Freeing Lana Page 10

  “Yea, I am. I’m just a bit scared. You know?”

  She did know, all too well. He knew everything was about to change, and he dreaded it, but he also knew it had to change, because they had, both of them. The girl he had fallen in love with no longer existed, perhaps she never did. He could see that now, just as she could now see he would never be able to live with who she was, what she needed. It would kill him to try.

  “Last night was…” she started, not really sure if she could finish the line.

  “Last night was painful,” he finished.

  “Yea, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know; I meant it was painful for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She knew what he meant, to some degree anyway, but she wanted to be sure. She needed him to say it for her, and for him. It wasn’t him in bed with her the night before; it was what he thought she wanted him to be, what she thought she wanted him to be, but it wasn’t really him.

  “I didn’t like who I was,” he said, staring at his glass. She wanted to see his eyes at this moment, but feared if she stopped him, he’d never get started again. So she waited, and let him take all the time her needed. “Hell, I haven’t liked this from the start, this whole slave, submission thing. I just figured you needed it, some sort of, and don’t get mad, but some kind of shock therapy or something, to help you get over everything that happened. But that’s not it, is it?”

  It wasn’t an easy question. It was, but then again, it wasn’t, not really. It had been a catalyst of sorts, a jumping off point, but it hadn’t been to get over anything, but rather more to experiment with the change it has caused in her. She wasn’t trying to fix herself; she was trying more to understand herself. But he wasn’t waiting for an answer.

  “I always thought I loved you enough to do anything you needed, anything you wanted,” he continued. “And I do love you, probably more than you know, but it has been tearing me up in side, wondering if every time I got out the paddle, if you were wishing I was him, if you were wishing you weren’t you. It fucking hurt like hell to act disappointed, knowing damn well that most of the time you did it on purpose, so I would be disappointed, so I’d hurt you.”

  He was looking at her now, and a part of her wished he wasn’t. It wasn’t anger in his eyes, though his voice had risen from time to time; it was pain. Trying to create her new image, her life, she had been destroying him. And she could see it now. It hadn’t been just the last few days; it had been all along. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she never meant to hurt him, but he wasn’t finished; he had more to get out, and if not now, it might never get out. So she sat there, tears starting to flow from her eyes, burning her cheeks, hurting more than anything had ever hurt in the bedroom.

  “I love you Lana, more than anything,” he continued, the tears forming I his own eyes now. “But I can’t hurt you like that. I can’t pretend to be disappointed in you anymore, because I’m not; I never have been.”

  “Even now?” she asked, no longer concerned that he might stop talking, realizing he had been stronger all along than she had given him credit for.

  “Especially not now,” he said, his voice quivering under the strain of the words, “especially not now. I’m not disappointed in you; I’m disappointed in me. I know you need more from me than I can give you, someone stronger, someone who loves you enough to put your needs before his own, Christ.”

  His hands collapsed against his face as he said the last line, and he sobbed openly now. Lana wanted so badly to reach for him, to hold and comfort him, but she knew she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her, not now. She cried with him, hurting for him and wanting to hate herself for his tears. He thought he was the selfish one in all this? He got himself together enough to continue, wiping his face with the back of his hand before continuing.

  “Last night was just so painful. The more I hurt you, the more you liked it. I got so angry, so fucking angry, at you, at me, at everything. And then…”

  His voice faltered again. She didn’t know if he was going to be able to say it, she almost hoped he wouldn’t.

  “…and then I did want to hurt you,” he finally managed. “I wanted to hurt you so bad. But it was different. I didn’t want to hurt you for you; I wanted to hurt you for me. Oh Jesus! I think I wanted to kill you last night.”

  “Oh Serg…” she started, unsure if what would come next, wanting to help him, heal him, to take it all back, but he cut her off again.

  “I’m sorry Lana, but I really think I wanted to kill you.” His voice was coming back to him, and his tone was lower, almost too quiet to hear as he looked up at her again and went on.

  “When you passed out, well at least I think you passed out, I thought I had. I thought you were gone, I mean really, really gone. I came in here and got knife. I was going to cut my wrists.” Another pause, as he gathered the strength to finish. “But when I went back into the bedroom, you had moved, not much, but enough that I could see you were still alive. I checked your pulse to make sure it was true and then I sat there beside you all night. I couldn’t leave the room. I couldn’t think. I wanted to call an ambulance, just to be sure, but I didn’t, not because I thought you were fine, or that I would go to jail, but I was afraid you would be disappointed in me.”

  Lana sat across next to him, unable to speak. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she’d never do it again, that she was wrong, but she couldn’t even open her lips, much less form words. There were none. Not for this. So she did the one thing she was able to do, the one thing she thought he might let her do; she took his hand and held it while he cried, while she cried.

  PART THREE

  Six Months Later…

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  1

  “I’m here to see Daniel Morrow.”

  “Are you on his visitor’s list?”

  “I believe I am.”

  Lana Martin had no idea if she was in fact on his visitor’s list or not, but the letter she had received in the mail indicated that she was. He had been brief with his short letter. No hello, no apology, just a simple line that told her she was on the list. Whether the action itself had been borne of arrogance or some continued intent to inflict pain, she didn’t know any more than she knew why she was standing here now.

  The uniformed woman behind the glass – most likely bullet proof, she presumed – only took a second to verify her name and then motioned to a door to Lana’s right. A low buzzing could immediately be heard, followed by the dull clunk of the door’s locking mechanism being disengaged. She crossed the short distance and pulled the door open. It opened into a small room that was cut in half by a thick glass wall. Every three feet, the wall was sectioned by wooden partitions. A chair sat between each set of partitions and she could see a phone on either side of the glass in each section as well. Hollywood had apparently gotten this visitor’s room right in the movies, because it looked just like the ones she had seen on television.

  There were seven places for visitor’s to sit with a corresponding chair on the other side of the glass for the prisoner they were visiting. Two of these sections, both off to Lana’s left, were already in use. A guard motioned for her to take the chair directly under the red stenciled 6, one chair from the end. As she took the chair, she saw why she had not been searched before coming in here as she had been expecting. There was no slot or opening of any kind in the glass. The visitors couldn’t pass anything along to the prisoners even if they were inclined to try. So no cakes with a file inside, no pack of Marlboros or even so much as a pinup poster of Christy Canyon, the old school porn star could be given to the prisoners here. And clearly they couldn’t even hear through the glass, thus the necessity of the phones.

  The separation between her and the man who would be soon sitting across from her and the safety it implied did little to ease her fears. It wasn’t him she was afraid of, not in this moment. He had done unthinkable things to her and if given the chance he would pro
bably do worse, but it wasn’t what she knew he was capable of that scared her. She was more afraid of why she was here in the first place. She had asked herself that several times on the drive over, and again at the building’s front doors, but she still didn’t have an answer for it and that scared the hell out of her.

  Tom Tinkerton would absolutely flip his lid if he knew she was here. Hell, if he even knew about the letter, she was certain something most horribly final would have already happened to the man she was here to see. Tink had that sort of pull, and she couldn’t fool herself into thinking he wouldn’t kill the man if he knew he had contacted her at all.

  She glanced back at the door and the guard standing beside it, wondering if there was still time to just get up and leave. But time wasn’t the issue. She didn’t want to leave, not yet anyway. And then he was sitting in front of her, inches away and separated only by a wall of glass. Daniel Morrow, the man who had reached deep down inside of her and ripped out her very soul. What had remained, what had been revealed, she still couldn’t fully define or understand, but when she saw him retrieve the telephone, she did the same and waited for his voice to come through the line.

  “Lana, I knew you would come.”

  That same smooth voice she had come to loathe while she had been in his captivity still held within it the same confident undertone she had recognized at the very beginning. In this setting, with any and all chances of danger absent, it was as if she was hearing his voice for the first time, and the way her name rolled off of the tip of his tongue was somehow incredibly alluring. She wanted to bolt for the door, but she couldn’t move, trapped there in that chair by his mesmerizing stare.

  “I want you to do something for me,” he said, his penetrating eyes locked on hers. Was he serious? She wanted to scream at him, tell him he had no right to ask anything of her. Instead, she continued to sit there in silence, her gaze still fixed on his. She couldn’t say anything.

  “I want you to slip your hand under the table while no one is watching and touch yourself.”

  She felt the anger threaten to boil up from inside her, but it was only a threat, so she tried to make herself feel surprised, but that too was nothing more than a wasted effort. Had she really expected anything different? Had she really wanted anything different? She looked down at her hand and then she did feel genuine surprise. Her hand was slowly moving toward the edge of the table.

  “I have to go,” she managed, without looking up at him.

  It was all she could do to keep from running as she left the room and then crossed the lobby. Once outside however she broke for her car. Lana dropped her keys twice before she was able to get the car unlocked. When the door mercifully closed behind her, she started the engine and took out her phone. Before she could hit the send button after scrolling down to Tink’s name, her hand was already between her legs. A low moan escaped her lips as she heard him answer the call.

  “If you can sneak away for a bit,” she whispered into the phone, “I really need you inside me right now.”

  2

  Tink walked through the front door and was immediately met by the glorious sight of Lana’s exceptionally naked ass. On the far side of the room, she had bent herself over the table, with her pants now resting around her ankles. She still wore the same blouse she had been wearing earlier. In fact, with the exception of her pants being pulled down, she was still fully dressed. There was no sense in looking for her panties since that was one particular piece of clothing she no longer wore. As the door closed behind him, reducing the room’s light to only what radiated from the candle on one of the end tables, he heard her voice, so seductive and supplicating.

  “Please, Tink, I need it now,” she said in her most demure voice. He took his time crossing the room, teasing her with his patience.

  Finally, he asked her, “Have you been misbehaving?”

  “No, I swear it; I was just thinking about you,” she said, her voice now moaning with the desperation that pleased him immensely. He could feel the familiar stiffening in his jeans as he got closer to her. He let one hand lightly trail up the inside of one of her thighs before purposely crossed the delicious expanse of wetness, one finger casually dipping inside of her as it passed. This mild penetration was met with an emphatic whimper from Lana.

  “Did you like that?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  He pressed himself against her exposed backside, the now solid bulge prodding at her through his pants. Tink filled one of his hands with her hair, his fingers curling around the locks of brown beauty as the curls fell between them. His free hand found the space between his own crotch and her skin easily enough to navigate and fully inserted his two middle fingers as he pulled back on her hair. Her response came in a barely recognizable whine.

  “Yes, thank you,” she hissed clumsily.

  Tink pulled forcefully on her hair, straightening her neck to a near ninety degree angle from the rest of her body. His fingers delved deeper inside her, his remaining fingers pounding against the side of her opening, threatening to slip inside the saturated slit as well. His thumb, cocked up in an Arthur Fonzarelli gesture of approval, applied gentle pressure to her anus with each thrust of his hand. That particular opening too was becoming increasingly willing he noticed, should he choose that path, as Lana began to writhe on the table in front of him.

  “I was a little busy when you called, you know,” he said, hinting at the imposition her lust had caused.

  “I’m so sorry, Tink,” she claimed. “I just needed you so bad.”

  “Then you shall have me,” he said, “but when I have more time, you will need to answer for that.”

  “Yes! I will thankfully answer for it, Tink!” She was pushing back against his intruding fingers with some force now, rocking the sturdy oak dining table on its legs underneath her.

  “Very well then, so long as you know,” he said pulling her head back so that her back arched on the table, and removing his sticky fingers from her dripping welcome. “You may release it.”

  Her trained fingers reached behind her and quickly found his belt, unlatching it with unflawed precision before pulling the button of his jeans free from its hold as well. She held one flap of the denim in one hand and with the other skillfully unzipped his pants. He heard her moan again as one hand wrapped around his swollen cock, squeezing it roughly before pulling his shorts out and over its length.

  He took the cuffs from his hip and placed them on her wrists securely. This action caused her hands to settle in the small of her back, just high enough to put him out of her reach. He pulled the two flaps of his jeans apart and allowed the weight of the gun on his belt to succumb to gravity and lower his pants for him. A swift motion pulled the blue shorts over his buttocks and lowered them enough to no longer be so much as a mild hindrance.

  One of his hands gripped the short chain between the cuffs and lifted her hands slightly, causing her to rise to her toes and placing her welcoming entrance at the perfect height. He stepped forward and inserted himself fully in one thrust, burying his manhood into her pussy with a wet decisiveness. The wooden table creaked in protest as he repeatedly slammed himself inside her, his balls striking against her swollen clit with authority each time.

  Euphoric moans of pleasured pain escaped her with each forceful thrust. As his tempo increased, her cries mingled into one sustained wail of contented gratification. As her legs trembled and became unable to support her any longer, he lowered himself enough to maintain the steady barrage of her tightening pussy. Her upper body began to convulse and twist to the left as she reached that point she had so desperately begged him to take her.

  As Lana cried out in ecstatic bliss, her body rocked violently in an unmatchable rhythm more likened to a seizure brought on by demon possession than anything else. Tink pulled slowly from her and as his hand wrapped around his shaft, shot his hot release onto her back, some going far enough to claim ownership of her blouse, while most of his offering slowly slid down her but
t cheeks and in between them. As she lay there, still quivering, he returned his attire to a state suitable for a man of the law.

  “Thank you,” she managed, her voice trembling with the aftershocks of the experience.

  “You are most welcome,” he said turning for the door, “but don’t forget, tonight you must make amends for your timing.”

  “I look forward to it, Tink.”

  “As you most certainly should.”

  Tink locked the door behind him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to recover her complete faculties for a few minutes. He would have loved to stay and watch that transformation, since her vulnerability in those moments always thrilled him. It was during these just after orgasm states that she was the most beautiful, but it was hard to beat the pure joy he felt when she begged him to take her as she had done today.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sergio Marsili sat in a darkened apartment, silently staring at nothing in particular. The night before had gone closer to the way it had been planned than any of the previous attempts. Her name had been Lori, Something-Or-Other, and in spite of her young age, she hadn’t been like the ones before her. She was truly curious and this stark difference had been a welcomed relief from the childish, rebellious bad girl types he had been encountering lately. In Lori, he felt he might have found someone worth his time and effort. She would need to water down the perfume to some acceptable level however, since his apartment still sang its chorus rather loudly.

  Sergio glanced at the television when one of the station’s news team members suddenly appeared and said something about a breaking story. He hadn’t been watching before this as the daytime sitcoms had blended seamlessly from one to another, and then mercilessly to yet another. He couldn’t even remember when he had habitually turned it on in the first place, but he was listening now. The woman who was wearing entirely too much eyeliner and looked more like a high end call girl than a news reporter had said a name, though it had become lost somewhere in the blur of rushed words about a shooting.