The Executioner (9 page)

Kansas

He left without a word, just commanded me to continue writing and brought lunch in only to leave again. So, I do what he says and I write. I never know what to expect from Trent; he is a hard man. Though I am in his house, under his roof, and never out of his sight, he watches me as if he is a man obsessed. I soak it up like a woman suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and that is not the case. I’m simply a woman who believes in obsession and not love. There is no love for me, there is only Trent’s obsession. I’m tired so I write a short poem before I eat and take a nap.

A predator’s intention……

It is my intention to cause you fear such as you have never known. It is my desire to take your fear to a whole new level of terror.

I can smell your fear as its sweet scent flows through my universe. This small universe that I have created and am permitting you to exist in.

I say these things because you only exist right now because I have allowed it, for if I should choose, I could snuff you out as if extinguishing a candle flame.

I will make you thank me later for allowing you to breathe.

I will mix you a concoction of fear, pain, uncertainty, and arousal such as you have never known.

You see, my curious little prey, these all create very similar physical reactions. My little prey, they have common traits on the emotional side too.

Curious prey, curious prey, let me growl my intentions into your curious ear. I will keep you in a constant state of fear, pain, uncertainty, and arousal. I know exactly what I am doing; I am a skilled and professional predator.

It is my full intention to own you! I will keep you in a constant emotional whirlpool. This is the universe of my making, and you exist in it by my power and by my choice. I want you in a constant state of fear, physical discomfort, pain, uncertainty, and arousal.

I am purposely blurring the lines between your emotions, and your physical sensations. As I do this, I am creating a desire and a craving within you to be manhandled and taken by me.

I am intentionally working you into a state of intense arousal and desperation. I am conditioning you to crave your new life as my prey…

Executioner

“Un-fucking-believable!” I stand with my arms folded over my chest reading what she has written on the computer screen and I am impressed. She fucking nailed the intentions of a predator. I can’t believe it. I truly am impressed. Not only that, but now my dick is rock hard. She stirred something in me writing that shit and now I’m ready to play.

I make my way to the bed, jerking her up by a handful of hair and dragging her down into the basement. Since she seems unable to stand, I’m careful not to let her head bang on the steps when she lands. Her nude body scrapes across the concrete flooring and I lift her up, attaching her arms to the chains hanging from the rafters.

I make my way over to the wall and push a button on a winch until she is standing on her tip toes with her legs dangling.

“What did I do? Why the fuck am I in trouble?”

I make my way over to her, glaring at her as I place one finger over her lips and whisper, “Don’t. Fucking. Yell. At. Me. I. Don’t. Like. It!”

Her head shakes up and down to signify her understanding as tears stream down her face.

I lean in rubbing my face in her hair and taking in the scent of watermelon. She smells like the high dollar products she uses—and fear—she smells like fear.

“I can smell it on you, the scent of prey. It excites me. Such a good girl, you nailed it on the last writing that you did. I’m so fucking pleased with you.”

I lean back, looking into her face, and I can see the pleasure she gains from receiving my praise. My fingers clench around her chin and she whimpers in pain. I can feel my cock jump.

“A writer, a good writer, shows and doesn’t tell. I’m going to show you what you wrote, Vixen.”

I make my way over to a cabinet that holds tools, or toys, however a person will choose to describe the implements I am using.
She is struggling to look behind her and the chain shows no mercy, causing her to swing and twist in circles. Her eyes widen when she sees the choice I have made.

“I want to hurt you, baby girl.”

She bites her bottom lip and, for reasons unknown to her, agrees to let me have my way.
Not that it would have mattered, she’s mine to do with as I see fit.

I forcefully grab the back of her neck, pulling her into my face and hiss, “I will never let you go. Do you understand me?”

“I don’t want to go,” she whispers as if talking to herself.

The first strike causes her to scream out in agony. By the fifth, she has given in. I remove her body and gently lay her on the floor. She winces as her tender ass scrapes against the concrete.

I make my way between her legs and scoop my arms beneath her upper thighs, licking over her soaked slit. My tongue explores every fold and crevice, gently taking in each new discovery of her feminine essence. Over and over, I rack her body with pleasure until I get up and remove my pants. For the first time, I gently make love to her.

“You’re so perfect, Vixen. You were molded and hewn from birth to be mine. You fit me like a glove, you know me, you understand me, and for the first time in our lives, we are bonded. Bonds like this aren’t broken. They remain throughout time in the portals of eternity. They are what love stories are made of.

Kansas

His words wash over me like warm, enticing reassurances which resonate with me make me believe that I am wanted. He slowly pushes deeply within me, exploring depths known to no other.

His face is mask of intensity that speaks of danger and an obsession that lies within him for one woman—me.

I reach up and touch the scar that only adds to his dangerous good looks and his temple tics in recognition. I am his, I belong, and I finally found one who is worthy of me. We are knit together down to our souls and it is true…our connection will remain through the portals of time, going down in history as unrelenting love. I know this because I will document it in literature—words that stand out as a beacon to others who crave what we have managed to attain. This is real, this is raw, this is a dangerous obsession, and this is what others deem love. For the two of us, it goes much deeper because though it is dysfunctional on so many levels as far as how the outside world would view it, it is the only thing that our fucked up lives recognize as being real.

He spends the rest of the night bathing me and rubbing my body down with lotion that smells of mint. I can feel the healing agents within it as the lotion, mixed with his words of praise, heal the hurt that has been inflicted—a pain that I have come to crave.

Tonight, he turned what had only been my written ramblings, into our reality. My words are now more than a story, they are my new life. I am owned, I am wanted, I am loved…

Dr. Winslow

Once again, my hard soled shoes can be heard as I make my way towards her cage. I loom above her and she grabs the bars on the ceiling of her enclosure as she looks up at me.

She’s looking into my face, pleading, as I look down on her and state, “I like this view of you looking up at me, and the concept of you being my research subject is alluring to say the least.”

She’s searching my face earnestly and I tell her, “The Stockholm Syndrome has begun to set in, young lady. I will own more of you as the days go by. Tick, tock, tick, tock,” I mock her.

“It’s time for your shower, little one.”

“Noooooooooo,” she wails
.

“I hate you!” she screams, “Why are you doing this to me?”

She is kicking, screaming, and throwing a tantrum, much like a five year old would do.

I unlock the cage and she scurries to the back of it, terrified. I pull her out by her hair and she immediately bows at my feet, prostrate in a state of submission.

I chuckle, “You are very cunning. I know about your past: the abandonments, the group homes, the running away, and the emancipation at sixteen.”

I bend down and force her to look at me by grabbing a handful of hair and lifting her head.

“Be careful… I have the wit, the wisdom, the will, and all of the skill that I need, to possess you! I set my sights on you. I am in control and I chose you. It’s bath time and if you don’t obediently follow me, I’ll drown your ass.”

She timidly walks behind me and follows me to the bathroom.

“Get in the shower,” I calmly demand of her.

“With my clothes on?”

“Yes, with your dress on. I have no intentions of taking you sexually. It isn’t your pussy I want. I gently tap the side of her head as I speak. “It’s this—your mind. I then tap a finger over her heart, “and this—your emotions.”

She looks relieved and steps in the shower, allowing me to lift her arms and latch them to an O Ring device that I had installed.

I grab the removable shower head and spray water into her face, “You defiant little bitch! Your counseling session yesterday left much to be desired.”

She is shaking her head, choking, spitting, and screaming out “I’m sorry.”

“One more for good measure, bitch!”

“I’m not a bitch, I never have been!” she screams, offended that I would insinuate that she not a woman or person who deserves respect. I owe her nothing; she owes me!

“Take a deep breath,” I chuckle as I all but drown her with the shower device.

She violently shakes her head as snot and water fly off of her water logged face.

“Bitch doesn’t like to be called a bitch, does she? The thing about it is I don’t give a fuck what you like, what you want, or what your opinion is! I own you, and I will do as I see fit, bitch!”

“No one owns me,” she mumbles.

“Want to bet?” I say, as I glare in her eyes, daring her to defy me.

I bury my face in her ear. “You’re my research subject. You should be flattered I have chosen you.”

I instantly change and grab a loofah, liberally soaping it up. I begin bathing her from where I am standing outside of the shower. I scratch and scrub her down as I clean her already bruised and battered body.

“I want my research subject clean and smelling good,” I say, ignoring her screams and cries of protest.

“You’re hurting me, you sadistic bastard!” she screams.

I grab a handful of her hair and put my face nose to nose with her, “Do not yell at me!”

I emphasize each word and it cuts through her like glass.

“I hate you!” she screams out at me.

“Liar, every day you lie to yourself, but I own you and that, you cannot deny! I know you and what you really want. I knew you when you were my patient and I know you now. You can consider me your knight in black armor because I’m helping you find your true self. You mark my words, little girl, you will never fully recover from my attentions falling on you!”