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2
Cole
There was a little bit of blood. Not much. Just enough that I knew I'd broken the skin.
It only made me hotter for her.
I'd told Annie when she came here – when she was brought here, sold to me by a bad cop out of Seattle who I turned in not long after – that she didn't have to sleep with me.
That was true. She didn't. I wanted her to, though. Wanted it bad. I wanted to make her cry for me, saying my name, screaming it. I wanted to hurt her, to bend her to my will until she begged for the pain, and then I'd withhold it.
I wanted her to be mine.
But standing in the shower, Annie left behind and duct taped to the bed, thinking about what she'd done, or more likely seething against me, I knew I wanted more than just for her to want me and want what I doled out to her. I wanted more than for her to crave the pain I could give if I chose and not if it suited me.
I wanted her well.
If that sounds altruistic, so be it.
I went into pharmaceuticals because of my grandfather. Best man I ever knew, he raised me after my father took off. After my mother died. When there was only me. My grandmother was in the picture, a sweet woman now in her nineties living across the country in Florida as if retirement there were a law and not a choice.
When my grandfather died, in his late eighties and sane as he ever was, he was in terrible pain that even opiates couldn't touch and by then, to his shame, he was addicted.
I swore to find something better. To help those people humbled and harmed by drugs.
And when he died, my grandfather made me promise he wouldn't let anything bad ever happen to my grandmother.
She tried to shush him but it was an easy promise to make. I'd already put myself through med school, already chosen a path that could help those people who were aching and grinding their way through terminal illnesses to do so with a modicum of grace and a lack of pain that ensured their last days with family weren't cruel.
Cruel was what I was. That was my pleasure.
Helping was my profession.
The drugs Annie was taking were natural, rainforest derivatives that I'd seen more than once take down an opiate addiction and render it a memory. She was one of the test subjects, carefully chosen because she was between a rock and a hard place.
Right now, that was my hard place. Leaning a shoulder against the smooth stone of the shower, standing in the warm wet darkness with only the light coming in from a small high window, I reached down and wrapped one fist around my cock, stroking while I thought of her white cheeks shaking under the onslaught of the hairbrush.
She bore it poorly.
I smiled as I ran my hand out, stroking slowly for now, prolonging the self pleasure. Annie was a take charge cop. She was in command whenever possible and ceded the position unwillingly. When her life fell apart around her and circumstances were beyond her control, she crumbled.
I was here to un-crumble her. After that I might return her to her regularly scheduled life. And I might not.
For this afternoon, I had something else in mind. My hand moved faster of its own accord as I thought about what I meant to do to her.
For now, that involved letting her go. Or letting her think that I would. I was going to offer her a choice. Stay here and continue the cure, continue the remedy for the toxins ruining her life. That meant stay every bit as hidden away as she would for an undercover operation. No contact with her boyfriend. No contact with her father. I had already made inquiries. He was out of the hospital and out of the rehab center and ready to face the charges mounted against him. If she broke cover to testify, she'd ruin the operation that she so desperately wanted to finish: taking down at least one of the fet suppliers on the streets of her hometown.
It had to be up to her.
So her choice: If she stayed, she submitted to me. I'd put her on a daily training regime, food and vitamins and water, exercise and punishment when she needed it, correction when she needed it. Or simply when I wanted to be entertained.
She still didn't have to have sex with me. My back arched as my cock hardened and my balls drew up, the pulsation starting before everything sprayed across the shower, washed away in the flood of hot water. I could take care of that myself.
But she'd be collared. A silver collar, made by top of the line fetish jewelers. The kind of collar that locked on and only I would have the key. If she left, she'd have to be cut out of it.
Wrapped around the collar - the shock collar dog owners use as "invisible fencing." I'd have the remote.
It was that, or she could head back into the world and try to make her way free of fet for the next 20 days, until her leave was up and after that decide what she wanted to do. She'd be out on the street, free to return to Mark and her father, free to break her cover and testify or contact the police and testify in some other way. She didn't even know that Samuels had been fired. She'd have to navigate all of that on her own.
