Cellar Door (10 page)

His Enemy

She smokes a cigarette and looks at every passing car like maybe it’s the answer to all her problems. What are her problems, I wonder, other than being a whore working a street corner? Drugs, money? No. Her problem is
me
and the bitch doesn’t even know it. There will be no redemption for her; she sealed her fate when she came to this strip, at this moment in time.

I’ve been thinking real hard about what I want my signature to be—that’s what the cops call it. I came with up with something real good—
I’m not gonna have one
. That’ll make it damn near impossible for the cops to profile me. Keep ‘em guessing…

When people see the havoc I wreak, they’ll forget all about The Riddler. That arrogant bastard thinks he’s so much smarter because he went to medical school. Well, I’m getting ready to show him I don’t need him, or anybody else. I can be a monster all by myself.

One by one, the cars keep coming, the drivers slouched down low as they slow down just enough for a good, long look before easing on by. She tries to engage each passing motorist in conversation, using the ‘Hey, baby, looking for a date?’ line that I thought you only heard in movies. When this doesn’t work, she slowly turns her back on the passing traffic and, with a smirk, bends over, ostensibly to pick up her purse. I know better. Keeping her knees straight, she wraps her hands around her ankles, letting her short skirt slide up so potential customers can preview ‘the goods’.

And it works. Finally, a car stops. She leans in the passenger window, no doubt discussing how much money he’s willing to spend. Just another piece of a whore’s soul sold for ten or twenty bucks.

I wonder if the beast inside these men is anything like the demons that plague me. I wonder if they grapple with the relentless need to leave their world of suburban safety and take a walk on the wild side, risking everything to fill a dark need that demands to be met.

Will I, too, become addicted after I kill this woman tonight? Only time will tell. And only one way to find out.

They come to terms and she gets in the car. I follow them and park around the corner when they pull into a dead-end alley. I grab my binoculars and quietly exit my car, making certain to not slam the door. I want to watch this woman demean herself—give her soul away to a complete stranger.

I ease up close enough to see what’s going on, using the shadows and the dumpsters as cover. She doesn’t waste any time tucking the cash in her bra and lowering her head to suck his dick. There’s nothing slow or seductive in her work. She’s all about efficiency so she can move on to her next customer.

His wedding ring gleams as he white-knuckles the steering wheel. He leans his head back against the headrest as she works on this middle-aged family man’s dick. I squeeze my dick through my pants and debate whether or not to join in from a distance -- a silent partner of sorts. I can practically hear Lance’s voice telling me, ‘
No, stupid, don’t leave any DNA behind.
..’

What is he doing here, anyway, bossing me around, getting inside my head and telling me what to do? Rage rolls through me as I pull a tissue from my pocket and viciously tug at my dick, keeping time with her noisy sucking and slurping. I wish she’d hurry the fuck up. I want to get started.

Liam

I pause with my fingers wrapped around the basement door handle. I dread her inevitable anger and condemnation. When did I allow myself to care? I think it was the first time I looked into her eyes. Her defiance called to me even then, beckoning me to get closer to this woman and break through the walls that she’s taken a lifetime to build.

After all she’s been through, I can’t say that I blame her for being so introverted. Children who suffer a traumatic childhood are often unable to bond as adults. The professionals even have a name for it, RAD, reactive attachment disorder. I think she’s a textbook case, which only makes her more of a challenge to me.

I open the door and amble quietly down the steps, visualizing how this conversation will go. If I learned anything from my forays into sexual fantasy play, it’s that initial communication must be managed carefully. I am doing the groundwork now, setting the stage for an attachment that will go beyond anything I’ve attempted previously.

As I step off the bottom stair, she slams into me and I stagger, barely able to stay on my feet. She strikes out at me with a bloody hand. I’m more disturbed by the blood running down her arm than the fact that she has somehow managed to get one of her hands free.

She may have had the element of surprise, but I have the advantage when it comes to sheer strength. I have no trouble overpowering her as I gather her wrists into one hand and slam her back against the wall. I hold her there, pressing myself into her writhing form from shoulder to hip. I take pleasure in wrapping my free hand around her slender neck and squeezing just enough to cause her eyes to widen in alarm.

“Do your worst, show me how hard you can fight,” I grunt as I subdue her and press my forehead to hers. “You’ll find I’m not the garden variety male, baby. Fight as long and hard as you want, because this? This is foreplay to me. I like it dirty and I like it real fucking rough!”

I loosen my hold on her neck and savor how she gasps as she struggles to catch her breath. Her skin is like satin as I slide my hand down the neck of her shirt to cup a breast, kneading it roughly as I push my groin into the apex of her thighs. I grind my hips slowly, using her pubic bone to achieve the delicious friction I crave.

She stills against me and I know she can feel the chemistry that simmers between us. Oh, she would never admit it but she likes this contact as much as I do. I’ll have her craving it soon enough.

Tilting her chin defiantly, she swallows hard before asking, “Why? Why are you doing this? What could you possibly want from me?”

I return my hand to her neck, but I maintain a looser grip this time as I stroke her velvety skin with the pad of my thumb. She continues frantically, “—you’re a doctor, for God’s sake!”

“’Oh, physician, heal thyself,’ I chuckle.
“Soon enough, you’ll understand what I have come to know: there’s no cure for me, baby. I’m a sexual deviant. As the Lady says, I was born this way. Now if you’re looking for some nice, tidy explanation of why I get off on tying a woman down and fucking her until she’s screaming out my name, until she’s lying in a pool of our combined juices as they drip from her aching pussy? Well, then here goes…

“You see, I’ve been protecting you from the man who’s following you. He’s obsessed with you. He wants to kill you. But I won’t let that happen.” I can tell she’s overwhelmed by the information, so I attempt to clarify. “Do you remember a few years back, the serial killer the press dubbed ‘The Riddler’?”

“Yes,” she scowls, “I think I remember something about that. He killed women and cut them up and left their…body parts…”

Her voice trails off as she looks up at me in horror and tries to pull away from me. Now I simply can’t have
that
, so I work quickly to reassure her that I’m the good guy here.

“No, no, no, shhhh…I’m not The Riddler. He’s my twin brother. I know, I know,” I say in response to her wide-eyed expression, “it came as a shock to me as well. You see, you were supposed to be his next victim but he ran out of time. Got himself arrested. So you two have unfinished business, it seems. Only now, he has a little fucking minion doing his bidding.

“I’m guessing the man who attacked you injected you with chlordiazepoxide. It rendered you unconscious and, therefore, completely compliant. Lucky for you, it left you with no memory of the attack. Unlucky for
him
, I hit him over the head with a brick I found in the alley. Then I brought you here,” I conclude with a soft smile, more than ready to accept her gratitude for my heroic efforts.

“I don’t understand,” she says as she shakes her head. “What were you doing in the alley?”

“I was there to claim you, to protect you from the man who wants to kill you.”

“So you were waiting for me, too, to kidnap me. Are you nuts or something?”

I smile down at her indulgently, although she is beginning to try my patience. “Well, for now, let’s go with the
or something
. That is…until we get to know each other better.”

“I don’t plan on getting to know you or your crazy family.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Well, I see your arrogance isn’t limited to your abilities as a surgeon, but extends to your sad excuse for a personal life as well.”

“My confidence in my abilities is well deserved, I assure you. As far as my personal life goes, normally this is all just pretend. My playmates and I understand that none of it’s real. Well, usually,” I whisper, my voice trailing off as memories of Claudia’s psychological distress seep into my mind. I clear my throat to continue, “They just never know when it would happen. The element of surprise added to the sexual tension and provided an unpredictable quality to our…activities.”

“Are you telling me there are women who enjoy being kidnapped?”

“Not only do they enjoy it, they crave it: the thrill of surrender, of being manhandled and taken with brutal force. And, judging by your breathing and the way your pupils are dilating, I’d say you’re more intrigued with the idea than you realize.”

“That’s none of your business!” she sputters.

“Everything about you is my business now, because I’ve made it my business.”

“You’re the most arrogant son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

“That I am, dear—that I am. But I’m also the only reason you’re alive.”

Her eyes narrow as she asks incredulously, “So I’m in more danger away from you than
with
you?!?”

“Oh, kitten… Now, that’s debatable, truly,” I chuckle. “But I have no plans to kill you so I suppose, in a sense, you are safer here with me.” I stroke the pad of my thumb against her jugular, reveling in the frantic heartbeat that pulses there. I close my eyes and smile smugly when it slows in response to my rhythmic petting.

I lean in and nuzzle her neck, breathing in her delicious mix of vanilla and peaches and, if I’m not mistaken, arousal. I lick along the side of her neck, sucking and nibbling the skin just behind her ear, as I imagine how sweet her pussy is going to taste.

              “Make no mistake, my Madonna…I’m going to fuck you, and soon. And when I do, I’ll fill you with cum until it’s flowing down your sweet thighs. I’ll use your mouth and your pussy to sate my body and finally free myself from the rage that threatens to consume me. And you’re going to love it. By the time I’m done, I’ll have you craving my brand of crazy.”              

I shamelessly eye fuck her. She doesn’t look away. Good.

“Sit on the cot. Now,” I order curtly as I release her and move away.

She does as I ask, so I can only assume she’s distracted as she tries to make sense of everything. I cross the room to a cabinet and retrieve a few medical supplies. I need to clean the wound she so carelessly inflicted on herself when she forced her hand through the metal cuff.
I really must make it clear to her that I will not tolerate her damaging what is mine.

“Normally I wouldn’t reward bad behavior,” I say as I return to her side with gauze and antiseptic, “but I think you’d agree that the current situation isn’t the norm.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, ‘bad behavior’?”

“Watch your mouth,” I snarl. “I’ve already explained that I’m wired differently when it comes to my sexual appetites. Your displeasure only feeds the flame.”

“So you get off on this? Abducting women?”

“I most certainly do,” I say, closing my eyes briefly. “And this--” I say as I lift her bloody, slightly swollen wrist to show her the damage she has done “—is terrible, terrible behavior.”

I meet her gaze with an ice cold stare as I unlock the remaining cuff and release her hand, rubbing and massaging her uninjured wrist. “I’m releasing you from your chains so I can deal with this properly, but be assured that there’s no escape. Now, I have big plans for you. Someday, when you’ve convinced me that I can trust you, I’ll move you to your own bedroom. Until then, you’ll remain here in my dungeon.”

Her look is one of disbelief. “Your what?! How long have you been planning this? What, were you just biding your time?”

“I’m a surgeon,” I say as I dab at the wound, more than a little exasperated at having to continue to explain myself. “Being precise is part of my job. It’s in my nature. And I consider your safety every bit as much a life or death situation as anything I’ve ever encountered in an operating room.” I go completely still as I stare her down. “Don’t underestimate me.”

There’s no sense in playing games with her. She needs to understand her circumstances. Every move I make has to be precisely executed for my plan to be successful.

She really is the perfect playmate for me. I can only hope that we take it far beyond fun and games. Being raised in an orphanage and never knowing who her parents were or why they left her practically guarantee that she has a fear of abandonment. Again, simply perfect.

To someone else without a bent for kink, the experience we’re about to share would seem ludicrous. Neither of us is
normal
though. We both seem to accept that about ourselves.

Two things are already working in my favor, and I intend to capitalize on them: nature and nurture. Not either/or, but both. Madonna’s life up until this point has perfectly prepared her for me. I, in turn, have created the perfect environment in which to persuade her that she’s exactly where she needs to be.

My Madonna is already mine—she just doesn’t know it yet.