

  Smack.

  Stinging pain lanced through me and my hands jerked in my bindings. But I remembered, just barely, to count. “One.”

  The second stroke made my knees buckle. “Two,” I whispered in response to his stern look.

  There were five painful, fiery strokes. It didn’t sound like a lot but by the time he was done, I had tears rolling down my cheeks and I was whimpering like a baby. My butt felt like it was on fire and I couldn’t stop from wriggling.

  Still the Watcher watched without a word. I stayed silent, not uttering the words that would stop this painful encounter.

  Did I still feel arousal? Was this sexual? Was there pleasure to be had? I didn’t know the answers to that. Everything had narrowed and all I knew was that I needed to endure. I refused to speak the words that would end this. I didn’t want it to stop and I didn’t want it to continue. So I kept silent and let it all happen.

  The man in black grabbed my ponytail and looked into my eyes. “Are you going to behave?”

  The tears were still trickling down my cheeks. “Yes.”

  He went back for the cane and traced another path through my stinging breasts. I kept still with effort. He nodded slightly and tossed the cane on the floor. It landed a few feet in front of me.

  “Let’s get you free to move around,” he said. His hands undid my bindings and he guided my arms to my sides, where I held them in place. He pushed down on my shoulders, his message clear. Get on your knees.

  I obediently opened my mouth as he unzipped his pants and his dick sprang out, glad to be free. Average size but he was definitely hard and ready and a shiver of automatic, Pavlovian lust ran through my body as I leaned forward and closed my lips over him.

  His hand curled to the back of my head, holding me in place as he thrust down my mouth. My tongue skated on his dick when I could, but mostly I just made sure that I didn’t accidentally graze him with my teeth.

  Out of the corner of my eye I peeked at the Watcher. I was hoping for some kind of response from him but his face had the same carefully blank look it always had. Somehow that just made me angry. Damn him. I refused to care about what he thought anyway.

  I thought the man in black would want to finish in my mouth or even spurt cum all over my face, but he did neither. He pulled out, his grip tightening on my pon
ytail and he inclined his head towards the cane on the floor. “Pick it up,” he said. “With your mouth.”

  I tried but on my first try, the cane slipped out. A stinging slap landed on my already sore ass and I yelped. “Do you need to learn to treat the cane with respect?”

  I shivered in fear of punishment. “No,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  The second time, I picked the cane up without dropping it. He grabbed me by my hair and led me, on my hands and knees, to a different part of the room.

  Again the bamboo rod was taken from me and tossed to the floor. Again his dick was shoved in my mouth and I sucked obediently, drool falling from my lips as he thrust in and out.

  “Lick,” he said when he pulled out. He gestured to the wet spot on the floor and I flushed with shame as I bent down and licked my own drool from the cold ground.

  “Good.” Just the one word. Another gesture towards the cane and I crawled towards it and bent down to pick it up between my lips, very much aware that my pussy and ass were lewdly on display to the Watcher. The Watcher who always looked at me with impassive eyes.

  I crawled with the cane. He took it from me and tossed it on the floor and watched as I fetched it for him like an eager puppy. Finally, when he had me positioned so that I was facing the Watcher, the man in black ordered me to stay still and I heard a familiar tell-tale wrinkle of a condom wrapper tear open before he plunged his length in me.

  I yowled. I was wet but I still felt each inch of him rake through my vagina. He was unrelenting. “Behave,” he grunted.

  My gaze locked onto the Watcher. His green eyes were clear but his hand was gripping the side of his chair tightly. But he remained silent. He always remained silent. My body jerked back and forth as the man in black pummelled me with his dick.

  His cock was shoved in my mouth again, this time tasting of latex. He must have disposed of the condom. “Do not bite,” he growled. The dreaded cane traced a line down my spine before rapping at my already sore ass. Tap. Tap. Tap. Swipe.