Becky took slow, deep breaths, stealing herself for what she was about to do. She reminded herself that it’s what he wanted, and she had no reason to feel guilty about it.
“It’s work,” her friend Amanda, who had introduced her to the Findom scene, had told her. “It’s great money, but you earn every cent.”
And it certainly was work. As a mountain of credit card loans and student debt for a degree she was struggling to get paying work with piled up, she’d finally dipped her toe into the world of Financial Domination.
It had been easy, scarily easy, at first, to message a guy and demand that he give her money.
“It’s all about confidence,” Amanda had advised her. “It helps that you’re hot, but it’s not even necessary. Honestly, it’s not a bad idea to tone it down a bit. Don’t do your hair or makeup, make him buy you stuff and then let him feel like it was him that made you a Princess.”
Becky wasn’t sure what she felt weirder about: taking this guy’s money to give herself a makeover she’d never use, or when she lied to him and just spent the money to pay her credit card bills.
But he always gave her money. He’d hem and haw over it, but that seemed to be part of it, and it was her part to demand and push until he caved. He got what he wanted, some weird, presumably sexual, gratification from getting controlled by a bossy girl, and she was slowly paying off her debts.
Becky adjusted her dress, an expensive, sparkly black number, and double checked to make sure the tag was tucked in and out of sight. It probably wouldn’t be good for him to know that she was immediately returning each outfit she bought with his money after wearing it for their video chats, where she would demand money for another expensive outfit. It actually worked out quite well that he was ready to assume she was the kind of girl who wouldn’t deign to wear the same outfit twice.
The ding of a notification came from her computer. He was calling. Becky took another deep breath. Never answer the first time he called. Always call back a few minutes to make him think she was in the middle of something more important. Bonus points if she could make him feel guilty for bothering her at an inconvenient time. These were strategies Amanda hadn’t even taught her; she’d picked these up on her own. It was a little distressing how quickly she’d taken to emotional manipulation.
She let another minute pass, rehearsing in her head. She wanted, no, needed, money for plane tickets to go to Jamaica with her girlfriends. He was always telling her that she deserved a vacation, she deserved to be pampered. This was more ambitious than anything she’d asked, or really demanded, of him before, but she figured it was time. Amanda’s Daddy was paying for her to go on a cruise, and she was actually taking it. She’d have to figure out the logistics of proving she’d actually gone on vacation, but she figured she could recycle some pictures from a few years ago of her at the beach she hadn’t posted anywhere before.
Her computer rang again. It wasn’t like him to call back when she didn’t answer. She almost answered, but decided to let him wait. She could use this.
The call had scarcely ended when it started ringing again.
Her finger hovered over the button on her mouse, poised to hit answer.
Switch it on, she reminded herself. She could always dial it back if something was up.
She hit answer, popping up the video screen on her monitor.
Stephen Marcus was normally every bit the stereotypical stock broker. A white man in his late 30’s, dark gelled hair with a few speckles of grey at the temples, always in a pressed shirt and tie. But when he appeared on her screen, his hair was disheveled, his tie undone and his shirt untucked.
“Princess.” He caught her on the off foot before she could even speak, unsure still of whether she’d keep up the act or show genuine concern. “I’m so sorry, but I need my money back.”
Amanda had warned her about this. When the game of playing reluctant to just hand out money wasn’t enough for these Sugar Daddies anymore, they’d up the ante and try to reverse the roles and start demanding money back. And when that happened, you had to double down.
“I’m not sure I could do that,” Becky had said when she was still very iffy on the whole Findom thing.
“Oh don’t worry, most Daddies don’t, but if you get one that does, it’s your job to stick to your guns and put them in their place,” Amanda had told her.
Now, faced with that situation, her jaw worked awkwardly, trying to come up with the words to say no. To stick to her script and get that money she needed to make her student loan payment that month.
“How much?” is what finally came out of her mouth when she found she could speak. Silently she cursed herself.
“All of it.” There was genuine desperation in his voice.
“I- I don’t have it.” All the false confidence and bravado she always managed to muster was gone from her voice. “I spent it.”
“Return it. Return everything. I NEED that money back.”
She had been returning it. But there was no getting so much as a dime back from the debt collectors. She did the only thing she could think of.
She turned her computer off.
She made no effort to hide it, suddenly lunging forward on camera and repeatedly jamming her thumb against the power button until her screen went black.
“Shit.” She jumped up from her computer chair, running her hands through her hair. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”
Becky dove for her phone. She had to call Amanda. Amanda would know what to do.
The second she picked up her phone, it started ringing. It was him.
He had her number, but he’d never called her on the phone before, only texted. Talking was reserved for scheduled video chats on the computer; it was an element of control she had asserted over the relationship and that control was continuing to slip through her fingers.
She hit ignore and quickly called Amanda. “Pick up pick up pick up pic- Amanda!”
“Hey girl, whatchu nee-”
“Amanda, he’s asking for his money back!”
“What?”
“My Daddy, he wants his money back.” Her phone was vibrating in her hands as he kept trying to call. “He sounded really desperate and he wants it all back!”
“Of course he’s desperate, he’s a man.”
“No, this was different. He-“
“Becs,” Amanda cut her off. “First of all, calm down. Second thing, he GAVE you that money. You are under no obligation to give him anything, not the money, not anything else.”
“But-“
“He’s an adult; he knew what he was signing up for. Legally, he has no recourse if he changes his mind after he’s given you his money.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, positive.”
Her phone was still buzzing. “He keeps calling.”
“Ignore him. If he keeps going just tell him he needs to stop, be a grown up and deal with your mess.”
Becky wasn’t 100% sure that last part was directed towards him or her.
“You can always block his number. Sometimes they’re still persistent and you might have to change your number.”
“That’s why you’re always changing your number,” Becky said.
“Not always,” Amanda said, her tone defensive. “Sometimes they get too clingy and this is the best way for a clean break. I have a whole separate number for my sugar daddies now anyways.”
Of course she did. Becky was nodding to herself. Amanda was good at this. She had experience.
“Alright.”
“It’s gonna be fine,” Amanda reassured her. “He’s just having a freak out. You need to make sure you stay level headed.”
“Alright. I can do that.”
Amanda stayed on the phone with her, distracting her. She could tell Amanda wanted to be doing something else so she told her she was doing fine before she actually was, but Stephen had stopped trying to call her and she was settling down a little.
She drew herself a hot bath to finish calming down. She’d decided that whatever happened, she was done with Stephen, and the whole Findom scene altogether. The money she’d taken, (not taken, earned, she reminded herself) had bought her some breathing room financially, and she could start looking for work again. But not tonight. Tonight she was going to slip into her bathtub, light some candles, put in her headphones and just forget about Stephen and money and all of her problems.
The water was perfect, steam rising up from the thick layer of lavender scented bubbles coating the surface. Becky folded a towel and put it behind her head before putting in her earbuds and turning her music on. She cranked the volume until the gentle sloshing of the settling bath water disappeared and the traffic outside and neighbors stomping around all faded from her consciousness. Her eyes closed and she slipped deeper, until the bubbles tickled her chin. She could feel the stress leaving her body, the soothing lavender replacing the toxic anxiety.
The water was cooling when she decided she’d had enough. She opened her eyes, sitting up and reaching around for her iPod. Her eyes caught the reflection of a figure at the door in the mirror, and she screamed, water splashing out of the tub as she fell back.
“Princess, it’s me.” Stephen stepped into the bathroom, holding his hands out.
“What are you doing here?” She sank back deeper into the water, gathering up the thinning layer of bubbles to cover herself.
“You were ignoring my calls.”
Her eyes darted around for her phone. It was on the bathroom sink still. There was no way she could reach it without getting out of the tub, and he was closer to it than she was.
“I came to check on you; I know I scared you earlier.”
“You’re scaring me now! How did you get in here? How did you know where I lived? Have you been stalking me?” Her heart was racing. She’d purposefully never told him where she lived, never given him her address when he’d wanted to send her gifts personally instead of just money.
“No, of course not. We do have a mutual friend, and when I needed to find you today I asked. But I’d never stalk you.”
That didn’t make her feel better. “Well you can’t be here. You can’t just-” it dawned on her that he hadn’t told her how he’d gotten in. She was sure she locked her door. “You need to leave.” She tried to sound as authoritative as possible, difficult as it was when she was naked in a bubble bath with an intruder in her apartment.
“I know Princess, and I never would have done this if it wasn’t really important that I get that money back. Just for a little while, I can turn this around, but there are some bad people mad at me and I just need to get them some money ASAP to get them off my back. It’s very important to me. I’m sure you can understand.”
“I would love to give you everything back and just be done with you; this is too much.”
He managed to look actually hurt by her words.
“But I don’t have it.”
“Princess, where is it?” Panic was creeping into his voice.
“I spent it.”
“Well return it. All the clothes, even if you have to sell some of it.”
“I didn’t buy clothes. I was paying off my student loans, and my rent, all things I can’t return.”
He was silent. Somehow that was more worrying than when he was speaking. He was still wearing the same wrinkled, untucked white shirt he’d been wearing in the video chat, but he’d lost the tie, his collar still eschew.
“You lied to me.” The hurt look returned to his face.
“Not technically. I did buy a lot of the outfits and jewelry you saw me in, but then I returned them so I could pay for more important things...”
“You could have told me you had financial problems.”
His tone was so condescending. Even through all the fear and anxiety, anger was welling up inside her. How dare he lecture her. Her student loans weren’t “bad people” that would come and get her if she missed her payment.
“You could have not given me money that wasn’t yours.”
“It’s not like that. You don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to understand. I want you to get out of my apartment.” Her knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the tub.
“I can’t do that. I hate to ask for your help, but I need you, Princess.”
“I don’t have any money to give you. I’ve got like maybe $40 in my checking account right now.”
“I’ve done so much for you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was using the money you gave me for. I’m sorry I can’t give it back. I feel really bad about it, but you’ve found where I live and broke into my apartment and I really just want you to leave right now. Later we can talk on the phone or something and figure out how I can help you if I can.”
He considered this, rubbing his neck nervously while he glanced around the room. His eyes lingered on her phone on the counter. “If I leave, you won’t call the police?”
“I promise, I won’t!”
“Liar! See, you just don’t get it. You think I’m this bad guy, but I’m not. I’m going to pay these people back, then things are going to go back to the way they were; I’ll buy you everything you want. But I just need you to help me right now.” His hand had drifted over and was resting atop her phone. “You’ll see. We just have to get through this. Together.”
She watched her phone, her lifeline, slip further and further away from her. “What do you want me to do?”
“I just need your help. There was a bit of a misunderstanding about some money, and this guy is just being impatient and unreasonable.”
She nodded slowly, wishing she wasn’t still trapped in her bathtub, just waiting for the thin cover of bubbles to completely dissipate.
“If I can just buy some time, I can get the money back.”
He looked at her, seemingly finished. She was still waiting for how exactly he thought she was going to help.
“We can do this, together.”
She nodded again, still not knowing her role, but what choice did she have.
“You’ll help me?”
“Yes...”
“Thank you Princess. And I won’t ever ask anything like this from you again. I’ll take care of you and treat you like the Princess you are.”
“Alright...” That moment didn’t seem to be the time to tell him that he had wildly overestimated their future together. “Can I get out of the bath?”
“Of course, absolutely.” He grabbed the towel that was already well within her reach and held it out for her.
“No, I meant- would you mind giving me some privacy.”
“Oh. Yes, Princess.” He put her towel back down. “I’ll be right outside.” He grabbed her phone and pocketed it before stepping out of the bathroom and closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar.
She stared forlornly after her phone. Finally she had a moment to herself, but she was keenly aware he was waiting for her right on the other side of the door. Never taking her eyes off the door and using the towel as a barrier between herself and him, she rose shakily from the tub.
Becky silently cursed her bathroom door’s lack of a lock. Her bathroom had a window at least, and she could maybe open it and start screaming for help. How quickly would he be back in the bathroom and grab her, with only a towel between her and him?
She did a cursory drying off and then wrapped the towel around herself before inching to the door, peering out through the crack. Stephen was pacing around her bedroom, running his hands through his hair. She noted that he’d opened her dresser and closet. Presumably he didn’t trust her and wanted to check if she actually had the expensive clothes and jewelry she’d told him she’d bought. As upsetting as that was, it was better than the possibility that he was just going through her underwear just because he could.
She opened the door a little wider, sticking her head out and clearing her throat.
“Princess,” he said, composing himself.
“I need to get dressed.”
“Of course.” He gestured as if inviting her into her own bedroom.
“Can I have some privacy again?”
He looked around the room, checking to see what she could use if left to her own devices.
“There’s a pair of pink five pound weights I never use that could bash your head with if you want to take those too. They’re under the bed.” She pointed.
“It’s not like that, Princess,” he said defensively.
“What is it like, Stephen?”
“I just, I just need your help. And I want to trust you, I do, but remember that you lied to me first.”
“You were looking for some hot girl to shower with money and affection. I provided that. I don’t appreciate being treated like a hostage.” She was edging closing and closer to the dominant persona she’d grown so good at using with him.
“You’re not a hostage.”
“Am I free to go? Can I have my phone?” She opened the door a little more, standing there in just a towel, putting her hands on her hips.
“Just as soon as we do this.”
“You still haven’t told me what ‘this’ is,” she said.
“You just need to help me convince a guy that I can pay him back.”
So he did owe someone money, it wasn’t just a misunderstanding. A smile touched the corners of her lips. It wasn’t much, but she’d achieved something. “So I’m a character witness?”
“You’re someone who’s received a lot of money from me in the past.” His expression had soured. “Just get dressed.” He turned and headed out her bedroom door.
Her heart skipped a beat. His shirt was untucked, and as he spun, the loose fabric flared up, giving her a glimpse of something tucked into the back of his slacks.
He had a gun.
“Oh fuck,” she breathed as he shut the door, all the bravado she’d been building back up instantly deflating.
He had a gun.
Why did he have a gun? Was it for her? Was it for the guy he owed money?
Her hands were shaking as she got dressed. She just grabbed the first things she found: old mismatched underwear, jeans, a t-shirt and a baggy sweatshirt. She considered how little she actually knew about him. He’d told her that he didn’t want to bore her with the details of his job, but he worked in finances. How much of that was true? Were those boring details something illegal?
She jumped and nearly screamed as he knocked on the door as she was pulling her sweatshirt over her head.
“Are you dressed?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” she answered, her voice cracking. She took deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart.
He opened the door and sized her up. “You’re wearing that?”
Immediately she wanted to go on the defensive, but the glimpse of the gun loomed forefront in her mind. “Is something wrong with it?”
“Well yeah, we’re trying to convince Mr. Montoya that I’ve been showering you with money and that we can get him back what he wants from me.”
So she had a name now. It was unfamiliar to her, but she didn’t really know any loan sharks.
“How much, how much money do you owe him?”
“A lot,” was all he said. She tried to quickly calculate how much money he’d given her over the last four months. A couple hundred here, a few hundred there, it added up quick. It had to be close to ten grand.
“Wear what you were wearing earlier,” he said, pointing at the outfit she hadn’t returned yet, still sitting at the top of her laundry hamper by the bathroom door.
He turned his back on her. She guessed that was the extent of the privacy to change he was going to give her this time, but she hadn’t had to ask him at least. Did he know she’d seen the gun? His shirt was covering it completely. Did he want her to know?
She quickly stripped back down to her underwear and pulled back on her dress from earlier. She’d barely worn it, but it felt dirty; it was the only thing in her possession that he had paid for. She supposed her rent payments were largely thanks to him. When she got through this, even if she got a job where she could continue to afford it, she’d have to move. It was tainted now.
“Alright.”
He turned back to her, scrutinizing her. “That’s better. You should do your hair and makeup.”
It was something to delay going with him to see this guy Mr. Montoya. She took her time, constantly aware of Stephen standing behind her in the bathroom door, watching her as she dried and styled her hair and applied her makeup. She’d always been able to compartmentalize his attraction to her because first and foremost his kink seemed to be financial domination. It certainly helped that she was attractive and dressed sexy for him in outfits he bought for her, but she told herself that their relationship was not sexual. She never had any intention of meeting him, and unlike Amanda who told her it never hurt to dangle that possibility before a Daddy, Becky had been up front that she was flat out not interested in anything else.
She wondered who their mutual friend was. Who knew her and thought it would be fine to tell this guy where she lived? Was that part even true?
“You look beautiful, Princess.”
She repressed a shudder. “Thank you.”
“Again, I’m so sorry we had to meet for the first time like this.”
“We can forget about this.”
He was shaking his head as she turned from the mirror to face him.
“You can leave, and I’ll just put this whole thing out of my mind. The next time we meet it can be as special as you want it to be. As magical as WE want.”
She could see it in his face. It appealed to him, this idea he had in his head of what their relationship would be, where he could take care of her and she’d love him for it.
“Princess, I’d love-”
“You’ll fix this little mess you’re in and then you’ll come back to me and make everything better.”
He reached out for her. She fought the urge to back away, letting him put his hands on her shoulders. If she was quick, she could probably grab the gun off of him.
“I believe in you, Daddy.”
“I will fix this. For us. But I need your help.” He leaned in and kissed her. She didn’t reciprocate, standing there stunned as he pressed his lips to hers. Her hands hung limp at her sides; it would be so easy to hug him, pull him in, and reach back and grab the gun. But she couldn’t do it.
He pulled back, keeping his face close to hers, staring into her eyes. He didn’t seem to notice that she’d not been receptive of his kiss. “I promise, I’ll always take care of you, Princess.”
He stepped back. The window of opportunity to grab the gun was closing. Do it! Do something!!! Her brain was screaming at her.
“Are you okay, Princess?” he asked, his face full of concern.
No! “Yes...”
“Good. We need to go.” He took her hand. His grip was clammy but firm.
She let him lead her out of her apartment. She gave a passing glance at her door, trying to see how he’d gotten in, but she couldn’t tell. There wasn’t one of her neighbors or anyone out in the building to witness as she was whisked away, and the street was deserted. She picked out his car easily; she knew very little about cars, but this one stood out amid the old beaters including her dinged up little car that barely passed inspection. He opened the door of the red sports car for her, and she was immediately hit with the unmistakable smell of new car.
“You could sell your car,” she offered.
“It’s a lease,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and gently guiding her into the seat. He even leaned in and reached across her and buckled her in.
She considered arguing that he could save a lot of money by not leasing it and getting something more affordable, but he’d already shut the door. Her hand fidgeted near the handle. She could just open the door and get out and run while he was coming around. It’s not like he’d shoot her in the back while she tried to run. But would he though?
He climbed in the driver’s seat, reaching over and putting his hand on her leg. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
She only nodded, staring at the hand on her thigh and wondering if he still had her phone. Would they be able to track her when what he assured her shouldn’t take too long took days and she was reported missing?
He finally removed his hand from her leg and started up the car. They drove in tense silence for a long time, heading across town.
“Would you like the radio?” he asked when the silence became unbearable.
“Why do you have a gun?” The words just blurted from her, unbidden.
He was so shocked the car swerved before he got it back under control. “I- it’s for protection. I shouldn’t need it, but the guy we’re going to see, he’s not always the most reasonable.”
“Would you have used it on me if I didn’t come with you?”
“What?! Princess, of course not. You know I’d never hurt you. How could you even think that?”
“I don’t know you that well, Stephen. I know you even less than I thought. You found where I live, you broke into my apartment. You’re kidnapping me.”
“I’m not kidnapping you-”
“I don’t want to do this. I will pay you back every cent you gave me; it might take me awhile but I won’t stop until I’ve given you back everything I owe you.”
“Princess-”
“If you care about me, you’ll let me go.”
“I do care about you, Princess...”
“Then take me home.” A tear dripped down her cheek. She wasn’t acting, she wasn’t putting on a persona. That’s what had gotten her into this mess, so now she was being honest. She was terrified and desperate.
“Please don’t cry.”
She wiped her eyes, immediately regretting it. She had every right to cry, and if it made him feel bad, that was his problem.
He pulled into a parking lot for a sandwich shop. A single other car that looked like it had been parked there for years and probably didn’t even run was the only other vehicle in the lot. All of the surrounding buildings were dark; a few even had their windows and doors boarded up.
He gripped the wheel, taking deep breaths, stealing himself. His visible nervousness served to feed her own. Even if she tried to run now, she was lost in a bad part of town, with no phone, and no one to look out for her. No one except him.
“Let’s go.” He got out and came around and opened her door for her.
Wordlessly she got out, refusing to take his offered hand. She was still very aware of the gun, but she knew he wouldn’t use it on her. She was accompanying him simply because he’d made himself the safest option somehow.
Becky followed Stephen inside the ramshackle little restaurant. An only partially lit neon sign proclaimed it was “Joe’s Subs.” A man in a ragged leather jacket sat at the counter, his back to them, a newspaper open before him.
“I’m here to see Mr. Montoya,” Stephen announced, trying and quite frankly failing to sound confident.
The man at the counter folded his newspaper and got up. He moved with agonizing slowness, taking his time to turn around and eye up the two newcomers.
After a minute he nodded and gestured to a door behind the counter.
“Thank you,” Stephen said, reaching for Becky’s hand again. This time she took it without hesitation, letting him lead her through the restaurant.
“Hold up,” the man said, stepping in front of them. Without warning, he reached forward and grabbed Stephen. Stephen tried to step back, bumping into Becky who’d been close on his heels, but the man grabbed his shirtfront, his big hands reaching under his arms, and then down along his waist. He found the gun in seconds, pulling it out and holding it up.
“Oh, that...” Stephen gave a nervous laugh.
The man grunted and opened the clip, checking to see if it was loaded. Becky could see that it was. The man set the gun down on his newspaper on the counter and resumed searching Stephen. His phone joined the gun on the counter, but he was allowed to keep his keys and wallet.
The man then turned to Becky. She shrank into Stephen’s shadow.
“She’s fine, she doesn’t have anything on her.”
The man just stared at Stephen until Stephen coughed and stepped aside. “Just be gentle,” he said quietly.
Mustering her courage, Becky stepped forward, holding her arms out at her sides. The man wasn’t exactly gentle, but he was at least vaguely professional as he patted her down, not taking the opportunity to feel her up.
Satisfied that she wasn’t concealing anything, the man jerked his thumb towards the door. Stephen took one last look at the gun, but it was clear he wasn’t getting it back while they remained in this establishment. Again Becky let him take her hand and the two of them entered in the back room. They found themselves in a filthy kitchen that would certainly not pass any health codes. Ignoring the kitchen, Stephen went straight for another door that opened to a staircase leading down.
“You’ve been here before?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper.
He nodded, not elaborating further.
They emerged into a dimly lit room downstairs. Four figures sat around a table under a hanging lamp illuminating the room. They looked to be in the middle of a card game, various colored chips and bottles of booze strewn between the players.
Stephen cleared his throat. The figure at the far end of the table was facing them, a woman in her late fifties. She glanced up at them at their approach and then back at her cards. Two large men in track suits sat on either side of the table. The figure closest with his back to them laid his cards on the table and cracked his neck, not looking back at them.
“Stephen,” the man said. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
“Mr. Montoya, I was hoping to talk to you.”
“See now, that’s exactly what I don’t want to hear. People who have my money don’t want to talk to me.” Mr. Montoya turned around, his chair scraping on the floor deafening in the room. “They just want to pay me.”
“I’ll get you your money, I just need a little more time.”
“You had plenty of time. And who the hell is this?” He gestured to Becky as he stood up. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this was not it. He was very average, plain in almost every way. He stood about 5’9”, a bit of a gut underneath his black polo, but nothing excessive. His hair was thinning on top, but he was a far cry from bald.
“This is Becky,” Stephen answered for her.
“Does she have my money?”
“Well sort of,” Stephan said.
Her eyes widened. He was throwing her under the bus.
“You. Where’s my money?” Mr. Montoya pointed at her.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she stammered. “Stephen gave me some money, but I didn’t know it wasn’t his, I swear. Please, if I had had any idea I wouldn’t have taken it.”
“You’re smart,” he said. She felt a twinge of relief. “What’d you do with the money you didn’t know was mine?”
She gulped. “I paid off my student loans and credit card payments.”
Mr. Montoya smiled. “You’re very smart. See Stephen, she gets it. Always pay your debts. You should hold onto this one.”
“I will,” he said nervously. She shot him a look, but now was not the time to address that whatever they had was over the moment they left.
“So how do you plan on paying me back?” the loan shark asked Stephen.
“I’ve just got to move some things around, liquidate some-“
“Shut up.”
Stephen’s mouth snapped shut so fast the sound of his teeth clicking together was audible.
“I’ve heard it all before, and it doesn’t matter. You think you’re slick, and you know what, I’ll cop that one. I haven’t done a good enough job of motivating you.”
In perfect synchronicity, the two men on opposite sides of the table got up and crossed the room towards Stephen and Becky. They were both big guys, their long legs moving in large strides.
Stephen nearly knocked Becky over backing into her. “Hey, guys, look-”
One of them cut him off by shoving him hard in the chest, knocking Stephen off his feet. Becky shrieked as the other one grabbed her. “No, please, I didn’t have anything to do with this!”
The man hooked one muscular arm around her throat, holding her against his sturdy form. The other hand clamped over her mouth, shutting her up. Try as she might, she couldn’t break his grip.
“Stop! Let her go!” Stephen cried, scrambling to get up.
Mr. Montoya grabbed him by the hair, tilting his head back. “I could do that, but do you really want that?”
“Yes!”
The loan shark pulled out a switchblade. Stephen froze, watching the point hover inches from his face. “See, I like her. Her big crime so far is just being with you, whom I’m not overly fond of. If I keep you, I’m likely to do some really fucked up shit to you.” For emphasis, Mr. Montoya traced the edge of the blade across the tip of Stephen’s nose, not hard enough to draw blood, but close. “And you know what, she’s smart enough to probably just forget you and get out of dodge. But you’re going to bring me my money, and or I’m going to have to do all those terrible things to her that I’d like to do to you.”
Stephen swallowed hard. “I’ll get you your money.”
“Two days. Twenty grand.” Mr. Montoya threw him by the hair back to the ground.
Becky’s eyes widened. That was so much money; easily more than double what he’d given her.
Stephen climbed back to his feet and composed himself as best as he could. “I’ll have it. Just don’t hurt her.”
The loan shark sidled up to Becky. She flinched and whimpered into the tight hand over her mouth as he brushed her hair out of her face. “If you wanna guarantee her safety, bring me my money. Now get out.”
“Princess, I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
She could only watch, as the man who had dragged her into this, who was now her biggest hope of getting out of it, gave her one last apologetic look before he left.
After he was gone, Mr. Montoya looked at the goon holding Becky. “Let her go.”
The man let go of her, and she stumbled forward, rubbing her face and throat.
“What are you going to do with me?” she managed to ask.
“Have a seat,” Mr. Montoya said, pulling a fifth chair up to the table.
Becky did as she was told, keenly aware of the other woman at the table, who hadn’t moved at all during the whole exchange. Mr. Montoya sat down next to her, though the two goons remained standing. “Sorry about all that,” he said. He sounded genuinely apologetic.
“I honestly had no idea it was your money, I swear.”
He nodded. “Relax, I know.”
Her heart was still racing like a jackrabbit, but she managed to slow her panicked breathing.
“Sorry about all that,” he continued. “When I try being nice they walk all over me, so sometimes I have put on the theatrics, you know?”
She nodded. Manipulating people into giving them money. This guy was in the same business she was.
“It was shitty of him to bring you,” the woman said, speaking for the first time.
She swallowed her immediate gut reaction to agree with this potential sympathizer. Her fear of saying anything at all was far greater.
Mr. Montoya nodded. “It was. Piece of shit probably had nothing better to use as collateral.”
Collateral. Had that been his intention the whole time? There was certainly no way he could have thought that her selling some outfits and jewelry he’d paid for would come close to paying off a $20,000 debt.
“So you’re just going to stay here for a couple of days until he brings me my money.”
“And what- what happens if he doesn’t bring you the money?”
Mr. Montoya smiled, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You better hope he pays, Princess,” he said, adopting the pet name for her. She’d grown to loath it every time Stephen called her that, but it was infinitely worse when her new captor called her by that name. “Because otherwise, you’ll pay his debt.” His hand on her shoulder slid up her neck, cupping her chin.
“I don’t think I can get that kind of money,” she stammered.
“Oh, I’m sure you can. The only question is, will you be worth enough selling to a private buyer, or are we going to have to sell your body into prostitution?”
Her blood ran cold. Her jaw worked up and down, but no words came out as she tried to come with an alternative. Literally anything else she could do for them, but deep down, she knew; his mind was made up, and if Stephen didn’t show up with the money in two days, her life as she knew it was over.
“Let’s get a better look at what you’re working with, Princess.” Mr. Montoya snapped his fingers and the goons grabbed her from behind, holding her down in the chair and pulling her arms back.
“Please don’t!” she pleaded.
“Hold her still.” The switchblade was back in his hand, and with a dexterous flick of the blade he cut through one strap of her dress and bra.
“HELP!!!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping someone, anyone, would hear and be able to save her.
“Shut her up,” Mr. Montoya order as he cut through the other straps.
Becky was helpless to stop them as simultaneously a dirty handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth and her ruined dress was pulled down.
“Not too bad,” Mr. Montoya said, casually assessing her breasts, feeling them, the handle of the knife still in his hand pressing against her skin. “Could be a bit perkier, but at least they’re real.”
Becky sat frozen, afraid to even struggle as she was assessed like a piece of meat. Her eyes darted to the woman, hoping to find a hint of sympathy from a member of her own sex, but the woman’s face showed zero compassion. If anything, she looked mildly impatient, ready to get back her card game and Becky’s torment was a mild inconvenience.
The blade popped back out and Mr. Montoya sliced down the center of her dress, cutting through her ruined bra at the same time. He peeled the dress to the sides, leaving her sitting in just her panties.
“Could use a flatter stomach,” he said, grabbing her belly fat in his fingers and shaking it. She was in fairly good shape, but clearly not enough for her captor’s judgmental eye. “Stand her up.”
Becky was hauled to her feet, all but her panties remaining in the chair behind her. Those didn’t last much longer, as the switchblade made short work of the side of the waistband. One of the goons behind her kicked her legs apart, and her panties slid down her left leg with minimal coaxing, baring her entire body for examination.
Finally Mr. Montoya closed and pocketed the switchblade, but her relief was short-lived as he reached between her legs.
“We can wax her later,” he said, tugging on her pubic hair, eliciting a muffled little scream from her despite her best efforts to stay silent. He parted her bush and spread her pussy lips, running his finger along her opening. She shuddered and tried to close her legs. Mr. Montoya didn’t even need to tell them; his goons just picked her up, holding her legs spread wide for their boss’s inspection. She shrieked, and a hand once more covered her stuffed mouth, muffling her cries.
“You’re not a virgin, by any chance, are you?” he asked, looking her in the eyes for the first time since he’d revealed his intentions for her.
The hand over her mouth loosened, hovering just over her face, ready to grab her again after she either nodded or shook her head. She gave a rapid shake of her head. The hand immediately grabbed her mouth again, even tighter than before.
“They never are,” Mr. Montoya said. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if you hadn’t let Stephen fuck you. It’s a shame; you’d have been worth so much more.” He suddenly thrust a finger into her. She screamed into her gag, trying to close her legs but the strong hands jerked her knees even wider. “You’re still pretty tight though.”
Tears dripped own her face as he slowly worked his finger in and out of her. He added a second finger while his thumb massaged her clitoris. Her face displayed her deep feelings of despair and anger and shame, her eyes dripping with tears, muffled sobs and screams and pleads escaping past the hand gag. Her body though, responded to the stimulation; her nipples getting hard, her pussy getting wet, her nethers engorging as blood rushed to the area, heightening her sensitivity.
He stopped short, and for a brief second she was disappointed, until shame rushed in to take its place. Her eyes went wide when that same finger, slick with her juices, pressed at her asshole. She kicked her legs and tried to clench against the humiliating and invasive feeling, but the digit was already inside. “Your ass is very tight. You’re looking pretty good so far.” He pulled his finger out of her and picked up her ruined dress, using it to wipe his hand clean before squirting sanitizer into his hands. “Turn her around.”
The goons let her go and stood her on her feet again. Her hands immediately went to her breasts and crotch, in a reflex effort to protect her modesty. Mr. Montoya merely laughed at this. “Tie her hands.” The thugs wrenched her arms behind her back and a thin cord bound her wrists together. With a nod he signaled one of his henchmen to grab her shoulders and force her to turn. “No tats, no scars, no additional piercings. Pretty decent ass, too.” She jumped and squealed as he surprised her with a hard spank across her butt. The thugs spun her again until she was facing Mr. Montoya once more. He grabbed her jaw, squeezing and forcing her mouth open. Her captor pulled the sodden hanky from her mouth and tilted her head back, staring into her open mouth. “You got good teeth too. It’d be a crying shame to rip them out.”
A choked sob escaped her open mouth.
“You bite and I will personally rip every goddam tooth out of your gob, you understand me?”
“Aaa on’t!” she moaned.
“Good.” He let go of her cheeks and grabbed her shoulder, pushing her down. “On your knees.”
It dawned on her as she landed on her knees on the hard, dirty concrete floor why he was so fixated on her not biting.
Mr. Montoya was very adept at undoing his belt and fly and getting his dick out with one hand while the other held a naked, terrified girl by her hair. He sat back down in his chair, dragging her under the table and pulling her head up between his knees. “Show me how well you suck dick.”
There was no other choice, no alternative options laid out before her. She opened her mouth when he tugged on her hair, taking his penis in her mouth.
“Who’s turn was it?” Mr. Montoya asked.
On either side of her, the two goons slid back into their own chairs, boxing her in on all sides. She tried to forget where she was, and how she ended up there, focusing on the task at hand. Above her she could hear them resuming their card game. Just give a blowjob. A skill she’d had since high school. She hadn’t even really liked all the guys she’d blown, or wanted to do it, but sometimes it was just a thing you did. She tried to pretend her current situation was no different, just sucking a guy off because it was easier than sleeping with him and less hassle than giving him nothing. She just had to not bite.
Something pressed against her sex. She jumped and let out a startled yell around the dick filling her mouth.
“Easy!” he said in a warning tone, his hand tightening his grip on her hair.
She resumed her focus on his penis, keeping herself in check when the touch returned. The woman behind her was rubbing her bare foot on her pussy.
Becky tried to ignore it, though the woman’s toes pinching and tugging on her labia was more difficult to tune out than the sounds of the game going on above her. She jumped again as the woman’s other foot entered the picture, rubbing her inner thighs.
His fingers curled into her hair, keeping her on task. The idea that her life may very well depend on her performance allowed her to hone in on his dick, making it the most important thing in the world for the terrified girl. She sucked and licked, wishing she could use her hands, but as she intensified her ministrations, his grip on her hair slackened, trusting her enough to reel back and pull her mouth off of his dick. She licked up his shaft and gave some attention to his balls.
“You’re distracted,” she heard the woman’s voice from above the table. It wasn’t about her; the feet were annoying but they weren’t keeping her from her duties.
“A rocky start, but she’s figuring it out,” Mr. Montoya said.
“Care to raise the wager, make it interesting?” the woman asked.
“Winner gets Princess Cocksucker here?”
“Well if I win she’s not going be sucking cock, now is she?”
Becky tried to ignore the fact that she was being placed up as a prize above her. It was not a decision she had any say in.
“I dunno. What are you wagering up against her?”
“Nothing. At the end of the day, she’s yours, regardless, but you say you’ve got a good hand, put your money where you mouth is.”
“All in,” a new voice, one of the thugs she’d not heard speak, she presumed, followed by the clatter of a large pile of plastic chips being slid across the table.
“Fine. Winner gets a night with the Princess. But just tonight.”
Becky sucked and licked faster, but a jerk on her scalp slowed her right back down. She had no idea who she wanted to win. None of the outcomes seemed good, but which was best, and more importantly, who would be the worst one to win her? Even the devil she knew, Mr. Montoya, whose dick she was currently being forced to worship, carried the potential to do untold horrors to her helpless body. Either of the goons, while silent, had seemed to enjoy holding her still in their strong arms while their boss explored her body. And the woman, who had initially seemed almost sympathetic to her plight, had quickly revealed herself to be enjoying her torment just as much if not more than the guys.
Becky didn’t know the rules of poker. She couldn’t see the cards as they were laid out on the table above her, nor did she understand what it meant when they announced their “three jacks” and “two pair” and “flush,” but when Mr. Montoya smugly said “Full house,” while he came in her mouth, she knew immediately that he had won. She choked, sputtering as he pumped his viscous load down her throat, thick strands of jizz spilling down her chin. He leaned back in his seat, looking down under the table at her, smiling. “Lucky you. You’re all mine tonight, Princess.”
She moaned helplessly around his cock still occupying her mouth.
* * *
An old, beat up Hyundai squealed into the parking lot of Joe’s Subs. His own car was gone, sold for cash way less than it was worth and the dealership would still be expecting payments, but that was a bridge he would cross later. Stephen got out of his neighbor’s car, a vehicle he had “borrowed” without his neighbor’s knowledge, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Out front, the same man who had frisked him two days earlier was smoking a cigarette, watching impassively as Stephen pulled out a heavy duffel bag from the back seat and slung it over his shoulder. Stephen marched straight up tot he man, dropping the bag at his feet and lifting this shirt up. The gun he’d sold; he’d had to sell almost everything. He flipped out his pockets, his phone also now belonging to a pawnshop. The man put his cigarette out on the windowsill and looked into the bag. Cash. A lot of cash.
“It’s all here.”
Stephen waited, tapping his foot while the man ran his hand through the money until he reached the bottom, finding nothing else. He nodded his head back into the restaurant. Stephen threw the bag back over his shoulder and went inside, heading straight for the basement.
He was panting by the time he lugged the bag downstairs, and he dropped it on the floor. “I got your money!” he called out.
One of the goons sat up on a couch, turning off the TV he’d been watching. He pulled out his phone, checking the time. “We were starting to think you weren’t going to make it.”
“Where is she?” Stephen asked.
The goon flashed a crooked smile. “She’s with the boss, waiting for you.”
Just then a back door opened, and Mr. Montoya strode out. Following behind him on a leash shuffled Becky. She was naked save for a black leather harness that framed her body and a matching armbinder restraining her arms tightly behind her back. Drool dripped onto her bare breasts from the bright red ballgag strapped tightly between her teeth.
“Princess!” Stephen started to run to her, but the goon was up off the couch and between them in an instant. He looked back over his shoulder as he held Stephen back, leering at the toy he’d been lucky enough to spend more than a few hours with over the past few days.
“You said, your promised you wouldn’t hurt her,” Stephen said.
Mr. Montoya tugged on the leash, pulling Becky up beside him. “I never hurt you, did I?”
Becky shook her head rapidly, spittle flying from her ballgagged mouth.
“You son of a bitch-” Stephen tried to go around the goon but the larger man grabbed him by the throat.
“You were supposed to have my money a week ago. And now you wanna come in here and shit on my generosity in allowing you lenience? Think carefully about your next move.”
The thug let go of Stephen’s neck, and Stephen stepped back, rubbing his throat. “I’m sorry. I have it all though. Every last dollar,” he gestured to the duffel bag on the floor.
“Count it,” Mr. Montyoa nodded to his goon. The big man picked up the bag and took it into the back room to count the money.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” Stephen said to the helpless girl.
“No need to apologize to her. To me, sure, I was a little put out, but she’s been having fun. Haven’t you, Princess?” His grip tightened on the leach, pulling her in until they were face to face. Becky nodded rapidly, moaning affirmatively into her gag. She’d spent the last two days with Mr. Montoya and his cronies, being passed around, used and abused, and she didn’t dare to communicate anything other than what he told her to.
“You can count it, but the money’s all there. Just let her go.”
“All twenty grand?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Montoya smiled. “I trust you. I shouldn’t, and Jimmy is still going to count it, but I believe you came good on your end. Thank you.”
“Please, let her go,” Stephen repeated.
Mr. Montoya shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t do that.”
“What?”
Becky moaned into her gag. Finally, her rescuer, terrible as he was for getting her into this, was here. She’d finally allowed herself to believe that her hell was over.
“Nah, can’t do that,” Mr. Montoya said.
“But we had a deal.”
“We did, and you paid back what I lent you, but let’s call her your interest payment.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Stephen said.
Mr. Montoya took a few rapid steps towards him, dragging Becky behind him. “And how the fuck do you think loans work, you piece of shit? You think I’m running a charity here? Do you think I’m gonna allow a lowlife piece of trash like you to take my money, pay it back whenever the fuck you please, and not pay me for the services I offer?”
Stephen took a few steps back. He was taller than Mr. Montoya, but the smaller man coming at him brandishing only an accusatory finger was more than enough to intimidate him into losing all his bluster and backing off. “How much?” he asked.
Mr. Montoya smiled. “Ten grand.”
“That’s ridiculous. The loan was only twenty.”
Becky’s eyes widened. Over the past two days, she’d lost track of how many times she’d been raped, in every hole. She’d been bound, her pussy shaved, her ass plugged, her mouth gagged, ass spanked, her nipples clamped, but she’d held onto hope that Stephen would pay his debt and they’d let her go. And now they were haggling over her.
“Is she worth that to you?” Mr. Montoya asked
“I didn’t say that,” Stephen stammered. But he had. Becky could see it in him. He was tired and bedraggled; he probably hadn’t slept since she last saw him, not that she’d gotten much rest herself. He knew exactly what it took him to amass $20,000 to pay off his debt, and when asked to do half of it again to pay for her freedom, he balked.
“Five,” Stephen said.
Mr. Montoya shook his head. “Nah. Originally I was planning to sell her to pay off you debt when I didn’t think you’d come through, but after having spent some time with her, I’ve gotten, attached. I think I might keep her for myself.”
Becky shook her head, looking into Stephen’s eyes, silently pleading for his help.
“Seven,” Stephen said.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Mr. Montoya said. “I’ve told you what your Princess is worth to me. If she’s not worth that to you, then you’re free to leave and be thankful our business is concluded.”
Stephen took one long last look at Becky. It was the first time he’d seen her naked, or as close to naked as she was. And for the first time in their relationship she genuinely needed him. The money wasn’t for outfits or jewelry or vacations, or even to pay off her loans or rent. It was literally for her freedom. And she saw it in his eyes, for the first time, it wasn’t worth it to him.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” he mouthed.
“Get the fuck out,” Mr. Montoya said.
With one last look over his shoulder, Stephen turned and ran back up the stairs.
The goon came out of the back office as Becky watched her last hope of salvation disappear. “It’s all here, boss.”
Mr. Montoya smiled, drawing Becky in close by her leash. “I figured.” He turned to her, he face inches from hers. “You had absolutely the worst sugar daddy in history,” he told her. “But don’t worry, you’re all mine now.”