I blinked away the tears forming in my eyes, finally breaking my eyes away from Amber’s bright, shining hazel eyes to Rachel’s calculating blue ones. “I wonder what she would think,” Rachel began,” if she knew what her husband was up to. Do you think she’d approve of you forcing some teen girl to be your personal sex slave? Or maybe she does know, is that it?”
“No.”
“Maybe she’s just as fucked up as you are.”
“Watch it.”
“Does she help you? Find vulnerable girls for you that you can exploit?”
“Don’t talk about her. She’s a good person,” I snapped.
Sensing she had gotten to me, Rachel pressed her attack. “Oh…so that’s why she left, then? Found out what you really are?”
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. “Couldn’t take the shame of anyone finding out what type of man she’d married, huh?” Another deep breath. My hands were shaking, the folder fluttering wildly in front of me as I struggled to calm myself. “Can’t say I blame- “
“Rachel,” I managed with a preternatural sense of calm. That was enough to shut her up. My voice remained even, belying my palpable rage. One look at her face was enough to know that she had noticed it, too. She glanced fearfully between me and the front door, her brash, arrogant smile gone now. “Tell me, Rachel. How did you think this was going to go? You’d come in here, throw a picture of my wife at me, and…what? Guilt me? Play to my emotions? Convince me I had to do a better job to be the man she agreed to marry, is that it?”
Her fear solidified into rage and tears began streaming down her face, surprising me. “I said I’d do what I have to do to pay for your truck, but I never…” she choked up, a sob wracking her body. “I never agreed to bring Ryan into it. You made me…made me talk about him…made me compare you two while you…forced yourself on me. But you’ve got people of your own that you care about, too. Don’t think I won’t find them.”
Our eyes met, my rage-filled eyes meeting her tear-stained, hurtful ones. I looked her up and down. How had I thought she was attractive? This wasn’t the same tank-top/short-shorts wearing cheerleader that had distracted me so just over a week ago. It seemed like only days ago, and several years ago at the same time, that I had watched in amazement (and a small amount of pride in her) as her throat bulged around my cock. I had an urge to do it again, but not for sexual pleasure. I wanted to watch her choke. I wanted nothing more than to wrap my hand around her slender neck, holding my cock as far down her throat as it would go. I wanted to slap her across the face as I watched the life drain from her eyes.
She had an amazing body, but it had become something offensive to me. I wanted to grip and hurt her breasts, spank her firm ass until it glowed red and she was unable to sit down. The only pleasure I could imagine deriving from her now was that in causing her pain, breaking her down into a mess of tears and bruises. I wanted to hear her cry and plead for a mercy I knew I would be unable to grant her right now.
“The difference, Rachel, is that you DON’T HAVE ANY POWER HERE.” I had lost my cool, collected (if only just) manner and was now screaming at her as she cowered further against the couch. She made to run for the door, but I caught her by the arm, throwing her back down. Her back hit the side of the sofa and she landed painfully on the ground, scurrying away from me. “HOW DARE YOU BRING MY WIFE INTO THIS?”
Crab-walking away from me, she hit the wall and curled into the fetal position. I gripped her upper arms, pulling her to her feet in front of me. She kept her head down, unable to meet my eyes. I shook her, her body whipping about like a ragdoll in my hands. She still wouldn’t meet my gaze, so I slammed her back against the wall, then a second and third time. Furious that she wouldn’t look at me, I grabbed her throat, forcing her back against the wall, her eyes finally on mine. “Please,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just want this to end.”
“Continue.”
Confusion spread across her face, momentarily stopping her tears. “Continue what?” She was a mess. Her face was puffy from crying, her hair wild, her clothes disheveled.
“Finish the story.”
“Wha-what story? I don’t- “
“Tell me what else you learned.” Silence. “TELL ME.”
“No-nothing. I just wanted you to leave me alone.”
“Fine then. Since you didn’t finish your homework, I’ll talk. You want to know why my wife left me? Do you?”
She shook her head wildly, tears pouring forth as she heard the anger bubbling over in my voice. “No, I just want to go home. I want this to end.”
“This will end once I’m satisfied your debt is paid. Not before.” She sobbed again, dropping her head back down as she pulled weakly at the hand around her neck. “But first, how about a little story time.” I pulled on a length of her blonde hair, yanking her away from the wall and grabbing at the nape of her neck. Using my vice-like grip to guide her, I led her to the stairs to my basement.
Seeing the steps threw her into a full-blown panic. She tried to brace herself against the stairwell, crying and screaming incoherently. “PLEASE! NO, DON’T, I’M SORRY! PLEASE, I’LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT, JUST DON’T KILL ME.”
“Kill you?” As angry as I was, I had never considered it. Hadn’t even crossed my mind that it would be a worry of hers. “I’m not going to kill you.”
She didn’t seem comforted. “What are you going to do?”
“We’re going on a little tour,” I told her, forcing her down the first step. “I thought you’d want to see it. It was my wife’s favorite room in the house.” At the mention of my wife, her panic rose again. She managed to break from my grip but, turning to run back up the steps, she met the solid wall of my chest. I grabbed her roughly, shaking her until she looked at me. “You can either walk down those stairs,” I stepped towards her, forcing her to back up, the heel of her left foot hanging over the top step. “Or I can throw you down them.”
“Oh my god,” she sobbed. I thought she would struggle more, but, with a tearful glance at my stony face, she trudged slowly down the stairs.
“You brought up Amber. Let’s go meet her.” The stairs ended in a large, finished basement. A bar stood in one corner, a poker table set up near it. On the far wall was a large-screen TV with several couches sat facing it. A foosball table sat collecting dust near the staircase. Past the bar and the TV, a hallway led to the downstairs bathroom and a door that I hadn’t opened for the past year and a half. With one hand firmly against the small of her back, I led her towards that door. In other circumstances, it would have seemed a lover’s caress, except that I was furious, and she was trembling in fear. “You want to know what my wife would’ve thought about our little arrangement?” Holding her elbow tightly to keep her from bolting back up the stairs, I stepped around her and opened the door.
She stepped into the brightly lit room, her hands covering her mouth as she surveyed its contents. Much of it would be unfamiliar to her, at least in name, but she would be able to guess the intentions behind most of it. Pointing to a wooden stand in the corner, “That is a pillory.” I ran my hand over the polished wood before moving on. “This, as I’m sure you could have guessed, is simply called a horse. Seems innocuous enough. It’s not.”