From then on, I don’t try to close my eyes again. Tears stream down my cheeks while I watch Killian on the screen shove a butt plug inside my ass, and when the video is finally over, I’m shaking with the effort to hold myself together.
Pulling at my hair, Killian brings me up on my knees and turns my head at an awkward angle, getting in my face.
“Here’s how this is gonna go, princess. You’ll stop playing the piano. No more lessons, no more recitals, no more competitions.”
The tears come faster, and I shake my head frantically against his hand, my heart breaking in a thousand little pieces.
He holds his phone up. “If I find out that you’re doing it anyway, or if you tellanyoneabout this night, I’ll put this video online and email it to everyone, including your mom, our teachers, and everyone at school.Everyonewill see what a dirty little whore you are, asking me to gag you and stuff your ass. Do you want that?”
I shut my eyes around the cascade of tears.
“Good. Do we have an agreement then?”
Sniffling, I nod my head.
“I’m happy we understand each other.” He gives me a light slap on the cheek. “This really was much easier than I thought it would be. I had no idea you were such a disgusting little slut.” He says those last three words with a vehemence that cuts deep into my soul. I remain frozen in place, eyes tightly shut and every muscle locked up, as Killian moves behind me and takes off the gag, the nipple clamps, the collar, and the cuffs.
“Now get the fuck out of my house,” he demands.
I scramble off the piano bench, onto the floor where I gather my dress and my purse in my arms. When I straighten, about to rush for the door, the butt plug stirs inside me, sending sparks of electricity through my nerves.
“Wha-what about...” Shame unlike any burns my face as I reach behind me to feel the smooth end of the plug between my ass cheeks. My voice goes shrill. “How do I get this out?”
“Not my problem,” Killian says with a smirk.
I stare at him for a moment, and then I run.
The tears come faster, and I start sniffling. Pausing just at the stairs, I pull the dress over my head, then hurry down the steps.
The mortification continues when I reach the bottom and his dad is there, watching me like I’m some flea-ridden cat that somehow got into his house.
He doesn’t say anything, and I rush past him, out of his house, through the gate, and down the street. The chilly evening air beats around my naked legs, and the unforgiving pavement scratches at my soles. I keep going, running and running without direction, until my lungs are raw, my muscles aching from the strain. Then I find the nearest bus stop and take the bus home, somehow managing to hold the tears back all the way.
“How did it go?” my mom asks when I get home, not even bothering to look up from her computer and whatever new ridiculous game she’s playing.
I slam the golden trophy down beside her glass of vodka and rush past her toward my room.
“Finally,” is the last thing I hear before I slam and lock the door and give in to the tears.
2
The Reunion
Killian
Five years later
I scoff as I glance from the address on my phone to the dilapidated building on the other side of the road. Peeling paint, old bricks, and a rusty fire escape. I knew Jenna didn’t come from much, but I didn’t expect this tragic dump.
I button my jacket to relieve the frosty bite of the January air while I cross the street, then ring the bell of flat 1B. After trying three times without luck, I round the building to take a look. The curtains are wide open, the windows close enough to the street to peek in. At first, I’m not sure I have the right window as it’s all generic furniture, but then I see the digital piano in the corner and the pretty pink blouses hanging over the back of a chair. Apparently, Jenna hasn’t outgrown her innocent princess phase.
Shaking my head, I take out my phone and enter the second address on my list into my GPS. Ten minutes by car, it informs me. I return to the cracked-up parking lot and cast another glance at the building before getting into my blue Jaguar F-Type.
I wonder if Jenna has a boyfriend as decrepit as that building or if she’s all alone. It’s probably the latter. Judging from what Igot from paying an old friend to hack into her socials, she doesn’t have anyone. Her mom died of liver failure two years ago, and a few impersonal condolences were all she got, and what few friends she has all seem to be loose connections.
The café I arrive at ten minutes later doesn’t look much better than the dilapidated building Jenna calls home. The mere idea of going in there makes me want to change into a cheaper suit to spare my Armani the grime of a place like that.
Stepping inside, I wince at the scent of fried food and the tired floorboards creaking under my shoes. It doesn’t look as disgusting as it does from the outside, but I’m still itching to get out of here. I’m of half a mind to leave and try Jenna’s flat later in the day when I see an unassuming brunette with a heart-shaped face, a button nose, and eyes as wide and round as a pathetic little fawn that has gotten lost in the woods.