in the urge, but I held fast!
Patience! That is the key to everything.
A moment later her hand came snaking under the bed, and for an instant it seemed she was reaching out for me.
I shrank away, of course. The moment of capture was not yet at hand, and I was about to nudge the slipper closer to her grasp when the telephone rang.
In an instant her hand vanished and the mattress sagged above me once more.
As she talked with her friend, I felt the moment draw closer and knew I wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
Though the torture had been sublime, it was time to take her home.
I began to slip out from beneath the bed, and knew the exact moment when she became aware of my presence.
It was a moment we shared together—the first of what I know will be a lifetime of such moments.
Before she could even speak, I seized her, my fingers closing on her ankles. If she screamed, I have no memory of it.
Perhaps she didn’t scream at all.
Or perhaps the music drowned out her scream.
Certainly, any scream she might have made would have been like music to my ears.
Would have been, and will be for a very long time to come . . .
I held her tightly, covering her body with my own.
Then I covered her lips with mine, and this is when I nearly lost control in the feel of her skin against my body, in the smell of her that filled my nose.
And in the terror I saw in her eyes.
I wanted to lie atop her for hours, feeling her submitting to my power, but the glue on my fingertips—the glue that saved me from leaving my fingerprints anywhere in this house—now prevented me from touching her cheek or her lips or her eyes the way I wished.
Once again I drew upon my patience; there would be time for all of that later. But first there were chores to be done.
Chores must always be done before pleasures are to be taken.
Just after the sun set, I took her home. Everything about that brief trip was entrancing—not just the fear I felt from her, but everything else as well.
Her ineffectual struggle against the bindings on her hands and feet—a silent struggle, given the gag in her mouth. But the struggles won’t last long. Certainly no longer than my own.
Soon.
Soon she’ll submit to me, just as I submitted to her.
As she struggled and trembled, I wrapped her snugly in a blanket from her bed and kissed her forehead.
Then I carried her home so that we may begin.
All will be once more as it was the last time we were together.
But it will be different, too. Oh yes! This time it will be different.
This time I’ll be saved.
Chapter Eighteen
T he house was ablaze with light as Steve and Kara pulled into the drive. “See?” Steve said. “She’s home.”
Kara remembered turning all the lights on in the house when she had been a nervous teen left home alone for the first time, but also knew that it didn’t mean anything.
Lights on didn’t mean anyone was at home.
She jumped out of the car before Steve even turned the engine off. “Lindsay?” she yelled as she burst through the door from the garage into the kitchen.
In the living room, the television was blaring, and she switched it off, then went through every room, turning off half the lights even though she was barely aware she was doing it. “Lindsay?” she called out again when she came to the bottom of the stairs.
Now Steve was in the house, too, standing in the dining room holding the note Mark Acton had left on the table. “Well, this looks good,” he said. “Seems like there were a couple of dozen people here today, and this guy Acton seems to think he might have an offer by tomorrow!”
Kara ignored him, heading upstairs, but even as she approached Lindsay’s room, and heard no music drifting from her daughter’s open door, she was all but certain what she would find.
Something was wrong—she could feel it. And the feeling hadn’t started in the car when Lindsay didn’t answer the phone. No, she’d first felt it at dinner, but told herself it was
Patience! That is the key to everything.
A moment later her hand came snaking under the bed, and for an instant it seemed she was reaching out for me.
I shrank away, of course. The moment of capture was not yet at hand, and I was about to nudge the slipper closer to her grasp when the telephone rang.
In an instant her hand vanished and the mattress sagged above me once more.
As she talked with her friend, I felt the moment draw closer and knew I wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
Though the torture had been sublime, it was time to take her home.
I began to slip out from beneath the bed, and knew the exact moment when she became aware of my presence.
It was a moment we shared together—the first of what I know will be a lifetime of such moments.
Before she could even speak, I seized her, my fingers closing on her ankles. If she screamed, I have no memory of it.
Perhaps she didn’t scream at all.
Or perhaps the music drowned out her scream.
Certainly, any scream she might have made would have been like music to my ears.
Would have been, and will be for a very long time to come . . .
I held her tightly, covering her body with my own.
Then I covered her lips with mine, and this is when I nearly lost control in the feel of her skin against my body, in the smell of her that filled my nose.
And in the terror I saw in her eyes.
I wanted to lie atop her for hours, feeling her submitting to my power, but the glue on my fingertips—the glue that saved me from leaving my fingerprints anywhere in this house—now prevented me from touching her cheek or her lips or her eyes the way I wished.
Once again I drew upon my patience; there would be time for all of that later. But first there were chores to be done.
Chores must always be done before pleasures are to be taken.
Just after the sun set, I took her home. Everything about that brief trip was entrancing—not just the fear I felt from her, but everything else as well.
Her ineffectual struggle against the bindings on her hands and feet—a silent struggle, given the gag in her mouth. But the struggles won’t last long. Certainly no longer than my own.
Soon.
Soon she’ll submit to me, just as I submitted to her.
As she struggled and trembled, I wrapped her snugly in a blanket from her bed and kissed her forehead.
Then I carried her home so that we may begin.
All will be once more as it was the last time we were together.
But it will be different, too. Oh yes! This time it will be different.
This time I’ll be saved.
Chapter Eighteen
T he house was ablaze with light as Steve and Kara pulled into the drive. “See?” Steve said. “She’s home.”
Kara remembered turning all the lights on in the house when she had been a nervous teen left home alone for the first time, but also knew that it didn’t mean anything.
Lights on didn’t mean anyone was at home.
She jumped out of the car before Steve even turned the engine off. “Lindsay?” she yelled as she burst through the door from the garage into the kitchen.
In the living room, the television was blaring, and she switched it off, then went through every room, turning off half the lights even though she was barely aware she was doing it. “Lindsay?” she called out again when she came to the bottom of the stairs.
Now Steve was in the house, too, standing in the dining room holding the note Mark Acton had left on the table. “Well, this looks good,” he said. “Seems like there were a couple of dozen people here today, and this guy Acton seems to think he might have an offer by tomorrow!”
Kara ignored him, heading upstairs, but even as she approached Lindsay’s room, and heard no music drifting from her daughter’s open door, she was all but certain what she would find.
Something was wrong—she could feel it. And the feeling hadn’t started in the car when Lindsay didn’t answer the phone. No, she’d first felt it at dinner, but told herself it was
Similar Books
