The Brute (2 page)

I sat in awe of the view through the window of the restaurant. We were up high, and building lights sparkled like a sea of stars spread out beneath us. Patrons became the gods that looked down onto the lowly peasant city dwellers.

Waiters wore black suits which blended into the walls black as ink. It contrasted with the stark white tablecloths and crystal vases with pale pink peonies as big as your plate.

For a restaurant it was quiet, no high pitched laughter and chatter of clients, or clanging of pots and pans. Instead Beethoven piped through the air, muffling the whispered, civilized voices of tables that were spread far enough away so you couldn’t hear other conversations. It was the type of restaurant that money came to, or men proposing to their girlfriends.

I was giddy with hunger, having saved up my whole day of not eating so I could savor every mouthful. Aromas of exotic foods danced around me, watering my throat with anticipation. With every plate that was carried past us, I’d eye it like it held the clue to what the best meal to order would be, trying to imagine the flavors bursting in my mouth.

Scanning the menu I carefully read every word, letting the sounds of the combinations marinate in my mouth.

In the end, I ordered a simple rack of lamb with tiny baby potatoes, and greens with a touch of maple syrup to bring out their sweetness. I was already salivating after the waiter left , like a child, anxiously waiting for my meal to arrive.

“Get under the table,” he said.
“Now.”

“What, why?”
(Even though I knew why.)

“You have to swallow me, first.”

“I can do it later. After we’ve finished here. Please. Let me have my meal first. I’ll make sure I do it they way you like it, after.”

“No. Put me in your mouth. Taste me. Swallow me. You need to remember who feeds you now. You need to savor my essence before anything else touches your lips. Don’t forget who I am.”

A lump of bitterness began to choke me. I lowered my eyes. “What if someone see’s me?”

He’d deliberately chosen a corner table with a long white tablecloth. He knew no one would see, and he also knew the waiters would know exactly what was going on.

“Now.”

Reluctantly I slipped under the table. I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. I hesitated before I did. I must have waited too long, as he grabbed my hair, pulling it closer to him, forcing my mouth onto his hardness.

You might have wondered why I didn’t just walk out. I nearly did. But I was humiliated, and my only thoughts were to get this over quickly, so I could leave the restaurant and never return. I didn’t want to cause a scene. Ironic, huh.

I did my best to please him, until I heard the guttural moan and felt his warm sticky seed coat my throat. Wiping my lips I returned to the table, just as my meal arrived.

I couldn’t eat anything. Not after that.

Even after the meal was over, he’d paid, and we’d left, I still couldn’t tell him what an asshole he was. I was numb.

He chatted with me in the car like we were any other couple. Sharing jokes with me about his day at work. I didn’t answer, preferring to stare out of the passenger side window.

“Come on, don’t be like that. It was fun, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Fun? How was that fun for me?”

“We did it in public, in a goddamn fucking restaurant. Shit. It was hot.
Worth every cent.”

I wanted to leave him, punch him, make him feel degraded like I’d just felt. But my voice was strangled, the words wouldn’t come.

He pulled up at the end of my street, and I opened the door, grabbing my purse.

“See you again soon, beautiful,” he said. “You are amazing.”

He’d often drop me at the end of my street instead of outside my building. That way he could drive on home without having to do a u-turn. Whatever made it easier for him. Sigh.

Even though it was late, the night hadn’t got a chill to it yet, and was pleasant enough, so I didn’t mind the short walk. It would help clear my mind, decide what to do.

I stepped carefully, making sure my high heels didn’t click on the pavement too loudly and draw any unnecessary attention to myself. It was obvious that if I told him to go jump, he’d cut off my rent and allowance. Which meant I needed to get a job, fast, if I wanted to stay in Charlotte. I’d never considered a non-accounting job before, but if I had to flip burgers to get away from him, I’d decided that was what I was going to do.

A man stood outside my building. I couldn’t tell yet if he was going to be a problem. I lightened my step even more, almost tiptoe quiet. His head was
down, a hood pulled up over his face so all I could see was a shadow where his face should be. He leaned back against the concrete fence, his legs crossed casually over his ankles.

I reached into my bag and pulled out my house keys, putting them between my fingers, making sure that the sharp ends pointed out, just in case.

As I stepped closer he looked up. “Angel?”

My breath caught in my throat, and I nearly dropped my keys on the ground.

“James? What are you doing here?”

James Trent was from my home town of Claremont. We’d been friends since we went to primary school together, but I hadn’t seen him in, goodness, it must be at least four years.

He grinned at me, the tiny scar on his chin (the one he would never tell me how he got, although he’d had it for as long as I’ve known him), caught the light. It was really him. Here, in Charlotte.

“How long have you been standing here?”

He shrugged, the grin still on his face. “‘Bout three hours.” His wavy brown hair had been cut short. It suited him short.

“Why didn’t you call me, and tell me you were here. I would have come home, straight away.”

“It’s cool. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Where are you staying?” I asked.

He smiled at me, cocking his head to one side. “I thought I could stay here. I’m only going to be in town for a few days. And your folks said it’d be okay. It is okay, isn’t it? Ang, if it’s not, just let me know. Man, I just figured you’d be cool with it.”

I looked up at my building. James was a good friend. You don’t kick your friends out on the street.
Especially not in the middle of the night, in a place like Charlotte. But this was not good timing.

“Of course,” I said. “I was just surprised to see you. Stay tonight. That’s fine. We’ll figure something out in the morning.”

I let him up to my apartment, looking around, thanking myself for having cleaned up earlier. I made up the sofa, and got a spare pillow and blanket from the cupboard.

“You’re looking really good,
Ang,” he said.

I smiled. He did too. But I couldn’t think about that, about him. Not tonight. “Let’s catch up tomorrow. I’m really tired and need sleep now. I’ve had a long day.”

He nodded, and I turned and walked into the bedroom.

“Sweet dreams,” he said, as I closed the bedroom door.

I tossed and turned all night. James was on my sofa. James. Sigh.

Perhaps it would be fine. I’d deal with The Brute, and no one would find out about each other. My life wouldn’t crash around me.

I was kidding myself.

I slept late the next morning.
Later than normal. Later than someone who supposedly had a job at an accounting firm should sleep.

A chink of a metal pan.
Something sizzling. Wafts of melted butter beckoned me from my slumber. I crawled out of bed, tentatively opening my door a crack.

James was already up. He was frying some eggs and had buttered bread waiting on the table. I didn’t even think I had eggs in the apartment. I walked into my kitchen.

“Bought them down from my folks farm,” he said. “Nothing like barn laid eggs first thing in the morning. Starts your day, right. You know?”

He was right. They were delicious. Farm eggs are just not the same as store bought carton eggs. These had a rich yellow yolk that was firm, but as soon as you put your fork into it, it burst into sunshine and flowed over your plate. I dipped my toast into it, not wasting a single part.

“Not working today?” he asked as he cocked his head to one side.

“I’ve got a few days off,” I said, not meeting his gaze.

“Great, you can show me the sights around here. Nothing like a local tour rather than those cheap buses. Where shall we go first?”

He wanted me to take him around the town? Oh this was going to be difficult.

“Sure,” I said. (I know - I think he must have put something in those eggs, I have no idea why my brain wasn’t working and I didn’t tell him I was busy.)

We started at the
museum’s and worked our way through art galleries, libraries, and other sites of interest — the usual tourist traps. I really didn’t know where to take him to be honest. When you live in a city you don’t see it the same way someone new does. He seemed pleased enough, delighting at the new sights and sounds. Commenting on various people, what they wore, how most of them avoided eye contact. We laughed and conspired for hours. Looking at the city through his eyes made me remember why I liked Charlotte so much and didn’t want to leave.

I thought it’d be a safe bet if we stuck to large crowds. I kept checking my phone, but luckily I had no messages.

We stopped for lunch at a little cafe I had begun to love. They ground their own coffee there, and added spices of cinnamon or chocolate. One of the coffee’s even had a touch of chili. That one was my favorite.

“You didn’t tell me what you are doing in Charlotte?” I asked.

“Came to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Don’t you remember that pact we made?”

I didn’t.

He laughed. “You said when I turned twenty five, you were going to marry me. Today’s my birthday.”

The blood must have drained from my face. He was looking at me with such amusement, and there I was with my mouth open, still with a half eaten bit of cake in it.

“I can’t get married!”

He laughed again. “Aw,
Ang, you pinky swore. That’s as good as a contract.”

I remembered now. He was twelve and I was nine. We vowed that if
neither one of us had found a husband or wife by the time he was twenty five, then we’d get married. Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?

“But…”

He laughed again. If he didn’t have the most infectious laugh that made you want to join him, I would have hit him. “Relax. I’m messing with you. Got some business here tomorrow, then I’m back home. But I did look forward to seeing you as well. Call it an added bonus.”

I think my mouth was still open, but I can’t be sure because I was still reeling from the idea of marriage. That was so far away from the reality of my life right now.

“I miss you, Ang. We used to get up to such mischief, didn’t we?”

We did.

My phone beeped. I really didn’t want to look, because I knew who it would be from, and I didn’t want to deal with it yet. I hadn’t had a chance to think things through properly.

I looked down. “Now,” it read.

The Brute’s office wasn’t as spectacular as you would imagine. It wasn’t like he was a multi millionaire or anything with glass windows and a perky secretary. Sure those billionaire fantasies went through my mind too, when I first met him. Alas, reality with The Brute was getting more and more disappointing.

Also, I’m not sure he even had a secretary, I’d never seen one. That could be because he never wanted me to use the lobby entrance though. He preferred that I take the stairs. I didn’t mind because by now I was annoyed at the whole situation that I’d gotten myself into and I didn’t want to bump into any more people than I already had. Nobody used the stairs so I was quite happy to make my way up the flights to the third floor. It might give me time to think about what I was going to say to him (and work off all those muffins I’d been eating). Was I going to try and break it off now, or wait until my financial situation improved? That question rattled through my mind with every step.

His office was the second on the left when you came out of the doors on the third floor. Even though there was plenty of people working on this level, no one ever saw me. Most of the floor was cubicle hell, with high partition walls, and workers hunched over laptops with headphones on. Oblivious.

He was waiting near the stair entrance when I arrived, making sure I wasn’t seen, I guess. He ushered me into his office.

His room had the typical middle-management look about it. Nothing fancy, all utilitarian furniture that lacked style. Nondescript pictures on the walls, wooden bookcases filled with lever arch folders and a globe of the world. Generic, generic, generic.

The only thing that distinguished this office from the thousands of others was that he had a huge mirror in it. I have no idea what his co-workers thought about him having a mirror in here. Maybe they just thought he was conceited? Correct, by the way.

The Brute shut the door behind us, turning the lock. On his desk was a present. An aqua blue box with a white ribbon. Not quite the same blue as a Tiffany box mind you (as if I would be so lucky), and much, much, larger than a jewelry box, but it was stylish nonetheless.

“Open it,” he said as he came up behind me, moving my hair to one side as he kissed down my neck. “I want you to wear them.”

Them, turned out to be a pair of black boots. The type that came up to your thighs. They were shiny and smooth and while I wasn’t sure if they were actually leather, (I suspect they weren’t), they had the highest heel on them you’ve ever seen. There was no way I was going to be able to walk in them (not that I expected he wanted me to wear them so I could take a leisurely stroll through the park, mind you).

I paused as a held them in my hand, trying to decide what I wanted to do. My head and my heart were having a huge debate. I could
either run and tell him to go jump, or wait. My heart had made too many wrong decisions lately. I liked living in Charlotte. This situation wouldn’t be for much longer.

So I did as he asked, stripping to nothing and pulling on the boots.
They were tight and I had to struggle to get them zipped up at the sides. I looked at myself in the mirror. Naked, shaved the way he liked me to be, black boots, pert uplifted breasts. It didn’t even look like me. I looked like some tacky porn star or something. This was getting out of control. My head better be right about this.

“Bend over the desk and spread your legs. I want to see how much your cunt drips for me.
Begs for my cock.” I can tell you right now, there was no dripping or begging. Why do men feel the need to talk dirty like that? Do they really think women are so turned on by them that they beg for it? Pur-lease!

“God, you have a hot ass.”

I bent over the desk like he requested and held onto the edge waiting for the assault I knew was coming. I just had to close my eyes and wait for this to be over, so I could get home and get a job. A click came from behind me and I turned around to see what he was doing.

He had a camera in his hand. “Insurance,” he said.

“What?”

“We are just getting started on our journey,” he said. “I want to make sure you don’t think about getting off early. You are mine. I own you. Don’t forget it. Now bend over. Tell me you want me.”

This was too much. I grabbed my clothes and started to take the boots off.

“You want these pictures being sent to your family do you, Angel? You want me to tell them who you really are? They’d be disgusted and never want to see you again. And I’d cut the money off. You wouldn’t have anywhere to go. You couldn’t stay here, and they wouldn’t want you. Hell, I could even post them online then the world would know what a little whore you are.
My whore. Now bend over whore. Let me fuck you. Let me fuck your little brains out. You do have brains don’t you, Angel? No that’s right, you can’t even get decimal points right. All you are good for is my cock banging into you. My cock is all you need.”

I couldn’t move. My hands were trembling. I felt like I had just been slapped. He had photos of me. What would my family say? I’d heard of girls committing suicide over naked pictures of themselves on places like
Facebook. He wouldn’t do that, would he?

I wouldn’t let him ruin me.

I did the only thing I could think of in the moment. I bent over the desk and spread my legs for him.