Brit Flick Sweethearts: A Rom-Com With Spanking (12 page)

“He takes her
prisoner and she becomes his sex slave. But of course she ends up
falling in love with him. You can’t beat Stockholm syndrome in a
story.”

“And what do
you know of being a sex slave?”

“I have a very
good imagination.”

“What’s that
saying? About writing what you know?”

“There’s also
that one about artistic licence and imagination.”

She was trying
so hard to be cool but his very nearness was making her head spin
and her skin burn. Her heart hammered wildly when he sat next to
her on the bed. Instantly she was transported back to that day
fifteen years ago. The one and only time he had kissed her.

“You’re
thinking about it too, aren’t you,” he said softly.

“Thinking about
what?” she asked shakily through suddenly dry lips.

“You know what.
The kiss, all those years ago. But you were fifteen, and I was
twenty two. I wanted you so much, but Christ, you weren’t even
legal. And you were dating my brother.”

“And now I’m
married to your brother, in case you forgot.”

“I never forget
it. I think about it every day.”

“It was so much
easier when you were in Australia,” she said unthinkingly.

Oh God, that
had come out a lot ruder than she’d intended. But he smiled at
her.

“Yeah, but I
had to come back. I had to leave my marriage far behind me.”

“The other side
of the world is pretty far, I’d say,” she said, just happy they
were no longer talking about the kiss. “You never did tell us what
went wrong.”

“You’re right,
I didn’t. I have this darkness Rose, there are things you don’t
know about me. My wife knew. She even embraced it. She was like me
too, in some ways. But sometimes it was too much, even for
her.”

Rose was
desperate to pry further but her natural shyness prevented her. She
was also scared of what she might hear.

“You’re talking
in riddles,” she said instead.

She was
becoming increasingly aware that her skin was tingling and there
was an achy wetness building between her legs. She hated her body
right then for betraying her.

He reached out
to brush a damp curl out of her eyes and she held her breath when
his fingers grazed her forehead. Just that tiniest of touches made
her heart pound.

“You were one
of the reasons I went to Australia in the first place.”

“Me?” she asked
shakily, not able to trust her own voice.

“Of course I
wanted to go and explore the world. But I also had to get away from
you. You were killing me Rose. I wanted you so bad but I couldn’t
have you. A bit of me died inside when you married my brother.”

“I was
pregnant. I was eighteen. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“But you
miscarried. Why did you stay? Why are you still with him now?”

Rose couldn’t
even begin to explain to him why. Security. To honour her unborn
child. Because they had tried for years after to have another child
but the miscarriage had tragically rendered her infertile. Because
she did love him, in her own way, once, a long time ago.

She said none
of these things. Instead she shrugged.

He edged closer
to her on the bed. She knew she should move, knew she should break
the strange spell they had both fallen under, but she couldn’t. The
predatory wolf eyes that had haunted her dreams for fifteen years
were intently fixed on her, hopelessly rooting her to the spot.

How can two
brothers be so different, she wondered? Jim, short, blonde and
pleasant looking. Mark, tall dark and brooding. Mark seemed so wild
and untamed, she was drawn to him on such a base, animal level. All
she could think of in that moment was kissing him. She was drunk on
the thought, the idea consumed her.

Then suddenly,
he was. He captured her lips with his, pushing his tongue into her
welcoming, eager, wet mouth. As soon as his tongue touched hers
little sparks of pleasure went shooting straight to her nipples and
pussy, like the three places were hotwired together.

She let out a
small moan of need and wrapped her arms around his shoulders,
drawing him closer, deepening the kiss. He began tenderly kissing
the soft skin of her throat, lingering on the centre where her
pulse fluttered like a trapped moth. She threw back her head in
rapture, her eyes tightly closed.

She felt
fingers at her neck, softly stroking her, then growing more
insistent. Then they tightened around her throat.

“You’re hurting
me,” she said in alarm.

But his grip
only tightened even more. She wiggled under his grasp and tried
uselessly to push him away by his shoulders but he was so much
stronger than her.

“You’re so
beautiful,” he breathed against her neck, licking and nibbling her
there until she was writhing, partly in desire, partly to
escape.

With a growl,
he pushed her down on the bed so he was lying on top of her,
crushing her with his weight. He held her down by the neck and with
his free hand he ripped open her jeans and unceremoniously parted
her wet labia and fingered her clit hard.

She jerked
beneath him, the rough attention on the sensitive nerve endings
sending jolts of hurting pleasure shooting outwards from her
clit.

“Let me go,”
she finally managed to get out, thrashing beneath him.

He did, leaving
her lying there panting on the bed. With the weight of him gone she
didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed. She rubbed
her tender neck, her thoughts jumbled and tumbling and chaotic.

“You bloody
strangled me,” she said.

“I didn’t do it
hard. It won’t leave marks. And it’s not like you tried to stop
me.”

“Yes I
did!”

“If you say
so.”

“Jesus Christ
Mark, you tried to kill me. What is wrong with you?”

“Define wrong.
Wrong is just individual perception.”

“Err, let me
think. Oh, I know, how about fucking strangling someone?”

Rose didn’t
swear, as a general rule. What was it with this man, she wondered?
He brought out the devil in her.

“I should go,”
he said.

“Yes, you
really should.”

But even as she
said it a huge rush of sadness and disappointment washed over her.
Don’t go, she ached to say. It was right there, on the tip of her
tongue.

“Goodbye
Rose.”

He left her in
turmoil, positively delirious in disbelief. What the hell had just
happened? He was strangling me, she thought darkly. Like Daisy was
strangled in the story. It was a strange and terrible similarity
and one which left her utterly confused. The front door slammed and
she had never felt so alone before in her life.

It was no good,
she was going mad sitting there with just her own fevered thoughts
for company. Damn Mark. And damn her husband. The only thing to
take her mind off it was to write. She took her place at the
computer and reread what had happened to Daisy thus far. After a
minute of silent contemplation she began to type.

“
You really
should be more careful who you go picking up in bars.”

He let go of my
neck and I doubled over, coughing and clutching my bruised, damaged
windpipe.

“
What do you
want from me?” I managed to choke out.

When I was
bent double I watched him do up his jeans and adjust his clothes. I
wanted to run
but I couldn’t even stand up straight. I
continued to watch helplessly when he opened the back door of the
van. I couldn’t believe I had been so stupid as to be lead into a
trap like this. I glimpsed a leather holdall, which he was now
rummaging through. I seized the moment. His back was turned, and
gathering together every last ounce of strength I managed to right
myself and throw my half naked body past the barrier of the
van

I only got two
or three paces when he grabbed me by my long black hair and pulled
me back again. My yelp of pain was pathetic and barely audible
seeing as I had almost been choked to death.

“
Where do
you think you’re going?” he asked, slamming me up against the brick
wall.

The air left me
in a rush when the sharp brickwork thumped into my back, scraping
my bare skin. I didn’t have time to assess the damage though, I was
more concerned about the hypodermic needle which he stabbed
painfully into my upper arm. It took effect almost instantly. The
last thing I remember is him catching me as my legs gave way
underneath me . Then blackness.

I had no idea
how long I’d been out or where I was. The events of the evening
came to me in quick flashes, like stills from a film. Fucking the
gorgeous stranger in the car park. The sudden switch from hot sex
to blind terror. I let out a small moan of fear, which made me
aware of the bad taste in my mouth, like a small animal had crawled
in there and died. I was thirsty too, so thirsty my tongue stuck to
the roof of my mouth and my throat felt closed up.

I realised
that I was lying on my side and my wrists and ankles were bound.
The floor was cold and hard and bit into my tender bare skin. Bare
skin, I thought. The realisation that I was completely naked filled
me with a fresh dread so intense I began to shake uncontrollably
and
whimper like a baby.

I tried to calm
my racing thoughts and forced open my eyes. Whatever I had been
injected with had left me groggy and I was still fighting sleep.
The first thing I saw was my hands, which were tied together with
rope and clutched to my naked chest. Then I slowly became aware of
my surroundings.

At first my
brain didn’t compute what my eyes were seeing. I couldn’t be locked
in a cage. That was insane. It was completely outside the realms of
possibility.

But I was.

Shakily I
hauled myself to my feet, which proved to be a precarious balancing
act. It looked like I was in a large basement. My cage was roughly
six foot high by six foot wide. There was an identical cage next to
mine about arm’s length away. It was empty. There were no other
furnishings, just the concrete floor and stone walls. A bare low
wattage bulb hung from the ceiling. There were two doors directly
opposite me. I stepped towards the bars and rattled them with my
bound hands.

“
Hello?” I
called out to the empty room. ‘Will somebody help me?”

Then I started
to scream for help at the top of my voice. I screamed until my
throat felt like razorblades. I screamed until I could scream no
more. I sunk uselessly to me knees, hitching sobs racking my body,
utterly exhausted and spent.

I was so far in
the depths of despair, completely drowning in my own misery that at
first I didn’t notice my captor had entered the basement. A wave of
fresh terror and a tiny smidgen of hope coursed through me.

“
Please,” I
babbled, my throat hurting with every last word, “let me go, I’ll
do anything you want just let me go. I’m so thirsty I need water,
oh God, please help me.”

He stood in
front of my cage as I scrambled ungainly to my feet, clutching my
arms to my chest and keeping my legs firmly closed. He eyed me
dispassionately.

“
Don’t cry.
Do exactly as I say or I will hurt you. I will hurt you a lot, do
you understand?”

No, I wanted to
scream, I don’t fucking understand. I don’t understand
anything.

“
Please,” I
begged, “let me go...”

My pleading
gave way to funny little mewling sounds that were half sobs, half
hiccups.

“
Shut up.
You will learn. And you will learn quickly.” He reached into his
jean pocket and pulled out a key. “Your training will begin
now.”

Rose got up and
sat on the bed, staring in disbelief at the computer. Where exactly
was this story going? Yes, the stories she wrote were always a
little kinky. Her stuff was light BDSM, of the gentle spanking and
fluffy handcuffs variety. But this? It was dark. Where was it
coming from?

She decided to
turn in for the night, minus one husband and just her own darkness
for company.

THE NEXT
DAY

The headache
had been getting steadily worse all day. It was now lunchtime and
she felt sick with the agony pulsing in her brain. She couldn’t
stop thinking about last night, how Jim had crawled into bed after
three in the morning, stinking of beer and fags. Any questions
she’d asked had fallen on deaf ears. He’d told her to go to sleep,
that they’d talk in the morning. But of course they hadn’t. She’d
left him this morning snoring in the bed. She just hoped that his
hangover would be crippling.

She made her
excuses at noon and left for home, craving nothing more than her
darkened bedroom and a couple of aspirins.

As soon as she
opened the front door she kicked off her sensible court shoe and
headed straight for the stairs. Bed first. Drugs later.

When she pushed
open the bedroom door she got the biggest shock of her life. All
she could do was stare in mind numbing disbelief at the sight which
greeted her. Jim was being violently ridden by a young blonde. Rose
took in the lithe, youthful body and the small perky tits jumping
in time to her manic bouncing. It felt to Rose like she was stood
there for an eternity when in reality it was just seconds.

Her paralysis
broke as soon as Jim spotted her.

“Fuck,” he
spluttered, pushing the blonde off of him.

“Get that whore
out of my house,” she said in a voice so cold she didn’t recognise
herself.

“Oh my God Jim,
you said she wouldn’t be back ‘til six,” the blonde whined,
stumbling round the bedroom and picking her clothes up off the
floor.

Rose found a
bra that was way too small to be hers and threw it at the younger
woman.

“Get the fuck
out,” she spat at her, “before I fucking kill you.”