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The thud of the heavy paddle made the belt feel like cotton balls. Never in her life had Hannah experienced such pain as when that wood struck her tenderized ass. The coverage area was huge, and the holes allowed for less resistance in his swing. She couldn't take more. She was sure of it.Surely women have died from the paddle? That was the last thought she had before his second swing connected across both her cheeks, overlapping the last stroke enough to make her wish she could die. The pain after that swing was so intense she found herself turning internal, praying for the strength to escape this asshole and his house of horror.
It was over relatively fast, all things considered. He set the paddle down on the desk and reached to unlock her right hand, and this time when he placed the pen in her hand, her trembling made it hard to hold onto it. The paper was shoved in front of her and she scribbled her name. She told herself it didn't matter what it said, it wouldn't hold up in a court of law. All she cared about was ending the hellish torture, and if that meant signing a piece of paper, then sign it she would.
After he had released her limbs, Jake assisted her to her feet, holding her up when her legs threatened to buckle under her. With a gentleness that seemed out of place, he led her slowly the few feet to the desk he'd indicated would be hers. Only when she was around the desk did she see the next surprise he had waiting for her.
Instead of an executive chair, a sturdy stool waited. That in and of itself wasn't unusual. The six-inch long, two-inch diameter dildo protruding from the stool, however, was unique. Her eyes sought answers and Jake had the audacity to grin. "All of my office employees have the same seating arrangement. You're a good girl, so you're gonna learn to love this stool. Be a bad girl and, well, let's just say I can make you absolutely hate this stool. Hop on."
"You can't be serious."
"It's time you learned I'm always serious. You have ten seconds to hop on or I'll swap out the attachment for something you will like less."
Hannah wanted no part of finding out what that might be. Considering she'd been horny as hell when the drugs were raging through her body, she figured taking the fat phallic symbol deep might qualify as a win-win. She moved quickly to straddle the thick toy, pressing the head of the fake cock to the wet entrance to her pussy. With a loud groan, she let gravity impale her—quite literally. She felt full, but not uncomfortable, until Jake reached under the desk above her legs and came out holding two leather straps in his hands. He made quick work of wrapping the first leather tightly around the base of her curvy right breast, tightening the buckle until her boob stuck out proudly and began to turn a bit blue, as circulation had been cut off. He moved to her left breast to repeat, finally stepping back to enjoy the sight of her in bondage.
"This will be your normal working condition. You will ask for permission to use the restroom. If you are naughty, you will have clamps biting into your tits, too. Also, if you are naughty, you'll have a thicker and longer attachment, and it will get shoved up your ass instead of your cunt. Am I making myself clear?"
She knew the right answer. "Yes, Sir."
"Very good. Now, let’s get started, shall we?"
They spent the next hour with Jake explaining the coding system in the ledger. He was going to extraordinary measures to keep the confidentiality of his clients private, which only piqued her interest more. She knew it had to be something illegal, but was he into drugs? Arms? Sex? All of the above?
She didn't know for sure, but she knew the answers she sought were in that book.
When he was satisfied she knew the system, he watched her transfer data from the ledger to the laptop that only he had a login for. Eventually he stalked back to his own desk and made some calls. The work was routine and didn't require a lot of mental effort on her part, which left entirely too much time for her to worry about how she would ever escape a man like Jake Davenport. How had she gotten herself into this impossible situation and, more importantly, how could she get herself out?
By the time he came back to check on her an hour later, she had lost all feeling in her breasts and the toy thrust into her pussy was stretching her uncomfortably. Once he had freed her breasts, blood returned slowly, filling her with painful pinprick sensations.
They'd worked in silence, so she was unprepared for violent Jake to return. He yanked her to her feet, only to lay her out on her stomach across her desk. The edges of the leather-bound journal cut into her stomach. Bile rose up in her throat as she realized she was about to be raped by Jake Davenport. In his sick mind, she'd probably given him permission to fuck her whenever he wanted just because he'd coerced her signature on some meaningless piece of paper.
He was inside her in one violet thrust and she was grateful the toy had stretched her, because Jake's cock was both longer and thicker. It hurt each time he bottomed out deep inside her as he slammed into her like the madman he was. He'd had the self-control to nurse his hard-on for over two hours, waiting until his work was done before allowing himself some relief. Her whimpers of pain seemed to only spur him on harder.
The man was a machine; the kind of machine that could piston on and on without a break. Without a change in position. Without a lick of tenderness. This was raw sex, plain and simple; and while her brain hated it, her body once again began to betray her when he changed his angle of entry slightly so he could pound against her g-spot deep inside. It pushed her into her own orgasm and she could feel the contractions of Jake's cock as he deposited cum inside her.
His loud cry of, "Brianna!" was the only surprise. The quiet 'fuck' under his breath, which followed, was her only indication he'd lost control of himself. Hannah was curious about who this Brianna might be but returned her thoughts to how she would get out of there alive. She said a prayer of thanks that she was on the pill. She couldn't fathom the idea of Jake Davenport fathering an innocent child.
"Get dressed and I'll drop you off at home. I have places to go. In the future, you'll stay with me, but I don't trust you yet."
That was fine by her. He stepped away from her and turned towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna shower. Be ready to leave in ten minutes."
She remained laid out across the desk, the feel of his sticky cum dribbling down her inner thigh. That was when she felt the ledger still poking her from below.
I shouldn't. He'll miss it.
But even as Hannah thought it, she'd already made up her mind. She'd take the ledger with her and try to make sense of the information inside. It could be a powerful bargaining chip to make Jake leave her alone. It could also work as evidence if she decided to go to the police to report the rape.
She lifted herself up and rushed to throw the book into the big bag that doubled as her purse. She hurried to pull on her clothes, regretting she didn't have time for her own shower, yet knowing she couldn't get out of this house a second too soon.
Chapter Three
Dylan
Dylan Parker's right leg bounced up and down nervously. He was wired on caffeine, adrenaline, and dread. If he didn't already know for a fact that the seemingly average ranch home he was staking out was a veritable fortress, he would have stormed it already, Lukus Mitchell be damned. Dylan had only worked for Titan Securities for a few weeks, but he already hated the fucking job. As the new guy, he'd been relegated to stakeout duty, which meant long, boring hours of no activity.
Boredom wasn't why he hated the job.
What he loathed was following a lowlife like Jake Davenport and not being able to do jack-shit to intervene. In the weeks Dylan had been trailing the prick, he'd seen more horrendous grievances against women than in his entire two duties in Afghanistan as a decorated Marine sniper.
It turned his stomach to think what might be happening inside the brick home he had his binoculars trained on. He'd sat outside this house for many nights, and had seen at least three other women go inside. In every case, they'd come out looking worse for wear—sometimes limping, often disheveled—always scared.
