A Week Later...
Lisa
.
.
"Blood work is clean. No STD's. She had a sexual infection and her vaginal walls were inflamed but the steroids and antibiotics seemed to have cleared that up. Pregnancy test is negative and the birth control device has been implanted. Her blood sugar is low and her electrolytes are off, but as you know, with withdrawals, that's to be expected. Keep her fed and hydrated. Other than that, she's recovering beautifully. In my opinion, she's more than ready for travel. I'll leave some medication to help with her nausea, especially for the airplane, and she'll also have a few more days left of the Methadone to help finish up her detox.
I nod my head in thanks to the doctor I've used sixteen out of the twenty times.
"Oh, and Ms. Manoban?" he mutters under his breath. "There was some scarring on her cervix when I examined her—scarring that is typical with previous surgeries and procedures including childbirth. Make of it what you will."
I'm curious but this is information for another time. At the moment, we have more important details to deal with. We shake hands briefly and the doctor leaves without another word, knowing his payment of forty grand will be wired to his account by the time he makes it to his car. Dubois types a few things on the app on his phone and I know it's done.
"When are we leaving?" he asks after he tucks the phone back into his pocket. As much as I know he'll do anything for me, I also realize he hates it here. His shoulders relax the moment we drive onto my compound each time.
I glance over at my toy who's sitting on the window ledge like a cat with her knees drawn to her chest and her stare on the busy Londoners below. The grey sweatpants I'd bought her swallow her tiny frame and while the hooded sweatshirt fits her better, she still seems small and fragile in her clothes. I'm frustrated that her detoxing has prevented her from eating as much as she needs to. And what she does eat, she nearly pukes up most of it. This is the stage of the game I hate. Getting them well. I can't train or play with them until they're ready—and her fragile-ass is nowhere near ready.
"Tomorrow. Arrange the plane. Also, buy her something that fits, please. We can't drag her halfway across the world looking like we stole her."
He nods and leaves my side. My gaze drags back over to her and I sigh. Ever since her shower episode when I broke the news to her that she wasn't getting anymore heroin, you'd have thought I killed her puppy. The stubborn woman hasn't spoken a word to me since. Not that I've tried to talk to her any more. I know she's pissed but she'll get over it. Soon, with time, she'll be begging me to play with her.
"Are you hungry, Bunny?"
She shudders at the nickname and shakes her head. I walk closer to her and cringe when I see her roots. I've already had Dubois call Bambam. Bams' been the girls' personal hairstylist on my payroll since day one. It bothers me that he's a good-looking guy but the fact that he'd rather bone one of the pool boys than one of my girls is the only reason why I keep him around. Plus, having worked in Beverly Hills before I whisked him away to Washington, he's one of the best stylists on the West coast. Dubois mentioned that Bambam promised to polish my toy right up. Music to my fucking ears.
"You have to try and eat something," I instruct. "I can have room service bring whatever you want."
She turns to regard me and her lip curls up in disgust, as if my very sight sickens her. I want to choke the look right off her face. I want to slap the shit out of her ungrateful ass. I want to fuck her so hard she can't walk for three days.
Instead, I remain calm. My toy will be here for a while. She's not going anywhere—no sense in losing my mind during the first week.
"I said," she seethes through clenched teeth, "I'm not hungry."
Despite not being the toy I originally wanted, I'm pleased to see that she cleaned up well. She's actually fairly attractive—something we discovered once she stopped stinking like a fucking pig and we scrubbed all the shit off her face. Her green cat-like eyes are no longer dull—they instead flare with fury all day long as she undoubtedly plots my untimely death. When she catches me staring at her, that pert little nose of hers turns a few shades of pink. And when she does speak, which isn't often lately, her perfect pouty lips get my dick hard every time.
For a week now, I've dreamed of her mouth and what it can do. One of the reasons I choose homeless prostitutes is because I know they're well educated on the art of fucking. Nothing I suggest surprises them much. And the other matters, they learn to cope with.
But this toy?
Her supple mouth screams that she's good at giving head. I want to tangle my fingers in her wrong colored hair and watch her worship my cock like a good girl. I can't wait to fuck with her heart and her mind—to push her to the brink of insanity. The ones who are tougher are the most fun to break. I can almost imagine the moment that it happens.
Her jade-colored eyes finding mine. The hate and anger fading away. Love for me shining through. Shocked words of thanks coming from her mouth. Thanking me for my generosity. For the pain I deliver—because I always follow it with sweet pleasure. Her eagerness to do any goddamned thing I ask of her.
The perfect toy.
"You're going to eat. I don't care if I have to tie your ass up and hand feed you, I will. You aren't starving on my watch. I'm paying you a big sum of fucking money to be mine. And I take care of what's mine. Now get your ass over to that table and wait for your food. I'm calling in an order now." My tone is blunt and matter of fact. I won't negotiate with her.
She glares at me as she slides off the ledge and saunters toward me. I half expect another bitchy meltdown like in the shower last week and I prepare to physically restrain her again if need be. Instead, she storms past me toward the table, clipping my shoulder along the way. Her sweet scent, honey and vanilla from the hotel body wash, envelopes me and I hunger to taste her. With quick reflexes, I snatch her bicep and haul her into my arms.
Blazing green eyes meet mine and I stare into them for a moment. She's holding back vile words that are on the very tip of her tongue. Words that will get her punished harshly. Her ass has recently nearly healed and I know she fears I'll hurt her again should she cross the line.
I will.
I will make her hurt so fucking bad she'll beg to be dirty, cold, and homeless again.
My threat seeps from my own glare and she flinches slightly. This toy of mine likes to pretend she's tough but deep down, she knows who the master is. I'll own every single part of her for the next five months and three weeks.
Everything in me screams to choke her. Slap the look of defiance from her face. Shove her to the ground and fuck her until she screams.
But for now, I'll settle.
The tamer side of me just wants a taste. He's not as greedy. He's the patient one—the one who holds the leash to the uncontrollable villain in my head.
Taste her.
Dipping my mouth to hers, I inhale the peppermint scent of the hot tea she sipped on earlier. She smells fucking delicious. I can't wait to get her home and in my bed.
She attempts to pull away but my hands slide into her messy hair and hold her still. Turning her head slightly to the left, I then tilt it back. Her bare throat begs to be marked and bitten. For now, it will have to settle for being suckled.
The gasp which escapes her the moment my lips connect with the flesh just below her ear hardens my dick and I crave to plunge it inside of her tight heat. Flicking my tongue out, I lick her salty skin and revel in her unique flavor. I want to taste every part of her to see if some parts are sweet. When she whimpers, I suck the flesh between my teeth to give her something to whine about. I suck hard enough to leave a bruise and then release her skin with a loud, vulgar pop.
"Salty. Just like your attitude." I release her and give her a tiny shove back toward the table.
..
Dinner is less than memorable. She pokes at her food while I shop on my phone. Now that I've seen her, understand her personality a bit better, I want to have things ready for her at my home.
"What's your shoe size?" I grumble.
"Why? So you'll know how big of a foot I shove up your arse?"
I raise my gaze from my phone to see her glaring at me over her hardly touched vegetable soup. Her eyebrow is arched in a way meant to challenge me.
"So much to learn," I say with a growl, ignoring the way my cock flares to life. "Just wait until when your lessons begin. When I teach you that good little toys should be seen and not heard."
Clearly unimpressed with my threat, she stands abruptly and stalks her barefoot ass toward the door. "Fuck your stupid agreement. I was doing just fine until the Dark Princess Uncharming showed up in her black car with her black butler and started trying to rule my black goddamn life."
The door swings open but I've already stormed over to her and shove the door back closed. She spins around to face me. The woman is tiny and shorter than I am, but her glare could cut diamonds. Last week, I assumed she'd be pliable. Easy to mold into the perfect toy. But now, now I can tell she'll be my biggest challenge yet.
In a gentle move, I drag my fingertips down her cheek and along her throat, my menacing stare never leaving hers. "What do you want? To suck my cock like you did for all those stupid fuckers back on the street? Want me to call you baby? Is that what you want, Bunny?"
Her eyes fall to my lips and her firm stance relaxes. "I don't know what I want," she finally replies in a whisper.
I inhale her hair and dip my lips to the shell of her ear. "Well, that's a good thing because I do know what I want. I want you, Jennie. I have such beautiful fucking plans for you. So, be a good girl and let me play with you."
My hot breath on her ear elicits a moan from her. It's small and nearly inaudible but I hear it. So my little toy likes to be sweet-talked. She turns into a mushy pile of goo when I say her name. I'll use it as a bargaining tool. I will play her little game until she's secure in my bed back home.
"Jennie."
She whimpers again and I know exactly how to play with her. "What?"
"We have a long day of traveling tomorrow. Let's get some sleep."
I'm pleased when she doesn't fight me and allows me to guide her back over to the bed. With gentle tugs and pulls, I remove her clothing piece by piece. I know all too well the craving to be touched and for the time being, I'll indulge my little toy.
Besides, she'll pay me back tenfold the moment we step into my home.
I'll be free to unleash my inner demons.
I'll use her like she's agreed so easily to do.
Once we're both naked and in bed, I pull her close to me. Her butt is almost completely free of the bruising, so I hug her tight. With her sweet ass pressed against my dick, I dream of what it will feel like when I finally push into her hot body. Right now, I wish I could pause the moment. To close my eyes and simply hold the warm, complicated woman. To silence who I am—who she is—and bury my nose in her hair, forgetting everything if only for a brief period. It's such an alluring notion.
After some time, when I'm almost asleep, she speaks. "Lisa, why haven't you slept with me yet? I mean you hired a prossie and all. Do you not want me?"
Her voice, so soft and uncertain, gets my cock hard, despite her using my name. Nudging it against her ass, I sweep the hair away from her ear and bring my lips to it. "Quite the opposite, Jennie. I want you so bad it physically hurts to refrain from flipping you over right now and fucking you into tomorrow."
"But? The doctor said I'm clean.." she trails off as if she believes this is why I've waited.
"But I have certain needs and desires," I murmur against the shell of her ear. "And they can't be met in London. It isn't safe here. Back home, I can be free to play with my toy however I desire."
She shivers at my words so I slide my hand down between her legs to distract her from more questions. My finger slides over the thatch of dark hair between the lips of her pussy and I lazily work her clit. Sex for these prostitutes is a job. I'll soon take away that mentality.
"Relax," I coo, "I want you to have a taste of what I want to give you."
Her body does relax and soon, with every firm circle of my finger, she rotates her hips in an opposite way, helping her reach her climax. A small gasp rushes from her and her body quivers. If I weren't paying attention, I'd have missed it.
So small.
So sweet.
So seemingly insignificant.
Sort of like my toy.
"Most women scream and cry and act like they've been possessed when they orgasm," I say softly. Even up until the day I got rid of Swan, she was a screamer.
"I'm not like most women."
Her words charge into my head and root themselves inside my brain. I try to brush them off and imagine what sort of plans I have for her, but as she strokes the back of my hand that rests between her legs, I'm dragged to the present.
The darkness in the room warms me.
Her presence soothes me.
Those tender touches distract me.
"Goodnight, Lisa," she mutters so soft, I almost don't hear. But I do hear. And that's number two that I've allowed to slither on by without a word edgewise. If I weren't wrapped around her like she was my girl rather than my toy, I'd slip out of bed and add the tally mark to my notebook so I don't forget.
I almost chuckle aloud.
Of course I won't forget.
I never forget.
"Mama." I shake her with my tiny hand, "Wake up."
I jerk my hand back because her skin is so cold. Snot runs down my lip and I wipe it away with the back of my sleeve. Mama sleeps so much. Sometimes I wish she would just play with me or cuddle me to keep me warm.
"Mama," I try again, this time I start to cry. "I'm hungry."
She rolls over and makes a scary noise like a monster. "Ummmm."
Her booby hangs out, so I grab the blanket and cover it up. "Mama, my belly hurts."
She jibbers on about something but I don't know what she means. Last night when she brought me to this man's apartment and made me sleep in the closet while she worked, I was scared. I wanted to go back to the shelter. At least there, Mama doesn't act sick and there are other kids to play with.
"My purse," she grumbles out eventually.
I scramble to find her purse and I'm glad the weird man from last night is gone. He scared me and made my mama scream all night. Her purse is heavy for my six-year-old self but I hope it's because she stuffed it full of food.
"I'm hungry, Mama."
She ignores me as she sits up. Her brown hair is messy and I hope she brushes it soon. I don't like it when she looks sick.
The first thing she pulls out of her purse though are her smokes. She lights one up and sucks in a swoosh of breath before blowing it all out around me. After a few minutes, she digs around in her purse again to pull out her special stuff.
"Mama needs her medicine first and then we'll go find some food," she assures me as she pulls out her burned up spoon and baggie.
I wipe the snot across my face again and wait for her to get well. When Mama gets better, I hope she becomes a nurse so she can help other people get better too. She pats the mattress on the floor beside her and I scramble under the covers with her. I watch in awe as she cooks her special medicine.
She squirts it in her body with the shot and soon falls backward onto the bed.
"Mama, I'm hungry. Don't go to sleep."
The shot hangs out of her arm and I'm scared she'll sleep and never wake up.
"C-crackers in my p-purse, Lis.."
Her soft snores fill the room and I start to cry. I don't like it when Mama sleeps so much. Since she's so sleepy, I carefully pull the shot out of her arm and hold my dirty thumb to where it bleeds a little. It eventually stops and when it does, I know she will sleep for a long time. I start to cry so much that the snot runs into my mouth. Again, I swipe it with my shirtsleeve to clean it away. I'm so cold and Mama is warming me up but I'm hungry.
I slide out from under the blanket and start digging through her purse. There aren't any crackers, only a stick of chewing gum. My belly hurts so bad but I don't want to take her gum. She says she needs it for work.
Crying loudly now, I scramble back under the warm covers and cuddle against my naked mama. Those scary men make her take her clothes off and give her money after. I wish I had money to give her so she could buy us something to eat. I would never make her take her clothes off and be cold. I've almost fallen asleep when the bed becomes much warmer. Mama peed the bed again. Her medicine makes her do it sometimes. Liking the warmth it puts off, I pee too and snuggle against her side.
I love my mama and hope she gets better soon.
The cold flesh under my palm alarms me and I jerk up, ignoring the grey, early morning light pouring in through the window and scramble away from her. It takes me a second to realize that in the middle of the night, my toy kicked the covers off us. The room is fucking freezing and from the looks of it outside, we're in for some nasty cold weather. I suppress a shudder, the memory from last night lingering thick in the air, and charge for the heat of the shower.
It isn't until the hot water scalds my flesh and I'm dizzied from the warm steam that I allow myself to understand what just happened.
This new toy.
She's different.
Too different.
I worry that despite her being my special twentieth anniversary present to myself, I actually saddled myself with someone who will figure out a way to infect my carefully sterilized mind. It's been over a decade since I last dreamt about my mother and yet here I am thinking about her.
Dubois is going to have to deal with Bunny until we get home. I can't lose my shit. Not when I'm so close to bringing her home.
I won't let her take this away from me.
She will be my special toy.
I deserve her.
And I will enjoy every goddamned minute that I spend fucking up her mind and heart like mine was done so many years ago.
Payback's a bitch and Bunny's about to repent for the sins of my mother.
..
..
Jennie
..
..
I'm shocked when we climb onto the small aircraft that Lalisa, myself, and Dubois are the only passengers on, aside from the one flight attendant and two pilots. I haven't yet asked her what she does for a living but the woman is fucking loaded. She and Dubois are both looking good in their matching black suits.
Lalisa's blue eyes are a stormy grey today that match the fall London sky. Last night, she showed me a sweet side, and I'd be a damn liar if I didn't admit I was drawn to it. But then, this morning, she woke up with another chip on her shoulder. She didn't mutter anything to me aside from simple instructions to dress or to eat.
Normally, my feisty nature wins out, especially once I'm freed of the heroin blanket that always cloaks me. However, today, I decided to bite my tongue and play things by ear. Over half a million pounds is a lot of money and I don't want to mess that up by getting on Lisa's bad side.
"Buckle in. We'll be taking off soon," she says in a gruff voice, eyes never meeting mine.
I sigh and clip the belt over my lap. My eyes skim over the outfit Dubois brought me. A pair of jeans, a little on the baggy side. An oversized sweatshirt beneath a black pea coat keep me warm. And comfy runners are laced up and snug on my feet. Lisa had asked me my shoe size and I'd never told her. I guess Dubois is just pretty good at estimating.
"We'll layover in New York to refuel and once again in Denver." Lisa's voice is bored while her attention is focused on her laptop.
My eyes flit over to Dubois who wears a concerned glare. His furrowed brows are bunched together and his gaze is on his boss. At least I'm not the only one who's noticed she's acting strange.
We're soon in the air and I swallow down memories of another life—one I'd rather not think about. Instead, I close my eyes and wonder about Lisa's home. Will she have a pool? Does she have a dog? Will she leave me to my own devices while she runs off to work?
A grunt startles me and I pop my eyes open. Dubois is unbuckling and I jerk my head over to see Lisa sleeping. But she's disturbed and it almost sounds like she's whimpering. Following Dubois' lead, I unbuckle, shed my coat, and scramble over to her.
"Don't wake her," he hisses, anxiety lacing his voice.
I glare at him as if he has three heads. "She's having a bad dream. Of course we need to wake her."
Ignoring the man's instruction, I reach for his boss only to have my hand jerked away. "Miss, she could become violent. I've been around her during her rages. Please," he grunts, "I implore you to leave it be."
Violent.
As if that word scares me.
I shrug out of his grip and climb into Lalisa's lap. Her body seems cold so I snuggle against her chest and press kisses against her neck. From behind me, Dubois utters a string of curse words.
"Shhhh," I whisper, "I have you now."
The moment Lalisa's body grows tense, I realize she's woken up. I tilt my head back to regard her and nearly shudder at her murderous scowl. A normal person would retreat back to their seat.
But I've never been normal.
With a shaking hand, I swipe her unruly bangs out of her eyes and smile at her. "You need a haircut."
Her grey eyes soften and she smirks. "And you need another dye job. Guess we'll both be visiting Bambam when we get back."
She gives me a tiny shove and I climb out of her lap. Once I'm back in my seat I question her. "Who's Bambam?"
"He's the man who will make you beautiful."
Her comment stings and I drag my gaze away from her to my fingernails. They're no longer dirty but each nail is still cracked and brittle from malnutrition and the effects of the heroin. A strawberry-blonde strand of hair falls into my face and I sigh. My hair does look like shit—just like she said.
"I didn't choose you because you were pretty," She mutters from beside me.
I peek over at her and her elbow is resting on the arm of the seat with her hand cupping her cheek. She turns her head slightly to face me wearing her signature smirk.
Tucking the hideous strand behind my ear, I scrunch my brows together. "Then why?"
Her chuckle is dark and when I glance at Dubois, his gaze is downcast as if to give his boss the privacy of her conversation.
"I chose you because you're a dirty, ugly toy."
I jerk my eyes back over to hers. I can't believe I felt sorry for her ass just moments ago. She's one moody motherfucker. And mean.
"Was."
Her dark brow rises at my comment.
"I was dirty. And I'm not ugly."
She barks out a hate-filled laugh and slaps Dubois on the knee. "Did you hear that, D? She says she's not ugly."
Dubois drags his eyes over to me and visually inspects me, his nose crinkled in disgust. "And what do you think, ma'am?" he asks his boss.
Lalisa crosses her arms over her chest and smiles. "I think she is. But not for long."
Her blue eyes sparkle with mischief and it reminds me of someone from my past—someone I hate—someone who liked to say and do cruel things for their own enjoyment. But unlucky for Lisa, I know how to deal with people like her.
"So we're going to play this game?" I question, straightening my back. There are some things a woman can't hide from, no matter how hard she tries. Like her past. It's always there, just below the surface, lying in wait for the perfect time to come back out and play. And since Lalisa clearly likes games and toys, then I'll play right along with her.
"I don't follow."
"Of course you don't follow," I tell her with a cold laugh. "But you will."
Her nostrils flare in irritation and my lips quirk with a smile at seeing that vein of hers on her forehead get all pissy too. "You're my toy and we'll play my games. If you want the money, you'll be a good little girl and do as you're told."
I shrug my shoulders. "Of course, ma'am," I drawl out, laying on the thick Georgian accent for Dubois' benefit. "I'll be sweet as Momma's pecan pie. Your perfect little toy—an adoring smile always on my face. You'll be putting a ring on this finger in no time."
Lisa is out of her seat before I can even finish and her hand is around my throat. I claw at it but meet her glare with one of my own. I spent far too long being afraid. Lalisa is nothing I haven't already dealt with before.
I'm still here.
Alive and kicking.
Her grip tightens cutting off my air supply completely. The fact that I can infuriate her in three seconds flat means she's not as big of a player in her little game as she thinks.
I wink at her.
Who's the toy now?
She lets go and takes a step back. Rage causes her entire body to quiver and I can tell she's holding back, barely.
"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" she demands.
My eyes travel to Dubois' horrified ones and I smile sweetly. "I've always had a flair for the dramatic—quite a talented little tart I am." He relaxes when the British accent easily rolls off my tongue.
"Your desire to be cute and funny isn't going to do you any good once we get back home," she grits out as she paces the small aircraft. The metal that surrounds us doesn't seem like a strong enough cage to contain her.
I stand and walk over to her. Dubois is back on his phone, attempting to ignore us while the flight attendant busies herself with a tray and drinks. Clearly, her employees are used to her bizarre behavior.
"So I can be cute and funny all I want until then?" I sass.
Her angry eyes meet mine but I see it. A small twitch on her lips. I'm messing with her plans but despite her annoyance, I think it excites her. "Your punishments are piling up, Bunny. I already owe you two."
I run my palms up the lapels of her suit jacket. "Two what? Spankings? You know, they say third time's a charm, Lalisa."
My taunting works because she scowls and jerks me to her. Her chest is heaving against mine and I squirm in her grasp, fighting a smile when I feel her cock thick and aroused pressed against me.
"You think my punishments are spankings?"
I give a light shrug and smile, forcing down a shudder of the memory from the last time she whipped me.
Her own smile becomes predatory and a chill runs through my spine. "I'll indulge you, little one. Let's go get your 'punishments' out of the way. I have to say, it's fucking adorable how little creativity you think I have."
Holding onto my biceps, she drags me toward the small bathroom. When we reach it, she manhandles me inside with her. Once the door is closed, she gently pushes me against the tiny countertop. It's cramped in here and with her presence, I feel as though I might suffocate.
Get it over with already.
Of course I don't mutter those words. Instead, I keep quiet.
Her hands set to undoing my jeans and soon she's pushed them and my panties down my thighs to my knees. I clench my eyes closed and wait for the impending blows of her wicked belt. I'd much rather get this over with quickly. Physical pain replaces the mental anguish that threatens to consume me. Without my skag, my mind attempts to kill me slowly.
A cold hand splays over my ass and a second later, I feel the hot pain of a slap, hear the whap of its impact. I yelp out in surprise. Her throaty chuckle is dark and sinister, but I'm not afraid. I'll never be afraid of Lalisa. I've seen evil and she's not even close.
Whap!
The sound again startles me more than the impact of her hand on my flesh. I wait for the next blow and end up popping my eyes open when her finger probes my pussy instead. My eyes find hers in the mirror. She raises a brow at me as if to challenge me to argue with what she's doing to me. I could squirm or ask her to stop. Or I could wiggle my ass and beg her to touch me more, hoping to distract her from her punishments.
Or . . .
Or I could just fuck with her.
"That all you got?" I taunt but then wink at her.
Her brows bunch together and then she shoves two fingers into me. I'm dry and still not quite healed from my infection so the intrusion is uncomfortable. My gasp at the pain spurs her on and her free hand smacks me again.
"You're the mouthiest goddamned toy I've ever had. When we get back home, I have plans for that naughty mouth," she says with a growl and spanks me again.
Ugh, she is a disgusting pig. A sexy disgusting pig which only makes things so much worse. The deep rumble of her voice, the continuous stinging swats on my ass, and her fingers inside of me create a perfect storm brewing inside my core. With each smack against me, I grow wetter and wetter—her fingers begin to slide easily in and out of me.
"You like this, don't you, Bunny?"
I cringe at the name but nod. If she wants to get me off, then by all means, she can go right ahead. My hips swivel and I chase that tingling sensation of an impending orgasm. In my line of work, surprisingly enough, I don't see enough of those. It's all about the client getting off, not me. The climax she gave me last night had been surreal and I'd been yearning for another ever since.
"Tell me when you're close," she mutters, no longer interested in spanking me but instead pleasuring me. "I want to hear it."
Her punishing hand leaves my ass and travels around to my breast through my sweatshirt. When she pinches my nipple through the fabric, my eyes once again slam closed. An aching in my core spreads outward and my legs quiver in anticipation of the ecstasy that'll soon steal over me.
"Close," I hiss.
She finger fucks me expertly and I ride her hand. "How close?"
My calves tighten and the walls of my pussy clench around her fingers. "Now, I'm about to come now!"
I expect her to intensify her efforts—to give me another mind-blowing orgasm but instead, she yanks out her fingers and presses her body against mine. I'm shuddering from being on the edge of bliss but never tipping over. Rage ripples through me and her thick arousal pressed against my back does nothing to help the situation.
"You motherfucker! I was so close!"
She laughs but the humor is missing. Her voice drips with pleasure at having denied me. "That, Bunny," she says with a grumble as her hand encircles my throat, "was your real punishment. Every time you misbehave, you'll be denied something you crave."
Angry tears well in my eyes as our gazes meet in the mirror. Her fingers on my neck are still wet from where they'd just been inside me.
"I hate you," I seethe through clenched teeth.
She smirks and releases me. "That'll change soon."
Her smug behavior pisses me right the fuck off. I'll never feel more than hate toward this bastard. She reminds me too much of a life I gladly left.
"Whatever, just go so I can finish myself off."
"Finish yourself off and I'll take my belt to your ass next. Last time was nothing compared to what I will do this time," she threatens.
We have a silent standoff, each of us glaring at the other. Finally, she pulls away. "Clean yourself up and redress. I'll have Janet prepare some refreshments."
She pulls the door back open and slides out, leaving me a heaving, shuddering mess in the bathroom. I slam the door shut and mutter a fuck you under my breath. She can kiss my ass. My entire body aches for that orgasm she should have given me. I don't even care if I get whipped for it, I'm finishing the job she wasn't man enough to do.
Slipping my fingers between my thighs, I locate the throbbing bundle of nerves that crave to be touched. One swipe and my body jolts with the need to come. Being a prostitute, I never indulged in masturbation. My life consisted of sex and heroin was my climax. It wasn't something I ever needed to do.
But now?
Now, I crave it more than the drug I've lived for the past six years.
I massage myself in quick circles, chasing the high that was nearly within reach. The pressure builds but never to the level she brought me to. Soon, my body begins to numb and it's clear I won't find the edge again, much less dive over.
"Fuck you, Lalisa," I growl again under my breath as I jerk my clothes back up my thighs.
Once my pants are up, I storm from the bathroom back toward my chair. As I pass the dickhead, I shriek in surprise when she seizes my wrist, twisting it painfully toward her. She brings my fingers to her nose and inhales. An evil, stormy scowl washes over her features when she catches my scent. And, as if to be sure, she flicks out her tongue and tastes my middle finger.
"You stupid, stupid girl," she snarls, squeezing my wrist. "Don't listen to a damn thing I say."
I jerk my hand from her grasp and wave the offending middle finger at her. "Don't worry, master. I couldn't get off. So get your knickers out of a wad and keep your fucking belt on."
Lalisa bursts out into laughter that should be cute but I'm too pissed off and unsatisfied to give her any more thought.
This is going to be the longest six months of my life.
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Lisa
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The trip back to Washington is long and exhausting. By the time we land, I can barely keep my eyes open. Bunny sleeps peacefully curled up in her seat and I can't help but stare at her. She'd really fucking pissed me off when she tried to get off knowing I was going to whip her ass. The woman has an impenetrable will and that worries me. I need for her to learn her place and submit to my desires.
They always do.
But Bunny scares the shit out of me.
What if she doesn't submit and fights me every step of the way?
What will I end up doing to her because of it?
"Shall I wake her and blindfold her?" Dubois asks, flailing the scarf.
I shake my head and stride over to her. "I'll carry her to the car. I don't think she's going to wake up."
He nods and I pick her up while he sets to gathering our bags. I catch a whiff of her musky scent which still lingers on her fingers and I groan when my dick hardens. I'm dying to fuck her, even in her still ugly state. None of my past toys were worth touching until Bambam worked his magic.
But Bunny?
She's already fucking with my head.
Her pretty green eyes, are always blazing with a thousand different emotions—emotions that I crave to understand. Her tiny body responds to me, even when she's pissed which really turns me on. And her mouth—Jesus, that fucking mouth—says things that I want to both punishandreward her for.
I want to do so much with that mouth.
A gust of evening Washington fall air swirls around us and Bunny whimpers in my arms. I hug her tighter to me and stride down the cement walkway to where the car is waiting. Dubois has already started it and it's warm when I climb inside with her. I mean to set her on the seat in front of me but instead keep her in my arms. Once again, I find myself wishing for a pause button in life. If only I could step outside of my fucked head for a second and just hold her with no other thoughts brutalizing my mind. To simply inhale her and get drunk off her scent.
Her palm is on my chest and her face pressed up against my neck. I like my toy like this. Normally, I don't want to hold them. But Bunny is different.
The thought is a dark one that I don't understand. I'm selfish enough though that I ignore it and continue to hold her. It feels good to keep her warm and secure in my arms. I'll have to simply adapt to the fact that my rules are ever changing—my game ever evolving.
I end up falling asleep for the long ride from the small airport to my sprawling estate on Lake Sammamish. I'd purchased the nearly fourteen-thousand square feet waterfront Italianate four years ago from a retired engineer. His son was disabled so he'd put in a top of the line elevator that went from the basement indoor pool and sauna room where the child could do his water therapies all the way up to the rooftop floor that was the child's toy room.
The top floor is what sold me. A circular skylight is above the entryway as you exit the elevator, four doorways leading to exciting rooms fit for a child. The first door on the left is the Theater Room which is decorated with comfy leather chairs, windowless, and houses a stocked candy and soda bar. I added the vintage popcorn machine once I moved in.
The second door is the Fun Room. When I bought the house, it had a couple of arcade games and a pool table. I'd added some pinball machines and board games. It has a wide window that overlooks Lake Sammamish and sometimes I sit up there for hours staring at the lake.
The third door is the Princess Room—a bedroom and is the largest of the four rooms. My toys sleep there. That room was the one that required an entire renovation as it was used for storage before I got my hands on it. I carpeted it with thick, white shag carpet, painted the walls a pale lilac, and purchased a fancy four-poster canopy bed. In the corner is a vintage vanity for my toys to doll themselves up for me when I allow it. The room also has an adjoining small bathroom with a standup shower and toilet. Next to the bathroom is a decent sized closet that I stock with all of my toy's dress up things. Each toy I've shown the room to has squealed like a little girl.
But the fourth room . . . the fourth room is not at all for their enjoyment. It remains locked until I'm ready to play with my toy. The fourth room, I call the Hole. It's small, windowless like the Theater Room, and holds pieces of my dark soul.
My toys all hate the Hole.
A rush of bitter cold air rushes in the moment Dubois opens the door. Bunny sits up, groggy from the trip and bunches her brows together in confusion to see me holding her. I push her off my lap and she reluctantly takes Dubois' outstretched hand. He's parked in the circular drive behind the house in front of the three car garages.
"Wow, this place is gigantic," Bunny gushes as she climbs out of the car.
I follow after her and peer up at my mammoth of a house. From this spot, you can't see the lake, which encompasses the entire front of the house and allows for stunning views of the sunsets when it's not raining. I know she'll be impressed once we get inside. The stucco and stone on the outside of the home has recently been pressure washed and it sparkles to my liking in the moonlight. After all these years, I never tire at admiring the beauty of my home.
My home.
The moment I bought my first home back in LA, was the first time when I felt like I was able to shut the door on my past. Poverty, struggling to stay warm, starvation—they were all on the other side of the door. Along with her. The woman who couldn't stay clean long enough to care for her only daughter.
"Come on," I bark out in a harsh tone, eager to rid the memory of my mother. "Let me show you the house."
Bunny lets me take her hand, despite being pissed at me, and follows me in through the large doors. She gasps as the warmth swirls around us once we step inside and I inhale the scent of cinnamon and orange. I'd happened upon the scent while shopping in downtown Seattle a few years ago and it calmed my angry spirit. Now, it's a required scent in my home. Christine, my housemaid, learned how to cook a lovely concoction of ingredients that wafts through the house. Where it doesn't reach, she's plugged in countless flameless burners that are a mixture of orange and cinnamon wax cubes. She changes them out often and I am happiest while at home drinking in the calming air.
"It smells good," Bunny gushes, mimicking my thoughts.
I flash her a smile of approval and drag her through the marbled floor entryway. If we go straight, the front doors lead out to my sprawling yard overlooking the lake. To the left is my massive kitchen, dark cherry cabinets and tan specked granite encasing smooth, stainless steel appliances. Beyond the kitchen is the dining room, with an expensive table which seats six, overlooking the lake. Between the two rooms is a doorway leading to my wine closet. It's only about fifteen by fifteen feet but it's stocked floor to ceiling with imported wines from all over the world.
Across from the kitchen and dining room on the other side of the marbled entryway is an enormous den with dark, hardwood floors, leather furniture and a massive fireplace. The salon and my office are at the other end, with my office having the lake view.
"You can poke around tomorrow while I work. Tonight, I'll show you to your room so you can get some sleep. Bambam wants to see you first thing in the morning and tomorrow evening we'll be entertaining guests," I tell her as I press the button that goes up on the elevator between the den and salon.
She nods, still greedily drinking in all the details of my home. We enter the simple elevator and I press the button with a four on it.
"Top floor is yours. You can play all you want. It's also where I'll play with you," I explain as we ride.
"What's in the basement?"
"The pool and sauna."
She nods and a small smile plays on her lips. "Where's your room?"
"Second floor is the staff quarters. You don't have access there. There's a special code to access that and the third floor which is my master suite."
"When are you going to show me your room?"
I scan her face and frown at seeing her shitty dye job. Bambam can't fix her soon enough. "You'll see my room if I feel like showing it to you. Don't hold your breath though. Everything we need is on the fourth floor."
Her frown is immediate. "Can I leave?"
I chuckle. "Bunny, you can roam around this house all you want. There's a code to get outdoors without the alarm going off but you won't have access to that just yet. If you desire to explore outside until then, you'll need either Dubois or myself to escort you. But you're not a prisoner. You're a paid employee, just like the rest of the staff. Do your job correctly and you'll be paid handsomely."
"I see. Who else besides Dubois lives here?"
"Bambam sees to my personal grooming needs and those needs of my toys. Once he measures you and meets you, he'll shop and make sure your closet is stocked with what'll suit you best. Most days, I'll let you dress yourself, but on days we have company or days I want to play, he'll be the one to dress you to my specifications. You aren't to balk at what he chooses for you or argue. Just do as you're told. You'll be rewarded."
Tomorrow is one of my favorite days with my new toy. It's the day that Bambam works his magic and transforms them into something beautiful and elegant. I like seeing my investment evolve into something of value.
"Dubois and Bambam are your only employees?"
I shake my head as the doors open on the fourth floor. "Christine is the housemaid. She does all of the cleaning, cooking, and laundry. I've employed her for nearly as long as Dubois and she's one of the best. I think you'll like her. All of my toys take to Christine. She sleeps in the third guestroom on the second floor. Occasionally she's allowed time off and I hire from an agency. They're the only three who live here with me—the gardeners and pool cleaners come from the agency as well."
I quickly show her the Theater and Fun Room before guiding her to the Princess Room. Before we enter, she points to the simple black door that stands out from the other white ones that are warm and inviting.
"What's in there?" she questions.
I pat her bottom and chuckle. "You'll soon find out what's in the Hole, Bunny. And I can't wait to show you. Tonight, I'm tired though so it'll have to wait. Besides, I'm not showing you until Bambam does something with that hideous hair of yours."
Her shoulders slouch at my cruel comment and I smile. This is my favorite part. The part when I show my toys the beauty of my home and how I plan to spoil them. The part when I dangle all these pretty things in front of them only to follow that action up with my cruel, fucked up words geared to hurt them. Shit that cuts them off at the knees. I break their spirit one tiny chink at a time so that by the time the six months are over, they're nothing more than a whittled away piece of shiny shit that belongs to me. And only then do they recall their blissful beginnings. The part when they started out as my mere possession to be toyed with.
And then they are nothing to me.
The thought of saying goodbye to Bunny in less than six months gets my dick hard.
She will cry and beg like the rest of them.
She will love me and plead for a life with me.
Too bad it will be easy to push her away and search for a new toy.
I twist the knob and push into the pretty room. As soon as she steps inside, though, her reaction is not the one I expect. She's not in awe of the decadent luxury that is this room. Her face doesn't light up at the sight of the plush four-poster canopy. And perhaps her greatest distinction of all from the other toys who precede her is that she is hardly squealing like a little girl.
"No," she hisses, "I'm not sleeping in here."
Snapping my head to glare at her, I'm shocked to see tears in her eyes. She seems afraid of the room I worked so hard to make beautiful. Why is this toy acting like it's a suite in hell?
"You are sleeping here. This is your room," I snap. "Don't be an ungrateful bitch."
She shakes her head and makes a mad dash for the door. I'm quicker than my toy, and yank a handful of her ugly hair. A sob chokes from her as she struggles to get out of my grasp. Wrestling her away from the doorway, I manage to make it over to the bed with her and toss her onto it. She screeches and scrambles back off. With a grunt, I attack her again. I like the terror in her sobs—whatever is making her upset—and I feed from it. My cock thickens with need and before I can stop myself, I'm yanking her sweatshirt off.
"Get off of me!" she howls. Tears stream down her cheeks and her eyes are wild.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snarl. "You're staying here. Don't make me drug your ass."
She doesn't stop squirming but I manage to remove her clothes piece by piece until she's stark naked on the white carpet. I crave to fuck her right here on the floor—to hurt her—to make her bleed all over the pure, soft carpet.
"Please drug me," she begs through her tears. "Please. I can't do this."
The drug addicted whore stares up at me, begging for me to understand. I don't fucking understand. I never fucking understand. No longer turned on because she reminds me of my goddamned, sorry-ass mother, I jerk away from her.
Her naked body quivers and she clenches her eyes closed. Fucking pathetic. With a frustrated growl, I snatch up all of her clothes and storm toward the door.
"Shower. Sleep. And I'll see you tomorrow," I say through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry but until I can trust you, I have to do this."
She pops her eyes open and her mouth forms a tiny "O." As I close the bedroom door, the last thing I see isn't fear on her face like I expected. Not horror at being locked away in the tower of some monster's castle. No.
I see absolute devastation.
Sadness beyond anything I've ever seen.
Sorrow that threatens to rip her soul apart right in front of me.
I hate the look.
Slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside, I heave with irritated breaths. This toy has been nothing but trouble. She's broken and unfixable I'm afraid. I had to go off and get a defective toy.
I'm too goddamned rich to be bothered with this shit.
I deserve the best.
Not broken, sad, messed up shit that doesn't make sense in my head.
And yet . . .
I don't want to return her. I don't want to get rid of her yet. I don't want to give up on her.
I want to restore her.
I want to fix my sad little toy.
Then a dark thought enters my head—one that has never even entered my mind in all the years I've been collecting and playing with my toys.
I want to know why she's broken.
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