Unfinished Business - Chapter Preview

UNFINISHED BUSINESS
by S C Cunningham


Oh so gently, not to wake her, he pulled back the bed sheet and slowly eased her legs apart. The cool night air teased naked skin and pumped her senses on high alert. Delicious, pulsing excitement built between her legs? he's here, he's here!

Eyes tight shut, breaths shallow, limbs ragdoll limp, she faked sleep, desperately wanting to peek through lashes, but it was too risky.

Within the stillness of the dark room she could make out the soft rise and fall of measured breaths, and feel the heat of cold, calm eyes burning into her. The devastatingly handsome David Howard was standing over her bed, silent, broody, menacing, leisurely taking in the view of her exposed body.

Click, click.

He'd brought his camera.

A chill went through her, instinctively she wanted to grab the sheet and cover up, but dare not move for fear of losing him.

Click, click.

Silence.

She waited, and waited? what is he doing?


The sound of a zipper and the rustle of clothes falling to the floor? shit, he's undressing!

Her heart pumped, her hips intuitively tilted upwards, inviting? no, no, no? calm, don't blow it? she masked the movement, pretending to shift in her sleep.

More silence? now what?

She quietly begged? touch me? please? just touch me? the anticipation killing her.

His breathing started to labour, a soft slapping, chafing of skin on skin, building in speed, he let out a low back-of-the-throat groan? he's wanking, he's standing over me and wanking.

She fought the urge to smile, to sit up and take him in her mouth? wait.

He moved to the end of the bed and leaned forward; the mattress dipped as he crawled up between her legs and knelt between thighs, the tingling warmth of his skin brushed hers. She wanted to wrap her legs around his hips and pull him onto her, but instead she lay still, feigning non interest, feigning sleep? wait.

He stretched up to the window above her bed and slowly pulled back the curtain, careful not to make a sound. A yellow streetlamp glow bathed the room, highlighting the curves of her beautiful body, he knelt in silence, staring, for what seemed like an age, driving her nuts? do something damn it, do something!.. she silent-screamed.

As if he could hear, he leaned forward and tenderly trailed strong, agile fingers the length of her inner thighs, easing them further apart? oh my god. Her hips lifted in reply, every morsel of her being ached for him to be inside her. She was wet, very wet.

The bed creaked with warning as he lowered his head to blow warm teasing air between open legs. Her breath caught, longing pulled at her stomach? oh fuck!

Blood pumped her groin, juices eased lips apart, glistening, twinkling at him to enter.

'I know you're awake,' he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

'Don't move, keep your eyes closed? you're going to like this.'

He dipped his head and opened his mouth.

Chapter One

Visiting Room, HM Belmarsh Prison, South East London, England


He wanted her dead and she wanted him naked, in her bed.

Why? It was sick, irrational and dangerous. She was a grown sensible woman, what the hell was she thinking, craving a man that had tried to kill her? It was all fucked up.

The judge had acknowledged his schooldays were to blame, as a boy he'd had to deal with atrocious acts at the hands of his guardians, resulting in his actions as a man. She understood this and felt sorry for him, but his childhood had nothing to do with her, it was none of her damn business, why the hell should she have to suffer his wrath, be on his death list? Hadn't he killed enough?

Noted, she could have handled it better, she should have taken his adolescent obsession seriously, talked to him, realised what was happening and stood up for him? a mere child herself, but someone may have listened, there must have been bruises and marks on his body to prove it. The 'what if's' fuelled her guilt and anger, twenty years later the ripple effect of the abusers' actions still caused pain.

Torn between fearing the man and sorrow for the boy, she'd spent the months since his arrest in emotional limbo. She wasn't sure what'd happened in the three 'lost' days of her kidnap, but the tables had turned, she now wanted him, missed him, and dreamed of him. She'd somehow become trapped in his warped infatuated world? was she going mad?

Enough! She needed to face the bastard and excise his perverse hold, take back control, build a normal relationship with a normal human being and have a normal life; if such a thing existed? he's just a man for chrissakes, nothing special? get a grip!

Squirming uncomfortably in a hard prison-issue bucket seat, she suddenly didn't feel quite so brave. Anxiously crossing and uncrossing her legs, she picked at invisible dirt on her black suit, the one she saved for funerals and bank manager meetings? I can't do this? I'm not ready? he's not 'just a man' he's David Howard, a stunningly beautiful fucking psychotic killer that I can't resist, that wants me to pay for his fucked up childhood.

A wave of clarity washed over her, she shook her head? this isn't going to work, I've got to get out of here, ignore the letters, ignore the dreams, move out of the country and forget him, seeing his face will only bring it all back... stronger, shit!

She spun round to tell her lawyer that she had changed her mind, too late, a key turned noisily in its lock, the heavy door of the connecting room squealed open, her guards and chatty lawyer fell silent.

Unable to look, she kept eyes down, focusing on a loose thread in the hem of her skirt. David had arrived; even through partitioned perspex glass she felt his presence before seeing it, powerful, carnal menace? fuck, here we go again.

Pulling at the thread, a row of stitches burst open? ok, deep breath, calm, don't let him get to me... breathe.

In deafening silence, David's towering frame filled the doorway. He was a perfect specimen, all Hollywood face, head high, chiselled jaw, strong neck, chest out, legs apart, muscled arms, broad shoulders, pumped torso, flat stomach. He stood tall, was proud of his body and knew very well how to parade it. All eyes were on him, except her's.

Even with shackled wrists and shabby prison scrubs he oozed uber calm, cool magnetism, an exciting promise of imminent danger and mind-blowing sex. He stood in the doorway, watching, face void of expression, shackles jangling, predator senses scanning his surroundings, sniffing the air.

He lifted his face, looked down his regal nose and inhaled, the pungent smell of onions and urine hung in the warm recycled air. His eyes flashed to the red flickering lights of microphones, his head tilted, listening to muffled prison noise crackling from wall-mounted speakers.

Ceiling cameras whirred overhead, he looked up into a lens and gave a slow salacious wink, enjoying the attention; it was his turn to be watched, to be filmed, he would give them a show.

His eyes finally rested on the beautiful blonde sat waiting for him, he caught his breath, keeping balled fists tight against stomach, he resisted the childlike urge of a triumphant air punch? his angel looked stunning? she's here, she's here? yes!

As per usual he assumed control, he remained in the doorway staring at her through the glass, refusing to move until she looked up and acknowledged his presence.

The room fell quiet as the guards and lawyer waited, curious for her reaction; they knew what this monster had done to her. She was either very brave or very stupid to face him again.

Her lawyer had strongly advised against the visit, David was dangerous, scheming and unpredictable. His sizeable inherited wealth gave him power, both inside and outside prison walls. But she refused to listen, the man haunted her, after months of sleepless nights she needed to face him, unhook his talons and find out how to stop the vivid dreams, the incessant longing, the feelings of guilt. The lawyer shook his head, it would be a mistake.

She sat quietly, head bowed, staring into her lap, he'd started the mind fuck games already, it was pointless resisting, she knew his modus operandi all too well.

Her heart thumped loudly? surely everyone can hear it?

Taking a deep breath, she masked nerves, steeled her face and looked up into the eyes of the man that owned her, the man that wanted her dead, the man whose body she craved? moth to the flame.

Dark provocative eyes were waiting, she'd foolishly opened the door and let them in, they twinkled at the connection and pierced straight to the back of her head? gotcha! ? paralysing, searching out, rummaging through senses, taking control.

She recognised this hypnotic gaze; he'd used it to calm her during the abduction? the abduction? it sounded strange; things like that didn't happen to her, they happened to other people. She was a successful, carefree, girl about town before David (B.D.), she had a good job, a fun, simple life and slept well at night.

A flash of intimate memories cine-streamed her mind, she shook her head ? fuck him for doing this to me, and shame on me for allowing it? time to put an end to the stupidity.

Swallowing hard, she wiped sweaty hands the length of her thigh and took a deep breath, stilling the thump in her chest? he will not break me? not this time.

David watched her, the edge of his lips curling into a cat-got-the-cream grin, she was a mess, on the verge of tears, trying hard to keep it together, his dominance had been re-established? oh how I adore you Tara Warr.

He stepped through the doorway into the visitor's room, followed by two guards. He looked healthy, tanned and cheerful, nothing like the pale, broken, repenting convict she was expecting... what is this place, a bloody holiday camp?

Faking calm, she watched him saunter towards the chair in front of her and settle leisurely into its seat. Typical David, he took his time, enjoying all eyes on him.

She'd forgotten how intimidating he was, his threatening air and mocking grin unnerved her, crushing what little composure she had. She eyed his shackles, doubting their strength, wanting to run for the exit, but her legs froze, paralysed, invisible tentacles bound tight; she couldn't move? fuck, fuck, fuck? this is a bad idea.

Killer and prey sat staring at each other through the flimsy glass partition.

He'd obviously been pumping iron whilst inside, his body pulsed as strong as an ox? an image of him naked, pushing her against a wall, flashed her mind. She caught her breath, blushed and looked down at her hands? shit, shit, shit? he's doing it again.

David smiled; he could read her like a book.

He sprawled back in his chair and calmly surveyed the scene before him; four burly prison guards, a rotund, sweating lawyer and the beautiful Tara Warr. The love of his life, sitting all prim and proper, butter wouldn't melt. He sniffed the air, locating her smell as it seeped through from the connecting room.

Why hadn't she come to him before, when he needed her, all those years ago, bent over the headmaster's desk, his body torn in two? why?

He sighed, no matter, she's here now. These past months, locked up, he'd missed her; she'd been his obsession for over twenty years, his every waking, sleeping, living thought. They had a bond, in life and death she was his, he was hers, she just hadn't got used to it yet.

Watching her had been his life's work, it had kept him alive. He knew every inch of her, what she smelt like, tasted like, felt like, knew the tiny sound she made at the back of her throat as he entered her. He loved every detail, every movement, every gesture, he knew her by heart. He watched her now as her body stiffened? did he disgust her? His eyes hardened.

Sniffing the air he smelt fear, his cock lurched.

He knew she was resisting, but that made it all the more exciting. He could do patience when needed. He sat quietly, observing, staring directly into her eyes. She fought it at first, but then succumbed. Her breathing calmed and her body stilled, he had her full attention.

Staring into her face? there!

He saw it, the black of her pupils dilated to treble their size? attraction? ha! I have you, my angel? David is back and you still love him? ha!

He smiled, she may have been out of physical reach for the past few months, but the mental hold was still there, she was his, he was going to enjoy this visit.

Relaxing further into his seat, he let his legs fall open, all the while keeping eye contact, he dropped his hand to his lap and cupped his cock, giving it an encouraging tweak, ever on the verge of arousal it, leapt to attention.

Heady palpable sex pulled at her through the glass, she flinched with shame and turned away. This man had tried to kill her, she should be spitting on him right now, not watching him get a hard on; she wanted to climb up onto his lap? the bastard.

How can you fear and want someone at the same time? Hypnotism, drugs, brainwashing? what has he done to me? he's a killer for chrissakes, what the hell is wrong with me?

She closed her eyes, rocked her head back and took a long slow calming breath? focus, it's only a man? with a few issues? well, more than a few issues, murder is a little serious? but he had good reason, I would have done the same? urrgh, who is more deranged, him or me?

The room fell silent, waiting for her reaction.

The four bulky wardens on guard, two behind David and two behind Tara, stood attentive, backs rigid, arms crossed, legs apart, silently waiting for any sign of trouble, stealing cursory glances at the classy long-legged blonde in the black suit. She was not the norm for Her Majesty's Belmarsh; it seemed lover boy David swung both ways, Jonesy would not be happy.

Warden Jones was not, standing, seething, behind David he assessed his competition? so this is the bitch he's obsessed with, the name he calls out in the night.

He gave David a warning punch to the shoulder, knocking his hand away from the semi lob, resisting the urge to reach down and grab it himself. As with everything about David, his cock was impressive, and Jonesy had seen enough cocks in his time to know, the prison showers were a daily peep show.

He looked over at the bitch; she didn't have what David needed, what the hell was her hold over him?

Tara looked up to find Jonesy inspecting her legs; she tugged at her skirt pulling it over knees. The two guards behind her sniggered, she glanced back to their grinning faces, not understanding the joke, she looked over to her lawyer for support, the overweight, sweaty little man was standing at the door hugging his briefcase, anxious to leave? he said this was a bad idea, he was right.

She'd arrived with brave intention, but the moment she saw his handsome face and lounge-lizard body sprawled across the seat in front of her, she froze, unable to breathe, let alone string a sentence together.

She knew he was evil, knew what lurked beneath the handsome packaging, she'd experienced it first-hand, but she also knew the energy in his fingertips, the power in his kisses, the incredible feeling of connection as he entered her? how could someone blessed with so much turn out so bad? could she help him, change him?

He broke the silence.

'Darling Tara, it's good to see you, you got my letters then,' he beamed, eyes flirting, brazenly scanning her body. 'Sorry I can't offer you a drink.'

Bile retched at her throat? the bastard.

Closing her eyes she was back in his apartment, naked, bound star-shaped to the bed, choking on the red wine being poured down her throat, drowning, fighting for life, his laughter ringing in her ears.

Panic pumped her rib cage, she put a hand on her chest to quieten it ? breathe in, out? in and out.

Focusing on the scratched, smeared glass between them, she forced herself to tune into the sounds of prison; slamming doors, metal on metal, distant cries, repetitive life outside the suffocating visitors' room? breathe in and out? in and out.

Knuckles clenched tight, she dug fingernails into the palm of her hand, forcing her mind to still, to concentrate on the pain? he can't get to me here, I'm safe? in? and out.

They sat in silence.

He stared at her, tilting his head sideways as if analysing a rare specimen in a laboratory. He missed Heddington Hall's science lab, his secret haven where he had God-like control, dissecting small creatures that couldn't fight back, a safe place away from the Headmaster.

'Tara, look at me,' he teased, soft, seductive, snakelike. 'Don't be scared, imagine I'm making love to you? you know? how we used to? I promise not to stop till you are shaking? go on, imagine? go there, for just one itsy bitsy second baby? you know you want to.'

Unable to meet his stare she lowered her eyes and fidgeted in her seat? fuck! She picked at the thread on her hem, loosening it further, stitches rippled open with ease. For a nanosecond she went there, her face and neck flushed.

He smiled, nothing had changed, he had control, she was still his angel.

Giving a cocky I-told-you-so glance to Warden Jones he snapped into chatty, jovial David, as if old friends meeting in a bar.

'So come on, tell me? how are you? Have you missed me? What's the goss? How's my sister, Seb, Michael? It's been a while, but my goodness we had fun, didn't we?' he beamed.

Memories of the three days they spent together were hazy, distorted by drugs and the mind games he'd played. Brutal one minute, tender the next, frightening yet romantic, gushing love, yet wanting her dead? wanting her dead, three little words that filled her with fear, because David always got what he wanted.

On that final day, what if her friends hadn't gate-crashed his apartment, what if they had arrived moments later? She shook her head, denying access to the image. He would have opened her body with the ease of lab rat dissection.

Now, listening to his smooth low voice, watching his mouth and following his hands, more images began to surface, skin on skin, fingers caressing, tongues searching? she shook her head chasing them away.

'My, my? we had fun,' he smiled, reading her. 'You're a screamer.'

She flushed pink, a stifled giggle came from the guard standing behind her.

Another image flashed her thoughts, David, naked, kneeling between her bent legs, knees at her ears, bearing down on her, his face distorted, about to come, pumping hard, shunting her body up the mattress.

She gasped at the force of the image, tried hiding it by shuffling her chair and clearing her throat. But he caught it and nodded, all knowing.

'I would offer you a delicious glass of Chateauneuf-du-Pape,' he whispered softly. 'I know it's your favourite.'

More memories cascaded, suffocation, panic, the taste of bile, she couldn't breathe. Putting a hand to mouth she swallowed back the acid rising in her throat.

'But we don't have that vintage in here darling T,' he reached out as if to touch her.

She snapped back in the chair, its metal legs scraping noisily on the stone floor, wardens stepped forward ready to pounce. He raised both hands in innocent protest.

'Hey, hey, hey,' he soothed, they stepped back.

'Shhh? little one?' he whispered.

'Don't worry angel, I can't get to you right now, I'm a little tied up,' extending shackled wrists to the glass, he waved them in front of her.

'But I will? I will,' lowering his voice, barely audible against the hiss of the speaker. 'You will taste me again, have no fear.'

She stared into his eyes, a memory of leisurely running her tongue the length of his gorged cock crashed her thoughts, she turned away, subconsciously wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, licking her lips, she could taste him.

Was he using words to trigger memories?

He was right, they were not over. Prison hadn't changed anything, he could still haunt her. She would never be free. Anger flashed her face? how the fuck dare he.

He noticed the change in her demeanour, raised an interested eyebrow and waited, he loved it when she fought back. But unable to hold her nerve, her eyes flickered and looked to the floor, he laughed.

'I am addictive, aren't I T? hard to resist,' his eyes shone with amusement, his half-smile calm and controlled.

'It's ok, don't worry, I know, it's been like that all my life,' he sighed. 'People just can't get enough of me,' he turned towards Warden Jones.

'Isn't that right Jonesy boy?' he sneered. 'People can't get enough of this,' he grabbed his cock and balls and yanked on them, laughing at the power his sex gave him.

'It's the luck of the draw, but of course you've got to know how to use it? and this,' he flicked his tongue backwards and forwards across his front teeth. 'Men with big cocks tend to get lazy, thinking they've brought enough to the table, but it's not enough, they have to know how to satisfy? it's a fine art, and I was taught by the best? those with small cocks get it, they work harder, have more tricks up their sleeve? don't they Jonesy.'

Warden Jones stared straight ahead, seething. His fellow guards sniggered. David and Jonesy's sex life was the talk of the prison. David liked to fuck in places where others could watch. It was obvious that Jonesy was besotted with the strikingly good-looking inmate, and also obvious that David merely saw him as a useful asset to ease prison life.

Jonesy wasn't the only hot blooded male at Belmarsh that shared David's affections, but Jonesy didn't know that.

There were benefits to being a prison warden's sex toy, as with being the Headmaster's special boy; benefits he knew how to manipulate to his advantage. It always amazed him how gullible people were; see a pretty face and they'll do anything to bathe in its shadow, have a big cock and they'll do anything to sit on it. Sex equalled power.

Having Jonesy and Tara in the same room was a turn on, the jealousy would get Jonesy all riled up, they would fuck hard later, on show of course, dogging a favoured pastime in prison.

'Why didn't you reply to my letters? You should read the stuff I get from besotted fans, wacko's who can't resist my charms. Some visit, sit right there in the same chair as you, claiming undying love, offering their bodies, marriage? Vanessa is the worst, pathetic really,' he smiled.

A pang of jealousy flushed her cheeks, she wasn't the only one? why the hell would I be jealous? She shook her head? the man's a fruitcake, they are welcome to him.

'I tell them it's no use; there's only one body I want to make love to.'

Jonesy shuffled noisily from foot to foot, not enjoying what he was hearing, the noise interrupted David's flow. He looked up at Jonesy, fuming.

'Oh, for fuck's sake Jonesy, we FUCK, we don't make love, capiche? Buck up and grow some,' he spat, the guards sniggered some more.

Turning back to Tara, he smiled, waiting for her reaction.

Confused, she stared blankly at him and then at the guard, computing what had just been said, another unwanted pang of jealousy.

She'd forgotten he was bi-sexual, that he and Seb had been lovers? but this is a good thing, isn't it? surely he'll leave me alone now with a zillion inmates and fans to entertain.

David held her eyes and let his mouth fall open, his tongue ran the edge of his teeth. She remembered that mouth, that tongue, and its enduring ability to swirl sweet intense circles over her clitoris, taking her over the edge. The memory pulsed her groin, she crossed and re-crossed her legs? god damn this man.

He nodded, knowingly? how does he do that? he's using triggers to control my thoughts.

David raised a finger to the partition and slowly traced the outline of her face, gently stroking the surface of the glass as if caressing her. She turned away, more memories flooded in, she knew what those fingers felt like, they had an electric touch that skimmed her skin with tingles of pleasure? fuck, fuck, fuck? I must stop fucking swearing!

No matter how much it disgusted her, the sex had been consenting, not taken, not forced, not rape? hell, she'd begged him for it. The evil murdering bastard had made love to her, and she'd let him, over and over.

A flashback of the Headmaster's murder scene pictures flashed her thoughts, blood, dissected skin? her stomach heaved.

'I know you want me,' he whispered, so softly she could barely hear him, she read his lips.

'You do want me, don't you Tara, you're getting wet, I can sense it,' he beamed. 'Your neck flushes pink when you're horny.'

Tara's hand subconsciously went to her neck, it was warm, she shook her head.

The lawyer shuffled behind her, yanking at the collar of his shirt and realigning his tie. The intensity getting to him, he was unsure whether to interrupt.

'But it's love I need Tara not sex, that can be bought on a street corner? I never get love? you know, real love? only when I'm with you,' his voice softened. 'I feel it? you love me? we are good, you know it? you make love to me.'

She closed her eyes, forcing images of their entwining bodies to the back of her mind, mustering the strength to speak.

'N? n? no, no,' she stammered, shaking her head. 'That's not true.'

'Aha, finally she speaks,' he mocked, clapping his hands like an eager child.

'It's called 'love' Tara? and when a woman is in love she puts up with all kinds of shit, just ask any wife, mother, lover, sister, mistress? women have the strength to forgive, protect, rebuild... to do anything? if they love.'

'N? no, NO,' she shouted. 'This is bullshit? why can't you just leave me alone?'

As if flicking a switch, his face turned dark.

'Why?' he spat. 'Because you're mine, because you're on my list... because I love you, because you love me, because if I can't have you, no one else will.'

'? but now, NOW,' he shouted, anger bubbling. 'Your interfering friends have been added to that list, it will all take longer. You silly, SILLY girl for getting those fucking idiots involved, they will have to die also.'

She stared at him in horror.

'I'm gonna be such a busy boy when I get out,' he sneered.

'Two minutes,' barked Warden Jones.

Tara jumped.

David laughed.

'A little nervous aren't we T, you need to relax more,' he sat back to survey her, savouring her unease.

'You're sick, you're locked up, you're not going to kill anyone, you've done enough killing? and I'm not yours? besides you have him now,' she looked up at Jonesy, willing for him to take on the gauntlet of David's love. 'You're gay, so what the hell do you want with me?'

'Urghh! There you go again, getting all suburban on me... gay, straight, metro? I like beautiful things, so shoot me,' he scoffed. 'I like you, man and boy I've liked you, but of course you know that, I wrote you, remember?' pressing the side of his forefinger against puckered lips, he eyed her like a piece of art.

'But I must say, you're looking a bit peaky T? you've let yourself go, and still wearing black I see, your wardrobe never was very imaginative, now was it.'

'It's a darn sight better than yours,' she muttered, sub-consciously running hands through hair and smoothing down her skirt. 'Scrubs are so last year? where'd you get those, scrubbers R us?'

He laughed at her attempt at humour, and leaned in close to the partition.

'Ahhh don't worry, I still loves ya?' he smiled, drawing a large heart in the dirt of the glass.

The guards became alert, eyes followed his hands. He kissed the tip of his finger and placed the kiss in the centre of the heart. Watching her reaction through splayed fingers, he slowly opened his hand and pressed it flat against the glass.

She didn't see it at first; finally the large black letter T henna painted into his hand came into focus, the cross of the T stretched the width of his palm, its grotesque devil-forked tail trailed down, wrapping itself around his wrist. She recoiled in shock.

With a half-smile, he whispered.

'You see, I keep you close my darling T?' lowering his hand, he cupped his burgeoning cock, giving it a seductive squeeze.

'This is my wanking hand, I think of you when I play with my co?.'

'Time's up Howard,' snarled the guard behind Tara, opening the door for her to leave. 'Miss Warr, time to go.'

'Ahh what a shame, just as we were warming up,' he sighed, leaning back in his chair, open legged, brazenly showing the extent of his hard-on beneath flimsy scrubs. A dark stain of pre-juice seeped from the tip of his cock, through the material.

The lawyer gasped, unable to hide his admiration.

'Good bye Angel, see you soon, we have some unfinished business?'

He stood and stretched, thrusting his hips at Tara's eye level, his cock knocking the partition? the bastard!

She snapped, leaned forward and spat at the glass, covering the view with saliva. She spat again and again. Her two guards moved forward, ready to pull her out of her chair.

Warden Jones yanked David towards the door, he checked the design on David's hand, and threw it down in disgust, pushing him out of the room. But David wasn't finished yet, he turned back and shouted through the spittle sullied window.

'I so had you begging for more, remember?' he sneered. 'You do remember T, don't you, our nights together?'

She stared up at him? how could he be so bloody arrogant?

'No!' she shouted. 'No I don't ? that's why I came here?'

She stood and leaned into the glass.

'? to make sense of it all? but it was a mistake, you just like fucking with people's minds, you're sick, a mental case and NO, we won't be seeing each other again, because quite honestly David, you weren't that good? I've had more memorable sex with my middle finger.'

Her lawyer sniggered, nervously. David's malevolent face whipped around, stopping him in his tracks.

'Having to drug someone to get fucked, is SO not a good sign David, if you were any good at all they would gladly do it sober, you're pathetic, rape is for losers? for dickheads that are SO disgusting, SO repulsive, they can't get it any other way than stealing it.'

'It was not rape, and you know it? you begged me to fuck you,' he snapped back. 'But the sex is not the thing, you silly, SILLY girl, I can get that anywhere, anytime,' he grinned, flashing a 'come hither' pout at the guard standing behind her. The guard winked back. Jonesy caught the exchange and tried not to freak out.

'It's the control that's rocks my boat dearie? don't you get that yet?'

'Control of what exactly, a lifeless, defenceless, drugged body? Where's the turn on in that? You may as well date in a morgue.'

'The mind, my dear, control of the mind, you spurned me, left me to those pigs, to pass around like cheap meat? you turned me down, but pretty soon I had you falling in love with me, had you eating out of my hand, begging me to take you? I still do, don't I angel, you're here aren't you? You can't get me out of your head can you? Thoughts of me just keep going round and round? I get you? you're a sexual creature, I know what buttons to press and how hard to press them? I'm good and you know it? you're wet right now.'

'Fuck you, FUCK YOU DAVID,' she slammed her fist on the glass. 'What did you do? Hypnotize me, brainwash me, what, WHAT?'

'The Headmaster was bloody years ago, grow up, its history. I'm truly sorry he abused you, and yes he deserved to die, but it's time to move on? drugging and forcing yourself on someone makes you no better than him? you're repeating history, repeating the pattern, the old bloody clich? of abusee becoming abuser, poor old David, grow up and break the pattern, you're bigger than that, it's pathetic!'

David glared at her, this is not what he had envisaged.

She hadn't finished.

'You're sick... control? control? don't make me laugh. Who's in control now David?' she spun around, pointing toward the exit door.

'Who's walking out of that door, you or me? Who David, who?'

'Times up Madam,' ordered her guard. 'Leave now please.'

'? and stop writing the letters? I leaving the country anyway, I won't get them.'

David did a double-take, his heart sunk.

'Wh? wh? where are you going? With who? You can't,' he stared aghast. 'I won't let...'

'LEAVE NOW please Miss Warr,' the guard interrupted.

'With pleasure? go rot in hell David fucking psycho Howard.'

'Oh I'm sure I will, much more fun down there,' a fake smile covered his anger.

'But before I do?' he hissed, yanking his arm free from Jonesy, pressing his face close to the partition, distorting his skin against the glass. 'Know that you're mine and that I'm coming to get you, wherever you hide I will find you, and if I have to die I'm bringing you with me.'

The malice in his voice frightened her, he meant it, she would never be free of him, nausea flipped her stomach.

'Know it Tara Warr, know I am coming to get you.'

She teetered toward the door, feeling faint, the lawyer pulled her out of the room; she ran down the corridor and vomited into the nearest rubbish bin. David's voice ringing in her ears.

It had been a mistake to visit him; she had only made things worse.

She'd lied, twice; she was in love with him, and he was the best fuck she'd ever had.


Chapter Two

Twenty four years earlier
Heddington Hall Boys Boarding School, Berkshire, England


At the end of choir practice young David had been summoned to the headmaster's study. His small frame shook as he fiddled with his tie, neatened his fringe and tip toed nervously down the long dark corridor to the head's private quarters.

Taking a large gulp of air, he filled his lungs to bursting point and ran as fast as his spindly legs would carry him, holding his breath all the way. The cloying smell of floor polish mixed with candle wax made him retch ? a reflex that stayed with him for life.

He was proud that on a good day he could reach the end of the passageway, the head's doorway, in three gulps, other boys needed four; fat-boy Bartie needed five.

He knew what was in store, but was powerless to stop it. No one ever said no to the headmaster, Lucian Sewerl, or his playmate, Father Michael. This was their world and they ruled it with fear; fear of the whip, of the wrath of God, of burning in hell, of parents knowing vile secrets. Fear and shame kept the silence; silence gave the headmaster and the priest power.

He was eight and three quarter years old, but one day when he was big enough, strong enough, he would reverse that fear and make them pay. He kept a list of those that had hurt him; their names were etched on his heart. The certainty of revenge gave him the strength to live through the pain - strength beyond his years.

He stopped midway along the corridor to check his socks; one had slipped to the ankle. He bent down and pulled it to the knee, neatly aligning the folded cuffs. Appearance was all important to the head. For whatever reason you were summoned to his study, whether it be for punishment, reward or 'special time', you had to look smart and wear your Heddington Hall uniform with pride. You didn't want to upset him and add a flogging to the 'special time'.

Happy that he looked smart; he carried on running, his shiny black shoes clip-clopping against polished stone, lateness was another reason to be whipped.

As he neared the head's study he started the chant under his breath.

'One day I will be bigger, I will be badder? I will be bigger, I will be badder,' the words kept tears from his eyes.

He reached the heavy oak door and stood nervously before it. Steeling himself to be brave.

'I will be bigger, I will be badder? I will be bigger, I will be badder.'

He puffed out his chest and stood tall, ready for the game to start. He wouldn't be beaten; he would get through it by storing up the damage for sweet revenge.

Stepping forward, he heard a low childlike whimper from behind the door. Another boy was already in the room, how could that be? He normally had special time alone with the head, except for Father Michael of course, who stood silently in the corner watching.

Although initially fearful, David was now grateful for Father Michael's presence; his noises off stage were a welcome gauge of when the game was coming to a close, of how much more pain he had to endure.

As a rule, whilst the head humped David's small frame stretched over the large oak desk, the priest's heavy breathing could be heard from the shadows. It would slowly build to a crescendo, followed by the muffled cry of a pained animal, and then silence.

Seconds later, he would be heard scurrying out of the room with a swish of cassock and a waft of old hymnals, the heavy oak door leading to the school chapel slamming shut behind him, cutting off all responsibility for the scene he'd just witnessed - the sodomy of a defenceless boy by a cowardly, perverted, greedy old man, a man entrusted by parents, pupils and society to raise their young.

Father Michael never spoke, never touched David, but the all-important clunk of that door meant the special time was coming to a close. Soon after the head would also cry out, release his seed and the pain would finally stop.

He would take a tissue from a box on the desk, clean up juices seeping from David's buttocks and abruptly dismiss him from the room, with a quick 'Our Father', a vow of secrecy and more threats of death, fire and damnation if he told anyone? why is the moment when they cry out so important to these men? how can they enjoy giving pain? why can't he talk about it? why is it a secret? does God approve... he is all seeing, all knowing, why doesn't he stop them?

Checking no one else was in the corridor, David pressed his ear against the doorframe, straining to listen. As the cries grew louder, his heart pumped hard, the boy was being beaten. What had he done to upset the head? It must have been bad; the whack of leather on skin could be heard through the door. The boys pleading voice was deeper than David's, he was older.

Suddenly the cries stopped, the door flew open and David tumbled head first past a disgruntled headmaster into the dimly lit study, clambering on all fours, panicking at being caught.

'S s s sorry Sir, sorry Sir... I didn't mean... I?'

'Get up you stupid boy, chop chop,' the headmaster bore down on him, giving him a kick in the shin.

Wearing a black kimono covered in large pink flower print and waving a horsewhip, his rotund body looked ridiculous.

'What are you doing listening in hallways?' he quickly scanned the empty corridor and slammed the door shut.

'Naughty boy, stand in the corner and remain silent whilst I deal with young Patrick Butler here.'

Eyes darting, taking in the room, David got shakily to his feet. The room was dark, curtains drawn, candles lit. An older boy, probably a sixth former, was strapped naked, face down, across the Headmaster's desk. Red welt marks covered his back and buttocks. His uniform folded at his feet, a neat pile of socks, pants, trousers, shirt and tie, immaculately folded atop shiny black leather shoes.

David couldn't see his face, but grimaced at the pool of snot and tears gathered beneath the sobbing boys head. He ran to the safety of the nearest dark corner. A shuffle of brown robes moved in the shadows behind him, Father Michael was already in residence.

'Not there boy,' shouted the head, pointing with his whip. 'The other corner, you fool.'

'S s s sorry Sir? sorry.'

'Stop saying sorry Howard,' barked the head. 'It's a sign of weakness.'

'S s s sor? yes Sir,' he corrected, feeling his way along the dark walls to the next corner.

He leaned back against the cool stone, enthralled with the scene before him; it was his turn to watch, to be a voyeur like Father Michael. Excitement bubbled inside; for once he wasn't the victim.

'Now where were we Butler dear boy, how many was that 25 or 26 lashes? I've lost count? Oh dear, we'll just have to start again,' he smiled raising the whip.

'1... 2... 3...' Patrick screamed with pain, his raw skin tearing under the impact of each blow.

'Are you watching dear boy?' he turned to David, mid hit.

'Let me introduce you to Butler, you two have a lot in common, it's time you met. My very 'special' boys. You'll get to know each other intimately, what fun we will have? 4' he smiled, slamming another blow.

Squinting at David in the dark, he continued the beating whilst he spoke.

'5? Are you getting hard in your secret place Howard?'

'Errr? s s sir? I d don't know,' David stumbled, not knowing what to reply, what would make the Head happy?

'Of course you know boy. Don't be so pathetic, take your clothes off, let me see? 6.'

Patrick cried out, David flinched, the head carried on.

'Fold them neatly Howard, chop chop, tidiness is next to Godliness?7.'

'Y y yes sir?'

'You will pleasure me later and Butler will watch, if he doesn't pass out like last time. Pathetic I say, PATHETIC, do you hear me Butler, PATHETIC?.'

David shivered in the shadows, wide eyed and tingling. Patrick was beautiful, big and strong, he had more muscles than the Head? he is big enough, why doesn't he stop it?... does he like the crying out, is he part of the game or is he terrified like me?

If Patrick was powerless, what chance did he have?


ARTWORK - SCARLETT RAVEN