13 comments/  53058 views/  31 favorites

A Simple Persuasion

By: titania123



Dear Readers,

This will be a short story that's going to turn a little violent eventually. There is true romance at the heart of it, but it is a little rough around the edges. I hope to have the next chapter written by the time this one is posted. As always, please post your thoughts or send me feedback. I always love hearing from you!

Titania

P.S.

This in no way is a negative critique against firemen (and women). But I had to use someone hot in a uniform :)

***

The large conference room at the town hall was crowded, standing room only. And though it was Maine, it was not impervious to the August heat that only added to the discomfort of overcrowding. The old building's air-conditioning was not strong enough to cool two hundred over-heated bodies. The ever-constant thrum of excited voices vied for position in the crowded air. For many, the buzzing and heat and crowding were overwhelming, increasing the tension of the already terse talks

Budget planning for the next fiscal year was never a simple or easy task, but this year seemed even more difficult; the fire department was asking for a twenty percent increase. Fire Chief Paulson wanted to expand the fire department's services to include emergency medical response, effectively making the ambulance system obsolete.

The small town contracted with the larger town of Machias, insuring an ambulance stayed in Davenport, ready to transport a patient to the hospital in the larger town. Many of the town's people thought the arrangement worked well and didn't understand the chief's push to change it. The small coastal community, though friendly, was also feisty. Arguments broke out often, distracting most from the trail of reason needed to settle the issue.

At the front of the room, a long table separated the citizens from the five-member council and the mayor. They all thumbed through piles of papers that held numbers, itemized costs, projections, proposals, and summaries. As the unofficial leader, Henry Jenkens led the discussion, acknowledging any constituent that approached the podium and mic. As an obvious opponent of the measure, Councilman Lowe led the debate with the chief.

After the councilmembers asked their questions and expressed their resulting opinions, the mayor called for the vote. Both councilman and woman Jenkens and Clare voted in the affirmative for the increase, while councilmen Lowe and Philman gave their nays. The last to vote, Gracie Whitlock, waited anxiously for the mayor to call on her. She had been on the council only two months and this was the first serious vote they had taken. 

Though she shunned gossip and useless politics, she knew when the truth lie hidden under the presented front. She instinctually distrusted the chief, though she couldn't have pinpointed why. However, when her friend Paige, who worked at the Davenport Savings & Trust, told her he had moved a substantial amount of money from the bank to an off-shore account, her interest was piqued. He didn't come from a wealthy family and his salary didn't afford him that sort of cash.

She had begun a low-scale investigation, primarily consisting of nonchalantly bringing up the chief's name during conversations with various townspeople and feeling out their emotional response to him. She noted that while a few seemed to think he was a good man and a good fire chief, a large majority thought there was something discolored about him. With nothing concrete and no clear accusations, her investigation slowly dwindled away until she had nearly forgotten it.

Grace was eating lunch at the diner when a man in a suit sat in the booth behind her. His conversation on his cell phone was background noise to her until he mentioned the chief. "I know, I've looked over the place. I don't know how the old man got a two point four million policy on it, but the fire chief said the scene was a simple wiring issue. Yeah, that's right. The chief here said there was no arson." There was silence as the man listened. "Well, I thought so, too. This one makes the third multimillion claim in the past six months in this county. But the chief is positive it isn't arson. Hell, I don't know. All I can say is that we need to make sure our policies accurately reflect the appraised value of the properties. I know, I think it's strange too..." 

Though she had little details, she knew there must be something suspect with those fires. She continued her inquiries with as much discretion as she could manage. Granted, she was not with the police or the district attorney's office. She had no skills in uncovering a mystery and no authority to do anything about it once she had. Despite the seeming futility of it, she knew she had to try.

When Al Sweeney, owner of the diner, nominated her for the vacant position on the council, she was reluctant to take it. However, since graduating from NYU, she had been relegated to menial jobs while living in Davenport. So, eager for a task to better suit her education and adult responsibilities that could make a difference in the community, she accepted. With the lingering suspicion about the fire chief and his involvement with suspect fires, she bided her time before casting her vote. 

Sitting at the councilmembers' table, looking out at the crammed room, her eyes fell on a pair of gray, menacing ones. His face was slightly reddened from time in the sun, and he looked as though his cholesterol was higher than it should be. He was fit, but he seemed stuffed into his uniform, and the uncomfortable appearance made him look short-tempered.

"Grace Whitlock, what say you?"

She stared the man down, fear shivering through her despite the calm easing her features. "Nay." She saw his eyes momentarily flash and then chill into steel.

The mayor continued with his bureaucratic speech, announcing the rejection of the budget proposal and declaring the accepted plan. The crowd cheered and bustled, commotion taking many forms. Grace never lost eye contact with the man she was quickly assessing as a brute. She still didn't know enough about him to make a lawful accusation, but staring into his steel eyes, she had the acute impression he meant her harm. The meeting was adjourned, and those sitting stood and those standing began moving about. Amidst the heated chatter of the general populace, Gracie slipped out the side door and down the hall. She had done her duty to stand for something good, but felt the need to immediately escape. She found herself in her car, breathing harshly in and out. Surely she exaggerated the danger she sensed from him.

As Gracie collected herself in her '89 BMW, a rage-filled Robert Paulson stalked to the back of the meeting room. He had to ignore the clamor around him as many townsfolk, including the snotty little newspaper reporter from the Davenport Tribune, accosted him for his opinion of the verdict. He eagerly sought the man who stood in the corner, arms folded across his chest. "She knows something," he harshly whispered to the young man. "Why else would she veto the bill? Did you see? She didn't even ask any questions. She's young, but she's not stupid. Goddamnit! I knew something like this would happen." He fumed visibly, effectively keeping commentators at bay.

"Maybe she just doesn't like you."

"I know the girl, her family, she isn't like that. She's one of them high-and-mighty, full-of-principle types. She wouldn't just vote no without a goddamn good reason."

"Maybe she thinks the proposal's full of shit."

Robert rubbed his face vigorously. "Then she would have asked questions about it, tried to persuade the others, what with her fancy law degree; she likes arguing. No, I'm telling you, she's gotta know something, and if she does, she's a liability to me." He looked meaningful at the quiet man who still had yet to move from the position Robert first found him in. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You goddamn well know what. Fix it!" he hissed. "Find out what the fuck she knows and fix it! Silence her if you have to, get any hard evidence back. Just fucking fix it."

"You forget, I'm a fireman, not a fixer."

"Don't be a smart ass. The one time I ask you to use your real abilities, and you can't even do that? What the fuck are you worth? I can get a hundred guys to go running around in a uniform putting out fires; I need a goddamn handyman now. Got me? So pull your dick out of your ass and do what it is you do."

Giving the slightest sigh, Lachlan Payne pushed away from his dark corner and wove through the crowd. His uncle was a prick, but he was also the only authority he recognized at the moment. After coming back to the states from his duty, he bounced around, landing one hit job after the other. Eventually, he wound up in Maine, saving lives instead of taking them. He never felt as though he belonged, but knew he had no direction either. He was content to sit and wait.

Now, sliding into his 84' Toyota Land Cruiser, he eyed the crowded parking lot for her little car. She was peeling from the back lot as he started his engine. He didn't know what the mission would include, and that left him feeling uneasy. He had seen Grace Whitlock around the small town on a few occasions and had even thought about approaching her. But she didn't seem like the quick 'fuck-em-and-leave-em' sort so he had tried to stay clear.

Of course, a beautiful girl with too much vodka in her is hard to avoid in a small bar. Davenport only had one, Small's Iron, and it therefore served many different types of clientele. The average patron was a hardworking middle-aged man from the docks or mechanic shop. There was a token bar slut, Janette, who, trying to nurse her divorcee heart, would sidle up to any unattached man. The retired basketball coach and a few men from the Elk's lodge would often gather to throw darts or discuss by-gone days of sports glory. But, as it was a small-town bar, it usually remained quiet. The exception came on a Friday or Saturday night when young girls stepped out in their shimmer, drawing the young men after them.

The girls had entered and immediately bellied up to the bar so Josh could pour them shots. From the far end of the bar where it curved around to face the open room, Lachlan watched the girls as they giggled and wiggled and looked around hungrily. She seemed reluctant to be there, which wasn't surprising considering he hadn't seen her there before. She was dragged along by a short red head he recognized as working at the bank. They all took their shots and then yelled out bawdily. Except for Grace. She stood there, a wary look on her face as she regarded her friends. Her gaze slowly fell across the dive until she ended up catching his eye. He didn't smile, but she blushed and looked away.

Intrigued by the glittering sight of five pretty girls cutting loose, Lachlan watched them through the night. Shot after shot, Grace scrunched her face and turned her sour look to the red head and always received a pep talk to keep at it. Four of the bunch found different men to latch onto on the dance floor. Grace was left to fend off the stream of offers. Occasionally, her eyes would drift back across the bar to spy the appealing face at the end of it. The connection would always cause her to blush and redirect her gaze. 

Nearing eleven, Grace was accosted once again by a young man who repeatedly told her he owned a fishing boat, as if that were his selling point. He turned somewhat grabby, trying to pull her onto the dance floor. Wrestling her arms from his grasp, she continued to deny him. "I think she's not in the mood to dance," his quiet but firm interjection came. The man turned to contend with the interloper, but after sizing Lachlan up, he only scowled before he submitted and slunk away.

"Thank you, he wouldn't leave. It was rather annoying." Her speech was slow and a little slurred. He could see the drooping of her eyes and knew she wouldn't last much longer. He only smiled tightly at her, suddenly regretting interfering at all. But before he could make his departure, she surprised him. "And, I actually think that's my cue to leave." She stood but immediately lost her balance. He caught her and momentarily stared down at her face, her eyes trying to stay open. She gave a whimper, and he sat back down on her bar stool. "Ah, I suppose that means I can't drive, huh? A cab! Oh, no, this isn't the city, they don't have cabs here. Crap," she sighed. "How in the world did I let Paige drag me out here?" She looked up at him, her brown eyes capturing him from moving on. "It's not my fault. I just have awful friends. Well, that's not fair, is it? I have friends who enjoy things that I do not. I don't even think I've come to this bar since I've been back. I mean look at me," he sighed and sat on the stool next to her as she prattled on. "I obviously can't drink and I have absolutely no desire to be chatted up by any of these guys. And that's what you do at a bar, isn't it? You get drunk and flirt shamelessly with strangers. Ridiculous. Of course, you are being chatted up by a stranger now, aren't you? Sorry about that," she said, truly remorseful. 

He felt bad that she felt bad. His reaction surprised him and he slanted his eyes at her, scrutinizing her pretty face. She caught his scowl and gave a small frown in return. "Like I said, you don't have to stay here and listen to me talk."

She was possibly drunk enough to not remember tonight. He analyzed her a few minutes more, fighting the irresistible urge to offer to take her home. But when she rested her head on her hand and elbow on the bar, her eyes closing, he knew she was also too drunk to even try to fuck. He sighed, disappointed he wasn't more of a bastard. The noise woke her out of her momentary sleep. She looked at him and then the sweetest smile broke across her lips. "Thanks again," she sighed as she leaned towards him. Before he could react, or maybe fight the desire to not react, she pressed her warm lips against his.

He was quickly charged by the sensation of her eager tongue. She thrust it against his lips and he opened, flushing at the erotic feel of her. He followed her ardent lead, allowing her to rub her tongue against his. She tasted heady, but sweet, unique. He was letting her taste flow through him, calling childhood memories to mind when her mouth was viciously ripped from his. He opened his eyes to see the red head firmly grasping Grace's shoulder.

"Grace, what the hell! Hey man," she said, turning her attention to him, "I don't know who you are, but Gracie isn't like that. She's too drunk to know what she's doing, so, you'd better let her be."

"Ah, Paige, he was kissing me," she whimpered sadly, staring at his wetted lips.

"Actually, you were kissing me."

"I was?" she grinned. "Was I doing a good job?"

He couldn't stop the smile in return. "Yeah, you were doing a good job."

"See Paige, I was doing a good job," she pleaded, never breaking from his gaze.

"I don't care if you were getting a gold medal; you don't go around making out with strange guys. You'd be sick with yourself in the morning. Remember? When I begged you to come out with me, I promised I wouldn't let you make a mistake. Grace," she said sternly and waited for the blonde to look up at her, "this guy is a mistake. If he's interested, he can come look you up at the Geek Hut on Monday. But as it is, I'm taking you home now." She pulled her up and led her through the crowd and out the door.

"This is really quite unjust. You beg me to come out with you and then drag me away the moment I begin to enjoy myself."

"I know, life's an ironic bitch. But we're going." And that was it. The pushy red head had absconded with the girl, and he wasn't the type to go chasing after her.

A month later he heard she had been elected to the town council, which surprised him. He really didn't know much about her, but then again, he tried to know as little about everyone in that town as possible. When his uncle's proposal came up before the council, he decided to make an appearance at the town meeting, though he wouldn't have admitted it was because he hoped to see her again. 

Lachlan watched her enter the meeting room with apprehension and caution written across her beautiful features. He was trained to read people, and he knew she had personal reservations against his uncle beyond the common, objectionable reasons of the other committee members. His uncle was right; she knew something. He watched as she bravely denied him his increase, knowing she feared her decision as well as accepted the responsibility to deliver it. She was an ever-increasing mystery. 

As he tailed her to her cottage, he sighed in disappointment at what lied ahead. He had never liked interrogating captives, even during the war, but that was what his uncle needed of him. He was right, this is what he did. He subconsciously noted her driving habits and skills, unable to turn off years of training. The sun was setting, causing the sky over the ocean to darken dreadfully. She lived at the end of the long lane lined with the Atlantic White Cedar trees. The land rose as it neared the rocky cliffs and became more densely covered in the tall softwoods. He parked forty yards away across the small road at a rundown house, backing his SUV up into the empty carport. 

He watched her walk up to her home. He waited five minutes, and as he was about to get out to do some close-up surveillance, he saw her exit the back of her cottage. She was wrapped in a fluffy white robe and was heading down a well-worn path towards the ocean.

Curious, he eased from his vehicle and followed the road to the dead end. Edging up the soft hill, he walked to the north, taking advantage of the cover of trees that embraced the cliff's edge. From there he was able to watch as she floated down a long wooden staircase to a small, sandy beach below. He stood, watching the scene unfold. She walked to a large rock not far from the water's edge and disrobed. She was completely nude. Though he didn't notice, his breath hitched in his throat and he stood as still as the trees, not even the evening breeze rustling him.

The goddess-like form sauntered to the waters' edge. She slowly stalked into the rhythmic waves, as though she were hunting a gazelle. He watched with dizzying pleasure as the water slapped at her knees and then her toned thighs. When at last the blue swirled and caressed the junction of her thighs, he felt strangely as though it was his breath, seeking to discover her depths. Rolling her head back and forth, she stood, enjoying the caresses the waves brought. At last, she dove in and began to swim vigorously out to sea. He watched as she faded into the darkness of the waters, hidden from the setting sun. He waited almost an hour before he saw a figure emerge onto the sand, illuminated by the rising moon. He could no longer make out the perfection of her form, but could see flesh and her white, flashing robe. He watched the ghost ascend the stairs and make for the back of the shingled-house. Lights began to glow from the windows, illuminating it like a jack-o-lantern.

Lachlan stood in the outside, the night cloaking him in its darkness. He stood next the golden light hitting the ground, careful to stay out of view. He was far enough away from the house that his angle gave him a decent view of the insides. He slowly stalked around, taking note of layout, escapes, and any technology for surveillance or detection that might exist. She was out of the shower and dressed in a black, satin nightgown. He approached the house and stood under her window. Through the glass he could hear her conversation on the phone.

"No, Henry and Ellen voted for it. Yeah, that's right. Well, on the face of it, I think it's a silly duplication of a service that already exists. Under the surface though, I really think it's a scheme for the chief to get more control." There was silence. She was walking out of the room and he could no longer hear her conversation. He quickly moved to the next window, and then the next until he heard her voice again. "I know, I will. Thanks, grandpa. I'll see you tomorrow. It's Friday so that means lunch from the diner. Yeah, yeah, I know how you like your burger, but you could at least try a salad sometime." She laughed at his response. "Fine. Want fries or onion rings? Okay, I'll do it. Alright, see you then. Bye, grandpa."


A Simple Persuasion Ch. 02



The sun was cresting the smooth plane of the glass waters when Lachlan poured his dirst cup of coffee. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood looking into the mug. The acrid, slightly tangy aroma filled him. Lifting to his lips, he carefully sipped. Mmm, she also has excellent taste in coffee.

He had slept on the short loveseat, keeping an open ear for the squeak of the staircases to the basement. Though he slept long and deep, especially considering the shitty sleep he'd gotten the night before in his SUV and the hard day of hurried digging he'd pulled off, he was wary of the work yet to come.

He sat at the table and ate another slice of her extremely moist chocolate cake. He slowly mulled over the possible scenarios in his mind; what he would do and when he would do it, what her response would be and what his response would be to hers. He didn't want to really hurt, cause any lasting damage. But, of course, the mental wounds of sexual assault last for years, if not the rest of her life. But at least I could make her enjoy it. Yeah, but anything physically injurious will heal quickly. Once the wounds heal, it's over for her. Yeah, but honestly, is she living through this? Will there be time to heal? That question caught him off guard, and for a moment, all he could do was imagine her home, cold and empty because she wasn't there.

Any way he rolled it, he didn't like the outcome. She would either end up dead or hating him enough to truly put a bullet between his eyes. Hell, even if in some twisted way she did want him, it would be just that, twisted. She'd be so damaged that she really wouldn't exist...just some sort of scarred, twisted-up doll. And he didn't want that either. Not for himself, and not for her. Did it matter if she wanted him? From somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt the desire, hidden and crowded by other logical needs and concerns. Yeah, I do want her to want me. He grimly smiled at his predicament. 

The cake really was good. An image flashed through his mind, causing him to sigh. He looked at his watch. Just approaching twelve hours. She's probably at her limit. Finishing the last bite and washing it down with the coffee, he stood and stretched. If he stayed another night, he might have to sleep in her bed. Risky, he knew, but his well-used 32-year-old body did not respond like his 22-year-old body had. After rechecking that the house was secure, he flipped on the switch to the basement light and descended the stairs, ready for business.

Buried in a black hole, cold from the deep earth, Grace leaned, weak and nearly delirious. The first moments trapped in the torture box had caused overriding terror to take hold of her mental processes. She had railed, screamed, and beat against the board over her head. Through massive, constant tears, she pushed with all her strength, yelling to let her out. She fought until the realization that she could not free herself crushed her into a limp mass of raging tears.

Occasionally she would rise up and attack the board trapping her in darkness with her fists. The walls were too narrow for her to slump to the bottom, so she leaned, sobbing. Eventually, her cries died away. Though her pupils enlarged to let in as much light as possible, there was no light to absorb. In the cold, dark she huddled staring into emptiness, only the sound of her slowing breath filling it all. 

Her mind, numbed by exhaustive emotions, eventually began speaking, naming fears, asking questions, telling lies. What's he going to do? Is he going to leave me here? No, he won't leave me here. He said he'd just leave me to think. But for how long? Maybe a few hours. Oh, god, I can't believe I was so attracted to him. She began to feel her cheeks heat and her stomach boil at the embarrassing spectacle she must have made of herself, asking him to eat with her, asking him to give her a ride, inviting him in...then it slowly began to make sense. He-he must have planned this whole evening! He's not going to stop. Even if I tell him what he wants to know, he's not going to stop, not until... She began to shake uncontrollably at the thought. The anguish of her imminent death caused another torrent of tears to boil from her.

Violently crying again, her mind raged against the inevitable. Quickly, her despondency at her current position transformed into intense hatred for the alluring man that had seduced her heart and beguiled his way into her home. He's going to kill me. There's no possible way he can leave me alive. I'd kill him if I had the chance. Or at the very least make sure he went to prison for the rest of his life. There's no way he can let me go. He's going to have to kill me. She took in a shuddering breath, trying to steel herself against another onrush of tears. "Fine," she whispered to herself in a raspy, shaky voice, "if I'm not getting out of this alive, I'm not giving anything up." She began to force her breath, controlling its strong push through her lungs and out past her lips. She closed her eyes against the dark, preferring her own natural darkness. She continued to lean against the walls, focusing on her breathing, taking in any stimulation she could.

But there was nothing but the coolness of the air, the coarse grate of her breath. Eventually, knowing all she could do was wait, she calmed enough to relax, though uncomfortably, against the wall, eyes closed, ears piqued.

In the timeless, sensation-free dark, Grace floated endlessly. And then she felt it, the tickle up her arm. On instinct, as she slapped at it, whatever it was, she opened her eyes to see. Though the dark should have kept her eyes from perceiving anything, she distinctly saw little spiders crawling up her arms. Her face scrunched up in immediate disgust mingled with fear. She began slapping them away, but more appeared in their place.

She let out a little whimper, and then a growing scream filled the small hollowed-out chamber. She thrashed wildly about, trying to knock off the little black creatures from her body. In wave after wave they swarmed over her naked skin. They crawled between her fingers and around her neck. She swatted at the ones going in and out of her navel. She could feel them tickle around her eyes, and in her hair, sending shivers through her scalp. Her screams did not dissipate, but grew in chilling horror. Swiping and slapping she continued to fight the onrush of the tingling pests. Overtaken, she wrapped her arms around herself and fell as much as the hole allowed, bawling until she was hoarse. 

Some hours later, spent beyond sanity, the hallucinations had finally subsided. Her skin was raw from her frenzied treatment of it, anxious to rid herself of the imagined fiends. She cried herself into oblivion, praying for the end, fearing it was just beginning. 

There were no sounds from under the barrel as Lachlan approached. With some effort, he pushed against it, rolling it clumsily aside. He removed the stuffing and then pried up the board. She was awake, but dazed. Her eyes were swollen and red, clearly from a night spent crying. Without hesitation, he reached down and hauled her out of the black. Though he sat her on her feet, she immediately crumpled in his arms; her legs debilitated from the awkward standing positions she held through the night could not support her.

I guess stress positions are out of the question...at least for now he thought. Contemplating what next to do with her, her weary eyes slowly turned to him, fear and exhaustion apparent in every line of her face. With a hoarse voice, she said the only thing running through her mind. "Please."

He had no response to her unadulterated vulnerability and innocent trust. He could only stare, an unsettling sensation gripping his stomach and chest. What the hell had he been thinking? Was tormenting the poor girl the only way he could have gotten the information? Well, regardless of other options, finding out what she knew was only one part of the job. I still have to remove the threat, and that usually means only one thing.

He carried her to the large beam in the ceiling running the width of basement. After leaning her against the support beam running vertically, he took her hands and quickly bound them in the leather cuffs. He felt her shake immediately. She looked into his face with an emotion he lamented he was the cause of.

If she would only be reasonable and tell him what she knew, maybe he could find away to keep her safe; perhaps he could convince his uncle she wasn't a threat or didn't truly know anything. "Grace," his tone firm, but nonthreatening, "tell me what you know and what you've done with the information."

Her breathing was rough and uneven. Her mind was battered by her frightful night and lack of sleep, and she was precariously close to the ultimate danger. Despite all this, she gained enough of what was needed to answer him. "Why? So the moment I tell you, you can kill me?"

His body tensed at the accusation. Though he had never threatened death, she knew the probable end of the entire ordeal. He stepped back and looked at her. The chains were still loose, as he hadn't tightened them. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten she was still only in her undergarments. She watched him with a guarded, hate-filled expression.

"You don't have to die," he replied evenly.

"I don't? And how do you ensure that I don't come back and cut off your balls in the middle of the night, before I turn the chief in? Not only for-" she stopped herself, "but at the very least for kidnapping and torture?" She was stupid, she knew it. She should have done anything he said, should have quivered at his feet and promised on the grave of Joshua Chamberlain she wouldn't tell anybody what he had done to her. She should have pleaded with him to let her leave town and never come back. But she had never hated anyone before, and she found it rather difficult to stifle the spewing emotion.

His gaze hardened a little towards her. "You want me to pull the information out of you, then? You want to suffer a little before telling me, do you? Tell me, Grace," he ground out, grabbing her chin, "is that what you want?"

Though her body pulled away from him, her eyes burned, declaring her rebellion. His heart felt heavy as it flamed. "You're going to force me to hurt you, when I just want the damn information? All you have to do is tell me, and it's over," he nearly begged, hoping she would believe him, all the while knowing she wouldn't give in.

Her face set, she turned her head and looked elsewhere. Fine, be difficult. See where it gets you. The chains attached to her cuffs ran up and through a large, steel eyelet screw in the large overhead brace before snaking to the side where they were affixed to a hook on the vertical support beam. He grabbed the end of it and pulled violently, taking the slack out, lifting her hands over her head and, eventually, her feet off the floor. He reattached the chain at the tightened length and stood back to check his work. Her feet barely grazed the concrete.

Grace was breathing heavily, but attempting to squash visible signs of her panic. He stood in front of her, trying to give her as much of his powerful presence as possible, hoping to make her cower and give up the damn information she held on his uncle. Lachlan watched her a few moments, letting her fear rise. In the torture field, the subjects' fears were always more powerful than anything an interrogator could inflict. Eventually, most subjects learned that they would not die from pain. Once they realized that, their resolve was hard to break. The mental anguish they inflicted upon themselves was a far better influencer.

At last he spoke. "This is your last chance, Grace. Otherwise, once I start this next phase, I won't stop until your body is spent, regardless of how badly you want to tell me your secrets. You're wrong. I don't want to kill you, but that doesn't mean I won't do some pretty rotten, dirty things to get you to talk." He waited, but only saw her chin edge up in defiance.

He took in a deep breath, preparing himself. Become a monster. Do it and let's get this over with, he encouraged himself. 

Lachlan, turning on his evil predator, slowly stalked to the trembling hanging figure. With deep-seated appreciation, he studied her stretched form, allowing his hot gaze to burn into her flesh. She was tall and well-muscled, undoubtedly from swimming in the ocean. She was also tan, all over, which made him realize she must swim in the nude during the day as well. Despite her athletic build, her full breasts and flared hips made her decidedly feminine.

With the grace and stealth of a deadly hunter, he circled her hypnotically. His nearing presence, powerful and alluring, yet unquestionably evil and detestable, caused her to breathe more frantically. She wiggled, trying to keep him in her view. She could hear him, feel him at her back, her muscles lining her spine jumping in frightened anticipation at his touch. She waited in the silence for it, but only heard his breathing.

The moments ticked away with her heart. Then she felt the slightest tickle at her head, then her hair move. He was taking her honeyed locks, gathering her hair. She realized he must have tied it up in a rubber band. She could no longer feel the protection her golden veil provided, but instead felt the cool air of the room gently sweep across her neck and upper back.

Now Grace could feel him even closer, though he held back his touch from her skin. The muscles of her frame jerked now and again, waiting for the strike to come. "Grace," his breath ran down the side of her ear and neck. The stubble on his jaw, scratching hers lightly, inflamed her skin. She felt her nipples harden at the contact. She could hear her heart thud. Grace pulled her head forward, protecting her sensitive skin between her raised arms.

His face did not move, however, and she could feel the heat of his breath pouring out down the back of her now exposed neck, rustling the small hairs there. He moved his mouth slowly around her neck to the other side, his breath trailing along, cloaking her skin in his presence.

He watched her muscles twitch, listened to her breath catch at the release of his own. Lachlan took an easy step back to sweep his eyes over her. The lines of her back were beautiful and tapered to her trim waist. Her black underwear hung tightly to the curve of her ass. Its high cut framed her full cheeks enticingly.

He tentatively reached out a curious hand, seeking to feel the silky texture of her skin. His fingers brushed the curve of her back on the right side. She jerked slightly away. The movement reminded him of what he was about to do, how, no matter her eventual response, she would despise him for touching her, unbidden, unwanted.

Lachlan stepped closer and trailed his hand over the smooth sinews of her back, feeling the muscles quiver silently underneath. His touch was light and he knew, erotic, despite her reservations. He had met her partly at the café to lay groundwork for her arousal towards him, and was now thankful he had, knowing he had a prodigious task ahead of him.

With just his finger tips, he trailed over the many slopes of her back, lighting her skin aglow. Although he wanted to take handfuls of her curvaceous derriere, he did not want to send her body into complete shut down before he even truly started. Therefore, he only lightly traced the very tops of her butt, before quickly sweeping on to the sides of her torso and up to her arms and shoulders, and then returned down the angle of her back. He also kept his mouth shut and did not taunt her, knowing he could push her anger too far until she was beyond reach.

With Grace's neck now exposed, he centered his eroticism there, instinctively knowing that was where she was extremely sensitive. He let his breath filled with promises of pleasure cascade down the back of her, lulling her body to relaxing into the seduction. His hands were slowly making their way further and further around her sides until they were bounding over the furrows of her ribs.

As her body was stretched by the pull of gravity, her stomach, though usually flat, was now concaved, exposing the deep ridge of the bottom of her ribcage. Lachlan's hands were becoming bolder, fully running deeply into her flesh, kindling a growing desire.

Grace's eyes were squeezed tight as she tried to deny the inevitable. He wasn't beating her, but he wasn't ignoring her. That left only one very obvious answer. For a moment, she thought she would prefer a beating, a whip, electroshock, mutilation, anything but this. But then she felt his torrid breath at her neck, and she shuddered. Fight it! Fight him! Don't you dare like this! I'm not a slut, I'm not a whore. This is rape and that's disgusting. Never, never, never. I'll never give in. Never, she chanted to herself building up a fire of a different kind. She didn't have any control of her body, but she sure as hell wasn't letting him into her soul.

Her breathing increased as she fought the slowly pitching waves entering her body carrying small pleasures throughout her being. Grace had never been so thoroughly touched by a lover. This man is not a lover. A tormentor, a sadistic prick using my own body to torture me! Nonetheless, lover, or not, she hadn't been given such exacting attention with such an arousing touch. Granted, her experience with lovers was extremely short; three, in fact. If this is just the teasing, I don't know if I can handle what comes next, she thought gloomily to herself.

Lachlan's assault had grown as his searing mouth now added to the attention his hands gave. She felt his full lips open as the caressed her shoulders, her spine. She unwittingly shuddered again when she felt the hot blade of his mouth languidly emerge to taste her. She felt erotically massaged by it, and wherever it went, she felt the cool air hit the wetness he left behind.

His hands had not stopped their exploration, but grew bolder. He continued to rub his slightly calloused palms down her sides and front, his fingertips just dipping under the band of her silky underwear, before sliding along and then back up. She realized he was learning, searching for those sensitive places that jumped excitedly under his fondling.

His mouth trailed up her back and found the tight crook of her neck that nestled against her raised arms. She felt his hands slowly glide up. "Grace," he whispered lustfully into her ear as he grasped both breasts. She thought to pull away, but somehow her chest arched into his hands instead. However, when she eventually did try to escape, her struggles only caused her to sink back into his firm chest, his arms tight around her. She let out a whimper of distress at her inability to break away from the unwanted pleasure he wove in her.

She could feel his lips smile at the nape of her neck. "Grace," he groaned again. This time, his hands didn't just caress the flesh in her black lace bra, his hands pulled her into him, crushing their bodies together. Her eyes fluttered open and shut as she tried to block out the sensation of his body, radiating into her.

Lachlan continued his gentle siege on her senses, slowly building a storm that would overwhelm her beyond reason. His mouth wound its way around her until he was standing in front. Her eyes were closed, and her face was disgruntled. She tensed at the feeling of him facing her. She turned her head so her face was buried in her arm. His magical hands had not left Grace's skin, but continued their mission of surrounding her in desire.

Eyes closed, shutting out the sight of him, she felt those hands skim up her sides until they reached her face. Cupping it, he turned her head until her eyes opened reluctantly. Her stomach immediately filled with electricity, bouncing chaotically around. She felt her cheeks shoot red. She blinked and fought the urge to look away. His gray eyes were unnerving, especially filled with a darkness she had never seen before.




A Simple Persuasion Ch. 02



With wide, fear-filled eyes, she watched as his lips closed in. Without thinking, she leaned back, biting her bottom lip. When his mouth softly closed over hers, she let it go. The wet lip rubbed against his. She attempted to still herself, to not feel and to not respond. But his skill was entirely too much. With just the right amount of pressure, his opening mouth pressed into her, his tongue pushing at her lips, demanding entrance. She clamped her lips tight, but only for a moment. After another insistent pass of his tongue, her lips gave in. Slowly, delicately, he caressed her inner mouth with his tongue.

Momentarily, Grace was caught up in the alluring sensation, but when she felt his hardened body press against hers, his arms gripping her to him possessively, she quickly snapped back. With his tongue in her mouth, she pushed against him hard, growling. She snapped her teeth, though he pulled away just in time. Lachlan eyed her dangerously, taking on her challenge.

"Careful, kitten, you don't wanna play rough with me, you won't like it," he said, breathing hard as he recovered from the kiss. He moved a hand to her breast, and to prove his point, he twisted the nipple in his fingers. Her body instantly responded, trying to pull away from the intense, painful sensation. She gasped and scrunched her face. He saw her anger flare, but also felt her nipple harden even more. He stepped into her, pushing her back further, swooping down to continue his oral assault. Even though he felt her resistance, she no longer fought him.

Once he knew he had her, he relinquished his brutal attack and eased into more seductive maneuvers. For Grace, the kiss was more than pleasurable. It was intimate and revealing. Though she knew she stood in front of him in only her bra and panties, she felt entirely more exposed and vulnerable in the kiss. It had always been, her fear of kissing. She had always carried around the feeling of the sacredness of another's lips upon hers, their breaths mingled, tongues stroking each other erotically. She felt her chest grow with fluttering weight. Though his hands stroked her body, it was the stroking of his tongue that made her whimper.

Her response, though coerced as it was, spurred his hungry beast on. Regretfully, he left her delicious mouth to taste her neck, collarbone, and shoulder. He took a handful of her breasts and licked her flesh through the coarse lace. He felt out her nipple, sucking it roughly into his mouth.

Grace could feel herself pool in shame. His ability to elicit her arousal despite her harrowing experience at his hands angered her. And yet, she couldn't stop his mouth from creating the intense pleasure building inside of her. As he harshly bit her nipple through her bra, she felt lightening shoot through her to her core. She clenched her thighs together and attempted to twist away from him, but his other hand held her securely.

He pulled her into him, lifting her further from the floor, bringing her to his mouth as though she were his dessert. When the black lace was thoroughly soaked by his mouth, he released her and took a step back. He quickly assessed her flushed face, though she tried to hide it. But what he really studied was the bra. 

Though she looked sexy as hell, he wanted the butter-smooth nipple in his mouth, now. She watched warily as he reached into his pocket and produced a knife. The blade flipped out into place as he reached up and cut away one of her favorite pieces of lingerie. She burned as he stared at her. His scrutiny made her flesh tingle as though it were a caress. 

Though the long moments passed with his eyes on her, eventually he moved forward, reclaiming his position against her. Lachlan's hands wound down her back, cupping her firm ass so he could lift her easily to him. His mouth was at her breast again, devouring it in aching bliss. He suckled hard, causing a heavenly blend of pain and pleasure to course through her. Fighting as she should, she began to pray to evaporate in his heat, to be formless and out of his grasp. 

Despite her commitment to resist his touch, when he bit down uncommonly hard, her eyes flew open. It was a mistake to watch him devour her flesh with a staggering amount of lust. Her mouth fell open in her daze. When he glanced up into her eyes, his face darkened lovely at the sight of her own lust reverberated back at him through her eyes. Watching her watch him, he slowly ate at her breast, running his tongue, suckling hard, biting pleasurably.

When she lolled her head back and drew in a ragged breath, he smiled, knowing she was losing her struggle against him. Grace felt powerless against the storm he created. She couldn't fight him to be free, and she couldn't fight him to stop the overpowering sensations. It wouldn't be so bad, just for a moment, she thought through her drugged brain. After all, isn't this what you wanted before? Relaxing, only momentarily, into his mouth, she felt herself arch against him and lift a leg to better fit around his waist. Did he just growl? she wondered when she felt a rumble spread between them. For her acceptance of the situation, she received the same beautiful treatment to her other breast which effectively lulled her into a world of her own.

With her legs around his waist and his hands on her butt kneading it, Lachlan slowly worked his fingers under the edge of the silken fabric. Without disturbing her bliss, he kept his mouth happily attached to her breasts as he slowly slid a hand under the crotch of her underwear, heading towards her slit. He growled and bit into her flesh extra hard when his fingers grazed across the smooth, slick wetness oozing from them. However, his victory was short lived as, when she felt his fingers stroke her cunt, she stiffened against him. She was flooded with shame at being caught enjoying her torturer's touch. She struggled to be released from his grasp, but found her protests squashed by his crushing hold around her and his mouth capturing her lips again.

He still held her, though she fought him, and he moved his right hand to cup her mound between their bodies. He loved the feeling of her clean lips and reveled in the feeling of her arousal coating them so they were plump, silky folds. He stroked her over and over, each time dipping further and further into her.

Despite his aggression with his mouth to tame her into giving into the sensations, she still continued to wrestle against him. In warning, he found her clit and squeezed it tightly, causing her to arch against him, quivering at the overpowering feeling. She gave up, slacking into him, knowing it was useless to fight.

At first, he continued kissing her, stroking her, but quickly realized something was wrong. She was merely a doll, neither fighting nor participating. She was dead to his ministrations. We can't have that, he thought. Releasing her, he stepped back and allowed her to softly swing free. Her expression was swollen with desire and defeat. She watched, wondering at his next move.

Grace's face transformed from wary, to puzzlement, to shock as Lachlan slowly lifted his guilty hand to his face. She saw evidence of her depravity on his fingers just before he slipped one into his mouth. He slowly sucked on it, just as he had her breast. The scene caused familiar feelings to stir. She heard him moan, before a slow smile spread across his face. He reached out his hand to her lips, but she turned away quickly. Smiling, he stepped forward, forcing her to face him. Slowly, he ran a slick finger across her lips. The acts, the sharing of her arousal, the erotic stroke across her lip, were so foreign and yet so hypnotic that Grace could only stare as he edged closer, drawing his tongue over her lip to take back the flavor. But his spell was already cast and she was eager to taste what he did. Her tongue reached out for his and felt his thrilled response.

More of his fingers found their way into their joined mouths to be cleaned before edging back down her body to the well he first drew them from. Lachlan's left hand was at her bottom, lifting her into him again. Without further coaxing, Grace wrapped her long legs back around him, spreading her lower lips. In appreciation, he continued his masterful kissing. His fingers, finding her wetness once more, slowly entered, running deep into tight channel. His tongue and fingers fell into rhythm together, both stroking in unison.

Lachlan could feel her walls clench around him with every pass against her secret spot. Soon, her hips began to roll almost indiscernibly in time with his hand. His hand angled so his thumb could press and rub around her clit, adding to sensation he sent through her body. Grace was a diverging mess, two parts splitting and running far from the other. Though she couldn't deny she loved the feel of Lachlan's hands, and mouth, and the taste of his tongue, she knew his actions were not fueled by any honorable desire. Even if he did lust after her, he was still doing all this to torture her. This is supposed to be rape, remember?

Is it? Or is it simply torturing me by making me want it?

Either way, what does it matter? The man stuck me in a hole! Or have you already forgotten of the tickle of the spiders gnawing away at your skin? She shuddered at the memory, her body filling with ice. She pulled back from his mouth, unable to feel pleasure from them. He opened his eyes to regard her questioningly. His hand stilled as he studied her. She was flushed with desire, but there was hesitancy in her face. She still reined in her response, and he guessed why.

"Don't think you can stop it, Gracie. When the time comes, so will you," he said humorously. "And just to show you who is now master of your body, I don't think I'm going to let you...cum that is, not until you've learned your lesson." He leaned in to kiss her again, but she pulled away.

"You're so..."

"Handsome? Devastatingly sexy"

"Lewd. You must really enjoy these little assignments, since they're probably the only time you ever get any."

His face twisted up cruelly. "Now, what would make you say that when you were practically beginning me to fuck within the first hour we met. No, I take that back. If we count your little drunken escapade at the bar, you've been trying to jump me from the first five minutes. Admit it. Or are you in so much denial that you can't face the truth."

His words shamed her, which only served to make her angry. Suddenly she didn't care about the stupid insurance fraud the firechief was committing, she didn't care that this man had broken into the sanctity of her home, tortured her and was about to rape her. All she wanted was to be left alone, and lick her wounds of embarrassment. She let her legs fall from around his waist and looked away, a tone of haughty disinterest marking her face. 

"Fine," she sighed. Suddenly resisting torture had taken too much energy. "I don't care. What do you want to know? Your uncle, right? Well, he's-" But before she could continue, Lachlan's hand was clamped over her mouth.

"Ah, ah, ah," he chided. "Did I, or did I not tell you, once you refused to tell me, I wouldn't hear anything you had to say, not until I was ready again." His face held his mock-rebuke.

She scowled and bit out, "Then get ready."

He chuckled. "Um, nope. Not ready. Now, where were we? Oh, yes," he crooned as his hand trailed down the side of her body to rest at her crotch, his fingers finding their way under the black silk. "About here, right?" and sunk two fingers in.

Her body tensed up at the sensation, trying to squeeze her mind shut from his touch. After a few minutes of unsuccessfully arousing her, a frustrated Lachlan kissed her harshly on the lips. "Perhaps," he ground out, "you need more of your aphrodisiac liqueur?" He raised the fingers to her lips again, but she angrily slung her head as he attempted to feed them to her. "Are you sure?" he querried, undeterred. "After all, you taste absolutely...wonderful. In fact," he said evilly has he kneeled in front of her. His hands smoothly skated up the sides of her legs to just below her hips were her underwear band lied. Hooking his fingers into the fabric, he tugged down quickly before she could fight. At first she kicked out at him, but his close proximity hindered any solid contact, and she found he was too solid to push over. In the end she tried to twist out of his view. His strong hands, however, were able to turn her towards him to his satisfaction.

She whimpered as she struggled, knowing what evil was lurking behind those hooded eyes. "No! Lachlan, stop! Please, please. I-I know I've been d-difficult, but I-I..." she completely lost all use of words when his mouth clamped down on her mound, his teeth sinking in just enough to hold her still against him. 

Grace, unprepared for the intense sensation to her swollen lower lips, bucked slightly under his mouth. He lifted her left leg to fit over his shoulder, holding him tight to her. "Lachlan...please," her voice quivered. "Please stop! I'll tell you! I'll tell you anything!" she screamed.

Lachlan could only groan against the erotic flavor flooding his mouth. He was momentarily frightened that he wouldn't be able to stop until she climaxed into him. "At this moment, I really don't care what you have to say." He roughly assailed her slit, finding the turgid nub at the apex and sucking it into his mouth. Grace immediately strained against the sharp pleasure, fighting to hold back any response.

He's doing it, she panicked. He's making me feel it. I can't stop... In her previous relationships, never had a guy done this to her. She had always been curious, but always afraid to ask. And now that it was finally happening, she was filled with shame. Not at the actual act, per se, but that she was deriving so much pleasure, in such an intimate way, from a man she was supposed to hate. And she couldn't get him to stop.

Lachlan luxuriated in the silken feel of her plump sex, smooth and wet hot. He flavor was lightly sweet, but incredibly erotic and heady. He buried himself deeper, wanting to be absorbed into her perfection. He murmured his contentment, which in turn caused her body to shudder at the vibrations.

Her body was a thousand causeways, brimming with electric rivers. Her moans, harried and mindless, were all that broke through Lachlan's lust-driven trance. He had to hurry, or he wouldn't last. With masterful execution, his tongue began to stroke deep inside her, hitting her rough furrows, sending pleasure screaming through her. Her hips were undulating with the thrusts he gave her. He continued driving into her right up until he could perceive the crest of her orgasm. Lachlan let her leg fall from his shoulder and stood up. Breathing heavy, with a devilish grin, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching her the entire time. 

Grace, bound in sensual rapture, took a moment to focus on the man in front of her. Her head, flung back, slowly rolled to face him, her eyes fluttered open in question. He saw the strain there, the pain from a frustrated orgasm. He chuckled. "Sorry, kitten. That's what you get, you see," he reached out, stroking her cheek. He stepped in closer to her, his lips grazing down the side of her face. "This is something to think about. The next time I ask you a question, you can either tell me and be happily rewarded, or...you can suffer." With that, he kissed her on the lips and then left.

Grace's body ached in ways it never had before. She was panting from frustration. She could feel the thick moisture flowing from her pussy slowly trickle down her inner thigh. She rubbed her legs together, trying to relieve the throb radiating from deep inside her to her swollen lips. He-he left me! He did...well, that, and then he left me! He didn't finish. Her passion was transforming from the sensual into the hateful. How could he...this is his torture, this is his great plan to make me talk, is it? By making me regret not telling him, I now have to suffer...

Well, at least he hasn't hit me.

Oh, yeah, that's so noble of him. And, of course, all you can really say is, he hasn't hit you yet. She couldn't keep the argument up and so let her words fall away, only seething anger swimming in her mind.

But an hour is a long time to wait, suspended by chains above the head. In the course of time, Grace's hormones evened out. Though the discomfort persisted, her thoughts began to move forward. No, he hasn't hit me yet. And he doesn't have to. Face it, you can't stop what he does, and you can't stop how it makes you feel.

So? Does that change anything?

Maybe.

How so?

I don't know. I'm thinking. 

Think faster. 

I play along!

How is that supposed change anything?

I don't know. Maybe, I can do the whole hostage thing, where I fall for my captor. I gain his trust and somehow escape. It could work.

Yeah, but I'm not good at this sort of thing. I can't lie. I can't pretend I want him when...

When you really do? Grace's face fell in pain. She did want the sick fuck. She'd wanted him since she first saw him. Even now, knowing he'd most likely kill her...well, that filled her with fear. But there was that niggling bit of hope lodged in the back of her mind, whispering he might not, softly sighing he didn't want to.

Let's say I play along, and give in to what I apparently want to, who's to say I wouldn't really become screwed up and believe it? Who's to say I wouldn't...

Fall in love with him?

It's a little ridiculous to talk about love when you just met the guy. Not to mention he gave you the worst night of your life. She shuddered again. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her resolve.

Don't let him stick you back in that hole. Do whatever it takes.... She tried to calm herself. She was out of the hole, out of the nightmare, and she would do whatever it took to stay that way. She continued to hang, building a strategy, gathering strength.

Though she had no sense of time, the moments stretched on until she was actually bored. She heard his movement across the floorboards upstairs. The doorknob turned and the door swung open silently. His footsteps sounded down. For his time alone, Lachlan first headed to the bathroom to relieve the incredible discomfort of the outstanding erection their foreplay had created. Then, he decided to do a little research. Not on his captive, but on his uncle. His access to bank databases was his first start. After a few trails, he found what he was looking for. After all, his uncle wasn't very smart.

She watched him approach, a strange expression on her face that he couldn't quite place, or at least didn't expect. His approach was slow as he took the lovely sight in. "Think about me while I was away?"

"You're all I could think of...well, and my grocery list." 

He smirked. "Glad to hear it. I hope, while you were thinking of me, you thought about what I said."

"I did."

He stopped to study her. "Good," he said evenly.

When he said nothing further, but continued to stare at her, she asked hesitantly, "Do you want me to tell you now, what I know?"

"No, not really interested."

"Why not?" she asked, almost incredulously. 

He gave a noncommittal shrug, distracted by her chest. "Like I said earlier, I'm only interested when I ask. Other times, there are other things that interest me," he said slowly, reaching out to trace a breast. He watched with carnal delight as the skin grew taut, hardening into a firm bud. He slid his hand across her chest to massage the other nipple into peaking as well.

Lachlan looked into her eyes. Her guard was down. Grace didn't try to hide her arousal, but didn't look appreciative of his efforts. Her reaction, or portrayal thereof, interested him. Her mood had altered somewhat in the last hour he had let her think. She was no longer fighting him, but she looked like a pissed-off lover. Perhaps he could change that. 




A Simple Persuasion Ch. 02



He forcefully stepped into her, cupping her behind the neck and brought his mouth down onto her lips. He quickly dove in, plunging possessively. He rubbed his tongue harshly against hers, proving his dominance. Again and again he stroked until he felt her return the caress. He eased his attack when he had her response, and he led her along in the delicate art of making out. The fierceness was gone, and left in its place they stoked a growing fire. He would draw her pink blade into his mouth, only to capture it and suck on it. She bit his lower lip and sucked in return. Lachlan had never been quite so stimulated by kissing before.

His hands were running over her body, finding those sweet spots he had discovered earlier, drawing moans that he captured in his mouth. Soon, Grace felt her leg wrap around his waist, though she didn't know who lifted it, her or him. All Grace was aware of was the delightful rough denim that rubbed her open slit. Despite her previous reservations, since she had given herself the freedom to seduce him, she responded openly, taking the pleasure he so easily offered up. 

Grace ground her crotch into his hip, loving the grating feeling. Ignited by her ardent responses, Lachlan was determined to move their sweet game along. Grasping a breast in one hand, and the other in his mouth, he moved with her, feeling the damp heat of her cunt seep into his denim. Soon, he promised himself. His movements only had one purpose, bring her to it. He was rubbing himself against her until her heated breath began to moan and quiver. He could feel her leg squeeze him tighter into her dripping wet pussy. And then he dragged himself away from her.

She groaned her frustration and looked at him with such angry disappointment. "What?" she gasped out.

Though he wanted to force a cruel smile, he could only pant at her in return. It took him several moments to gather his strength before he attempted to speak. "Not so fast. This may be great fun for you, but let's not forget who's in charge here."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Only that I want in on the fun, too."

"So?"

He did manage a slightly cruel smile then. "So..." he said slowly, unzipping his pants. He watched her face as a modicum amount of fear edged in. Her breathing picked up, her chest now heaving faster than it had during their kissing and grinding.

Grace bit her lip and looked at him, somewhat afraid, but not completely. "You do want me, right?" he asked as he pushed his pants past his hips, his turgid dick springing out proudly. Her eyes widened, partly from female approval and partly from uncertainty that she could happily play along.

Though she was uneasy at the sight of his naked form, she wasn't denying him. Before she could think herself out of being aroused, he stepped back to her, kissing her the way he knew she liked, dirty. Before long, she was moaning into him, rubbing her pelvis against him. Taking a firm thigh in his hand, Lachlan drew her closer. She quickly adjusted and even brought the other leg up to nestle him against her slick folds. 

"Eager, are we? You do know I'm supposed to be raping you, don't you?" he chuckled.

"Yeah, I know. I just thought it would be easier to play along, get on your good side," she answered against his mouth. Why had she admitted that! Good grief, I'm dumb, she lamented as her body began to rock against his. His fingers were inside of her, stimulating her towards orgasm, stretching her for his large girth.

Believing as the man he would take care of...all that down there, Grace focused on finding pleasure at his full lips and talented tongue. For the most part, she hadn't found great pleasure during the actual intercourse and learned to be involved in other things of the lovemaking process. But the moment Lachlan entered her, she could focus on nothing else but the distinct, overpowering stimulation his cock surrounded by her quivering walls brought. She gasped against his mouth, her eyes open in shock.

And then he moved.

If at all possible, her surprise only grew. He watched in fascination as her cheeks flushed even deeper crimson. Her beautiful brown eyes opened as she watched him fill her with surprising pleasure. His adroit movements quickly sent her over the edge. She spasmed in his arms, falling as much forward as her chains allowed.

Lachlan clenched his jaw, mustering all his strength to stop thrusting and pull out. He wanted to spend her of all her energy so she had nothing left to think with. He stepped behind her and lifted her leg. His extremely stiff, protruding cock slid into her still clenching channel. It was a tight fit causing him to have to work himself in slowly. After the fourth or fifth thrust, he was buried deeply. Her head fell back to rest against his shoulder as he began to work inside her, this time bent on releasing himself fully. 

His mouth found her now exposed neck. With a ferocity he hadn't felt in quite some time, if ever he attacked it with bites and kisses and sucking. She was moaning and whimpering loudly. Grace, now in tune with his sensual motion began to undulate passionately against him. Her lusty cries were reward by his free hand sliding down to her cunt. He palmed her mound and rubbed in time with his pounding. Finding her clit, he focused his energy there, bringing her with him as he came hard. He growled her name in her ear over and over, his legs shaking from the powerful explosion he just spent. Grace joined him, cumming hard. Her vision blackened and she felt squeezed, from the inside out. The world disappeared and she was an unconscious being floating in tingling pleasure.

Eventually, Lachlan pulled out again, his member no longer stiff, but elatedly drained of pent up virility. His morning of fun was drawing to a close, and he was eager to get on to the last part. He was rather happy that she hadn't been strong enough to do stress positions, or run tied to the treadmill for hours. This was turning out to be more fun. And if what she had said was true, which he was pretty certain it was, maybe he could get her to play along for just a while longer.

He walked back around her to dress. Her eyes were shut and her head had drooped forward. Her breathing, though slowing, was still indicative of their great expenditure. After a few minutes, Grace picked up her head, her eyes quickly scanning until her eyes landed on his sitting form on the stairs. They stared at each other, intent on studying the other's disposition. Unable to contain her questions, Grace spoke first. "Now do you want to know?" Please say yes, please say yes...

"No."

She couldn't temper the flame that jumped at that. "What do you mean, 'no'? What sort of interrogator are you? You're here, are you not, to find out what I know? Then why don't you let me tell you and get the hell out of here?"

He stood, his demeanor menacing again. He strode up until he was standing an arm's length away. "You have a bad habit of forgetting who is in charge." She only stared angrily at him. "It's something I think we need to fix, immediately. So...you have your choice, and, just so you know what you are working towards, after you complete your punishment successfully, I'll let you tell me. Deal?"

She was shivering slightly. Punishment? What punishment?

"Now, to show you I am a fair man, I'll even let you choose your punishment. You can either go back in the hole," Interesting, he thought as he saw the terror instantly light her eyes, "or a second option to be later named."

Though her face betrayed her bewilderment at his statement, she shook her head. "I-I can't go back in that hole," she admitted, torn between the horror compelling her to be honest and the survival instinct that said he shouldn't know her greatest fears. "I choose the second option, whatever it is. Just, please, don't stick me in the hole. So... what is it?"

"It's a very good choice, that's what it is." He stalked past her to the large duffle on the floor out of her view. "And it's one I hoped you would make." She heard him rustle around in the bag. She heard clangs and hard things tumbling around. Eventually he returned, bring a chair with him. He placed it down in front of her, and sat whatever it was he pulled from the bag on it. He turned to her, that dark look back in his eyes. 

Before she questioned him further, his lips were on her, easing thoughts from her mind. Lachlan knew he had delicate work in front of him, and if it were to work, he would have to seduce her along, before she knew what he was about. Luckily, she responded well to his kisses, holding nothing back, but falling freely into them.

He began stroking her on the side of her neck and then her breasts. He felt her body arch into his touch. Slowly he worked down her body until one hand was kneading her butt and the other tickling its way past her hip, over her smooth mound. The incredibly wet flesh seemed to suck his fingers in. Her cunt was sopping from her juices and his cum. It was perfect. He stroked her, striking inside her tunnel, causing her to begin to roll with him. Her moans had returned, and he felt confident she was ready.

Lachlan worked his mouth from her lips, down her throat. He paused momentarily to lathe one breast and then the other. Her skin was like silk, and he wanted to devour each delectable inch. He chanced a glance at her face and was satisfied to see her eyes closed as she chewed on her bottom lip. 

Grace focused on the exquisite feel of his mouth. Who knew touching another human could feel so...divine. His hand never left her pussy, his fingers patiently working in her. She barely noticed as she felt him maneuver his shoulder under her thigh, lifting it to rest across his back. She felt his breath on her opened slit. The light caress danced on her, shivers of delight escaping through her body. Then his mouth deftly found her clit. His sharp teeth bit in, causing spikes of pleasure to stab into her cunt. A quivering groan escaped from her throat. "Lachlan," she breathed, "what are you doing?" She was able to stop herself from continuing the question. This is supposed to be punishment, right? You've already done this, and I'm pretty sure this isn't all that bad. But she didn't want to question him, and she certainly didn't want him to stop.

He seemed to ignore her, continuing on with his delicate task of suckling her clit while fingering her depths. He added a third finger to the action, stretching her. As his fingers slowly penetrated, he spread them out, widening her tunnel. He always retreated with a rewarding stroke on her g-spot. He left his work on her clit to layout kisses across her pelvic region. The delicate flesh spanning from hip to hip jumped excitedly under his attention.

After several minutes of laboring, he added a fourth finger. Grace's hips twitched at the discomfort. For the time, Lachlan held his fingers inside, not withdrawing or thrusting. He just let them tenderly stroke her sensitive zone. Her body relaxed into his hand eventually. When he felt her give in, he began to twist his hand around, widening the area in all direction.

"Lachlan, what are you doing?"

"Your punishment, or did you forget?" he chuckled as he continued to place kisses across her stomach.

"No, I-I didn't forget. What is my punishment?" she asked hesitantly, a growing fear of his answer creeping in.

"Only the most intense pleasure, after which you will be dying to tell me anything," he murmured against her skin.

"Not literally?" He paused to look up at her questioningly. "I won't literally be dying, right?"

He saw the fear and felt its resulting tension in her body as her inner muscles began restricting his access. His hand fell out as he stood. Lachlan kissed her softly, hoping to reassure her she was safe with him. "I already told you, I don't want that to happen. If you trust me, it'll work out. You have to trust me," he whispered, taking her face in his hands so he could peer into her eyes beseechingly.

The fears and uncertainties, even the hesitancy of being so closely tied to him all flickered in her eyes. Almost imperceptively, she nodded, agreeing. At this point, what choice do I have?

He kissed her fiercely then, somehow grateful she let him in, even if she was powerless against his assault. He quickly found himself back in the chair, her leg draped over his shoulder. His mouth was at her again, bringing her pleasure to the forefront of her mind. While he worked, so as not to distract her, he reached down for the bottle. Squirting the lubrication in his hand, his fingers reentered her tight hole. First three, then four. She opened easier this time, responding to the previous stretch.

He heard her groan at the unusual sensation. Lachlan could feel the bubbling anticipation, spurring him forward. He felt his fingers quiver. Easy, easy. You cannot rush this. You'll hurt her. Keep it slow, keep it calm. What if she starts to fight it? You can do it, slowly.

To relax himself and her, he continued the tender kisses, trying to see her as a delicate treasure he could break. His four fingers worked gently, easing her open little by little. When he felt her clamp down on him, he whispered praising words meant to soothe her into relaxing around his invading hand. He reached down and pulled out to put even more lube on, coating his entire hand thoroughly. He was reluctant to tell her his plans, but he knew he needed her utmost cooperation and trust if he was to avoid hurting her.

"Gracie, love, look at me." His heart clenched in his chest as her delirious, lust-filled eyes fluttered open and looked down at him. He kissed her lovingly on the stomach. "Grace, I need you to relax. This may feel strange, but, trust me, it will be worth it. Tell me if it hurts and we'll go slower."

Grace could barely understand his words, but the affection he clearly displayed, the concern for her comfort and pleasure muddled her thinking even further. Trust him, just this once. This feels too good to stop, she begged herself. She knew he was waiting for her response. She nodded awkwardly, and closed her eyes, waiting for whatever it was he was planning. She felt his fingers again at her entrance, now extremely coated in their juices and the goop he was applying to his hand. Slowly, he penetrated her with two, then three, then four.

With the utmost of care, Lachlan began to gently push higher inside until the width of his hand hit the two bones deep on either side of her vagina. Her muscles immediately resisted the invasion and began to push against him. "Grace," he whispered against her stomach, "relax. Tell your body to relax." Eyes still closed, she could only numbly nod as she tried to will her body into being receptive. He pulled out gently, allowing her muscles to relax around him. When he felt her give, he pushed slowly back in. Again, her inner chamber tightened, disallowing access. 

He calmed her with erotic words about her beauty and smell and taste. He told her how she felt deep inside and how it made him ache to be there. He ran his lips over her and down to her mound, sending thrilling pleasure to skip through her. When he pushed back in and felt the tightening once again, he told her to squeeze him as tightly as she could. She obeyed in quivering strength, holding him. After twenty seconds he told her to relax fully. This time, her muscles opened up, and he was able to slide past the small barrier, tucking his thumb into his palm as he went.

Grace cried out. Her erotic sounds sent shivers down him. "Tell me you're okay, Gracie. Tell me you want more," he gruffed into her as he leaned his forehead against her belly.

"Yes, yes, please, don't stop." Her voice carried her plea on unabashed need. "Please, Lachlan," she whispered.

Though the basement remained cool, beads of sweat formed and rolled from his brow. He was buried up to his thumb, his fingers tucked firmly together. He had to proceed steadily, without jerking or pulling out suddenly. The pressure inside was exquisite, making him yearn to move and stretch. Lachlan continued slowly, turning his palm-up hand over as he went. At last, he was in up to his wrist with a popping suction, grabbing him and holding him tight.

Inside, Grace could feel him fatten up as his hand slowly formed a fist. Never in her life had she felt so heavy and full. Stretching of muscles Gracie never realized she had filled her mind. Am I pleasure or am I pain, the new feeling seemed to taunt. She knew it felt good, but the shadow of pain overlaid it, causing her to focus on the specific sensation living deep inside her.

The feeling was so different from her own masturbatory explorations or even the glorious feeling of Lachlan fingering or fucking her. This was something entirely different, new and unexpected. Flames licked across her flesh as she concentrated on the exhilarating sensation. He was inside of her in a way no one ever had been before or likely would be again. 

Lachlan had to pry his eyes off the amazing sight of his wrist disappearing into her body to gage her reaction. Her bottom lip was clasped between her teeth and her eyes were squeezed shut, her brow drawn in heavy concentration.

"Grace," his raw voice called to her. He waited for her to respond. "Grace, look at me."

Her open, lust-filled eyes peered back down at him. They had made it, they had accomplished this insane, amazing thing and the power of it all was igniting her like a sacrifice on a pyre. Her breathing was deep, but quick as her body was struggling to adjust to the mighty sensation. For moments she just stared into his warm, gray eyes, no thoughts or requests, just the mere elation of being. But then Lachlan moved, opening his hand inside of her ever so slightly.

Grace screamed as she orgasmed, clenching like a vice around his hand. Her ring of muscles produced the most acute pressure he had ever felt. The pain was tolerable, but he couldn't let thoughtless reactions cause him to do anything to harm her, like suddenly pull out. Normally, a woman spasming around his cock was a delightful sensation meant to send him into orgasm, not to take and internalize. But this was different. His hand was the teller of all information to his brain, relaying his entire world back to his consciousness. This time, he was fully aware, fully present, unable to escape into himself. He watched in full splendor as her body contracted and writhed beautifully. Another image flashed in his mind, stirring a flurry of unwanted emotions. 

She couldn't keep her eyes open, but shut out all extra stimulation that was not attached to her inner depth. As her thousand shattered pieces began to reassemble in a quivering mass. Without reason, Grace felt the swelling inside her and knew she was unable to stop herself from crying. The experience was more than her body could handle, or her mind.

Lachlan let his hand slowly ease out, her body now through with it, let it slide free. His hand, only the moment before burning in her heat, now quickly cooled in the air. The smell of sex hung thickly in the air. Her soft sobs drifted through the emptiness of the room. Lachlan placed one last kiss under her navel before letting her leg slide off him as he stood.

He kissed her gently, and then held her, her head falling forward into the crook of his neck. She felt his hands at her back, pressing her into him. He knew the experience was usually fraught with emotional tides, and he seemed content to ride them with her. When her tears seemed to lessen, he spoke soothingly to her. "Grace," he pulled back to look into her eyes, gaining her attention. "Tell me, Grace, you can tell me now. Tell me everything you know, who you've told, and any hard copies of anything you have." His face was soft with concern and interest.




A Simple Persuasion Ch. 02



She regarded him unhappily. He never beaten her, he never laid a hand on her, to bring her pain, anyway. And she realized she probably would have preferred that. Her pain would have further fueled her hatred of his quisling behavior. But, as it was, her body felt pulled by him. It desired him and savored the adoration he heaped on her. She had failed to resist him so miserably, and now she had no options left. "The chief is committing fraud, insurance fraud. He commits arson for those with unreasonably high insurance policies and then gets a large cut once he's declared the fire accidental and the company pays out."

He nodded, waiting for her to continue. "That's all I know," she said slowly.

"And who knows?"

She faltered, only a second before shaking her head in denial.

"Now, Grace, you were doing so well. Don't start saying things that will make me not trust you." She stiffened a little, drawing away from him.

"I don't know what you mean."

He slanted his eyes. "Perhaps if you spent a little more time in the hole, you would understand."

She immediately pulled away from him, fighting to be out of his grasp. "No! Please, please, no one, I swear! Don't put me back in there!"

"Then tell me the truth. Don't hide anything. If you don't give me everything, I can't protect you."

She shook, knowing she had little choice. "I-I told a friend, a journalist. I didn't know how to investigate anything. He-he helped me with contacts. I haven't told him much. He doesn't know anything, no details."

He squinted his eyes at her, scrutinizing her answer. Wiping the tears off her face, he decided to let it slide for the time. "And your files?"

"On my computer," she said, relieved he had moved on, saddened that it was the end. She heard him breathe in, as if he were resolving the matter in his mind.

"Good girl. See? That wasn't so bad."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"I haven't completely decided," he said thoughtfully. "But, for the time being, I think we're done here. Care to lie down?" he said sweetly, thoroughly satisfied with the morning.



A Simple Persuasion



A few seconds after the silence, the lights in the house began falling, one by one, until only a small light from an upstairs window remained. Though he'd done it in the past, he wasn't going to break in with her at home. Not only did it greatly increase the chances of being caught and then subsequently resulting in a rushed job, he didn't trust himself around her, not after seeing her sylph-like show on the beach an hour ago.

He returned to his car and decided to begin his Intel recon. He pulled out his laptop and fired it up. Before long, he was connected to several local governmental databases, pulling information to aid in his operation. Lachlan quickly awoke at the sound of a car door slamming. She started her car and backed out, heading for the Geek Hut, the local computer technology and service office she worked at.

Getting out, Lachlan moved through the trees and made his way to the back door. It was a simple lock to pick, and he was inside quickly. Her kitchen smelled of oatmeal and bacon, something he wasn't expecting. He slowly, but efficiently made his way through her house, taking note of items revealing style, personality, and history. 

He saw that she was romantic in nature, even sensual by the soft coloring, layered textures, and small decadent finds, like the cashmere throw or sumptuous drapes. But she was also tidy and clutter-free. She preferred books to television, as one long wall was completely covered in books, floor to ceiling, but a small TV lied hidden away behind closed cabinet doors. A well-used copy Bone Voyage bookmarked sat on the small side table next to the overstuffed loveseat.

He eased himself up the stairs to the second floor. The guest room was small and perfunctory. A bathroom off to the left still held her lingering scent. The sweet and heady aroma washed over him as he stepped in to examine her cosmetics. Subtle pallet, minimalistic tools. He opened her body wash and the intense warm vanilla scent blew into his nostrils. He felt himself stir at the sensual memories the distinctive smell called forth.

Slowly he entered her bedroom, and stood. Her large comfortable bed remained unmade, which surprised him. Her black nightgown was strewn across the foot of the bed. He walked to the large wardrobe and opened the doors, revealing a set of drawers. He began methodically opening them, running his hands through the silk and satin he found inside. Pointless he chided himself. Find something of value and get the fuck out. 

He thoroughly searched her house and found nothing, no file, no computer...Shit. She probably took her computer with her. What would even be on it? He was scanning the kitchen again when he saw a door he surprisingly passed over his first time through. He had thought it was a pantry, but could clearly tell now it was a door to another room. He opened it and saw stairs leading down to a dark basement. He found a switch and flipped it as he descended. It was large, spanning under the entire house. Support beams ran across the ceiling and one vertical beam stood in the middle of the room. She had a treadmill angled in front of a wall mounted TV at one end. In the middle against the wall, stood her washer and dryer. A storage rack with various cleaning supplies stood next to them. He noted a basket with whites sitting on top of the washer. The far end was empty. He stood, slowly scanning, quickly thinking. If he couldn't find hard evidence about what she knew, he was going to have to extract it. He was fast deciding he didn't like where this was headed. 

Lachlan left the house, leaving the door unlocked behind him. He raced to the docks and ascended the stairs at one of the boathouses. The large, vacant quarters had served as his home the past three years. He packed a duffle to last him a few days and grabbed his shovel, a pick, rope, tape, and various other items he knew he would want at hand. It was roughly 9:30 when he returned back to her house. Carrying his black bag down to the basement, he began working, preparing his make-shift torture chamber for his soon-to-be captive.

Grace spent the day holed up in her office at the geek compound trying to keep her mind focused on the invoices and accounts. Given the fireworks of the town meeting the night before, she was reluctant to talk to anybody, despite the fact it was her duty as one of their councilmembers. She was satisfactorily productive until her mother called. Her parents were giving their end-of-the-summer party at the family estate in Greenwich. "Sweetheart, you cannot put your life on hold any longer. You need to go back to school. Your grandfather, if he truly loved you, wouldn't want you to stay in that small little town wasting away."

"Mom, I'm not having this discussion with you. I am perfectly content living here in Maine with grandpa. This is where he wants to live. He's lived here all his life."

"Then let him live there. You come back to New York."

"Mom, I'm sorry to break it to you, but I am happy here. I like it here. Yes, you're right. I need to go to law school, but grandpa can't live by himself a hundred percent of the time. He needs someone close to help him out."

"Then we put him in a home. They have very nice retirement villages here in Connecticut. They're called assisted living facilities."

"I'm sure they are fine, but they're not what he wants. He can live in his own home until he dies, he just can't do it all by himself."

"It isn't your responsibility."

"Mom! One day you are going to be old, despite any plastic surgery you may have in the mean time. And when that time comes, who do you want to look out for you? Where do you want to live? You may be partly right. It shouldn't be my responsibility, but seeing as how his own son and daughter won't live up to their obligations, it falls to me. I'm not forcing him to move when he doesn't have to. Now, please, let's stop arguing about this, because it isn't going to make me change my mind. It will only serve to make me reconsider what I will be willing to do for you when the time comes." She huffed and sat in silence, waiting for her mother to relent, but she didn't say anything further.

"You know what, Mom, I've really gotta go. I'll call you sometime this weekend. Bye."

"Goodbye, Grace, please consider what I said." Before she could respond, her mother hung up. She let out a large sigh and settled back, pinching her nose. She had an enjoyable time with her grandpa during lunch. She finished with a determined push through the afternoon, resolving all her back-logged paperwork. She had plans to meet Paige at Sweet Mama's Café & Bistro at six. 

The bistro was busy that evening. Thankfully she was able to get a table outside in the smallish courtyard. She was looking at her watch when her phone beeped. Paige sent her a text briefly stating she was sick and wouldn't make it. She frowned, picking up the menu, flipped it over, and sat it back down. Maybe she should just go home.

"Hey, don't I know you?" 

The warm, deep voice interrupted her plan making. Pleasure ran through her body as she took in the 6'1" muscular guy with short wavy hair. She didn't know him immediately, but as she studied him, he began to look more and more familiar; she just wasn't sure where she'd seen him. Given how small Davenport was, it was actually more surprising that she didn't know him.

He was looking at her as if he too were trying to place her face. "I know; I saw you at Small's Iron bar one night. You were with a red head."

She frowned. She had only gone to the bar once or twice, and that was several months ago. But as she thought of the dark place, its sounds, smells and sights slowly emerged. From somewhere, her subconscious pulled his eyes and nose, and mouth into light. His mouth. As she looked at it, she had the strangest sensation that she had a memory of what they felt like. She gave him an uncertain look. "Did we...talk?"

"Yes, though you did most of it. You don't remember?" he chuckled.

"Vaguely," she said cautiously. "I think I had more than my allowed limit that night."

"As I remember. Don't worry, your secrets are safe with me."

Her eye brows shot up at that. "And what secrets are those?"

"Well, if you don't remember, perhaps I shouldn't say anything." He grinned teasingly. "Eating alone?"

She nodded, realizing he had a to-go sack in his hand. "My friend just texted. She's sick so...it looks like it's just me. And you?"

"Same," he said, leaving the air full and heavy.

She paused, but only for a second. "Well, if you don't have any other plans, would you care to join me?"

"Well," he seemed to linger considering it. "I think that sounds perfect." He sat opposite her at the little round table. "This evening couldn't go better if I planned it."

She smiled at his easy honesty, though not realizing how honest he was truly being. She ordered one of the large, gourmet salads full of raspberries, chicken, blu cheese, nuts, and a whole lot of other things. He politely waited until her food arrived and then they began eating.

"Have you lived in Davenport long?" he began the conversation.

"Only about two years. My grandpa lives here, has all his life. He's getting older and needs someone to look in on him occasionally. I used to visit my grandparents a ton, so I've spent a great part of my life here. So...since he needs minimal help, I decided it would be best if I moved up here."

"So, where are you from?"

"Well, that's rather tricky. We have a house in New York and one in Greenwich. But, of course, those are my parents' houses, not really mine so... My mom is anxious for me to return. There were these big plans for me to follow in my father's footsteps and go to Yale, but...some things take precedence over others."

"That sounds like a big sacrifice."

She chuckled. "You sound like my mom. No, it's fine. It's great actually. I love Davenport, I have a degree, and I have a job that pays bills. Besides, it's family. Do anything for family, right?" she smiled charmingly as she took a monstrous bite of her salad. He watched hungrily, as she licked the dressing from her full lips. Anything for family? He wasn't so sure.

"So, sounds like you came from money, huh? Finding it hard to adjust to commoner life?"

She laughed. "You make it sound as though I'm a spoiled, incompetent princess. No, I like it. I have my own cottage, wash my own dishes, do my own laundry."

"The ironing, too? Gotta confess, laundry's pretty hot. Nothing sexier than a woman willing to do your laundry."

She blushed. "Really? I guess I never really thought about it." After swallowing her food and allowing the blush to settle, she began her own inquiries. "What about you? What do you do?"

"Oh, this and that. Actually," he said, becoming a little more intense, "I have a fairly select, specialized set of skills that are employable by only a small percent of the population."

"Select, specialized set of skills?" she giggled. "Say that five times fast. What sort of skills?"

He sighed, "Nothing you would be familiar with."

"That's sort of a cagey answer, isn't it? Fine, no specifics of the select, specialized set of skills. Then tell me, how long have you lived in Davenport? Besides the night I can barely recall, I don't know that I've seen you around."

"Only about three years. I'm in town working with my uncle."

"Oh? He employs your select, specialized skills does he?"

"Not until today."

She smiled, waiting for an elaboration, but received none. She chuckled, rolling her eyes away as she took a sip of her wine. Lachlan sat back, trying to relax enough to innocently flirt with Grace. His plan was coming off smoothly enough. While working in her basement, he called her office during lunch, knowing she would be away. The young guy that answered the phone was easy enough to get her after-hour's plan from. He immediately rushed out and bought a box of chocolates. Dosing the chocolates with chemical laxative using a syringe, he gave them to the florist to deliver with the roses at exactly 5:15 to Paige Glass in the bank. He had calculated the onset of symptoms to begin only after it was too late to keep Grace from the café where he would intercept her. 

The food came to an end, but she seemed content to sit and talk with him. But knowing the long weekend that lay before them, he pushed himself to end the dinner. With quiet disappointment, Grace got up and left the table. He mentioned he was parked around back, as was she. He kept the conversation up, keeping her connection to him as long as possible. When they got to the lot, he spoke up. "You know, those cookies looked really good. I think my uncle might like one. I'm gonna go back. It was nice meeting you, again, Grace. Bye." He portrayed just the right amount of reluctance to leave her, before turning and walking back to the café.

When he came back five minutes later, she was sitting on the hood of her car. "Really?" she sounded disappointed. "Okay, so what time do you open in the morning? Okay, can you come and haul it to your garage then? Yeah, that's fine. Okay. Then I'll see you then. Okay, thanks, bye."

"What's up?"

"Oh, my car won't start," she sighed.

"No? Here, let me take a look." He reached out for her to hand him the keys.

She smiled, "What? You don't think I know how to start a car?"

"Well, the sound it makes when it won't start tells you a lot about the potential cause. Here, let's look." He sat in her seat and cranked the engine. It gave a grinding sound, but no ignition. "Hmm, sounds like spark plugs."

"Well, now that I know it might be spark plugs, I've gotta find a ride home."

"How about your grandfather?"

"That's one of the reasons I'm here; he doesn't drive anymore. The whole town thanks us," she said wirily. She flipped open her phone and thumbed through her contacts. She hit one and waited for an answer. "Damn, he didn't pick up. Well, Paige is too sick..." she was still searching through her list when he finally broke the slightly awkward silence.

"Well, if you need me to, I don't mind taking you home. Is it far?"

"No, it's at the edge of town, just north. Five minutes," she said hopefully, trying to not make it sound too far to drive but not so close that she could walk.

"Okay, get in." He pointed to his Land Cruiser. 

"Let me grab my files." She pulled a large box from her trunk. He opened the back door and she slid it in. "You don't even lock the doors?"

"Why would I? Who'd steal this old thing?" he smiled, pulling open the door and sliding in. He feigned ignorance of the way to her home, allowing her to direct him. He continued the banter, keeping the interaction going. When he pulled up into her drive, he hopped out so he could grab her box before she did. 

"Oh, thank you," she said when she saw her box in his arms. "One would think I could leave work at work, but..."she sighed and inserted her key. After opening her door she turned to take it from him. "Thanks again, and thanks for the ride."

"My pleasure, you just extended a very enjoyable evening."

She blushed, biting her lip. They stood staring for a moment as she fought a plausible reason to invite him in. "Hey listen, if you have nothing better to do, why don't you come in? I could give you a slice of chocolate cake or a glass of wine, you know, as a thank you for driving me home."

He nodded. "Thanks, that sounds perfect." She led him in, setting her box on the rocking chair as she passed through the living room. 

"Well, come on in," she led him through to the kitchen. "Pull up a chair, I'll get the wine." She brought out two glasses and the headiest wine she could find. The sound of the cork popping out and the wine gushing into the glass was all that filled the quiet room. There was an awkward silence as they took their first sips. Suddenly, she brightened. "Oh, I promised you cake, didn't I? Well, you are in luck," she turned to set down her glass and remove the cake lid. 

"Oh, damn," she heard him quietly say. She turned to see him stalled as he looked down at his crisp white shirt, the deep purple spreading slowly.

"Oh, no! What happened?" She brought over a rag. He dabbed at it some as he stood. "Oh, Lachlan, I don't think that's going to come out. Here, take it off, I can put it in the wash quickly."

"No, I don't want you to go to the trouble."

"It's no trouble; I even think I have a load of whites to put in."

"No, really, I don't know, you doing my laundry?"

She flushed, recalling his words. Sexy, huh? "Please, just take it off. Don't be such a big baby. Otherwise, you've lost this very nice shirt. Come on," she was practically tugging at it.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, and did as she bid. He unbuttoned it and tried not to look at her with too much obvious lust. He could see her heated cheeks as she reached out for it. Instantly, the heat of her cheeks flashed through him, darkening his pupils, awakening his huger. Her shyness triggered his predatory nature. She turned and headed for the door to the basement. He stayed behind her, never leaving her orbit.

Through his intense military training, he had learned to temper his emotions and keep his thoughts in check. Such discipline was needed to survive imminent death situations. Despite the emotions an event might cause, one needed to always keep the logical side of their brain in control. But, once that feral side was released, there was no caging it until it ravaged everything within its grasp. He would break her. It would be the only way to keep her. If she didn't give in eventually, he would be forced to silence her permanently. His hungry side pushed such thoughts away, only focusing on the immediacy of what was to come.

"I think the spot will come out, we just need to treat it a little," she said lightly, sensing a shift in him. "I think the best thing for a wine stain is..." her voice faded as she noticed chains with leather manacles hanging from the rafter in the middle of the room. He came to stand next to her, looking at her with a devilish smile, soaking up her puzzlement and lightning fast fear. She gave a small start, and then her eyes darted to the enormous pile of dark soil at the very far wall. She quickly noticed there were other things added to her basement though she was momentarily too confused to understand what they were.

Grace's body fell back slightly, as if wanting to leave before her mind made the decision. Instantly, his arm was around her shoulders. She jumped and looked up at him, her face marred with fear-filled questions. "I hope you don't mind, Gracie, but I stopped by earlier and made some...improvements. I want your honest opinion on them, but you'll have to try them out first." He felt her body begin shivering as he spoke. Her eyes were wide; she stood frozen.

What? What did he say? What? He did this? He came by earlier? What does that mean? What is he going to do? Run! Run! Run! The heavy steel wheels of her brain began rolling, slipping at first, but the building pressure pushed them around faster and faster until a blinding scream filled her brain.  With savage fierceness, she began flailing her arms and kicking her legs, struggling with all her strength to be free of his rock-like grasp. "Let me go!" she screamed as he turned her in his arms, pressing her back against his hard chest and stomach.

"Relax, kitten, relax. Shh," he murmured. "Don't start fighting. Trust me, you're gonna want that strength for later. Shh, shh, relax." Holding her arms criss-crossed tightly over her chest, his mouth fell in her hair near her ear. His hot breath scorched her sensitive skin there. He felt her shudder as her panicked thrashing lessened. "That's right, kitten, just relax, and you'll do just fine."




A Simple Persuasion



In broken voice she asked, "What do you want?" She feared the answer, knowing anything at this point was not something she wanted to give.

Still breathing harshly into her ear, he began rocking their bodies gently side-to-side. "Now, we can make this easy, or you can't make it hard."

"What do you want? What do I have to do?" she said as tears began clouding her vision.

"Just tell me." 

Through the deafening thudding in her ears, she waited for him to elaborate. "Tell you what?" she whimpered at last.

"Tell me, what you know, and what you've done with the information."

The man didn't make any sense. "What information? Know what? What are you talking about?"

"You are on the town council, yes? You voted last night against the proposal to expand the services for the fire department. Why?"

She gave a shuddering, mock-laugh. "That's why you're here? You're from the fire department? Because I said no? Maybe a closer examination of your current treatment of a council member should clue you into plausible justification. Are Lowe and Philman receiving the same, highly personalized treatment as me?" she bit out. The man was a lunatic. "You know, they should do something about committing you."

He grunted humorously at her audacity. Squeezing her tighter he said, "Very funny. But you really don't want to push any of my buttons. As it is, you're already scheduled for some handling I'm not so sure you can survive, do you really want me angrily coming up with more punishment?" He pushed her hard away from him towards the back wall. He blocked her access to the stairs. Regaining her balance, she quickly turned towards him. "Now, tell me."

When he had taken off his shirt, her heart had fluttered and she felt her core melt, flooding her lower lips. But now, seeing him in the eerie light and shadows the funky overhead cast, she felt terror that no common person ever feels. He was a monster. His hard-edged muscles looked like the contours of a mythical creature, alien and strange. He stood menacingly aware of her every heart beat. He looked ready to pounce, a predator cornering its prey.

Besides her stinking fear, outrage began to swell. I will not be bullied. Not by that overstuffed, conniving, deceitful, boorish cretin! Maybe it was her set, clenched jaw, or maybe the slow denial of her shaking head, maybe it was the fighting fists held tight at her sides, whatever her behavior, Lachlan was having none of it. With minimal interest, he reached behind his back and pulled a gun out, holding it threateningly at his side. He grated out one word. "Strip."

Her bravado melted away at the sight of the cold metal in his hand. But when he told her to strip, she nearly fainted. "Strip?" she whispered. "Why?"

His cold face broke out into an evil smile. "You won't need clothes where you're going." He watched her terror ratchet up, her shaking becoming noticeable again. She slowly shook her head. Lachlan sighed and lifted the gun. "Do it, you have no choice," he said casually, almost as if he were bored.

Knowing she had no choice, her face fell in disgrace. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she began to unbutton the short-sleeve blouse. She held it over her chest only momentarily as she realized there was plenty more for her to do. She dropped it and unzipped the short, flippy skirt, letting it slide down her legs. The room was so quiet, the rustling of the fabric as it fell sounded loud to her ears. She cringed at the thought of what she must look like. Her black, lace bra offered no cover for the modesty of her pink nipples. And the black satin underwear barely covered her mound. Without being told, she knew her shame was part of the torture and so felt it was appropriate she didn't attempt to hide. Her face still pointed down her body, her mortification keeping her from looking up. Heavy tears blurred her vision of her torso and limbs. A painful lump had lodged itself in her throat, and she knew she would break at any moment. 

"You wear that to the geek office?" his hoarse voice groaned.

She looked up at him questioning, only to realize he was staring heatedly at her black stockings that came up to her thighs. She looked back down at her body, hiding the pain in her face. She wiped her tears away with one hand and nodded.

She could hear his harsh breathing, even from twelve feet away. "Take them off," he said, his voice a little less affected. Slowly, she lifted her right leg, and, catching the whisper thin material by her fingertips, she slid it down her thigh, over her knee, past her calf, and then off her foot. She let it gently fall to the pile of clothes before she did the other.

Please don't let him make me take them off, please don't let him... she silently pleaded with the powers that be. She clasped her hands in front of her, willing herself to poof, disappear. But it didn't happen. Instead, he walked up to her and pointed to the wall. On the ground was a bucket and tea cloth over it. "Use it, you have thirty seconds."

"Wh-what?"

"You aren't going to be able to take a piss for quite some time. I suggest you empty your bladder now. Twenty-five seconds."

"I-I can't! Not with you watching," her face had changed back from shame to terror. He gruffly sighed and walked back towards the stairs. "Twenty." He stood so that he faced away, but kept her in his immediate periphery. He could hear her whimpers and soft cries and then the soft, dribbling sounds against the wooden bucket, and then the full release. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four," he was turning around to her, watching as she slid the panties up past her mound before he could see any pubic hair. She quickly bent over to drape the courtesy towel over it and stood soldier still. Their modesty, they always do whatever they can to protect it. 

He had walked back over to her. "In the hole," he said lightly. Normally, if he were treating another captured fighter, he would have used more shock-and-awe, yelling and jerking them around. But with Gracie, he knew more was to come, and yelling at her wasn't going to get him there.

She looked down at the black hole he had dug through her concrete floor and into the rich soil below. It was maybe thirty inches by thirty inches. She couldn't quite see the bottom, though saw that at least the sides were lined with a wooden panel. Her breathing immediately increased. She was shaking her head violently, tears brimming and falling over. "No! You're not going to put me in there! Just shoot me! I'm not going in there!" She was yelling at him as she backed away.

He took two steps and was immediately pressing her against the wall. With his hands high on her arms, he shook. "Stop! You're not going to die in there! Just shut the fuck up and get in that hole. Consider it your thinking hole. You're gonna start thinking about all the things you wanna tell me. I'll give you plenty of alone time, and when you're ready to talk, I'll let you out. Deal?" With her shoulders still firmly grasped in his hands, he drug her forward until her toes curled around the edge of the hole.

"No, please!" she whimpered. 

"You'll be fine, trust me," he smiled, and dragged her in. She fell ricochet-like down the narrow hole. Her head was a good four inches below the surface line. As she looked up in panic, he laid the top board over. He quickly grabbed the sound-muffling pillow to put over that and then sat the giant drum laden with gravel on top. He could barely hear her screams, loud and desperate as they were.

He'd once survived seventy-six hours in the isolation tank before the hallucinations became too much. At first, he thought twenty-four hours for his little kitten would be fine, but after seeing her in her black lace, he didn't want to wait that long before she was refusing to answer his questions. He needed to distract himself and so escaped upstairs. Maybe he'd try her chocolate cake; she'd made it sound so good.