Belle, Out of Control Ch. 06

If you'd have looked in the window, you'd have thought we looked like any young couple having dinner together. But we were not a couple, and the windows had thick curtains—plus, it felt weird to be doing something so civilized as wearing clothes and eating dinner. Especially when my dinner companion was Christopher, who had been fucking me senseless for days, in a wide variety of twisted ways.

"The roast is delicious," I said, and I meant it. It was the best meal I'd had in a while, even before I was kidnapped. There was also roasted vegetables and crusty French bread for dipping in the au jus, and I took full advantage of the scrumptious food offered to me. After all, I'd earned it—and I wasn't worried about gaining any weight, since I was probably burning more calories fucking than I took in eating.

"Thank you, Belle," he said. "I do enjoy cooking, and it's so nice to have someone to cook for."

"I appreciate it. But I don't understand it."

"What do you mean?"

"You snatched me. Sexually, you treat me like somewhat of a slave. And yet here you are, cooking for me. Cleaning up after me. Buying me toiletries and clothes. Seems to go against everything we do in the bedroom." Or any other room of his choosing, really.

"I like being dominant. Sometimes that means taking charge and providing for you. Sometimes that means taking charge and having you exactly as I want you."

"That makes sense, I guess. It's just that I'm waiting for you to tell me to go mop the floor or something."

He laughed. "That's not what I want from you. There are far better ways for you to please me. And besides, I'm pretty good at cleaning my own floors."

"Thanks," I said, taking another bite.

"You're cute when you eat," he said. "The first time I saw you, you were eating."

"When was that?"

"You were in workout clothes. It was in the afternoon, and you were nibbling on an energy bar as you mailed something at the post office. You finished the bar, took a big drink of water, and then started running toward the park. I admired your athleticism, and your dainty bites."

"Of all the things to notice about me," I said, shaking my head.

"Well, I also noticed your gorgeous hair, which I wanted to pull. And your tight ass, which I wanted to fuck. And your wide green eyes, which I wanted to see staring up at me as my cock was in your throat."

"Now that's the Christopher I know. Complimentary, but a wee bit twisted."

"Speaking of twisted, I thought you'd be more broken up by now about being missing."

I considered this. "I've been thinking about it. It's been on my mind. But things here have been overwhelming, in good and bad ways. I feel a little like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole."

"Ah, the book you were reading before you unwittingly put on a show for me."

I flushed at the memory. "It was a new sensation."

"I like that I'm bringing out the dirty little slut in you. Bet your friends would never have guessed the things that I have found out about you even in such a short time."

I smiled wanly. "I hid it well. I was hiding some of it from myself, too."

"I know. That's one of the best things about you being here. I love seeing you pushed to the limit, discovering new things about yourself, trying new things. Being scared, losing control...admit it, Belle, doesn't it feel good?"

"Yes and no. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it."

"Perhaps you won't. I hope part of that is my ability to keep you on your toes. Speaking of," he said mischievously. "Tonight is Thursday night. Tomorrow we're headed off on a little adventure for the weekend."

"You're taking me somewhere? Where?"

"Well, that would just spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?" he said, rolling his eyes.

"And...how? If I'm missing, and people may be looking for me, you probably don't want to parade me out in public or have me meet people..."

"I have bought you a lovely wig, my dear. Plus, we're not all that close to where you were living, and this weekend, we'll be venturing even farther away from it."

"What will we be doing?" Or, more accurately, what would I be doing? Probably something else I loved to hate...

"Oh, now I really can't tell you that. But I can tell you this: we need to prepare you. So tonight you will paint your fingernails and toenails, and tomorrow, you will be shaved."

"I will be shaved? You mean I'm not doing it myself?"

"I don't trust you with a razor yet. So tomorrow, you will shower, and then I will shave you."

My eyes widened. "Everywhere?"

"Yes, everywhere. Your legs and that pretty pussy. I want you perfectly smooth."

"Can you give me a hint as to what we're doing?" I asked.

"Red or pink?" he said.

"What?"

"Nail polish. Red or pink?"

The old Belle would have picked pink. But the new Belle—the one who was a wanton slut for a man she barely knew—seemed like more of a red girl. "Red, please."

"Good choice. After we're done dinner, you can do your nails."

"Thanks," I said, sighing. I wished I knew what to look forward to this weekend, but clearly Christopher meant to keep me in the dark.

Painting my nails that night seemed like the most normal activity I'd engaged in over the course of—what, a week? Had I been gone that long? Without things like the internet, or going to work, I was rapidly losing track of time. Sometimes I even suspected I was losing track of myself. All I'd done lately was eat, sleep, read, and be at the mercy of Christopher's twisted whims.

I put two coats of polish on my fingernails, then two coats on my toenails. I shook out my hands and feet, willing the polish to dry faster. Not like it mattered—where would I be going where I could fuck up still-wet nails?

I decided to take a chance. I knocked on the door three times, and Christopher came to investigate.

"What's up, Belle?" he asked. "Oh, your nails look very nice."

"Thank you," I said. "What are you up to?"

"Watching TV," he said. "And you?"

"I'm a little bored," I admitted.

"Bored?" he said, smiling. "You have an entire library of books at your disposal. How can you possibly be bored?"

"I love reading, but I can't do it all the time. I need something else, too. A movie or a show, conversation, solitaire on the computer, just...something."

He considered this. "Very well then. Come on out. We can do something together."

Oh, shit. What had I gotten myself into?

He led me to the living room and turned on the TV. A big cat show was on Animal Planet. He sat down on the couch and patted the space next to him. "Come on. I won't bite."

I warily settled in beside him. It felt weird dealing with him in a close yet normal context, in a situation where he wasn't intensely focused on watching me squirm.

"I do love big cats," he mused. "They're majestic."

"A little vicious, too."

"Only because they need to eat. They don't just wander the jungle stalking things just for the fun of it."

"Oh, so they're not like you?" I teased.

Christopher laughed. "I didn't stalk you just for the fun of it."

"Why, then?" I pressed.

"You know how sometimes you just know?"

"Sort of," I said.

"Well, I knew with you. I'd never felt it strongly before about anyone, not even my wife. This sensation that I had to have you. And so once I knew, once I figured out that I needed you here, with me, like this...I set a plan in motion. And here you are."

"I'm flattered, sort of. But why couldn't you just ask me out on a date?"

"I don't know that you would have accepted," he said sadly.

"Why?"

"Because I'm the smart guy. You're the beautiful girl. Those two don't often mix."

"I'm not dumb, though. I like smart guys."

"You must. You haven't tried to escape."

"I've thought about it on occasion," I admitted.

"I suppose that's normal, given your situation. The telling thing is that you haven't tried, even though you were tempted. I appreciate that."

"Does my obedience get me any extra privileges?"

"Let's see how you do this weekend," he said. "If you do well, then you will be rewarded."

"And if I don't?"

"That's not something I want to think about," he said softly.

_________

The next morning, Christopher woke me up and offered me breakfast, which I accepted. Eggs, toast, and fruit. I ate it hurriedly, nervous but excited to get on with the day.

"I would like you to go shower now, and when you're done, please call out for me."

"Shave time?" I asked.

"You're a smart cookie."

I went back to the bedroom, shed my clothes, and headed for the bathroom. At this point, walking around naked in front of Christopher was really no big deal. The sort of thing you get used to after several days of it.

I brushed my teeth, showered, and scrubbed. When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel and called for Christopher to come.

He led me into the living room, where there were towels laid out on the floor alongside a bowl of water. "Lay down, please," he instructed.

I did so. "Legs first," he said, shaving my right calf, dipping the razor into the bowl every so often to rid it of hair. It didn't feel so bad. He was good with the razor, never nicking me, not even on my knees, plus I liked the way my calves felt in his strong hands. The good feelings canceled out most of the weirdness of another human being shaving me, which was something I'd never experienced before. Usually I didn't want a guy to see my legs unless they were shaved, and this guy was not only seeing my legs hair—he was shaving them for me.

He took his time, stroking my legs, feeling the muscles. Muscles that I feared would weaken due to lack of physical activity—non-sexual physical activity, that is. Part of me was happy that he clearly enjoyed my body so much. Of course, another part of me feared what he might be compelled to do about it.

He obviously enjoyed shaving my thighs, too. To get the bottom, he'd lift my leg up, smiling as he took in the view. He paid close attention to my inner thighs, more with his hands than the razor, and damned if it didn't feel really good.

When my legs were both shaved to his satisfaction, he said, "Please spread your legs. I need to shave that pretty pussy now."

Nervous, I did so. I was always so careful shaving my own girlparts, but this was a guy, and I was afraid he'd nick something. Something that would really, really hurt later on.

"Relax," he said softly. "I'm being very careful. I'm not going to hurt you. But you're shaking a little, and that isn't helping me be careful."

I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. He'd shaved the front of my pussy just fine, and now he was going after the sides and the area around the lips, pulling each one out so he could shave it better.

He rinsed off the razor and held his finger above the hole. "Don't jump. I just want to see if you're wet from this."

I nodded, and he plunged his finger inside. When he pulled it out, it was slick with my juices. "Kinky girl," he said, smiling.

He shaved the sides of my pussy and then had me lift my legs into the air so he could get better access around the hole. With one hand, he held me steady, and with the other, he shaved me. Despite my nervousness, He managed to get the entire area free of hair—and free of nicks and cuts, too. I was grateful for this and told him so.

"Well then, you can repay my excellent shaving skills by being a good girl tonight, Belle."

"Can you tell me any more about what's in store for me?"

"And ruin the surprise?"

"Not ruin," I said. "Just a hint. Please?"

"You will be meeting two friends of mine," he said. "And I expect you to obey my orders when we are with them."

"Do I have to fuck them?" I asked, nervous again.

"Not exactly."

"Do your friends already know you're a freak in the bedroom?"

He laughed. "Oh yes. They were actually surprised I ended up with my wife—she was very vanilla. They won't be shocked that I'm with a girl who indulges my dark side."

"Well, it's not like I really have a choice. I could beat you or join you..."

"And I'm the one who would administer the beatings around here," he said cheerfully. "Anyway, these are people I have known forever and trust very much. I will be telling them you're my new girlfriend, and that you're up for...trying new things...but that you're shy about it."

"What if I tell them the real story?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Try it, if you really want to. But would it really change anything except make me very, very angry at you? They'd never turn me in, Belle. But if you tried to make that happen...well, you really don't want to get me that angry."

"I suppose I don't," I said. "When do we leave?"

"Get dressed, and then I'll get the wig on you. I will pack for both of us while you're getting ready."

"Sounds like you have a plan," I said.

He laughed. "Oh, yes. Yes, I do."

I went and got dressed in clean yoga pants, a black tank top with neon pink bra straps peeking out from under it, and a black thong, plus black flip-flops and a gray PINK hoodie. Very casual, but it was the best I had. I figured if he wanted me to be wearing something else, he'd buy it for me.

I applied minimal makeup; he'd given me back my purse (minus my cell phone), so I rummaged through it to find eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, hoping this would help to accommodate the wig.

A few minutes later, he came in, holding the wig. It was a cascade of dark brown curls, and it was actually very pretty. He put a wig cap over my hair, which made me look really goofy until he put the wig on. I smiled when I saw myself in the mirror—chestnut brown was a good look for me.

"You look ravishing, my dear," he murmured. "Are you going to be good for me on our weekend away?"

"Yes," I said, and I think I even meant it.

"Then you get your purse, and I'll get the suitcases, and we'll go."

"Go" felt like a foreign term to me. I hadn't gone anywhere since being kidnapped. When Christopher opened the door and the sunshine fell over my face, I stood there dumbly, staring at the outside world.

"Go on," he said, nudging me. "I am with you and I give permission, so you are allowed to go outside."

He led me to his car, a dark gray Kia. I looked at him curiously. "A Kia, huh? You impressed me as maybe an old-school BMW kind of guy."

"Those are classy cars, so thank you."

"You're welcome." I stood next to the car door, unsure of whether to get inside or not. I was still enjoying the sensation of being outside.

After he loaded the suitcases into the trunk, he came around the passenger side and opened the door. "Hop in, my dear." Indeed, he was a well-mannered monster.

I got in and buckled up. "Where exactly are we going?"

"The western part of the state. Out closer to Pittsburgh."

"Why?"

He laughed. "Because I said so. It's a lovely area, nicer than people would think, plus the people I'd like you to meet are there."

Warily, I asked, "Who are they?"

"They are two people I'm very close to from my college days."

"Which were how long ago?"

He frowned. "Belle, I'm only nine years older than you."

I didn't tell him that I secretly found older men sexy. Instead I said, "So what will we be doing with them?"

"That's a surprise. But while we're there, your name is Beth, you're my girlfriend, and we met at the library."

"Close, huh, but not close enough to really tell them the truth?"

Christopher was quit for a minute. Then he said, "Do I really need to remind you to behave? It's in your best interests, and mine as well."

"I'll be good as long as I'm okay with what's going on."

"Do you really think I'd let anyone hurt you?" he asked.

"I can't predict you," I said. "So I really have no idea."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said. "I suppose you still have a lot to learn."

"I suppose you still have a lot to tell me."

He smiled. "Touche."

The ride was about two, two and a half hours long, and we chatted throughout. It was getting easier to talk to him. As controlling as he was, he seemed to want me to be honest, and he also seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.

He did not, however, seem to be very forthcoming about himself. He was curious about my job, being a high school guidance counselor, but wouldn't give me any details of his except that he worked in technology, blah blah blah. He talked about baseball (he was a Pirates fan), recipes he wanted to cook, and books he wanted to read, but didn't delve any deeper.

"What was your wife like?" I asked.

Startled, he said, "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I'm trying to learn more about you. And learning about her helps me learn about you."

"She was good," he said, and he sounded exhausted just saying the words. "She balanced me out. Opposites often attract, you know, and she was my opposite. Kind, charming, generous. You wouldn't know she came from money except that she was always giving it away, to this charity or that endeavor. She volunteered her time, too, not just her wealth."

"What did she think of your job?" I asked. I kept going back to it because he was resistant to talking about it, which meant it could be juicy.

"I actually wasn't working much until after she died," he said.

"Really?"

"I didn't need to. I worked my way through academia, earned a Ph. D. I was commissioned by certain friends to dabble in a few special projects, but I did it for the fun, not for the income."

"Wow," I said. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to not have to work.

"Anyway," he said, turning into a parking lot surrounded by trees, "we're here."

I gazed out the window, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Taking me to the Bates Motel, are you?"

"It's not bad," he protested. "It's cozy."

He turned the car off. "You stay here while I go check in. No funny business. If you run off into the woods, I will find you, and I'll do things that are very unpleasant once I catch you. Understand?"

"I'll be good," I said. If I wanted to escape, the time to do it would be when he didn't expect it. Right now he expected it, so right now I'd sit tight.

He was in and back out in a jiffy. Either they had the world's most efficient reception desk, or he really didn't trust me.

"We're all set," he said, smiling and jovial. "Let's go see the room." He unloaded the suitcases, and I followed him.

The motel was a one-story building, and our room was on an end, toward the back. The place was giving me the creeps, and the location of the room wasn't helping.

He unlocked the door and ushered me in, flicking on the light. The room was wood-paneled, or at least faux-wood. There were two beds with quilts that looked like they'd seen better days, plus a tube TV and a couple beat-up dressers.

"Luxurious," I said, taking in my surroundings.

"You want better, you have to earn better," he said. He glanced at his watch. "Okay, it's 4:45. I need you ready by 5:30."

"What does ready entail?" I asked.

"Take off your clothes and go touch up your hair and makeup. Then you'll put on an outfit I've chosen for you."

Oh boy. Couldn't wait to see what that was. But I did as he asked, even handing him my clothes so he could fold them nicely and put them back in my suitcase.

I padded into the bathroom, which was chilly but clean. I washed my face with water and no-name soap and fluffed up my wig. I walked out naked, grabbed my makeup bag, and fixed up my eyeliner, adding a little lip gloss to the look.

I went back into the bedroom. "How's this?" I asked.

"Beautiful," he said. "I have your outfit and shoes ready. I'd like to help put them on you."

I was more than capable of dressing myself, but I agreed to let him help.

He pulled out a lacy red bra and panty set. He helped me into the bra first. It was a push-up, and it gave my C-cups some oomph, making them jut out almost obscenely. The red panties were beautiful, but once he put them on my, I was horrified—but not completely surprised—to realize they were crotchless.