Chapter 22 #2
He locates what he was searching for. Holding up the white piece of tech I forgot was buried at the bottom of my purse.
He approaches my folded form in the corner, as I attempt to scoot deeper into the crevice.
No. He squats right in front of me. I hold onto myself as he reaches out.
Gently, he removes my right hearing aid and nestles the earbud in its place.
Is he…? Still, he remains voiceless. Pulling out a phone from his pocket, he presses the screen a couple times, then moves his thumbs across the bottom.
He appears to be typing. Who was he talking to?
Without warning, the quiet room ceases and words start filtering from the little earpiece.
“Sour candies help with panic attacks. It distracts the brain from negative thoughts,” a deep male voice whispers in my ear.
He picks up and points to the box again, urging me to comply.
Never have I ever thought eating candy would be such an unwilling task but here I am…
secured to a couch and eating sugar on the floor, with a muted kidnapper who may or may not hurt me.
Against my better judgement, I take the box from his outstretch hand.
He watches me from the chair, as I eat slowly.
One bite at a time. I don’t take my eyes off him.
Steadily, I started to feel better. My heart rate slows a bit, my breathing levels, while my mind becomes clearer by the minute.
Is… is this my stalker? I dropped the box between us.
“Are you… him?” I ask.
No answer. He remains sealed off, unmoving, facing me in the rolling seat like I’m his evening entertainment. I free my legs from their cramped quarters.
“HELP!” I holler. “HELP!” I try again to pull my hand free, kicking aimlessly toward my captor.
Unfazed, the man stands to his full height and pulls something black from the back of his holster. It wasn’t shaped like a gun. Was it a weapon? Oh god… it’s a taser! I’m fucked if I don’t get out of here!
I begin screaming louder and flailing my legs to keep him away, when the earbud starts speaking again.
“Do you have anything dangerous on you, Miss Mari?” A baritone male voice says.
Too busy figuring out how to get the hell out of here, I didn’t realize he had his phone in hand again. He must be using one of those ‘text to speech’ apps, changing the voice option. I’m familiar with the program.
I shook my head feverishly at his question.
His hold tightens on the black instrument.
“Please…” I beg. “Let me go. I don’t have any weapons, I promise.” He points to the couch.
I shake my head, refusing his request. I try to position myself farther back in the safety of my corner.
“Lie on the couch,” the voice demands.
Each time he has to type into his phone for the message to read in my ear. Why won’t he just speak? Is it because he knows I would recognize his voice? Maybe it could be…
“Eamon?” My voice comes out shakier than I mean.
He leans toward me, each forearm resting on his wide-open legs. Inches from me, he types another message.
It whispers in my ear, “Follow directions. I won’t hurt you.”
Awkwardly, I stand and twist my body back into the position I had been in when I first woke. Wishing I could shake myself from this ‘Jigsaw-like’ fever dream. I lie back down on the couch, close my eyes, and force myself to stay calm.
I can still hear him, the Kevlar of his uniform shifting and tightening as he positions himself, kneeling before me on the couch. A soft click sound comes from the item he holds above me.
I jerkin response. With his gloved hand, he takes my free hand and places the item in my palm.
I watch as he guides my hand to one of the carabiner clips on his uniform.
The smooth item in my hand vibrates suddenly upon contact and I startle.
He does it again, guiding my hand away and closer to the hook.
It’s not a taser! Is it a metal detector?
He’s showing me it’s not going to hurt. Just like he said he wouldn’t.
“So… you want to look for something, like what, a weapon? Are you one of those ‘rent-a-cops’ who take their job too seriously?”
No response. I thought my stalker was funny... what if he was actually law enforcement? I huff out a breath and submit to the search. When I listen, he usually leaves me alone.
Taking the vibrating metal detector back into his own palm, he starts at the crown of my head, scanning my hair…
for what I’m not sure. Gradually, he moves down my neck, barely hovering the device above my skin.
It pulsates against my clavicle, and he stops.
His masked face turns slightly, as if curious.
“It’s my necklace.” I blurt out.
He studies me then proceeds down my arm, rotating and patting the loose jacket as he goes.
Next, he sweeps my other arm before progressing, across my chest and down my middle.
I stopped breathing. Willing my chest to cease rising and falling as he skates just above my breasts.
Moving down my body painfully slow on the outside of my leg before reaching my shoes.
He actually removes each boot, checking the inside for anything that could be seen as dangerous, I suppose.
“Satisfied?”
He shakes his head no.
The first form of communication I’ve received from him besides text to speech.
After retying my laces, he presses the handheld device just above my footwear, on my inner leg.
I can’t help but lift my head somewhat, to watch as he glides the plastic casing up my thigh, till it’s at my center.
The device vibrates. I’m instantly mortified!
“It’s not a weapon!” I’m… umm, it’s…ya know?”
He turns his head like a confused dog, forcing me to say it out loud.
“I have my VCH done.”
Like a cartoon, the masked man turns his head the other way.
“Ughh!” This man is infuriating! “My vertical clitoral hood is pierced, okay?!”
I shuffle onto my elbows, hoping that I am done and ready to be released, when he swiftly presses the battery-operated item back between my legs.
It vibrates… right there! I try to squirm away.
His free hand lands on my shoulder, pressing down just enough to say, “stay” without actually speaking.
I’m overwhelmed, likely in shock. Confusion soon mingles with pleasure.
Questionable feelings racing through me.
It was as if this was a game for him, chasing my movements, as I fidget and attempt to move away from the vibrating device.
“Fuck.” Oh, that felt good. Wait, this is wrong. “Stop.” My resolve is weak. My pleas come out shaky and frayed at the edges.
The puzzling man won’t let up. In fact, he presses the end of the device firmly into my bundle of nerves.
Despite the contraption being above my underwear and tights, it vibrates deliciously.
My protests soon transform into moans. It feels insanely good.
The balls of my piercing rattle in a frenzy from the metal detector, and I know my clit is becoming engorged Without a doubt, my panties were wet…
my hips instinctively begin to buck in a rhythm that drives me closer.
Although this soundless shadow is covered, I know his breathing is coming heavier by the way his chest rises and falls.
If this was meant as a form of torture, clearly, I was the masochist that unknowingly agreed to the terms. This man is restrained.
Determined. Patient. Brodi never seemed to have the time to wait for me to cum.
He often commented that I “took too long,” so he always came first. By the time it was my turn, he complained that he was too tired to satisfy me.
This masked stranger is dragging me to the very edge while silently communicating, as long as it takes.’ My legs shake and muscles ache, but he never lets up. Concentrating on the task at hand, I try to ignore how my hair must look… how I might be sweating, or how this whole thing is insane.
However, I didn’t feel rushed. He wasn’t judging me based on my ability to cross the finish line, but some cardinal need we both share.
He holds right there, not changing a thing, until I just can’t combat what’s happening any longer.
My hands claw and grab at the couch, desperate for anything to keep me grounded. I broke with a scream.
The enigmatic man watches me, waiting until each wave of pleasure runs through me, before removing the gadget. I swear I could hear him panting as I came down from my high.
I was a mess, and I can confirm by my reflection in his mirrored goggles upon his face. My hair was in fact frizzy, while the eyeliner I applied earlier made me look more like a raccoon at this point.
He stands, keeping his gaze trained on me while he removes his gloves. His pants are thick and look to be military grade, but I can still make out the faint outline of his erection.
Suddenly, I become self-conscious of how heavily I am breathing as I stare…, unsure what was to come of me.
Dropping his gloves, he methodically pushes up his sleeves, just enough to reveal corded forearms. Tiny cuts and bruises on his massive hands.
His physique, quite similar to Eamon’s, especially his hands.
Could this man in front of me be Eamon? I wasn’t entirely sure.
He drops a pillow to the floor and bows in front of me like before.
I’m still coming down from my orgasmic high, too intrigued to object.
Still lying horizontally on the couch, he opens my thighs. His big hands move to my center, massaging the fabric that covers me, before pulling up and out. The tights run, creating a hole, it rips an entry straight at my crotch.
All rational thoughts sidelined, I am panting… unable to get enough air. Dizzy with need, still wanting more of what this mysterious man had to offer, but sex? I… I don’t think I can.
He swings my legs off the side of the couch, wrist still affixed to the leg of the furniture. My feet hit the floor. He taps his combat boot between my shoes, instructing me to open.