Trapped in his End Game (Series)

There’s nothing more powerful than silence.

We’re deep underground, in a cellar with walls cold enough to frost the air. There’s just one piece of furniture in the small, square room: a chair.

She rapidly cycles through stages as she takes in the empty room: terror, anger, begging, and grief. Her swollen, round eyes beg me as I take her dainty shoulders in my hands and force her to sit down.

I smell the fear wafting off her. It’s that scent that drives the monster inside me insane. He bashes against my ribs, eager to get out and play. My heart pounds just as quickly as hers, not from fear-but excitement.

“Tommy, look, I can explain what happened. Michelle-it was her fault. She was an undercover cop. They had me for possession and distribution, and I was looking at twenty-five years in jail for something I had nothing to do with!”

Ah, the whole explaining-what-went-wrong standby. It won’t work. No amount of bargaining will.

I don’t say a word. Frankly I find that silence works wonders on people like her. The less I say, the more wild conclusions they’ll draw. There’s a tray of tools next to me, already prepared. I make sure she can see them. Long, deadly scalpels and jagged knives with the intention to cause as much pain as possible glimmer on the table. I take the roll of duct tape and she flinches at the sound of me unrolling a long piece and snapping it with my teeth.

“You don’t have to do this. I’ll do anything.”

Her voice trembles so badly that I can barely understand her.

Anything? I plan to take everything from you, sweetheart, including your life. You have nothing to give me.

I wrap the duct tape around her arms, fastening them to the chair. Her legs are next, the tape wrapping around and around, keeping her immobile. She can’t move without a grimace of pain. Fucking hell, it’s intoxicating to have her all to myself like this. I should have chained her to the bed upstairs instead, but it isn’t soundproof. I stand in front of her, smiling, watching her struggle fruitlessly as tears slide down her face, her brown eyes glassy. She looks so fucking beautiful, even when she’s crying. Her plump lips are parted and slightly red from screaming her head off.

I take the scariest knife I have, a lethal-looking thing, and I hold it in front of her face. Her screams hit my ears like punches.

Fucking hell, this girl has a mouth on her.

Normally I’d use my knife on her. I’d drag it across her skin and make her bleed. Instead I let it trail down her neck, stroking her skin. Her eyes flutter and she sucks in her breath. I’m addicted to that pink flush that spreads across her chest. I hook the knife inside her silk shirt and I snap off the first button. Then the second. Third. Fourth, and so on, until the shirt opens completely, exposing her black lace bra and her creamy stomach.

I must have imagined what she looked like a thousand times in my head, and soon I’ll find out if her tits look as good without a bra.

The sniffling sounds of her quiet protests fill the small room. I can only imagine how terrified she much be. Her stomach pulses as I carefully slide the knife under her bra. She lets out a low hiss and a moan when she feels it against her skin. My eyes slide from that delectable sight to her face, still trembling with fear.

“Please, Tommy. I don’t want to die!”

I let the room ring with her terrified voice and wait until the walls absorb the sound. A cold stillness falls over her face, and then I finally speak.

“You know what I’m thinking about, sweetie?” I smile at the use of the pet name she despises, knowing that she won’t talk back to me now.

She grits her teeth as another bitter tear slides down her face, and shakes her head.

“I’m thinking about all those times you rejected me.” My eyes bore into hers. “Go on, do it now.”

“I-I-”

“Tell me no. I dare you.”

My voice trembles with anger, but I’m not really pissed off with her right now. It’s just an act. For any of this to work, I need her to fear me, and I don’t want to use my knives for that. Marking up her beautiful skin would be a crime.

It occurred to me the other day what a fun challenge it would be to break her down without violence. Plus, I really don’t get my rocks off beating up defenseless women.

Call me sexist.

“I didn’t give you up. I swear, I didn’t.”

A smile spreads over my face. I’ll never understand why she did that for me. “I know. Thanks, by the way.”

Her mouth twists into a snarl.

“That’s your response?”

My knife twists between her breasts, cutting into the band of her bra. “Am I supposed to feel something for you?”

Right then, I see the hope dim from her eyes. If I’m being honest, it did make me like her more. It was a kind gesture, but it was wasted on a person like me. I don’t give a shit.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” she hisses suddenly. “You helped me-I helped you. We’re even.”

“I don’t give a fuck about even.”

Using the slightest amount of pressure, I pull the knife and it slices through the elastic with a loud snap. She yelps as her bra jumps apart, her tits spilling out of the ruined halves. My mouth waters as the flush over her chest deepens in color, and her tits bounce slightly on her chest.

Ah Jesus. How can I ignore how fucking hard this broad makes me? My cock strains against my slacks, painfully growing under the unyielding fabric. I bend down and let the knife rattle on the tray before I lean forward. My hand gropes the perfect round globe, and she sucks in breath, twisting her mouth in rage.

I can’t really explain what it is about a woman’s breasts that’s so appealing. It’s hardwired in my brain to want them, suck them and fondle them. My cock stiffens in my pants and a low growl reverberates from my throat as I feel the warmth glowing from her skin. My thumb massages her nipple until it beads into a hard ball.

“Stop,” she says in a low whisper.

“Why should I?” I chuckle softly. “You love it.”

As I pinch the hard nipple between my fingers, I realize I’m right. Does the little bitch still feel something for me? How amusing.

“I want you to stop.”

Her voice trembles and shakes with tears and for a moment my hand freezes on her tits. I lean into her face as she pulls back into the chair. She’s so beautifully vulnerable, with the tears beading on her cheek like glass and the flush over her cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed over her state of undress, and I want to stand up and force her to take my cock between her lips.

But I can’t. Not yet.

I seize her jaw roughly and squeeze. “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do after what you’ve done. You’ve lost your rights. I own you.” A cry shakes from her mouth and I shake her jaw again. “Your tits, your pussy, your lips-all of it belongs to me. There’s not one part of your body that I’m not going to play with, and I’m going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours, over and over again, so get used to having my hands on you.”

She hisses something out of her clenched lips. “Fuck you.”

I drop my lips lower to her face, watching as her pupils become small, inky dots. “When I’m through with you, you’ll never be the same again.”

“What did I ever do to you?”

My hand squeezes her breast until she moans in pain. “You left me high and dry in that club.”

“I do not deserve this!”

I slap her across the face, hard enough to knock the anger out of her. She gasps as her cheek blooms with an angry red mark.

“You ratted us out to the FBI. What the fuck did you think would happen?”

Her face turns toward me, still widened in fear. “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to arrest me for possession and distribution. Michelle was an undercover cop!”

I lean in closer until she can feel the breath over her skin. “There’s no way they could have charged you with that.”

“I was under arrest!”

“They were bluffing, and you were stupid enough to take the bait.” I almost feel sorry for her as her pupils dilate and her mouth opens in silent protest. Tears stream down her face in little rivers. “You placed your bets on the wrong horse, and you lost. Now it’s time to pay the consequences.”

“What will you do to me?”

Oh, everything.

I’m so close to her that I can hear the small little movements she makes as she tries to get away from me.

“You don’t get to ask questions.”

“I just want to know what’s going to happen-ah!”

I slap her face again, not liking the vicious look she throws at me.

“Your only purpose is to obey me without question and accept your punishments like a good girl.”

I brush my lips over her jawline and kiss the shell of her ear. She trembles violently.

“The rest, I’d like to keep a surprise.”

Sobs break through her lips again. “Tommy, please.”

I pull away as a flash of annoyance seizes me. I grab her jaw in my hands and squeeze. “No more begging. It does nothing except piss me off.”

She nods in my hands and I release her mouth, reaching for the knife at my side. She pales when I grab it, shaking her head. “Please-”

I slap her face gently. “What did I just say?”

“No begging.”

“Good girl.”

A flash of red seems to sear across her gaze for a moment, and I smile to myself. Good, she hasn’t lost all of her fire. I’ll take great pleasure in taking it away, and reducing her to an obedient, mindless slave.

Using the knife, I snap off the duct tape and she immediately rubs her wrists. Then I flick my fingers up, motioning for her to stand up. She obeys, the ruined blouse and bra falling to the floor. Such a quick learner.

“Take off your pants,” I say, pointing at them with the knife.

Melanie eyes the tray filled with blades recklessly, and I sidestep her, blocking them from her reach. I wave my knife in front of her eyes, shaking my head.

I can’t help but run my hand over her bare shoulder, staring at her gorgeous tits. “If you use any weapon you might find in this house against me, I’ll use what I have against you. Believe me, sweetie, you don’t want that. You better be sure that you can take me out.”

She backs against the wall, wide-eyed, and makes a small, terrified sound as she hits the concrete. I hold the knife to her throat, not really serious, just playing with her. I let out a long sigh as my free hand reaches down to grope both of her tits and then I grab her hand, placing it over the huge bulge in my slacks. I want her to feel how hard she makes me.

Her face is still frozen in terror. It doesn’t really turn me on. I want her fighting me.

“Take off your pants.”

“No,” she breathes.

I use the flat of the blade to slap her cheek. “Did you forget who’s in charge? I own every part of you.”

She flinches.

“What did I say?”

She hesitates. I slap her a bit harder, earning another glare from her. “You said to obey.”

“Yes, I did. I also said that your body belongs to me.”

Her eyes blaze. “You don’t own me. I own me.”Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’m the one with the knife.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

My cock stirs in my pants when she speaks to me like that. Why is it that I don’t mind when she gets all fired up, but with anyone else, I’d blow a fucking fuse?

Blood rushes to my cock and I suddenly realize how beautiful she looks when her face is flushed and her bright eyes gleam at me like that. I grab her neck and seal my lips against her mouth, which is soft at first, but it hardens almost instantly. She tries to get away from me, twisting out of my arms, but I grab a fistful of her hair and yank until she cringes in pain. Her skin is on fire against mine, despite how she twists away. My hand moves down, circling around her tits and then back down her smooth stomach, then at the waistband of her jeans.

She turns her head away from me and moans, and I’m not sure if it’s from pain or pleasure. All fucking control is gone from my head; all I can see is the topless, hot girl in my arms, who needs my cock driven deep inside her.

I unzip her jeans, tucking the knife back into the sheath. They hug her hips tightly and I tug hard, exposing her black lace, see-through panties and a tantalizing length of thigh. I smile against her ear, tracing my fingers over the delicate fabric.

“What’s this, hon? You don’t strike me as a girl with a lot of boyfriends. Did you buy it for yourself so you could feel sexy? Or did you buy it for me?”

She sends me a withering look that pierces through my chest. “Get away from me. I never wanted you.”

“You are such a liar.”

She tightens her thighs together as I slip my hand underneath them, cupping her pussy with my hand.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

“So you won’t be wet, right? If I move my hands a little-”

“Don’t!”

My fingers curve into her slick pussy and I watch her face soften against her will. Her mouth parts as I sink my finger into her tight pussy, and I lean into her, my cock jumping in my slacks. All I can think about is how she would feel around me. She touches my waist and her face tilts up, meeting my lips. The sensation of her hands on my body is overpowering. Dizzying. I want her.

She squeezes me slightly and kisses me back hungrily, her tongue sweeping in my mouth. I’m so surprised that I can barely process it. I just give in to how incredible she feels. Her hand moves even lower, circling around to-

My hand grabs her wrist as she takes the handle of the knife strapped to my waist, and she pulls away, screaming. The cellar echoes with my laughter as my nerves singe. She almost fucking got me. What would Jack say? A surge of heat rushes up my chest.

“Nice try.”

Melanie’s eyes widen again as I take the knife in my hands.

“This is what you want?” I hold it out to her. “Go ahead, take it. Take it.”

It trembles in the palm of my hand. I can see the struggle in her eyes as she debates whether to risk her life with me. Her eyes dart back toward it. I can see her muscles tensing, ready to spring.

“Fuck you and your games.”

Laughing, I slip the knife back into the sheath and shrug my shoulders.

“What kind of chance would I have against a sick freak like you?”

Her eyes narrow at me in contempt and her mouth twists in disgust, and for the first time I feel something stab at me. She’s hurled insults at me before, but she’s never really meant them.

It’s true. I am sick.

Still, it doesn’t feel nice to have that thrown in my face.

I don’t say anything as I back away from her and leave the room, scooping up the knives as I leave. Then I grab the duffel bag sitting just outside the room and bring it inside. She’s still backed in the corner, her pants around her ankles. Her eyes are all over the black duffel bag.

I take out a pair of padded handcuffs without a word, and her expression shifts.

“I-I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, you’re not, but you will be after a few days of this.”

Melanie runs across the room, kicking off her jeans. I yank her back by her wrist and she screams in pain. I slap one handcuff over her wrist and then I force her to sit on the ground, handcuffing her behind her back around a support beam. Her eyes wrinkle in puzzlement as I wrap pieces of foam around her legs, and handcuff her ankles together. I wrap more around her arms, and then I tape them shut. I slip a heavy blindfold over her eyes, and then noise-canceling headphones over her ears. She won’t be able to hear, see, or feel anything for the next day or two, depending on how long I want to keep her like this.

Imagine floating in space and not being able to see, hear, touch, taste, or feel anything for hours. Without stimulation, the mind makes up things-visions. Most people go crazy in a few days. The lack of stimulation is torture. The CIA uses it, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never had the opportunity to try it on anyone.

Sick freak like you.

A ripple of anger runs through me and I stand up, grabbing the empty bag as I walk back outside, shutting the light off and slamming the door. My footsteps echo loudly as I walk up the basement stairs, my mind running with poisonous thoughts. I was stupid to let it go that far with her. I shouldn’t take so many risks. She’s a federal witness and I’ve a job to do. There are several weeks until the trial.

I have to break her down, but I can’t lose control of myself. That means touching her as little as possible. My heart sinks as I open the trapdoor and hurl the duffel bag on the crappy kitchen table. I yank open the fridge and find it stocked with supplies. I grab a couple beers, knowing that one won’t be enough.

I already let my guard down with her once.

It won’t happen again.