“If he’s as powerful, as wealthy and as vindictive as you say he is – if you’re not prepared for a messy battle, which I take it you’re not, then there’s not much I can recommend – unless you want a 24 hour armed guard at your side. But I doubt that you could afford that.” Of course I couldn’t afford that.
“I can suggest that you move far enough away that he’ll have a rough time finding you. Change your hair color, the way you dress, make yourself less obvious and hope that he’ll run out of steam. I think you’re a fool not to press the issue with him, but as long as you’re unwilling to go that far, those are the only things I know that might keep him a step behind you. Don’t go walking alone at night, stay clear of deserted places, put a few locks on the door that can’t be easily picked. You can put an alarm on your car, carry a can of mace, protect yourself the way any woman would against a threat. Get your black belt in Karate: that would be a good insurance measure,” he nearly laughed, but then he sat back in his seat and sighed, his expression grim, “But, Miss Davies, if this man is as dangerous as you’ve led me to believe, you’re playing with fire and you will get burned again. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s also true.”
The compassion in his eyes was truly genuine.
I know that Tom Quinn thought I was crazy, but at least he settled my mind so I could think straight. The emotional burden that I’d been carrying for two years had seemed to lift, at least somewhat. And I also had a plan of action.
The day after my consultation with Quinn, I quit my apartment and stayed with a high school friend of mine for the next few weeks until I found another apartment in a safer and more obscure location. Gina had never met Jon, nor had I ever mentioned her to him, so I assumed that he couldn’t trace me to her doorstep. Gina and I had seen almost nothing of each other during my college years, although I happened to run into her some months after Jon engineered the attack in the woods, and we’d met for lunch and coffee a few times since. I found her surprisingly willing to have a roommate for a few weeks. The fact that she didn’t ask too many questions sealed the deal.
To justify my hasty move to the rest of my world, I explained that I simply needed a change in scenery. To elaborate more might cast some suspicions on Jon, which was the last thing I needed. The more I could distance myself from the man the better off I was – wise counsel from Tom Quinn.
A few weeks later, I rented a room in a small burgh over ten miles from my law school. Much of what I owned wasn’t worth carrying with me, so it was sold at a friend’s garage sale and I collected my share of the take to make a new start. To give myself a less recognizable persona, I cut my hair, darkened the color and made a major shift in clothing. The wardrobe that signified my failed relationship, all those dignified skirts and sweaters and tailored clothes were packed away in boxes and safely stored. In their place were blue jeans, t-shirts and a more basic style of dress that had some of my acquaintances wondering if I’d suddenly turned into a lesbian.
I replied to their questions with yet another simple answer: “Just part of the change and it feels good for now.” Those who had been my friends the longest, those who knew about Jon, had already been through one big transformation in my persona, so another hardly seemed earth shattering.
Back in law school, I buried myself in my books again and rarely came up for air. All my usual ties were cut, the clubs and restaurants and other places I frequented were scratched off my list. I saw my old friends less frequently; many I didn’t see at all; we talked and texted but that was it. This was my last year; if only I could get through it without another incident.
As I left school for home each day, I took Quinn’s advice and traveled with a new pack of friends – a group of lesbian females I’d previously avoided. They could be pretty intense for me. They all had big plans for what they’d do with their law degrees. Lots of talk about social justice, gay rights and free speech – all of which I certainly supported – though not with the passion they exhibited. Unlike them, I had no plans for my future other than getting my law degree and making myself safe from Jon Ryder.
***
How do you judge success? How many months have to go by before you breathe easy again after a trauma, before you forget about looking over your shoulder wondering if you’re being watched, or when the devil will pop up out of nowhere? How long do you wait before you call the reign of terror over?
The questions rattled around inside me for the next several months… months that alternately dragged by slowly and flew by in a flash. I suppose I was never really settled – I left too many holes in my day, too many vulnerable places to ever feel safe. I couldn’t just quit my life completely. Besides, who’s to say that Ryder would ever bother me again?
I kept rationalizing, hoping.
Perhaps what was worse than knowing that Ryder could be stalking me at any moment was the other big question shadowing my days. How long would it take before I could forget the reality of those attacks and the sheer magnitude of my own physical response?
It was vivid. Sexual. Capable of arousing me with only a meager flashback to the cabin or that dreary, rain-soaked night.
Maybe I could never forget.
Maybe I could never be safe from my own psyche.
Weeks, even months after the attack in the alley, I was reliving it during my masturbations, just as I had done with the trauma in the cabin.
However, this incident seemed to be hanging on far longer than the other. Maybe it was Ryder himself, knowing that it was his hands, his mouth on my lips, his cock in my cunt, his passion invading my life – however cruel it might have been – his passion pouring out on me in such an alarming way.
Why was I worth all the trouble?
The law library was cold that night, my bones shivered in the dim light as I poked through the stacks of law books trying to find the one I needed. It was a dreary job, especially when I practically had to stand on my head to get to Vol. XXXCII in the far corner on the bottom row.
I was tired that night, and a little frustrated because I was having a helluva time locating the case files I was searching for. Maybe it was reasonable that my guard was down; the library had always felt safe to me, a place I could easily hide. I’d been there alone a dozen times without the merest quaver of apprehension. And on that night, I wasn’t alone. A handful of students were parked at the study desks pouring over files for our exams. My own search was for a paper that needed to be finished by six o’clock the following day. I wandered off beyond the reach of my fellow students to a far corner of the stacks where almost no one ever went – no one but me. I’m sure this was just one of a hundred times I’d been that unaware in a compromising place, but this time Ryder found me.
I was kneeling on the floor pouring through the volume of law briefs I’d finally located when I realized that someone was standing over me. The shadow should have been enough to arouse me, but it took the subtle rustle of his clothes as he shifted his stance before I looked up and our eyes met. We simply stared, his expression determined and cold. His jaw twitched and his eyes seemed as black as coal devouring me with their sharp fury.
“What do you want?” Already I was trembling; I already knew what he wanted.
“What do you think I want?”
Of course I knew. My mind rushed, wondering how long I could make this play out before he took charge of me. A rescue might be more possible if a few minutes ticked by. Maybe I could have taken off running and screamed my way to safety. How quick the mind computes the possibilities but I was clearly at a disadvantage from the start, and when he started kicking me with his boot, forcing me deeper into the stacks to the service door at the far end, I realized that like the other incidents this was a well thought out scheme, not just a spur of the moment lark. Worse yet, he had every assurance that I would not put up a fight.
He opened the service door and I crawled through into the back stairwell of the building, a dreary and dimly lit reminder that the remodeled library was as old a
s the law school itself. Heavy woodwork, damp walls, the smell of grime, furniture polish and disinfectant. Not a soul could be heard from the other side of the thick metal door and we were very much alone.
My heart leapt excitedly as if what happened next was what I honestly desired. Perhaps in some corner of my psyche I did. I salivated on the expectation, my lower regions warming to the idea of his sweeping energy overpowering me again. I trusted that he wouldn’t really hurt me, just screw with me again using the same demonic furor he had in the past, and I didn’t find that prospect altogether displeasing.
How I hated him!But then hate and love are a vicious set of twin emotions that humans can’t help but simultaneously crave.
“Suck me!” he ordered, and my fingers flew to the task with rabid interest, undoing the buckle at his waist, the snap at the top of his jeans and the zipper that exposed his upright organ to my hungering eyes. Once his cock was free of his pants and jutting at my face, the rest was all about Ryder and his use of me. He grabbed my head by the hair and shoved his cock into my mouth, fusing my face to his groin so that I could barely breathe. I was already shoved into a corner with nowhere to go, and then my head was being banged back against the peeling green paint of the cold stairwell. I executed the blowjob with the avid thoroughness I’d been taught by Jon Ryder and he didn’t miss a beat in his humiliation of me. Dissatisfied with my performance, he slapped my face, then shoved his dick inside my mouth so hard I choked. Then for a while he backed off and demanded that my tongue work its way around his balls. He even loosened his jeans enough so that I could ream his asshole while he jacked off.
“That’s it, Kristen. You do what you’re so good at doing,” he sneered as he drew pleasure from demeaning me.
Finally, with his cock retaking my mouth he finished off, not with his cum spewing down my throat but with it splashed across my face and neck.
I lifted my arm to wipe my face on the sleeve of my sweater, but he knocked it away with his hand.
He said with an ample degree of triumph in his voice, “Don’t wipe it off. Let it dry right there.”
I jerked my hand back, feeling the cold stickiness of his cum make my face itch, but I shuddered to think what he’d do if I dared defy him. Having been so thoroughly humbled, I found myself unable to challenge his authority. Any thought of escape had vanished, and rather than meet his scowl with defiance, I looked up in a state of unqualified surrender.
“Tell me what a slut you are,” he spat out. Obviously, his climax had done nothing to soften his feelings for me. “Tell me!” he nearly shouted when I remained silently cringing beneath him.
“What do you want me to say?” I blurted out confused.
“Say, I’m a slut for your cock, master,” he scowled. “Say it.”
“I’m a slut for your cock, master,” I repeated.
“I’m nothing but a groveling cunt… say it!”
“I’m nothing but a groveling cunt.”
“Louder!” his own voice rose so much in volume that I had reason to worry someone might hear. Still I obeyed him saying a little louder:
“I’m nothing but a groveling cunt,” as a well of tears formed in my eyes.
“I’m in love with the master’s cock…say it!”
“I’m in love with the master’s cock.” I could feel myself choking on each breath of air, but I couldn’t stop myself from echoing back every word he demanded I speak.
Suddenly, he grabbed my hair and held on, drawing me upwards, as the scene became more intense. “My master owns me. Say it!”
“My master owns me.”
“I belong to him…”
“I belong to him.”
Finally, Ryder pushed me back and squatted down in front of me, his hand inside my shirt, grabbing for a tit and applying so much pressure that I could feel myself getting light-headed from the intense pain.
“I belong to him, repeat it.” His eyes fixed on mine with a violent force, though this time, he barely spoke above a whisper.
“I belong to him,” I came right back.
I couldn’t move; he had me trapped. Meanwhile the words he made me speak took hold, shaking loose all sense of my own identity and replacing it with one I fought hard to dismiss.
“Let me take the pain, my love. Say it!” He squeezed my left tit until all my body could feel was pain. “Say it!”
“Let me take the pain, my love.” Like a robot the words spilled from my mouth, while from my eyes spilled a river of hot tears.
“I will always be yours. Say it, Kristen.”
“I will always be yours,” I repeated back.
“You believe that’s true.” The hand that tore at my breast eased off, but his stare remained. “Tell me it’s not true, Kristen. Tell me that I don’t own you, that your thoughts are not on me every day of your life. Tell me that, Kristen.”
I shuddered in fear, though my arousal was unabated … if he had thought to rip my jeans away and felt my pussy, he would have found it wet. But I suppose he already knew, he didn’t need the evidence since I’d already humiliated myself enough to suit him. Who knows what he was feeling then. But he did have me pinned to the wall and agreeing to everything he said, because at that moment in time I believed that everything I said was true. The interval of silence that passed inside that dank stairwell seemed interminable. Finally, I blurted out the truth he was waiting to hear.
“You know I can’t tell you that!” And I bowed my head in shame.
That was all he wanted to hear. A moment later he rose up and loomed over me again, grinning smugly.
“How long, Jon?” I gazed up briefly, offering up a heartfelt plea.
“You mean how long am I going to stalk you?” he asked.
I nodded, though I looked away again.
“As long as it pleases me to see you suffer. Half the fun is knowing that you love what I do to you as much as I do.” I could hear the tremor of his amusement all through my shaking body.
I’d had enough. I wanted to scream at him to go, but I sensed that would not go well for me. Leaning back against the concrete wall, I took deep breaths to settle my nerves, though I could barely breathe in the small confines of that cramped corner. I waited, eyes closed for him to move away. First there was the flutter of something falling from his hand, then the sound of the door closing. I looked up to see he was gone.
But of course he’d left his calling card. Another photograph had settled in the dusty stairwell at my feet: the image of my rapturous face gazing up at me in cold shades of black and white.
Chapter Five
Tom Quinn could see that I was shaken the moment I walked through his office door. When I burst into tears he was hardly surprised. For the next ten minutes he was content to let me cry my eyes out until it finally seemed silly to continue.
“You want to tell me why you’re here?” he kindly ventured when I was calm enough to listen. “Another attack?”
I nodded. “In the law library…It’s not going to stop.” I shook my head.
“And did he leave a picture this time?”
I reached in my purse and pulled out the latest of Ryder’s nasty photos. I’m sure Quinn had seen far more graphic images of naked females, though by the look of his raised eyebrows he was much impressed – yes, I was quite the slut that night.
“I’ll have this worked up for fingerprints. Give me the details and I’ll see what I can do to put a case together. I can’t imagine that the man didn’t leave other incriminating evidence.”
“No, no. That’s not what I want!” I rushed in.
“No?”
“No.”
Quinn shook his head in exasperation. “Then why bother with me, Kristen? It’s a waste of my time and your money.”
“I want to leave town. Now. Like go across the country if I have to. Change my name if that’s what it takes, change everything about me. Everything is on the table after this. No short term fixes.”
“Humph. I suppose what you’
re suggesting is a solution. Obviously your last change of address did nothing to keep Ryder from you. But you’d be much better off if you handled the man through the proper channels. Go on record with the police. Ryder’s not invincible. No one is.”
I heard what he advised, but nothing Quinn said could make me believe that going after Jon Ryder could possibly have a good end for me.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. The man has a grip on me that’s sure to incriminate me far faster than anything I can do that will condemn him. You have to trust me on this.” He obviously wasn’t buying a thing I said, but he was listening. “So, please, will you help me? I mean help me figure out how Kristen Davies can disappear from his view? I know it’s probably not the job of a detective, but I don’t know who else to ask, and I don’t think I can do this alone. I don’t even know where to begin.”
After a bit of careful scrutiny, he finally said: “Sure.” He smiled kindly, those brilliant eyes so engaging. Too bad I was leaving town or he might have been a good place to hide. “And what do you want me to do with this?” he referred to the picture.
“Keep it, please, file it, tear it up, throw it away. I don’t ever want to see it again.”
He pulled opened his desk drawer and swept it inside, then gave the drawer a tug to be sure the self-locking mechanism had engaged. It had. Finally, with the same generous smile as before he asked:
“How about we go grab a beer and pizza, then make some plans?”
***
I don’t think either Tom or I had it in mind to end up in bed that night, and yet the sexual energy between us seemed electrifying. Between frothy beer and gooey pizza, we’d gone over the basics of how I could disappear off the face of the earth, then he followed me home with the intention of writing down a few key elements of my plan of action. The thoroughness and detail of his proposal suggested he’d previously strategized this sort of disappearance. I knew that he was giving me sound advice although my success rested on a careful implementation of the plot.
Based on Ryder’s previous behavior, Tom figured that my former fiancé wouldn’t be coming for me anytime soon. Thus, I had plenty of time to execute my escape and do it innocuously, so that if I were being followed, my movements wouldn’t give me away. This was what he hoped, though not once when we talked did Tom fail to remind me that Ryder was a clever and very determined assailant. Chances of slipping his nets were remote, but certainly worth a try – if I continued to be so stubborn as not to go to the police. He harped on that too.
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