Captive (Social Experiments #1) Page 5

  Harrison dropped me off and I trudged inside, ready to sleep off a wicked hangover and recover. A plastic wrapped plate of my favorite turtle blondie brownies sat on my dresser, with a crayon drawing of a dinosaur in a cap and gown taped to the top; a graduation gift from Ms. James and Sam. I greedily devoured three before passing out fully dressed on my bed.

  It was noon the next day before I dragged myself from the bed and showered. I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen out of habit and heated up a frozen dinner in the microwave for my lunch. Yvonne ambled down to ask about my weekend but the conversation was stilted. She continuously checked her phone, waiting for any word from Greg. Eventually she excused herself and returned upstairs with a drink and chips.

  She moped around the apartment for a week without any signs of improvement. Most of the time, I avoided her while the estrangement between us grew. On occasion when I dared to visit her floor, I always found her wearing pajamas and annihilating a bag of Doritos on the couch.

  To avoid worsening our situation, I took extra hours at work over the week and handled several repair jobs on the waitlist for the apartments. I thought our friendship could benefit from the time away from each other. Hell, I thought the distance and nights of debauchery would change my mind about the dumb plan forming in my head.

  It didn’t.

  My resolve strengthened, empowered by my vanishing sympathy for Yvonne’s situation. What girl in her right mind pined after a guy who slapped her around and spent the rest of his night getting head?

  I guess that made us two of a kind, since I’d pined after her for ten long years.

  It took me several days to prepare the sub-basement for my plans, and then I only needed to check a final item off my supply list.

  During my mid-shift break, I lifted a syringe and a single dose of Ketamine from the animal clinic at the back of the pet store. No one batted an eyelash at my presence there, too used to seeing me around. I slipped my ill-gained goods in my pocket and carried on like normal.

  By the end of shift, I’d sweated until my shirt clung against my body. If someone witnessed my criminal act, they chose not to confront me for it. I drove home shaking and afraid, with a load of canine goods in the bed of the pickup. As an employee I received a nice discount. My coworkers asked me if I was getting a dog. I lied and claimed they were birthday gifts for Yvonne, who often mentioned wanting a Yorkshire terrier.

  Getting everything inside and downstairs without being seen was tricky, but luck must have been with me. I set everything up in the hidden room and made it upstairs before Yvonne returned home from a visit to the salon. She passed on dinner, claiming she’d eaten sushi while she was out. After flashing me a wan smile, she headed up to bed. I finished leftovers and told myself this was my last chance to ditch my plans.

  But things needed to change. They had to.

  I lacked Yvonne’s medical training, so I Googled the necessary information about the medicine. A website warned me that an intramuscular shot may require as long as three minutes to take effect. Three minutes of struggling with a terrified girl. Three minutes for anything to go wrong. With one trembling hand, I approached the bed with the syringe in hand. I tested the plunger quickly, squirting a few drops from the tip. Perfect.

  She lay amidst the tangled bed sheets in a thin tank and small shorts. I chose the outside of the left thigh and jabbed her quickly. The needle slid easily into her skin. Initially, I feared miscalculating the amount of sedative to deliver, until she awakened like a hellcat, kicking, screaming, and slapping at me hysterically. I quickly secured her arms and pinned her to the bed, my strength against her adrenaline-fueled terror. I cupped the other hand over her mouth, too conscious of interrupting Miss James’ sleep. She slept in the bedroom positioned above Yvonne’s bed.

  “Shhh, baby, shhh. It’s all going to be fine.”

  Her struggles roused my desires. My cock swelled as she writhed beneath me. Her tiny shorts barely covered anything, and her body heat radiated through the thin material. Eventually, her wide open eyes began to drift shut and the struggle dwindled to nothing.

  ***

  I sat cross-legged on the floor, nursing a frosty beer from the mini-fridge while I waited for Yvonne to awaken from drugged slumber. In the year since I made my historic discovery, I’d considered making the room a legitimate sublevel basement. Over winter break, I ran electricity and used my amateur’s knowledge of plumbing to lay pipe. Gramps had taught me well, sharing seventy years of contractor’s experience to prepare me as his successor. He wanted me to know how to perform basic maintenance in the building.

  An ordinary, inexpensive sink provided fresh running water, and a shower nozzle pointed down from the ceiling in the room’s corner. It wasn’t a beautiful room, but a year ago I never suspected I would be using it for this purpose.

  The cramped dog kennel didn’t let her stretch but provided ample room to sit up. I’d purchased the thickest and softest dog bed I could afford. The blankets came second hand from garage sales I’d passed over the weekend. A heavy duty lock secured her makeshift accommodations. I kept the key in the room, hung on a nail.

  Yvonne stirred.

  My gut flopped with indecision. If I wanted, I could still back out and release her from confinement. It wasn’t too late to change the regrettable path our friendship had taken, but things would never be the same. Yvonne needed to be shown the consequences of her foolish actions.

  For years, Yvonne has allowed one man after the next to dictate her life, use her, discard her, and abuse her. No more. She’d never learn her own worth if I continued to enable her, so I’ll break her down again and rebuild her by force if I must. I have the training to accomplish this. Three years as an obedience instructor, a degree in human psychology, and pure love are the perfect tools.

  The dark lashes framing her bright green eyes fluttered slowly and eventually opened. I counted the seconds in my head, sitting on pins and needle all the while.

  Yvonne tried to speak around the obtrusive orange ball in her mouth. It stretched her lips taut over its shiny surface and prevented anything more than a muffled protest. Her head groggily thumped against the padded cage bottom again.

  “It’s for your own good,” I told her quietly. “I know you hate me now, Yvonne, but trust me. Everything I have planned is for your own good.”

  Tears shimmered against her cheeks. Weak cries of protest and condemnation continued without reaching through the layers of soil and concrete above us. She probably would have mumbled every dirty name in the book. That’ll change.

  “Hold on. I’ll remove the gag and let you out. Takes a while for the Ketamine to really wear off so… don’t try to run,” I warned.

  I helped her from the sturdy metal cage and caught an elbow to the ribs. Good thing I saw it coming from a mile away. Her befuddled state diminished the sting, but she tried to run for it and dodge me by sprinting to the side. She crashed to the ground on the third stride.

  “Didn’t I warn you? You don’t even know where you are. Christ,” I muttered, shaking my head. Her cries remained incoherent.

  I was afraid to test the privacy of the sublevel, but it had to be done. If I was going to hell for what I planned to do, it had to be now or later. I unbuckled the ball-gag and removed it from her mouth.

  “Help,” Yvonne croaked. “Help. Somebody... help me.” Her hoarse cries likely couldn’t have penetrated a normal room’s ceiling, let alone traveled to any individuals capable of saving her.

  I sighed and crouched down beside her. “Scream all you want. We’re in the sublevel beneath the basement, Yvonne. Nobody knows about it.”

  Yvonne rolled over and groaned. “What did… what did you… do to me? Everything... spinning.” The Ketamine kept her nice and placid, too dazed to put up a fight or true argument with me. Perfect.

  “Lie there for a while alright? I gave you a small dose of a drug called Ketamine. It’s going to make your vision blurry for a little while. Keep you off b
alance. Help you relax and chill out, okay?”

  “Let me go... just please… please lemme go, Jake. I wanna go to bed.”

  “It’s a little too late for that now, Yvonne. Or didn’t you notice?”

  “Is this about…” Her words slurred into an unintelligible jumble of sounds and her eyes crossed. I waited until they focused on my face again. “The rent? I’ll get you the rest, I promise.”

  “Your dad paid your rent for three months after you stormed away like an ungrateful brat. This isn’t about the money. The money was never the problem. It’s you. You treat the rest of us like we’re staff and we owe something to you.”

  “Huh? I…” She blinked blearily up at me. “I cook for you. I made you lunch.”

  “You cook when you want something. When you feel guilty. And then you waltzed out and expected me to clean up the disaster you left behind.”

  Yvonne sputtered.

  “Sometimes I have to wonder if you care about anyone but yourself. But you do. I know you do. I like listening to your talks about the NICU. Listening to your stories about working at the nursing home… hell, you stood up for me in high school when douchebags like Greg picked on me for my weight.”

  A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. I brushed it away tenderly and waited for the gravity of my words to sink in. Yvonne could deny it, but eventually she’d have to accept the cold truth.

  “Please let me go,” she whispered again. “I’ll pour that brandy we’ve been saving. We can sit and talk about it.”

  Her proposal nearly charmed me, providing a tempting alternative to the destructive project I planned to set in motion. Could I trust her to keep her word? My gut instinct told me no. “I’m finished with talking,” I told her quietly. “This is your new home. However long you’re here depends on you.”

  Yvonne shuddered and rolled to her back on the hard floor. Eventually I planned to bring some thicker rugs in to lay over the utility carpet. For now though, this would have to do.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to teach you.”

  I distrusted her too much to unbind her wrists. The soft, fur-lined manacles remained in place, but I ripped her shorts down her thighs while she squirmed against the ground. She didn’t wear panties to bed. I never knew it until now. My mouth became sandpaper dry, and my heart leapt in my chest. Her silky smooth snatch and red-painted nails told me she’d recently visited the spa. I loved it when a girl waxed.

  “Jake... What are you doing?”

  “You wanted this before. I know you did. I made you wet, but you couldn’t bear the thought of fucking me instead of that prick Greg.”

  I popped the thin spaghetti strap of her camisole and bared one breast to my rough handling. Squeezing her, kneading her tit in my hand, and even pinching her nipple while she lay beneath me powerless. Her feeble attempt to bat at my hands lacked coordination, and for the first time in all of the years I’d known Yvonne, I was finally the one with the power. I savored it and dipped my head down to claim her nipple between my teeth, grating the edge over sensitive skin until she moaned hoarsely again.

  I was satisfied and absolutely positive the subterranean layout provided complete privacy.

  “Why?”

  Like her, I slept in the bare minimum each night. I tugged my boxers down with ease and untangled them from my legs with a few kicks. Freeing my dick, I gripped it in one hand and slapped the heavy length against her leg, letting her feel the hard erection stirred by her body.

  “Look at how hard you made me. You did that, Yvie. Happens every time I see you. Always has… Goddammit, why won’t you admit that you wanted me too?”

  “Not like this…”

  I ripped the remaining shreds of her top away along with her dignity. I had to destroy that too if I intended to rebuild her and give new purpose to her life. I had 25 years of spoiling and coddling to unravel before I created my work of art.

  Convincing myself that my intentions were comparable to razing a shack and erecting a palace in its place, I forced my body between her thighs and slipped two fingers against her dry snatch. I’d made her wet once, and I could do it again. One day, she’d beg for me to take her.

  “Jake, please...”

  “You didn’t give me a choice, Yvonne.”

  I came prepared. Despite my selfish intentions, my only true desire was to enjoy the simple pleasures of her body and grant her ecstasy in return. Causing her unnecessary pain wasn’t part of that plan. I picked up the bottle of lubricant tucked into the open toolbox and drizzled a generous amount against her bare folds. She struggled to clasp her legs together, but I easily overpowered her and slid two fingers into her body. Yvonne flinched and recoiled from me.

  “I don’t... I don’t want this...” she slurred feebly.

  I overcame her attempt to elude my fingers with ease. I invaded her swiftly, pumped, and found a slick rhythm aided by the lubricant. I had a wet hole to fuck, but she was no more receptive than she’d been minutes before.

  Yvonne grunted and thrashed weakly beneath me, her mind and reflexes clouded by the drug. “You’re my friend!”

  “I’m doing this because I’m your friend,” I snarled back at her. My hard cock bounced with my movements until my weight and greater strength forced her back against the cool floor.

  “Nnn… no...” she mumbled out one final time as I speared her. I greedily claimed her in a swift thrust until my dick throbbed in her tight clench. Our bodies ground close and flush, her smaller frame twisting and pushing up from the floor. Her back arched as she groaned a low, primal noise of defeat, acceptance, maybe even lust. I could no longer tell her body’s natural reactions from the liquid used to ease our lovemaking. All of that ceased to matter when the inviting grasp cradled my cock so perfectly. My fondest fantasies didn’t compare.

  My lips lowered to her bared breast and teased the pink areola with my tongue. The nipple budded tightly in response. She had a perfect pair, full and plump beneath my fingers. Each thrust shook them and made them quiver atop her petite frame, further inciting my appetite. I could have fucked her all night. I wanted to. Longing had driven me wild with hunger until I became absolutely desperate to outperform Greg’s memory.

  Yvonne sobbed low. She lay quiet and doll-like beneath me. Her struggles ceased but the weeping continued, broken by occasional moans. I interpreted it as pain, so the pace slowed until my pistoning strokes claimed her body with sensual tempo. I couldn’t allow my enthusiasm to hurt her.

  I dragged my lips from her tit to her throat, pausing to place a tender kiss against her collarbone. She turned her face from me and closed her eyes, whimpering in distress. I didn’t want her to whine like a beaten dog; I craved the sound of impassioned moans. “I don’t want to hurt you, Yvonne,” I breathed against her ear.

  “Then stop,” she whispered.

  I couldn’t. I drove into her again until our pelvises touched, slapping my balls beneath her entrance. Whether I took her slow and gentle or hard and fast, Yvonne’s body yielded the same indifferent response. I groaned and turned my face against her throat, kissing the girl’s sweet skin, inhaling her, breathing her in and making her mine. A few times she panted and moaned soft, appreciative sounds, but they were quickly replaced by her quiet sobs. I pumped frantically, practically grinding against her as my balls tightened, heralding the hot flood of semen that came next. Her name was the only word worth saying.

  Yvonne bowed beneath my greater weight and raised her hips in a futile effort to dislodge me, but I continued to pump in her shamelessly, choking down the guilt. Like Greg, I failed to make her come, and it was a sensation I wanted most of all. To prove that I was the better choice and superior in every way.

  Damned drugs. I made the decision then and there to never use them on her again.

  I couldn’t bring myself to dismount from her immediately, as if she were livestock or a tool to be used. I laid atop her for a time, kissing her face, stroking her
hair, drying the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I murmured against her temple. Yvonne didn’t respond.

  Eventually, I did crawl from atop her warm body. I even fetched a blanket and draped it over her from the shoulders down, concealing her nude form. It was a crime to hide curves that perfect, but she’d earned a reprieve.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asked from the same spot, her body an unmoving shape on the floor beneath the second-hand afghan.

  “What? No!” I blurted out swiftly. “I told you, didn’t I? God… I don’t want to hurt you, baby. But I had to do this. To help you.” If I lost my convictions now, all was doomed and this would be for nothing.

  Yvonne’s fingers toyed with the frayed edge of the blanket. She hid beneath the yellow and pink knitted yarn, but its pattern revealed patches of her body between the stitches. Her attempt to retain modesty amused and thrilled me. I’d seen it all, felt it all, and tasted her skin already, but I had the power to I grant her that small measure of comfort by permitting the blanket.

  “Take this one too,” I offered kindly, plucking up a thicker blanket and extending it toward her. She tilted her confused face up to me. “Surprised I’m being nice to you?” I asked.

  “You raped me.”

  “I taught you a lesson,” I corrected her. I smoothed my fingers through her disheveled brown hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “Instructed you.”

  “You hurt me,” she whispered brokenly.

  “I didn’t try to hurt you.” I had to convince myself of this truth as much as I needed to convince her. I’d never hurt Yvonne. Even now, even as I embarked on an irreversible path and dragged her along for the ride, I held fast to my decision to cause no unnecessary harm. I wasn’t Greg.

  “Whatever…” She turned her head away from me and coughed into her hand.

  “Do you want something to drink? Your voice is hoarse,” I pointed out. I returned to business, alienating myself from guilty emotion as much as possible. I needed to exude confidence in my art. I needed to feel it in my soul and know I did the right thing. Eventually, Yvonne would know it, too