by Emma Luna
Eventually, Chance opens his eyes, blinking a few times to try and regain focus. No doubt, he has some residual blurred vision. The main effects of the drug may be short lived, but some last longer. I can see he is trying to throw his mind back as far as it will go to give him any indication of where he is. Sometimes Ketamine has the added benefit that it results in short term amnesia. Not that Chance will be going anywhere, but if he did, he would remember very little.
Once his eyes regain enough focus, he looks around the room and tries to sit up at the same time. Realising he can’t move, he looks down and sees that he’s strapped to a metal table, similar to one that you would find in a morgue. The drain at the bottom is just so handy. But this table has been adapted with restraints. Chance has straps running across his chest, pelvis, thighs, and ankles. He’s completely naked and I don’t think that fact even registers to him, at first. He’s too preoccupied with the restraints. He continues his assessment, looking at how much trouble he’s in. Each of his arms are shackled to the side, using leader bindings. His neck is free so he can move his head around to watch as much as he would like. And there is no reason at all for me to gag him. We are in the middle of nowhere, the room is soundproof and I like to hear him. Finally, taking in the desperate situation he finds himself in, I watch as Chance scours his eyes around the room trying to find any indication of what might be happening. Unfortunately for him, he starts looking on the wrong side. If he had looked to his right, he would have seen me and no doubt remembered what happened, instead he looked left.
His eyes take in the odd yet beautiful room we’re in. It’s in the basement of my house and all of the walls are grey stone, yet it doesn’t feel like your normal cold, dank basement. The side of the room that Chance is staring at now has been transformed into a stunning area featuring a large four poster bed. The bed is covered in black silk sheets that match the dress I’m still wearing. Scattered around it are candles that flicker, giving the room a romantic light. They aren’t needed right now as there’s a strip light directly above Chance, giving off enough light to fill up the whole room. I can see confusion in his eyes until he moves his head towards me and finally, our eyes are locked together.
“What the fuck have you done to me, bitch?” he spits and I smile at him. The more wound up he gets, the more his heart will race. He will sweat and his breathing will become uneven. I want him to be panicking.
“That’s not very nice. I was ‘babe’ earlier,” I say sweetly, clearly trying to irritate him further.
“Look, I’m not interested in whatever weird and kinky sex games you are clearly into. So unfasten these weird bondage restraints, so I can get the fuck out of here,” he shouts whilst pulling on his restraints. It's futile, they’re tied so tightly, he can’t even move an inch.
“No, I don’t think so. I am definitely in the mood for sex tonight,” I say with a smile on my face. I tweak my nipples for effect because I can’t deny that the anticipation of what’s going to happen is driving me crazy. My nipples are straining against the silk material of my dress and even the lightness of that fabric is grating against them, making them feel so sensitive. I hold back the little moan I’m desperate to release when I massage my breasts.
“My dick isn’t going anywhere near your crazy cunt. So you can forget all about that, bitch,” Chance shouts and this time I can’t help but laugh at him as I recognise the look of fear that flashes in his eyes. He has no idea what I’m capable of.
“Chance, your cock will stay firmly in your pants. Don’t you worry about that. I never planned to have sex with you tonight.” I place my emphasis on the word ‘you’ and worryingly it takes him a lot longer to figure out that if I planned on having sex tonight, but not with him, that I must have someone else in mind. I really couldn’t have spelled it out any easier, but he really isn’t all that bright.
“Didn’t you ever question how little old me was able to get your six foot tall, muscular body off the sofa and down the stairs of my basement, and onto this table to tie you up?” Now I really am having to spell it all out for him. Getting bored of waiting for it to dawn on Chance what I’m talking about, Ollie makes it very clear by stepping out of the shadows where he’s always lurking. He walks over to me, directly in Chance’s line of sight and he takes my head in both his hands before lowering his lips to mine. It’s a quick, bruising kiss, designed solely for appearances, to let Chance know that he was never getting lucky tonight.
“Chance, meet Ollie,” I announce cockily. There’s a fire in Chance’s eyes as he takes in the male competition in front of him. It makes me laugh because at no point, even when he realised I had drugged him, did he look at me as though I was a threat. There was always an element of lust involved, even when he insisted there wasn’t. Yet, now that there is another male in the room, he instantly sees Ollie as a threat. Don’t get me wrong, Ollie can be a threat, but only if I tell him to be.
“Did you know that your bitch has been grinding on my cock all night, begging for it like a sex starved whore? Obviously, your dick isn’t giving her what she needs.” Ollie remains quiet while Chance attempts to wind him up. Ollie is incredibly well trained, but I also see the spark of anger flash across his face at the way Chance talks about me. Ollie is fiercely protective. There’s a reason he’s my favourite toy of all time. I still remember the first time I met Ollie.
It was just an ordinary day working at my clinic in the town centre. I work as a clinical psychiatrist and most of the people I see are self referrals for their monotonous complaints of anxiety and depression caused by their dreary lives. They are the patients I find the most boring because they can easily be helped with conversation and pills. I like the more intricate cases. Hence why I applied to the criminal justice system to work with offenders on a referral programme. People who are not quite suitable for incarceration and would benefit from mental health support are given a suspended sentence, then ordered to attend a short mandatory period of therapy with me. This introduces me to the type of people whose minds I really enjoy digging into. Some of them are just people who are down on their luck and have turned to an addiction. But, there are the odd few who are as broken as I am and it’s impossible not to feel a connection with them. This is what happened when I met Ollie.
Oliver Lee Parker was referred to me as a twenty year old criminal who was arrested and charged for criminal damage. He had been cautioned on two separate occasions and this time, they had no choice but to arrest him. Normally, this type of crime would get a suspended sentence and a fine at best, at worst a short stay at her majesty's pleasure. It’s not the type to normally cross my desk, but Ollie's defense argued the reason he was offending was as a result of his past. His parents were both killed in a road traffic accident when Ollie was just thirteen years old. He was a passenger in the wreck and survived. He was trapped with them in the car and watched them die. After that, he bounced around through foster homes, most of which were abusive or violent surroundings. Ollie withdrew and became isolated. He shut himself off from the world, stopped making friends, and ignored all attempts from the local gangs in his area to become involved in their activities. Instead, Ollie threw himself into art, and that is how he found himself with a criminal record. He was arrested for graffiti tagging on more than one occasion. As soon as the police spoke to him, they knew he wasn’t a criminal, despite how he may look, and so they did what they could to get him in with me and it was the best decision they ever made.
When Ollie walked into my office, I couldn’t link the person I had read about in the file to the individual standing before me. He stood just over six feet tall and without being overly muscular, it was obvious that his lean body is all muscle. He looks like he might be a runner or a swimmer, and I’m sure if he was to remove the tight black t-shirt he’s wearing, I would see a very impressive six pack. His jeans are tight, without being skinny along his legs. They are a faded black colour with rips in the kneecaps and legs. They shape his thighs and his arse n
icely. He is wearing a pair of tatty old Converse that appear to have something drawn on the sides, almost like someone has coloured them in. But it’s his face that captures my attention the most. His shaggy jet black hair almost shines blue in the light, reminding me of the feathers of a raven. Sparkling blue eyes glare over at me as I complete my assessment and I see an emptiness in them that I feel a kinship with. His jaw has splashings of stubble across it like he failed to shave this morning. It’s impossible to deny that Ollie has a beautiful face and I’m sure if he ever does smile, there will be dimples present. I can also tell he doesn’t smile often, which is fine with me.
From the minute we meet, Ollie was sullen, quiet, and withdrawn and it’s obvious to me that he was exactly who I was looking for. Very soon, I would be in need of a guy just like Ollie to help me with my extra-curricular projects. All I need to do is work with Ollie and mould him into exactly what I need. I smile at him because I know that this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.
That was over a year ago and we have not looked back. Ollie is no longer the shy boy who walked into my office. Now, he is strong, protective, and smart because that is exactly what I have taught him to be. Ollie smirks at Chance’s vulgar reference that Ollie’s cock is not enough to satisfy me because he knows the truth. At first, Ollie doesn’t reply, I can see he wants to but he’s holding back. He looks over at me, his crystal blue orbs boring a hole into my body as he silently asks for permission. I give him a subtle nod. I don’t hesitate to give Ollie the chance to talk because it shows me how far he has come along. When I first introduced him to my proclivities, he was not a fan and was very quiet throughout the whole experience. But the more he got to know me, the more he engaged in the fun.
Ollie and I live together now. We have been since about three weeks after we first met. Ollie was sofa surfing and I had a spare room, so it made sense. Very much against all code of conduct and procedures, or ethics for that matter, but I don’t really care. I had so much more planned that the rules would soon be forgotten. I just had to wait for him to come around. We continued with the therapy and moved onto hypnotherapy, which was very useful in persuading Ollie to become more talkative and assertive. He picked it up very quickly. I watched his gradual increase in confidence with pride and loved seeing him grow into the person I created. The only area that we have ever clashed is with regards to his work. He is an extremely talented artist and yet he chooses to waste his skills working as a tattoo artist. The art that now adorns the majority of his body is beautiful, but he doesn’t add to the image I am constantly trying to portray. Luckily, he is easily replaceable. But for now, I am enjoying allowing him to play his role in my proclivities.
“You think I don’t know she has been grinding against you? Do you think this was spontaneous? We planned this together. She chose you for a reason, but don’t think you’re special. I’m the one who will be balls deep in her soon and you will be the one who watches. Then you can tell me if she’s satisfied. How’s that sound?” Ollie asks smugly as he walks towards me. Stopping in front of me, his stare is silently asking for permission and I know I shouldn’t bother because this pissing contest is pointless. I want to get to the main event, but I also like to let Ollie get his own way from time to time. I can’t help it, he’s grown on me, which is very unusual. The longest I usually keep someone like him around for is a couple months, I think the longest was four months. But there’s something about Ollie. Sometimes I think maybe he sees the real me because we are quite similar in some ways. Yet, in others, we couldn’t be more different. Ollie is essentially a good person and everything that happens tonight he will engage in fully, but he won’t enjoy it. This is all for me and that's exactly what he’s been trained to do. The only problem is that people with good in them develop a conscience and I know soon enough, the time will come where I have to part company with Ollie. Weirdly, this is the first time I haven’t wanted to.
Mentally shouting at myself to get me off my train of thought, I remember that Ollie stood in front of me, patiently waiting for permission. His raven black hair is flopping down his face, almost covering his eyes and yet I can still see the blue glistening through. They look a lot more alive than they did when we first met, but I can still see a part of him is missing. All thought of that flies out the window when I see him lick across his bottom lip and gently tug at the piercing ring he has to the right side of it. When he first came home with the piercing, I was furious, but then he kissed me with it and the same fire I felt then sparks up inside me. I give a slight nod, indicating my permission and Ollie leans down, places both of his hands at either side of my face and pulls me in closer. His lips press gently against mine at first, just a slight touch, a promise of more and it fuels a fire in me that I rarely feel. It has the same effect on Ollie because he quickly pushes his lips to meet mine again, except this time it’s not fleeting. It is hard and passionate. My hand reached out automatically to grab hold of his t-shirt and I fist it at the sides to hold on. He licks his tongue across my lip and I automatically open to grant him entry. His tongue wrestles with mine and it feels as though he’s devouring me. The kiss seems to send tingles from my lips all the way through my body, lighting up every cell, every nerve fibre along the way. My core is heating up and I feel sure that my pussy is starting to get wet. This is not normal for me. I know Ollie’s kisses and his advances in general have been having more of an effect on me lately, but I still need my extra kink present to turn me on fully. It must be because I know it’s going to happen soon. That must be it because the only other explanation is that I am developing feelings for Ollie and that isn’t possible.
Filled with the concern for my feelings, I pull back from the kiss. Ollie looks down at me with a warmth in his eyes and gives me a small smile. I don’t return it. I don’t miss the hurt look on his face, I just pretend not to notice or care. I flick my eyes over to Chance, indicating Ollie has a job to be getting on with. Disappointment now is etched all over Ollie's face and Chance sees it. He starts to laugh and fury spreads across Ollie's usually even-tempered exterior. I shoot him a warning glance, but I don’t think he sees. He’s too focused on this pissing contest.
“Well, that was a lovely, yet pointless show of affection, mate. She did hotter stuff with me in the taxi ride over here. Now, why don’t you stop all this bullshit and tell me what the fuck I’m doing here? I’m not saying I would have been down for a threesome, but you know there are better ways to proposition a guy,” Chance jokes, but I can see the fear in his eyes. Everytime he thinks we aren’t looking, he tries the restraints and he is constantly looking around, trying to find his escape plan I’m sure.
“We are not propositioning you. You are not here for sex,” states Ollie with a clear, well rehearsed tone.
“Then why the fuck am I here?” Chance asks, baffled.
“I want to introduce you to someone,” I say as I walk to the corner of the room. I’m careful to put on a strong pair of gloves, although I know that I don't need them. Opening the cage, I gently take hold of Reggie by his coarse black hair and walk him back to the table, sitting down next to Chance’s head. Reggie is now at eye level with him so Chance can see him clearly. “This is Reggie.”
“I met the fucking rat upstairs. I don’t need to get any closer to him. Who knows what fucking diseases he’s riddled with?” Chance spits and anger rises up causing my cheeks to redden. I don’t miss the way Ollie looks away at the mention of Reggie being in the living room when he shouldn’t have been. An interesting development I will need to file away for another day because now it’s more important I rip this guy a new arsehole for insulting my mischief.
“Reggie does not have any diseases. He is my beautiful baby and you will show him, as well as all of my children, the respect that they deserve. Do you understand?” I shout. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at me like I have a second head, but I don’t care because I have done this before and am used to every possible scenario.
> “Your babies?” he asks in disbelief. At this point, Ollie moves to the side of the room and returns holding two large cages, filled with a total of ten rats. I normally keep them in smaller groups in their habitats that are in their bedroom, but for transportation purposes, they have to go five per cage. They are used to it by now and know it won't be for too long. Plus, it will be worth it.
“What the fuck? Why the hell do you have so many rats?” he squeals as he asks me. I laugh because I’ve already told him the answer.
“They are my family.” Now, it’s time for him to look at me like I’m crazy. Again, not something new. I have seen it all before and I don’t care. According to some clinical psychologists, I would be diagnosed as psychotic, but that’s not how I see it. I have been let down by people my entire life. My babies are the only ones who don’t judge me and who are always with me. Obviously, they do pass on because everyone dies, but they are regularly reproducing at a healthy rate. It’s almost like they want me to remain surrounded by family.
Reggie was the very first rat I got. He actually isn’t the Reggie I have in my hand because, as I said, rats sadly don’t tend to have a long life. But another black rat with ruby eyes always steps up to the role. I was seventeen years old, sleeping in a council approved room in a hostel when I first met him. I had never felt more alone. My mother had finally gone and overdosed a couple of months before, leaving me with no one. Although I was used to being alone, now it was official. The council found me a bed because I refused to stay in the house with my mother's pimp, who had a proclivity for young girls and would be only too happy getting me to replace my mum as his big earner. Sitting on the disgusting, off-white duvet cover and looking around at the dank, mouldy room that was now my life, I started to feel hopeless. That is when I heard a gnawing sound. In the corner of my room was a rat. He was quick and tried to get away but I caught him. I kept him in a shoe box at first, feeding him whatever I could find. I couldn’t afford to let him out, in case he never came back. But rats are smart and I managed to train him with treats. He had a love of cheese and peanut butter. I named him Reggie and he quickly became my friend. Then another rat was spotted in the building and everyone started to freak out. There was talk of diseases spreading and some of the things they were saying about Reggie and his kind were disgusting. I had bathed Reggie on several occasions. He wasn’t just the perfect pet, he was so much more. I decided that not only would I keep Reggie with me forever, but I would take in more rats. As many as I could cope with.