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Debauchery on Campus (Chynya x lilbreadstick16)

He slowly followed her, like a master does to a trained pet, eyes looking for any sign of defiance, but there was none. It was slow, but he wasn't going to fault her for that, the punch and kick he had delivered to her was probably causing her pain and discomfort every time she moved. Her sputtering as she recovered from not being able to breath due to his member down her throat left a little trail behind her, something for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

When she finally got near the bed, he began to stroke himself, feeling her spit and his cum spread around. He had a Plan B pill he would make her take in the morning just in case, but for now, he just watched as she assumed the position he had told her to get into. Hands gripping the sheets like her life depended on it, which if he had been in her position, would have probably done the same. Straddling her legs, his own one either side of her, he crouched down and rested his rod against her ass cheek.

"Tell me Taylor. How many guys have you been with in bed? Think long and hard, I want an honest answer, even if it was for a brief second they penetrated you."
 
She winced when she felt his weight shifting onto the bed, then again as his cock pressed against her. Wet, warm, and throbbing again. She let out an accidental whimper, small and quiet but audible.

How any guys... her mind immediately began sifting through memories of exes, a couple of hookups, and a shitty party, and she pursed her lips before speaking. "Six," she said. Her mind waded between the nightmare before her now and the memories that now pale in comparison, and she decided to hold her mind in the now. Need to be ready, after all. Toes curled and uncurled in anxious anticipation, and Taylor felt an increasing urge to shift away from him, just nudge forward ever so slightly. But that would only result in pain. Instead, she focused on fighting this impulse.
 
"Six. I wonder, did any of those six make you appreciate what you had, the easy life you lived before now? Probably not, boys playing at being grown ups."

Stephen shifted his hips, causing the tip to fall from her ass and instead rested at the edge of her womanhood. The slightest pressure he placed there, watching her, the desire to take her nearly causing him to lose all self-control. Instead, he leaned over her, hands placed on either side of her ribs, forearms touching her skin. Placing his mouth right next to her ear, he took one last deep breath, the smell of soap mixed with her spit and his cum wafted up to him. "But I think you've had enough punishment for tonight," he whispered, kissing the side of her head before pushing himself off the bed.

Walking into the bathroom, he grabbed a washcloth and got it damp in the sink, dabbing at his groin to wash away the remnants of spit and cum. "You may get dressed and leave if you'd like. But remember, if I message you, you must drop whatever you are doing and come to me immediately. This will be an anthill compared to a mountain if you disobey. Understood?" He washed his hands and walked to his bag of clothes, grabbing out a fresh pair of boxer briefs, some shorts, and a tank top, quickly putting them on and turning to Taylor. "What will it be?"
 
Taylor tensed, prepping for the worst. Knuckles whitened as her grip tightened, and she pressed her face into the sheets. The darkness was comforting, and she decided she may be able to push through this if she sank into this darkness, rather than him. As he leaned in, she held her breath, body now frozen. His words failed to register. When he got up, she kept still, lungs full and refusing release.

She listened to the faucet, on, and then off, and the quiet that followed. Then, more words. They floated through her mind in a slow stampede, one letter at a time. Her breathing slowed with the pace, but she held this way while she listened to him, words then actions. When he turned to look at her again, posing his final question, she took a deeper breath, rather than sipping breaths as she had been. She focused now on her fingers, curled around the sheets, and urged them to unfurl. They did so stubbornly, popping a little. Then she stretched out her arms, muscles jumping back to life. She was terrified to open her eyes again, worried this might disappear and he would be behind her again and-

She refused to let herself fall back into that moment. She lifted her head, opened her eyes, and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her eyes remained down, but the floor in front of her and his feet planted firmly there, far enough from her, was comfort enough. "Yes, sir," she whispered, pushing her voice to raise enough to be heard. "I understand."
 
She didn't jump up and run out screaming, that was a positive sign. Would be hard to explain a woman coming out of his room naked and crying. His little gambles were paying off slightly, he just had to keep this up a little while longer.

"Very good," he replied, smiling down at her, moving back into the bathroom, grabbing another washcloth and soaking it in hot water, wringing it out and bringing it out to Taylor, laying it down next to her head. "Clean up a bit so you don't have to go out there looking like that. I'll pay for any damages to your clothing."

Bundling up the little clothes she had brought with her in his arms, he placed them neatly next to her, panties on top, then shorts, then shirt. When that was finished, he didn't say another word, instead climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over himself and settling into the pillows, ready for some good sleep.
 
Taylor refused to stir until he himself had settled again. Any possibility of agitating him was already being avoided. Once the sounds of his movement ceased, she took the washcloth and dragged it absentmindedly across her face, each cheek, her forehead, and the eye that still burned. Then her stomach, her thighs, her hands. Taylor dressed slowly, methodically, and when she stood, her body swayed. Her thighs leaned heavily against the bed and she pressed a hand into the sheets to keep herself from dropping down again. Then Taylor took one step, then another, and another, until her hands gripped the door that she had so desperately reached for before.

She paused here. Stared at the locks, at the cold metal in her hands. Then turned the lock. Slid back the bolt. Turned the knob. Opened the door. And stepped into the hall.

Once the door shut behind her, Taylor began to drift out of her haze. She shuffled down the hall to the elevator, pressed the "Down" button, and waited. Her phone was in her room. Room with bed, I'm so tired. The elevator dinged. Taylor stepped inside. Pressed the floor down. Checked the number above her head to make sure. Then waited again, swaying in a fog.

The elevator dinged again. Back to her floor. Back to.. Bed, sleep, and Taylor shuffled down the hall again. She fumbled for her keycard in the flimsy pocket of her shorts, slipped it in backwards, cursed, and slipped it in again the correct way. The door flashed green, she turned the knob, and the quiet of her own hotel room became an instant comfort and curse. This room looked just like the one above. Same bed, same billowy sheets, and now she detested the idea of sleeping there. Instead, she went to the bathroom to wash her face.

Inside, she found someone much younger, more afraid than the woman she had seen in the mirror a few hours prior. Eyes were bloodshot and puffy from tears, and her brows had furrowed into creases of fear and anxiety that didn't seem to fade despite her efforts. Her hair stuck out from the ponytail that she had put it in, and the hair tie clung desperately to a small bunch of hair close to her neck rather than in the high pony from before. She took a deep, shaky breath. Turned on the water. The sound of the faucet was jarring in the silence, but she welcomed it. She cupped cold water in her hands, scrubbed them clean with the soap on the counter, then did the same to her face. The haze finally lifted, and when Taylor looked in the mirror again, she eased at what she saw. This version of her was much more comfortable, bright eyes and flushed cheeks. It was still evident that she had been crying, but Taylor was accustomed enough to that. She ran wet hands through her hair, smoothing back all the flyaways that had sprung forth, then pulled out the hair tie. She opted to leave her hair down. It was never comfortable to sleep that way, but she hated to be reminded of his grip in her hair.

The sleepiness settled in again as she watched herself in the mirror, and Taylor turned off the lights and slipped back into the bedroom. The bed looked more inviting than before, taunting her with a deep rest. Taylor opted to sleep fully clothed. He had no key to her room, but she wouldn't take any risks. She crawled between the sheets, driving a thick wall between her conscious mind and the memories of tonight, and shut her eyes. Sleep came easy, but Taylor spent the night thrashing through nightmares.
 
Stephen's senses were on high alert, his eyes closed so he could focus on her movements. They came slowly, the slight rustling of the sheets as she cleaned up and got dressed. When he felt her hand push into the bed, a small part of him thought he had already broken her so she couldn't be without him, or at least didn't want to out of fear.

But then the little clocks greeted his ears as she undid the locks and bolts and he sliently sighed in disappointment. The door closed behind her and he waited. Listened. Yet there was no beating of feet in a run, just silence until the elevator a few doors down dinged, loud enough for him to hear.

The minutes passed with agonizing silence. She could have just stayed calm until she got out of earshot from him, calling the police when she got to the lobby. Instead, the elevator stayed silent, no knock coming to the door, no demands to come out with his hands up. No, that usually came weeks later, accompanied by a lawyer with some lawsuit he could always wiggle out of.

Sleep eventually came and it hit him hard. Darkness was all he saw, no reliving the night's adventures, head long ago gotten over that. Instead, it was just oppressive silence and blackness for hours. When his phone blasted his alarm, he jolted into a sitting position, bleary eyed until he wiped the crust out of them.

Yawning, he stood up and stretched, walking to the window and peeked outside, the sun already halfway up the horizon. He looked around and grabbed all of his stuff and packed it away, replacing his tank top with a simple blue t-shirt and walked out, breakfast his mission before they were scheduled to leave in a little over an hour.

When the elevator opened to the lobby floor, he eagerly walked down to where he could smell the generic food provided by these places. Seeing the buffet come into view, he looked around and only saw a couple other people there, nobody from the softball team yet. No Taylor.

Scooping up a plate of eggs, sausage and toast, he sat at a table and began to dig in, his appetite voracious. The couple other people were looking at him, letting him know he had probably been a little noisy but he didn't care, he was already done. Pulling out his phone, he sent a text to the group chat the team was apart of.

"Shower and get ready. Breakfast by 7:30. We leave at 8.”
 
Taylor hadn't bothered to set an alarm the night before, so she was stirred from sleep by a buzz of her phone on the nightstand. She rolled over, dazed and disturbed from the visions of her subconscious, and opened the message. She winced at his name, but rolled out of bed obediently.

Her mind wasn't exactly clear after fitful sleep, but she thought more cohesively. As she went through the motions of the morning- wash face, brush teeth, dress, re-pack- her mind wandered through the opportunities and threats ahead. Her jaw still held the undertone of an ache. Last night she had been restrained, beaten, and.. and face-fucked. By faculty. A teacher, technically. Her cheeks flushed hot at the thought, but Taylor quickly brushed away the arousal that this thought brought on. She had to report him. She had to get away from this, protect other girls from suffering the same fate. She took a deep breath, hand on the doorknob, and decided that she would speak directly with Sally when they got back.

With this confidence, Taylor left her hotel room and headed down the hall. She followed a few girls into the elevator, standing quietly behind them while they chattered. She was keenly aware of the bruises that had formed just beneath her clothes, and part of her begged to tell them, to drop to her knees and beg them for help and sanctuary from this man. Instead, she followed them out of the elevator and into the breakfast lobby, where Stephen sat at a nearby table.

Every ounce of confidence bled from her at the sight of him. She tripped over a rug on the hotel's tile floor, stumbled, and turned to the breakfast counter where she found herself toast and orange juice and sat down, facing away from him. She took a bite and it felt dry, sticky and uncomfortable between her teeth. She forced herself to chew, swallow, chew, swallow, drink, following the motions as she waited for the moment she could free herself from this.
 
The girls slowly filled the dining area, a low hum enveloping the small space with their voices. He noticed when Taylor arrived and his heartbeat surged, both excitement and trepidation courses through his veins and hormones. This wasn't his first rodeo, so he suppressed his emotions and turned back to his phone, where he was answering emails and setting up nettings for new recruits next year.

A few minutes passed and Sally joined him at the table. "We need a new left fielder. Jasmine took a pregnancy test this morning and it came back positive. She can't play for the rest of the year." Her tray clanked against the table as she set it down roughly, exasperated from the ordeal.

"Hmm, well, there is always Alison, but shes not fast enough to play that position and none of the pitchers can be spared." Stephen's continued, "We could hold emergency tryouts, maybe a student who used to play in high school can be serviceable, but that probably means no playoffs this year. She's nearly made All-american the last couple years and who knows if she'll even be able to play her senior year. Fuck."

"Fuck indeed," Sally responded, clearly indicating she didn't want to discuss it further until they got back home. "How was Taylor last night?"

The question made his body go rigid, his eyes unblinking as he looked at his best friend. "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, I've known you long enough to tell the signs. If she wasn't a grad student, I would have stepped in. So, how was she?" Sally took a forkfull of eggs and then sipped on her coffee, eyeing him.

"Can we talk about this later please? When half the team isn't mere feet away?" he replied.

"Fine, but I want details."

Everyone finished with their food just as the buses pulled up to the front door, honking their horns to let everyone know they were there. "Let's go," Sally shouted, the sound of chairs sliding against the floor, bags being shuffled around, and girls excited to get back home filled the high ceilinged lobby.

Stephen grabbed his little duffel bag and made his way to the first bus, picking out his usual seat, and pulling out his earbuds. He closed his eyes and tried to forget that Sally knew about Taylor, but was it like she said or had Taylor told her? Ignoring the traffic that went by him in the isles, he was lost in his own thoughts, not even noticing as the bus lurched forward as they took off, headed back home.
 
Taylor watched Sally cross through the lobby, sit next to Stephen and grumble about something. She tensed, entirely aware that he could already be spilling bullshit. Or maybe Sally was in on it. Maybe it was easier for Sally to keep these girls in line with the Bad Cop on her side all the time. She tried not to think about it as she finished her toast. The orange juice tasted bitter and sharp on her tongue, unpleasant as her mind wandered.

Finally, the buses pulled up outside. Taylor stood and slipped herself into the small herd of girls, doing her best to disappear amongst them before she had to face him again. She chose a seat deep in the back, away from Sally and Stephen, and leaned her head against the window in an effort to sleep.

The drive was long, made longer still as Taylor's mind waded through memories of last night, the rumors she had heard since joining the team as an AT, and the gossip that spread when women were caught sleeping with a professor. Every girl she knew (rarely were they personal, she was careful about the crowd she put herself in) lost their lives, their friends, and their careers after a scandal like that. Taylor might have her mom's support, but her dad wouldn't look at her the same. Even if everyone believed that it was assault, they'd look at her with contempt and pity for the rest of her life. She swam through these thoughts along the bumps and rumbles of the bus, until they finally pulled up to the school again.
 
Stephen wasn't tired, but he did manage to drift on and off to sleep, helping the trip go quicker. The sun was nowhere to be seen when they pulled up to the school, twenty minutes before midnight. Cracking his neck from the discomfort of the ride, he stood up and stretched, before turning and addressing the bus.

"Alright, everyone get home and rest up. We'll take tomorrow off and return to practice the following morning. Sally and I have some things to go over and we'll have a team meeting soon to discuss some issues that have come up. Until then, take care of your bodies, go get some help from the trainers even if you don't think you are injured. We don't need anyone else injured or risking injury that could have been prevented. That's all ladies. Have a good night."

He was first off the bus, followed by Sally, who followed him inside so they could take inventory when all the girls had finished turning their gear in. Flopping in his comfy office chair, Sally took one of the basic chairs across the table. "So, Taylor...anything I need to worry about?"

Sighing, Stephen told her what had happened in great detail. He couldn't lie to her, she'd know, especially if she went to talk to Taylor about it. She sat there quietly as he told her about the punch, the kick, and throat fucking their trainer. When he was finished, the whole conversation said so nonchalantly, he pulled out his phone and checked for any new emails.

"For fuck sakes man," she started, rubbing her temples and taking a deep breath. "This program will be ruined if she goes to the dean. He literally just warned you a couple days ago that they couldn't handle another scandal like this. Why couldn't you just take a nice break for a while. This had better not drag me into anything or I swear, I will consider spilling my guts about everything."

"Don't worry, Sal. She's a smart one, she's heard the rumors and can put two and two together. The fact she didn't immediately run to the police, or you, when I let her leave should be comfort enough. She's different though, there is a fire inside her I haven't seen in anyone else."

He placed his phone down and leaned in. "She might be the one," which resulted in am eye roll from his colleague and friend. "You've said that before. Just please be careful,. I don't want to know any more than I do, just please don't fuck this up for me."

They both got up and started inventory which took them another hour or so, before they both went home. Stephen crashed on his bed, thinking about texting Taylor goodnight but thought better of it. He'd purposefully ignored her at breakfast and figured he would continue to do so for a while longer.
 
Taylor kept her head down when they finally pulled up to the school. She waited for the girls just in front and behind her to stand before she moved, and she shuffled off the bus between them. The walk home was short, but she couldn't help but look over her shoulder every few minutes. When she got home, she made sure to lock the front door, check the windows, and close the curtains. Then, Taylor spent the night cleansing herself of the weekend. She slipped back to her bedroom to turn on her speaker to play quiet folk music while she unpacked, taking time to carefully clean and put away everything. She picked up the small Bluetooth speaker and set it on a stool, just outside her bathroom door, then stepped in for a hot shower.

She spent nearly an hour under the water, both scrubbing her skin of any dirt or sweat of the weekend and stretching her muscles under the hot water. When she finally got out, the steam in the bathroom was nearly overwhelming. She dried herself quickly then wrapped herself in a towel. Once her hair stopped dripping, she opened the door. The cold of the hallway rushed over her. Taylor snatched up the speaker and slipped back to her room where she could dress in warm pajamas.

After she was dressed, she buried herself under a few blankets that had been lying around her room, and put her phone on the charger within reach. Taylor took a deep breath and rolled over to go to sleep.

___________________________________________________________


After about 40 minutes of lying in the dark, thoughts swimming, Taylor rolled over again and picked up her phone. She opened her web browser, pulled up a search bar, and tapped in her request- the local police station's number. A number appeared almost instantly, and this she copied to her clipboard. She switched to her Contacts app, and added the number to a new contact under the name Police Department. Then, she rolled over again and closed her eyes.

Taylor was fast asleep within minutes.
 
The following day could have been exchanged for any number of days before it. Stephen woke up and did his morning routine; brush teeth, shower, shave, do some light stretching, and getting dressed for the day. It was a cool morning, but the sun had already risen and the beating rays were already causing the coldness to fade away by the time he headed into work, the commute as boring as ever. His phone had stayed silent all night and not even Sally had messaged him, which wasn't entirely too unusual, but there was no 'let's get so-and-so done today' message waiting for him. Shrugging away any fleeting moments of worry, he pulled up to his usual spot in the parking lot and sauntered into work, whistling randomly to some beat in his head he couldn't name.

Sally was already in her office, filling out paperwork, probably for Jasmine since her test had been done on University time, he didn't know about all that stuff, not ever being part of that part of the program. He went to his office and started making phone calls to other Universities to set up scrimmages during the off-season and non-conference games during the season. Next was some calls to parents whose darling daughter had chosen to come to this school and were interested in doing a visit of the facilities. That was always the long part, helicopter moms who had every question under the sun about their superstar softball player getting the appropriate amount of playing time. Or the father who needed to make sure his little princess was going to be well protected from the lecherous jocks. If they only knew.

Finally it was all over and he saw an email come through from the Athletic Director, announcing there would be tryouts for a couple spots on the softball team due to some injuries. Bunch of rambling about paperwork needed to sign up for NCAA eligibility, but since they weren't scholarship positions, it would be painless and quick. When everything was done, he locked up and left without a word to anyone, having done all his work for the day, and headed to the closest electronic store. When inside, he gravitated towards the prepaid cellphones section and grabbed a couple cheap ones that could text fairly easy, even if rudimentary by today's standard. Purchasing them, some excuse they were for his nieces so they could keep in contact with their parents given to the cashier.

The drive home was just as boring, if a little slower due to everyone else having the same idea. When he got inside, he put the new cellphones to charge and set them up with some minutes and number of allowed text messages from the cards he had bought. When that was all done, he pulled out his own phone and found Taylor's number and quickly typed out a message.

"Can you bring Carlie's file over for review? There is a discrepancy I found with the second opinion that I need to verify. 3625 Maple Tree Drive. Call if you can't find it."
 
Taylor woke up late the next day, and the furious rush to get dressed, get to class, pay attention don't think about him you have to focus, then off to eat something because she has to, then to labs, all revitalized her. She breathed new air into her lungs and hurried through her day with the head-down vigorous work that by the time she lifted her head up, it was too late to file a report.

Seeing the time, she tapped her phone against her forehead until a red mark of irritation formed. She gripped the phone with white knuckles and resisted the urge to throw it against a wall. Instead, she put her earbuds in, packed up her things, and went home.

About a quarter of the way home, Taylor's phone buzzed. She slipped it out of her pocket with her free hand, water bottle dangling in the other, and read the screen. Fuck. She had begun to hope that he wouldn't ask her over today, give her the chance to.. to do something before she had to see him. She bit her lip, chewing at the skin already tearing from a well-established nervous habit, then typed clumsily with one thumb.

"Yes sir."

Taylor turned and sulked back to the school to pick up the file from the AT room. The second departure from the school felt like a hike compared to the first stroll. Knowing that she was on her way home, to get in her car, and go to his home, voluntarily, put a rock in her stomach that weighed down every step. She didn't bother to go inside. She slipped into the driver's seat of her car, tossed her bag into the passenger's seat, and pulled her phone from her pocket again to find the address. The distance didn't matter, it would feel like the entirety of Route 66 regardless. She backed out of her parking space and followed the GPS.

Her hands stuck to the steering wheel as she drove, and every few minutes she winced as she stretched them, skin un-sticking from leather. She had very little awareness of where she was going, only left or right or curve here. Then the voice stated "In One Mile," and her heartbeat quickened. The house was somewhere in this neighborhood, one of these could very well be home to a new beating, and for a moment she considered driving straight past. Then "Your destination is on the left!" She pressed the brakes, swayed forward a bit, and carefully pulled into the drive.

Any contemplation in the car might lead her to something she could regret. Taylor snagged the folder, then the door handle, and slipped out, careful to lock the care before making her way to the front door. She glanced around, fearful of nosey neighbors, then knocked twice.
 
Knowing it would take some time for her to get there, forty minutes at most at this time of night, he decided to make some dinner. Grabbing a pan, he flipped on the burner and placed it on top, the smell of burning natural gas filling the small space around the stove. Turning on the small overhead fan, he ducked into the fridge for some butter, which he cut a couple table spoons off the stick and plopped it into the pan, which was heating up quickly. Next, he pulled out a couple hamburger patties he had made a couple days prior, placing them in the pan while spreading the butter around to form a layer of fat.

Twenty minutes later, he had a double cheeseburger made and sat down to eat it, checking his phone to keep track of how long it was taking for Taylor to get there. He was two bites away from finishing his food when he heard two knocks on the door, slightly surprised she had gotten there so quick, expecting a few minutes of hesitation and thinking. Instead, she had to have left almost immediately, which bode well for him. And for Sally's concern.

Pushing his seat out, he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and slowly walked to the door, turning the deadbolt to the left, the clunk of it releasing loud in his ears. When he opened the door, he smiled and looked down to her hands, a small white folder with a name tag on one edge, surely Carlie's. "Thank you," he said, reaching down to grab it from her grip, stepping back and closing the door behind him, putting the deadbolt in place, sure that she would hear that from her side. Stephen could barely contain his laughter, instead, smiling and reaching over to the entryway light and flipping it off. Slightly bending down, he placed his eye next to the peep hole, eager to see her reaction.
 
She shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet, watching the curtained window for signs of life. The click of a deadbolt was her first sign of his presence, and she lifted her eyes to greet his gaze when the door opened. She almost smiled in response to his expression, but then the door shut again and Taylor was left on the doorstep, blinking stupidly. She frowned, twisted her hands together, put them to her sides, back together, then turned slowly on her heel.

She made her way back down the sidewalk to her car. She climbed inside, sat behind the wheel, and held there for what felt like half an hour, but must have been closer to a few minutes. Sweaty palms stuck to the steering wheel again. Maybe he was done with her? He had his fun, maybe finally felt fucking guilty. She took a deep breath, let it out, then started her car.
 
He watched as she struggled with what had just happened, her slow movements. There was a moment he thought he saw disappointment on her features but he couldn't be sure. Her walk back to the car gave him time to take a couple deep breaths, refocusing on her as the distortion of the glass made it difficult to follow her once she got more than a couple feet away from the door. When he heard the car door shut, he undid the deadbolt and turned the handle, waiting for the right moment.

When the car engine roared to life, he pulled back on the door and flipped the the light back on with his free hand. Taking two steps out onto the small concrete porch, he looked into the darkened car, unable to tell if she was looking at him or not, but he didn't care at that moment. He made a simple gesture, arm extending, wrist flicking downward, finger extended. Here. Like a trainer does to a pet in training. If she saw it and disobeyed, he wouldn't be able to tell any difference than if she simply did not see him. So he held it, watching. Waiting.
 
Once the car roared to life, Taylor began to slip out of her shock. Then the light flipped on, and again she was pulled back into high alert, watching him step outside, watching him peer toward her, watching him raise his arm and twist his hand, calling her. There it is.

She wasn't free, she couldn't be already. And now she turned the keys back into the "off" position, tucked them into her pocket, and took a deep breath. Back out again. She pulled the lever, stepping out into chilly evening air, and checked the street before crossing to the end of his sidewalk. Taylor looked up the walk to him, standing there with a single silent command. Her hands balled into fists at the image of an invisible collar, with a leash attached to that wrist, growing shorter and shorter with each step she took toward him. She kept her eyes trained on his shoes, especially as she stepped in front of him. Taylor chewed her lip in anticipation.
 
He almost jumped out of his skin when the engine turned off, excitement building up as he watched her get out of the car, his arm not moving until she was finally standing in front of him, looking down. The way she chewed on her lip was so cute, it almost made him feel sorry for what he had done to her in the hotel. Almost. Stephen lowered his arm, leaning forward slightly and took one of her hands in his. Bringing it up to his mouth, he kissed the back softly, sweetly.

"You have no idea how happy you have made me tonight Taylor. Part of me thought I'd be talking to the police by now," he said, releasing her hand and placing his hand against her face, cupping her cheek in his, loving the feel of her in his hand. "I'd love for you to come in and spend some time with me, if you would like." The cruel part of his mind was soaring with excitement, while his cautious side told him he needed to show more caution. When the words were finished, he took a step forward and kissed Taylor on the opposite cheek, before taking a step back and releasing her, one arm extended back into his house in invitation, the other hanging loosely by his side.
 
She jumped slightly when he spoke, but his words were soft. At the mention of the police, she pushed her phone deeper into her pocket guiltily. She slowly raised her gaze, though, with his touch, and she held still while he finished his request and kissed her. She watched him for a moment, posed with such open generosity and enthusiasm. Tossed a glance over her shoulder, to the car. Then back to him. His house, what she could see through the open door, looked warm. Inviting. She took another look at her car, then followed his invitation and stepped inside in silence. She fiddled with the necklace she wore, a simple silver chain and charm, and took in his home around her.
 
It surprised him the she didn't turn around and leave, never commanding her to do anything. Instead, he followed her inside, closing the door behind him, leaving it unlocked. He showed her the living room, kitchen, dining room, den and bathroom down a short hall just off the living room. Pointing to the stairs, he just said that was where the other two bedrooms were, as well as the master bathroom and a half-bath. It was a small home all things considered, but it was his and he liked the neighborhood. Finally, he went to a cupboard and pulled out a couple glasses, not too big, about three-quarters the size of a typical restaurant glass.

Next, he went to the freezer, pulling out a bottle of whiskey, a very thin layer of ice forming around the outside. Grabbing a few ice cubs from the tray inside, he plonked them in the glasses and then poured a healthy amount of the semi-dark liquid. Replacing the cap, he placed it off to the side and then grabbed a couple cans of coke from the fridge, opening and pouring enough to fill the glasses, just enough room left at the top to prevent the drink from spilling.

"Hope this is ok. It's not the cheap stuff, but its also not top shelf, but I like it, not too smooth, just enough kick to let you know its there. If you don't like coke, there is some orange juice or ginger ale in the fridge," he said, sliding the glass towards her. Walking by, he made his way to the couch in the living room, sipping on his drink, sitting down and then placing the glass down on the coffee table. "When you are ready, come sit down please."
 
She followed cautiously as he gave her a brief tour of the house and back to the kitchen. She stuck close to the walls, and always kept herself between him and the exit. But the more he led her through the house, the less aware she was of the exits and the heat of his skin anytime he brushed past her. By the time they circled back to the kitchen, her shoulders rolled back and relaxed, as if settling in for a drink themselves. Her lips curled into a nearly invisible smile while she watched him pour the drink, then slide it toward him. Once the liquid settled, she reached out for it and raised it to her lips carefully, sipping until she felt she could walk with it without spilling.

She looked up from the drink to where he now sat. The couch was large enough that she could sit on it without being too close to him, but the loveseat beside it was much more enticing. She crossed to the living room, set her drink down, then sat with one leg folded under her. She ran clammy hands along her thighs, the fabric of her jeans a comfort and distraction from looking into his eyes. After a moment, she leaned forward and picked up her drink again, holding it tight in both hands like a warm mug.
 
He more paid attention to her with his peripheral vision, watching her movements and noticed she had drank a little bit already out of the glass. There was no surprise that she chose the loveseat over sitting on the same couch as him, but he enjoyed almost seeing the wheels turning with each decision.

Leaning forward, he grabbed his glass and the remote to his entertainment system, the power flicking on soon after, scrolling over to Netflix and letting that load up. "What kind of shoes or movies do you like watching?" he asked, taking a long sip of his drink, the familiar burn hitting his throat, comforting him.

Stephen had decided throughout the day that it had been good that he had been so brutal with her the first time, because she got to see just a little of what he was capable of. It was showing an effect now, and he could you with her, that experience in the hotel a constant reminder of what could happen. He smiled, though he knew it probably looked odd coming for no apparent reason.
 
The burn of the whiskey distracted Taylor from the incessant alarm blaring in the back of her mind that this was not right. She turned her eyes to the TV as it flicked on, basking them both in a bright glow. She watched him open Netflix, the red illuminating him in an ominous light for a moment before shifting to the dark undertones of the app. Her eyes jumped instinctively through the movies and shows on his personalized home screen, each recommendation existing as potential insight. She took another sip to keep from chewing on her lip.

"Uh, horror. Usually. Or comedy." The question felt strange and weighted, and Taylor suddenly became overwhelmed with the feeling that she was sitting in a liminal space. Everything took on an underwater appearance, and she became separated from the world by a thin layer of illusion. Her mouth went dry so she took another drink, this one a bit deeper, and kept her eyes glued to the screen.
 
Typical. He guessed it was better than rom-coms, he had watched way too many of those in the past. Moving down the list of categories, he found the horror section and scrolled through the selection, not really caring which one he chose. Basing his decision solely on the cover art, he selected one about a cabin in the woods. So cliche.

Hitting play, he turned the volume up so it would be loud enough to hear throughout the house but no so much so that it would hurt to listen to this close. Setting the remote down, he leaned back and glued his eyes to the TV. Downing half of his drink in one swig, he rolled it around, ice clinking against the sides of the glass.

"I know you think I am a monster, but all I want is someone who has an undying devotion to me. Society today frowns on that notion, but I think it is a lost key to happiness. Respect is earned and I assure you, once you have earned that from me, the pain goes away."
 
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