When the Dark Wins

by Addison Cain

  “Good. You can blink now.” He paused before me then walked back into the bedroom.

  He returned with a handful of leather and chain, used a leather collar in place of the rope, clicked the end of the leash to the wire.

  “Open your mouth.” Slow, I was slow, my brain like sludge. He tapped my cheek with a few fingers until I opened.

  Hands on the railing to either side, he looked down. I breathed in time with him, eyes at half-mast, feeling sated. His thoughts fucked me.

  “You look good, Red. Beautiful. My monster likes you.” He leaned down to kiss me, mouth as possessive as the bondage, his tongue going deep. “I need to feed it or it gets angry. Forgive me, won’t you?”

  How casually the syllables of forgiveness rolled from his tongue.

  I nodded, blinked.

  His thick fingers probed my mouth, thrusting inside, moving along my tongue. He spread saliva over my lips then kissed me roughly, sucking out thoughts, soul, maybe my heart, for I felt it thrashing in my chest.

  His thumbs hooked into the corners of my lips and stretched my cheeks aside until my mouth felt as if it might split. “I’ve got you now. No thoughts of killing me? Shake your head.”

  I shook it slowly, a clown at a fair, waiting for someone to roll a ball into my opening.

  Then he unzipped and stuck his cock in my mouth, fucked me there against the wire, with the steel strands pressing into my shoulders, cold on my skin, his cock warm in my mouth.

  His grunts and final groan echoed the gush of cum. I swallowed some, the rest dribbled and splashed onto my chest. Then he kissed me again, crushing my lips.

  “Next time you can come. Now my monster is happy. And my cum makes you mine again, doesn’t it?”

  I licked my lips, tasted remnants of him. “Yes.” It was true; I could sense a deeper resonance with this powerful being. He had a monster or he was a monster?

  When he released me from my impromptu bondage, I fell to hands and knees, watching a string of drool spill.

  I surfaced from the absentminded stupor and rolled to my back. I saw white sailcloth. He’d fucked my mouth and somehow hypnotized me beyond what he had before. Guess he’d practiced some, since Cuba.

  Leave me here. I’ll slink beneath the wire and be gone, into the waves, splash into the depths.

  His fingers hooked at the collar, dragged me on my back some inches across the boards; his knuckles on my neck shocked my body.

  “On your knees. Follow.”

  The leash jangled. Though more aware than I had been, I crawled after the swinging line of metal. The deck hurt my knees.

  Think.

  Becoming a zombie was not good for my health. It seemed I had little time to get out of here before my mind succumbed.

  Chapter 5

  What to do with her? The question never ran away. If she stayed I would end up fucking her properly and somehow I knew...felt that would mean something more than what I had so far.

  Maim her, kill her, keep her. Letting Vitor ass-fuck her wouldn’t maim her. Amuse me? Yes, to start with. Seeing her get turned on by his dick in her, I’d had the urge to take her myself. A little too possessive an urge for me to feel comfortable about obeying it.

  The mesmer infection liked to make me do things to them and I fucking hated lack of control.

  Limiting myself worked.

  I led her into the bathroom and showered her, detaching the head and playing the water over her, washing off all my cum, shampooing her hair, soaping her everywhere, between her legs, delivering a few pointed spanks if she was slow at positioning herself where I wanted her.

  Then I had her stand and toweled her dry.

  Different, not different.

  Now she lay on her side, on the floor beside the bed, still naked because I liked her that way. Her hair was damp and stuck to her shoulders, her breasts, with droplets of water shining in the strengthening light from the wide doorway.

  I could see her watching the seagull that sat on the railing I’d recently tied her to. It could fly away anytime it wanted to. Was she aware enough to be considering that?

  Perhaps clothing her was wise. The chain leash attached to her black collar led up to the left post of the bed where I’d attached it to a ring. My little pet for the day...the week...the year.

  My monster would like to make this forever.

  “On the bed.” I patted the oriental-inspired quilt. Black with gold dragons. Asian text that probably said nothing sensible. Learning Chinese would be a good hobby.

  Her partly inked tits teased me as she crawled up there.

  I walked to the desk and retrieved my calligraphy pen, walked back to her. Her gaze stayed on me, magnetically attached. The more I fucked her, the deeper we’d go.

  Maybe I shouldn’t.

  When I sat beside her and pushed her onto her back, she roused.

  “You have a monster or you are one?”

  “I...have one, in a way. The mesmer infection exaggerates a part of me that most would call bad. It’s not a separate person.”

  “Oh.”

  I took her breast, pushed it up so I could have access to the underside and began to write.

  “Why are you writing? What are you writing?”

  “Whatever I feel like. I just like seeing the black ink looping across your skin.” I was writing some of her words, about immorality, but it was so stylized I doubted she could read it upside-down, or even in a mirror. “My hobby.”

  “Your hobby is writing on women?”

  I paused, pen held above her nipple. “One of many. I’ve found hobbies, learning, helps me focus.”

  The movement of her throat said she swallowed, and maybe was nervous. Awakening to reality then.

  “I find I want to fuck less. My monster needs less input.”

  “What sort of input?”

  She wriggled and I trapped her with my hand across her throat, pinning her to the quilt. “What a helpless thing you are. Input? Hmmm. Like torturing the fuck out of little butterflies like you. I have only five women. I’ve managed with that for years. Logically I should not take more.”

  She snorted lightly and derision surfaced in her expression. Daring bitch when she was aware.

  “Logic. Sure. How about plain old being a nice person?”

  “You have no concept of how this infection has overwritten my brain.” My voice turned harder. “Without what I have organized, my routines and rituals, my fucking hobbies, I’d be gone from here. Do you know how much I could do, would do, if I let myself?” I squeezed on her neck, tightened the arc. “No fucking concept.”

  I breathed hard for a while, scaling back the anger, before I could make my hand release her.

  If I kept her, I’d be forever tempted to break her mind down enough to figure out the mechanism Wolfe had used.

  Controlling women was a hobby I’d never get bored with, unlike the calligraphy, the art, the shibari. I’d even enrolled in online psychology.

  If I released her, she’d be snapped up by the CIA, interrogated over her reasons for what she’d done, maybe under that espionage act even, if they could make it stick. They’d find out about me in a roundabout way even though she couldn’t tell them directly. Wolfe would make them suspicious. I was linked to him by my past tracks.

  I rubbed my chin, twirled the pen with my other hand. “Open your legs.”

  If I couldn’t fuck her there, I could still enjoy the view. She opened, slowly at first until I drew a line from her belly downward, across her mound, through that thin wedge line of hair. By the time the pen reached her clit I’d run out of ink but there was a bright red mark showing its track.

  If I was the monster, if I truly let it loose, using a knife there would be imperative...eventually.

  I shuffled down the bed, lay beside her, propped on my elbow.

  I lifted the pen from her skin, pulled apart her labia until I could see the darker pink. Touching her, of course, had her gasping and arching. As a mesmer, it would take a
great effort for me not to affect her. I couldn’t be bothered to make that great effort.

  Besides, I’d slid the fat end of the pen into her until I’d fucked her about three inches deep. This way had more potential.

  “Don’t come,” I murmured. “Not unless I say.” Then I lay down on my elbow and played there. The disappearing act of the pen, the shudders she gave, the spasms of her cunt as she grew more aroused...my cock was unhappy with me for not letting it do what the pen did.

  “Maybe I should organize something more, soon, while I think. Can’t let you go. Can’t keep you.”

  “More?” Red whimpered and clutched at the quilt, bunching it under her fingers.

  “Yes, more.” I stuck a finger in her alongside the pen, then a second finger searched for her asshole. “Maybe here wouldn’t mess with the status quo.” Her eyes had rolled up and her thighs and spine tensed so much that her ass left the quilt. “Want me to keep you, dear girl? I would let you come.”

  “Please, yes?”

  Her whimpers would make any man cry. My cock was weeping and digging into the bed through my pants.

  “Poor girl.” Loved seeing them do this, saying what they shouldn’t. “Can’t keep you. But...”

  But I had to do something. She was driving me mad with this need to fuck her.

  I shoved the pen and my fingers in further, until the pen vanished completely. I could get it out again though the nib might hurt. Maybe I’d get her to lick it clean.

  The monster needed to be paid its due. As a temporary solution, I bit her thigh a few inches from her clit and listened to her scream.

  Then we went out onto the deck and had breakfast. I dressed her first, of course, in a blue-and-white, floral, open-front gown with golden bows. It flowed all the way to her feet, concealing little, but enough. I tied her hair to the back of her chair and fed her when she begged. One of the things my other girls were past. They never thought enough, or were frightened enough, to make this sort of thing delicious.

  The table was glass and so when I sat opposite her I could see everything.

  “Open your legs more.”

  Pretty cunt. Pretty wet and very red cunt. Needed to be redder. Which could be arranged.

  I sighed and shifted.

  “I need your second argument tomorrow.” She nodded. “Remember that.” Another nod.

  Depending on how she said it, I would arrange the party.

  Gently, I tinged my fork on my glass of apple juice, admiring the sunlight dappling the outer edge of the deck, where it filtered through the glass roof panels. Glass was good. Concealment could entice and seduce but seeing things clearly was often better.

  I should start looking into places I could send her. It was too dangerous to keep her, for both me and her.

  In the meantime...Vitor could get some of the other girls brought here. I could recall only one still installed in the lower room.

  That cunt of Red’s. Her slit beckoned. If I fucked her there, when all was arranged...finalized...it should be okay.

  My fingers tightened on the fork, my other fingers pressed into my scalp. Hurting myself was preferable to hurting others. Not that it always worked.

  I moved my fingers up the fork and squeezed the pad of my forefinger into the sharp end of the tines until blood leaked around the point.

  Red shifted on the chair. I’m sure she didn’t mean to reveal more, to tease me, but I could see my tongue in her, licking out that pussy, crushing her to the floor with my weight, fucking her unconscious. I knew what was good for the world – for me to stay put, revolving in my own mess.

  Her slit though, it put things into perspective. Was I really this self-sacrificing?

  Chapter 6

  Walking on the beach below his villa helped me think. There was despair. There was also hope. I might be mentally the equivalent of a drugged-up addict much of the time with him but I did recover.

  When allowed. When he allowed me to think.

  I bit my lip until it hurt and stared at the suck and surge of waves further out and to the side, where the villa’s decks hung over the sea. He wanted an argument from me and I was afraid. The aftermath last time had been not at all logical. I’d won and he’d done bad things.

  “Come here!”

  He stood a few yards higher, among the sea grass, feet sunken in sand, arms out, hands making a come-hither motion. A big man made bigger by his position on the land, by his supremacy over my mind.

  Bravery was doing something even when you’re afraid. I pulled in a ragged breath and trudged up the dune, to stand before him in the red bikini he’d given me.

  He took both my hands, smoothing fingers and thumbs over my palms. I shuddered, watching his heavy, ink-stained fingers move over my skin, hating this forced gesture of intimacy. The ink was still showing on me. He’d showered me, let me swim even, and still I had his writing on me – pretty and elegant letters written by this bastard.

  Felt like I was some element of a magic spell, with incantations lined up and waiting to be spoken.

  “Tell me your next argument.”

  “And you’ll let me go?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Yes. Sort of...you said maybe.” But he was also planning to keep me back then. Now, I wasn’t sure what he meant by not being able to keep me. “Are you going to let me go anyway?”

  His cheek twitched. “I’ve arrangements pending.”

  My hands chilled. “Then why should I bother with saying anything if it’s decided?”

  “Because I want you to and maybe it will make me change those arrangements.” He leaned in to say quietly, “Because if you don’t I will get distracted by other things.”

  Other things was ominous.

  His thumbs inscribed never-ending circles on my skin.

  “Follow.” With his hand at the small of my back, with his will solidly in place, he drew me higher to where a blanket waited.

  Past the paved driveway and the parked and polished cars, the white wall of his compound cut off the sky. Palms planted at the base of the wall waved in a breeze. I could run and climb the wall.

  “No, you can’t,” Isak whispered, kissing my neck then pulling me to the blanket, to sit between his outstretched legs. He wrapped his arms around me.

  Kisses were for lovers, not for enemies. How could he simply kiss me?

  Waves roared and sucked the sand into its embrace. The sun baked my legs. Wearing a bikini, sitting on a beach in a beautiful place, and all I wanted was to be gone from here.

  I slumped my shoulders, swallowed my misgivings and fear.

  “You want words from me? Illegal. Keeping me here, making me do things I don’t want to, it’s illegal.”

  “Is it?” He kissed my back then my nape, and drifted his fingertips from my shoulders and down my arms, making the fine hairs rise in goose bumps. “The law revolves around proof. Let’s say I’m a cop, or someone asking you about what happened here. Can you tell them anything?”

  When I breathed, his hands on my arms rose and fell, trapping me gently.

  How could I do that? I knew from the past that I couldn’t.

  “Red, can anyone prove anything?”

  “You said...you have a girl trapped here, in your lower levels.”

  “She’s here voluntarily and that’s what she will tell anyone who might ask her. There’s no crime if they want it. Bing. Fail. On the other hand...”

  Oh the way his tongue wrapped his threats in that Swedish accent. I knew why the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo movie did so well, because everyone wanted to fuck the Man with the Sexy Accent.

  “You tried to shoot me with a rifle. Your prints are on that weapon. You bought it illegally. We can prove you meant me harm. You’d even admit your intent to murder me. What do you think a judge would do to you?”

  Bad things.

  “I hate you,” I whispered. If I said that three times and clicked my heels, what would happen? I stared downward. Bare feet today, coated in
sand.

  “I know. And that gives me a thrill that goes straight to my balls.” He drew my wrists behind me and made me wrap my fingers about the head of his cock, squeezed his hands over mine until I felt the pulse of his dick. “You lost, Red. What should I do to you? Shall I fuck you and let someone else into your cute little dirty orifices? The longer I stave him off, the darker and meaner my monster gets.”

  I ducked my head. My shivers peaked in my nipples. “Stop him then. Your monster. It’s just you.”

  “Sometimes I can’t. If I try to hold back the tide, I drown, you drown, everybody drowns.”

  Then he raised my wrists higher at my back until I squeaked at the pain in my shoulders and had to bend at the waist. I felt his teeth sink into my left palm and bite. Harder, harder, until my little keening scream became a babble.

  “Pretty pain,” he murmured, from around his mouthful of me.

  “Stop, stop, stop, please.” A quick breath then... “Please.”

  He stopped biting and instead rose above, pulling me backward then rolling me onto my stomach with his foot. My face was in sand until I turned my head sideways. “I’ll stop when I want to, won’t I?”

  There was a stone-hard precision to his words when he got nasty like this. Maybe this was when his monster came to the top.

  “Yes.” There was sand on my lips and tongue. I grimaced and spat. The spit only made more sand stick to me. Stay calm. If I panicked this would get worse.

  “Can’t breathe? That’s how my monster makes me feel if I stop him. I’m going to let him out, a little, tonight. Just be glad he’s on a leash.”

  We returned to his room and he prayed at his altar to the past. As if he sought penance for sins. Maybe he was doing it in advance. I didn’t believe he was sorry or repentant, no matter how he rocked on his knees or muttered over his relics.

  One of those sacred relics was a picture of me, freshly marked with cum. I watched him from my position curled up on the bed, collared and leashed, though he’d not attached me to anything, yet. I wished he would do something more painful to himself – like whipping his back while he sat on a horse-sized, spiked butt plug...or blowing his brains out with a 45.