Tell Me Your Fears

It's moments like staring at the tiny bathroom window contemplating cutting off a limb so I can fit through that tell me that I was f****d. Complete and utterly screwed sore by the ass, and not in a good way. I have to get out of here. Fast. Peralta suspects someone stole his Rolex and is practically flipping over furniture in the dining hall trying to find it. You'd think a millionaire wouldn't make a fuss over an insignificant accessory being right in the middle of his niece's wedding. Except, it wasn't just a Rolex. It was also a custom made Luis Morais ring he'd been bragging about all day in the car, a zippo lighter, and a Cartier bracelet. All of which are sitting comfortably inside the invisible pouch strapped in a vice-like grip around my right thigh under my long red silk dress that cost me a fortune to rent out. Okay, maybe the zippo was a tad too much considering I don't smoke. But judging by the weight and its authentic looking custom emblem, I'd bet my rusty Honda this at least have worth at the local pawn shop. So, really, you can say all the fuss outside was my fault. I don't want to imagine Peralta's face when he comes home tonight and realizes his investment in my company is a sham. Now, that is not my fault. Peralta was the one who decided to put money into a non-existing company account of his own free will. Well, to his credit, he didn't know it was a sham, so he's only half responsible. Which makes me three-fourths at fault out of the whole. Still pretty good, better than being wholly at fault. . . . if, in any indication, it matters. Which, hiding in the women's bathroom to avoid his men patting me down, tells me laying blame isn't important right now. Peralta's many things, and unforgiving was one of them. Over the years I've been deluding men like him who've built themselves a tower from blood money, I've never been this close to having shackles on my wrists. Sure, there may have been some close calls and dangling from a four-story building, which wasn't my fault mind you, but never being cornered like this. Thorough planning—and great acting—is the building block for the success of my profession and safe to say, I didn't plan an escape route for when I'm trapped in a bathroom surrounded by a hundred men. Now that's my fault. Responsibility aside, I needed an escape and walking out of the bathroom door would be walking into Peralta's trap considering he had forced the wedding guests to be subjected to a pat down—yeah, fucker actually orchestrated a mandatory secondary security check for something so replaceable—at the dinning hall of the wedding venue, a woodland mansion he rented out for five days to accommodate guests who wanted to stay overnight and enjoy the scenic nature. I ready myself to make a run for it. To where, I don't know. I could steal a car, but drawing more attention complicates everything. My pacing stops when I hear a knock on the door. I don't answer. "Doll, you in here?" I resist the urge to gag at his mundane pet name as if I was merely a shiny object with the purpose of flaunting around by his side to make people jealous. And I tell you, you'd be surprised how popular that hobby is, probably even surpassing pretentious golfing. Despite the erratic throbbing of my heart, I brave my voice to come off light and airy. "In a moment, darling." "Well, you have to hurry up. Folks are almost done with my men. You and the bride and groom are the only ones left." Of course, he'd single-handedly ruin his niece's wedding by suspecting them of thieving the benefactor of the whole ceremony. I'd be offended if I was one of the cougars with a penchant for killing their husbands in the middle of the night and take their inheritance money to spend at a lofty resort in the Bahamas. But, alas, I was the most obvious suspect in this case considering the wedding was small, with only personal business partners and close families attending. I was merely a plus one who had no relations with anyone except a "run in" with the bride's uncle at a private gym wearing the skimpiest shorts that manage to make me blush the deepest shade of crimson red there is. Targeting Peralta was easy. Even before I reached a legal age, I've already collected an ever growing long list of potential people worthy of being robbed. Those who could stand to spare a few thousands without hurting their bank accounts. No one is more dangerous than a person who hasn't got anything to lose. Right now, I was the most dangerous of them all. Planning was easy. The trailing, however, was a b***h. I had to follow his routine on a daily basis to know when and where the most inconspicuous accidental meet-up would take place. That way, no growing suspicion would arise long before I had the chance to put my plans in motion. "In a moment, dear. My zipper's stuck." The lie singed through my teeth, still keeping the delicate tone in the back of my throat. They never suspect a dainty submissive woman to be a threat to the very thing that completes their existence as meaningful. Trapped between a mosquito and a tiger, people tend to keep an eye on the biggest animal in the room not knowing an insect could creep up behind and sting you with a deadly disease without having the sense of knowing until it's too late. So, thank you, misogyny, for working in my favor for the last six years. My head frantically scan the room, my eyes briefly landing on the mirror atop the Scandinavian sink. Without thinking, I take the cotton rope binding around a flower pot that was hanging from the ceiling and untangle the knots before looping it around the basin. This might be the stupidest idea I've ever come up with to date. I clear my throat, struggling to keep my nerves from wracking. Peralta was an impatient man and he'd bust through this door without a moment's hesitation if he felt bored out of his mind. Which proved true when I hear the juggle of keys and the rattling of the door knob. He couldn't even wait before calling the groundskeeper for the master key? When he saunters through the gap, I don't waste time and shove him hard against the door closing it behind him. My lips peppered assaulting kisses on his neck, his strong musk of Timothy Han almost made it easier to resist just straight up kneeing his balls. I twist the lock the same time I press my body hard against his. I couldn't let anyone walk in on us. It would for sure ruin the mood I was trying to set. To my surprise, Peralta grips my shoulders and lightly pushes me away. "I don't think now's the time, doll." I don't relent. "We can do it fast or we can wait until the night's over when we go back to the manor." "Celia—" "I can't wait 'till the night's over, baby. It'll be quick, I promise." I lean in, my mouth right next to his ear. "And dirty." I forced myself to breath heavily knowing he had a f****d up kink. How I knew about it I never want to relive. Something shifts in his eyes and I knew I had him. "Just a few minutes, doll, and we need to be outside." He backs me into the tiled wall on the opposite side of the room, his huge belly filled with all the greed and deception that drove his insurance company to deny and reduce their clients' bank account during the hardest times that hit America. Clients that also lost their houses, businesses, and loved ones all the while being loop holed for his personal gain. I don't have a shred of remorse for playing my own deception card, even as I pushed him down to sit on the lidded toilet while his fingers were fiddling to open his pants. I sank to my knees, still feigning a feline grin as I run my hands down his thighs, gripping the cloth of his pants on his knees helping him take them off. "You gonna be an obedient doll for me, baby?" he groaned. Oh, he'll see how obedient I can be when I bite his fetid d**k off and shove it up his crater nose. Thinking better than to defend my current self-worth, I slowly nod at him. This seemed to satisfy him because he throws his head back, closing his eyes. I take this my opportunity and grab the long end of the cotton rope tied around the toilet. I clasp both his hands together before tightly binding his wrists along with his ankles. Peralta snaps out of his deluded reality in his head and opens his eyes. His mouth gaped at his bound hands. I stumble back, righting the dress I would surely burn after tonight if I didn't pay a hefty amount renting it at the local tailor down the street of the bar I worked at. Opening my mouth to speak, I clamped it shut when Peralta smirks. "Oh, honey. You like to play it rough, I see. Well, you've certainly captivated the right man, tonight," he grunts, seemingly oblivious to his plight. My smile gradually grows to a devilish mischief as I straddle him, tugging at the binds to ensure it would keep in place. "Oh, baby," I sneer. "You have no idea of the trouble you're in." I pinch his bare thigh, garnering a small jolt from him. He briefly closes his eyes, savoring the arousal that passes through him at the sharp pain. The swelling of his tighty whities says much. "You want to hurt me? Hurt me as hard as you can, doll," he taunts, still assuming this was all just a role play. I'm afraid I have pull him back down on planet he's f****d. Peralta lets his guard down and I snake my right hand inside the slit of my dress to retrieve the small dagger I had concealed in the back of my dress. The simple ruched detail around the waistline perfectly hiding the outline of the weapon. The bathroom's light made a glint on the blade's edge making Peralta's gaze steady on it, wide eyed. But as brief as his surprise was, a knowing smirk replaced the daft buffoon's expression. "Where did you get that?" he slurs. I think the alcohol he donned thirty minutes ago was just taking effect. But not enough to make him oblivious to the pain as I dragged the tip of the blade across his cheek. I don't put intense pressure on it, just enough to draw a drop of blood. Peralta winces, and for the first time, his eyes went ghostly white at the tiniest possibility in his head that all of this is not foreplay after all. "That's a little too much, don't ya think, doll?" "Why, baby? I thought you liked pain?" I drag the knife the rest of the way to his ear minus the pressure. Just enough for him to feel the threat of the blade. As if coming to his senses, his eyes cloud with darkness and silent rage, the mist of lust dispersing from his ability for judgement. "What the hell is going on, Celia?" "What? You don't like Lucy? She was just getting started," I taunted, getting off his lap and re-adjusting my dress from what the people in the forties would have scorned over. "Untie me, bitch." Despite his growing confusion, he doesn't struggle from the bonds. It almost looked comical. Peralta, tightly bound to the toilet with his pants down to his ankles wearing only his dress shirt and white cotton briefs. "You should know better, Peralta." I move toward the bathroom mirror swiping the stray lipstick from the corner of my mouth with my index finger. "No one would assume the women you bed would have ill intentions when you keep dangling them around events like a jeweled possession. You should really get yourself a wife." I turn around, regarding him with a grimace. "With the graying hair and all." I wave a finger, pointing to the bald spot on top of his head. "I'm not f*****g asking again. Untie me." I clicked my tongue. "No, I don't think I will." My voice never once breaking character of the sultry tone of my guise. "Untie me now, Celia!" This time, he began struggling against his bonds. I simply smiled, reaching below the hem of my dress to take off the lacy black panties he got me as a present yesterday at Macy's. "Your father will hear about this! And I'm pulling my investment from his fuckin' company for having such a stuck-up slut of a daughter." I open the tap to thoroughly soak the underwear. "Hmm, yeah, that's where you lost me. What investment did you make exactly?" I feigned confusion. "All I ever received from you is compensation for keeping your ever so lovely company tonight. Believe me, you'll thank me for it. You'll be the talk of the town with your colleagues for bagging a young petite woman. After all, that's what all you old boys care about. Your inflated egos." He knit his eyebrows. "Wait. Are you telling me there is no company?" I blow out a breath. "Boy, do you catch on easily. But I do appreciate your generocity." I plaster a fake smile. He grunts in frustration. I can only hope no one was passing through the hallway. "Who the f**k do you think you are?" "Someone in dire need of your money. No offense, stud. It's not you, it's me." "Keep running your mouth, cunt. I'll find you and you'll regret crossing me tonight." Doubt it. Many people tried and I'm still as free as a duck. I leaned in so my breath fanned his face. "You'll have to find me first," I whispered before shoving the panties in his mouth. And just for fun, I secured the belt from his pants around his leg. He tries to lunge for me and I quickly moved away despite knowing he wasn't going anywhere other than thrashing around. His muffled grunts of protest and calls for help were met unanswered. With a final sigh, I make for the door. My hand lands on the knob, still and unmoving, throwing one last voice intended for my date of the night. "Maybe the next time you cheat on your clients of their insurance, you'll think of tonight and the next, wondering when another person like me would feel the need to take what is due. Only next time might be much worse than taking a couple grand. Good luck, Peralta. You're going to need it." Without another word, I leave the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Consider my luck when my breath hitched as I stare at a young recruit dressed in all black signifying one of Peralta's men striding toward me.