Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) (2 page)

Rearing back, he scowled, his Sweet Cheeks fantasy snuffed. “Look what you’ve done,” he yelled, brushing at the black streak on his shirt with a few quick strokes from the tips of his manicured fingers.

“Good. I hope it doesn’t come out,” she snarled, again stabbing at him with her foot even though he was now well out of range.

Though he assumed the foul-mouthed, sour-faced cantankerous woman was probably close to the same age as Sweet Cheeks, this
lab rat
was nothing like her. This one was plain. One of those wear-no-make-up, all natural women. A tree-hugging liberal. But that didn’t matter. Miz Tree-Hugger had one purpose: to serve as the final experiment.

Shaking his head back and forth, he made a reprimanding clucking sound with his tongue. “I paid a hundred-twenty-five-dollars for this shirt.” Crinkling his forehead in feigned concern, he paused, then roared a hee-haw. “You could have really hurt me.”

“You’re demented.” She swung her boot at his torso again. Missed again.

Pointing to her churning legs with his chin, his eyes brightened. “Time to do something about those,” he said with resolve. Bending over the left corner of the footboard, he grabbed the inch-wide piece of black leather dangling from the corner post and pulled on it, like he was reeling in a small boat anchor. At the end of the strip was a leather restraint cuff, like the ones holding her arms. He tossed it on the bed, eyed her.

Quickly back-peddling to the top of the mattress she tucked her heels toward her buttocks.
“What kind of a perverted bastard are you anyway?”

Intrigued, he raised a brow and smiled slyly. “The smart and determined kind,” he coolly returned, lowering his voice for a menacing effect.

It worked.

Her breaths sped up. Nostrils flared. Pressing her back harder against the sturdy log headboard, she retracted her knees tighter toward her chest.

None of the others had reacted to the sight of the leg restraints like that ... a new challenge. Inside, his stomach flip-flopped with excitement. Outside, calm. Cool. Collected.

Casually, he repeated the strap-reeling-in process on the other side of the footboard, while barely containing the thrill within. This was exactly why he never fully restrained the
lab rats
when they were unconscious.

Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning. A near deafening clap of thunder.

The captive woman reflexively jerked her body and screamed.

Rain pelted the cabin. Wind screeched through the cracks around the door. Mother Nature was throwing a full-blown weather tantrum.

Contemplating his next move, he massaged his hands in eager anticipation, visually scouring his test subject.

Her body quivered. Teeth chattered. Not from the cold, but fear.

Concluding it would be easier—and safer for him—to take the straps to her ankles, rather than force her tucked-up legs to the straps at the bottom of the bed, he untied the leash of each restraint from the corners of the footboard. Keenly aware of her gaping eyes fixed on him, “Macabre fascination,” he stated, as if he were a medical examiner recording his observations during an autopsy.

Nonchalantly draping the leashes with the attached restraint cuffs across his shoulder, he stared back at her. Seeking to elicit
more
unconscious body language of fear from his
lab rat
, he purposely hardened his face and compressed his eyes: lasers targeted to fillet her soul.

Instantly she responded with a pitiful whimper, recoiling her head backward. Moments later tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead. “You can’t do this to me. This is police brutality,” she bravely stated.

An
alligator grin
, reserved for only the most rapturous of circumstances, spontaneously swam across his face. “What?”

“You’re a cop, right?”

“Because I flashed a badge?” Reaching into this suit jacket pocket, he pulled out the gold shield, waved it at her. “Twenty-nine, ninety-five. Ordered right off the internet.”

Her facial muscles twitched nervously. “You’re not a real cop?”

Sneering, he rushed her, tackling her bunched up legs, pinning her motionless.

“Get away from me, you sick fucker,” she screamed, showering the side of his face with tiny globs of saliva. Gnashing her teeth in mid air like a chained doberman whose prey was just out of reach, she wildly lunged her head forward and back, attempting to bite his arm or shoulder.

That
alligator grin
surfaced again. Teeth gnashing was a new experience, too. And new stunts performed by his
lab rats
excited him. But there would be plenty of time for gratification later. Right now, had to focus on controlling her legs.

Maintaining her in the pinned position and free from the path of her chomping teeth, he peeled off her hiking boots and socks, lobbing them onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Voice cracking as she pumped her legs, struggling to no avail to break his hold.

Quickly he buckled a thick leather cuff around each of her ankles, then snapped a leather leash onto the D-ring of each ankle restraint.

“Stop it! Let me go,” she protested, her breath labored from combatting his grip.

Holding a long leather leash in each hand, he thrust himself off the bed and stood up. Despite her physical resistance, he forced her legs to the bottom of the bed, fastening the leash ends to the logs at the edge of the footboard. His latest
lab rat
—Miz Tree-Hugger—was now positioned as he desired: helplessly bound spread-eagle.

“Help! Help! Somebody, please, hellllllp!”

“Go ahead, scream. No one ventures this deep into the woods. No one. Ever.” And he was right. However, if by some chance anyone ever happened upon his
lab
, he had made certain looky-loos would have no way of seeing inside. He had boarded up the cabin’s three windows with wooden planks on the outside set in neat vertical rows. Each plank was laced with huge spikes, the ends pointing outward; a painful keep-out message to any man or beast who might spawn thoughts of intrusion.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she launched another frantic twisting-turning assault against the leather restraints.

He indulged his senses: the sight of her short auburn hair in a tossed mess across her face and her eyes wild with fright; the sound of her gasping short breaths; the smell of her sweat, richly seasoned with fear ... and her fully clothed body? No, no, no. That mannish red, black and white plaid flannel shirt and those tight-ass Levis had to go. A mischievous grin scooted across his face. “Oh, Miz Tree-Hugger,” he taunted, his voice rising an octave in anticipation of the next step. “One more thing.” Flashing his version of a sexy Tom Selleck eyebrow wave at her, he brushed back his pin-striped suit coat to expose a knife sheathed at his side.

“God, nooooo,” she shrieked, violently jerking her arms and legs against the stubborn straps.

“Now, now,” he said calmly, deliberately withdrawing the SOG SEAL knife to dramatically reveal its seven-inch blade.

“Please, Mister. Please. I’ll do anything you want. I mean anything. I even have some money. Please, just don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want, please....”

Old news. How unoriginal, he had heard it all before. The sight of the blade had brought about an instant attitude adjustment in each of his past
lab rats,
too. Miz Tree-Hugger’s chatters were no different.

The verbal tirades always started the same and always ended the same. At first when the women were bound only in wrist restraints they spouted angry commands. Demanded to be released. Bravely judged him. Shouted vulgarities.

When their legs were strapped down, brave commands and damning judgements quickly diminished to window-shattering screams and pleas for outside help. Once that notion was squashed and the knife was unsheathed, Mickey Mouse bargaining attempts were proposed. When that didn’t work, they resorted to shameless begging. And right now Miz Tree-Hugger was fuckin’ groveling.

“Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want. Really. I promise. Anything,” she sobbed.

Snickering, “Damn straight you’ll do anything I want,” he needled, bending over her.

“Just please don’t hurt me. Pleeeease....”

Undisturbed by her sniveling and pleas, his steady hand skillfully guided the razor sharp knife through the heavy flannel material of her shirt with the ease of a pencil slicing through a cobweb.

Like those before her, Miz Tree-Hugger held her breath and pinched her eyes shut, muscles trembling without control. “Same old, same old,” he flatly commented, again like a coroner verbalizing notes. After slicing the blouse, he skinned off her tight-fitting Levis. Lastly, he reduced her bra and panties to mere tatters before sheathing the knife.

Obviously relieved the knife was out of her sight, she started to breath again ... and cry.

Peeling the slivered clothes from her body and tossing them on the floor, he hovered over her, visually frisking every inch of her naked body.

Miz Tree-Hugger’s face was red and blotchy from crying. A thin line of blood trickled from under the leather wrist restraint on her right hand. Her nipples were hard and shriveled like purple raisins. And she had peed all over the bed.

The other
lab rats
had taught him bladder relief was common in these situations. He remembered his first. A big-breasted Hispanic hooker with purple punk-hair. Charming her into believing he was just another kinky trick, she willingly submitted to the restraints. But as soon as she figured to the contrary, it was smelly hot piss everywhere. The mattress ruined.

But he was highly intelligent and quickly learned from experience. When he purchased a new mattress he mentioned his son occasionally wet the bed. The salesman suggested a heavy-duty rubber mattress cover. “Wise investment,” he muttered with a prideful smile as he gazed at the urine-soaked sheets.

Though the bulk of his attention was devoted to Miz Tree-Hugger, he wondered if Sweet Cheeks would piss all over herself. He hoped not, but would be prepared just the same and leave the rubber cover on.

“Please, Mister, let me go ... or get
it
over with.”

Standing silent, eyes narrowed, he continued to shake her down.

“Rape me ... that’s what you’re going to do, right? Well do it then let me go. I’ll never tell you raped me....”

Rape
. The accusation greatly offended him. “I’m no rapist,” he growled, grinding his teeth. Stomping with indignation to the nightstand, he yanked open the top drawer and extracted a wad of leather, hiding it behind his back.

On and on she wailed about being defiled and repeating that word: rape.

Pushing the drawer shut with his knee, he glared at her as one would a cockroach needing to be stepped on.

“Please, Mister, please. Don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want. Just please don’t hurt me....”

His lips curled with loathing.

Pointlessly squirming, she continued to beg, “Please, Mister, just do
it
then let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Really. I promise.”

“Riiiight.”

“Pleeeeeease. Just do whatever you’re gonna do then let me go,” she begged, tears coursing down her face and puddling on the pillow. In obvious frustration and desperation, she launched another twisting, turning and yanking battle to liberate herself from the escape-proof restraints.

Tilting his head, he motioned toward the straps. “You know, you’re the one to blame for your predicament.” Scratching the back of his head, “Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to ride with strangers?”

“I-I thought I could trust you. You showed me a badge and told me you were a—”

Bellowing a laugh, he interrupted, pouncing like a starving hyena on a tethered goat. Straddling her chest with his knees, he waved his hands in front of her face to reveal the hidden wad behind his back: a wide black leather gag with an oval ball attached. “Open wide.”

“Nooooo,” she screamed in a high pitched squeal.Being an astute predator, he capitalized on the opportunity her screaming provided to jam the rubber protrusion in her mouth. Wildly she shook her head in useless protest, crying out distorted shrieks. Grinning at her futile outburst, he nimbly buckled the mask to her head, ripping out clumps of hair caught in the clasps.

Sliding off her, he stepped back from the bed, surveying the fruits of his labor. The wide over-the-mouth gag not only covered the bottom half of her face and filled her mouth with a hard rubber ball, but the stiff leather also wrapped under her chin, creating a strict muzzle doubly secured by multiple straps fastened tightly near the crown of her head.

The torturous gag wasn’t meant to stifle panicked screams, though it certainly did that. Its purpose was to heighten the helplessness and fear of the
lab rat
, to feed his compulsion to dominate his subjects. Besides, the grunts, groans and garbled noises expelled from beneath the muzzle greatly amplified the sexual entertainment.

Screaming relentlessly and wildly tossing her head back and forth, she continued to tussle in her bonds.Hair messed up and scattered across the pillow. Face contorted in misery. Every muscle tense in anguish. Naked body mercilessly staked-out, futilely combatting captivity....