I nod, taking the offered badge. Clutching the death traps and handbag to my chest like a protective shield, I step onto the elevator that’ll deliver me to the gates of hell. Goose bumps break out over my flesh when the doors open. Art is nowhere in sight, but I know he’s out there, waiting. What will he do to me? The not knowing causes tremors to wrack my body.
“What are you waiting for? Come out and play, little birdie.” His voice echoes, so it’s hard to discern which direction it’s coming from.
“I lost track of time.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
Slowly, I emerge into the dimly lit foyer, glancing around for any sign of danger. Suddenly, my body is flung to the floor. My teeth sink into my tongue on impact, filling my mouth with blood. The stilettos and handbag scatter across the glossy marble.
I attempt to get up, but Art places his foot in the middle of my back, forcing me down.
“Why aren’t the shoes on your fucking feet?”
“They’re difficult to walk in.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I instructed you to wear them!” He removes his foot. “Crawl.”
Art kicks me in the ass as I move along, causing me to crash to the floor again.
“Bastard,” I mumble.
“What the fuck did you call me?” he shouts.
“Bastard!”
He latches onto my hair and drags me into the living room.
“Let me go!” I yell, biting his ankle.
“Fuck!”
He hauls me up and seizes my throat in a brutal hold as I beat on his chest.
“A fighter until the very end, I see.”
“Damn right,” I choke out.
He slams me against the wall, rattling my brain.
“Give up,” he says, squeezing harder.
My arms become weaker, eventually falling to my sides due to lack of oxygen. Blackness dances at the edge of my vision.
“That’s right, little birdie. Give up. You’ll never be able to beat me, but it’s entertaining when you try.”
Air fills my starving lungs when he releases my throat.
“I want you naked, now.”
Art pulls his belt off when I don’t obey. “Try me.”
I’m not ready to find out if he would really spank me, so instead of defying him like my instincts demand, I take the dress off. I tremble under his intense gaze. Art’s erection is visible through his pants. Next, I unhook my bra and bring the straps down my arms to fall the floor. He reaches out and slides his hand over my skin in feather-light touches before dropping to his knees.
“I’ll take these off.” He rips the G-string from my body.
“Damn, these are soaked. Does fighting me make you horny?”
It does, but I refuse to admit the truth to him. “No.”
