MY HANDS GRASPED the cool wrought-iron spindles while Fatal Lullaby played in my ears. The familiar tune gave consistency to my darkened world, providing reassurance as my mind searched for answers. Perhaps I should’ve been questioning my current situation, but I didn’t. I’d been here too many times. My thoughts concentrated on Brody’s bombshell. I hadn’t been able to meet with him yesterday after he’d sprung the news of Stewart’s will. I’d visited the Harrington Society distribution facility as I planned, but then Stewart awakened, and I was summoned home.
I wasn’t sure if it was the high doses of medication or possibly the pain, but like Val had said, as Stewart’s illness progressed, he seemed to be striving for any semblance of control. To that end, I even tried to sleep in his bed last night, but after the second round of nurses came in before midnight, I gave up. Something was up about his vitals and the monitors kept chiming. Everyone was on alert. Honestly, after they increased his pain medication, I’m not sure he even knew I wasn’t in his bed.
This morning when I went to his room, he seemed weaker than the day before. As a matter of fact, when I left the apartment, he hadn’t yet been moved from his bed to his wheelchair. Nevertheless, he was still his demanding self. When I told him I had errands, he informed me that he’d already made plans. I was to be at the warehouse and prepared for an 11:00 AM visit. Though my stomach twisted, the smile never left my lips as I consented. His friend had requested an early lunch meeting, and we didn’t want to disappoint him. Right!
As I waited for my husband’s voice and his friend’s arrival, I held out hope that I could still make it to the Viceroy and meet Brody. It all depended on the friend and what would be involved with today’s meeting. Instead of allowing my thoughts to linger in that direction, I concentrated on Brody. What would he tell me about the will?
It was undoubtedly after eleven and still no word from Stewart, only the ghostly music coming through my headphones. I fought with the desire to remove my blindfold. Stewart had always been the one to secure it. Now that I was on my own, I momentarily entertained the idea of keeping it loose. If I did, perhaps I could see the friend. But then I remembered the realization of Parker. Did I want that? I couldn’t get wet for these men. Did I want to truly know their identities?
The bed shifted, bringing me to the present.
Still, all I heard was music.
A cool hand traced an insubstantial trail from my hand to my collarbone. Then, another touch explored my other arm. Again the bed shifted. I knew this person was now straddling my waist. My hyper-alert senses felt each of his knees on either side of me as well as the heat of his presence above.
My mind told me to open my mouth, but ever since this cruel game began, every one of my movements had been choreographed. Never had I been expected to depend on my own intuition—never here, never at the warehouse. Where was Stewart?
Warm peppermint breath skirted my neck and a sense of unexpected relief loosened my overwrought nerves. I knew this man. I didn’t know his identity, but I knew his peppermint scent. He was kind, as kind as someone could be having sex with another man’s wife.
Some men had preferences and fetishes they enjoyed. Apparently, Stewart enjoyed most of them too. Not Peppermint Man: he was reliably vanilla.
Reverent hands fondled my breasts, pulling and teasing my nipples. I wondered who he was. Did I know him outside of this room? Did I know his wife? As much as I was in the dark, figuratively and literally, with these men, I imagined their wives were too. Did they have any idea that their husbands enjoyed sex with a restrained partner?
It wasn’t that my hands or feet were ever tied or that Stewart ever used the gag he mentioned on my first visit. No, my restraints were invisible and more binding. My restraints were my sister’s future and perhaps even that of the Harrington Society clinics. Yet, as Peppermint Man began to rub his cock between my breasts, I knew those restraints were deteriorating by the moment. If they weren’t, I’d be hearing Stewart’s voice.
Fatal Lullaby and Death Dance had ended long ago as the soundtrack continued its eerie play. Peppermint Man moved his cock to my mouth, teasing my lips and chin as he coated my face with his pre-come saltiness. When I didn’t respond, fingers came to my mouth prying and encouraging me to open.
“I’m here, baby.” Stewart’s voice came through the headphones. I barely recognized his voice, our connection filled with static as if utilizing an old-fashioned phone line and not a technologically advanced sound system. “Nod if you hear me.”
I nodded, surprised by my own relief at hearing the familiar command. As much as I hated this, I needed him present. Yet, with each distant sounding sentence, I was reminded of his weakened state.
“Open for him. Let him fuck your mouth.”
The music resumed, from the beginning of the track, and I did as he said. Slowly, the cock inside my mouth came to life: growing as it thrust in and out. Course hair scratched my chin and cheeks as Peppermint Man buried himself to the hilt. When his rhythm increased, I prepared myself for his come; however, instead of filling my mouth, he pulled away.
“Roll over,” came the direction though the crackling connection. “Let’s see that sexy ass.”
I did as Stewart demanded and released the spindles and rolled to my knees.
“Up on all fours.” The static made his words difficult to decipher. “We want to see those titties swing as he drills into you. Nod if you understand.”
Nodding, I worked to right myself. I hated this position. It was difficult to not fall forward. As I fought the blindness to secure my steady balance, Peppermint Man gently pushed my knees apart, fingered my folds, and spread my fake arousal around my entrance. Then without warning, the cock that had been in my mouth—now wrapped—pushed inside my sex. Peppermint Man’s fingers dug into my hips, directing me: pulling and pushing, plunging deeper and deeper until his balls slapped my ass. With each thrust my heavy breasts swung forward and back. It was just as Stewart had orchestrated. Even from the distance of our penthouse apartment, or hopefully from the gates of hell, he was able to plan it all.
It didn’t take long before the friend’s rhythm again increased and heat radiated from his hands and body. I was concentrating on staying balanced when Stewart’s static-filled plea interrupted the music. “Come on, darling, come for us.”
I couldn’t come if I’d wanted, and I didn’t want. Nevertheless, I’d learned to put on a show. If the friend thought I came, it often accelerated his orgasm. Moans came from my lips as I pushed back against the thrusts. Pretending to give way to my impending release, I fell face first into the pillows and let out a muffled scream. Seconds later, Peppermint Man’s cock throbbed and his weight came crushing down upon me.
With his face near mine, I felt the slight brush of his cheek against mine. Then the bed shifted. I lay unmoving, waiting for my directions. Over the last nine years I’d learned to do more than fake an orgasm. I’d learned to be Stewart’s obedient whore. As I lay waiting for his voice, I envisioned his decaying body. Soon… soon he would be dead. Soon I would be free of this. And then I remembered the will.
Crackling interrupted the music. Why didn’t the music have static? Why was it only there when he spoke? “Roll over, my Tori. Find those spindles, hold on, and spread those legs. Show me your satisfied pussy.” Yeah, right, I thought, as I listened to his familiar command.
My body mindlessly obeyed as I opened my legs and exposed myself to his camera. With this friend satisfied, my thoughts returned to Brody’s call. Stewart had a new draft of his will. What does that mean, a draft? More questions swirled as only music filled my headphones. The soundtrack was all the way to the fourth song when I allowed my concerns to be drowned away by the music. For the first time in years, I listened, really listened to the notes. The songs later in the track weren’t as familiar as the first two songs.
Finally, I heard my husband’s voice. “Our friend is gone, Tori. Come home. Don’t wash, just dress. Nod if you understand.”
It was the same thing he’d said the other day. I’d disobeyed him then; I wanted to do that again. Before he was ill, watching me with his friends made him hard. After his friends were done, he’d usually either fuck me or have me give him a blow job. He’d said that it was his way of reassuring me that even though he enjoyed sharing, I was his wife, his whore. The friends might get to fuck me now and then, but he could have me whenever he wanted. Bile and disgust created a toxic cocktail that threatened to rise from my throat. I pushed it away, squeezed my eyes shut behind the blindfold, and tried to stop those memories.
“Did you hear me?”
Fighting to stay in the present, I nodded.
AS I SETTLED into my warm car, the scent of peppermint and lustful perspiration emanating from my long hair continued to instigate the revolt in my gut. I hated the offending scents; nevertheless, I couldn’t wash my hair. If I had, Stewart would’ve known that I’d showered. It was one thing for Stewart to take me directly after a friend when Stewart was right there in the warehouse, but driving all the way home with Peppermint Man’s scent on my skin was more than I could stomach. After the quick shower, I reapplied the lubricant, confident that my husband wouldn’t know the difference.
Through the depths of my purse, I reached for my phone. My fingers brushed paper-towel-wrapped vials. Val’s doomsday scenarios had me intrigued. The drugs held real potential. I was getting tired of Stewart’s leukemia taking forever to kill him. I guessed that’s what happened when a man as healthy and young as Stewart developed a disease. His body fought. The extra benefit had been his continued suffering. Did I want that to end? I did: not to save him from the pain, but to rid me of his presence—forever.
I also knew that my purse was not the ultimate hiding place for the drugs I’d picked up yesterday at the distribution center. There was too great of a risk of the glass vials breaking. If I used them, I didn’t want it to be done accidentally. I also wasn’t concerned about anyone discovering that they were missing. They’d been accounted for upon arrival to the distribution center, and they’d been accounted for on their way out. Unless there was a case-by-case audit performed at customs, one small tube of each drug would never be missed. Well, not until the cases were opened, and by then, the cases would have gone through too many hands to identify the culprit.
I swiped the screen of my phone. Not surprisingly there was a text from Brody:
“WHERE ARE YOU? I’M WAITING.”
Instead of texting, I hit the CALL button.
He answered on the first ring. “Where are you? Are you all right?”
Blinking my eyes at the harsh early afternoon sun as I pulled out of the private garage into the Miami warmth, I attempted to keep my voice calm. “I’m fine. I can’t make it. I thought I could, but Stewart’s being very demanding. I need to go home.”
“Home? You’re not home?” Brody asked. “Where are you?”
“Out.”
Silence.
“I had to run some errands,” I added.
“Vik, I need to see you. If you’re already out, run the errands over here. I need to explain this.”
“Brody? What did you mean a new draft?”
“It’s not finalized, not yet. Maggie said that Parker had some more research he needed to complete and then he’d go to your place for Stewart’s signature.” His explanation came quick. “There’s more. I just don’t want to do this on the phone.”
I fought the battle of my heart and will. Turning the steering wheel toward the apartment, I sighed. “Tomorrow, I’ll try for tomorrow.”
“Fuck, Vik. Today! If you can’t do it now, how about later tonight? Doesn’t that cocksucker sleep?”
A faint grin came to my lips. “I’ll see what I can do about upping his pain meds.”
“I’ve got this room until tomorrow. I’ll go back to work and see what I can learn. I don’t care what fucking time it is when you get free. Call and I’ll meet you here.”
“I’ll do my best.” Before I was about to hang up, I asked, “Who?”
Brody’s end of the line remained silent.
I repeated my question, “Who is Stewart planning on leaving the proprietorship of my contract to?”
“Vik…”
“Brody, fucking tell me. I don’t even understand how he thinks he can do this. I mean, if I get everything, all his money and property and Val’s education is complete, I don’t know why he thinks I’d agree to do what it says in there for anyone else.”
“In person, Vik, I’ll tell you in person. Make it work.”