The Executioner (7 page)

A sadistic smirk washes over his face as he turns my head from side to side by the handful of hair that he is holding. He is eyeing me, studying me, and scrutinizing me.

“You were late!”

It isn’t a question; he knows…

“How the fuck does he know that?” I once again think to myself.

“Yes Master, I’m sorry, Sir. Traffic…” is all that I get out of my mouth.

“Shh, no excuses!”

He just keeps glaring at me and I can feel the heat in my chest. I know I am getting splotchy; my chest always breaks out in red splotches when I get nervous.

He cocks his head, raising his eyebrows as he looks at me, almost as if he can read my thoughts.

“Are you nervous, slave?”

“Damn it,” I think, “how does he read me the way that he does?”

“That is a rhetorical question, slave, one not in need of an answer.”

He pushes my face ever so lightly into his groin, but every time I try to nibble at his suited crotch, he pulls my head back.

I wanted him in my mouth in the worst sort of way. I can see the outline of him hardening against his suit pants and I know my Master well enough to know that his domination of me is pleasing to him.

Over and over, he pulls my face towards his groin and each time I try to rub my face against it or wrap my lips around it, he pulls me away.

“You are wet, aren’t you, slave,” he taunts me?

I begin to whimper.

Stick your finger in your pussy and show it to me. That’s it, and you pull it right back out… now, show me. Does your Master make you that wet, girl?”

“Yes, Master,” I answer.

He begins taunting me again, pulling my face in towards his flesh that is still in his pants but hardened and pressing up against them, causing the fabric to become tented.

“I want you in my mouth, Master. Please.”

“Put your hands behind your back and open your mouth like I taught you,” he commands me.

I sit on my haunches with my hands behind my back and my mouth open, looking up at him.

“Such a good, little, late slave. Lean up here and unzip my zipper with your teeth.”

I lean in, catch the zipper with my front teeth, and manage to get it pulled down.

He chuckles as he eyes me endearingly.

“Now, remove me from my pants with no hands and you can have it.”

I want him in my mouth and I pull at the sides of his briefs with my teeth.

“You better not bite me; I will spank your ass with my bare hands and we both know how badly that hurts.”

Faced with the dilemma of getting a spanking, I change my strategy.

I begin working at his belt and get it loose with my teeth.

I then take my shoulder and push in on one side of his waist band, pulling the hook of his pants loose with my teeth on the other side, causing them to drop to the floor.

I smile up at him as if I have obtained a victory and he cocks an eyebrow and states, “You are not there yet, little girl.”

I work his briefs from side to side with my teeth, pulling them down on his thighs. I can see the amusement on his face as I take his hardened cock into my mouth and begin humming as I suck on it.

“Such an ingenuitive little slave should be rewarded. Now take your finger and rub yourself while you suck my cock. Oh, and by the way, don’t come.”

I groan as if in agony.

“Oh girl, you do know how to turn me on,” he moans.

I can feel his grip tightening on my scalp as a warm stream hits the back of my throat with his release.

I try to move my hand almost in a frenzy to clean him up and he growls, “Don’t you move that hand; keep rubbing that clit. That’s it, and don’t you dare come until I’m cleaned up.”

By now I am whimpering and frantically trying to get him cleaned up before I come. I hear the words, “Come, slave!”

My body explodes and I lurch up towards him as he watches me, still holding the fistful of hair while he peers down at me.

With my body spent, he gently laid my head back down on his shoe and I finish where I began, kissing the foot of the Master I love…

I lick my lips as I look up and view Trent stroking his cock as he stares at me. He nods towards the floor and, without a word, I drop to my knees and my story comes to life as we act out what I just read.

Kansas

I look at a man who trusts no one and I ask him to do something he is incapable of—trust me.

“I need to call her back and see why she is so persistently calling me. Something is wrong. She is in prison, Trent, and she could be in danger.”

“Trust you?”

“Yes, Trent, trust me. I’m here because I want to be here.”

He flinches as my hand runs over his face. I trace over the scar I feel only serves to make him even sexier than he already is.

“She mentioned his name, Trent.”

“Which only shows me he is willing to use your clients in order to get to you.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“I think he’s a fucking quack.”

“Then that is all the more reason I need to call her back and see what is going on.”

I watch as he reluctantly pulls my phone from his back pocket and hands it to me, but not without threatening me first.

“I’ve become attached to you, Kansas. That attachment comes with inevitable dangers. Whether you realize it or not, you belong to me. I will not tolerate disloyalty in any form.”

“You’re talking to a girl who is in love with your obsession of me. Do you honestly believe I’m going to do anything to jeopardize losing that? Not to mention the sex is great.” I smile and bat my lids, trying to lighten his mood and assure him I have no intentions of going anywhere. His face is an immovable concrete mask which reveals nothing.

I go through the chain of command to get my client on the phone and keep it on speaker.

“Some crazy doctor came up in here yesterday and told me if I would let him do a study on me of why I don’t bond with my children, he would help to get me released early. At first I got offended and then I thought, why the fuck not? I mean really what do I care if he thinks I don’t love my kids? If it gets me out of here early, then he can believe whatever he wants to believe.”

I listen because I don’t know what to say. I also don’t know if this guy is just trying to write a book and make his mark in his line of work, or if he really is dangerous. Just how far will he go to prove his study of RAD is legitimate? I talk to my client a couple more minutes and get off the phone. I’m going to have to process this before I can come to any conclusions. I’m going to have to talk to the one person I do trust—the Executioner.

I look up at him as I hand him my phone back without reservations. “What do you think? Is this guy dangerous?”

“That mother fucker is no danger to you,” he hisses.

The look on his face clearly lets me know that it isn’t me in danger, it’s the good doctor.

“All we need is that twerp’s signature and you don’t need it because you can quit your job and embrace your new one.”

“And what job would that be?”

“Writing me bedtime stories, of course.”

“Oh, so you have it all figured out that I’m quitting my job and letting you take care of me? I don’t think I’m giving that kind of power to any man.”

“You don’t have a choice because I’m taking it. Now get started on my bedtime story.”

Dr. Winslow

I have no choice. They have boxed me in and forced me to extremes. I have been left with no one to study for my research. I don’t know why I didn’t see this clearly before now; any whore will work for my research. They are all the same—women—whores who use their beauty and sexual magnetism to get what they want. It doesn’t matter if they are some hooker off the street or a woman of high standing and breeding like my mother. She had no problem shipping me off to boarding school so she could fuck her many lovers, uninterrupted and right under my father’s unsuspecting nose. They are all the same—worthless whores.

I need to find a woman I can keep. The reason Kansas had worked so well for my study was because she wasn’t the typical personality of a client who suffers with RAD. She has risen above her traumatic childhood and become a professional and successful woman in spite of it. I need someone who has no family or friends, someone who won’t be missed when they’re taken. They won’t be a challenge or threat because of lack of family and friends. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I need to abduct someone to do this research. Kansas got away because she had a choice. I need a subject I can remove that choice from. It’s too bad I can’t use that bitch in prison. Nobody would miss that whore but, since she’s in the system, there’s a paper trail on her a mile long. Of course, whoever I choose, I will have to kill her when I’m finished. I can’t very well take a chance on someone going to the police once I have completed my research. Appearances in my line of work are of the utmost importance and no one will take my study seriously if they know how and with whom I’ve conducted it. Yes…it’s for the greater good of mankind that I do this research. Somehow, some way, I have to put a stop to what these women are doing to society.

I convince myself that this is a necessary evil and I have no foresight to see that I am on a journey I tried to force others on. I am willing to kill in order to make my point. I am unknowingly, unwittingly boarding the crazy train…

I quickly get up out of my office chair and make my way out the door. I feel renewed because I am now a man with purpose. This is the best Idea I could have come up with because there will be no one to share in the glory of my studies. I will go down in history as the true genius I am. I just need to get a few things prepared and I’ll be ready for my first real interview.

Executioner

I am already becoming accustomed to Kansas being here. For a man who has spent so much time and energy disconnecting from society, this is polar opposite behavior for me. It boils down to one thing: we meet a need in each other. I need to track, abduct, dominate, and ultimately take a woman, and she needs to be taken. I am a born predator and she is born prey.

I insist she continue to write because I know there is something there. It doesn’t matter that she is writing something as menial as what I have come to term bedtime stories. The continuation of her fingers tapping the keys of a computer will ensure she is honing her craft. I want her to be the best she can be and I will make sure she does it under my watchful eye. I have no intention of letting her out of my sight; she is being held here. Like I said, we meet a need in one another.

There is also the matter of her being in grave danger, but I’m not telling her that. She has only to do what I mandate and I will take care of any other issues. To put it simply, Kansas is mine; she just doesn’t know it yet.

My attention is drawn away as I listen to the counseling session going on with Dr. Winslow. He has no idea that I bugged his office. I still have the issue of him signing off on my medical documents but I’m more concerned with how far this crazy fuck will go to complete the research he is so dead set on. I remember him telling me once that there is a thin line between crazy and sane and I’m fully aware that the good Doc has crossed that line.

I push the thoughts out of my mind and begin listening to the session he is presently engaged in.

Doctor Winslow

I eye the cookie cutter suburban housewife seated on my couch telling me that she is just not happy. I shake off the intrusive thought of smacking her face and jarring her back into reality. There are people who would give anything to have the pampered life her husband has given her. The poor guy probably works sixteen hours a day to give her everything she needs and it still isn’t good enough. She’s a typical fucking whore, using some guy to get ahead and then whining that he still isn’t doing enough to make her happy.

I’m relieved to hear the timer go off and I inform her I will see her next week for our weekly session. I’m so tired of seeing these people come into my office when they aren’t in need of a psychiatrist. What they need is a counselor and it offends me that my profession isn’t taken more seriously. This is a prime example of why my research needs to be done—so I will attain the respect I deserve.

I didn’t spend thirteen years in school, at the top of my class, to counsel disgruntled housewives. I’m a fucking genius and I don’t care what I have to do to get the respect I deserve, I’m going to do it.

After all, it is for the greater good. At least, that’s what I continue to tell myself. Perhaps the patient I called this morning will be more promising for what I have planned. I released her when I took Kansas on as research. All it will take to draw her back in is a lie. She was desperate for closure with her negligent mother and me waving the prospect of giving it to her is certain to draw her right back into my research.