Chapter 21
Sunday
A wall of lit up screens light a darkened room. Security cameras for the entire family estate. A compound now.
After her time enlisted, her experiences, her loss. She came home to the wealth she had known her whole life.
Only "mother" was left after "William" had passed. She was the youngest heir of a wealthy cattle ranching family that had many farms in four different states.
She wasn't like other wealthy heiress's; she was a "tom-boy" in world porcelain princesses. She was dirty, hands on, helping "fathers" ranch hands at five am from an early age.
"Mother" seemed indifferent, never understanding her need to do more. Not relishing, enjoying her life of luxury.
No, "mother" never understood who she was, "father" knew, and pushed her to work hard, so being allowed to enjoy more, was the trade.
"Your life of spoils came off of someone else's hard work, don't ever forget that."
That's one life lesson he instilled.
"William", "mother's" second husband instilled, "some things matter more."
Money.
But to her, money was the strife of the world. It's what everyone worked for, slaved away their lives for, all so they could buy things.
Both are gone. "William" by stroke four years ago. "Father" was taken in a car accident when she was 17.
He was gone before she could tell him she had enlisted. He would have been proud. Her test scores, elevating her above most.
"Mother" was distraught enough.
The time away, the distance, "mother" was changed. Within the year, "William" was introduced to the family, and the accounts.
Luckily for "mother", "William" cared and actually took "father's" money and tripled it.
"Mother" was already fabulously wealthy. "William" made it so "mother" could live on every continent, travel whenever, and never work a day in her life, again. Money was never a worry, or something her family ever thought about. Not after investing heavily in private military contracting sectors.
War equals money.
A sad fact of today's society.
The "compound" covers over 1,000 acres. This was "mother's" gift for "not dying out there."
The one home she knew, grew up in. "Mother" had obviously moved on. Handing over the land, the mineral rights, the mansion, stables, the crew; all like it was nothing. A multi-million dollar estate.
"William" had got her accustomed to the east coast. They traveled throughout Europe, always living lavishly.
Buying mansions, just to own them. Over the years, the different countries, she had lost count of the stamps on "mother's" passport.
The blonde comes into the small ten by ten room, fifty screens showing different views. She sets a steaming cup of coffee down on the counter in front of them, then sets down in a leather chair.
Still wet from her morning shower, her silk robe clings to her every inch. She watches the three monitors cover the torture room.
She sets forward, realizing he has company already. She freed him. He now lies on the bed, being tortured by her "love". Her feet grinding into his stomach. He, unable to move.
The coffee is at its perfect temp, finally, and she takes large gulps of the delicious mixture.
Curious, she asks out loud, "What are you up to?"
She smiles after turning up the volume on the closest camera.
"Oh!" She says in surprise watching tumble off the bed, wearing only his boxers and a dog leash.
Pivoting on the chair, she watches the next screen, adjusting its volume louder. She watches with a voyeur's sense of eagerness to see what's next. Turned on, one hand makes its way south.
Her control over him. Watching him slowly bend to her will. Something she does gets him.
Last night's frustration, led to a great night's sleep, and seeing him now, wavering to the "good cop".
He's on the brink of giving in. She feels it.
That feeling of control. Dominance. Ownership.
They all are her sex kryptonite. The things that turn her on that she can never explain, just wanted. Always.
"Their" relationship, "the brunette" was different. She introduced "control" to her. Her BDSM secret was finally opened up to the right one. She understood her, and it. Even taught her trading, giving and receiving.
Their relationship developed, by a series of unfortunate events.
The brunette's sister was the key. She and the blonde were the only two cadets in their class.
"Andrea" or "Dre".
They saw action. Fallujah. Un-officially. Even after the insurgents attacked their convoy.
After they took her from the world, "Dre" dying in her arms.
Life was shaded grey after the only sister she had ever wanted, now taken, forever. Cold, difficult to finish her time. A darkness inside was brought to life. A world of man's control sickened and influenced her every decision.
Innocents were taken indiscriminately without cares of feeling or remorse. She found ways to elevate herself, her status and influence. All with meaningless flesh and sex.
Once you lose your anchor, nothing can tether you in the safe shallows.
Her darkness got her out and alive in a country still controlling and manipulating women subvertly.
The person who came back was her, but it was the focused dark version.
She had no true friends. Just aristocrats enjoying the democrat influence over the country.
Family and siblings had moved on, lives, kids, their own dynasty to run under the family name.
Coming here, home, "mother" came, finally, three months into her taking over the daily operations of the ranch.
The hurt her mother felt, "the betrayal of character" she once said, had built the wall between the two, which could never be scaled.
Living life, not reveling in the family name was some kind of black eye her mother was slow to heal from.
She remembers the fight, the traded words. They never really understood each other, and the last fight caused the divide that still exists.
Not enough to dump the estate that forced "mother" to remember him.
Six million dollar property, handed over like it was a burden, with no celebration. Just "sign this paper and you can stay here forever since you want to live in the past."
She was sure "mother" knew of her bi-sexuality. Not wanting to know or understand that either. To "mother" relationships were one way.
"The gays can have Las Vegas, why do they need to rub it everyone's faces?!" She overheard her say in passing when she was younger.
"You know it's spreading, the gays, Oregon will be the next to fall." Over a phone call to someone just like her.
Remembering different statements "mother" would say made over the years, could be woven into the republican bible. Both sides have always made her sick, for various reasons. Why anyone would blindly side with one side always confounded her.
In the months of darkness, work, and isolation from attachments, one person lit the night and brought her back to shore.
"Dre's" sister. Out of nowhere, and it all started with a letter. Wanting to know, wanting to know her real sisters last month's of life. The pain, the trials, her never wavering spirit in the heart of terror.
Hell has a front door, and it's a desert the size of a country.
Their correspondence eventually led to emails, then more. A phone call. Her voice for the first time.
It was a younger "Dre". Maybe a little more naive, innocent, awkward.
This bond, this friendship led to a cross country flight. Their first meeting.
It was love at first sight.
They both knew it. Months of deeply personal letters and emails, allowed a sisterly bond, a trust she hadn't experienced since "Dre".
All of "Dre's" strengths, her sister hadn't developed yet. It was her "duty" to bring it out. The focus, the confidence, the drive, she watches on the screen now, was buried deep years ago.
Now, she can watch her dominate him for hours, with an excitement resembling foreplay. She tingles, and pleasures herself, stretched out in the comfy chair.
The brunette eyes the different cameras, and then stares into the closest one. Her eyes light up, not knowing if she's being watched.
"You know, I'm not even supposed to tell you this, but...we had a bet, between us girls...It was to see which one you would fall in love with first..."
"You bitch." The blonde smiles using one, then two fingers on herself.
She switches her view to behind the two. Noticing his body tense at her spiteful prodding.
"Watch it girl." Her awareness heightening.
In a flash, he lunges upwards, and is caught, spun, and sat down in the restraint chair.
Watching her handle him like a pet, drives her to go harder-faster. The control over him in his weakened state causes ripples of orgasm to come at her like dripping water.
He looks broken, beaten, and unable to hold his head up as she circles him. Like a vulture circling its next meal.
She lifts his chin with one finger, and his face is lit up, showing his bruised face.
One eye looks up to the brunette reluctantly.
His face, now ugly and broken, horrifies her. Immediately her excitement, her "personal time" has passed. Seeing his face, her dirty work, suddenly, it's not "fun" anymore.
Suddenly, she sees herself as a monster, a cruel version of her own mother. Just one without the verbal violence. Seeing the results of her physical side, dries up any feelings of desire.
His face is centered in the monitor, and she slowly zooms in close. Her hand remembers the stinging pain it felt, hitting his face. It moves to touch his face in the screen.
His left eye finds the camera, and looks at it for a moment taking her breath away in surprise.
It looks back down to the table in front of him, defeated.
The brunette disappears from the cameras, and he sets alone for a moment.
She watches him set alone. Not knowing what comes next. Vulnerable, unable to move or get free, he waits helplessly. His one eye wonders around the room, coming back to the camera she watches on.
His croaky voice breaks the silence.
"Are you watching monster?"
His head hangs, but his eye focused razor sharp on the small black lens. His face distorted, evil, exhausted. A drip of spit hangs from his bottom lip.
She sets in shock for a moment as he looks into the camera.
Through another monitor, the brunette returns with a covered plate. Carrying it in both arms, her eyes watches him as she comes closer.
She sets it down, standing next to him; she pulls the lid off, revealing a full plate of food. A slab of stake, a baked potato, and a side of baked beans.
His face looking to the plate, eyes it, then her again.
"You were out with her, weren't you?"
"I can practically see it on your face."
The blonde sets forward, interested where this is going.
"Tell me you love me...and I can forget it."
Her face is slightly put off by the last statement, confused.
He waits a moment, then causes her heart to skip a beat. The first time a man has done that in a very long time.
"I...love...you...both."
She can't help but smile to herself.
She's angry, and slams the lid back onto the metal plate.
KLAANG!
"You, you love, both of us!? Both, like you think you get to have either of us! You can just wait a little longer for dinner then!"
She's pacing, just like "Dre". She's really angry.
"You know she has less of an attachment to you than I do? She wanted to leave you out there, like a dog! To freeze! And I said no!"
She grabs him by the collar. Inches from his face, but miles from giving in to him.
"She punched you! Slapped you in your face! How, how, how can you still love her!? What do you even know about her!? Tell me, what's her name? What's my name!? "
His response will be everything.
"I don't...know, it's just a body...a shell. We have some...something more. A spark. We can't help it, were attracted to each other. The butterflies in the stomach. Eyes never leaving each other. That spark when we touch. I want to know everything about you, the both of you. You know this. I've begged you both, for anything, any-thing about your pasts. You mock, and taunt me. Have I ever not accepted you, for who, what you are?"
She stares at him with ferocious anger, then let's go. She wants to hit him. She wants to yell at him.
"The three of us...we have...something more than just the...physical."
Goosebumps run down her arms when he says it, matter of fact. His face, sure of his words. It's not an act, or a ruse. He genuinely believes it.
She turns from him, looking directly into one of the cameras; the blonde adjusts her seat to watch both, until the brunette lips the words,
"Told you. You're move."
She turns her head towards him slightly, holding this moment.
She takes the lid, then turns to him, "Let's see if that spark gets you fed."
The blonde watches the brunette exit the room, and hears her heels clicking closer to her. The basement door opens, and then she looks over; the two make eye contact, sharing a smile. The door closes, and latches locked.
The brunette takes off her heels, and comes over. She sets in her lap. Her smile, enticing her. But the image of his bruised face etched in her mind, causes the distance in her kiss.
She doesn't have to say anything. The two separate and her gaze drifts to the screen. His face on display, he doesn't make a sound. Just head rising with breath, his eyes scanning environment.
"Are you not having fun?" She hears the question from over her left shoulder.
"I was." Not finishing her thought, she has to get up. Causing her to shift and get up frustrated.
She moves to leave the room when her words stop her, causing her to turn and look back.
"What if?"
"What if, what?" Already knowing where she's being led.
"What if, he's right...we're not "normal"...Just, what if?"
Her face has to say it without speaking it out loud.
"All I'm saying is...what if? Don't tell me you haven't considered it. It's okay. Seriously-"
"What if!? What if, he's just acting!? Just saying anything to get free!? To expose us! To expose everything!? Think!"
"This is just a job-"
"Exactly! This is just a job!"
"Babe, it's just a job...we don't need money...Let them continue their little war, we can live however we want-"
"You're not afraid of becoming a target!? You don't know the people we work for-"
"You do...I get that, but we've done enough...we've given them enough to win if they want...Think about not having to do this anymore...Wake up, and enjoy what we've been given for once."
Her eyes pleading with mine.
"I know you think about it all the time..." She continues, "...your nightmares, just think about being able to let go, now, not later when you're told to. Fuck em...Fuck, them."
It's my turn to take a walk. Her words strike me. So willing to leave now, when the battle is almost won. For what? A man.
I travel downstairs, still taken by her. I have to see him, to look him dead in the eyes. To know if he's worth it.