Dark Obsessions Vol II

by Thompson, Claire

  And then, all at once, a plan hatched itself in her brain and she actually smiled.

  Springing into action, Jessie ran to the bureau, rummaging in the drawers until she found what she was looking for—a pair of police regulation handcuffs, the metal kind that locked with a key.

  She grabbed the cuffs and their key and raced over to Eric, crouching beside him. She would have preferred to cuff his hands behind his back, but he was too big to move easily, and she didn’t want to take the chance of his waking up while she was trying.

  Grabbing his wrists, she brought them together in front of his body and snapped the cuffs into place, the key still in her hand. Returning to the bureau, she opened the drawer where she kept her costumes. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the unconscious man on the floor, but he remained out cold.

  Hurriedly, she grabbed a low cut leotard that was easy to pull on quickly, along with a pair of black stiletto heels and a feathered mask to cover her face. She put on the leotard and slipped the mask over her head as fast as she could, letting it dangle around her neck until she was ready. She also selected a black sleep mask to use as a blindfold on Eric.

  Carrying the shoes, she rushed back and knelt beside Eric. She placed the sleep mask over his eyes, so it wouldn’t be so obvious that he was unconscious for what she had in mind. Jerking his fly open, she tugged at his shorts, dragging them, along with his underwear, down his thighs. When she had him completely naked, she ran to the whip wall and seized the cat o’ nine tails. Racing back, she grabbed the digital camera and its tripod.

  Placing it in front of him, she pushed the record button and hurried into position. Feather mask in place and high heels on her feet, she set up a series of poses she would later turn into still shots. She placed the tip of her stiletto just over Eric’s mouth while she swept his chest with the cat. She positioned the whip handle between his legs so it looked like it was shoved up his ass. She squatted over him, pulling aside the leotard so her bare pussy was just above his face. The whole shoot only took about two minutes, but still Jessie knew she was taking a terrible risk. If he came to, even cuffed as he was, he could still attack her. She was glad her face was hidden by the mask so no one would see the terror she knew must be showing in her face.

  When she figured she had enough to work with, Jessie kicked off the heels and raced over to the camera. She would crop the pictures to make sure no trace of his bloody foot showed.

  Removing the camera from the tripod, she gave her tormentor one last look. He was still unconscious, but for how long?

  She started for the stairs that led to the garage, but quickly decided she would take the house stairs to see if she could find the keys to Eric’s car.

  She hurtled up to the first floor, her heartbeats tumbling over one another as if racing for a finish line. At the top of the stairs was a hallway, with the kitchen to the left, and the living room to the right. She ran into the kitchen, scanning the counters and walls for any sign of Eric’s car keys.

  Yanking open the drawers, she finally found what she was looking for. In the drawer near the door that led to the garage, she found not only a set of car keys, but Eric’s wallet as well. Grabbing the keys and the wallet, she started through the door that led to the garage.

  She paused a moment, her eyes lighting on Eric’s landline telephone. A grim smile came to her lips as she imagined the policemen showing up, banging at the door, breaking it down, storming the place and finally discovering the naked, cuffed man in the basement. She grabbed the receiver and pushed in the numbers.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  Saying nothing, she set the receiver down on the counter and went into the garage, slamming the kitchen door behind her. She ran around the car toward the driver’s side and was about to climb in when she noticed the stack of cardboard boxes piled against the wall. Opening the car door, she threw the keys, wallet and camera on the seat and turned to scan the boxes.

  Her eye was drawn to the one on top, its cardboard flaps open. In it lay a brown leather photo album with an outline of the state of Texas stenciled on the cover. Jessie’s heart lurched into her throat as she recognized it.

  It was her photo album, with pictures of her mother and her brother, the only ones she had left in the world. She ran to the box and grabbed the album, hugging it to her as if it were a long lost child, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Looking again into the box, she found her large purse tucked in a jumble of her clothing. Half laughing and half crying, she dragged the box to the car, opened the back door and heaved it inside.

  With an anxious glance at the basement door, she knew she didn’t dare stay another second. The police might already be on their way. Climbing quickly into the driver’s seat, she turned the key in the ignition and felt the car rumble to life. She pushed the button on the garage door remote attached to the visor and the door opened to the outside world.

  Jessie’s hands were shaking as she put the car in reverse and pressed the gas. A part of her was still expecting Eric to leap out of the basement door at any second and drag her back into his prison. She knew if that happened, he would see to it she never escaped again.

  She backed down the driveway and eased the car onto the road. Taking a last look at Eric’s house, she pushed the button on the remote and as she watched the garage door close, she shot the finger at the evil bastard she’d left in the dungeon. Then, with a whoop of pure joy, she turned her focus to the road ahead, gunned the engine and roared away in a screech of burning rubber.

  She made her way to I-10 West, following the signs for US 87 North. She would drive the two hundred or so miles to San Antonio, and ditch Eric’s car when she got there. After that, she would head west. She would make a new life for herself.

  She drove with the windows open, the warm, fresh air blowing her hair and filling her nostrils with the scent of freedom. She felt reborn—truly alive for the first time since she’d been a child.

  About fifty miles into the trip, she pulled into a rest area and parked. She unbuckled her seat belt and twisted around to see what else was in the box. She grabbed her bag first. Everything was still inside, including her cell phone, though when she turned it on, the battery was dead. Her wallet was there, though the cash was missing. This reminded her that she had Eric’s wallet. Reaching for it, she opened the billfold and extracted the cash. She thumbed the bills, counting one hundred forty-four dollars. Hardly a fortune, but enough to get by for a few days. She still had her credit cards, and Eric’s too, now that she thought about it, though she realized it probably wasn’t a good idea to use them anywhere that might enable anyone to track her down.

  Dropping his wallet on the seat again, she transferred the cash to her purse and stuffed the small camera inside as well. Turning her attention back to the box, she found a pair of jeans, some socks, a T-shirt and best of all, her beloved red cowboy boots. Hunching down in the seat, she put the T-shirt over the leotard, and pulled on the jeans, socks and boots.

  Feeling much better, she got back on the freeway, eager to put more distance between herself and Houston. As she drove, she played the music loud, letting her mind empty. Each time she passed a state trooper on the road, her heart gave a fearful lurch, but apparently Eric hadn’t yet discovered that his car had been stolen.

  When she arrived in San Antonio, Jessie stopped at a taco shack and ordered some fresh, authentic Mexican food, spicy and flavorful. She asked the woman behind the counter in Spanish where the bus station was.

  Parking in the large lot at the Greyhound bus station, she left Eric’s wallet on the driver’s seat and locked the car. She decided to leave the remaining contents of the box in the back seat, taking only her bag and her beloved photo album. She would buy everything new once she got settled wherever she was going.

  As she entered the station, she threw the car keys in the large trash can by the door. She would let his car be recovered, but she wouldn’t make it too easy for him, she thought
with a satisfied smile.

  As she stared up at the screen, trying to decide where she would go to start her new life, Carlos’ words came back to her from all those years ago.

  Get out, Jessie. Go to a big city as far away as you can get.

  Back then she’d been running blind—running from a dead end life and an abusive father. She’d never confronted her father for what he had done to their mother. She’d never forced him to acknowledge the damage he’d done to them all. Now she was running from another abusive man, only this time she wasn’t going to let the bastard off so easy. She would be able to get some very compromising stills from the video of Eric, the sub boy, and she knew just what to do with them.

  Eric Chapman would pay for what he’d done.

  Jessie Ramos, a.k.a. Princess Lola, would make sure of it.

  Epilogue

  Eric didn’t recognize the address on the incoming email but the subject header sure grabbed his attention. Greetings from Princess Lola. His heart switched into overdrive. He wanted to delete it, but didn’t dare.

  His mind leaped back to that horrible day two weeks before when he came to on the floor of his basement, with two uniformed cops, one male and one female, crouched beside him, staring into his face. He’d been disoriented and confused at first, and had found himself asking, “Where’s J.?”

  “Who’s Jay, sir? Someone called 9-1-1 from this address but we found no one upstairs. Can you tell us why you’re lying here naked in regulation cuffs on your basement floor?” the male cop had asked. Both cops looked disapprovingly around the room, shaking their heads. “What the hell is this down here anyway?”

  Luckily, Eric’s brain had decided to switch back on at that moment, along with a terrible throbbing pain in his foot. He knew there was no way he could tell them what really happened, even once he could put all the pieces together himself. So instead he focused on something the cops could understand.

  “My foot. I’m hurt,” he exclaimed.

  The female cop shifted her focus to his foot, examining the wound. It was no longer bleeding, but it hurt like hell. “What happened here, sir?” she had asked in the same accusatory voice her partner had used.

  “Check this out, Janice.” Pulling a plastic bag from his pocket, the male cop had gingerly picked up the bloody scissors. He had turned an accusing stare on Eric, as if he were the criminal in all this. “Who is this Jay you referred to? Did he do this to you?” He waved his hand around the basement. “Were the two of you, uh, engaged in some kind of weird homoerotic sado-masochistic rituals?”

  “What the—no! There is no Jay.” Eric had tried to think fast. If he accused Jessie Ramos of anything, it would open a huge can of worms. But obviously someone had done this to him. He couldn’t very well pretend he’d stabbed himself in the foot and then cuffed himself and thrown away the key. He decided to go with what the cops clearly already believed—a kinky gay sex game gone awry.

  “That is,” he had amended, “I mean, yes, I did have a—a friend here. Things must have gotten out of hand. I—I don’t really remember…” Eric’s face had felt hot and he knew he was blushing, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager. He held up his cuffed wrists, blustering in his embarrassment. “Look, can you get these damn things off me? I need to get my foot seen to.”

  “You’ve clearly been assaulted, sir,” the lady cop had said, pointing to Eric’s wounded foot, while the man used his own handcuff key to get the cuffs off Eric’s wrists. “Do you want to press charges?”

  Seeing the scissors helped Eric put together what must have happened. Somehow the little bitch had gotten hold of the barber scissors and used them to stab him. He remembered that part—the shock, and the blinding pain in his foot, but he didn’t remember anything after that.

  The cops were staring at him, clearly waiting for an answer. “No, no, I don’t want to press charges. It was just—it was a game my lover and I were playing,” he lied, hating himself but unable to think of any other way out. “It was an accident. He must have panicked and run. It’s okay. I’m really sorry about all of this, officers.”

  Since Jessie had disappeared, he’d actually felt a weird mixture of regret and remorse. He’d taken things way, way too far, he knew. It was probably a good thing she’d escaped, because he’d been out of control—he recognized that now.

  During the five days he had held her captive he’d been like a madman, obsessed with his slave girl to the exclusion of all else. It was as if he’d been under a kind of mad spell, letting his most base and evil impulses run wild. While he still thought about it constantly, the whole thing was like a bizarre, surreal dream.

  Had he really done those things to her? He probably would have ended up killing her, and that wouldn’t have been good. She’d saved him—saved them both—by getting away. He’d thought about pursuing her, but decided it was best to leave things as they were. He’d gotten off easy, if he was honest about it.

  But now what he saw in the email made him slam the lid of his laptop closed. It was a photo of himself lying naked, cuffed and blindfolded in his own dungeon. Behind him stood a masked Dominatrix with a whip in her hand, her high-heeled foot on his groin. There was a second picture, this one of her squatting over his face, her cunt bared as if she were about to take a piss on him.

  “That fucking little bitch,” he muttered, fury making his chest tighten painfully. Glancing left and right, as if someone might be lurking in his office, he cautiously opened the laptop again. Jessie Ramos hadn’t just conveniently faded away. She wanted something from him.

  There was a second email from the same address, and with a heavy heart, Eric opened it.

  It read:

  Greetings, sub boy,

  I have twenty-four more jpegs of you just like these two, each one more explicit than the last. Per our agreement, you will pay me $100,000 for the first twelve pictures. I will destroy any copies and you will have the originals to do with as you wish.

  “Per our agreement! What the fuck?” Perplexed and furious, Eric continued to read.

  This coming Friday I will expect a deposit into my online account of the first installment of $100,000. The bank routing number and account number are listed below. I will send the second set of pictures one month from today. I will expect a second deposit, also in the amount of $100,000, at that time.

  At that point, any interaction between us will cease. You are never to try to contact me in any way, shape or form. You will not reply to this email, or attempt any other form of communication.

  I am sure you agree, $200,000 is a very small price to pay for these pictures, and what it cost me to acquire them. I anticipate receipt of the monies owed. If you fail to adhere to the terms of this agreement, to the letter, I will be forced to sell these pictures instead to the highest bidder.

  Princess Lola

  Eric stared, speechless, at the email. She had been clever, couching it in terms of a purchase agreement, however ludicrous the conditions, rather than an out-and-out extortion bid that might be used against her.

  The highest bidder…

  That could mean anything—from selling the photos to the Houston Chronicle, to sending them to every business and advertising agency in Texas, which would be the ruin of him, as she well knew.

  The little bitch…

  ~*~

  Jessie set the chilled bottle of champagne and the wine glass she’d purchased for the occasion on the desk beside her laptop. Booting up the computer, she sat back and waited.

  She had rented a room by the week in a decent neighborhood just outside of San Diego, counting her pennies and living off her credit cards. She already had three interviews lined up for office jobs. She planned to sign up at the local community college as soon as she was more settled, determined to get a degree in accounting, for which she’d discovered she had a natural aptitude while working at the ad agency.

  She held her breath as she logged into her bank account, which she’d opened with only twenty fi
ve dollars. Clicking on the account balance, she held her breath.

  $100,025.00.

  Taking the champagne bottle in her hands, she popped the cork and poured the bubbling wine into the glass. She lifted the glass in a toast to herself. “To new beginnings,” Jessie said with a slow, satisfied smile.

  Stalked

  He’s her biggest fan. She doesn’t know he exists. That’s about to change…

  Dark, passionate obsession drives Mark to abduct the woman of his dreams. Now that she belongs to him, he’ll teach her to submit, no matter how long it takes, no matter the cost to her sanity…

  Alana resists her cruel captor at every turn, but she can’t escape the constant sexual torture and conditioning, nor the erotic pain and pleasure he forces on her… Drawn deeper into his web of total control, the outside world slowly falls away…

  Then she’s faced with a choice…

  Chapter 1

  Alana is naked in the white, empty room, her wrists strung high above her head, pulling her body taut. She lifts her head and whispers, “Mark. I love you. I’ve always loved you and only you.”

  “And I love you, Alana, my beloved. My slave girl.”

  Her legs are spread wide, held in place by a long bar of gleaming metal, attached cuffs securing each ankle. Her body is marked from the whip, each welt an offering. “I want to suffer for you, Sir,” she says in her low, husky voice. “I was born to suffer for you.”

  “Yes,” he agrees.

  She drops her head again, her dark shiny hair tousled and damp with perspiration. He brings the whip down, striking her supple flesh again and again, coiling it around her thigh, her breasts, the perfect globes of her ass. Her cries echo in the empty room.

  Mark lay on the bed, his hand on his cock as he watched her on the screen. Alana Hunter was laughing toward him, her dark blue eyes beckoning him as he sighed. He’d watched this video a dozen times or more, but he never tired of it. When the male character began to unbutton Alana’s blouse, Mark moaned. He should be the only one to do that.