by Kitty Thomas
She’d had a long bath before going to Dome, but she felt so dirty. It was an emotional kind of grime that seeped to the outside.
“What’s wrong with me?” she said into the empty room. Her brain remained silent, refusing to supply an answer, despite the question ringing around for the millionth time.
Anton had humiliated her and hurt her. When he’d lain across the bed with that pompous smirk on his face, fully expecting to see her on Tuesday, she’d been so furious. But was she furious at him, or because her pussy had responded like a wind-up doll?
Most disturbing of all was the idea that he believed he held so much sway over her, she would return to him again. That the orgasm that rocked through her when she’d finally had his cock straining inside her walls, had been so amazing she’d forget or ignore the pain and humiliation he’d put her through.
Before she’d realized what she was doing, she’d pushed the button for the jets and pressed her clit against the spray. Vivian held onto the side of the tub as the pulsating water moved her toward another orgasm. And God help her, but she was thinking of Anton and the caning when she came.
The three yapping Yorkies greeted Vivian when she arrived at her neighbor’s house. With any luck her frenemy-turned-sanity-net would be able to distract her from thoughts of Anton and Tuesday looming on the horizon.
Jewel shooed the dogs away and ushered Vivian into the house.
“Your plate’s in the kitchen. I got extra egg rolls.”
“Thanks.” If she put on fifteen pounds maybe she could get Anton to get rid of her. If he told her never to come back, surely she hadn’t yet reached the level of stupidity to beg him to keep going.
She sat on the red leather sofa in the living room while the Yorkies became deathly still and quiet. They sat at her feet, staring at the plate on her lap. Waiting.
“Your dogs are fucking eerie.”
“I know. They’re shameless little beggars. You want me to lock them in the bathroom?”
An image of herself handcuffed in Anton’s bathroom only a few hours before, leaped into her mind.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just ignore them.”
“They won’t jump on you or try to eat off your plate. At least I managed to train them that well.”
“What are we watching?”
“Okay, don’t judge, but I’ve been wanting to watch this movie forever. It’s about a legal secretary who gets spanked by her boss and . . . other things.”
“Umm . . . ”
“I said don’t judge.”
Vivian was sure her face was beet red. Had she been living in a bubble of denial? Was she surrounded by freaks? If so, I’m a freak, too, her inner voice chided.
Somehow she managed not to do or say anything to embarrass herself while the movie played. She shoveled the lo mein and egg rolls into her mouth without realizing she was eating them, her eyes glued to the screen.
When the credits rolled, Jewel sighed. “I would so be her.”
“Really?” Vivian tried to look nonchalant.
“Oh yes. Do you think Michael would ever do that sort of thing with you?”
“Hell and no are the words that come to mind.”
Jewel giggled, but Vivian couldn’t bring herself to smile. She would have been that girl too. She was becoming that girl. Maybe she’d always been that girl.
Maybe that was why, after the initial thrill of her relationship with Michael had worn off, her libido had completely shut down, and why it woke again at the most inappropriate times, with Michael, with Anton, even with the doctor.
“Are you okay?”
Vivian looked guiltily at the other woman, unsure how much of her inner turmoil her face had telegraphed.
“Fine. Look, can we call it an early night?”
“Sure. You’re sure you’re okay? The movie didn’t weird you out?”
Vivian shook her head. “I’m just tired. All the shopping.”
Jewel looked as if she’d push the issue. She was entirely too perceptive, and Vivian worried the cogs in her neighbor’s brain might start turning in a direction that would end far closer to the truth than she wanted to deal with.
8
By Saturday, Vivian could no longer cope with the jumbled mess her mind had become, and took a trip to the bookstore to buy a journal.
She had to get out what was inside her head. Every sordid detail. Every thought. Every fantasy. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have room in her brain for any normal thoughts. By Tuesday the journal was half-filled. She read what she’d written, then took a match to it and burned all the words away as if by doing so she could change her internal circuitry.
As Anton had requested, she masturbated every day while she thought about the caning. Each time it was easier to get off on the memory as she became more distanced from the emotions of the event. The fantasy became just one of many of the guilty, dark fantasies she’d indulged over the years. Much more frequently since going to Dome.
She could come in under five minutes now, though she’d developed a habit of dragging it out to make the orgasm stronger. Each time, the fantasy became more elaborate, went darker. It started with the caning, but it never ended there.
She found herself wondering how many of the things she fantasized about, Anton might actually do to her if she went back. Suddenly her world was filled with the
twisted possibilities of the things he would do and the things she’d submit to, to come just a little harder.
She’d given up the idea that she wasn’t going back. Whatever happened in that room, Anton would let her go when they were finished. When Michael returned, she’d end it.
Fuck the blackmail. She’d decided to leave her husband because the more she thought about the cane across her ass, the more she knew it was meant to be there and that Michael couldn’t give that to her.
But she couldn’t get it from Anton, either. He’d make her hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. She watched the bruises and welts fade in the mirror a little more each day as her opportunity to get damning evidence of his abuse slipped away.
A decisive peace fell over her as she saw herself taking control of her life and for once doing what she wanted, leaving her gilded cage with Michael and her warped cage with Anton for a world that was scarier, but free.
She met the reflection of her eyes steadily and applied her cherry-red lip gloss, pressing her lips together with a pop.
Not a victim.
Not a whore.
The woman who walked into Dome today would be different from the one who’d left on Thursday. This Vivian had determined to be honest and unapologetic.
She signed in at three fifteen. At three thirty her name was called and she went back to that room that made her ache so deeply she couldn’t think.
Anton smiled when he saw her. “I knew you’d be here. I am rarely wrong about people.”
She smiled back and crossed the floor to lay her purse on the massage table. “I’m leaving Michael.”
A look of surprise fell over Anton’s features, but she pressed on before he could reiterate his speech about not getting attached.
“What you’ve done to me is completely wrong. You should be locked up. I worry about the other women coming here, what you’re doing to them. But I also wonder why they aren’t reporting you, either.
“You’re right. I’m not your girlfriend. My husband is out of town right now. He’ll be back next Thursday. Until that time I’ll see you, but then I’m done. With you and with him. I’ll figure something out.”
He arched a brow, his face a mixture of shock and amusement. “My flower is opening up and growing up, I see. Taking responsibility for your own decisions now? Right or wrong?”
“Yes, Sir.” She put emphasis on the Sir, not wanting him to think her little monologue meant she wasn’t going to fully submit to his every sadistic desire behind this door. She’d already decided she would. She had three or four sessions with him at most. Then she’d never see him aga
in. He could show that shit to Michael, or post it on the Internet, or sell tickets for all she cared. She was done pretending that was why she came to him.
He’d opened something inside her. Fucked-up bastard or not, she couldn’t punish him for that. But she also couldn’t indefinitely submit to it. She couldn’t lose the part of herself she’d just found, or have her entire personality subsumed underneath his sadism.
He chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know whether you’re very brave or very stupid. I certainly don’t consider you very smart.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t aware I had to pass an IQ test to be your part-time sex slave.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve indulged you and let you speak your mind, but take too many liberties and you’ll wish you hadn’t come back to the devil for a few last sins.”
She lowered her eyes to the ground as a tremor went through her. “Yes, Sir.”
“Did you do think about the cane when you touched yourself?”
The blush in her cheeks was all the answer he needed.
“Lock the door,” he said.
She obeyed and followed him into the apartment.
He used her as an object, a toy. Within minutes of the second door closing behind them, he had her naked and on her knees.
“Do you know what you are to me, Vivian?” he asked, stroking her cheek absently.
“No, Sir.”
“You are a series of warm holes, each of which I will take and use for my own pleasure. If you please me, I’ll show you kindness and return that pleasure.”
She couldn’t stop the little whimper that came out of her mouth.
“Deep down, you’re a filthy little slut. Aren’t you, flower?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“My blackmail held no further power over you and instead of enjoying your freedom and making new living arrangements, instead of taking the opportunity to report me to the authorities like a sane individual, you decided it might be fun to come back here and see just how hard I could ride you until your time was up. Do I have that right?”
She didn’t look up, but imagined there must be a smirk on his face. He must be thinking she was the most perfect victim to ever walk through his door and spread her legs for him. Her entire body felt hot, flushed with a wanton desire that climbed with each mocking word that tumbled from his mouth.
“Yes, Sir.”
He cupped her chin with one hand, raising her face so her eyes met his as he stroked a thumb over her lower lip. “Today I want to use this hole. Open. Show me what a good little cocksucker you can be.”
Her lips parted. She wasn’t sure which was wetter, her pussy, or her mouth, which had started salivating as soon as his cock prodded her lips. She inhaled the musky male aroma of him, felt herself slipping further under his control. She had the fleeting fear that letting herself go like this might mean she no longer had a choice to leave him when Michael returned.
Could he break her will so quickly? How much fire am I playing with? Rhetorical questions.
As his cock slid into her mouth, his hand gripping the back of her neck, trapping her there, she wondered if she’d have the strength to leave either man. Or if she was wrapping herself in yet another bubble of denial. Something to make it easier to face herself, to ease herself into the bed she’d just made.
She took him in, sucking, swirling her tongue over that impossibly soft skin. She felt the first glistening beads of pre-cum drip down her throat, and she pulled back to lick the tip of his cock, tasting him. She reached up to fondle his balls and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.
Then he put an end to her teasing as he started to thrust harder. She allowed her jaw to relax, knowing all he wanted from her was a passive hole at the moment. She accepted it as he fucked her mouth, finding herself growing wetter the more coldly he used her. Whatever was wrong with her, she no longer cared as he spilled into her and down her throat.
“Swallow every drop.”
Well, that was wasted speech. She’d intended on doing that anyway. It would have only been a hard order to obey if he’d denied her the pleasure of drinking him.
Anton went soft in her mouth and pulled out of her. She felt herself as a bundle of nerve endings all poised and waiting for any sensation from him. Would it be pleasure or pain? A little of both maybe?
Neither.
“Are you hungry?”
“What?”
He snapped his fingers in front of her face, no doubt to wipe away the glazed look that must be in her eyes. She looked up at him trying to think if she was hungry or not. She hadn’t eaten since eleven that morning, but she wouldn’t have thought of it if he hadn’t asked. She was too distracted.
“Are you hungry?” he repeated, sounding agitated now.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to get us some food, then.”
She wanted to say, ‘What about me?’ but she stopped the words in time.
He looked down at her and chuckled, petting her head like a dog that had pleased him with a good trick. “Don’t worry, flower, we’re not finished. But I missed lunch again, and I don’t have time to get into what I want to get into with you before my five o’clock. You don’t have a set time to be home now. We don’t have to rush.”
Her stomach did a little aroused flip. Then she felt a twinge over the idea of his five o’clock. It wasn’t jealousy but worry for the other women he saw and touched. When he left Vivian alone to get their dinner, she knew what she had to do.
Coercion wasn’t consent. She may not have come undone from this; the net result may have been what she needed to move her life forward. Morality aside. But she couldn’t selfishly spend the next week with Anton, while he victimized others if she could stop it. How would she live with herself if she did? This wasn’t just about her.
She’d better enjoy whatever he did today, because tomorrow she had to go to the police. If not for her own sake, for the sake of the others he touched.
He was back fifteen minutes later with fruit and large salads filled with meat, veggies, and cheese. It was practically an entree.
He sat the tray down. Lines formed between his eyes as he regarded her. She tried to wipe any tell tale emotion from her face that might give away her plans to end this and him.
After a few moments he seemed to decide everything was okay.
“Come.”
She started to get up to follow him, but he shook his head. “On your knees.”
Vivian crawled across the floor behind him. He put his food and glass of water on the desk and hers on the floor.
“Eat.”
She opened her mouth to make a smart ass remark, but seeing the stern look in his eyes made her drop her gaze back to the floor and her food. They ate quietly, and when they were both finished, he led her to the bathroom and gestured to the tub.
“Please don’t chain me up. You know I’m not going anywhere.” She hated that trapped feeling she’d gotten when he’d chained her and left her the last time. It was too helpless, too dependent. As much as some things he did turned her on, other things . . .
“That’s not what I’m concerned about. I don’t want you touching yourself while I’m gone.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Get. In.”
She reluctantly climbed into the tub and offered her wrists so he could cuff them to the bar. He left and returned moments later with a vibrator. “The lube is in the other room, but I’m quite sure it won’t be necessary,” he said.
Her face flamed as he easily slid the toy inside her. He turned it to the lowest setting, flicked off the light, and shut the door.
In the dark, windowless room, her entire universe centered now on her pussy and the pathetic vibrations that couldn’t get a porn star off. All the toy could do was torture her.
It could have been two minutes, two hours, or two weeks when she heard the door open and the light switch flip. It was jolting to have the bathroom bathed in so much light all at on
ce. She’d spent the past however long feeling like she was floating someplace between dreams and consciousness, that steady, dull vibration pushing at the edges of her sanity, making her so desperate to come, she’d do anything.
Which she was sure was exactly where Anton wanted her.
He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed while he watched her writhe around in the tub. “I can’t imagine how sloppy wet that vibrator is now. I’m surprised it didn’t fall out.”
Her only reply was a whimper, too afraid to say the wrong thing.
“If it had, you would have been in for a lot of pain this evening.” He observed her for another couple of minutes. “Did you lose your ability to speak?”
“No, Sir.”
He closed the distance between them and removed the toy, then held it to her lips. “Clean it.”
She obediently licked it clean, her arousal peaking further when she thought it could go no higher. She wriggled her wrists, causing the cuffs to clang against the metal bar. “Please, Sir.”
He uncuffed her, then handed her a washcloth. “Clean yourself, and do not even think about trying to masturbate. Then I want you to get dressed.”
A panicked tear slid down her cheek that he wasn’t going to let her come. He wiped it away with his thumb.
“I like you best this way, flower. So desperate and horny you’d do anything. Everyone’s gone for the day. We’re going to my house where I have more toys. You can stay the night.”
Vivian had been rubbing the wet cloth over her folds, trying not to linger, trying not to masturbate or buck her hips, when his words stopped her.
“Stay the night?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.” The idea of seeing his house, sleeping in his bed, and waking up with him the next morning, felt exciting. But at the same time, it would do nothing to help her actually end this when she’d intended. Was that why he was trying to draw her closer? To keep her?
He’d already said they didn’t and wouldn’t have a relationship. It wouldn’t work. He wasn’t a man she could ever love. Whatever happened tonight, tomorrow she had to go to the police.