It's been two weeks.Eric stared out the window from the kitchen. Old Yeller was lying at his feet. An empty cup of coffee was placed next to his elbow.He pretended all day like a ghost. Work kept him busy, so he poured all his energy into the blueprints, but only to throw them away and go back to bed all night. He thought about Carina, and his unborn child.The doorbell resounded.He shook his head and went to open the door. Jim and Scodelario were standing right outside.Grief immediately hit him with the resemblance between them, but he pushed those feelings away and opened the door. "Jim, , what are you two doing here?"He assumed they had come here for only one reason—to destroy him completely. He was prepared for his tears and prayers for his unborn child. He expected Jim to punch him and curse him for hurting their beloved daughter.Eric straightened his back and was ready to take it all. But he wondered why they waited so long. Damn, maybe her parents' rage couldn't help eith
Revenge, Eric reminded himself. That's the point of all this. Revenge, twelve years of planning and only a few months to start. As a slave trainer, he trained at least twenty girls. Some are voluntary, offering themselves as a pleasure slave to escape poverty, sacrificing freedom in return for security. Others were the daughters of impoverished peasants, forced to come to him in order to lighten the load and exchange for a dowry. A few more were the fourth or fifth wives of patriarchs and bankers, sent by their husbands to learn how to satisfy the different "taste" of their husbands. But for this particular slave, whom he had his eye on from across the busy street – she was different. She was not willing, not coerced, nor was she sent to him. She was an object to be completely subdued. Eric tried to convince Raymond that he could train any type of girl. That they were best prepared for such a serious, potentially dangerous mission, but Raymond was unmoved. He himself had waited a lo
A week later, Eric sat in his usual spot, waiting for the girl. Buses had come and gone, but the girl hadn't arrived yet, so he thought he'd wait and see if she showed up. He was about to leave when he saw the girl round the corner, running towards the bus stop. When she got there, she was almost out of breath and panicked. What an emotional creature. Again, he wondered why she was so desperate to go to school. Eric looked at the girl through the car window. Right now, she was pacing back and forth, probably because she realized she was late for the bus. It seems unfair that just last week, the girl had to wait for the car for nearly an hour, but this week the driver did not wait. No girls, as long as stop. He wondered if she would wait another hour, just to make sure there was no hope. He shook his head. Such actions only reveal their desperate nature. He both hoped she would wait and hoped she wouldn't. But the interrupted thought made him pause. He shouldn't have hoped for anyth
I woke up with a terrible headache and at the same time noticed two things: it was dark around and I wasn't alone. Are we moving? My vision blurred, my eyes rolling, almost instinctively, to regain my balance, sensing something familiar. I was in a truck, my whole body sprawled on the floor. Panicked, I tried to move my entire body, only to find that my every movement was extremely slow and futile. My hands were tied behind my back, and my legs were free but heavy. Again, I tried to adjust my eyes in the dark. Both rear windows are covered with pitch-black glass, but even in the gloom, I can still discern four distinct shapes. Their voices tell me they are men. They talked to each other in a language I didn't understand. If you listen closely, it's a quick series of speeches, short and clear. It's a bit dull, very strange... maybe it's a Middle Eastern accent. Is that important? My brain said yes, that's the clue. But then that small consolation also slipped away. Seeing icebergs in
“Please,” I cried as he resumed his act of patting. I feel his weight on the bed, and my heart skips a beat. "I can't," he whispered, "and more than that…I don't want to." For a moment, only my low, painful sobs and sobs broke the silence that accompanied his assertion. The darkness made it even more unbearable. His breath, my breath, together, resounded in the solitude. “Tell you what I'm going to do, and I'll untie you and clean up the swelling and bruising. I don't want you to wake up in a puddle. I'm really sorry about the blow to the face," his finger caressed the side of my injured cheek, "but that's what happens when you resist without thinking about the consequences." "The puddle?" I said panicking. “I don't want to be put in the water. Please," I begged, "let me go." His voice was too calm, too polite, too casual, and too…reminiscent of Hannibal Lector in The Silence of the Lambs. "You need to take a shower, honey." That was his terrifying answer. Hello Clarice… All I
Panic gripped me. “What the hell are you doing?” There was a pause, and then his amused voice spoke. “I told you, give you a clean shower.” I opened my mouth to respond when the first wave of cold water touched my feet. Startled, I squealed. While I tried miserably to crawl out of the tub by rolling over to the edge, the water grew warmer and the kidnapper lifted me back to where I was. "I don't want to take a bath. Release me.” I tried to remove the blindfold, repeatedly slapping myself in the face because my loose arms refused to obey. The kidnapper tried to hold back his laughter but failed. "I don't care if you like it or not, you need to shower." Feeling his hand on my shoulder, I mustered all my strength to fight back. My arms swung back and “landed” where I thought was his face or neck. His fingers grip my hair, pulling my head back at an odd angle. “You want me to act rough too?” he growled close to my ear. When he didn't get an answer, he squeezed his hand even harder,
Eric led his beautiful hostage toward the center of the room. Her steps seemed hesitant, scared, as if he expected him to push her down a steep precipice. He urged her to step forward but in return she only backed up against him. But that's okay. She could stay close to him all night and it wouldn't hurt. Without protest, he let the girl bump into him, almost couldn't help laughing as she let out a gasp and jumped forward like a cat avoiding water. Or in this case, his erection. Eric reached out, gently grasping her arms, and she froze, clearly too scared to move forward or backward. Desire welled up in him. He finally got her - here - between his fingers, under his control. Eric closed his eyes, enjoying himself for a moment. She got here a little over three hours ago, lying on the shoulders of that Jair trash. Bruised, dirty, full of vomit and sweat, but that wasn't the worst part. One of them, and he didn't have to wonder which one, hit her in the face. Anger ran down his spine t
“Damn it!” he yelled as her head hit his nose directly. Instinctively, he released her, pressing the sides of his nose with his hands. She moved very quickly, a stream of dark hair and a bathrobe rushing toward the bedroom door. Eric growled deep in his chest. Rushing toward the girl and grabbing a handful of her robes, but when he pulled her back, she wiped them off the pile of fabric. The voluptuous scent of flesh assaulted all his senses. When the girl's hands reached the bedroom door and found it securely locked, his fingers dug into her hair and clenched into a fist. He jerked her back abruptly, causing her to stumble to the floor. No longer taking her ferocity for granted, no longer enjoying the sight of her thrashing limbs, he sat directly on top of the girl. "Is not!" she screamed desperately, her knees once again searching his groin, her nails determined to dig into his face. "You like to fight, don't you?" He smiled. “I like it too.” Using more force than necessary, he