Chapter 11: Parallel encounters

Madison’s office was dimly lit, the glow of multiple screens casting flickering shadows across her face. She leaned back in her leather chair, legs crossed casually, a glass of red wine swirling in one hand. The neighborhood’s secrets unfolded before her like a private theater—thanks to Sam’s reluctant handiwork, she now had eyes everywhere. Two feeds dominated her display: Lila’s cluttered basement on the left, where Sam sat awkwardly on the bed, his face flushed as Lila leaned in for a kiss; and Emily’s bedroom on the right.

A slow, satisfied smile curved Madison’s lips. The contrast was delicious—one scene of fumbling first-time intimacy, the other promising of raw, coercive dominance. Her free hand drifted between her thighs, fingers slipping under her skirt to trace lazy circles over her silk panties, already damp with anticipation. Let’s see how my little puppets perform tonight.

In Emily’s room, the door had burst open without a knock, the familiar creak of hinges betraying Jake’s impatience. She flinched but didn’t move from where she sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers twisting in the hem of her tank top. The room smelled of lavender from the candle she’d lit earlier, a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable stench of sweat and cheap beer that always followed him. The flame flickered mockingly, casting dancing shadows on the walls as Jake stormed in, his eyes already dark with that possessive hunger she knew too well.

He didn’t say hello. He never did anymore. He crossed the room in three strides, his heavy boots thudding against the carpet like warning drums, and grabbed her chin roughly, tilting her face up to meet his glare. His breath was hot and sour, laced with the sharp tang of beer and cigarettes. “You been avoiding me?” he growled, his callused fingers digging into her jaw just hard enough to leave faint red marks that would bloom into bruises by morning.

Emily swallowed, her throat dry and tight. “No, I just—school stuff.” It was a lie, but lies were safer than the truth these days. The bruises on her arm from last week had faded to ugly yellow-green splotches, hidden under long sleeves even in the stifling summer heat. She could feel them now, throbbing faintly as if in reminder.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as his free hand fumbled with his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the quiet room. “Yeah? Well, school’s out for you right now, slut.” He shoved her back onto the mattress with brute force, the springs groaning in protest under her weight. Emily didn’t resist; resistance only made it worse, turned his rough edges into something vicious. She lay there, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above, its blades blurring like her thoughts, as he yanked her shorts and panties down her thighs in one violent tug. The fabric scraped against her skin, leaving red welts, and the cool air hit her exposed folds, making her shiver despite herself.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. When she didn’t immediately comply, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head down with a sharp tug that made her scalp burn. “I said look, bitch.”

Her eyes met his, wide and glassy with unshed tears, as he freed himself from his jeans. His cock sprang out, already hard and throbbing, thick and veined like a weapon, the head flushed an angry red and glistening with a bead of precum. He didn’t bother with foreplay—never did unless he was in one of his rare “generous” moods, which usually meant dragging it out to torment her longer. Instead, he spat into his palm with a wet hack, slicking his shaft with a few rough, sloppy strokes that made it shine under the dim light. The sound was obscene, a prelude to the violation she knew was coming.