Chapter 4

The next week was agony for Alex. All night Thursday and all day Friday and Friday evening she had practiced the moves she had learned. Over and over, stopping only to frig herself off, which was happening with increasing frequency. It was harder for her to make herself come, too, as if she was building up a tolerance to the feelings. She was still horny as Hell, her nipples and clit sticking out even in sleep. It amused her, sort of, but it was distracting.

Still, she worked hard. For Harold, she kept telling herself. Then she would think, Shit, who was she kidding? She was only working this hard because of Mr. Smith. She would have quit days ago if it was just Harold.

When Harold came out of the shower Saturday morning, he found he had no clothes to wear. She had taken them all and hidden them. Playfully, she sat him in one of the kitchen table chairs and proceeded to give him what she had learned was called a 'lap dance.' With her on top, a first for her, and Harold, too, apparently, she was more in control and he lasted for several minutes before spraying his goo all over the inside of her thighs. As he was still semi-erect, Alex tried to re-insert him, but Harold pushed her off of him, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. Almost. She had almost managed to come. She was elated. She was on the right track.

Harold went out early Sunday morning, foregoing the early Mass they had been attending together at the neighborhood church. He didn't come back for Sunday lunch and Alex carefully wrapped the expensive roast she had prepared. When he came in he threw down some betting slips and cursed her, as if it were her fault. He had gone to the race track and had lost heavily.

The rent was due this week and Harold left Monday morning without leaving any money for that or for groceries.

Harold was in a piss poor mood when he came home on Wednesday night. He had been passed over for the new position. In fact, Jeremy Hobbs, the son-of-a-bitch, had managed to take away his best clients as well as snatching the job he had wanted. He was either going to have to find more clients on his own for this fucking company or go on part-time. The Goddamn fucking ass-holes. Then, to top it off, Jeremy fucking Hobbs had shown up in his favorite bar to celebrate, so the bartender knew Harold hadn't gotten the new job he had been bragging about. The jerk couldn't even find his own bar, but had to take that away from him, too. Then the fucking bartender had made him settle up his tab, taking most of his fucking paycheck.

The final straw was his fucking wife, wanting to fucking do it. Again. Well, he had showed her. He had slapped the bitch a couple of times to shut her up, then ripped off her fucking granny panties and thrown her over the back of the couch. He was so drunk he was going to last a long time tonight, he knew it.

Her sopping cunt was so loose and sloppy he couldn't get a good grip. Spying her tiny asshole winking up at him he pulled out and positioned his mighty cudgel at the virgin entrance. It only took a thrust or two in her dried orifice and he was finished, leaving her sobbing on the hardwood floor. Best fuck he'd had out of her yet. More than the bitch deserved. She hadn't even made him his fucking dinner on time.

Alex had lain on the floor until she heard Harold snoring. He had come home two hours late and drunk. She had tried to keep his dinner warm, but had finally given up. Excited to finally see him, she had been playful, hoping to excite him. He had rebuffed her advances at first, then had suddenly struck out and slapped her. Hard, across the face.

On the one hand it had hurt, terribly, and the bruises on her face would show for weeks. Mostly she had been surprised by his violent reaction. On the other hand, his roughness had sent a thrill through her, at first. Even after he hit her and tossed her carelessly over the couch, it hadn't been that bad. The anal intrusion had burned a little, but when he had emptied himself in her bowels she had cum with him. For the first time, ever, with him. It hurt that it was in anger.

What had hurt more had been the words he had tossed at her this morning. When he was sober. He didn't love her. She was a burden to him. He was going to leave her. In one ugly moment, her beautiful dreams of the life she thought they were making together were shattered. There could be no more delusions. There was also no money on the table. The rent was due tomorrow.

She lay there weeping after he had gone. It was as if that part of her life was over. Dead. Just like Aunt Shirley's and Uncle Roger's marriage. Mom said they only stayed together because no one else would fight with them. It was a loveless relationship and painful to watch, especially at Thanksgiving. It filled her with dread to imagine her life like that.

It never entered her mind not to go to the club today. To go to Mr. Smith. She would not have understood if someone would have tried to explain to her that she was simply replacing one man for another. All she knew was that she needed to see him. Her Mr. Smith.

Alex dressed in her blouse and skirt and went to the club. The reassuring click of the ornate door as it opened to welcome her almost made her cry. She belonged here. She had her own code.

Silently she walked down the hall to the office. The building was empty, but his deep voice called her into his presence. She closed the door behind her. She was trembling.

Damon wasn't surprise to see Alex show up. He would have bet money on it and he hated to lose a bet. He had a complete report from last night's activities. He should have. He had arranged the whole thing, except what happened in their shabby apartment. And thanks to Harold, that had been predictable, as well.

It didn't surprise him that she was trembling. If he wanted, he knew could fuck her right now. That wasn't what he wanted. No, he wanted to control her, totally, with her consent, then squeeze the life out of her, one day at time, to use her up. Then toss away the empty carcass. It wasn't anything personal. It was what drove him, his internal demon. Some men got off on cars, or skydiving, or other thrills. He got off on control. Life and death control.

He pushed the button to the bathroom and Alex went in without being told and removed her undergarments and shoes. She brought them back to him and he again took obvious pleasure in touching her still warm clothing. She didn't know it, but she was surrendering herself, her will to him. Even her body heat and the fresh moisture on her panties. Bit by bit, he would take control from her.

She stood before him, her head bowed. Touching a finger to her chin, he tilted her face to the harsh light from his desk lamp as he had before. This time her face wasn't perfect. The swelling had gone down a bit, but the discoloration had started. Without makeup the bruises were very visible. Harold had backhanded her across the cheekbone and most of the damage was from that. Damon was sorry she had been hurt, but it had been one of the risks he had to take to break her emotional bond with her husband.

He had learned a lot about this woman. Divorce didn't seem to be an option in her family. He couldn't find one dissolved marriage ever, and he had looked a long way back. Loveless marriages, yes, but no divorces. So she was used to total and irrevocable commitment in relationships, exactly the kind of commitment he wanted from her, but in a slightly different type of relationship.

What would surprise him would be if Alex asked him for money today. He knew about the rent being due and that Harold didn't leave any money. Harold didn't have any money to leave and was already borrowing at the race track. Yes, he had learned a lot about this intriguing woman in the last few weeks. Other women would have prostituted themselves for the money in a heartbeat, but he didn't think she would even have considered it.

When she danced for him today, he stood close behind her and let her feel his excitement. She cried as he pressed himself against her moving buttocks, but she kept up the dance. She was doing much better and in the next couple of weeks would proceed to actually removing her clothing. Damon found he was looking forward to that.

He tied her into the chair this time with wide Velco straps. There was no pretense of her getting loose on her own. The game was now serious and they both knew it. When he tightened the last strap around her chest she looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said simply, a final tear falling down her cheek.

Nodding understandingly he took a small rubber ball from his pocket.

"Open your mouth please, Alex."

She did. He pressed the ball behind her teeth. It was not a tight fit, but it was large enough so that she would not be in danger of swallowing the ball. It was also large enough to show the material of the ball between her teeth and the bright red color leapt out at him.

"You look pretty tied up and gagged, Alex. Do you enjoy it as much as I do?" he asked her. He had knelt down beside her.

Her green eyes were shining brightly as she vigorously nodded her assent. He leaned over to her and she tilted her head towards him. He kissed her forehead and felt the tremors passing through the bound girl.

"If you wish to quit today, simply spit out the ball. I know you are in pain, but I would really like you to get through this for me." God, he was good. She wouldn't leave now if he pulled out her fingernails. He knew. He'd done that once.

The pictures started, and with no fear of breaking the bonds, Alex let herself go. She worked her butt on the chair as much as she could and forced her nipples up and down against the rough cloth of her blouse, straining for even the slightest amount of stimulation. She grunted and groaned, the sweat soon soaking her blouse and making it transparent.

Damon sat where she could see him, perched on the edge of the console. Her attention was riveted to the screens for the most part, but when her breathing would turn ragged and her body would shudder, she would focus on him.

She was progressing nicely, he thought.

Alex found the envelope on her kitchen table when she got home that evening. The rent money was inside and even a little extra. Harold must have felt guilty, come back and left if for her. She felt a twinge of guilt, too, about visiting the club today, but not enough to change her mind about going back again. And again.

Harold had made his decision, too. Alex could still see the evidence of it every time she looked in the mirror.

Being called into the boss's office on a Friday night had never been a happy experience for Harold. He already had his cubicle cleaned out and packed into boxes, the stolen office supplies hidden at the bottom of the cartons, before he stepped into the fucking asshole's office at five minutes before 5:00. He walked out two minutes later in a daze.

A promotion! A temporary transfer to a sister company and in another state. But a Goddamn, shit-eating promotion. Finally, those fucking assholes had recognized his talent, if not his genius.

Harold celebrated heavily before arriving home that night. Alex sat quietly at the dinner table waiting for him to come back out from the bedroom and his shower, but Harold had fallen asleep cross-wise on the bed not leaving any room for her. Alex slept on the couch.

The next two days were a whirlwind of packing and buying new clothes for Harold on credit. Credit they didn't have, as near as Alex could tell. Harold kept referring to a new promotion or something, so Alex finally quit asking. She didn't quit worrying. Sunday night Harold packed all his belongings into the back of his Chevy and left for his temporary assignment. He would be gone a month, then he would be back for a brief meeting, then he would be gone another month.

He never made arrangements to send her any money. Worse, he seemed to have forgotten about their anniversary coming up. Their first.

In the silence of their now half-empty apartment, the only sounds were those of tears falling onto the cracked linoleum floor. Alex wept bitterly at the loss of her hopes and her dreams. She had been abandoned. But she was not alone nor was she defeated.

Tuesday morning, Alex dried her tears and never looked back. Harold was gone. She had to survive. She needed money. She needed a job.

In a very organized and systematic fashion Alex began to canvas the local merchants. First in the immediate neighborhood, then in increasingly greater distances from her apartment. Amazingly, she found nothing. She would probably have not been so amazed if she had noticed the quiet little man who followed her into each store and had a few quiet words with the management. No one called her with a job.