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Caught Red-Handed (Cheshire Smirk & Angel)

Angel216

Angel216

Supernova
Joined
Jun 11, 2012
Location
USA
Rebecca had been pushed down for far too long by her husband, had been pushed around and she had allowed it to go on, thinking it was just normal, thinking, perhaps, if he loved her enough, he would stop and he would change. Yet, in the two years she had been with him, had he? NO! Now, Rebecca was the typical shy, quiet girl who didn't like to be violent, and who rarely stood up for herself, but there was a point in time when she had just snapped, it was a few nights ago. After her husband had dished her out another few slaps, a few kicks, and had demanded that he cooked her dinner, and then later that night came begging to her for forgiveness, she snapped. She planned and schemed for a few nights, and days, working out how she could kill him, and she knew that it was morally wrong, that, perhaps, she should just get the police, but she wanted him out of her life for good, permanently. So she could always tell the police it was self-defense if she was caught. Finally, the night came, he had stumbled through the door, drunk again and she knew that it would be another violent night. She had his handgun tucked away in her waist line of her pants, with the shirt pulled down over it so that he couldn't see it and she was cooking dinner as he stumbled into the kitchen and over to her, slurring heavily, as he slapped her on the rear.

"Hey baeeee, what's thaaaa for inner?" The smell of whiskey on her breath, made Rebecca recoil and she trembled slightly as she turned around. Her face paled to a ghostly white, but she was determined to stand up for herself, just to give him one more chance to change.

"Don't do that to me, I am sick of your shit, John, you either need to stop or.....or......or I'll......l...leave you." Her voice quivered at the end of the sentence as a tremble went through her. She saw his face turning a beet red with anger and his hand snapped out, closing around her throat, as he begin to yell obscenities at her, while pushing her back against the counter, pushing her down, until she could feel the heat of the stove, and he kept pushing her down. Oh god, was he going to burn her? She had to react, but black dots were dancing in front of her eyes and she was coughing violently, clawing at his hands to try to get him to let go. She tore one hand free, gripped the gun, pulled it out and she tried to aim, hearing the shot echo around the house. She felt his grip loosen as he fell back on the floor, blood pouring out from the hole in his head. Her eyes widened and she dropped the gun, straightening up, as she put a hand over her mouth, a scream piercing the air. Did she actually just do that? She didn't mean to, well, she did, but she was panicked, and she was afraid that he would end up killing her if she didn't.

Still weakened from the lack of air, she stumbled forward, her knees buckling under her as she fell to her knees, coughing as the scream finally died out. Her face was a pale white with fear as she looked up, suddenly seeing a figure standing in the kitchen. He looked angry, why was he angry? Was he a cop? She was panicked and coughing as she bent over, trying to catch her breath, her long raven locks hiding her ivory colored and oval shaped face from view. Her piercing, blue eyes flickered to the dead body of John and for a moment she thought she might be sick as her eyes flickered again to the gun that had killed him, and flickered to the blood that was splattered across the kitchen, as she momentarily forgot about the figure. Her long, thin, delicate fingers reached up to touch her neck as her slender, but curvaceous form remained bent over. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans that hugged her waist, and a tight red tang top, her neck curved down towards her chest where two C cup breasts were cradled by the red tang top, her smooth, ivory colored arms narrow, though, slightly toned, as her chest curved down to her small stomach, which in turn widened out to form broad and wide hips with a rather big bottom, though, it was not disgustingly big. Her hips curved down, forming a V crest in between her legs where the pressed fabric of the jeans creased and hugged her inner thighs, as her legs swooped down to form two narrow, slightly toned legs, her black high heels revealing a few toes and the slightly curved form of her foot as she looked up, finally, aware that she was not alone.

She had, had time to calm down, though, she still felt sick as the figure came into her vision as her vision cleared and became sharper. She saw that the figure was a man, a man who was angry. Who was he? How did he get in? Was he here the entire time? Why was he angry? Was he with the police? The questions raced through her head, as panic gripped her again, and she felt her gut clench in fear as she looked up at the figure, trying to find her voice, and when she finally did, it came out hoarse, followed by a violent cough, "who.......who......who are y....y...you?"
 
Two crimson eyes surveyed the scene with jagged pupils, looking out from behind a white mask framed by jaw length mahogany hair. The mask was featureless besides a thin mouth with a smile that stretched to either edge, curving up nearly to the mask's eyes. Three thin horizontal red stripes trisected the mask, breaking the otherwise monochrome white. What an inconvenience! The kill was the most satisfying part of an assassin's work. In truth the silent observer had followed John home, waiting for the man to take a wrong turn down an alley or move to something less lit than a main street. The stumbling drunk had been determined to get home though, shambling along at a surprising pace. Moving like a shadow the assassin had followed John, even managed to slip in behind the man before he closed his front door without looking back. Keen ears had heard Rebecca at work in the kitchen and so the man had waited in silence as the two had their fight, watching the scene unfold like somebody watching a most amusing play. As Rebecca's vision cleared she would get a better look at the stranger standing in her kitchen. He stood at six foot three and wore a knee length black duster, a pair of close fitting black jeans, a white sleeveless shirt and a pair of ankle high boots that ended in clawed toes. The outfit had been designed for mobility and efficiency. Thirty small silver ringlets adorned the duster, each ringlet actually the pommel of a hidden blade resting in a sheath sewn into the fabric of the duster. Two glock 18-c machine pistols rested in holsters just above the man's right and left knee and a shotgun was holstered at waist level behind his back, sawed off to ensure it could easily be concealed. Who was he? What did he want? Where did he come from?

"Who are you?" The voice that spoke was deep and cold as the ocean's darkest abyss.

The question was genuine, but Rebecca would be allowed no time to respond. The man known as Rethiel liked to 'play with his' food as one would say. In an easy motion he kicked the gun far from Rebecca's grasp and then moved to John's body. Drawing a blade with a particularly vicious serration he lifted the corpse's head by it's blonde hair and went to work, sawing efficiently through the man's neck in just under ten seconds. With a rather cruel jerk Rethiel tore the man's head and then tossed it almost absent-mindedly into the sink. Even as he worked Rethiel spoke, knowing the woman would be far too horrified at what she saw to be able to anything but stand and gawk. Average people were just so easy to predict and deal with. Put them in any dangerous or abnormal situation and they froze, weak and vulnerable. Rethiel was used to infiltrating compounds or sneaking into high profile court cases, doing things that actually involved personal risk. This was a walk in the park and an icecream cone on the beach all rolled into one leisurely package. Best of all: Rethiel had a new pet!
"Who are you to steal my kill? A contract was written and signed in blood...Who are you to take what is mine? Who are you to interfere with the darkest of pacts? Nobody, that is who. Now strip."

Who in their right mind would argue with a man who had just desecrated a corpse without so much as blinking? Nobody, that's who. Rethiel waited patiently for her to comply, cleaning the blood from his knife on a nearby chair. Once the knife was adequately clean it was returned to it's sheath, Rethiel then turning that cold gaze back on Rebecca. One long finger tapped on the back of the chair, indicating the assassin was growing impatient. They had little time left until the police arrived at the scene to investigate the gunshot report, and Rethiel wanted to be down the road and on the interstate before that happened. Hopefully Rebecca would do the sensible thing and listen for now, Rethiel really didn't want to have to force her submission. Though if she did put up a fight he would not hesitate to show her who was in charge, and make her thoroughly regret disobedience. Rethiel was sadistic and dominant and held no regard for others' lives or feelings. What he wanted was his and those who stood in his way died. Hell, people died just to make his ends meet. Of course that was normal of any sociopath...But the cold, calculated way that Rethiel justified his every action was what was truly unsettling about him. People were nothing more than an ends to a means, with such an end often being their own.
 
Rebecca flinched at the cold words as she got a better picture of the man standing in the room, her eyes widened with disbelief at his attire, at his face as he didn't answer her question but just strode past her to the corpse of her husband. She turned her head, watching the nearly and almost silent intruder to see what he was doing, then she froze in fear as her eyes became as wide as saucers as she trembled. She felt another wave of nausea go through her and she had to turn her head away from the revolting sight of it. She clutched her stomach still hearing the sawing sound in her mind and then she heard a wet clunk of something against metal. She turned and saw her husband's head in the sink, as she convulsed and shuddered in sudden fear and revulsion, what was he doing to her kitchen? She turned her head away and then she heard his sharp, clear words and she let out a short gasp, her breath leaving her in a small, short, exhale of air. Why would he ask her to do such a thing? Was he planning to kill her next? Was he planning to take her alive? She shuddered at that thought and shook her head as if to clear it. Then again, who was she to argue with what was clearly an assassin, as her mind put in the last pieces of the missing information. She swallowed hard, then stood up and turned around to face him again, watching him, wary of what he would do as her bottom lip trembled and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn't want to die, and, after all she had been through in the last two years, she supposed she was just breaking down. It seemed like this was the cherry on top of the hell that she had walked through, but she knew she had no choice.

So she reached up and, as her cheeks turned a deep red of humiliation and shame, she stripped the clothes from her body. She hesitated several times, her hands were trembling at what her fate was to become and she finally stood naked in her own home, in front of a man she didn't know. She swallowed hard as she turned her head away from his gaze, she didn't want to see the look of triumph, she didn't want to see the look of admiration, she was humiliated as a small, quiet sob left her and she finally found her voice again as she spoke, though her voice came out choked and with the threat of tears, "What do you want with me? If your going to kill me, do it already, don't toy with me? Just please make it quick and painless, I've suffered from enough in my life for it to be ended in suffering?" What was she asking? She didn't want to die, she wanted to put up a fight, run as far away as she could away from the man, but she knew that he was an assassin, trained to run down victims and kill them if he should have to. She knew she wouldn't make it to the door, before he closed in on her and took her life. She swallowed hard, shuddering at the image that left in her mind as she looked back at him, trembling slightly.

The blush was still vivid and red against the ivory pale of her skin as she waited for his response. She reached down, suddenly self-conscious and tried to hide what she could from his view as she heard sirens in the distance. Perhaps, the police would be here before he could kill her or....or......or what could be worse than him killing her? Nothing, or at least that's what she thought. The sirens were still too far away, blocks away, but with each passing second, with each passing moment, they got closer, getting louder as they got closer, and she looked at him, wary of his next move if he were to make it in time as she trembled slightly, then she realized he might get mad at her for covering herself, hiding herself. The last thing she wanted to do was to anger an assassin and slowly, as the blush darkened to a deep red once again she slowly uncovered herself again, leaving herself completely exposed to his viewing as a shudder went through her and she looked towards the door, praying that the cops would hurry, but then again, in a city like New York, it was hard for them to hurry. She was praying that they would burst through the door, even if it meant that she would be arrested herself at least she would be saved from the hands and the mercy of an complete stranger and yet, the one who could do the most harm if she didn't comply.
 
"You will beg for death a thousand by times by a thousand until I release you from my service, if ever. Now follow me with silence and haste or I'll break your legs and carry you myself."


Rethiel then reached into his pocket and withdrew a book of matches, striking one and then lighting the rest with it. As he walked he dropped the match on the apparently newly installed carpet of the living room, before opening the front door and waiting for her to do as instructed. Arson was a new one for Rethiel, though he just felt it appropriate. He was taking the woman away from everything and everyone she had ever known and loved, why not burn her home to the ground for good measure? Fear was a powerful tool for control, the more she understood just how ruthless and savage Rethiel was the better she'd listen.

His last servant had tried to escape the estate...And had subsequently become dinner for the dogs. Human flesh was a rare treat for them and one they set to with ferocity and gusto when offered. It had been disappointing to say the least, Carol had seemed so well trained and behaved. The perfect little secretary to make his home-business seem more legit, a great hostess and a wonderful entertainer. Shame she went and did that whole futile escape attempt thing. Luckily it seemed that Rebecca was of a slightly less stubborn and more vulnerable stock, fear and guilt mixing together into a cocktail for control more powerful than any manufactured chemical mixture. The fun he would have with her! Hopefully her spirit had some form of resilience left. Breaking the spineless just wasn't fun for anybody.
 
Rebecca's eyes widened as she heard him say service, was she to be his servant. She shook her head, disbelieving of what was happening and she watched him drop the matches as her carpet easily lit up like the forth of July. She trembled, still frozen in the spot, she didn't want to be a servant, but soon she could feel the heat of the rapidly growing fire as she turned and followed him, going out the door, once she reached the grass, she decided to try to make a run for it. Perhaps, just maybe, if her calculations were correct, the cops were about seven more blocks away, maybe, if she sprinted, she could catch them in the middle at four blocks and get away from the deranged lunatic who was taking her as a servant. She'd been a servant to her husband, she didn't want to be a servant, especially for someone she knew nothing about, all she knew was that he was an assassin, and though, she knew that it was a risk to run with an assassin standing just five feet from her, or less, it was hard to determine. Though, as soon as her bare feet touched the grass she was off and sprinting, a scream piercing from her lungs, in a high pitched octave that almost sounded like, "HELP!!"

Though, she knew that it was dangerous to try to run on New York streets as you never knew what you could be running on; pavement, concrete, shattered glass, or beer, it was a mixture from the people in New York that got smashed and then threw bottles down the street. She had to try, it was her only hope, she just hoped that some of her neighbors were home and had heard her scream. She made it to the pavement and still at a full sprint, she dived onto it, gritting her teeth against the sharp pang of gravel and glass as she saw lights from the neighboring houses flicked on and her heart fluttered in hope. Perhaps, she would get help from Mrs. Jenkins, an elderly woman who lived with her husband in the house just across from hers. Mrs. Jenkins walked out and her heart dropped, being elderly it was hard for her to see at night, perhaps harder for her to see her assailant and hard for her to hear, but as New York was a city of night life, most of her neighbors young and middle aged were out on the city, so Rebecca knew she had to try to get to the cops before he got to her.

She let out another piercing scream as sprinted, her feet getting cut by the shards of glass and gravel that lay scattered on the street as she made it one block, trying to put more distance between herself and Rathiel.
 
[
She wanted it the hard way! Rethiel took off after Rebecca with unnerving swiftness. Always one to play with his food Rethiel drew one of his pistols and fired off a spray of shots around Rebecca, taking careful aim to ensure none would actually hit her. At this point any concerns of collateral damage or secrecy was out the window. It was time to have fun. Besides, little did Rebecca know she was running straight for one of his safe houses. About a mile away located down a particularly shady looking alley there was a lone corrugated steel garage door, the only entrance to the small property Rethiel had bought years ago to serve as somewhere to hide should he need to hide within the city. Right next to the sprawling subway network the property was easy to come and go to without attracting even the littlest bit of attention. Perhaps he'd even invite some of the guys over to take a look at his newest trophy! Look with their eyes naturally...Rethiel was the jealous hoarding type and didn't let anybody touch what was his.

Yes, he would herd her there like a lost little sheep. Besides, the way her ass swayed when she ran was most enticing! As Rethiel ran he began to think of just what he was going to do to that curvacious body once he'd cornered her. Relishing the chase Rethiel ran faster, but kept pace with her once he was within ten feet of Rebecca. At this point Rethiel made it a point to breathe loudly and make as much noise as possible while running, wanting to terrify the nude woman as much as possible. Most onlookers would be too stunned to react at the sight of a stark naked woman being chased by a masked man, probably thinking it was some kind of crazy internet stunt in the filming. Rethiel would run her down and then drag her through the street and teach her the terrible price of disobedience.
 
Rebecca let out a yelp, breathless, and labored from the running as he shot at her, and she hopped a bit in her step, stumbling slightly as her feet left small trails of blood along the road from the small cuts that the glass and gravel left in the soles of her feet. She desperately wished she was clothed as the commotion caused people to come out of their houses as she ran, but she was at a full sprint, so she doubted that they saw much, perhaps just a blur skin and then a blur of black. Her heart was pounding and her long, raven, black locks becoming matted with the thin film of sweat that gathered along her forehead. She could hear him behind her, his breath and his pounding footsteps as she whimpered out in fear, though it was breathless. She wanted to scream again, but she knew that if she screamed again, it would drain the energy that she had in reserves to run and sprint. So she just kept focused, and sprinted, pushing herself harder, desperate to get away from him.

Little did she know though that she was being herded into a corner, into a place that he kept in the city so that he could hide. She was just desperate to get away as she finally mustered up the energy, she let out another piercing scream, terrified that he would catch her and kill her.......or.....or worse, what could be worse? She trembled and shuddered as her mind and imagination told her what could be worse and she kept sprinting, though, she was slowly losing energy, sprinting a tad slower than she had been before, and with each passing second, each passing moment, sprinting slower and slower as she lost more energy. She tried to push herself harder, but her lungs were burning and she begin to stumble a few times as she tried to keep sprinting, afraid and terrified of what he would do to her if he were to catch her.
 
They were drawing nearer and nearer to the safehouse. When she reached the alleyway Rethiel ended any pretense of potential escape. Rethiel had allowed Rebecca to gain some ground, about fifteen feet or so before he'd played his trump card. A long, heavy cord with two round weighted ends was pulled from around his belt loops, spun through the air until it had proper momentum and then hurled sidearmed with practice accuracy. The bola flew true and wrapped itself in tight coils around Rebecca, ensnaring her from shoulder to calf. At any point in their little chase Rethiel could have utilized the bola to end their game of cat and mouse. Laughter overtook Rethiel as he stopped beside the downed woman, a fiendish smirk across his lips and a malevolent gleam in those crimson eyes. In one easy motion he bent down and picked Rebecca up, fingers wrapping around the cords that now had her bound in a nice little bundle. Rethiel slung Rebecca roughly over his shoulder and carried her down the alley, whistling to himself as he did so. The street she'd ran onto had been entirely devoid of life, Rethiel easily herding her away from the busier blocks and into a quiet row of music shops, pawn exchanges and other day-time only businesses. Now, no matter how loud she screamed there would be nobody to hear her. Feeling somewhat jovial Rethiel decided to do something he knew would burn Rebecca to her core. One hand raised open-palmed and...SLAP! A hard smack to the rear, fingers splayed wide to make sure that she'd have a lovely red hand print. Mid-way down the alley Rethiel stopped at that nondescript corrugated steel garage door. A quick code was entered into the keypad and then the garage door slowly opened and motion sensing lights flicked on, garage door sliding shut shortly after Rethiel stepped inside. All that waited behind the door was a very long set of wooden stairs, stretching down and back quite a ways. Down they went, Rethiel taking no care to stop Rebecca's head from bumping against the top of the staircase as he descended. The only sound as they went along was that of Rethiel's merry whistling, a sound that the assassin somehow managed to make threatening, the jolly tune a promise of imminent agony.


At the end of the staircase waited a circular room with two hallways that branched from it. The room was large, about fifty feet in diameter and well furnished. A large screen plasma TV with receiver, two pool tables and a long L shaped couch that could comfortably fit ten or eleven people. A small bar was situated to the extreme left side of the room, well stocked shelves behind it and a minifridge on the bar-top. Rethiel dropped Rebecca onto her back on the pool table and made his way over to the bar. Rethiel took a small glass appropriate for mixed drinks from the shelf and then retrieved a carton of orange juice from the mini-fridge and some vodka. Once his drink was mixed and the unused ingredients returned to the proper place Rethiel swaggered over to Rebecca and stared down at her in all her lovely vulnerability. Unfortunately the pleasant observation was cut short when he noticed how her feet were bleeding all over his brand new and very expensive pool table. Oh, that just wouldn't do! Rethiel picked Rebecca up and turned her around, ensuring that her feet were hanging off the side of the pool table and her lips were firmly pressed against the small puddle of blood that had dripped down onto the soft green felt of the billiard table. Rethiel fully expected the woman to lick up the blood and kept a strong hand against the back of her neck, keeping her face in place so she couldn't do anything but wallow in her suffering.

"Lick it up. All of it you stupid woman. You are going to regret your attempted escape with every fiber of your being...Before punishment begins. This I swear."
 
Rebecca was still panicked, running, not really paying attention to where she was going, she supposed anywhere away from him. She heard him pulling away and back up, and she wondered if she had won the fight, if he was letting her go. She suddenly felt a shiver of fear run down her spine just a second before something heavy crashed into her from behind. What was it? Before she could figure out what it was, it seemed to wrapped and coil around her body and then it hit her what it was, it was a bola, she had seen them used in movies. She whimpered out in fear, she was completely bound and down on the ground as she heard footsteps beside her. She snapped at the man, "Don't you dare touch me!" But he did, as he bent down to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder. She suddenly saw the streets and her mouth went dry, the scream she was planning on letting out, dying instantly as she saw how desolate and empty the streets were. How did that happen? One moment she was running down streets of lit houses, of businesses, of people, and now.....now this? It....it baffled her, she had been herded just like a sheep to a empty and desolate road and alley. She trembled as he carried her to his hide-out and then she yelped as she felt him slap her bottom, one of the few points along her bottom that wasn't covered by the tightly coiled rope. She trembled, her cheeks flushing a deep red of humiliation as he carried her inside. She looked around the darkened front entry way and then, she cried out again as her head hit the first rafter. She ducked her head down as they went downstairs, hating the fact that she had to lay her head against his back to keep her head from banging against the rafters as she trembled at the whistling tune, wondering what his plans for her was.

She lost her breath as she was roughly dropped onto a pool table and she groaned as she tried to catch her breath. She squirmed in the tightly coiled rope, but to no avail as she tilted her head up, trying to see what he was doing as she looked around the room, it seemed like a man-cave and she shuddered at the scene that her imagination played out as her eyes darted back over to him. She could feel her sore, aching feet, still bleeding as he came over and flipped her over. She whimpered as she squirmed in the ropes as her lips became covered in her own blood as he spoke to her. She flinched at his sharp words and the warning that they held. She felt her heart plummet at the thought of what he would do to her, how he would punish her and she whimpered as she knew she had no choice but to do as he said. She was bound and helpless and so she shuddered, convulsing at the iron tasting liquid as she started to lick it up, trembling violently as she licked up the puddle beneath her, convulsing again, and dry heaving on the taste as she did
 
"You know...I really should just let these wounds get infected. They're your own stupid fault and you could perform ... most of your duties in a wheel chair."

Rethiel removed his mask and tossed it onto the couch, shaking out his throat length mahogany locks and then taking a sip from his drink. Beneath the mask he was disarmingly handsome; pale ivory skin, high cheek bones and a strong but not over-imposing jaw. A long scar stretched from the center of Rethiel's right eyebrow down all the way to his throat, the wicked cut had nearly taken the assassin's eye. Most would've done what they could to prevent scarring, Rethiel had sutured the wound and allowed it to scar, to serve as a reminder to never be so careless again. It was probably time to get that medical kit. Sighing as he went Rethiel made his way back over to the bar, fishing around beneath it until he retrieved a small medical kit. Rethiel brought the white tin back to the pool table and settled down on the edge, taking his time to open the tin and enjoy another sip of his screwdriver. Tweezers would be necessary for the first part of medical aid and so Rethiel retrieved a pair from the kit. Rethiel set the tweezers down a little in front of Rebecca and continued to whistle as he pondered whether or not she deserved help. A maimed servant would be such a bother! In the end she'd be more trouble than she was worth if Rethiel didn't deal with these wounds. However that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun with her, lead her on and make her think he'd actually let these wounds go septic. Fear was something Rethiel savored, it was his favorite emotion to observe. No feeling swallowed a person faster than fear, nothing more debilitating than terror. Rebecca would be allowed to wallow in her own fear, sorrow and guilt for a little while. The fake pondering continued, Rethiel spider-walking his fingers lazily along the curves of Rebecca's rear as he thought about nothing in particular. Oh how much fun this had been! Rethiel's initial plan upon finding Rebecca had been to herd her into the car and be on his way to the estate, but this...This was so much more enjoyable! How long had it been since distant sirens had actually worried him? When was the last time a job didn't go exactly as planned? Variety was the spice of life, and Rethiel relished and thrived in chaos.

"How do you feel right now? You're a murderer and probably assumed dead by everybody you love after having gone postal on your husband. Was it satisfying...Ending his life?"

Twist the knife and watch them bleed, that was Rethiel's style. Rebecca's captor planned on breaking her spirit completely, tearing her down to her basest of frames so he could rebuild her just the way he wanted. It was a tricky process, but with just the right amount of maddening torment offset by double-edged rewards Rethiel knew he could make Rebecca into a well-behaved and willing servant. After all, unlike Carol, Rebecca had nothing to run away to...Nothing but a pile of cinders and a mountain of regret. On a particularly cruel whim Rethiel bent down and fished the remote to the TV out of the mesh cup-holder mounted on the pool table and turned the television on. The receiver was already set to the local news which was covering the neighborhood fire precinct's valiant but futile attempts to extinguish the blaze that was Rebecca's home. Rethiel couldn't help but laugh quietly as he watched the flames, a most satisfied smile now curving his lips. Rethiel looked down to watch Rebecca's face as the reporter spoke, listening to the misconstrued story was told.

"Fire crews are just now clearing out of the home, unable to find any who survived the blaze...Oh dear god!"

As the last firefighter cleared the front door the entire house collapsed into a heap of charred timbers, structural support devastated by the flames. Naturally nothing had been said about John's decapitated body. First responders weren't allowed to mention potential criminal evidence to on-scene reporters. The news wouldn't learn of the murder until the police had investigated the murder...And more than likely marked Rebecca as a prime suspect in John's death. After all, when a spouse died under questionable circumstances fingers were always pointed at the surviving spouse, even if the marriage had been perfectly healthy before the untimely end. Those cold, dark eyes stayed locked on Rebecca's face, Rethiel awaiting the fresh torrent of misery that was sure to come.
 
Rebecca swallowed hard as she heard him and she squirmed again, unable to move as she bit her bottom lip, tilting her head up from the felt of the pool table, to let her chin come to rest upon the felt as she trembled violently. She couldn't believe this. How had things gone so wrong? She felt her gut clench and tighten with fear as she heard his next comment and then saw him get up, and take off the mask. She let out a soft, quiet gasp, not wanting for him to hear her, but as she saw him, he was handsome, almost terrifyingly so. She bit her bottom lip and chewed on it as she heard him moving around the bar, though, her vision was limited by her position on the table and so she couldn't see what he was doing. Then he came back into sight, sitting down on the edge of the table with a medical kit, her heart stuttered as she thought, hoped that he would help her, that he would tend to her wounds so that they wouldn't get infected. Then her eyes widened slightly as she saw the tweezers and saw him pondering, fear made her gut clench and twist again as she turned her head away from him, trying to imagine life without legs. She felt her heart leap into her throat as she heard the TV click on and she turned her attention there, her heart pounding as she heard his question about murder. She felt a shiver run through her body as she bit her bottom lip, before mumbling, "Not so good, I feel terrible, I.....I didn't want to do it, but...." She hesitated, why would she be talking to this stranger as if he was an acquaintance, why would she share the regret with him, but deeper down, the small relief and satisfaction of revenge and of killing her husband. She kept quiet, not wanting to admit to herself or anyone else that, in fact, revenge had been satisfying. She listened to the news, her heart becoming heavier and heavier with dread and fear as a lump formed in her throat.

She now knew that she could never go back to the outside, or real world, not without being convicted of a crime, but everyone thought she was dead anyway and perhaps it was better that way. It became hard to swallow and a quiet sob left her throat as guilt, regret, misery and fear all caved in and clashed together within her, as her sobs became slightly louder and tears streamed down her face as she tilted her head again, not wanting to have to lick her own tears from the felt, she tilted it, so that none would fall onto the table as she sobbed and cried softly, tremors wracking through her body at what was to become of her, being trapped here with this......this man, Rathiel, though she didn't know his name yet, and didn't know much about him at all, but she couldn't possibly return to her old life, her friends and everyone she was close to all thought she was dead and she no longer existed in her old life, or in the world. The realization made her sob harder, as tears streamed down her face, her cheeks flushed as she tried to stop crying, not wanting to show herself as weak and vulnerable, event though, she knew that she was, at this moment.
 
"And the soul mourns it's own passing."

Seeing Rebecca weep as realization dawned on her almost...Almost stirred something in Rethiel. Something of a past long forgotten, something human that Rethiel had killed so long ago. Death was a concept that fascinated the assassin. How many faces had he worn? How many identities had he assumed? Perhaps the eternal soul was much the same, moving from alias to alias, life to life throughout time. If that was the case Rethiel had died many deaths and experienced many rebirths in his life. Fifteen long years he'd been in the business of paid murder. "Only when we lose it all do we find ourselves..."

Where had he heard that quote? Rethiel could not remember when or where, but the words had always proven true. Men had wept before the assassin, promised him power and status in exchange for their petty lives. Others had faced their end with silent courage and acceptance, understanding that Rethiel's coming was not personal. Their actions had wrought their end, Rethiel merely the reaper's harbinger. Others still tried to run, or fight the assassin and were denied final revelation. It was only during a man's final moments that he showed his true colors, those last few minutes could redeem a soul or condemn it.

"Though this death is not the end, not the final release."

The tweezers were picked up and then Rethiel began the slow process of picking out various debris from the wound. Each movement was precise and measured, though Rethiel did make the effort to grind each shard of glass or pebble just a little in the wound, twisting the cold sharp metal of the tweezers against Rebecca's flesh as a small reminder of the suffering disobedience brought. When the various cuts and gashes were finally completely clear of foreign matter Rethiel retrieved a bottle of antiseptic alcohol and a two heavy bandages. Rebecca was fortunate that none of the cuts were deep enough to require stitching.

Rethiel emptied the bottle of antiseptic into a bowl packed away in the medical kit and then set the rags to soak, allowing five minutes or so to pass. Rethiel retrieved a small rag from the kit, dipped it in the antiseptic and began to rinse the wounds. Once sufficiently clean Rethiel wrapped Rebecca's feet fully in the dripping bandages, fastening them with provided clips to ensure they would stay in place. The bandages were thick enough to allow Rebecca to walk with the aid of crutches, though the steps would be quite painful for the next couple of days.
 
Rebecca trembled and then through the sobs, a whimper of pain came as she felt the stinging of the twisting, metal tweezers against her wounds along her feet. She finally managed to stop crying, seeing as crying wasn't going to help her situation as she whimpered again in pain, trembling slightly. Was he....he pushing the tweezers in on purpose? She realized he was and she whimpered, tilting her head back down as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, though, it was still endurable and then she felt him stop and wipe her feet with antiseptic as she whimpered again, feeling the stinging making sure to clean the wounds inside and out as she bit her bottom lip again as he bandaged her feet. She would be stuck here, with perhaps, if she were lucky, the aid of crutches to help her move. She bit her bottom lip as the stinging stopped and she chewed on it as she finally braced herself and asked the question she was dreading to ask, "how......how exactly will I service you?" She asked tentatively, she was dreading the answer and it was hard for her to say service, because, just as she had thought she would be free from it, free from her last tormentor, her husband, here she was picked up by another tormentor and forced back into the mental restraints she had worn for the last two years.

Speaking of restraints, she was still bound, though she had also stopped struggling, seeing as the coils of rope were tight and unforgiving in the release of her. She looked at him, tilting her head slightly to the right as she was still on her stomach. Though, she shifted uneasily, uncomfortably as she begin to feel her arms tingling. They were falling asleep from her body weight as she squirmed again, then stopped as she looked up at him, and then she took a deep breath as she asked, "can you untie........untie me now......S.....Sir?" It was difficult for her to say Sir to a man who had her bound and had her stark naked before him, but she thought, perhaps, if she said it, it might help her get what she wanted and she wanted to be untied. She shifted again as she swallowed hard, biting her lower lip and chewing on it again.
 
"You will act as my secretary and sign off on ledgers I prepare as my accountant. You will also be responsible for keeping the estate clean and orderly and performing any other duties I assign to you and following any other instructions given, including entertaining guests when I have them over."


In response to her request Rethiel cleared off the pool table and then stood, turning to face her. Rethiel pulled Rebecca down so that her hips were hanging off the edge of the table and he unwound the bola, squeezing it's sides so that the internal gears retracted the cord to it's shortest length. Rethiel threw the Bola onto the couch and then placed a hand in the small of Rebecca's back, holding her down in the event she tried another hare-brained escape. While holding her pinned Rethiel spread Rebecca's legs, taking his time inspecting her most intimate of parts. She'd acknowledged her new position in life and so Rethiel felt it was time to reward her. Two long, strong fingers started to stroke the soft outer flesh of Rebecca's womanhood, fingers occasionally dipping the slightest bit inside her. The nimble digits moved in a clockwise motion, more pressure applied as they grazed along the hood of her clit. Once or twice Rethiel's fingers lingered on the fleshy bud, tweaking it between thumb and forefinger as a cruel tease. The touch was surprisingly gentle for something so blatantly unwarranted, the touch of a kind that would make Rebecca's body fight her mind. The sexual drive was an amazing and powerful thing and could make fools of us all when properly provoked. This was just breaking the ice, Rethiel had all sorts of devices for sexual torment hidden away in the adjoining chamber.


Breaking in a new servant was always so much fun, Rethiel couldn't help but grow aroused as he thought of all the sordid little games he would play with Rebecca. Exercises designed to strip away resolve and shatter willpower, by the time Rethiel was done he was sure the woman would be an obedient thrall who saw no purpose in life other than being rewarded by her master. Some would call the act brainwashing, Rethiel termed it 'repurposing'. It was amazing how the subconscious mind formed connections to outside stimuli, especially the Pavlovian response. Just about anything could be trained to react to a Pavlovian trigger, it just took proper training. For all of humanity's "higher thinking" it was astounding how little sway the human mind held over it's basic instincts. A person could easily be broken down to the mentality of an animal, regressed and then rebuilt into a more suitable mindset. Military basic training was a prime example of such psychological warfare, though Rethiel had drills of very different sorts planned for Rebecca. First he'd need her to accept the spare identity he had filed away. Rebecca would have to learn and swear by a new name, birth place, even a vague life story including a fake college education from a small community college. Getting the woman to understand and embrace a new persona would be quite an amusing struggle!
 
Rebecca bit her bottom lip as she listened to him, and she swallowed hard, but the one duty that popped out at her was entertaining guests. What did he mean by entertainment? She decided she didn't want to know until she did that duty and she squirmed as he pulled her down so that her hips were hanging off the end of the table. She sighed in relief as the cords retracted and freed her from the bonds as she stretched out her arms and then she felt a hand on the small of her back, pressing weight down on her so she couldn't stand up, and all she could do was squirm. She felt him spread her legs as her eyes widened and she tried to shut them again, even trying to cross them, but he just spread them again. She whimpered as she felt humiliation at being completely exposed to him. Then, the whimper turned into a moan as she felt his fingers expertly working her up down there.

She shook her head, her mind becoming clouded with endorphins as she tried to fight off her bodies reactions. She knew it was morally wrong to enjoy the touch of a man she met only an hour ago, of a man she hardly knew anything about, a man she didn't even know the name as of yet. She moaned out again as she squirmed and moaned, trying to cross her legs again, and to make him stop, though, as he kept going, she could feel her juices beginning to drip down his fingers and down her inner thighs and she moaned out again as she squirmed, struggled and tried to cross her legs again.
 
"Isn't it amazing how the body can encourage something the mind rejects?"

The words were spoken with cruel amusement behind them, Rethiel working his fingers around her core with more and more force, gaining speed with each pass. Two fingers slipped inside her, searching for and stroking the sweetest of spots while his thumb continued oppressing her clit, working it in deep, slow circles. The attention would cut short before Rebecca could come to a climax, fingers hovering less than an inch from her and waiting for Rebecca to beg for release. Rethiel planned on sexually frustrating the woman to the point of tears, to arouse her beyond the capacity for logic. Once that was achieved the wicked games would begin, Rebecca hopefully becoming a slave to her own baser instincts. This "reward" was hardly such, any shadow of pleasure Rebecca's body felt on a chemical level would surely be drowned out by her rational brain...The entire purpose of this act. Feeling unusually sadistic Rethiel removed his hand from Rebecca's back and caught Rebecca's hair just below the base of her skull, pulling to force her to look directly into one of the many security cameras located throughout the hideaway. Yes, her torture was being filmed, recorded and immortalized. Rethiel was now leaning against her, using his body weight to keep her pinned whilst she was assaulted, iron grip forcing her to stare straight into the camera.
 
Rebecca moaned out again as her body trembled and shivered with the attention and more juices dripped down her legs. She moaned out, soon endorphins clogging out the immoralities of her situation as she moaned, squirming and trying to cross her legs, to do anything to stop him. She whimpered as she tried to control her body, logical thought and immoralities returning to her brain before they left again as her body became feverish and flustered and she felt an familiar, pulsing feeling in her lower abdomen as her muscles clenched. "Oh dear god am I going to climax?" The thought was like a scream, rattling throughout her brain as she moaned out, unable to stop her body as she climbed higher and higher, until....... Then, he stopped. Though she could feel his fingers hovering over her pussy, she moaned out in frustrated need, she needed to climax and she whimpered again as she moaned out and then she yelped as he jerked her head back to stare straight into a security camera. Her eyes widened, she was being filmed? What he was doing to her was being filmed? She shuddered and moaned out again, the need growing and increasing until a small whimper came out of her, something that shocked her that she would even stoop so low to say, "please..........please.....let me climax.....I....need to."
 
"No...I don't think so. Not yet..."

A wicked smirk across his lips Rethiel began to rummage through the medical kit on the floor. A long strip of dark bandage became a blind-fold wrapped tight around Rebecca's eyes. Rethiel grabbed Rebecca by the wrists and pulled her roughly off the pool table, not bothering to check how she landed and then he began to drag her down the left hallway, knowing the sudden change and application of force would be quite bewildering for the woman. Would the woman fight? Try to stand on injured feet? It didn't matter much, Rethiel would drag her back into the waiting chamber no matter how she struggled, his grip on her wrists vice-tight and relentless. The chamber Rebecca was forced into was rectangular, roughly fifteen feet by fifteen feet in length and width. Two shackles hung down from the ceiling from heavy chains, when rigged they would hold a person just off the floor if they were kneeling. Rethiel bound Rebecca with her wrists crossed above her head, forcing her into a kneeling position. Next came the machine, small and cylindrical with a vibrating pad of nubbed latex atop it. Rethiel settled the device between Rebecca's legs and turned it on, knowing the sudden intense vibrations against Rebecca's core would be quite startling. The best part? Rethiel was going to leave her on that device! For how long? Well, he hadn't quite decided yet.

"Be a good girl and stay put, I have some paperwork I need to do. And smile, you're still on camera." The words were a purr as Rethiel left the room, leaving Rebecca a slave to the machine.
 
Rebecca whimpered out as he said the statement and her eyes widened slightly as she squirmed beneath his weight, suddenly afraid and nervous of what he would do. Soon, she was blind and unable to see, but only able to feel and she yelped as he yanked her to her feet and begin to drag her......somewhere... She trembled violently, looking around as she tried to stumble behind him. She tried once or twice to tug her wrists free, but his grip was like iron shackles relentless and strong as he dragged her and she had no choice but to stumble and almost fall behind him as she tried to look around. Then she felt cold metal clamp down around her wrists as he shackled her to some form of chains and rustled her, until her knees were bent and angled her so she was kneeling. She tried to look around, panic filling her with fear as she squirmed and whimpered. Then she felt him push something up into her and felt the intense vibrations. She almost squealed and squeaked with sudden relief, but also with fear as she heard him say that and heard him leaving the room.

She finally managed to climax, her juices squirting all over the machine, but then she was forced to come down off of cloud nine and forced to endure the pleasure all over again, climbing higher and higher until she climaxed again. She was moaning out, squirming against the device as her body became flustered and she swallowed hard, being forced to climb again, and to be pleasured again. Oh dear lord, she was exhausted from two consecutive orgasms, how long would he leave her on this machine. She whimpered, moaned and squirmed against the device as she tried to hold back and resist another orgasm, knowing that soon, what she once needed and craved, an orgasm would turn into her worse nightmare if she kept having orgasm after consecutive orgasm.

She felt her eyes glazing over, though, she couldn't see anything as her body was flushed and soon, her body, was dripping with sweat, and juices, and smelling like sweat and sex as she whimpered. The orgasm had now become torture for her as she was forced into a fifth orgasm, she cried out. By now, her lower lips were swollen and dripping with juices and there was a rather big puddle beneath her as she cried out again, wishing he would take her off of this device and take away the torture of orgasming for the sixth consecutive time as she whimpered and moaned, her eyes fluttering as she became so exhausted and so weak that she thought she would collapse right then and there. And she did, her eyes rolled back into her head as she fell unconscious, her juices dripping as the machine still plowed away at her tender and sensitive sex as her body went slack in the chains and one last moan left her, before she fell quiet, sweat dripping off her as the only movement was the twitch of her knees and the juices dripping from her swollen pussy.
 
Forty-five agonizing minutes Rethiel left her bound to that wicked machine. Paper-work done and payment secured Rethiel came swaggering into the room with a large glass of water. Rethiel shut the machine down and then gave Rebecca a rough backhand across the face, disappointed that she'd succumbed and fallen unconscious. When he spoke his voice was a deadly quiet, Rethiel wanting to keep Rebecca constantly on edge. Endless fear, the threat of some now torment always on the horizon was how Rethiel liked to keep his servants. Terror could break the strongest of minds if allowed to lurk long enough. Many lessons waited ahead for Rebecca of all sorts. She'd be taught to entertain, taught her manners and taught her place. Rethiel had learned many things after having to break in so many servants...This one wouldn't run, Rethiel was sure of it. She would die learning before she even thought of escape, Rebecca's breaking would be the most ruthless of any that had come before. But would it be too rough? Would Rethiel finally cross the line he'd walked so tenuously in the past?

"I didn't say you could sleep. Drink."

Rethiel pushed the glass to Rebecca's lips and tilted it back, pouring it down her throat regardless of whether or not the woman was ready for it. The water was icy cold and certainly something that Rebecca would welcome, regardless of how it was delivered. For now the torture was over...Though Rethiel wouldn't allow Rebecca to know that. No, Rethiel refused to give Rebecca any inkling of safety, any idea that she had a moment to rest. He wanted her terror to be permanent and tangible no matter how exhausted she was. Rebecca would become intimately familiar with fear at it's most basic, most faceless form. Deciding to test the waters and see just how she was feeling Rethiel turned the machine back on, leaving it thrumming at it's lowest of low settings. Just a whisper against her flesh, a promise of more suffering to come. Oh, how would she react to such a threat?
 
Rebecca's eyes snapped open as a hoarse cry left her parched lips when she felt the backhand and felt the stinging and burning pain in her cheek. She looked up at him, trying to see him, though she could sense that he was nearby as the blindfold was still over her eyes. She swallowed hard and trembled as she heard his voice and felt a cold glass press against her lips and tilted forward. Rebecca first coughed and sputtered on the water, startled by it and then slowly, but surely she begin to gulp it down, feeling the ice cold water as a relief to her flushed and feverish body and system She was soon gulping it down, hungrily, desperate for any sort of relief from this torture as she finished it.

She still felt the stinging on her cheek as she whimpered quietly, suddenly trembling, what was his plans? Was there more torture involved? She swallowed hard, and then a tremor went through her as she cried out hoarsely as the machine was turned on. She reacted almost immediately, squirming and writhing, trying to get away from the newly reactivated machine, though, it just barely buzzed, her sensitive and swollen lower lips felt as if it was on the fastest and most intense setting as she squirmed and writhed, whimpering and moaning as she slowly climbed higher, the descent made slower by the first setting of the machine, which made the torture worse as she whimpered and cried out, a soft sob coming from her as she tried to speak, her voice quivering and laced with moans and whimpers, "please make it stop......"
 
Oh how pliable she was! Rethiel loved seeing a woman exhaust and defeated, so desperate for help. One last trial and then he'd let her free...For now. After all, it hardly seemed fair that the captive had peaked six times now and Rethiel hadn't even came once. Rethiel pressed the bulge of his manhood to Rebecca's lips, expecting her to free him from the confines of his pants and pleasure him. It took a great deal of willpower for Rethiel to not simply pull Rebecca off the machine and fuck any sense she had remaining completely from her. However that was not how he wanted their first true coupling to happen. Rethiel wanted to break Rebecca down and make her beg for his cock, plead for it when she'd been a good girl. Right now Rethiel just wanted to get off and then call it a night, relax and plan out his next moves. Rethiel wasn't a patient man when his needs had been aroused and so he adjusted the machine's dial with his foot, turning it up a little as incentive for Rebecca to do what was necessary with proper haste and diligence.

"I'll let you down when I'm good and ready. And you better not spill a drop."

This would be a small triumph for Rethiel to savor, a reminder of just why he played all these elaborate games. Rebecca had three long days at this compound before they would set out for the estate...Three days of torment, torture and agonizing humiliation. This was her orientation of sorts, the time for her to learn the price she'd pay for disobedience...And a time for her to learn of the potential rewards for proper service. Once the woman learned her place her life wouldn't be so bad...Though any misstep or mistake would result in her temporarily plunging into the closest thing to hell on this green earth. It was a frightening dichotomy, and one Rethiel loved to maintain so thoroughly.
 
Rebecca writhed and squirmed as she whimpered out, desperate for it to stop. Then she felt Rathiel's bulge press up against her mouth and she whimpered again, trembling. Then she felt the machine go up a notch, making her climb faster as she yelped out, writhing as she trembled. She knew what he wanted and her hands were bound above her as she whimpered, knowing she would have to use her mouth. She opened her mouth, and using her tongue and teeth she managed to get the zipper and the button undone and that was only half the battle. She leaned forward and tried to tug his pants and boxers down with her teeth, as she squirmed and writhed against the machine, trying to fight off another orgasm as she whmpered. She managed to get them to his knees and she swallowed hard as she leaned back, a blush of humiliation spreading across her cheeks.

She knew it was the only way to get the agony to stop and she leaned back forward, trying to feel with her lips where his member was as she found it and opened her mouth to take him in. She gagged and then slowly she devoured more of him, until his member was in her throat, gagging occasionally, she started to suck on him, she even licked up and down his shaft, swallowing occasionally to make her guttural walls clench around the head of his member as she sucked and licked on it, gagging. Muffled whimpers came from her as the machine still thrummed, bringing her closer to the edge as she writhed against the shackles holding her, still sucking, swallowing and licking his member.
 
One hand cupped the back of Rebecca's neck, fingers finding a firm hold in Rebecca's hair. Rethiel rocked slowly against Rebecca, forcing all of his considerable manhood into her mouth and down her throat. Slowly his eyes slid shut and his breathing shallowed, thoughts slipping away as Rethiel indulged in the pleasure that assaulted his mind and body. Each muscle in his body began to tense, the hand at the back of her head shaking slightly as her ministrations carried him upwards, closer and closer to a peak he'd been waiting to traverse for several hours now. Rethiel nudged the machine onto it's highest setting once again, wanting to feel Rebecca hit her peak against his cock. Hopefully she'd thrash enough to miss some of his release, give him a reason to think of more punishment later. Only once Rebecca caved and gave herself to a final orgasm would Rethiel allow his own release to come, let Rebecca taste her reward for her hard work.

Rethiel freed Rebecca from her shackles but kept that hold on her neck, expecting Rebecca to see to her duties with renewed vigor, to appreciate such an act of mercy. A second kindness came, Rethiel undoing the blindfold and allowing Rebecca sight once more, if only so that she could get a look at her surroundings. Various toys and devices hung from the walls of the chamber, a large four poster bed resting in the corner. Restraints were tethered to each of the bed's four supports, resting atop silk sheets and fur blankets. Sturdy looking cuffs and shackles, it was rather obvious this was where Rebecca would be sleeping while they laid low...But how much time was she going to spend in this room? How many sexual tortures did Rethiel have planned for his newly acquired servant?
 
Rebecca let out a muffled whimper as she felt his hand and fingers thread through her hair as if to hold her in place and she shuddered. She wanted to bite down on his member, she wanted to fight, but she was terrified, blind and writhing in agony against the vibrations of the machine thrumming deep inside her. Was she in any position to fight back? She let out a muffled whimper and for a minute, her teeth came down, slightly, putting more pressure as the seconds ticked by. Then as he pressed the machine to it's highest setting, she let out a muffled yelp of agony and her teeth lost their grip as she kept sucking, brought to the very edge of a peak. She whimpered as she squeezed her eyes shut behind the blindfold and she felt herself climax as she thrashed and whimpered, crying out, though it was muffled, in agony as she squirmed and wriggled beneath his grasp, trying to get free.

She felt her arms being unshackled and she was grateful as she squirmed the last of her juices dripping out as she finished her seventh climax. She let her hands go by her side as she kept sucking on him, unable to pull away. She felt the blindfold unwinding and she blinked against the sudden light and vision as she shivered. Then as her eyes adjusted from almost an hour of darkness, she saw the room. Her eyes widened as she saw everything around the room and she swallowed, wanting to fight back again as she started to bite down again, she had to get out of here, otherwise he would use the devices on her for many nameless hours as she applied pressure with her teeth, squeezing his member tightly again as she tried to fight as she whimpered quietly and trembled as she looked up at him.
 
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