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We come to a doorway with a panel at eye level, and he slaps his hand against it. It silently opens, swinging inward. Darkness greets us, and unlike most, I desire to let it swallow me whole.
We descend a staircase and repeat the process at another door. The security to wherever he’s taking me is unlike anything I’ve seen. Checkpoints around every corner allow clearance to only those with the proper credentials.
Once through the last security point, we enter a well-lit basement. A slim, pretty brunette stands naked in the corner of the room, her arms chained behind her. The chain trails down to the floor. Whip marks slash across her round, perky tits, and bruises are splattered across her face. The smell of urine burns my nostrils. A puddle of piss pools at her feet, and a wail of terror peels from her throat as we approach. Her face contorts in misery, and tears stream down her face as she flattens against the wall.
I’m instantly hard, and it only mildly irritates me.
This is the real thing. Real fear, real pain.
Not the manufactured moans of the whores I pay. Sure, sometimes I hurt them until they cry, but they always know they can say their safe word at any time and walk out the door.
This woman will never see the sun again, I’m sure of it. But why? For Robert’s pleasure? If that’s the case, I’m out of here. I refuse to torture innocent people.
There’s a sink with a long hose next to it, far enough away she couldn’t reach it. I also see a tray full of implements—pincers, knives, pliers, hammers, butt plugs, a row of dildos, and paddles. On the wall hangs a rack of whips.
In the middle of the room sit two leather chairs angled and pointed at a coffee table. There are also a few restraint stations, including a St. Andrew’s cross and a padded pommel horse with cuffs attached to it. At the other end of the room sits a big rectangular wooden box that looks like an oversized armoire with a grate in the door.
Robert walks over to the sink, grabs the hose, and turns the water on. He walks over to the woman and points the hose at her, blasting a stream of water at her crotch and legs and then at the puddle of piss, washing it down a drain in the floor. Apparently, bodily fluids are spilled here in large volumes and on a regular basis.
“Dirty whore,” he says scornfully.
“I’m sorry!” she wails. “I tried to hold it. I tried! I’m so sorry!”
He grins at me. “I made her drink so much water she almost puked, and then I told her that if she pissed before I got home, she’d be punished.”
Devious bastard.
“Who is she?” I ask with mild interest. “Why is she here?”
“She was a snotty little cock-teasing bitch who was working with a partner, rolling guys for their wallets.” He sneers in her direction. “But they screwed up a few times, and the guys choked to death on their own puke.” He walks over and grabs her whip-slashed breast and twists hard. “Did you screw up, though? Or did you do it on purpose?”
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean it!” she shrieks. “Please, please!” He lets go but slaps her breast, wrenching a shriek of anguish from her. His pants are tenting, and he’s flushed and breathing fast. I can’t judge him; excitement burns through me as well.
He reaches up and tangles his hand in her dark locks.
“Once is an accident. Three times, that’s starting to feel like a deliberate choice.”
He flicks a glance at me, a smirk twisting his face. “One of my cousins owns the nightclub where these bitches were working their magic, so I went there one night and flashed a lot of cash at the bar. Then I let this little whore climb all over me while her partner tried to slip a roofie in my drink in a VIP room. My cousin and I subdued them and carried them out the back.”
She’s murdered men to steal from them. Is she bad? Yes. Bad enough to deserve this? The jury is still out.
He jerks her head back. “You were a sinner, weren’t you, slutbucket?”
A sinner? Interesting. I haven’t seen any indication that Robert was religious, and if he is, he’s living out an entirely new interpretation of the Bible.
“Yes, sir,” she sobs. “I’ve repented, sir, please!”
“I’m sure that’s an enormous comfort to the families of your victims. Admit what you did.”
“Fine,” she screams. “I fucking killed those worthless bastards.”
A slow Cheshire cat grin spreads across his face. “Why did you do it?” He yanks on her hair. “Tell me and I might go easy on you.”
“I needed the money, and they didn’t.”
A macabre laugh bubbles up from his chest. “For what? Your third house?” He chuckles darkly. “That’s right, whore. I know all about your many properties and offshore accounts. You’ve been leaving a trail of bodies all across the continent.”
Still holding her hair, he bends down and bites her nipple so hard that she howls in agony. She arches back, trying to get away from him, but his teeth stay clamped on her like a bear trap that’s snapped shut. When he lets go, there’s a perfect impression of his teeth in a circle around her tortured nipple.
